by Alex MacLean
Taz was a sable shepherd, one of four dogs in the department’s K-9 Unit. As he worked, he remained calm, focused and methodical.
He nosed the undisturbed grass on each side of the trail, then returned to the trail itself, slowing down his sniffs, keying on something. Suddenly, he gave an abrupt head turn, indicating he’d hit a track.
“Braver Hund!” Young praised. “Braver Hund!”
Taz took a step forward, then another, not once lifting his nose. Soon he began working the trail at an unhurried pace, stopping and smelling spots about two and a half feet apart. Allan guessed the spots marked the suspect’s footsteps.
Young allowed the tracking line to slip through his fingers, keeping it straight in the air from the harness to his right hand. When Taz got six feet away, Young started following. The beam of his flashlight knifed through the darkness ahead of them. Every few feet, he planted a yellow flag in the earth to map the route taken by the suspect.
Allan saw them, two shadowy figures, amidst the copse of trees. Then he lost them. Behind him, the Ident crew went about their work. Harvey Doucette documented key distances with a measuring wheel. Jim Lucas had his camera mounted to a tripod and he snapped away. A separate flash unit, and a cable release to hold open the shutter, aided his long exposures of the dark crime scene.
Doctor Coulter leaned over Kaufman’s body, taking close-up photos of the wounds. His assistant was on his knees beside him, holding a folded tarp. After Coulter put his camera away, he placed bags over Kaufman’s hands and head.
Like a tap being slowly turned off, the rain weakened until it stopped. The area brightened as a full moon broke through the clouds, turning everything a metallic silver.
Allan lifted his gaze up the backside of the apartment building. Many of the curious tenants had left the windows. They had pulled their drapes closed or drawn their blinds at the late-night intrusion. Only one person—a female by the looks of the silhouette—peered down from a top-floor window, a white tissue clenched in one hand.
Nikki. Kaufman’s girlfriend.
Allan glanced over at the body as Coulter was covering it with the tarp, and he frowned. He wondered about Nikki’s story. Who was she? Where’d she come from? How’d she end up dating a loser like Kaufman? How much did she really know about him, his connections, and affiliations? Was she just his latest squeeze, one of many he’d had over the years?
“Lieutenant.” Coulter came walking over.
“What’s up, Doctor?”
“Did you get a look at the victim’s wounds?”
Allan nodded. “I did. The suspect fired the shotgun this time.”
“It wasn’t close range,” Coulter said. “There are satellite pellet holes around the central wound.”
“About four meters,” Allan told him. “Give or take a foot. I have an eyewitness who saw the suspect pick up the shotgun from beside the dumpster.”
“That distance is probably right,” Coulter agreed. “I’ll measure the shot spread when I take the body in.”
“Has Ident told you when you can take it?”
“Soon.”
Allan gave another nod. He knew Jim and Harvey were going to document what they could with the body present, resume a search at daybreak.
“Are you going to attend the post?” Coulter asked.
“No.” Allan looked up at the top-floor window again, found it empty. “I have a lot of canvassing to do.” He began heading toward the apartment building. “Keep me apprised, Doctor.”
He went inside and up the stairs to Kaufman’s apartment. Softly, he knocked on the door.
A voice, swollen with emotion, called out. “Go away.”
“Nikki. This is Lieutenant Stanton. I’d like to ask you a few questions. Are you okay to answer some for me?”
“Stanton? Pfft, I know all about you.”
Allan paused. “What do you know?”
“You put Jarret and Sullivan in prison.”
“Do you really want to discuss that through the door like this?”
He heard rustling inside, the sharp snap of the deadbolt being pulled back. Nikki opened the door wearing polka dot sleep pants and a black T-shirt with the words Well Behaved Women Seldom Make History on the front.
Allan took in her puffy eyes, the red tip of her nose. “I’m sorry about Blake. Really.”
She stared at him a moment, twisting a Kleenex in her hands. Then she moved aside to let him in. Allan gently closed the door behind him.
“Where’s the woman cop?” she asked.
“Who?”
Nikki shrugged. “I don’t know her name. She was here last week. Blake threw her card in the garbage.”
Allan thought of Audra sleeping in a chair at her daughter’s bedside and he felt a pang of sadness.
“She’s off,” he said. “I’m taking over the investigation.”
“Do you really care about Blake?” she asked in a flat tone. “About Todd? After what you did to their friends?”
“Their friends killed a man.”
“Blake told me they were innocent. That you and the other cops have it in for them.”
Allan cocked an eyebrow. “Innocent, huh? The only innocent person in the whole mess was Ruben Gamble. A bystander who lost his life because Jarret Shapiro couldn’t shoot straight. Ballistics didn’t lie. Neither did witnesses who picked Jarret and Sullivan out of a photo lineup. Would you feel the same way if that errant bullet had struck a child?”
Nikki winced, but didn’t say another word. She half turned from him and wiped a cheek with the Kleenex.
“Look,” Allan said. “I know you’re upset. I want to find the person who did this to Blake. Regardless of what you might think. That’s my job. That’s what I do.”
“What do you want to know?”
Allan took out his notebook and pen. “Where was he tonight?”
“Dooly’s.”
“Which one?”
“Portland Street.” She turned to him. “He goes over there a couple nights a week to shoot pool. Have a beer or two with the guys.”
Allan wrote it down on the page. “Did he leave here alone?”
“Yeah. He was meeting Lee over there.”
“What time did he leave?”
“Around nine-thirty.”
“Do you ever go with him?”
“I went once. Pool’s not really my thing. And I don’t care for Lee.”
“Why not?”
“Ugh.” Nikki wrinkled her nose. “The guy gives me the creeps.”
“Does he come over often?”
“Once in a while.”
“Did he come over after Todd’s death?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“What was his state of mind?”
“Livid. He paced around. I thought he was going to start punching holes in the walls.”
“How did Blake respond to the news?”
“He was shocked, I think. Sad. People mourn in different ways. He didn’t go all crazy like Lee did. At least not in front of me.”
“Did they drop any names? Was anyone beefing with them?”
“Who would dare?” She looked at the floor, biting her lower lip. “They didn’t know who it was.”
Allan believed that. If they had known, there’d have been retaliation by now. More bloodshed.
He asked, “Were you home when the incident happened?”
“Yeah. I was in bed. The sirens woke me up.”
“What’d you do when you heard them?”
“I got up to see what was going on.” Nikki’s voice changed, became softer, sadder. “That’s when I saw the cops out back and Blake lying there.”
Allan heard her voice crack on “Blake.”
“Was anyone else there?” he asked.
Nikki shut her eyes and tears fell on her face. “The guy downstairs.”
“Do you know him?”
Eyes still closed, she shook her head.
“Have you talked to any of your neighbors tonight?”
“No.” Nikki opened her eyes and wiped both cheeks. “Someone knocked on the door about half an hour ago, but I didn’t answer.”
Allan breathed in, feeling sorry for her. No matter how bad someone was in life, they always left behind someone who’d loved them. A mother. A father. A brother or sister. Even a girlfriend who’d either never seen the person’s ugly side or had chosen to look past it for whatever reason.
“Prior to all this,” he asked, “did you see any strange people or vehicles hanging around the neighborhood?”
“I don’t remember any.”
“Besides Lee and Todd, do you know the names of any other friends Blake had?”
“There are a few over at the pool hall, but I don’t know who they are.”
“What’s your last name, Nikki?” he asked.
“Miller.”
“Your date of birth?”
“March seventeenth. Eighty-five.”
“Do you work?”
“I waitress at Salty’s. Part-time.”
“Didn’t work today?”
Nikki shook her head. “Day off. I’m supposed to work tomorrow. Don’t think I will be.”
“Did Blake work?”
“Yeah. AMJ Campbell.”
“How often?”
“A couple days a week.”
That gave Allan pause. With the cost of groceries, utilities, and rent, how did Kaufman survive working two days a week? He remembered the gun and drugs found at Dory’s apartment and wondered if similar items were hidden here. Something told him Kaufman had been trafficking. Still.
Allan frowned. Could he be wrong thinking the suspect wasn’t a rival dealer?
“How long have you lived here?” he asked.
“About five weeks.”
“When did you start dating Blake?”
“February.”
“How’d you guys meet?”
“We met at Bearly’s. I was there with a couple friends. He was there with Todd and Lee. We started talking. Then we kinda hooked up, you know.”
“Okay. Sure.”
Allan closed his notebook, hooked the pen on the cover. He reached into his jacket and brought out his card, gave it to Nikki.
“If you think of anything else,” he said, “please call me. I’m sorry for your loss.”
He let himself out, wondering how she was going to react when he returned with a search warrant.
The rest of the canvass turned up nothing of value. Two doors wouldn’t answer. Four people reported they hadn’t witnessed anything. Like Nikki, they were wrenched from sleep by the wail of sirens.
Allan went out through the back door, and saw Constable Young and Sergeant Rehnquist standing by the dumpster, talking to each other. Their heads were close and tilted downward. Taz sat obediently beside Young.
The sky had cleared off and an overpowering moon dimmed the peppering of stars.
Allan looked over to find Kaufman’s body gone. Only a yellow evidence marker remained where his body had been, pointing out the wad from the shotgun shell. Jim and Harvey were squatted down at the right side of the dumpster, staring down at something. Jim flashed away with his camera.
Allan called out, “What’d you find?”
Harvey looked back over his shoulder. “Cigarette butt. Looks fresh.”
Allan had a hard time seeing the suspect having a smoke while waiting for Kaufman. But evidence could be anything and everything. And he’d seen stranger things in his day.
Young’s head swiveled around as he approached and the defeated expression on his face told Allan they’d lost the suspect’s trail.
“Not good, huh?”
Young frowned. “Nope. The suspect cut through a parking lot on the other side of the trees. We managed to follow him out to Jackson Road, but lost him. Couldn’t recover the trail. Sorry.”
Rehnquist waved it off. “Pavement’s a bitch.”
Young nodded. “Low scent area. Worse in the rain.”
“Let’s cordon it off over there,” Allan said. “No entry or exit until Ident has cleared it.”
“Ten-four,” Rehnquist said.
“We’ll start canvassing Jackson Road. Maybe someone saw this guy or his vehicle.”
“I’ll call in extra help,” Rehnquist said. “We’re going to need it.”
Just then Allan’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number on the display. Doctor Coulter.
“Go ahead, Doctor.”
“He left us another message.”
Tired as he was, Allan didn’t get it. “What? Who?”
“The suspect,” Coulter said. “He left something on the weapon.”
Allan straightened up. “Have you started the post yet?”
“We just completed the external examination. We’re getting ready to open him up.”
“Can you hold off for a few minutes?”
“We can wait for you, Lieutenant.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
Allan signed out of the scene and hurried to his car out front.
When he arrived at the morgue, the nude body of Blake Kaufman lay on the dissection table with his back arched over a block. His wet clothes hung inside a drying cabinet.
Coulter led Allan to a table covered with items he’d gathered so far: blood samples, nail scrapings, swabs. Kaufman’s watch, keys, and wallet contents were all inventoried on a Body and Personal Effects Record.
The cardboard box, Allan knew, contained the knife removed from the eye socket. On the lid was the word Sharp.
“It’s a Santoku knife,” Coulter said, opening the box. “Five inch blade.”
Allan looked inside and felt pinpricks wash over his skin. Amidst the blood, he could see one word written in black marker on the blade.
Devil.
39
Halifax, June 14
8:25 a.m.
“We take bullying very serious here,” said Principal Faustina Scinto. “We have zero toleration for it.”
Scinto was a curvy, attractive woman in her late forties with thick black hair, dark eyes, and apple cheeks.
“Then what are you going to do to this Margi Tanner?” asked Daniel.
Audra, sitting in the chair beside him, clenched her jaw and looked down at her hands. She knew the school couldn’t do anything unless there was concrete proof. Hearsay. That’s all it was. One person’s word against another.
“I’m going to have a talk with her,” Scinto said. “See what she has to say about all this. It’s okay if someone told you anonymously, but I need to know what happened. When? Where? I need specifics if I’m to take action.”
“Name calling,” Daniel said. “Physical aggression.”
Scinto frowned. “Like I said, I’ll have a talk to Margi. And I’ll ask around the school. See if anyone saw something.”
Beside her, Audra saw Daniel lower his head, heard him shoot a long blast of air out through his nose. She knew he was frustrated, but he had to hear it for himself. Their daughter lay in a hospital bed while one of the ringleaders responsible would probably go unpunished.
Sure, Scinto would talk to this Margi Tanner; maybe even threaten her with a suspension if she proved Tanner had bullied Daphne. But where would that proof come from? Margi Tanner would never admit to it out of fear of punishment. And even if Audra and Daniel told Scinto it was Tabitha Landes who had given up Margi Tanner’s name, Tabitha would never admit to witnessing anything out of fear of retaliation. The same reason no other kid in the school would say anything. Everyone would just lie and go on their merry way because that’s what people do. They lie. Adults. Kids. Every damn one of them.
“Who is this Margi Tanner?” Audra asked. “Is she in Daphne’s class?”
“No. She’s in the ninth grade.”
“Any trouble with her in the past?”
Scinto drew back one corner of her mouth. “A couple of episodes. But I can’t get into them. That’s confidential. She’ll be moving on from Gorsebrook at the end of this school y
ear. Going to Citadel High next fall.”
Audra skipped her gaze across the principal’s eyes to the office window and she stared out at the bright morning, quiet again. It was only an innocent comment, she knew, but that “moving on” part burned through her veins like acid.
“I’m very sorry to hear about Daphne,” Scinto added. “She’s a great student. Smart. Talented. I have two daughters myself and I can’t even conceive what you’re going through right now.”
Daniel lifted his head. “It’s been tough. Toughest thing I…we ever faced.”
“What have the doctors told you?”
“Nothing much. We won’t know the prognosis until she comes out of the coma. She might have to learn to do everything all over again. Walk. Talk. Feed herself.”
Audra said, “She gripped my hand last night. Twice.”
Scinto raised her eyebrows halfway up her forehead. “Really? That’s good, right? That must be a good sign.”
Audra spread her hands. “I thought so.” She dropped her gaze to the desk. “I got up and coaxed her to squeeze my hand again. I tried and tried and tried. But she didn’t respond.”
“What’d the doctors say about it?”
“Could be a grasp reflex. Or maybe just muscle contractions. I don’t think they want us to get our hopes up.”
Scinto made a sad face, shook her head. Her chair crunched as she leaned back, quiet for a brief time.
“I’ll pray for her,” she said. “For you.”
First bell rang out with a loud drone and the surprise of it made Audra flinch. She glanced at the clock on the wall over Scinto’s shoulder: 8:45.
The building began to rumble with the thunder of a few hundred feet stomping through the hallways. Audra heard kids, talking and laughing, rubber soles squeaking on waxed floors, locker doors slamming shut.
“Well.” Scinto shuffled papers on her desk. “I’ll try to get to the bottom of this matter today.”
Audra felt herself and Daniel being dismissed. She stood up and extended her hand across the desk.
“Thanks for your time,” she said.
Scinto gave her a firm handshake back. “My pleasure. Best wishes to all of you. I mean that.”
