A Dream of Death

by Harrison Drake

  “I’m going to get a coffee, kids, I’ll be back in a bit,” Kat had told them within moments of arriving.

  The kids shared their excitement with me about their impending trip, happy to be going to see their babcia and dziadzio.

  “It’s too bad you can’t come, daddy,” Link had said, “but mommy says you have to stay home and get better.”

  “She’s right, Link.” I had been lying so much lately, to myself and my family, that it almost felt natural. “You’ll only be gone for a few weeks and I’ll be a lot better when you get back.”

  “Will you still have this?” Kasia touched my cast, feather-light.

  “Yeah, I need it for about six weeks honey, maybe longer.”

  “That sucks, dad.” Link again. “It’s summer soon.”

  “I know, bud, but after the six weeks I can get a walking cast. I won’t be running around but we’ll be able to play.”

  Both their eyes lit up, happy to know I wouldn’t be bedridden for the entire summer. I pulled them into the bed with me and we sat and talked about what we would do this summer once they got back and everything they wanted to do while in Poland. They hadn’t been back in two years and Kasia remembered little of the last trip, but that didn’t diminish her excitement.

  Half an hour later Kat came back. She didn’t speak to me as she handed me a piece of paper and a pen. I read it over, simple and to the point: “I, Lincoln Munroe IV, provide permission for my spouse, Katarzyna Munroe, to take our children, Kasia Munroe and Lincoln Munroe V, to Poland for a period of four weeks beginning June twenty-two, two-thousand-one.

  I signed below where Kat had typed my name. “You leave tomorrow?”

  “I found a substitute for the last few days of school and I’m taking the kids out. I told them my mother was sick, they didn’t question it.”

  I nodded. At least I wasn’t the only one lying.

  “It’s time to go, kids,” she said. “We have a lot to pack.”

  I was smothered in hugs and kisses before Kasia and Link hopped off the bed. “Get better daddy,” Kasia yelled followed by a “love you” from both.

  “I love you too,” I said. “Have fun and call me lots.”

  “We will,” Link assured me as they walked out the door leaving me alone again.

  * * *

  Kara picked me up four hours later after I was discharged with a prescription for Percocet I had no intention of filling. I had seen too many people fall prey to opiates and I was determined I would not be one of them.

  We spoke little until I was sitting in her car, my crutches secured in the trunk. “She’s gone,” I said at last.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She took the kids and went back to Poland, just for a few weeks.”

  “I’m sorry, Lincoln. I really am.”

  I knew she was, but at the same time I knew she had a ray of hope inside, the thought that we could be together now. I knew because the same feeling rested inside me. It was a feeling I had to chase away; my marriage was hanging on the precipice and needed to be pulled to safety.

  “She knows everything now,” I said, “but I wonder if it was me killing Saunders that hurt her more.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, an affront to God apparently. I guess the, ‘Though shall not kill,’ ranks higher on the list than, ‘Though shall not commit adultery’.”

  “Then she’s an idiot, Link.”

  I didn’t argue.

  “I mean, you didn’t have a choice and you saved the lives of at least two women.”

  “I know, I stand behind what I did. She’ll never accept it though.”

  “Her problem. If doing your job tears you two apart, maybe it’s for the best.”

  I gave a nod but wasn’t sure. I wasn’t ready for it to be over yet.

  “Where to?”

  “The detachment. SIU still there?”

  Kara nodded.

  “Time to get it over with,” I said.

  We talked about the case as she drove. I guess we wouldn’t be needing the task force now, at least not to the extent I was expecting. But that was the least of my worries. It was all over the news and internet now—the media had wasted no time. They knew Saunders was the killer and they knew more details than I wanted them to know about how he was killed. How I had killed him.

  I had been the public face of the case in the news. An African-American detective shooting a man in a residential area in the middle of the day led to a number of witnesses willing to tell their story. And it didn’t take long for the press to put two and two together. The debate in the comments section of the newspaper’s website was raging between those praising me and those demonizing me. I wondered if Kat had posted, accusing her husband of murder.

  It didn’t matter to me. There were those who would never back the police no matter what had happened, no matter how many lives had been saved. Granted shooting an unarmed man in the back did not sound good on its face.

  We arrived at the detachment and I met with investigator Jonathan Tsang. He would be conducting my interview, which would be audio and videotaped. There were no secrets, nothing was off the record. Fifteen minutes, he had said, grab a coffee and meet me in the interview room. My heart was pounding as Kara and I sat in the cafeteria, a green tea in my hand to calm my nerves.

  Kara took my hand in hers, my pulse throbbing against her soft skin.

  “Try to calm down, Link, you did nothing wrong.”

  “I know,” I said, my blood still racing. “How do you feel when you’re off duty, just driving along, and a cop pulls out behind you?”

  She laughed. “Like I’ve done something wrong.”

  “Even as cops we feel it, that’s all this is.”

  “They want to clear you, Link, I know they do. You did good.”

  I smiled and finished my tea. The clock on the wall told me it was time to walk. Kara caught me looking at the clock and stood up beside me. “I’ll walk you down.”

  No argument, she was my pillar now.

  She saw me to the door and stood close as I hobbled my way along, then waited to make sure no one was looking before kissing me gently on the cheek. “I’ll be in the office when you’re done,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

  No words, no gestures. I opened the door and walked in to face my fear.

  —26—

  “Investigator Jonathan Tsang with subject officer Detective Sergeant Lincoln Charles Munroe the Fourth, Western Region OPP homicide. Audio and video recording is active. Do you understand, Detective?”

  “Yes.”

  Standard disclaimer, audio and video recorded. It was a video I would be shown once this was all over.

  “You have waived the right to have a representative from your association or legal counsel present?”

  “I have.”

  “Are you prepared to begin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take me through the events of June twentieth.”

  “Where do you want me to begin?”

  “Wherever you feel is relevant.”

  It was the same as every interview I had conducted on witnesses, the same questions. Except I was on the other side now. It would start off easy.

  I began with lunch, then Kara spotting the vehicle.

  “Kara drove, we started following the car and I called in the plate. Found out it was registered to someone other than Saunders.”

  “Why didn’t you stop then?”

  “Kara had seen the driver, said he looked a lot like Saunders. I didn’t get a good look but the driver was definitely similar. I guess it was a hunch, I knew it was him.”

  “You just knew?”

  “Yeah, I can’t explain it really. Instinct, I guess.”

  Tsang nodded. “Continue?”

  “I had them dispatch someone Code One to check on the registered owner’s vehicle, see if the plates had been stolen or switched.”

  “Code One for plates?”

  He was questioning the
order to send someone lights and sirens.

  “We needed to know and we needed to know right away. Sending someone Code One to determine if the plates were stolen was reasonable given the entirety of the situation we were facing. It outweighed the risk to public safety.”

  He said nothing so I carried on. “He knew it was us behind him, just like I knew it was him. We hadn’t found out about the plates before he tried to lose us. Kara took off after him and I called in the details of the pursuit.”

  “In an unmarked vehicle with no lights and sirens?”

  “Him taking off confirmed it for us. Apprehending a serial killer was more important than the province’s policies on pursuits. Exigent circumstances.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “Kara kept driving, following him down side streets, the traffic wasn’t too heavy and the roads and weather were clear. I don’t know how long we followed him for, Kara would know, she would have had to go back and determine the length of the pursuit.”

  “Three kilometres. Go on.”

  “Saunders hit a parked car and took off running. I tossed the radio to Kara and told her to call it in then took off after him.”

  “Do you know where you were?”

  “Somewhere around Andover Drive. West of there, south of Commissioners and north of Southdale.”

  “And you didn’t take the radio with you?”

  “It didn’t cross my mind, I wanted my hands free when I was chasing him. I knew what he was capable of.” I lifted my shirt to show Tsang the stitches in my side.

  “Detective Sergeant Munroe lifts shirt showing injury allegedly caused by suspect Saunders.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Wouldn’t the video have made that clear enough?”

  “Continue please, Detective.”

  Apparently recognizing sarcasm was not a hiring requirement for an SIU investigator.

  “Saunders ran through a backyard on the right side of the street. I was close behind him the whole way, I couldn’t gain any ground on him but I wasn’t losing any either. We went over some fences through backyards and came out on another street. We ran down it briefly before he took off back into the backyards on the side of the road we had come from. I stayed behind him until we came into a pie-shaped backyard. We were on a court or a crescent, I knew that at the time. We went out and across the street, it was the corner of a crescent and went into the backyards of more houses. I don’t know exactly where we went, it happened so fast. I might be able to retrace it.”

  “It may be necessary.”

  “We were back into regular yards, rectangles with square fences when he hopped the last fence and ran down the side of the garage. I got over the fence but lost sight of him as he rounded the corner. I was just about to round the corner when a garbage can came out at me and knocked me down. I heard bone cracking and knew my ankle was gone.

  “Saunders was running across the street and I knew I had to stop him. He had killed five women, almost killed Kara and stabbed me. Nothing was going to stop him from killing again. I could hear the sirens in the distance and knew that officers were closing in but I couldn’t take the risk. We had officers on scene fast after he tried to kill Kara and he got away. I couldn’t let that happen again. I had the chance to shoot him then and I didn’t. Now another woman is dead, and it’s because of me.

  “I drew my pistol, took aim and fired until he fell. I never took my gun off of him after that. I got my phone out and called it in. Kara was first on scene and she covered off on him. She put her gun away quickly. I knew then that he was dead.”

  “How far away was he when you fired?”

  “About twenty metres, sixty to seventy feet maybe.”

  “A long shot. Did you think about your backdrop?”

  The backdrop was what was behind the target—what I would have hit—if I had missed or if a bullet had over penetrated.

  “There was a house across the street. I was elevated being at the peak of the driveway and the next house was at my level. Saunders was below me, not much but enough that my rounds would have hit the driveway and lawn of the next house.”

  “And you thought about this at the time?”

  “Of course I did. I weighed everything before taking the shot. It was a split second decision, Tsang, but a well thought out one.”

  “How many times did you fire?”

  “As many as were required to subdue the target. I didn’t count.”

  “Can you estimate?”

  I was starting to get annoyed now. I had told him what had happened. The number of rounds was obvious, count the holes in Saunders back and the one in his skull, count the missing rounds from my magazine. I knew I’d hit him six times, but I had I fired more? Had I missed? I closed my eyes and reviewed the incident, watching Saunders run away from me in slow motion as I pulled the trigger. If my memory was correct I counted six shots, but could I trust myself? I imagined it again, hearing the gunshots echoing on the houses as Saunders fell to the ground.

  This time I was not alone. A man stood over me, silhouetted in the afternoon sun, his hand reaching for my forehead.

  My eyes sprang open and startled Tsang, causing him to lean back in his chair. But what nearly made me fall out of my chair was the phrase “Why?” written in blood on Tsang’s forehead and a hunting knife dangling above his head.

  I brought the heels of my palms to my eyes and tried to rub the hallucinations away. I opened my eyes and they were still there. No longer could I make eye contact, the sign of a truthful person. Not while Tsang bore the message, not while a bloody knife hung above his head, Damocles in a business suit sitting before me.

  “Detective?”

  My head hung in my hands. “I don’t know, six. Count the bullets, I didn’t miss.”

  “Are you sure? How do you know you didn’t?”

  My pulse was rising. Sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped past my hands onto my lap. My father’s image stood in front of me when I lifted my head, his hand reaching out.

  “Because I didn’t miss, I couldn’t miss. He was going to kill him.”

  Tsang stopped. He looked at me, at my eyes filled with fear and confusion as they gazed upon the wall where my father stood and shook his head.

  “I’m confused, Detective. Who was he going to kill?”

  “What?”

  “You said he was going to kill him. All the victims were women. Who was he going to kill?”

  “I don’t know.” I didn’t even remember saying it, the reason for saying it was even farther gone. I lowered my head again and began to cry, lost in myself and unaware of my surroundings. A hand reached out and rested on my shoulder. I placed my hand on top of it and cried even harder, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Detective,” Tsang said as he pulled his hand away, “I think I have everything I need right now. I’m going to be recommending psychological counseling for post-traumatic stress.”

  I didn’t hear him; I heard nothing but the wind swirling through the trees, the rush of water in the distance and the calls of birds singing to the rising sun. “I had to stop him, I... I had the knife. I had to stop him.”

  Tsang turned the video camera off and left the room. He came back a few minutes later with Kara but I was still lost, revisiting horrors that could only be old memories.

  * * *

  I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and an unquenchable thirst. It took me a minute to recognize my surroundings; I was in Kara’s bedroom, in her bed, in just my boxers and a t-shirt.

  Kara must have heard me sit up and she came into the room with a book in her hand.

  “Never thought you’d wake up,” she said.

  I tried to speak but my throat was too dry, only a few raspy words escaped. Kara brought me a bottle of water and watched as I drank the majority of it without a breath.

  “Did we... did we...”

  “I slept on the couch. What do you remember?”

  “Breakin
g down in the SIU interview. That was it.”

  “Yeah, I brought you back here. I was thinking about taking you to the hospital, you were right out of it. You kept rambling to yourself, I couldn’t understand what you were saying.”

  “What about the interview?”

  “Tsang said he had what he needed. I told him you’d been on morphine and were in a lot of pain. I think they figure that was the cause of you losing it.”

  I brought my hand up and clutched my head.

  “Sorry Link, I know you didn’t want them but I got your prescription filled and gave you a Perc last night. Figured you needed it. Need another?”

  “No. Just some Tylenol. Flush the pills.”

  “Okay, sorry. I was just trying to help.”

  “I know,” I said, but that didn’t lessen my anger.

  “What you said in the interview, do you remember it?”

  I thought back, trying to force myself to remember but the last thing in my mind was telling Tsang how many shots I had fired.

  “Nothing past how many shots.”

  “Tsang said you had a break down and got confused, said you started talking about things that didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t tell me much more, confidentiality and all that bullshit.”

  It began to resurface. I remembered seeing my father, seeing the knife above Tsang’s head, the message in blood on his forehead. “He wouldn’t tell you anything I said?”

  “No.” She looked worried, “I think he knows about us, I couldn’t hide my concern for you. The way he looked at me, he had to know.”

  “It’s fine, Kara.” She was sitting on the edge of the bed now, her hand on my leg. I took her hand in mine, “if it wasn’t for that he probably wouldn’t have told you anything.”

  “You’re right.” She took a deep breath. “They’ve put you on administrative leave. Tsang told them you need psychiatric counseling.”

  “I need more than just that.”

  Kara looked surprised. “Is everything okay?”

  “No. Let me get dressed and eat something, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”