Death By Degrees

by Harrison Drake

  It was past two by the time I made it home and I hadn’t seen the family since I left for work the previous day. I had been given a day off by the Inspector on the case – given meaning forced, due to having worked for closing in on forty-eight hours straight. Kara was in the same boat, leaving the others who had been assigned to the case to keep gathering as much information as possible.

  Before we left Vancouver I made a quick phone call to Kat. It was a lot of apologizing, not that she was concerned. Work was work, and cases of a degree even remotely close to this one were luckily few and far between. I also asked her to keep the kids at home the next day, pull them out of school so I could spend some time with them. There wasn’t going to be much chance in the next couple of weeks; at least the overtime pay would make up for it. Maybe a trip would be a necessity once this was all over.

  We had to drive back to the detachment and get our personal vehicles. Then it was home for a much needed sleep. I’d managed to sleep on the airplane, but I could feel my bed calling to me, luring me in with its siren song.

  The alarm clock glared at me from across the room. It was almost ten in the morning, far later than I had expected to sleep. On a normal day, if I had slept in, I would have heard about it… a lot. I flung myself out of bed, got dressed and made my way downstairs quickly expecting an earful about how Kat had tried to wake me up multiple times and I wouldn’t get up.

  “Sleep well?”

  Not a hint of anger or annoyance in her voice.

  “I did,” I said, wondering if I should say it. “Thanks for letting me sleep in.”

  “You’re welcome. You didn’t get in until after two, figured you could use a bit more sleep.”

  I wasn’t in trouble. The day had started well. I walked up to her and kissed her. She was still as beautiful as the day we met, her long brown hair and bright blue eyes shone in the light that poured in through the windows. Watching her was like watching one of those shampoo commercials where the woman always has the perfect lighting and just the right amount of wind.

  Of course, it was the slight Polish accent she still had that really did it for me.

  “Yeah, the plane was far from comfortable. It’s been a long two days.”

  “Any closer to catching him?”

  “No,” I said. “Winnipeg Police executed a warrant on his house, but the place was empty. It had been completely cleaned out. All that was left was this.” I took out my phone and showed the picture that I had been e-mailed.

  “He left a note? ‘Sorry, Lincoln, but I can’t make it that easy.’ Is this guy nuts?”

  “I’d have to say yes. But he’s smart, too. They still haven’t had much luck in tracing the cell phone call he made to me. Basically, the information we have right now we have because he wanted us to.”

  “I don’t like this at all, Lincoln. He’s toying with you.” She paused. “And why you?”

  “I’ve been in the news a lot lately. I get the feeling he wants to be caught, or at least wants someone to try. Thinks he’s invincible, so he figures he’ll pick the cop whose name has been plastered everywhere. If I can’t catch him, he knows he’s golden… or at least that might be what’s going through his head.”

  Kat laughed. “You’re an amazing detective. If anyone can catch him, you can. If he wants to try to get away, he picked the wrong guy.”

  “Thanks, but you have to say all that. I think it was somewhere in the vows.”

  “It’s true, Lincoln. I’m not sure anyone else would’ve been able to pull off what you did with that corruption case. I’m not sure anyone else would’ve even tried.”

  “And that worked out great. A lot of people got killed that day, Chen and I both got wounded. We were lucky to have survived it at all.”

  “I know you don’t want to think about it, but I really think you had someone watching over you. Whether it was God, or it was Jakob. You saw him, Lincoln, when things were at their worst. That has to mean something.”

  I hated this conversation. Kat wanted to believe, she did believe, but I couldn’t. Jakob was the officer who had been murdered, by a fellow officer no less, for his investigation into police corruption – an investigation I then took over.

  “I was hallucinating, Kat. I was being tortured. It’s a beautiful idea, it really is. I just can’t get behind it.”

  “I know. I just want you to consider the possibility. Maybe there is a plan, Lincoln. For everything and everyone. I mean, look at the timing. You might be dead if they’d gotten there a little earlier or a little later.”

  Kat was right. I was handcuffed to a chair and being tortured by one of the many corrupt cops I’d been investigating. When the execution order was made, I’d had the time to get out of the handcuffs – even though it meant breaking my own thumb to do it – and kill my attacker.

  Had the cavalry come earlier, I might not have had time to get out of the cuffs. Later? What if I had risked an escape? The possibilities were endless, but the timing had been nearly perfect. That was something I couldn’t argue with.

  “I know. And saying it’s a coincidence works, but it was a hell of a coincidence.” Kat shot me a glare. “Heck. Heck of a coincidence. Anyway, if there is a plan, does it matter if I don’t believe, it’ll happen the way it’s supposed to happen anyway.”

  “It’s just… I’d love for you to come with us.”

  “Maybe one day, Kat.” She had been taking the kids to church every Sunday since we came back from Poland. I couldn’t blame her, with everything we had been through if she needed religion to help get her through it all, who was I to argue. We all deal with things in different ways. And the kids seemed to be enjoying it. Sunday School was a chance to play with some new friends and learn at the same time.

  “That’s all I ask, Lincoln. Just consider it.”

  “I just… I don’t know, Kat. I still think religion causes more harm than good. This guy, these killings, they’re ritualized.”

  I hadn’t told Kat yet, and really I wasn’t supposed to be telling her at all; the code of silence extended to spouses and significant others as well. That was a rule that I couldn’t abide by. I needed to talk, even if to just get the images and thoughts out of my head. Bottling up emotions didn’t work, and I’d seen a few cops wind up in trouble because of it. Kat could be trusted. She’d probably be less likely to spill the beans than some of the officers.

  Kat shook her head. She hated hearing about the dark side of religion. “How so?”

  “The bodies are buried in what looks like a robe or shroud, thin white cotton. And they have an upside-down cross carved into the forehead.”

  “Oh, oh my.” She made the sign of the cross on her chest. “Hail Mary, full of grace…”

  I gave her a moment. It seemed that as things got worse, it upset her more. I was the opposite. I’d been to Hell and back and now, it all just seemed like another day. Even when the shit hit the fan at work as it was doing now, nothing compared. Not yet, anyway.

  For Kat, every new development brought with it new fears, new worries. She had the hardest job of all: sitting on the sidelines waiting and hoping her husband would still make it home.

  I couldn’t think that way. If I did, I’d probably never go into work again. And if I thought of leaving the kids behind, that was too much. The thoughts would come and be pushed away within moments; they were thoughts I couldn’t afford.

  “He told me he was bored. That he’d never even been investigated, that this was a test. And he told me that he didn’t have a choice. It was like he felt he had to do what he was doing. I think he believes he’s doing someone else’s work.”

  “There’s no way this is God’s work.”

  “I have to agree. But he may believe otherwise. And if he believes it strongly enough, it might as well be true.”

&nbs
p; “I guess. So you think he’s crazy?”

  “I’d say he has to be. But he’s still sane enough to know what he’s doing and to do it well. No one even had a bead on this guy, nothing. And he’s been killing all over the world.”

  “How?”

  “They did some research on him while we were in BC. Turns out he was a pilot and flew around the world delivering cargo. His employer spoke very highly of him, said he was one of the best pilots they had and the hardest working.”

  “So that explains how he’s getting everywhere.”

  “Yeah, except he quit six months ago out of the blue. His boss said that Crawford had been acting differently since the crash but he never expected him to just up and quit like that.”

  “Crash?”

  “Three years before he quit he was involved in a rather serious crash. The landing gear failed when the plane hit the runway, it slid and spun off the runway and down a bit of an embankment. I didn’t get all of the details, but apparently he was lucky to survive it at all – and he walked away with only a couple of cuts and bruises.”

  “Sounds like a miracle.”

  “Right. Save his life so he can murder a whole bunch of people.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Lincoln.”

  “I know, Kat. Sorry.”

  “Do we not have anything on him?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “No criminal record, no charges, no registered firearms. The only thing Edmonton Police had on Crawford was a speeding ticket from a few years ago. I was really expecting there to have been a couple of mental health occurrences… you know, him ranting on a street corner or something.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “All we have is his most recent driver’s licence photo, but he looks like the average for a guy pushing fifty. Greying hair, a bit of scruff, average looking face, glasses. Looks fairly slim, licence says he’s just shy of six feet tall. Pretty unremarkable really.”

  “Was there anything else?” She paused, took a breath. “At the graves. Like Satanic stuff?”

  “Nothing. The burial site was simple. No markers at all. The only ritual elements are the robes and the crosses.”

  “Were they buried a certain way?”

  I thought for a second, not sure what she meant. “Face up, arms at the side.”

  “Sorry, I meant direction. Like facing south or east or anything. Traditionally, Christian burials had the person buried face up with their head to the west and feet to the east.”

  I thought about it, picturing the graves in my head.

  “No, if anything they’re turned around. The heads were to the east, but I think they were both somewhat to the southeast.”

  “Both in the same direction.”

  She had me questioning myself and what I remembered. “I think so. The first one, it followed the lay of the land somewhat. But the second, I don’t know. Probably would have been easier places to bury someone. You think the direction has something to do with it?”

  “It might,” Kat said. “But I don’t know what the significance of ‘somewhat to the southeast’ would be.”

  I smiled and she smiled back. It was important to find even the slightest bit of humour in situations like this one, some little bit of light to push back the darkness.

  “Where are the kids?” I was shocked that they hadn’t come running upstairs to greet me yet.

  “They’re downstairs with a new movie on. And I made them popcorn.”

  “Popcorn at ten in the morning? No wonder they haven’t come up yet.”

  “Could be worse. What about that time you gave Link Oreos and salt and vinegar chips for breakfast?”

  “You’re never going to let me live that one down, are you?”

  “Probably not,” she said, a grin from ear to ear as she turned and walked toward the basement door.

  “For the record…”

  “You had just finished working a full day and night and were hungry when you got home. He saw you eating that stuff and you couldn’t very well say no to a really cute three-year-old. I know, same story every time. At least you’re consistent.”

  “Hey, he liked the breakfast.”

  “I know. You worked the next few days, what do you think he asked for every morning?”

  I laughed. Five years had passed and still I found the whole thing priceless. “Yeah… sorry about that,” I said, barely able to get the words out without snickering.

  “Head downstairs and see the kids. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

  “Thanks, Kat,” I said. I walked over and gave her a quick kiss before heading to the basement to see what movie the kids were watching.

  Kasia and Link both lit up when they saw me coming down the stairs. The bowl of popcorn fell to the carpet spilling everywhere as Kasia leapt off the couch.

  “Daddy,” they both yelled as they ran toward me. The problem with fast-moving children was that they tended to be at crotch level. I wasn’t fast enough to dodge Link’s shoulder as he threw himself against me.

  “You okay, Daddy?”

  “Yeah, Link,” I said through pursed lips. “I’m good. Let’s sit… what are you guys watching?”

  “Brave. Mommy got it for us yesterday.”

  I had wanted to see that one. The previews I had seen made the movie look fantastic, and the main character’s accent was priceless. The couch was beyond comfortable as I sunk into it. They had only just started watching the movie so I hadn’t missed much, and the smell of popcorn still filled the room. Popcorn that had been spilled.

  Whatever. I had vacuumed the carpet only a couple of days ago. It didn’t take long to scoop up the popcorn and put it back into the bowl. Ten seconds had long passed, but I felt that the rule applied more to unknown surfaces than one’s own carpet. I was just glad Kat made the popcorn healthier than I did; if it had been me, it would’ve been doused in butter and salt and the cleanup would have been far worse.

  The kids didn’t care either. They sat on either side of me, the bowl on my lap, and dug in. It was nice to relax for a bit and watch a movie. They had to sit right beside me of course, almost on me really, but it was worth the slight discomfort. Having the two of them curled up on me was a wonderful feeling, and it seemed that with the way the case was heading moments like these would be in short supply.

  Kat ended up bringing breakfast down to me since I didn’t want to get up. Two fried egg sandwiches, nice and sloppy, hit the spot better than I would have expected. Maybe the popcorn appetizer had helped. The few minutes I took to eat also allowed me a tiny bit of extra space, but once the plate was down on the coffee table the kids were back as close as could be.

  The movie ended a bit before lunch so I took the kids into the backyard to play for a bit before I fired up the barbeque. Lunch was hot dogs grilled to perfection by me, a veggie tray put together by Kat, and a plate of berries and apple slices laid out with Kasia’s help.

  I had elevated the hot dog from its humble beginnings, at least for me anyway. The toppings were key and depended on what I had on hand. Pickled daikon, an Asian radish that could grow to the size of your arm, or kimchi, a Korean staple were favourites of mine, but today it was diced Vidalia onions and thinly sliced avocado. Most of my friends, as well as my family, found my hot dog habits a little bizarre, but it had become an art form.

  We had just finished eating when the doorbell rang. The doorbell was rarely used anymore, only the occasional door-to-door sales calls, charity collections or missionaries, ever seemed to come by. Everyone else was generally expected or known well enough that they could just walk in. These two were neither.

  I looked through the window as I approached the door and saw my inspector standing there with another man. The mystery man was at least twenty years my senior, graying
hair and a receding hairline, and a pair of thick-lensed glasses showed his age, while the slim body dressed in an impeccably pressed suit made me think otherwise.

  “Afternoon, Sir,” I said, opening the door and letting them in. Inspector Arthur Bateman, ranking officer at the detachment.

  “Lincoln, sorry to bother you at home, but I didn’t want to drag you away after the last couple of days. Figured you still needed a break.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” I looked toward the other man and the Inspector took the bait.

  “My apologies. Lincoln, this is Jean-Pierre Dumas, Secretary-General of INTERPOL. Jean-Pierre, Detective Lincoln Munroe.”

  The handshake was over before it had really sunk in. The Secretary-General of INTERPOL was at my house?

  “Welcome, Sir,” I said, wondering what the hell was going on. “Please, come in.”

  “Merci,” he said, before correcting himself. “Thank you.” His accent was obvious, but not a hindrance in communication.

  I showed them into the living room and offered them a seat.

  “Can I get either of you anything to drink?”

  “Still a scotch drinker, Lincoln?”

  “I may have some, Sir. For yourself, Mr. Dumas?”

  “That would be great. And please, call me Jean.”

  “And Lincoln, cut the Sir crap with me as well. You know how I feel about that.”

  Same way I did. Rank had its place, as did addressing superior officers formally. Being in the presence of the head of the International Criminal Police Organization was one of those times.

  “I take mine neat,” I said. “Same?”