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Halifax, May 12
11:15 p.m.
With a heavy heart, Allan closed the diary. He stared at the sunflowers on the cover and winced. If only he could’ve helped her.
Behind him, Coulter and Sodero finished putting Cathy’s wrapped body inside a black bag. As Allan watched the zipper being pulled shut, the finality of the tragedy gripped him.
Coulter pushed the gurney outside, and then he and Sodero were gone.
Jim and Harvey began gathering up the drug items and packaging them separately. They put a cork over the tip of the syringe before boxing it. When they lifted the blankets and sheets from the bed, they carefully folded them so no trace evidence would be lost.
Allan gave them the diary and then headed for the second bedroom. It was much like the first one, only absent the night table. The blind was drawn, the bed neatly made.
Jewelry, cosmetics, and perfume covered the top of the dresser. One thing among the items caught Allan’s eye. Moving closer, he looked down at a glass ashtray. Inside it lay four crumpled cigarette butts.
Allan called out, “Jim. Come here, please.”
Jim poked his head in the doorway. “Yes, Detective?”
“Can you gather up these butts and forward them to Serology?”
“Purpose?”
“I believe these belong to Trixy Ambré. The lady who went missing a few days ago. We don’t have a blood type listed for her. If the lab can extract DNA material from these filters, we’ll not only have her blood type, but also a genetic profile of her in case we ever need one to identify remains found. God forbid.”
“We’ll need verification that it’s her DNA.”
Allan thought a moment. “There will be blood drawn from Cathy Ambré. Have Serology compare hers with Trixy’s. They’re full siblings. So they’ll share fifty percent of their DNA.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
Within moments Jim came into the room with his field kit. He used a pair of tweezers to pick out the butts from the ashtray and place them in separate containers.
While he did that, Allan continued his search of the bedroom. He found nothing of value in the dresser drawers. Under the bed he duly noted an empty suitcase. Near the headboard, he found two photo albums. Quickly, he looked through them. Faces of someone’s life with no names stared out at him. Grade-school portraits of both Trixy and Cathy. Vacation photos. Christmas photos. Two little girls in Halloween costumes: one as a witch, the other as Cinderella. Ten people spanning three generations captured inside a single frame.
The closet turned up no clues. Hands on his hips, Allan looked around the room one last time. There was nothing more to search.
He went out to the hallway and walked up to Malone.
“I’m heading out now,” he said.
“Okay, Detective.” Malone gave him the clipboard. “Jim and Harvey are just about finished here.”
Allan timed out. “Enjoy your time off.”
Malone smiled. “I will, thanks.”
The corridor was empty of tenants. When Allan went outside the air seemed cooler. At some point, it had rained again. Around him came the sounds of water beating a steady cadence in gutters.
Allan climbed behind the wheel of his car and started the engine. Before pulling away, he checked his notebook to verify the address of Cathy Ambré’s parents.
