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Halifax, June 9
10:54 a.m.
“This might be nothing, but I saw someone. A man.”
Audra felt her hope take a spike. “Where?”
“Out on Morris Street.”
“What time was this?”
“Had to be after two in the morning. Two fifteen. ’Round there.”
Audra paused, studying the woman in the doorway. Her name was Janelle Gurnard. She lived on the second floor of a double three-decker that sat right around the corner from the apartment building Todd Dory had been murdered in.
Dressed in a crimson nursing tee untucked over black jeggings, Janelle was pale and slender, with dirty-blonde hair tied back off her neck. She looked barely out of her teens. Probably a single mom on government aid. Audra didn’t see any sign a male lived at the apartment.
In the living room behind her, a toddler girl in a pink nightdress sat on the couch watching Sesame Street. Plastic toys and stuffed animals were scattered across the floor in front of her. Close by, an infant boy lay in a crib, kicking his legs while looking around and cooing.
“Can you describe this man?” Audra asked, poising her pen over a fresh page in her notebook.
“A little, but it was dark and pouring rain at the time. He was dressed all in black. Looked like he had on one of those rain suits. The jacket and pants matched.”
“Did he have a hood over his head?”
Janelle nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Audra winced, a bit deflated. “Did you see his face at all?”
“No. He had his head down the whole time.”
“Are you sure it was a man?”
“Oh yeah. He had wide shoulders and didn’t have that woman’s roundness. Know what I mean?”
“I know. How tall did he look to you?”
“Average height.”
“Five-eight to five-ten?”
“Yeah. Closer to five-ten. I’d say.”
“How about his build?”
“Average. ’Bout a hundred seventy-five pounds.”
Audra wrote down the description. Not much to go on, that was for sure. “Was he carrying anything?”
“Uh-huh. He had a bag over his shoulder.”
Audra paused, looked her straight in the eyes. “What kind of bag?”
“You know, like a gym bag. I thought it odd, ’specially that time of night. I mean, what gym is open, right? Then I heard about the murder Monday night.”
“When did you first learn of it?”
“Last night.” Janelle jabbed a thumb toward next door. “My neighbor said she heard a gang member got shot.”
Audra considered how much information their spokesman had released to the media. Details were kept out to protect confidentiality. There was mention of a possible gang connection but nothing about the mode of murder. With the rash of shootings throughout the city in recent weeks, Audra could see how residents jumped to that conclusion so quickly.
“Is that all you know about the crime?” she asked.
Janelle nodded again. “Yeah.”
“Where were you yesterday?”
“Took the kids over to my mom’s for the day. Came home last night.”
“I see,” Audra said. “How long did that bag look to you?”
Janelle stretched her arms to a length of around three feet. “’Bout that long.”
Audra chewed the inside of her cheek. Depending on the make and model of the shotgun, one could fit inside a bag that long. The axe would be no problem at all.
Audra wrote a few lines in her notebook. She remained cautiously optimistic. This could be a witness or a false lead.
She asked, “Did it have any distinctive markings? Stripes, logos, or writing?”
“I don’t believe so. Think it was all black.”
“Did the man’s clothing have any markings?”
Janelle shook her head.
“Did you notice his footwear?”
Janelle squinted at her. “Uh.” She thought about it. “No, I didn’t. Sorry.”
“Hey, no problem. What were you doing up at that time of night?”
“Sitting in the living room window, feeding my son.”
“Did you see where this man went?”
“He crossed the street in front of my building and went down Birmingham.”
“Did he resemble anyone you recall seeing in the neighborhood before?”
“Nobody I saw before. I see a lot of my neighbors, and he didn’t look like any of them.”
Audra read over the last page in her notebook. Satisfied, she closed it up. It was good to catch so much cooperation for a change. People had a reluctance to volunteer information, and with word out the murder had suspected gang ties, Audra knew many possible witnesses wouldn’t speak up for fear of reprisals.
She thanked Janelle and handed over her card.
“If you think of anything else,” she said, “please call me.”
Janelle gave her a clipped smile. “I will.”
Audra left the building, walking outside into the bright morning. The sun cast gleaming prisms on the windshields and mirrors of cars parked at the curbs. Audra could feel its soothing warmth on her face. Even though less than two weeks remained until summer officially arrived, spring temperatures still gripped the air.
Standing on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building, Audra watched the random bustle of the city pass by: a couple in matching blue jackets entering a Chinese restaurant on the corner of Morris and Birmingham; a bicyclist in spandex and a streamlined helmet whirring past; a woman across the street bending into the back of a car, buckling a toddler into a safety seat. Traffic sounds from adjacent streets came in the forms of engines slowing and revving, horns honking. Disembodied voices of pedestrians talked and laughed.
Audra crossed to the corner of Birmingham and peered down the street. Rows of older, wood-clad houses, many converted into apartments, lined both sides. Trucks and cars were parked at the curbs all the way down to Spring Garden Road, where Birmingham ended. Did the mystery man whom Janelle Gurnard described live in this side-street neighborhood? The area was not part of the initial canvass.
Audra knew she’d have to go to every door and hope to find a little civic help. Maybe she’d even meet this mystery man in the flesh, even rule him out as a person of interest. Coulter had estimated the time of death between one a.m. and four a.m. That gave a three-hour window of probability and it could be even wider. Estimation of time since death wasn’t an exact science like DNA or fingerprints. Too many variables were involved.
Audra walked across Birmingham to the Chinese restaurant. It was a nondescript building that looked like it might’ve been a variety store at one time. The lower half was walled in brick, and someone had sprayed graffiti on it. The upper half was covered in white siding. In the large window facing the street, four pieces of Chinese calligraphy, gold on a red background, were displayed below a neon Open sign.
Audra poked her head in the door, breathing in the savory blend of ginger and garlic and five spice. The restaurant was small, half full of diners. There were white tablecloths and red chairs. Walls heavy in Chinese décor.
Audra checked around for security cameras and winced when she saw only one over the counter area. She’d hoped there’d be one in the window looking out at Birmingham Street.
Her cell phone rang. The number displayed on the screen belonged to Jim Lucas of the Ident Unit.
“Better be good news,” Audra said.
A light chuckle. “Sorry. Not today.”
“What is it?”
“No prints on the axe.”
Audra dropped her head. “Not good.”
“Yeah, I know. Bummer.”
“It’s what we expected though. The suspect or suspects had gloves on.”
Jim sighed. “There’s still hope for the other prints we collected.”
“True. Maybe the gloves came off at some point and something was inadvertently touched.”
Jim paused, and Audra sensed they shared the same thought—sure, how likely was that?
“If so,” Jim answered finally, “we’ll find out.”
“Call me when you have good news,” Audra said.
“You don’t want to hear the rest of the bad news?”
A corner of Audra’s mouth twisted upward. “What else?”
“The maker of the axe was True Temper Kelly Works. Out of the U.S.”
“Let me guess, they’re no longer in business.”
“Long gone. This axe is old, and by old, I mean vintage.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. It probably sat around in someone’s basement or garage for years. Maybe even picked up at a yard sale. Only the suspect knows.”
Audra sighed. “When it rains, it pours.”
“Sorry.”
“Thanks, Jim,” Audra said with a weak smile and hung up.
She cut across Morris again, walking slowly toward the corner of Queen. Her gaze drifted over the building Janelle lived in and then settled on the small parking lot to the left of it. Three out of the five slots were filled. Audra looked toward the front of the cars, where a small embankment rose to a picket fence. On the other side lay the parking area right behind Todd Dory’s apartment, now empty of yesterday’s beehive of activity. Barrier tape formed an X across the doorway, and a crime scene seal had been placed over the door itself, extending across the jamb.
Audra checked her watch: 11:46. She turned to Atlantic News, the magazine shop next door. It backed right up to the parking lot and had a mansard roof with two dormers looking onto Morris. Like the Chinese restaurant, the lower part of the building that accommodated Atlantic News was built in the same red brick used in other old architecture in the city. The upper part, where several apartments were, was covered in white siding.
Yesterday, Audra had interviewed the tenants there. No one had seen or heard anything the night of the murder. Only the hard rain pelting the roof and windows.
Looking over the structure, her gaze froze on an object mounted to the corner of the building about eight feet above the sidewalk—a dome security camera discreetly watching the area.
Something leapt inside her. She stood there, unable to move, staring at the tinted bubble cover of the camera and feeling the mystery man in her blood.
