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Halifax, October 21
9:13 a.m.
“Describe him,” Allan said.
Liam Clattenburg’s fingers drummed on the tabletop. He was a balding man with a small frame and gaunt face. A tattoo on his outer forearm read, “I just felt like running.”
He’d come into the department claiming he might’ve seen the suspect at Point Pleasant Park the morning Kate Saint-Pierre had been murdered.
The first thing Allan did as he and Audra led the man into the interview room was to note the absence of injuries on his exposed skin. No scratches on his face, neck, hands, or forearms to indicate self-defense wounds.
“The guy’s about six feet,” Liam said. “Give or take an inch. My chin came to his shoulders.”
Audra asked, “How tall are you?”
“Five-seven.”
“Estimate his weight,” Allan said.
“One-eightyish. Definitely an ecto-mesomorph.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Well, I’m an ectomorph. He’s bigger than me. But not what I’d call a full mesomorph. Sort of in between. Follow me?”
Allan flicked his gaze to Audra. She lifted her eyebrows at him.
“I think so,” Allan said. “He’s not thick or overly muscular.”
Liam gave him a thumbs-up. “Exactly. Kinda like you, I guess. Only a little taller.”
“He was Caucasian?”
“Yes.”
Audra said, “How about age?”
“Thirty. Thirty-five, maybe. I always find it hard guessing someone’s age.”
“What was he wearing?” Allan asked him.
“Blue hoodie. Black Adidas pants. Three white stripes down the legs. They stuck in my head because I own a couple pairs.”
“Any logos, designs on the hoodie?”
Liam squeezed his brows together. “A white logo on the left chest. Not sure what it was. Definitely not Nike or Adidas. I know those.”
“Did he have the hood up or down?”
“Up. But I did see part of his hair.” Liam pointed to his forehead. “Bangs.”
“What color?”
“Brown.”
Allan listed the details in his notebook. “Do you remember any jewelry on him?”
“I don’t recall.”
“How about his face? Get a good look at it?”
“Pretty much, yeah. I remember him having a strong jawline. Cleft chin.”
“Facial hair?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Eye color.”
A slow smile wriggled across Liam’s face. “Brown. Like a rich espresso.”
Allan paused. “How would you judge his general appearance?”
“Neat. Yeah, he didn’t look dirty. Clothes were clean.”
Audra asked, “Have you seen him at the park before?”
“Uh-uh. Never.”
“And you go there often?”
“Every morning. Seven to eight. I clock fifty miles a week.”
Allan thought about the Mary Driscow case. “And you’re sure you never saw this guy before?”
Liam nodded. “Positive.”
“How long you been going there?”
“Ten years.”
“Every single day?”
“Well, barring a hurricane or major snow storm. Or when I go away.”
“Do you go away frequently?”
“A weekend every month. I drive up to see my parents in Miramichi. My sister in Bouctouche.”
Allan tapped his pen on the notebook. He didn’t want to bring Mary Driscow or last October into the discussion. It could prompt Liam into connecting the dots. Maybe even create a false memory in which he believed he’d seen something.
Allan asked him, “When you’re at the park, do you usually run into the same people?”
“The regulars. That’s what I call them. I know most by name. Some of the irregulars, I know by face.”
Audra asked, “Did you know Mrs. Saint-Pierre?”
“Not by name. Her face. She was an irregular.”
“Ever see her there with anyone?”
“A man. I assumed he was the boyfriend or husband. She was always with him. Not Sunday, though.”
“Did you know his name?”
“Uh-uh. Face.”
“Were there many people at the park Sunday morning?”
Liam twisted his face. “A few. Not a lot.”
“Any regulars you know by name?”
Liam flicked his gaze to the ceiling, back down again. “Two. Steve Foster. And Dustin Marks. He walks Apollo there.”
“What’s that, his dog?”
“Yeah, his Great Dane.”
Allan wrote down the names. “This guy in the hoodie. Why did you remember him so vividly?”
Liam’s eyes brightened. “Uh, because he was a new face. I remember thinking, I never saw this guy here before. Plus...he was a darling.”
Audra said, “A darling?”
Liam snorted. “He was attractive.”
“Okay, I gotcha,” she said. “Whereabouts in the park did you see him?”
“Cambridge Drive. We passed each other.”
Allan leaned into the table, a kernel of hope growing inside him. “What direction was he going?”
“North. I was heading south. Toward the water.”
“What time?”
“Probably seven-fifteen. Thereabouts. It was shortly before I saw Mrs. Saint-Pierre.”
“Where exactly did you see her?”
“Arm Road. Down by the battery. I’d just come off Cambridge.”
“Did you see her go up Cambridge?”
Liam nodded again. “She would’ve been a few minutes behind him. Heading in the same direction.”
Allan felt his breath bottle up in his chest. From the corner of his eye, he saw Audra turn to him then back to Liam.
“Did you have any kind of exchange with this man?” she asked.
“Just pleasantries. I smiled at him. He smiled at me. Most new faces you meet never even make eye contact. He did, though.”
“Would you recognize him in a photo?”
“Oh, yes. Definitely.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Audra left the room. She returned a few minutes later with a mug book in her hands. With any luck, the man Liam saw at the park had been booked for another crime in the past. Allan hoped but had an unsettling feeling the odds were against them.
Audra set the book down in front of Liam. “In here is a collection of photographs. Take as much time as you need with each face before moving to the next one. He may or may not be in here. And he may not appear as he did the day you saw him.”
Liam picked up the book. He gave it one quick leaf through, his eyes growing large, incredulous.
“Holy moly!” he said. “There’s a lot of pictures in here.”
“This could take a while,” Allan said. “Would you like a coffee?”
“Please.”
“What do you take?”
“Black. Three sugars.”
Allan turned to Audra. “Would you like one?”
“I’m fine.”
Allan grabbed two coffees from the lunchroom. When he returned, Liam was hunched over the table, absorbed in the faces before him. Allan set the coffee beside him.
“Thank you,” Liam said without looking up.
Allan took his seat and glanced at his watch: 9:51. He sipped at his coffee, watching Liam flipping the pages. Liam would skim over some faces; others he would stop and study with narrowed eyes.
With each page turned over, Allan felt what little hope he had begin to sputter out. It died when Liam reached the final page.
“Nope,” he said, closing the book. “He’s not in here.”
Allan saw Audra slump her shoulders and lower her head.
“That’s all right,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Audra stood up. “Detective, could I speak to you outside, please?”
“Sure.” Allan looked at Liam. “We’ll be right back.”
Audra led him down the hallway a bit.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“The guy he saw is definitely a person of interest.”
“Oh, for sure.”
Allan drew a breath. “I’m always skeptical when listening to someone describing other people. They overestimate their ability to remember things. Memory isn’t like a video recorder.”
“Well, he did take a shine to Mr. Darling.”
“When you consider the length of their encounter—a few seconds. That’s not enough time for his brain to create a detailed memory.”
“Yeah, but if his memory is even somewhat accurate and he can recognize the guy’s face again, then he just cleared everyone we were looking at.”
Allan felt the truth of that in the pit of his stomach. “You’re right.”
“The time frame works, Al.”
“Location too. Cambridge Drive. That offshoot path connects to it. The man could’ve taken it, circled around, and met Kate Saint-Pierre on his way through.”
“Let’s have Mr. Clattenburg see Erin,” Audra said. “We can take the composite and issue a media appeal to the public. Call the guy a person of interest.”
Allan hesitated. “Hmm, recognizing this man in a mug book is one thing; describing his face to Erin is a whole different animal. Look at how involved that process is. The minutiae he has to remember. When’s the last time a sketch worked for us?”
Audra chewed on her lip. “They have...once or twice.”
“Over how many years? Look at all the time wasted chasing false leads.”
Audra grimaced, shook her head. “Jesus, Al. Why the negative Nelly?”
Allan released a weighted sigh. “Sorry. I’m frustrated. I just want to catch this fucking guy.”
“So do I. And this is the best lead we have right now.”
“I know.”
“Look at it this way—if they can sketch a likeness of the guy, it might be enough for someone out there to recognize him or even remember his clothing.”
Allan nodded. “Let’s roll the dice.”
Audra took out her cell. Allan waited as she called Erin Watson, the department’s sketch artist.
When Audra hung up, she said. “She told us to bring him down.”
“Right now?”
“Yep.”
Allan went back to the interview room. “Mr. Clattenburg, you have anything on the go for the next little while?”
Liam froze, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “What’s up?”
“We’d like to have you meet with our sketch artist. Describe this man to her.”
“How long will it take?”
“Two hours. Three, tops. She doesn’t like to go beyond that. People’s memories can get confused if it drags on too long.”
Liam perked up in the chair. “I’ll do it. When do we start?”
Allan gave him a reluctant smile. “Right now.”
