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Halifax, October 23
1:10 p.m.
Allan feared it would happen. Resources stretched thin. Focus pulled in too many directions. Valuable time wasted chasing wrong leads. All because of a composite sketch that might resemble a man of interest. “Might” being the operative word.
Since the department released the sketch on Thursday, over a hundred calls had flooded the hotline. Officers manning the phones were told to evaluate the calls and assign them a priority level based on the information gathered.
Allan sat at his desk, reading over tips from the last twelve hours. It was a frustrating task, but part and parcel of an investigation that seemed to be racing toward a brick wall at one hundred miles per hour.
Some tips were downright absurd—the composite resembled a man someone knew fifteen years ago or an ex-husband who refused to pay alimony. You’d be surprised at how many calls came in like that.
The remaining tips were well intentioned but nothing to raise your heart rate. One caller swore she’d seen the suspect in a line at Costco. Another saw him at Home Depot buying lumber. Someone else from Moncton was certain the man lived four doors down from her. He had a reputation as a social misfit and wore a hoodie all the time.
Allan leaned back in the chair with a heavy sigh. Most of the tips had to be checked out regardless of how useless they appeared. Sometimes the smallest piece could lead you to the bigger picture.
Allan doubted that would happen here. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he shut his eyes.
He saw Mary Driscow. He saw Kate Saint-Pierre. He tried to see the killer but saw only dark.
A knock at the door startled him. It was Audra.
“Hey,” she said. “Got something.”
Allan looked at the sheaf of paper in her hand. “Something good?”
Audra flicked her eyebrows. “Anonymous tip. Caller said the suspect is an acquaintance named Rube.”
Allan straightened in the chair. “That rings a bell.”
“His actual name is Reuben Forbes.” Audra began typing on Allan’s computer. “Thirty-two years old. Has a lengthy record that began at sixteen. Assault. Marijuana possession. Breaking and entering. Failure to appear in court.
“He wasn’t incarcerated last October, either. Released the August before.”
When Forbes’s picture came up on Allan’s monitor, he immediately recognized him.
“He was one of the parolees I looked into during the Driscow investigation. Never seemed like a viable suspect.”
Audra looked hopeful. “He resembles the composite. To an extent.”
Allan didn’t see it.
“Jaw and chin is similar,” Audra said. “Nose...kinda.”
“Doesn’t look much like Clark Kent.”
Audra smiled. “Or Brad Pitt.”
“Clattenburg didn’t recognize him in our mug book.”
Audra crossed her arms, frowned. “But you know the more pictures you look at, the less likely you’ll see the person you’re looking for.”
Allan held her gaze. “You know how I feel about witness memory. People suck at identifying strangers.”
“I know, Al. I know.” She looked back to the picture, chewing on her lip. “Height is in the ballpark. Eye color.”
“He’s a bit light. One-sixty soaking wet.”
“Picture’s over a year old. He could’ve put on a few pounds.”
Allan spread his hands.
Audra added, “He does have a little history of violence.”
“Nothing against women, though. A couple scrums outside nightclubs, if I remember correctly.”
“We have to check him out.”
Allan silently appraised her. She was the epitome of confidence. He knew she had the never-say-die attitude. She’d turn over every stone in the pursuit of revealing a suspect. Combine that with a nimble mind and interview skills, and you had yourself an excellent detective. Yet there were times she got a bit too overzealous.
“I admire your optimism,” he told her. “But this guy is a waste of time.”
Even as those words flowed from his mouth, Allan could feel the doubt waking up inside his skull again, the second-guessing beginning to eat its way through his brain.
He was almost certain Reuben Forbes had nothing to do with the murders. But what if he was wrong? What if he’d been wrong a year ago? That catastrophic mistake would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Probably,” Audra said. “But it’s worth a shot, right?”
Allan looked at the picture of Forbes again, a knot twisting in his gut. “Keep an open mind.”
Audra winked. “Exactly.”
A short drive took them to a nondescript building on Gottingen Street. The main floor housed The Good Food Emporium. The top floor had a series of bedrooms rented out by low-income people or those living on the fringe of society. They shared a kitchen and bathroom.
Police knew the property well. They’d been there over one hundred fifty times for reports of fights, thefts, drug use, and sexual assaults.
Reuben Forbes stayed in room number 5.
As Allan followed Audra down a tight hallway, he noticed something off about each door.
“No locks,” he said. “Aren’t they required?”
Audra nodded. “I don’t think this place is on the up and up.”
They reached the room. Audra knocked.
There came a rustling inside, then the door opened to reveal Reuben Forbes. In the flesh, he looked even less like the sketch. And when Allan saw Audra’s face go slack, he knew she saw it too.
Forbes had stoner’s eyes—baggy and bloodshot. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt. His hair was cropped close to his skull, and there was the silhouette of a bird tattooed near his left temple. Steel tunnels inserted in his earlobes allowed you to see right through them.
Allan glanced at the man’s hands and forearms. No cuts or scratches.
The room behind him was tiny. Clothes littered the bed. One door on the wardrobe closet hung askew. The window had a cracked pane. A kerosene heater sat on the floor below it.
Allan’s cell phone rang. The display revealed a local number. He stepped away to take the call.
The man on the other end identified himself as Cameron Page, an analyst with the provincial ViCLAS Center. He told Allan he’d made a potential link to another unsolved murder in Huntsville, Ontario. Allan shot a glance at Audra, but she was busy talking to Forbes.
Allan asked in a hushed tone, “Who’s the lead investigator in that case?”
“Denis Gagnon,” Page said. “I’ll give you his number.”
Allan wrote it down.
“I was just talking to him,” Page added. “He’s expecting your call.”
“Thank you,” Allan said.
As he hung up, he saw Reuben Forbes close his door on Audra.
“What’d you say to him?” he asked.
“Asked him if he was Anthony Stevens.”
“Anthony Stevens?”
Face pinched, Audra tossed her hands up in the air. “First name that popped into my head. You were right, Al. He’s a waste of time.”
Allan knew she was frustrated, pissed off even. She brushed past him, heading for the exit.
“Hey,” he called out.
Audra stopped and looked over her shoulder at him.
“ViCLAS called me,” he said.
“Oh?”
He walked up next to her. “They made a possible link to another case.”
“Where at this time?”
“Ontario.”
Audra jerked her head back. “Whoa. Three provinces away.”
“I know,” he said, skeptical himself.
They went outside, stopping by the car. Audra leaned against it, tilting her face to the sun, as Allan took out his cell phone. He dialed the number Cameron Page had given him.
The voice that answered was tinged with a French accent. Allan introduced himself.
“Detective Stanton,” Denis Gagnon said. “I was a bit surprised when ViCLAS contacted me. A bit excited too.”
“What are these possible links they made to one of your cases?”
“Two, actually.”
“Pardon?”
“Two cases. They don’t know about the second one.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Li Chen is the case ViCLAS found similarities in. He was a thirty-two-year-old Chinese immigrant. Worked here as a sales manager for Sandvik Mining.
“We found his body in Arrowhead Provincial Park sixteen months ago. He was strangled with a ligature. Had his fingertips cut off.”
Listening, Allan felt a weird frisson down his back. “Was his body posed?”
“Posed?”
“You know. Did the suspect position the body a certain way—”
“No, no,” Denis said. “Not any of that here.”
“Any sex involved?”
“None of that either. Chen was at the park to take pictures. According to his family, he was a budding photographer. We figured the killer ambushed him on Stubbs Falls Trail while he was taking pictures from the bridge. The killer then dragged or carried Chen’s body into the brush twenty-five yards away. We later found his camera downstream, caught up on some rocks.”
Allan said, “He hid the body to delay discovery.”
“Yes.”
Similar MO, Allan thought with cautious hope. Similar hunting areas. But different choices of victims. Coincidence or not?
“Was the camera salvageable?” he asked.
“It was damaged, but we managed to get pictures off the memory card. Nothing beneficial. No people from the park. His last photos were of the falls.”
“We need to meet,” Allan said. “Compare notes.”
“Definitely. I’ll come to you. Never been to Halifax. Maybe the salty air will help my sinuses.”
Allan noticed Audra looking at him now. He gave her a shrug, and she gave him a weak smile.
“I’ll pack up everything today,” Denis added. “Catch a flight out tomorrow. Sound like a plan?”
“Sure does.”
“See you then, Detective.”
“Wait,” Allan said. “This other case you mentioned. Tell me about it.”
“Her name was Hailey Pringle. Twenty-four years old. She worked as a housekeeper for Arowhon Pines.
“Four years ago, a park superintendent found her body in Arrowhead. Beaver Meadow Trail that time. The suspect bludgeoned her with a heavy object. Likely a rock. We think he threw it into the beaver pond. We never found it.”
“He left her body on the trail?”
“Yes.”
“What are the similarities?”
“Location,” Denis said.
Allan frowned. “That it?”
“My gut.” Denis paused a moment. “My gut tells me it’s the same guy.”
