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Halifax, October 27
11:55 a.m.
Ted Taylor’s face stared up from below the murky water, his features contorted by fear and disbelief, his eyes bulging from their sockets. White froth was still visible around his nose and mouth.
Audra pushed the photograph aside and picked up another. This one showed a long-range shot of the body lying face-up on the bank of a beaver pond, the head submerged in the water.
“Rare,” she said.
“Pardon?”
She tossed her gaze over to Denis. “Murder by drowning. You see it done to children, not adult males.”
“Oh, yes.” He nodded. “This guy isn’t afraid to get physical.”
Audra said, “Hmm, maybe that’s his turn-on.”
“Take a look at this,” Allan said, sliding an autopsy photo across the table to her.
The close-up revealed a light bruise straight across the underside of Taylor’s jaw.
“Ligature,” she said.
Allan shook his head. “The ME’s report says the suspect used an object to push Taylor’s head under the water. Most likely a hiking pole or walking stick.”
“Any other injuries?”
“Contusions to the back of the neck.” Allan found the autopsy photo and gave it to her. “Blunt-force injury.”
Audra studied the picture. More prominent than the other bruise, two linear contusions ran parallel to each other, with normal-looking skin in between.
“He struck him from behind first,” she said. “Probably to stun him.”
Allan said, “Seems like it.”
Audra asked Denis, “How far is Rushing River from Huntsville?”
His eyebrows shot up. “A good seventeen hundred klicks. It’s in Kenora. Northwestern Ontario.”
“Long drive.”
“Oh shit, yeah. Tack on an extra hundred fifty, two hundred klicks if he was coming from Toronto.”
Reading a report, Allan said, “Ident managed to cast some footwear impressions around the body. They identified the undersole as belonging to a Merrell hiking boot. Size ten.”
Audra asked, “Any suspects?”
“One,” Denis said. “A local goon named Gordon McLeod. Was known to frequent Rushing River. But OPP couldn’t find any evidence on him.”
“Wrong shoe size?”
“Not sure.”
“Did he have any priors?”
“Lots.”
“Violent crimes?”
Denis referred to a report in his hands. “Some were. He had a few charges for assault and battery. One at Rushing River.”
Audra chimed in. “Were his crimes limited to the Kenora area?”
“Yes,” Denis said.
With a weighted sigh, Allan sat back in the chair. Audra could see the frustration scrunching up his face, pumping the muscles at the sides of his jaw.
The investigation left little to cheer about. The passenger lists they had gathered from the different airlines turned out to be a waste of time. After cross-referencing hundreds of names, they couldn’t find a recurring one.
They had reviewed thirteen unsolved murder cases since yesterday. Five were added to the “maybe” pile—three from Ontario, two from Quebec.
They had rejected the other eight because all had been sexual murders, with DNA being found in three cases.
The victims, all females, had been either shot or stabbed. Their races varied from Caucasian, to African-Canadian, to Aboriginal. Four of them had been transported from other murder sites and dumped in parks, with no attempt to conceal the bodies. One victim had been eviscerated.
Audra wondered if looking into the unsolved murders had been a mistake. Were the cases they picked out even connected to the Chen and Pringle murders, let alone the two in Halifax? Maybe each case stood alone, unrelated to any of the others. Maybe the similarities they thought they saw were mere coincidences.
“What do you think, guys?” she asked. “Add it to the maybe pile?”
Denis rubbed his jaw. “Well...I don’t know.”
Grimacing, Allan gave a slight shake of his head.
“Me either,” he said. “Same as the other five.”
Audra paused. “Taylor’s murder takes place eight months after Hailey Pringle. Seventeen hundred kilometers away in Rushing River Provincial Park.
“Victim is a twenty-eight-year-old male. Body left as is. No theft. No sex. No defensive wounds. No DNA under the fingernails. And the suspect uses a different method of killing.”
Audra felt Allan nudge her foot under the table. When she looked at him, he mouthed, “Chen.”
She agreed. There were distinct similarities with that case. There were also distinct differences.
Denis said, “Maybe he changes up the way he kills to avoid detection.”
“Let’s consider it is one man,” Allan said. “Look at the real estate he’s been covering. How’s he do it? Is he employed in a job that allows him to travel from province to province?”
Audra had thought about that. “Maybe he’s a long-haul truck driver.”
“I can’t see it,” Denis said. “They’re under tight deadlines. If this guy is traveling to these areas, he’s spending a few days there anyway. Has to be.”
“Maybe he’s a sales rep,” Allan said.
Audra said, “Could be an auditor. Consultant. Photographer.”
“Or like you suggested the other day,” Allan said to her. “A transient.”
Audra shrugged. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
Denis said, “He travels to avoid detection and confuse law enforcement.”
Audra exhaled. “Then why return to Halifax?”
“To taunt us,” Allan said.
“You might be right, Al.”
“Let’s add the case to the maybe pile,” he said. “Who’s next?”
As Audra gathered up the contents of Ted Taylor’s file, Denis opened another folder.
“Marian Duffy,” he said. “Twenty-nine years old. Murdered in Pancake Bay Provincial Park on August seventeenth, two thousand nine. Six weeks after Li Chen’s murder.”
“Two months before Mary Driscow’s,” Allan said. “Two months to the date.”
Audra waited as he picked out the autopsy report before she took the crime-scene reports and photos.
She asked Denis, “Where’s Pancake Bay?”
“On Lake Superior. Seventy, eighty klicks north of Sault Sainte Marie. And before you ask, it’s about six hundred klicks from Huntsville.”
Audra smiled. “I gotcha.”
The first photos revealed the body of Marian Duffy lying face-up on mossy ground, surrounded by tall ferns. She was a pretty woman with a heart-shaped face and ringleted hair. She wore an orange tank top and blue running shorts with pink stripes on the sides.
Allan read details off the autopsy report. “Abrasions over the mouth. Contusions on the inner surface of the lips. Contusions over the ribcage. Petechia present. Cyanosis of the fingernail beds.
“The ME attributed death to smothering with traumatic asphyxia.” Allan looked up, incredulous. “The suspect sat on Duffy’s chest and put his hands over her nose and mouth.”
Audra chewed on the inside of her lip. “Burking,” she said.
Allan nodded. “How fucking rare is that?”
“About as rare as homicidal drowning.” Audra referred to the crime-scene report. “Says here there were signs of a scuffle in the dirt of Lookout Trail. No distinct footprints or patterns, though.”
Denis asked, “Any mention of theft?”
“No theft. Wedding ring was still on her finger. Car keys in the pocket of her shorts.”
“Body left as is?”
Audra shook her head. “Concealed. He dragged her into the ferns.”
Allan said, “The ME found no evidence of sexual interaction.”
The boardroom fell quiet. Audra found herself at a loss for words as her mind raced so hard, it felt ready to break into pieces. She saw the stony expression on Allan’s face as he stared downward, his right hand repeatedly clenching into a fist and loosening. Denis had his elbow on the tabletop, his hand curled under his chin. There was a thoughtful cast to his eyes.
Allan spoke first. “One man. That’s the question.”
Audra looked at him.
Denis said, “The more of these cases I look at, the more I believe it is one man.”
“Assumptions,” Audra said. “They can be dangerous.”
“What do you believe?” Denis asked.
“Hmm...I don’t know. I’m quite certain the same man killed Mary Driscow and Kate Saint-Pierre. But these other cases...if one man is responsible, Jesus Christ, what type of psychopath are we dealing with?”
Allan said, “When I look at the Duffy case, I see a suspect who exhibits control. He’s organized. He knows what he’s doing—”
“He’s lethal,” Denis cut in.
“How’d he get so lethal?” Allan asked him. “Practice? Special training?”
Denis spread his hands, said nothing.
“I’m not saying the same man is behind it all,” Allan continued. “We can’t say for sure. But when I look at the other five cases we picked out, I see the same type of organized behavior.”
“Six,” said Denis.
“What?”
“Six cases now that we added Taylor’s.”
“Right,” Allan said. “Six. Marian Duffy will make it seven.”
“What about case linkage?” Audra asked. “We have different victim selections. Different methods of killing. Different locations. Different use of weapons.”
Allan shrugged. “Then why are we here?”
Audra stared at him for a long moment. She flinched when her cell phone rang. The name on the display gave her pause.
“Captain,” she answered. “What can I do for you?”
“Can you come down to my office for a sec?” Thorne asked. “It’s important.”
“Be right down.”
When she hung up, Allan tipped his head to the side.
“Who was that?”
“Thorne. Wants to see me.”
“Uh-oh,” Denis said. “You in trouble now. Called to the principal’s office.”
Audra gave him a smile. “I can handle him.”
Thorne was seated behind his desk when Audra walked into his office.
“What’s this about?” she asked.
“Just got wind of another case.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “It’s a little out of your search parameters right now. But I thought you guys would want to see it.”
As Audra read over the details, she felt the strangest sensation. She lifted a shaky hand to her forehead.
“Jesus,” she said.
Thorne sat back in his chair. “That was my reaction too.”
She went back to the boardroom, trying to process the information.
“What’d Thorne want?” Allan asked her.
Audra drew a breath. “He just got word of another murder case. A body was found in a park a couple of hours ago. Autopsy hasn’t been done yet, so the information’s preliminary. Right now, it looks like the victim was strangled. And his body was dragged into a stand of trees.”
Allan perked up in his seat. “Where?”
Audra slid the paper across the table to him.
“Kimberley, BC,” she said. “Victim’s name is Guillaume Mills.”
