One Kill Away Page 13

  Allan did. He found a small piece of plywood and some bricks to prop it up on. He and Brian set up the ramp in the backyard. The monster truck tore through the grass with ease. It would leap several feet off the ramp, sometimes landing on all four tires, sometimes crashing.

  They played with it until 7:45, at which time they put the plywood and bricks back inside the garage.

  As Allan walked Brian to the back steps, he asked, “How about a movie tomorrow night? Something different.”

  “What one?”

  Allan chuckled, spread his hands. “I don’t know. Is there one you wanted to see?”

  Brian frowned. “Shrek. Forever…uhm…” He fidgeted, struggling for the word.

  “Forever After?” Allan said.

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “I’ll check the paper tomorrow to see if it’s here.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  Allan kissed the top of his head. “Good night, son. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  Brian laughed. “We don’t have bedbugs.” He climbed the steps to the backdoor. “Bye, Dad.”

  “See you tomorrow. Have a good day at school.”

  Brian went inside with his truck and controller in his arms. When the door closed, Allan’s gaze shifted to the kitchen window and he noticed Melissa there, watching him. There was something sad in her eyes, he saw. At once, she looked away and drifted from view.

  Allan continued to stare at the empty glass.

  22

  Dartmouth, June 10

  5:33 p.m.

  The kitchen light was on.

  Seth stood in the wet parking lot, staring at the back door of the apartment. His mouth was dry, his stomach clenched tight. Rain pelted a deafening cadence on the hood of his raincoat.

  For months, Todd Dory had been a face with no name. A face Seth had seared into his brain and saw in his dreams every night. A face he’d wanted to pound with his fists until he heard the bones crunch into pieces.

  He saw that face again on TV a few weeks ago, emerging from a Halifax courthouse alongside a greasy shyster in a cheap suit and striped tie.

  The news anchor told viewers, “Suspected gang member, Todd Dory, is a free man today. Charges of armed robbery were dropped after the Crown’s sole witness recants her testimony.”

  Charges dropped. Free man. That was perfect. Seth could hardly believe his luck. Where the court failed, he would make sure Dory received his due punishment. Make him wish he had gone to prison.

  Finding him in Halifax turned out to be easier than expected. Seth went online and checked the virtual white pages. It listed the address of the building Dory lived in, just not his apartment number.

  In a rental car, Seth began staking out the place. He’d sit and watch for two or three-hour stretches. Eventually, Dory showed himself, opening his door to a dark-haired woman with colorful tattoos on her arms. In that moment, Seth fought the impulse to kill him right there and then. That would’ve been a mistake; the woman was a witness. He didn’t have it in him to kill her too. She had nothing to do with this. She probably never even knew what a shit stain on humanity Todd Dory was.

  Seth continued to watch him over the coming days, switching up rental cars so no one in the neighborhood would notice the same one hanging around.

  He needed to learn Dory’s movements. The car he drove. Where he went. When he was home alone.

  Like he was on this night.

  Seth took the shotgun from the duffel bag and thumbed off the safety. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he approached the back door. His heart pounded as he raised his fist and knocked.

  A voice, hard to hear over the rain, called out from inside. “Who is it?”

  “Police,” Seth said. “We received a nine-one-one disconnect at this address.”

  As the words spilled from his mouth and entered the atmosphere, he wondered if the ruse would even work. Who else would you open the door to at one-thirty in the morning, if not the cops thinking you were in trouble?

  “Never came from here, my man.”

  Seth knocked again. “We have to respond to all nine-one-one hang-ups. Open the door, please.”

  It grew quiet inside.

  Ten seconds passed.

  Twenty.

  Worried, Seth said, “Sir, I need to make sure everything is all right. If they gave me the wrong address, I need to let them know right away. Time’s a wasting.”

  Thirty seconds.

  Seth heard the metallic scrape of the deadbolt sliding free and his grip tightened on the shotgun. Adrenaline surged through his blood like fuel. He moved back a bit, unlocking his knees and bracing himself.

  Dory cracked the door an inch and Seth threw his shoulder into it, knocking it open. Dory went stumbling back, wide-eyed, holding both empty palms to the air. In one fluid motion, Seth brought the shotgun up into a firing position, training the bead at the end of the barrel on Dory’s forehead.

  “Whoa,” Dory said. “What the fuck?”

  “I knew I’d find you,” Seth said in a voice tight with anger.

  Eyes locked on his target, he swept the door shut with his foot.

  Dory’s hands shook. “Easy, man. I don’t know you. Whatcha want?”

  Seth’s finger tightened on the trigger. He wanted to shoot. Blow this man’s brains all over the wall behind him. Eight months he had lived for this moment. Dreamed of it.

  Slowly, he took his left hand off the fore end of the shotgun, reached up, and pulled his hood back. There was a sharp intake of breath as Dory’s mouth fell open and recognition crept into his eyes.

  Seth nodded. “Now you remember.” He motioned the shotgun toward the kitchen table. “Sit the fuck down.”

  Seth snapped out of his reverie. He was back on Primrose Street, sitting in a different rental car, a low-end sedan this time. Nothing too fancy for this side of town.

  He had parked in the lot of a Sobeys grocery store, half a block away, choosing a spot by a maple tree with large, overhanging branches. The thick trunk blocked him from people’s view as they drove past on the street.

  Seth sat in the passenger seat, like he was just waiting for someone. He wore his ball cap with the bill pulled low on his forehead. His binoculars lay by his leg and he’d bring them up to his face whenever he saw someone go inside or come out of Blake Kaufman’s apartment building. In the time Seth had been there, three people had gone in, one had come out. None were Blake Kaufman.

  As Seth looked over the apartment building, he knew it was high-risk. He couldn’t go inside because someone might see him. The other seven apartments were full of witnesses. And what if Kaufman didn’t live alone like Dory had? What if there was a wife or girlfriend in there? Even worse, kids?

  Seth shook his head. Kaufman was within his grasp, yet so many obstacles stood in the way. Should he just take the first opportunity to kill him? It was temptingly simple, but came with a lot of uncertainty. The best option would be to get Kaufman outside somewhere, alone. Ambush him when he least expected it.

  Seth saw a silver PT cruiser come out of the parking lot. The driver hung his arm out the window and Seth stared at it. Muscled. Clearly tattooed. As the car drew closer, Seth could make out the skull in the top hat, the smoking cigar clamped between white teeth. The man behind the wheel wore shades and a red bandana cap.

  Seth’s mouth went dry. His heart raced. Utterly still, he watched Blake Kaufman drive past. So close, he thought, and no shotgun, no knife. Without them, he felt weak and powerless.

  He slid over to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and swung the car around. Kaufman had stopped for the red light at the intersection of Victoria Street and Primrose. The left turn signal flashed.

  Seth waited in the parking lot until the traffic light turned green, then pulled out. The PT Cruiser shot forward and headed south on Victoria Road. Seth followed at a safe distance, keeping the needle below the speed limit. Three cars whipped past him and tucked in behind Kaufman.

  They continu
ed to Nantucket Avenue and straight down to the MacDonald Bridge. Kaufman eased into the traffic piled up at the toll plaza.

  Seth dug a loonie from a front pocket and coasted into the far lane. The slow procession of cars ahead of him moved forward like a drive-thru lineup, creeping gradually in stops and starts. By the time Seth reached the tollbooth, Kaufman had already gone through. The dash clock read 5:52.

  Seth tossed the loonie into the coin bucket and the padded gate lifted. On the other side of the plaza, the five lanes merged into one snarled with traffic. The two opposing lanes looked even worse.

  Kaufman was on the deck of the bridge now, following the slow convoy across. Seth inched closer to the single lane when a Good Samaritan waved him on. Cutting into place, he counted nine cars between him and Kaufman.

  To his left, the sun glittered on the aqua water of the harbor. Seth saw a ferry pulling away from the Halifax Terminal. To his right, two sailboats were blowing down The Narrows, a bottleneck channel that connected the Halifax Harbor to the Bedford Basin. It was the same area where the two ships collided in the Halifax Explosion back in 1917.

  Seth reached the back span of the bridge, the city of Halifax looming larger in his windshield. He watched Kaufman hang a right at the first exit. It looped between the concrete pillars under and the bridge and connected to Barrington Street.

  Seth feared he’d soon lose him. Once Kaufman reached Barrington, he had two directions to choose from: left took him to Bedford; right took him into downtown Halifax.

  Seth came around the loop. He didn’t see Kaufman anywhere. On a guess, he kept to the right and merged into the lanes toward the inner city. Traffic was much lighter going in than coming out. He signaled into the left lane and punched the gas, shooting past other cars.

  Farther up the street, he saw the PT Cruiser stopped for a red light. The light changed and Kaufman took off again. Seth edged into the right lane, following.

  The road forked and four cars in front drifted to the right, taking the on-ramp for the Cogswell Interchange, a labyrinth of concrete highways and overpasses. Kaufman continued straight toward Hollis Street and into the city’s financial district. There was a lot of historic architecture here—Neoclassic, Italianate, and Victorian Eclectic. Some buildings, empty with their windows papered over, bespoke the economic hardships and changing markets.

  Kaufman turned left on George Street, heading downhill for the waterfront. Seth couldn’t make the light in time and he smacked his palm on the steering wheel. Helpless, he watched Kaufman disappear once more.

  When the light turned, Seth stomped on the gas. The good thing about Upper Water Street was that it traveled one way, eliminating any guesswork as to where Kaufman had gone.

  The street buzzed with activity. People filled the sidewalks. Cars lined the curbs. Seth drove slowly, his eyes seeking out the PT Cruiser. Eventually, he spotted it again, idling at the courtyard of Historic Properties. Some dark-haired broad in a white blouse and black slacks approached the car. She carried a plastic grocery bag, bulging with what looked to be takeout containers.

  Seth watched her open the passenger door and hop inside. Then Kaufman sped off. Seth managed to follow him back over the bridge into Dartmouth. It became obvious Kaufman was returning home.

  Seth wondered about the woman. Who was she? Kaufman’s wife? Girlfriend? Regardless, the apartment building was off limits. No question now.

  Seth would try to get Kaufman alone somewhere. Either outside the building or another location. It didn’t matter where. He would use the shotgun first. He would hold it steady and pull the trigger, aiming to maim, not to kill. Then he would use the knife.

  And Blake Kaufman would be dead.

  23

  Halifax, June 12

  9:20 a.m.

  Daphne wrapped the ends of the extension cord around her hands and pulled it into a tight line in front of her. Through a film of tears, she stared at it as if hypnotized.

  You win, she thought. I can’t take this anymore.

  It was an escape—the only one available to end the pain. Right now, that’s all she wanted.

  Her poor mother, her poor father. It broke her heart to think of them. They loved her so much and she’d let them down. Destroyed all the ambitions they had for her. Leaving them behind was the only thing that made this difficult. She never wanted to hurt them. But they were strong and brave, unlike her. They’d get through it. She just prayed they would forgive her and not blame themselves.

  The bedroom was shadowed, the blinds drawn. Volume turned low, Regina Spektor’s buoyant voice, backed by the soft balm of a piano, spilled from the stereo.

  Daphne heard a faint thump, like a car door closing outside, then the windup of a motor. She unwrapped the cord from her hands and got off the bed, walked over to the window. Cracking the blinds, she saw her father’s Sonata backing out of the driveway. Her mother’s Impala was still home.

  The morning was misty. Beads of dew covered the front lawn. Ribbons of fog lingered, snagged in treetops under a dreary sky.

  Eyes sad, Daphne watched the taillights of her father’s car disappear down the street.

  “Bye, Dad.”

  She left her bedroom and paused at the top of the staircase, one hand on the banister. The house felt quiet, still. She wondered where her mother was.

  She went down the stairs. There was no one in the living room. As she entered the kitchen, she heard papers rustling. The French door to the den was cracked open. A light reflected on the square panels of glass.

  Daphne tiptoed closer and saw her mother sitting inside, captured in the light of a desk lamp. She wore khaki slacks and a crisp, white shirt, making were look so pretty and professional as she pored over her files. Daphne wished she could be more like her. Tough. Determined. Successful.

  For a time, she stood there, watching her. She remembered a little girl blowing bubbles into glasses of milk with her mother, both of them making a mess all over the kitchen table and laughing without a care in the world. She remembered cuddling next to her mother in bed at storytime and falling asleep to the soothing sound of her voice. She remembered watching her mother reaching into the oven and taking out the first pan of chocolate chip cookies they had baked together.

  Daphne bit down on her lip, fighting that urge to weep. She could feel it there in her chest, a physical pain, blowing up like a balloon, wanting to pour out of her.

  I’m so sorry, Mom. So sorry.

  < < < > > >

  Audra leaned back in the leather chair with a sigh. The Todd Dory murder investigation had run into the proverbial brick wall. No physical evidence. Only one witness who hadn’t seen the suspect’s face. And a grainy surveillance video the lab probably couldn’t do anything with. The rainy night had played into the suspect’s favor. Besides, he’d known the camera’s presence and took steps not to show himself.

  Audra found herself second-guessing everything she did. What had she missed? Was there something she wasn’t looking at that she should be?

  She glanced at her watch, 9:31. Perhaps she could catch Lee Higgins at home. So far he’d been elusive the past few days—she hadn’t been able to catch up with him.

  She gathered up her files, stacked them together. As she put them inside her briefcase, she caught a glimpse of Daphne through the glass of the French door. Audra looked over at her. Daphne gazed back with a distant, dreamy look spread across her face.

  Audra frowned. Since Daphne had been sick on Thursday morning, she seemed to be coming around. Yesterday, she’d begun to eat more, appeared more relaxed, more like her old self. Perhaps her time away from school did it. Would she become more symptomatic Sunday evening or Monday morning when another school day loomed in front of her?

  Audra wished her daughter would just open up, tell her what was going on.

  She swiveled her chair around and flashed Daphne a smile, lifted a hand to acknowledge her. Daphne blinked, as if seeing her for the first time. She opened the door and took a
few steps inside, fingers playing with the hem of her sweatshirt.

  “Hi, honey,” Audra said. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing, Mom. Are you going to work?”

  “Yeah. I have some interviews to do. What about you? What’s on your agenda for today?”

  Daphne looked up and away. “Umm…reading. I might go for a walk later if it doesn’t rain.”

  “Yeah? Well that’s good, honey. Fresh air and exercise will do you wonders.”

  Daphne hesitated. “Where’d Dad go?”

  “Went over to Canadian Tire to buy a nozzle for the hose. Ours is leaking.”

  “How long will he be?”

  Audra shrugged. “Hour or so. Why?”

  Daphne’s gaze shifted toward the windows fronting the street, her eyes growing small. “No reason. Just wondering.”

  “Oh.”

  Audra waited, but Daphne said nothing more. She spun around to her desk and snapped off the lamp, closed her briefcase. To her surprise, Daphne came up behind her and began silently rubbing her shoulders. Audra didn’t ask why, just thought it odd. When Daphne finished, she kissed Audra on top of the head.

  “I love you, Mom,” she said.

  Audra tipped back in her chair, staring up into her face. “I love you too, honey.”

  Daphne smiled down at her, but there was something pensive and unhappy about her eyes.

  “Everything okay?” Audra asked.

  The smile stayed on Daphne’s face. “Fine. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  She pulled away and Audra watched her walk out of the den with a slow, shuffling gait.

  Why don’t you talk to me, girl? Let me help you.

  Audra stared at the empty doorway, feeling a dull ache of worry and sympathy in the pit of her stomach, deeper than hunger.

  < < < > > >

  Daphne went into her room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Bending forward, she rested her forehead on clasped hands. Tears fell from her eyes and she watched them drop into the carpet at her feet. This was going to be tough. The toughest thing she’d ever done.