Sorrowful Road (Detective Allan Stanton Book 3) Page 7

  “What’d she say about it?”

  “That he was a control freak. Had anger issues. Took fits all the time. That’s why she dumped him.”

  Audra considered that. “He probably couldn’t deal with the breakup. So he went out looking for someone to vent his anger on.”

  Allan nodded again. “Exactly. You know some of these guys have low resilience. They can’t cope with rejection, or many of life’s problems, for that matter.”

  “Add in his anger issues, and you have a ticking time bomb.”

  Allan said, “Ashley Decker was known to frequent the Roseland Cabaret. They think Strickland saw her there one night, followed her home, and began watching her place for several days before making his move. Staff at the Roseland recognized him when shown his picture.”

  “Did Lisa Peyton have similar habits of going out?”

  Allan shook his head. “But she did work as a beautician. And guess who one of her frequent clients was.”

  Audra frowned. “Not Strickland?”

  “The ex-girlfriend.”

  “Okay, I gotcha. And Lisa never recognized him?”

  Allan spread his hands. “Maybe they never officially met. Maybe he knew of Ms. Peyton through the girlfriend. Of course, this is all conjecture.”

  “But seems to be more than that, doesn’t it?”

  “For sure.” Allan checked his watch. “Say, do you want to take these files home and brush up on the Driscow case tonight? We can resume first thing in the morning.”

  Audra’s own watch read 8:36 P.M.

  As she watched Allan, something bugged her. She’d always known him to work around the clock, obsessively so, in the first days of a murder investigation. Now he wanted to clock out early.

  She asked, “Is everything okay?”

  Allan ran a hand through his hair, his eyes distant. “There’s something I want to do before it gets too late.”

  Audra shrugged. “Sure, Al. Whatever you feel you need to do.”

  “Thanks.” He paused on his way to the doorway and looked back at her. “Meet here for six in the morning?”

  “Six it is.”

  “See you then,” he said and walked out.

  12

  Halifax, October 18

  9:03 P.M.

  Allan parked at the curb in front of a split-level home on Morningside Drive. Looking over, he saw a light on in the living room. The glow from a television flickered on the curtains.

  The last time he came here, it had been nearly a month after the murder of their daughter. He’d dropped by to convey the progress in the investigation, but more so to see how they were doing.

  He remembered Joyce Driscow barely able to speak without breaking down. She had lost weight. Her embattled face had paled so much it drew his focus to the dark hollows under her eyes and made him worry about her health.

  Bill Driscow had seemed a little better. He’d carried himself with the strong, stoic composure of a warrior. But it made Allan question whether he appeared that way just for his wife, to be her rock while he internalized his own personal hell.

  Allan wondered what he’d find when their door opened this time. Had the months been kind to them? Had they somehow moved on with their lives? Could any parent ever move on from the horror of losing a child?

  Allan shut the car off, took a deep breath, and got out. He approached the front walk of the house, his pace growing slower with each step.

  Gray clouds hung low under the October sky. A chilly breeze pushed dead leaves across the ground.

  Allan rang the doorbell.

  In moments, a light came on in the foyer. The blurred image of a person appeared through the privacy glass of the front door.

  “Who is it?”

  Allan recognized the voice. “Mr. Driscow. I’m Detective Stanton with the Halifax Police. I worked your daughter’s case.”

  There was a brief silence. Then the door opened.

  What Allan saw caused his breath to catch. The man who stood before him scarcely resembled the Bill Driscow he’d seen eleven months ago. On the street, Allan doubted he would even know him.

  Bill had aged considerably. He had dropped an easy twenty-five to thirty pounds on a frame that couldn’t afford it. His face was gaunt and splotchy. His hair stuck out in wispy tufts from his head.

  He gave Allan a hesitant smile and held out his hand.

  Allan shook it.

  “Detective Stanton,” Bill said. “Come in.”

  “Mr. Driscow. How are you doing?”

  Bill looked down then up. “Seen better days.”

  Allan shut the door. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, no. Just watching some TV.”

  “I stopped by to tell you we’re reopening your daughter’s case.”

  Bill tipped his head back, and his gaze became unfocused.

  “That girl they found in the park,” he said. “I saw it on the news tonight. Made me think of Mary.”

  Allan paused, wondering how much to divulge and if it mattered anyway.

  “We believe there’s a connection,” he said.

  Bill winced. “Another family has to live through what we did. I pity them.”

  “How’s Joyce doing? Is she up?”

  Bill closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, “She’s gone.”

  Allan frowned. “Gone?”

  Bill’s chin quivered. “She died.”

  Allan felt a sudden ache bore straight through his chest and spill into his stomach.

  “When?”

  “August twenty-second.” Bill blinked at a swell of tears. “I found her on our bedroom floor when I came home from work.” He sucked at the air. “She never got over Mary. I know the stress killed her. She died of a broken heart.”

  “I’m sorry,” Allan said softly. “I didn’t know.”

  Bill touched his eyes and then looked at the wet fingertips he came away with.

  Allan said, “I guess it was in May I last spoke to her. I called her from my office one day. I got the impression she was doing well.”

  “She masked a lot. Even with me. I used to hear her crying all the time, alone in the bathroom.”

  Allan tried to hold Bill’s eyes the best he could, but the pained expression on the man’s face eventually made him drop his gaze to the hardwood floor.

  “In less than a year,” Bill said brokenly, “I lost my daughter and wife. Now, last month, the doctors gave me months to live. Three, if I’m lucky.”

  Allan looked at him, and Bill nodded.

  “The big C,” he said.

  “How bad is it?”

  “Bad. It’s in my liver. They say it’s aggressive. Probably the same form that killed my father.”

  “Can they operate?”

  Bill shook his head. “It’s too deep.”

  “What about treatments?”

  “They wanted me to start chemo right away.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Bill gave a light shrug. “The prognosis isn’t much better. It might buy me a couple extra months if I’m lucky enough that the chemo doesn’t kill me first.

  “I saw what the cancer did to my father. Near the end, my mother could’ve picked him up off the bed with two fingers. His skin and eyes had turned all yellow. I won’t let myself reach that point.”

  The ache moved up into Allan’s throat. He leaned against the wall of the foyer and folded his arms, wishing he hadn’t come here.

  “My God,” he said. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Nothing to say.” Bill set his jaw and pushed his shoulders back. “I’ve accepted it. A diagnosis like that gives you a whole new perspective. Things you thought were important suddenly become trivial. Things you took for granted suddenly become important.”

  Allan saw the same strength emerging from Bill that he had seen the day he notified him his daughter had been murdered.

  “Is anyone helping
you?” he asked.

  “The VON and palliative care come in every day. My niece helps out with groceries and stuff.”

  “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “Catch him, Detective.”

  Allan tried to speak, but the words were lost in a hard swallow.

  “Catch the son of a bitch,” Bill said. “Before I’m gone. That’s what you can do for me.”

  13

  Halifax, October 18

  9:35 P.M.

  Audra carried the case folders into the den and set them on her desk. She began sorting the files in proper sequence so one report built upon the one before it. Lastly, she began laying out heaps of Allan’s notes. They detailed his narrative from the moment he’d arrived at the Mary Driscow murder scene to the day he received the DNA report clearing Gary Strickland.

  “Hey, babe.”

  Turning, Audra saw Daniel in the doorway. He was still dressed in his office clothes: shirt pulled out over his pants, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  “Oh, hey,” she said. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Watching the sports highlights.”

  “Yankees play tonight?”

  “This afternoon.” Daniel twisted one side of his mouth. “They got their asses kicked. Eight zip.”

  “Shit. What game was it?”

  “Third,” he said. “Rangers are up two to one. They’ll probably take the series.”

  “It’s not over yet. They have to win four, right?”

  Doubt tightened Daniel’s face. “Hmmm. The fat lady’s warming up her vocal cords.”

  “You don’t think they’ll come back?”

  “I don’t think they have it this year.”

  Audra continued sorting the notes.

  Daniel said, “Daphne told me you gave your speech today.”

  “I did.”

  “How’d it go?”

  Audra stopped a moment. “I was scared shitless.”

  “I can imagine,” Daniel said. “Are you hungry?”

  “I wasn’t until I smelled the pizza.”

  “Yeah, we decided to order out.”

  Audra raised an eyebrow. “Uh, would it kill either of you to cook something?”

  Daniel smiled. “Well…you know my cooking. We have to pray after we eat.”

  The two of them burst out laughing.

  “Uh-huh,” Audra said. “That’s true.”

  “We got you a salad.”

  “Piatto’s?”

  “Tomavino’s.”

  “We haven’t ordered from there in a while.”

  “Thought we’d try a different place.”

  “Any pizza left?”

  “A few slices. Want some?”

  “What kind is it?”

  “Bel Cibo.”

  Audra perked up. “Is that the one with prosciutto and artichokes?”

  “Yup. The one you like.”

  “In that case, I will have a slice.”

  “Tea?”

  “Sure.”

  “Chamomile?”

  “Green. I need to be up for a while. I have all these files to go through.”

  Daniel frowned. “All those?”

  “All these,” she said.

  “I’ll put on the kettle.”

  Audra finished laying out Allan’s notes. There had to be over a hundred.

  Before starting them, she went upstairs to Daphne’s bedroom. The door was closed. A light shone under it.

  Audra gave a quick knock then walked inside. Daphne was sitting at her desk with her nose buried in a textbook. She looked over and flashed a bright grin.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said.

  “Hi, honey. You doin’ homework?”

  Daphne swiveled around in the chair to face her.

  “Studying,” she said. “We have a test tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I won’t keep you.”

  “That’s all right. I’m just reviewing stuff.”

  “What’s your test on?”

  Daphne wrinkled her nose. “Science.”

  “Ah. I always found that intriguing.”

  “I guess I’m not the sciency type.”

  “What’re you learning?”

  “Atomic theory. Protons. Electrons. Neutrons.”

  “Cool stuff.”

  Daphne shot a quick breath out through her nose.

  “You don’t think so?” Audra said.

  “Not really.”

  Audra smiled at her. “How was your day?”

  “Good.” Daphne matched her smile. “I loved your speech this morning.”

  “Did it sound okay?”

  “It was awesome. A lot of other kids thought so too.”

  Audra snorted. “I was scared shitless up there.”

  “Really? You didn’t look like it.”

  “Oh, I was. Believe me.”

  “I don’t know how you did it,” Daphne said. “I couldn’t. Get up there in front of everybody. Talk about that.”

  “Talking about bullying was easy. Sharing what I went through was hard.”

  Daphne’s face went slack, and a small hint of sadness appeared in her eyes. “Did you do it for me, Mom?”

  Audra held her gaze for a moment, felt all that bleak fear and stress of her suicide attempt flooding her mind.

  At last, she nodded. “I also did it for the kids.”

  Daphne’s smile returned. “I’m proud of you, Mom.”

  Audra felt the words melt her heart. There was something priceless in hearing that from your child.

  “Oh, honey.” She gave Daphne a hug and kissed the top of her head. “You could never be as proud of me as I am of you.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Good luck on your test tomorrow.”

  When Audra returned downstairs, Daniel handed her the cup of green tea.

  “Pizza’s on your desk,” he said. “I warmed it up for you.”

  “Thanks, hon.” Audra stopped at the doorway to the den. “Can you give Daphne a lift to school in the morning? I have to be at the office early.”

  “Sure. What time are you leaving?”

  “Have to be there for six.”

  “Big day ahead?”

  “Yeah,” Audra said. “Hopefully, I’ll get a couple hours of sleep before then.”

  She walked into the den and closed the door.

  14

  Halifax, October 18

  9:47 P.M.

  Allan shut the car off in his driveway and slumped back against the seat. Crossing his right arm over his chest, he gripped his left shoulder and rested his chin on his wrist. It felt as if someone had placed a weighted block on his heart.

  Joyce Driscow was dead. Gone to her grave with no closure over her daughter’s murder. In a few months or sooner, Bill would be joining them both.

  The whole tragedy sickened Allan. It wasn’t fair. Life could be so damn cruel and so damn heartbreaking.

  After this day, he wished he hadn’t crawled out of bed in the morning, and tomorrow he’d have to summon the courage to get up and face the same shit all over again.

  Through the windshield, Allan watched a gash form in the cloud cover, revealing a spattering of stars underneath.

  He let out a heavy sigh as he felt those old feelings of guilt, sadness, and self-recrimination begin to stir inside him like a dormant virus waking up.

  Allan shut his eyes. He thought about the Driscow/Saint-Pierre case. Did he and Audra have a prayer of catching the suspect? A year had passed, and no one knew what the man even looked like. Someone at the park had to have seen him. Was he a regular there? Had he already been interviewed in the course of the first sweep?

  The efficient and methodical way he’d committed the murders suggested someone experienced. So had the staging of the bodies. Had he done this before, somewhere else? Then why hadn’t ViCLAS made a connection to any other murders out there, besides the one committed by Gary Strickland?

  So many questions and no answers to any of them. Not one.

  Al
lan flung the car door open and stepped out. He walked slowly to the back of the house. Before going inside, he took a brief moment to compose himself.

  He set his keys on the kitchen table, removed his jacket, and draped it over the back of a chair.

  The place smelled of baked ham. He opened the refrigerator and saw a plate wrapped in tin foil. A note on the top of it read: Supper.

  Allan smiled.

  He found Melissa in the living room, filing her nails and half-watching a sitcom on TV.

  “Hi, Al,” she said. “I thought I heard your car come in.”

  “Hi, sweetheart.” He sat on the sofa beside her. “How’d your interview go?”

  Melissa gave a soft roll of her eyes. “Well…they’ll call me, they said. Usually, that’s not a good sign.”

  “They might call.”

  “I’m competing with forty-five other applicants. So not much to be positive about.”

  “Wow. Forty-five.”

  “I know, right?”

  “A sign of the economy,” Allan said. “If not this job, you’ll find something. You’re resourceful.”

  Putting the nail file on the coffee table, Melissa slouched back against the cushions and crossed her arms.

  She said, “I have another interview in the morning.”

  “Awesome. Where at?”

  “Penningtons. They’re hiring a manager for their store at the Dartmouth Crossing.”

  “That’s right up your alley.”

  She nodded. “I hope I get it.”

  “I hope so too.”

  “Positive thoughts, right?”

  Allan forced up a smile. “Exactly. So how was Brian’s day?”

  “Good. He played with Nathan for a while after school. I put him to bed ’bout an hour ago.” Melissa cocked her head at him. “How ’bout your day?”

  Allan thought of Bill Driscow, and he winced inside. Quietly, he said, “Oh, you know.”

  “Good? Bad? Ugly?”

  “There’s never much good.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Allan hesitated. “I don’t need to burden you with my work.”

  Melissa reached over and lightly stroked his forearm. “Talk to me, Al. Are you okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “Think so? You look like a castaway. I noticed that when you walked in here. Something’s bothering you.”