A Dream of Death (18 page)

Kara picked me up at five the next morning. She said she
would drive and I chose not to argue. We could switch later if she grew tired.
It didn’t hurt that Kara’s Prius was much better on gas.

An hour down the 401 heading for Toronto, the conversation
became very personal. “The things Jeffries said to you, did you get that a
lot?”

I hated to even repeat the word. “Nigger?”

“Yes, that.”

“Sometimes as a child. It was the late seventies and early eighties,
mostly kids trying out new words. They didn’t know what it meant. A few adults
said it too, generally to our family as a whole. My mom got ‘nigger-lover’ a
few times, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. But thanks anyway.
Have you ever wondered about my name? It’s not exactly common.”

“Sometimes, all the Roman numerals mean it’s obviously a
family name.”

I cast her a look of pure stupidity. “Well done, Detective.”
I received a well-deserved punch to the left shoulder.

“My great-great-grandfather Charles and grandmother Hettie
were born into slavery in Maryland in the eighteen-thirties,” I said.

A quiet gasp, the usual response when I mentioned my
family’s slave heritage.

“They worked on the same plantation and fell in love. They
wanted their children to be free, so they fled along the Underground Railroad
in eighteen-fifty-nine, a dangerous and long journey for them since Hettie was
a few months pregnant at the time. They made it through Delaware and into
Philadelphia before making the trek through the mountains to New York.

“They had spent one day with a white family in New York, a
light on a hitching post telling them the house was safe—abolitionists fighting
to help slaves. They traveled by night and that night they heard bounty hunters
in the distance with their dogs. They were getting closer, so Charles ran ahead
and led them away from Hettie and the rest of the group, saving them from
capture. He was caught, beaten and brought back to the plantation. Hettie and
the rest made it across Lake Erie to Canada and settled in Chatham.”

“What happened to Charles?”

“He was beaten regularly once he was back on the
plantation—the usual punishment for an escapee. He heard that Hettie had made
it, the abolitionists relaying messages back and forth, and it kept him going.
He tried to escape again but was caught a short distance from the plantation.”

The look in Kara’s eyes was familiar, a feeling of guilt and
horror.

“Lincoln passed the Emancipation Declaration in eighteen-sixty-three,
but Maryland was loyal to the Union during the Civil War. The state didn’t
outlaw slavery until November sixty-four. Charles made the journey in the
middle of winter, arriving in early the next year. His daughter, Mary Ann, was
five years old.”

“Their second son was born two summers later. Lincoln had
passed the Thirteenth Amendment several months earlier finalizing the total abolition
of slavery. The son was named Lincoln Charles Munroe as a result. Every
first-born son since then has been Lincoln.

“Chatham was a great place to grow up, a large black
community. It was one of the Canadian stops on the railroad, a lot of former slaves
settled there and others moved on to Toronto or further afield. As soon as they
set foot in Canada, slaves were free, there was no fear of being returned to
their American masters, and they had the right to vote and own land.”

“I see.”

It was all Kara could say.

“Once I was old enough to understand, my father told me the
story like his father had told him. It was engrained in us, our ancestors’
strength and resolve. My parents had it harder as well, interracial marriages
were becoming much more common in the seventies, but many still hated the idea.
Either way, I wouldn’t want to have seen my father’s face when Jeffries called
me a nigger.”

“I would’ve killed him too.”

“I guess I destroyed his fantasy. He wanted a little white
boy to rape and kill. Maybe it kept me alive longer, maybe he beat me more.”

Kara put her hand on my lap and I knew that the topic was
becoming too much for her. We had had enough sad stories, silence was the
better option.

* * *

It was approaching nine in the morning when we reached the
hotel Chen and I had stayed at. From there, my memory had to serve me to get us
to the scene. I had the watch in a plastic bag, ready to hand over. We made it
to the scene less than an hour later, the path worn down from numerous vehicles
taking it in the past weeks. I felt badly for every jolt the small car took and
figured I would be on the hook for any repairs. Had I remembered this, I would
have had Kara take my van.

Chen was easy to find. He was the only one in a suit.

Dr. Conroy and his students were dressed for the weather and
the work; t-shirts, shorts and high boots. We stayed back in the car, it would
be best if only Chen saw me. I was off duty and on leave for psychiatric
reasons, injury and stress. My presence at a crime scene hours from my home
would be difficult to explain. Chen looked over at the car and was then
startled by his phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“It’s Link,” I said. “I’m in the car you’re staring at.”

“What?”

“Quiet, Chen. I’m not here, just come to the passenger side
for a chat.”

I hung up the phone and watched as Chen put his away then
did as he was told. I rolled the window down.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Long story,” I said, speaking the undeniable truth. “First
off, Vincenzo Chen meet Kara Jameson, my partner. Kara, Chen-Chen.”

They nodded at each other and exchanged the required
pleasantries.

I made eye contact with Chen. “Remember when I first got
here, you had the idea I was psychic, asked me who the killer was and I
jokingly said maybe it was you?”

“Yeah?”

“I was really close.”

I’d expected Chen’s laughter. I took out the letter my
father had written and handed it to Chen.

“Holy fuck,” was all he could say.

“When I was here I took this, found it on the ground not far
from Jeffries’s body. It’s my father’s watch.” I handed Chen the bag and he
stared at the dirt covered item within. “I’m on my way to the Commissioner
after this to tell him everything. Almost everything.” I looked down at the
watch now in Chen’s hand. “I have a huge favour to ask of you.”

Chen nodded and smiled. “I won’t say anything until I get
the report.”

He dumped the watch out of the bag and onto the ground.

“Hey, look what I just found.” He pointed to the watch on
the ground. “Wonder if it’s important.”

Kara and I both let slide a chuckle. With Chen, it was all
in the delivery.

“Thanks, Chen. I owe you.” I reached out my hand.

“Yeah, you do.” Chen took my hand in his and leaned in
giving the best hug he could with a car door in the way.

“Good luck.”

We spoke little as we drove from Algonquin Park to Orillia,
to the OPP Headquarters. It occurred to me that the Commissioner might not be
in the building when we arrived. But I was starting to believe in Chen’s idea
of fate. Not that I was ready to accept that everything was preordained, but
maybe certain things were inescapable. The old adage of fate dealing the cards
and us being responsible for the hand we played seemed to fit.

Headquarters loomed in front of us as we pulled into the
parking lot just after noon. The sun was high in the cloudless sky and beating
in through the car’s moon roof. Kara parked the car and neither of us moved. If
she was waiting for me, she would have to sit for a while longer.

My nerves were shot now, and I found myself shaking uncontrollably,
fearful of what I was about to do. Kara took my hand and steadied it, her
unspoken words telling me she was ready whenever I was.

A few minutes later I stepped out of the car and took my
crutches from the back seat, then stood outside staring at the large building
in front of me; the Lincoln M. Alexander building, named for one of Ontario’s
former Lieutenant Governors.

The OPP flag flapped in the breeze high above me beside a
Canadian flag and the flag of the province of Ontario. The movement of the
flags had my gaze locked and I never noticed Kara come around beside me until
her hand was on my shoulder.

“I’m ready,” I said, and we began walking, a slow march to
an unknown fate.

It took some time to get an audience with the Commissioner,
something not commonly granted to an officer walking in off the street. The
Saunders case had made my name well-known in the department and may have
assisted as did my constant repetition of the word ‘urgent’.

“So what happens from here?”

I shrugged. “If I get to keep my job I’ll be seeing you
soon, if not… I don’t know. I guess I can always collect pogey.”

Kara laughed. She couldn’t see me collecting government
unemployment handouts any more than I could.

“I’m leaving for Poland tomorrow,” I said. “I have a lot to
fix and I can’t do it from here.”

Kara nodded, searching for the right words. ‘Grand romantic
gesture’ would have worked.

We sat in silence for a while, waiting impatiently. I
watched the people walking through the busy offices, the nerve centre of a massive
organization. And then I saw him.

He walked toward me, resplendent in an OPP brass uniform. It
was a face I hadn’t seen for thirty years, and a face I can’t believe I had
forgotten.

William Jeffries.

The world around me crumbled into darkness.

I am lying down, warm in a sleeping bag, with my father
snoring loudly beside me. The rush of the river fills my ears and I know why I
have woken up. I unzip the door of the tent and walk a short distance, halfway
between the tent and the river. Standing in front of a large tree I lower my
sweatpants.

A branch cracks behind me, but before I can turn I feel a
large, strong hand cover my mouth and I’m being lifted off the ground. I try to
fight, to break away, but he’s too strong. I can’t scream, I can’t bite, my mouth
is clamped shut.

I don’t know where he’s taking me, the trees all look the
same. He runs with me in his arms for what seems like forever, the full moon
casting its glow on his face through breaks in the trees. He looks down at me
and I see rage in his eyes, his hand clenches tighter.

“Fucking nigger,” he says.

I’m crying, the tears make his hand wet and he has to adjust
his grip. Every time he does I try to scream but he always cuts it short.

All of a sudden he throws me to the ground. I land hard on
the rocks and tree roots. Blood and urine wet my clothing.

“Filthy nigger.” He’s screaming now as he kicks me again and
again. I cover my head with my arms and I hear a loud crack. The pain is too
much to bear and I start to black out, then I see his boot coming at my head
again.

When I come to, someone is yelling. It’s my father’s voice.
He’s found me. I’m safe. I struggle to sit up, to look around for him, but
there’s blood in my eyes and it hurts to move. He crashes to the ground not far
from me, I can almost reach him. The man is on top of him, choking him.

I reach for him, I have to help him. My hand feels something
cold and sharp.

A knife.

I take it in my right hand and force myself to my feet. The
pain fades as I stand and leap onto the man’s back, plunging the knife in as
hard as I can.

My father’s face shines like an angel’s in the moonglow, a
look of pain and pride. The man flails and I start to fall backwards. I see the
tip of the knife sticking out of his chest as he turns, then everything goes
black again.

The world forms again and the face is gone, the Commissioner
stands in his place.

“Detectives Munroe and Jameson. Amazing job on the Saunders
case. There’s not a cop alive who wouldn’t give everything for a case like
that.”

His eyes turned directly to me.

“What brings you here?”

That scar. On my father’s chest. He couldn’t possibly have
gotten that if he stabbed Jeffries in the back. I had put the knife in so hard
I’d stabbed my father, too. It was me.

It had been me all along.

That’s why the memories were surfacing now. I had been
hunting someone who targeted people at random—like I had been targeted. Then I
had killed the man. It was all too close to the secrets I’d kept buried all
these years.

I was aware the Commissioner was looking at me oddly,
waiting for a response.

My palms were sweating, my blood rushing and I felt as
though I was going to faint. At the same time, I felt… free. I knew the truth
now, and I was free of a burden I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying for my
entire adult life.

“I’m here to confess to a killing.”

Read the beginning of the second installment in the
Detective
Lincoln Munroe
series

Blue Rubicon

Coming in Spring 2012

For a moment I thought of joining him, it was a thought I
hadn’t had in some time.

“Hard to believe it’s been four months,” I said, the wind
blowing soft against my back. “A lot’s changed, things are so different now.”

I shuffled my feet as I stood in the autumn morning cold, a
thin jacket not enough to protect me from the chill in the air. The ground wore
a coat of many colours, fallen leaves covering the wet grass. The sun was
barely up, its first light gave the area a ghostly glow and created a thin mist
that shrouded the world.

The flowers were beginning to wilt.

“Kat and the kids have been back for a while now, I guess
you know that, though. Things have been going well, it’s still hard. Every day
it’s a new battle, but it’s one worth fighting.”

I had been much happier lately, the upside-down world I had
created starting to right itself. Despite my overall change in mood, tears
began to form in my eyes as I looked upon the cold, stern marble.

“I miss you dad,” I said. I dried my eyes and wiped my
cheeks clean then sniffled. “I’ll be back soon, you need new flowers.”

I picked up the flowers that sat in front of my father’s
grave and walked back to my car, careful not to step over the dead. A voice in
my head criticized me for talking to a dead man, for believing that maybe he
could hear me. I pushed it away and got into the car.

A stack of freshly washed uniforms lay neatly on the seat
beside me—yet another change in these last few months. I started the car,
listened to the engine turn over then put the car in drive and left my father
behind again.

— * * * —

It was an hour drive to the detachment, my uniforms staring
at me from the passenger seat. This was my fifth day back, a block of night
shifts already under my belt. Coming back had been harder than I’d
expected—four months off was a long time, and the stay-at-home Dad life was
hard to abandon. But I had needed the time, with everything going on in my life
it wasn’t hard to get.

Marital troubles, shooting and killing a suspect,
discovering you’d killed a man as a child and a broken ankle were enough to be
granted (or forced to take) some stress leave.

I parked my car and walked into the building, the uniforms
hanging at my side. It was a short walk to the locker room and I was able to
avoid any human contact. I’d done well on night shifts. There weren’t a lot of
people to run into until the morning but I had made my exits quiet and
uneventful.

I hadn’t even seen Kara.

My fingers spun the dial for the padlock without any
thought, the lock clicked and the door opened. The things we never forget. I
put my uniforms in place and pulled down my epaulettes. I slipped them onto the
shoulders of one shirt, the three chevrons marking my rank made it sink in
again.

Patrol Sergeant.

All my years in homicide and even solving a serial killer
case wasn’t enough to keep me away from the bureaucracy of the OPP. Someone
found out my secret and here I was, busted from the detective’s desk to the
squad car while my former partner found herself working with someone new.

I hadn’t thought of Kara much lately—it was hard but I had
managed to keep her out of my mind. I had other things to focus on, a future
for one.

“Hurry up, Munroe.”

I turned in the direction of the voice to see my new
superior standing before me—my old, new superior.

“Yes sir, Staff Sergeant Ramirez, sir,” I said with a mock
salute.

“Don’t pull that shit with me.” He slapped me on the
shoulder, hard, as he walked past and out of the room.

I snapped my duty belt around my waist and made sure
everything was there—not that it wouldn’t be, of course. Pistol, expandable
baton, pepper spray, handcuffs. The only new part was the Taser. A couple of
training days prior to coming back was all it had taken to learn the ins and
outs of the Thomas A. Swift Electric Rifle. That and feeling the full force of
it. Five seconds of the worst pain I have ever felt followed by mild euphoria.
It was a hell of an effective tool—there was no fighting it.

I closed the locker door and clicked the padlock into place
then walked into the parade room to face my platoon. I was still trying to
learn all the names. There was a decent mix of seasoned and rookie officers,
sitting waiting for me to come in. George was already at the front of the room.

I entered without fanfare. Thank god. The first day I had
been met with thunderous applause—the effect of catching a serial killer. I had
tried to ignore it, pretend it was business as usual, as I walked to the front
of the room and took a seat. But George had other plans and wouldn’t let up
until I’d made a speech. It was short, sweet and I’d asked if Kara, Detective Jameson,
had been receiving the same praise.

They’d all nodded. It hadn’t taken long for word of the
attack on Kara to get around. And considering she had been back to work the
next day with a ligature bruise around her neck it was hard to hide. If it
wasn’t for Saunders targeting Kara, we may never have caught him. There’d been
a few in the room who had broken eye contact when I mentioned Kara’s name.

But now, things were almost normal. No one expected anything
of me, no one praised me as a ‘hero.’ I picked up the clipboard and went
through the motions. I read out the beats (where each officer would be working
their shift) and gave out all the new information—stolen cars, information on
known or wanted persons, an anonymous tip about a drug dealer possibly having a
sawed-off shotgun and finally, a list of the previous day’s break and enters.
It was information officers could follow up on during downtime—look for a
stolen car, sit in the area of the previous night’s break-ins, arrest a wanted
person.

I recognized all of the faces in front of me, some more than
others. Veronica “Vern” Davis and Marc Deville were the two I knew best, simply
because they had been involved in the Saunders cases quite a bit. The others I
knew names for faces but little else. Nicknames for cops were common, and if
there wasn’t a nickname it was your last name everyone called you by.

I turned over the last page on the clipboard. We were done
and not a moment too soon—I hated being at the front of the room. I dismissed
the group, picked up my duty bag from the locker room and made my way to a
waiting black-and-white, ‘supervisor’ written across the rear windshield. There
were many reasons not to linger in the building too long and one of them was
looking right at me.

“I knew you’d try to skip out without seeing me,” she said.

“Sorry, there’s just been a lot to deal with.”

Kara nodded, she had probably been thinking about what
coming back after four months would be like, especially given why I had been
off.

“Understandable, but you can’t avoid me forever, Link.”

There it was again. Even when it seems that everything
around you is changing, there are always a few things that stay the same. We
still had a connection, one that would be impossible to lose.

I paused, a lump in my throat keeping my words at bay. “Can
I ask you something?”

“It wasn’t me, Link.” Her eyes were fixed on mine. “I wish I
knew. Red was the only one who knew, although I think Tsang, the SIU
investigator, figured it out.”

She didn’t need to remind me of who Tsang was. I’d been
allowed to watch the video of my interview. My breakdown was caught on tape and
would likely be around longer than me.

“I have a hunch,” I said, but didn’t say anything further.
The look in my eyes was a familiar one, one that said I was done talking, we’d
discuss it later.

“Be safe out there,” Kara said. Her hand reached for my
shoulder then she pulled it away quickly. Kara turned and walked back the way
she came, but she hadn’t turned fast enough to hide the redness in her cheeks.

I got into the car, and sat behind the wheel of a Ford Crown
Victoria that made my Mini Cooper seem like a dinky car. Larger turn radius,
rear wheel drive, terrible in the winter and rain but powerful as hell when it
needed to be. The light bar had changed from actual bulbs to LED lights but at
least the buttons to work them hadn’t changed. I started the car and was
pulling out when the night shift sergeant made his way in. He slowed down as he
pulled up beside me, his window already down.

“Hey, Munroe. Good to have you back.”

A sentiment echoed by everyone it seemed, if only I was so
sure.

“Thanks, Red.” Marcus O’Connell—Big Red. His jaw was moving
as it usually did, a high-speed up and down that gave flashes of bright red gum
between pearly whites.

“It wasn’t me, Lincoln.” I wasn’t expecting to get so many
denials in one day. Not Kara, not Red, possibly Tsang, and then… no.

“I know,” I said. Better to feign trust.

“I didn’t even know about the rest unt-”

“The rest?”

“Yeah. The rumour’s out there, Munroe. Some believe it, some
don’t. I’ve been trying to quash it, telling people it’s bullshit.” He paused,
chewed some more. “It’s not though, is it?”

I wanted to tell him it was none of his business but, if he
was being honest, he was championing Kara and I. I just nodded.

“Everything okay at home?”

“It will be,” I said.

“I’ve got to head in, paperwork and all.”

The excuse was solid, but it was clear he was feeling
uncomfortable.

“See you around, Red.”

A wave of an arm out the driver’s side window was my
response, he’d already started driving. Maybe he knew I didn’t fully trust him.

I drove out of the garage hoping for silence. A Code One
robbery on my first day, right out of the gates, was a little much. Trial by
fire. We’d caught the culprit though, a long track by canine through farmer’s fields
and industrial complexes ended with a bite from the dog and a trip to the
hospital for the suspect. Seventeen stitches to the left calf.

That should teach him not to run.

The rest of the shifts hadn’t been bad—domestics, a
break-in, two impaired drivers weaving down the highway, three collisions, and
one attempted suicide. Quiet, by police standards.

I drove down Westminster Drive hoping for more of the same.
This wasn’t where I wanted to be. This wasn’t what I wanted to be doing. I
should have been back behind my desk, looking over crime scene photos and
catching murderers.

A few minutes later my phone rang, startling me.

“Det… Sergeant Munroe.”

“Nice slip. It’s Red.”

I laughed. “What’s up?” I was expecting more denial, maybe
he hadn’t gotten it all out yet.

“Jake Carter hasn’t come in. Dispatch doesn’t show him on a
call.”

I knew all too well the rigors of night shift. “Probably
asleep.”

“Yeah. GPS shows him parked at the dead end of Shain Road.”

I had to think for a minute. I used to know all the county
roads, and the hiding places to write up reports or meet with another officer.

“Near Belmont, right? I’m not far.”

“Thanks, Munroe.”

“No problem.”

“And he’s a good kid. If he is asleep, just ream him out.
Doesn’t need to be put on paper.”

“Roger.”

I hung up the phone and turned right onto Westchester
Bourne. I was only a couple of minutes away. Had I been further, I probably
would have looked for a cell phone number for the officer—tried to call him
before I got there.

I knew the name. Stand up officer, hard-working, honest and,
as far as I knew, never a complaint against him. One who used his head before
his hands.

I turned onto Shain Road and it wasn’t long before I saw the
cruiser parked in the circle at the end of the road. There was nothing around here,
just farmland. It was a long street with only two homes on it, one where it met
the main road and one halfway down.

Nothing down this way.

The cruiser was parked facing out, toward the main road.
This was common, a quick getaway if dispatch needed you for an emergency call.
Turning around wasted precious seconds. I pulled up alongside the cruiser and
sure enough, Carter was sound asleep, his head resting on his right shoulder. I
rolled down my window and rapped on his but got no response. I never got a
second knock in. What I saw in the car stopped that.

I threw open my door smashing it into the side of Carter’s
cruiser.

Shit. I’d forgotten I was parked so close.

I reversed quickly then jumped out and ran to the car. The
door was locked. Nothing was going right. I couldn’t decide—smash the window or
get my keys. It only took a second, my keys were the answer. Smashing the
window would compromise the scene.

I ran back to my cruiser and grabbed the keys then made it
back to Carter’s door within seconds. Cruisers are all keyed the same and his
door unlocked for me. I opened the door and put my hand on Carter’s neck.

No pulse.

Fuck. His gun was in his lap, his right hand wrapped around
the grip. I put my hand on his chin and turned his face toward me.

He looked so young, so peaceful until I saw the bullet wound
in his right temple, red rimmed with blood that had dripped down his cheek.

The blood was dry. Its metallic scent filled the cruiser but
there was hardly any smell of gunpowder. The hairs on the back of my neck stood
on end.

I used my radio to call into dispatch, requesting George and
a few other officers. The scene needed to be guarded. Even as a suicide,
protocol needed to be followed. Every death is considered suspicious until
proven otherwise.

And this one was suspicious.