New chapter from Into Thin Air

Allan turned his car onto Cambridge and slowly coasted down a quiet residential street lined with mature elm trees. His eyes moved left to right, searching for a parking space near the Sir Charles Tupper Elementary School. Many parents, he saw, were already there to pick up their kids. The car line seemed to extend around the block and into adjacent streets. Buses waited outside the front entrance.

He continued north to Pepperell Street where a crossing guard stood at the corner. Allan acknowledged him with a quick wave, then took a left. At last he noticed a tight spot at the curb beside the school’s sports field. He drove up and carefully maneuvered his car in. As he lowered the driver’s window halfway, he breathed the fresh air drifting inside.

The fickle Nova Scotia spring had turned a dismal morning of cold rain into a pleasant afternoon. The clouds had given way to sun and a rich blue sky. By the time Allan left his house, the temperatures had climbed into the mid-teens, making it feel more seasonal once again.

Checking his watch, he stepped out of the car and went over to the chain link fence edging the field. He leaned his hands on the top rail and waited. Five minutes later, at 3:15, the school buzzer rang. Soon a swarm of kids began pouring out of the main entrance, bringing a cacophony of screaming, chattering, and laughter with them.

Allan smiled when he saw Brian among the crowd, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He was walking alongside Jimmy Clarke, a chatty little boy who lived two blocks away on Cherry Street. He and Brian had been best friends since primary.

The two headed up Cambridge where Jimmy climbed into his parents’ SUV. Allan met Brian a short distance away at the corner of Pepperell.

“Hey, little man,” he said.

“Hi, Dad.” Brian looked about. “Where’s your car this time?”

“Just over here. I can never seem to find the same spot twice.”

As they started down the sidewalk, Allan regarded his son with a smile. It was crazy how messy Brian got at school. When Allan would drop him off in the mornings, Brian’s hair was always neatly combed, his clothes clean. By the end of the day, his hair would be mussed, his clothes dirty and disheveled. He often appeared like he had gone for a hike in the woods, instead of spending time climbing and sliding on the playground equipment.

“Did you have fun today?” Allan asked him.

Brian flashed a silly grin. “Yeah.”

“Learn any new words?”

“Um, we learned to spell cake. The teacher said she wanted a cake for her birthday and told us to write it. We spelled prize too. They won first prize. Net. The girl was trying to catch a butterfly in her net.”

“Nice.”

Brian said, “ Can Jimmy come over to kick the soccer ball around with me?”

“Sure. Is his mother bringing him?”

“Mm-hmm. But he has to go home first to change.”

“Okay.”

They reached the car and Allan opened the rear door on the passenger’s side. Brian set the backpack on the floor and climbed onto the booster seat, buckling himself in. Allan gave the belts a tug to confirm they were secure, then he hopped in behind the wheel.

Through the windshield he watched the crush of vehicles spilling into the streets of the neighborhood. Traffic congestion was bad in the mornings, but the afternoons were much worse. Once the weather became more favorable, Allan decided he’d walk Brian to school, if he was willing. The distance covered scarcely half a mile, maybe a little more. But was it too far for a seven-year-old?

Allan reached up and tilted the rearview mirror a bit to the right so he could see Brian. “Did you have something good for lunch today?” he asked.

“Papa Mario’s.”

“Pizza?”

Brian met his gaze in the mirror. “Yeah. We always have Papa Mario’s on Wednesdays.”

“Are you hungry now?”

“I’m starving.”

“Your Mom prepared some of those mini fruit pizzas you like before she left for work this morning.”

Brian’s eyes lit up. “Oh, cool. Is there enough for Jimmy too?”

“Should be. I tried not to eat them all for lunch.”

“Um, okay.”

Allan let out a light chuckle. “I’m only kidding, bud. She made lots.”

He merged into traffic and followed the bumper-to-bumper snarl to Preston Street where he hung a right by Ben’s Bakery. A waft of fresh-baked bread drifted into the car and Allan lifted his nose to the wonderful aroma.

“Wow,” Brian said, the word popping out like a bright explosion. “That smells good.”

“Does it make your mouth water?”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Reminds me of my grandmother baking bread in her farmhouse. I can still smell the aroma as she took the loaf from the oven and wrapped it in a tea towel.”

“I don’t remember her.”

Allan flicked him a glance in the rearview mirror. “She passed away long before you were born. You would’ve liked her.”

He drove up the block and turned left on Shirley. The neighborhood was much quieter, so he picked up speed. He stayed on the street for three blocks, then cut down Garden.

As he neared home, he got a jolt of surprise to find a black Chevy Impala parked in front of his house. He sat up in his seat and eased his foot on the brake. Eyes narrowed, he read the license plate. It looked familiar.

Allan frowned. Audra?

Indeed, it was. Rolling past, he saw her in the driver’s seat. He tooted the horn and pulled into the drive, shutting the car off. He separated the house key from the others on the ring and handed it over the seat to Brian.

“Here, bud,” he said. “Can you let yourself in? I’ll be there in a minute”

“Okay, Dad.”

Allan got out and walked to the middle of the driveway where he watched the driver’s door of the Impala swing open and Audra emerge. She wore a navy-colored pantsuit and white blouse.

“Hi, Al,” she said.

“Hey. Am I under surveillance?”

“What?” A soft grin played on her lips. “No, no. I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by.”

Smiling, Allan shot a quick glance at the bulging business tote in her hand as she rounded the front of her car.

“Some weather, isn’t it?” she said.

“Some weather,” he agreed.

“I thought it was going to snow this morning. Now it feels almost like summer.”

“You know what they say, if you don’t like Nova Scotia’s weather, wait five minutes.” Stepping forward, Allan gave her a hug. “Nice to see you again.”

Audra leaned back, giving him the once-over. “You’re looking well.”

“Probably a little better than when you last saw me.”

“How’re you feeling?”

Allan shrugged. “Good.”

“Yeah? So, the therapy is working for you?”

“Working?” Allan scratched his cheek. “Uh, I think so.”

“You sound unsure.”

“No, it’s definitely helping me. The hyperarousal or reactivity symptoms has greatly diminished. I don’t have the bad dreams and flashbacks I used to.

“But after my session yesterday, I did find that self-doubt creeping into my brain again. I wondered if I had made the right decision putting myself through this.

“Then I remembered the therapist telling me at the start that it’s rarely a straight road to recovery. Sometimes there are setbacks. And I have to admit, he’s been helpful. He thinks compassion fatigue led to my PTSD. Some doctor called it the cost of caring.”

Audra tilted her head to the side. “The cost of caring? He means you became too emotionally invested in your job?”

“The families, I think.”

“You did get rather close to them. I noticed that myself. You weren’t like that in the beginning. You kept everything clinical, as you’re supposed to.”

Allan looked away, staring at nothing for a moment. “I don’t even know when that all started,” he said in a quiet voice. “Maybe a few years ago when my mother took sick. The therapist said it can take that long to accumulate and lead to PTSD.”

“Well, at least you’re on the road to recovery,” Audra said. “I must say, you do seem more like your old self.”

“So, what about you?” Allan asked her. “How have you been?”

“Busy, busy.”

“How’s the family?”

“They’re doing well. Dan’s up to his neck in tax returns. Daphne, she’s doing okay. Having some problems in one of her subjects, but nothing serious.”

“Good to hear.”

Audra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She lowered her gaze to the driveway and kicked at a pebble. A pained expression crossed her face and she shook her head. Allan sensed something bothering her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“There’s something I, er, wanted to ask you, Al. Only I don’t know if I should.”

Allan smirked. “So, this wasn’t a social call.”

Audra raised her gaze to him. “No, no, I’ve been meaning to stop over. Really.”

“Ask away.”

“I started a new case yesterday and I was wondering if I could pick your brain for a minute?”

“Sure. Want to go inside?”

“Might be better,” she said. “I won’t take much of your time. Promise.”

As they entered the house, Brian was sitting at the kitchen table, eating his after-school snack. He had a small plate set aside with two mini fruit pizzas on it, no doubt for Jimmy.

“This is my son,” Allan introduced. “Brian.”

“Hey, Brian. Pleased to meet you.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Audra Price. Your father and I used to be partners.”

Allan watched her words light something in Brian. A gleam appeared in his eyes.

“Oh, cool,” he said.

“Can I get you anything?” Allan asked her. “Tea? Coffee?”

Audra made a quick waggle of her head. “No, no. I’m good, thanks.”

He nudged his chin toward the living room. “We can talk in here.”

Following him, she suddenly gasped in surprise. “Kitty-cat.” She had noticed Buddy curled up in his favorite chair by the fireplace, asleep. “Is that a Ragdoll?”

“Chantilly.”

“He or a she?”

“He. His name is Buddy.”

“Oh, he’s gorgeous. Does he bite?”

“No, he’s pretty easygoing. Unless it’s two in the morning when he has his nightly cat fit.”

“Cat fit?”

“Yeah, he likes to tear around the house at full tilt for about half an hour. Then settles back down again once everyone is wide awake.”

Audra chuckled. She stopped a few inches from the chair. Buddy snapped his head up, looking at her with bright yellow eyes like saucers.

“It’s okay,” she said calmly. “It’s okay.”

She offered her hand. Buddy sniffed it, mewed once, and rose a bit on his haunches. Audra proceeded to give him a gentle head rub and chin stroke.

“Wow, his fur is soft,” she said.

Allan could hear Buddy’s deep rumble of a purr from across the room. “We brush him every day.”

“I love cats, but we can’t have them. Dan’s allergic.”

A knock came to the back door.

Brian called out, “Jimmy’s here, Dad.”

“Okay, bud. Make sure you guys stay in the yard.”

“We will.”

Audra took a seat on the sofa and placed the tote by her feet. Allan sat on the recliner across from her, the coffee table between them. He spread his hands, waiting.

“So, what’s this about?” he asked.

“Sergeant Shane Christaki,” Audra said. “Did you know him at all?”

“I met him once when he worked at Tantallon. Never cared for him. I heard far too many stories about him over the years.”

“That seems to be the general consensus among some members in our department.”

“He was dirty. There’s simply no denying it. Is this new case of yours somehow centered around him?”

“Yes. He killed himself yesterday.”

Allan tipped his head to the side. “Really? Do you know why?”

“Parkinson’s got too much for him. I’ve read neurological conditions like that can put people at a higher risk of suicide.”

Allan scratched at his cheek, feeling a pang of regret. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh. Is there some uncertainty about the actual cause of death?”

“No,” Audra said. “And don’t be sorry just yet.” She reached into her tote and produced a sheet a paper. She handed it to him. “This is a copy of the note he left behind.”

Allan took it and began reading the words aloud. “‘I always said I would beat Parkinson’s. That I wouldn’t let it beat me. But I can feel myself getting closer to stage four of this disease. I’ve been having more trouble buttoning my shirts and zipping my fly. Even keeping my hands steady enough to type this is difficult.

“‘Falls have become more frequent and I fear I’ll need a walker soon. Then what? A wheelchair? Bedridden? That is no way to live your life.

“‘I remember when the doctor first told me I had Parkinson’s. I felt like I was being punished for what we did. Caelan Little. Eva Krueger.’” Allan’s body became still as he examined the next three names. Traci Roach? Chester Stenhouse? Elaine Morris? He did a double take and continued. “‘Traci Roach. Chester Stenhouse. Elaine Morris. Katlyn Hill. Carl Brown. None of them deserved what happened. We had no right doing it’”—he skipped over the Bible passage—“‘God told me he forgave me. I hope you all can too.’”

Allan sat motionless for a moment, blinking slowly as he pondered what he’d just read. “Whoa,” he said at last. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I know, right? Do you recognize any of those names?”

“Three immediately stand out. Roach, Stenhouse, and Morris. Missing person cases from four to five years ago that I don’t believe were ever resolved. The other four seem vaguely familiar too.”

“All seven went missing over a period of nine years,” Audra revealed. “Not one has ever resurfaced.”

Allan looked at her. “Elaine Morris was the last?”

“Yes. She went missing on August twelfth, two thousand eight.”

“Traci Roach disappeared during the fall before her, correct?”

“Yes.”

“It’s all coming back to me now. Then Chester Stenhouse before her. Who was the first?”

“Carl Brown. Missing since September thirteenth, two thousand three. Caelan Little was the second. He disappeared on May twenty-fifth, two thousand four. Katlyn Hills went missing almost three months later in August of that year. Eva Krueger vanished in October, two thousand five. The third day, I believe.”

Allan considered the months involved. “Nobody went missing during winter.”

“No, they didn’t. I mean, we do see a drop in missing person cases during that time, only to pick up in the spring. But—”

“But these aren’t your typical missing person cases.”

“That’s what my gut is telling me.” Audra dug out a stack of files from the tote and laid them on the coffee table. “Here are copies of their reports. You don’t have to look at them right now.”

Allan folded Christaki’s note in half and put it on top of the pile. “Did these people have anything in common? I remember Morris and Roach as being homeless. Stenhouse, too, I believe.”

“All seven of those people were. And each one had an arrest record. Some more serious than others. They differed in age and gender, of course.”

Allan thought about that. “How many offences did each person average?”

“Roughly three,” Audra said. “Katlyn Hill had the fewest. Caelan Little had the most. He was a habitual reoffender. Once he would get out of jail, not too much time would pass before he’d be right back in there.”

“And all of their arrests took place within our municipality?”

Audra nodded. “I checked for a connection between the arresting and booking officers. Nothing.”

“You were looking for possible accomplices?”

“Yes.”

Allan said, “If the offences these people committed had brought them before the courts, you could be looking at any number of lawyers, clerks, sheriffs, the public gallery, even judges. That’s a tall order.”

Audra’s face went slack and her shoulders slumped slightly. “I realize that. Personally, I think the accomplice was another Mountie.”

“So, you’re convinced Sergeant Christaki was directly involved in these disappearances?”

“You read the note. What’s your opinion?”

“I believe he was,” Allan admitted. “Otherwise, why ask God’s forgiveness?”

Audra flashed her eyebrows. “Exactly. We’re on the same page, then.”

“What have you learned about him so far?”

“Not a hellava lot. I have an appointment with his ex-wife tomorrow. I’m hoping I can find out who his buddies were, if he had any. I do know he was an avid hunter.”

Allan raised his chin. “Oh?”

“Yup.” Dipping a hand into the tote again, she withdrew a manila envelope and gave it to him. “We took these pictures at Christaki’s home last night. Have a look.”

Allan did. He shuffled through photos revealing partially-furnished rooms and moving boxes still taped shut. When he came to the taxidermy collection, he leaned forward in the recliner and gave a slow, disbelieving shake of his head.

“That’s quite the assortment of stuffed animals,” he said.

“Isn’t it, though?”

“Do you know if he hunted all these? Owls and hawks are protected.”

“He purchased those through taxidermists,” Audra said. “We found the DNR paperwork. The other animals I don’t know about. That’ll be another question for his ex-wife tomorrow.”

Allan stopped at a photo of the cougar. He flipped it around to show her. “I wonder if he bought this from a taxidermist too. I do believe there are guided hunts in British Columbia. But they’re expensive.”

“Did you get to the bison mount yet?”

He had just come to it. “Yes.”

“Christaki had that hanging over his bed.”

Allan frowned. “Strange.”

“Yeah. Harvey thought it might have some significance to the RCMP. Kind of a weird nostalgic trophy.”

“Could be. The bison has been a symbol of that force for a long time. It first appeared on their regimental badges in the nineteenth century.”

Allan stared down at a picture of Christaki standing before a dilapidated hunting shack. Off to the right, three antlered deer hung from a skinning pole. Colors of gold, orange, and crimson splashed the trees in the background.

Allan passed the picture to Audra. “Any idea where this is?”

“No. I wondered that myself.”

“There had to be two other hunters with him,” he said. “Three deer. The bag limit in Nova Scotia is one. If, in fact, that picture was taken somewhere in this province.”

Audra gave the picture back. “I’ll mention it to his ex-wife tomorrow, without trying to sound too nosy. I’m going to pretend I’m only there to do a background on him.”

Allan said, “Hint around for any info regarding hunting buddies he might’ve had.” He arrived at the last photo. The image revealed a framed quote print on a wall. “‘An object in possession seldom retains the same charm that it had in pursuit.’”

“That was located in the rec room where he had his taxidermy collection,” Audra told him. “I found out it’s a quote from Pliny the Elder. I wondered what special meaning it had to Christaki. Some kind of hunting analogy? Or an analogy regarding human nature?”

Allan mulled that over. “Hmm, perhaps. It reminds me of a story a friend told me a long time ago. His name was Joey O’Gallagher. Not sure what ever happened to him; we lost touch somewhere along the way.

“Anyway, I remember one year he was training hard for a marathon. He looked forward to it and finally after all those months of pain, exercise, and diet, race day came. He said the marathon was exciting, but after he finished it, he felt let down. He couldn’t explain it.

“Maybe something similar happened to Christaki. His hunts no longer gave him the same thrill in the end. Maybe he needed a new animal to hunt, to reignite that excitement again.”

Audra chewed on the inside of her lip. “Much like Jacob Stark. Only not as prolific.”

Allan slipped the photos into the envelope. “We’re just brainstorming here,” he said. “Nothing has even been established yet.”

“I know.”

“How many of these people disappeared while he was working in Tantallon?”

“One—Elaine Morris. The rest went missing while he was at Bible Hill.”

Pressing his lips into a fine line, Allan flicked a quick glance upward. “Bible Hill,” he said in a tone hardened by sarcasm. “I think the only police department more corrupt is Truro.”

“Neither has a good reputation.”

“ I can’t help but remember the years Truro spent trying to defame an innocent man all over the community up there.”

“I vaguely remember the story,” Audra said. “Didn’t they tap into his phone, illegally?”

Allan nodded. “They got a friend or a relative of one of their officers—I’m pretty sure it was a relative—who worked at the phone company. He placed a device on the man’s phone line right off the pole across the street from the apartment building he lived in. That allowed Truro to have a separate telephone in their department which rang every time the man’s phone did. No court order to do it. I don’t believe the phone company even knew about it.

“So, for the next two years, Truro listened to that man’s private conversations all the while spreading lies around the community that they were on this big case, that they had a file on him two inches thick, and had trouble with him for years. All bald-faced lies. The man has no criminal record, never charged with anything in his life. Not so much as a parking ticket. He was completely innocent and Truro knew it from day one.

“After the two years, he moved out of their jurisdiction and into Bible Hill’s. Yet Truro continued the slander. Even meddled in jobs he worked at.

“Then a few years later Bible Hill, during Christaki’s tenure as Staff Sergeant, found the man on the internet. They began reading his emails, his private Facebook conversations, tracking him online. And of course, they shared all of it with Truro, who in turn carried on what they had been doing from the outset—running this man’s name through the mud to anyone in the public who would listen to them.

“Here, just last summer, a Mountie out of the Bible Hill detachment tried to pick a fight with the man from his car and then sped off like a coward when the man went after him—”

“Was the officer in an RCMP vehicle?” Audra interrupted. “Or his own civilian vehicle?”

“His own,” Allan told her. “He was off-duty. A short time after the incident Bible Hill wanted us to call in a fake robbery threat to an ATM company they found out the man was working for.”

Audra fixed him with an incredulous stare. “Did we?”

Allan spread his hands, palms up. “I hope not. I heard this prior to us leaving Halifax on the Stark case.”

Audra fell quiet for a moment. She rubbed an eyebrow and gave her head a shake. “Jesus.”

“This has been going on up there for fifteen, sixteen years now,” Allan said. “Yet they have legitimate cases, some of which have been unsolved since the nineties, and no one gives a shit about them.

“I guess what I’m getting at, Bible Hill is dirty. Truro is most certainly dirty. Even the mayor in that town is dirty.

“You don’t know who Christaki’s accomplice might’ve been. Was it someone working out of the Bible Hill detachment, out of Truro, or someone down here in our municipality?”

Audra held up an index finger, signaling to hold on a second. Once more she reached into her tote. Allan watched her produce a clear evidence bag that had a photograph inside.

“Here,” she said, passing it to him. “Have a look at this.”

Allan leaned in to view an image of Audra with a encircled X over her face. Behind her right arm, he could see the taillights of a truck.

“I found that on the windshield of my car last night,” she explained. “After we wrapped up searching Christaki’s home.”

Allan jerked his head back. “Really? Do you know where it was taken?”

“Herring Cove Provincial Park Reserve. The scene of the suicide yesterday.”

“Who were all there?”

“Just our guys. But Harvey saw the odd Mountie stop on John Brackett Drive and speak to our officers who were directing traffic.”

“Think it’s a warning to stop what you’re doing?”

“Oh, for sure. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’ve come to realize not much info would’ve been known when that photo was taken, only that Sergeant Shane Christaki had committed suicide. I don’t even know if we had found the note at that point.

“Everyone is taking pictures with their phones these days. Maybe a Mountie took one of the overall scene, not necessarily focusing on me. Maybe only that happened after word got around about the note and that we were launching an investigation. You know how they are.”

Allan said, “There’s another possibility.”

Audra held his gaze. “It was Christaki’s accomplice.”

“Yes.”

“Well, if that’s true, he has to be working somewhere in this municipality. I say he, because we can safely assume the accomplice was male.”

Allan agreed. “And you believe he and Christaki learned of these victims through the court system.”

“That seems to be the most logical theory.”

“What type of ploy do you think they used to abduct each of these people? Fake arrest?”

“It would attract the least amount of attention. No one in the public would give it a second glance.”

“They would have to be in uniform to pull it off. But what about the vehicle?”

Audra touched her temple. “I can’t see them using an active PC. Not with the GPS tracking. Even not logged in, it would be a hellava risk.”

“How about a decommissioned one?”

“Maybe.”

“What type of vehicles did Christaki have?”

“Just a GMC Sierra.”

“Find out what past vehicles he owned. Might be something there.”

“I’ll get on that in the morning.”

Allan returned the bagged picture to her. “I’m a little surprised the RCMP hasn’t tried to take this investigation from you.”

Audra dropped her gaze to the floor and seemed to wince. The flush that crept across her cheeks affirmed it.

“Jesus,” he said. “Audra.”

She looked up. “What would you have done, Al? Give up on those seven people?”

“So, what’re you doing, continuing this off the record?”

“I am,” she confirmed. “We’re truth seekers, Al. Our mission is to bring justice to the deceased and their families. What do you think the RCMP will do to this case?”

“They’ll make it disappear.”

“Exactly. You know it and I know it.”

Allan blew out a breath. “I think it’s fair to say Thorne doesn’t know what you’re doing.”

“God no.”

“Does anyone?”

“Jim and Harvey.”

“Okay, I trust them.”

“Other than you, they’re the only ones I really do trust in our department.”

For a moment Allan appraised her. She was the epitome of determination. An excellent detective who would leave no stone unturned in her search for a suspect. But was she doing the right thing in this matter—going solo into an investigation without departmental knowledge or approval? Could her tenacity plunge her in an ugly situation, even danger? If upper brass found out, could it cost her her job? Worse yet, what if the accomplice found out she was still pursuing him?

Allan wondered if he would’ve done what she was doing had he been in the same situation. Yes, he reasoned, he likely would have.

Audra checked her watch and gaped at the time. “Shit, it’s quarter to five.”

“Wow, already?”

“Yeah. I better run, Al. I promised the family I’d be home for supper tonight. Can I leave those files with you?”

“Sure. I’ll read through them tonight.”

“I’m not putting you out, am I?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He smiled. “It’ll give me something to do.”

“Great.” She stood up and extended her hand across the coffee table. “Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

He saw her to the front door and watched as she walked to her car.

“It’s not my job to tell you to retire, Mr. Stanton. Most officers out there would simply refuse that suggestion. My job is to help you make the right decision not only for yourself, but also for your family. They are affected by whatever you choose even more than you are.”

Pensive, Allan lowered his head and let out a shallow sigh.

Am I missing it? he wondered.

That dull ache inside told him he did.