“Snow is retired and you have a family. I just couldn’t live with myself if you or Snow were killed by that piece of shit. Too many families have lost their loved ones already because of him.”
Staal stepped outside and lit a cigarette. He sat down in a wooden rocker and tried to put the last hour as far as possible from his mind.
He inhaled and then looked out across the water to the other islands of the Gulf chain. He heard footsteps on the planking and turned to see Jeff Snow with a cancer stick of his own. Snow walked the length of the deck and came back to where Staal sat on the veranda.
“Rachael was a fine woman, Jack,” Snow began. “Going all the way to the Major Crimes, making sergeant. She must have battled more sexist bullshit on the job than the scum on the street.”
“Yeah, you’re right Jeff. Rachael Gooch was a good cop and a great person—you know? She didn’t deserve to go out like this.” He shook his head.
“Well, Campbell is waking up. Once we get him into holding, I’ll run you over to our hospital for a look see.”
“Yeah, what?” Staal was miles away. “No I’ll be okay.”
A minute later, Saunders walked Campbell out past Staal and sat him in the rear of the patrol cruiser. Staal used an entire roll of police tape to seal the door and deck of the suite. With a bit of luck, Will Drummond and his people would make the trip before the RCMP crew to process the house for trace evidence. Both the Mounties and Drummond’s FIS teams would be busy on the island for a couple of days.
Back at the detachment office, Staal made a pot of coffee, trying to shrug off the strange feeling that haunted him. He and Rachael had worked these phones only two hours ago. She had suggested back-up, and he had refused. This office would stick in his mind as the last place that he and Gooch had worked before she died.
“Your fault, Staal.” He whispered. “Should have listened to her about back up.”
He stepped outside of the office, flipped out Rachael’s phone, and scanned through the index until he found the number for the Fraser Valley RCMP.
“Staff-Sergeant Richard Pritchard, please.” The connection buzzed. “No, he isn’t expecting my call. Tell him it’s Jack Staal about Nathan Campbell.”
“What’s up, Staal?” Pritchard said in an irritated tone.
“I now have undeniable proof that Nathan Campbell is Birthday Boy.”
“How’s that, Jack?” Staal heard a hint of sarcasm.
“Sandra Meneghello is dead. Campbell killed her this morning, used mainly the same MO as the others.”
“Mainly the same? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Meneghello is the fifth and final woman in a group that tormented Campbell back in the nineties.”
“Where are you, Detective? The connection is awful.”
“I’m on Salt Spring Island; Ganges. You need to get your people here and at least two FIS teams.” Staal gave directions to the Dreamcatcher gallery, and the Harris House.
“Fine, anything else?” Pritchard did little to hide his disappointment that his squad hadn’t been able to connect Campbell to his victims.
“You might want to get Woolworth and Berger-Johnson, or Chin and Dionne over to the Ganges RCMP detachment to say hello to Nathan Campbell in lockup.” Staal hung up.
He looked across the parking lot to see a blue GM mini-van pull up. A woman, around fifty years of age got out. She was dressed in white slacks, and wore a light blue smock. He crossed the lot to greet her.
She introduced herself as Dr. Feldman. “Constable Saunders called me,” Feldman said. She carried a duffle bag, which looked like Staal’s overnighter when he flew.
“Yeah, just go in and ring the bell on the desk,” Staal said. “Saunders is in holding in the basement.” He was about to call Inspector Ross in West Precinct when Snow came out with a long face. Staal knew the message he carried was from the hospital.
“Rachel Gooch was pronounced, at Island Hospital Jack. Cardiac arrest.” Snow said.
Snow’s information was a formality. However, the words hit him like a bullet in his chest. A wave of anger and frustration washed over Staal until he saw a red blur of rage. Never before in his life had he harbored so much hate for another human. A hatred that could poison a man to his soul.
He walked into the office once more, down the stairs to holding where Dr. Feldman was looking at Campbell’s broken nose and fractured jaw. Campbell sat on a table while Saunders stood guard. Staal reached behind his blazer, pulled out his Glock, and jammed the muzzle of the pistol to Campbell’s forehead.
The doctor took a short look into Staal’s eyes, didn’t like what she saw, and hightailed it up the stairs.
“What the fuck are you doing, Jack?” Saunders pulled out his service weapon, a Smith Nine Millimeter.
“Too many have died, Dean. I gotta end this now.” Staal’s rage surged.
“Step away, Detective!”
“Just go upstairs, Constable. I’ll say you had a call from the coroner. So I took over guard duty.” He nodded his head toward the stairway.
“Can’t do that, Detective. Step away!”
Staal stared at the horrified look in Campbell’s eyes. He remembered what Campbell had whispered in his ear while his eyes, mouth, and nose were taped shut. “It’s a good day to die, Nathan.”
The terror in Campbell’s eyes flared into a desperate plea. Staal gently moved his index finger on the trigger of his pistol and forced it hard between Campbell’s eyes.
“Staal!” Saunders yelled. Staal turned to meet the constable’s eyes. “You said that because I have kids, you didn’t call me for help.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t make me do this, Jack.” Saunders’ hands trembled on the pistol. “Twenty-two years on the job and I have never fired my weapon in the line of duty. Don’t make my first shooting a cop killing. Don’t make me go home to my kids with your blood on me. Jack, please. Don’t make me shoot you!”
Jeff Snow appeared at the bottom of the stairway with a .38 almost as ancient as the one strapped to Staal’s ankle.
Snow pointed his revolver at Staal’s head. “Jack, don’t dishonor the memory of Rachael. You don’t want to do this and ruin your career, your reputation—your life. I understand your anger and your pain, but this isn’t the way.”
Staal growled his frustration, but he eased his touch off the trigger, closed his eyes, and lowered his weapon. Saunders took his pistol and gently guided Staal away from Campbell’s table. Snow jerked Campbell up, walked him to the holding cell, and locked the door behind him.
For several minutes, the only sound that could be heard was Campbell’s soft sobbing. The constable and his retired colleague stood and watched Staal in continued silence.
“Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry.” Staal looked both men in the eyes. They both nodded. “Dean if you need to file a complaint with Hanson Internal Investigations, I understand.”
“Only complaint I have is that I’m damn hungry,” Saunders replied. He turned and headed up the staircase. “The Glock 17 is a nice pistol, Jack.” He handed Staal his weapon at the top of the stairs.
Staal used Saunders’s office to make a call to Inspector Ben Ross at West Precinct.
“Staal, what the hell is going on? It’s three PM already.”
“Sandra Meneghello is dead. Campbell killed her about a half hour before we arrived.”
“Shit! What else?”
“Nathan Campbell is in custody.” Staal went on to inform his boss of the possible need for Wilson Drummond’s teams at two crime scenes.
Ross said that he would communicate with Prichard and if Drummond and his people were needed, would fly out for Ganges in the department helicopter as soon as possible.
“I can give you rundown on how it all went when you get here, Boss. Unless you need a summary now for a press release.”
“No, Staal, the press can wait until I get out there. Put Sergeant Gooch on the line if she’s there.”
Staal’s heart sank in his chest. “She’s not here, Inspector.”
“Well, can you track her down and get her to call me? She’s supposed to be keeping me informed of your progress. The Deputy Chief is already pissed that you two used private transport to get over there. Now she’s screaming for updates.”
“Inspector…” he took a long breath and felt his stomach clench.
“Jack?”
“Ben, Rachael Gooch is dead.”
Two blocks east of the RCMP detachment, Staal found a coffee shop. He sipped a strong cup of Freda’s best brew and picked at an order of fries. Freda’s Diner was a typical family operation with hand-typed menus, good food at honest prices, and local art hanging on the walls.
“Do you have any of Stephanie Black’s work, Freda?” Staal asked.
“Well, sure, almost all of the whale, eagle, and bear prints including the one above your head are hers,” Freda said. She wore a denim apron over a blue dress and her hair was a natural blonde tone. She was in her mid-forties, with a warm, welcoming smile that helped Staal forget his current situation, if only for a moment. He looked up at the print of a grizzly taking salmon from a river with his powerful claws.
The weight of his emotions grew steadily larger, threatening to crush him and leave him a sobbing mess. He thought of Rachael Gooch’s mother and sister, and the pain that would never fully go away after they learned of Rachael’s death.
Nathan Campbell filled his mind. His grinning face and relentless attack had burned itself into his gray matter. Campbell had probably spent the sum of his adult life thinking about Vince’s Girls and how, when, and where he would exact his revenge. When it was over, Campbell had turned his anger at Staal. Had murder become more than a tool of vengeance for Campbell? He seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps after feeling impotent for so long, the power of killing became for him like a fix to a junkie.
In the distance, the sound of a helicopter disrupted the island stillness. Staal left a ten for his bill and walked until he saw the chopper. He waited until the telltale blue and white color scheme of the Hanson Police Department came into view.
To the rear of the RCMP office was an open field of grass and wild flowers, where Staal watched HPS Chopper Number One touch down. Five members climbed out of the ship, including Deputy Chief Constable Sandra McEwen, Inspector Ross, Darrel Smyl, the department’s media relations officer, and Wilson Drummond and James Tomlinson from FIS.
In the office, Ross asked if anyone could drive the FIS team to the Dreamcatcher murder scene. Snow volunteered. Before he left, Drummond stepped into the hallway near the main entrance to speak to Staal. Staal told Drummond that the scene was much like the others, with the exception of the urine.
“Sorry about Rachael, Jack,” Drummond said before he turned to leave.
“Yeah; me, too.”
Twin RCMP helicopters landed. Staal recognized at least ten members of two IHIT teams including Pritchard, Sergeant Sheppard, and Corporal Chin as they filed out and jogged toward the detachment.
Inspector Ross appeared and told Staal that he and the Deputy Chief wanted a word with him. Staal glanced at the wall clock and noted it was nearly seven PM. He led his superiors inside the building, stepped into an office and into a Command ambush. Staal took a seat.
“What the hell happened out here, Jack?” McEwen began.
Sandra McEwen had just turned fifty-two a month earlier. She was five-eight with deep lines in her face and tired eyed making her look older than her years. She began her 32-year career at HPS in 1976 as one of the first women hired as a Patrol Officer.
She had a reputation for being tough and by the book. One personality quirk that gave cops fits was her knack for hiding her true emotions. It was hard to tell if she was joking or serious. At this moment, however, Staal had no doubt that McEwen was pissed off.
“Look, Chief, it’s been one shitty, fucking day.” Staal had never talked to the chief in this tone before, but today he had no patience for pleasantries. “My partner and I tracked Nathan Campbell here and attempted to take him into custody at the Harris House B&B.”
McEwen didn’t show any surprise at Staal’s rudeness. “Without back-up? Sergeant Gooch was ordered by Staff-Sergeant Barnes to wait for sufficient assistance.”
Gooch hadn’t mentioned to Staal her call to Barnes during the chopper flight. “The only law enforcement available on the island was a single constable and a former colleague—retired. I doubt either had any experience with this type of bust. This wasn’t a teenager tagging mailboxes. So we had them securing possible escape routes at the ferry terminals.”
“And this suspect capture lead to the death of Detective-Sergeant Rachael Gooch?”
“Correct.”
“Exactly how did this come about, Detective?”
Staal gave the Deputy Chief a systematic account of the storming of suite number four, Campbell’s surprise bomb, the Taser jolts, duct-tape, tie-strap cuffs, and his hand-to-hand fight with Nathan Campbell. He laid it all out and held nothing back.
“So, when you had Campbell subdued, you realized that Sergeant Gooch had suffocated?”