Grave Situation by Alex MacLean Page A

worked into the early evening
when the phone rang. He snatched at it.
    It was the serology department at
the forensic lab. Preliminary results were in from the blood typing
of Brad Hawkins and the mystery blood found on the wharf and it was
already evident that there was no match. Brad Hawkins had type O
blood, common in over forty percent of the population. The blood on
the wharf was type B, much rarer.
    Allan straightened.
    Quietly, he said, “Thank you for
the information. Do you have an ETA for the DNA
profile?”
    The female voice on the other end
paused a moment. “At least a month, Lieutenant.”
    “Okay. Please keep me apprised of
any further developments.”
    “We will. Take care.”
    Allan hung up and closed his eyes.
All at once, he felt drained, enervated by the activities of the
day and lack of food.
    Who’s the mystery bleeder? Suspect
or another victim?
    He stared at the pile of paperwork
on his desk, lost in thought.
    If another victim, then who? Is the
person alive or dead?
    He picked up the telephone and
called around to the local hospitals to see if anyone had shown up
with stab or cut wounds throughout the early morning hours. No such
luck.
    His last call was to the Vice Unit
to see if anyone had been reported missing from the night before.
Only one he was told—a local prostitute named Trixy Lynn Ambré. She
had failed to come home from work. Her younger sister filed the
report earlier in the day.
    “If I could,” Allan said, “I’d
like to review the report.”
    “Face it, Al. You just miss us
here in Vice. And you use any excuse to come back and see your old
friends.”
    Allan smiled at the joke. The rich
baritone voice on the other end belonged to Marc Zwicker. He had
worked with Allan during his brief tenure in the Vice
Unit.
    “Yes.” Allan chuckled. “You got
me.”
    “Come on down. I’ll have it
waiting for you.”
    When Allan went back to his office
with the file, he spread out the contents of it on his desk. The
report revealed Trixy Ambré was last seen leaving her apartment on
Brewer Street at approximately 10:30 p.m. The probable cause of her
disappearance was unknown. She had no previous history of missing
before. A dental chart was unavailable. She had no acknowledged
disability or dependency. She was known to Vice as a prostitute who
had been arrested twice in the past year. At any rate, Trixy Ambré
did not seem to have a reason to disappear.
    Vice had already made visits to the
local hospitals, the train station and the airport. No one had seen
her.
    The supplementary report listed
blood types. All were circled unknown.
    Allan picked up the accompanying
photo. It showed a young woman with a pale, unblemished complexion,
not covered by makeup. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail. Her
level blue eyes conveyed a somewhat serious look.
    Pretty, Allan concluded.
    He turned back to the main page of
the report. The person who had reported Trixy missing was Cathy
Ambré. It was then he noticed the two women lived at the same
address.
    After gathering up the file, he
left the office for his car.

16
    Halifax, May 9
    8:05 p.m.
     
    Allan drove through a low-rent
neighborhood in the north end of the city. Coasting slowly down the
street, he passed a rundown convenience store with lottery signs
covering the windows. Three kids on bikes loitered on the sidewalk
outside the entrance. Further on, he came upon a row of old brick
apartment buildings. The first one was a condemned shell, gutted by
a fire late last fall. Sheets of plywood still covered the windows
and main door. Black soot marred the brick. A heavy load of
winter’s snow had left a sag in the roof.
    Like much of the neighborhood, city
officials seemed to have forgotten about the building. No order had
been issued for its demolition.
    Two buildings up the street Allan
found the one he was looking for. The dwelling bore its age, with
no attempt at upkeep over the years. Its brick facade was blackened
by weather and time.