The Murder of Emma Brown

By Rod Kackley

Friends don't kill friends, do they?

 

Two eighteen-year-old women go out for a night of cruising and partying in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada.

 

Only one returns home.

 

Now, Major Crimes Division inspectors William Gagnon and Scarlett Gauthier have to find a killer. Someone so evil they beat and strangled a woman to death with bare hands and a leather belt.

 

It had to be a man, right? How could another woman have done this?

 

Oh, a woman could have done this-- a woman who learns how easy it is to cross that line between guilt and innocence and how hard it is to shoulder the burden of knowing you've committed a truly heinous crime.

 

Murder is no stranger to Saskatoon.

 

Still, "The Murder of Emma Brown," inspired by the shocking true crime short story, "Her Best Friend's Killer," stuns this blue-collar Canadian community.

 

The pressure's on Inspectors Gagnon and Gauthier. Has a gang war broken out in Saskatoon? Emma's only one of two young people killed in a single night.

 

Friends turn on friends in this gripping crime fiction novel, battling it out on social media and blaming each other for Emma's death.

 

Gagnon and Gauthier soon realize it's going to take more than 20th-century crime-fighting techniques to solve this vicious homicide case and bring Emma's killer to justice.

 

Guess what? Friends. Kill. Friends.

 

The Murder of Emma Brown, a thrilling, page-turning crime novel you'll never forget.

 

 

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rod Kackley
• Release date: Mar 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393534679

Rod Kackley

Rod Kackley is an award-winning journalist and author, living and writing, in Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA.

Book preview

One

She was losing consciousness. In a way, it was a blessing. The teenage girl had never been much of a fighter and she’d proven to be no match for the violence of her angry friend.

Her attacker was more than her friend. She was her best friend.

They’d been together since childhood. They were only teenagers now, but it had been a lifetime of shared misery and rebellion.

It wasn’t easy being a kid in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada. The weather was more than cold. It was brutal. But when you grow up in that climate, it’s all you know. So, the weather was the weather. The real problem was the drugs, the crime, the poverty and the violence.

This young woman who was losing her fight to stay conscious dropped out of high school. That wrong turn in life was followed by the kind of trouble lots of rebellious kids get into. Everyone knows the score in Saskatoon. But she had finally taken the advice of an older friend and had gone back to school to get her diploma. She was even thinking of taking some university classes and starting her own business. She’d stay in Saskatoon, but she’d create a new life for herself.

However, that was now the last thing on her mind.

She was pretty sure her nose was broken. She was positive she’d lost at least two teeth. She’d had a rough life. But she had never experienced a beating like this.

She was sitting in the mud, leaning up against her car. And she was freezing. It couldn’t have been warmer than thirty-two-degrees Fahrenheit.

Her pants were soaked with urine. She’d lost control of her bodily functions after taking a crack over the head. She wasn’t sure what she’d been hit with. She’d stopped fighting back. She’d just taken it. She was only trying to survive, hoping her friend, who had gone absolutely ballistic once they’d gotten out of the car to take a walk into a wooded area to pee, would either take mercy on her or just get tired.

She’d only been trying to look out for her friend. Her best friend had tried to call a guy she knew to get more drugs, as they left a house party. The teenage girl, who was afraid she was watching her life fade away, had wrestled the phone out of her friend’s hand and thrown it out the car’s window.

Her friend was pissed.

They’d stopped, looked for the phone and failing to find it, walked back to her car together. But the girl was afraid. She knew her friend was simmering with anger. Her friend had a history of violence. More than one of their classmates, before they had dropped out of school together, had felt her wrath.

But she had never expected anything like this. They’d always been friends, she thought to herself. They’d shared dreams and hopes of moving out of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada.

Neither of them fantasized about getting married and having children. Neither of their life experiences had included a happy home life.

Rather, they had dreamed since elementary school of staying together, sharing an apartment and a life, and above all else, freedom.

The teenager — actually she was a young woman, eighteen years of age — was now having trouble seeing. Blood was flowing down her forehead into her eyes. But more than that, she was losing focus. Everything was blurry. She was nauseous. Her nose was smashed. She couldn’t breathe.

She could see her friend coming at her holding something in her hands. It wasn’t a weapon. It was a belt.

She felt her friend grab her brown hair that was now sticky with blood and mud and yank it hard. The pain ripped like electricity through her scalp, nearly down into her shoulders. She felt her head slammed back against the side of her car — once, twice, three times.

Her friend was breathing hard. Even though it was freezing cold, her friend was covered with sweat.

She drifted off for a moment. But was brought back to reality by a new sharp, cutting pain. So this is what they meant when they said you got hit so hard you saw stars, she thought.

The belt cut into her neck. When it was pulled tight, the teenager felt her tongue pop out of her mouth. She messed her jeans, again. If she’d cared about life anymore, she would have been hugely embarrassed. But nothing that used to matter seemed of much concern with death so imminent.

Everything was fading away. She lost the will to focus her sight and fight through the fog that was enveloping all she could see. She gave up...

Two

8 p.m. Central Standard Time

Olivia Smith had always helped Emma Brown. Despite the difference in their ages — Olivia was thirty-two, Emma was eighteen — they were close. They had worked together at Saskatoon’s German Culture Centre at 160 Cartwright Street East.

When you work with someone every day, you see their good and bad sides. Emma and Olivia really had gotten to know each other at the Cultural Centre. Even after Olivia and Emma quit the store and got new jobs, they stayed tight.

So Olivia, a slim woman with shoulder-length brown hair, wasn’t surprised when Emma came to her house asking for some money to buy gas, this evening.

The month had started off bone-chilling cold — dropping to 11-degrees-below-zero the third night of March before warming into the upper thirties during the day and dropping slightly into the low thirties at night. And, that was the good news.

After a typical prairie winter that froze icicles on eyelashes and forced everyone to plod through deep snow, it was feeling like spring time in Saskatoon. But still it was way too cold to be out walking, Olivia thought. So she reached for her purse to get some money for her friend.

Emma knew Olivia would help. And if she’d had the money, Emma never would have asked. But she was broke, again. That was not unusual in their neighborhood. Olivia was always willing to help. She felt like they had to stick together. Still, Olivia wasn’t shy about offering advice along with assistance. This night was no different.

What’s up for tonight? Olivia asked Emma as she handed her the gas money.

Her concern was more than simply evidence of Olivia’s maternal or sibling instincts.

She knew enough to worry about a single, young woman in Saskatoon even if she was all of eighteen years old.

You can’t even go to a house party, or go anywhere without something happening, Olivia warned, especially in this city. It really has become a thug town. It is scary out there.

Saskatoon is the Canadian province of Saskatchewan's most significant city; a community that more than 295,000 people would call home in the 2016 census. It was Saskatchewan's center of business and cultural activity.  But the city also had the second-highest crime rate in all of Canada.

Olivia had seen where Saskatoon Police Chief Clive Weighill told Global News, he wasn't surprised that his town was second only to Regina, the capitol of Saskatchewan, in the volume and severity of reported crimes.

Chief Weighill blamed an increase in meth use, poverty, inadequate housing, and racism. Whatever the reasons, the residents of Saskatoon didn’t need a survey to tell them their lives were impacted by crimes committed by the people Olivia referred to as thugs.

Another study from Statistics Canada showed only 30 percent of the people who lived in Saskatoon felt safe from crime. Damn, Olivia had thought reading that. It’s no wonder.

Olivia realized Emma knew all about poverty, drugs, crummy housing and crime.  She was hardly a babe in the woods on the streets of Saskatoon. It was her life, too.

But still, Olivia felt like she had to talk to her young friend about her plans for the night.

Emma said she and a friend, who she said was pregnant, were thinking about going cruising and then maybe stopping at a party that night. It all seemed innocent enough, for a night in Saskatoon, especially given Emma’s troubled past.

Emma was a high-school drop-out. But she had returned to finish Grade 12, and was  turning her life around. She was clean, working two jobs —  at Vern’s Pizza and the German Cultural Centre — while going to high school. Emma loved animals, shopping, outdoor sports like snowboarding, and most importantly, she had plans for the future.

Emma had been talking about starting her own business. She dreamed of going to university after graduating from high school to take business classes.

Olivia felt she had no reason to worry, beyond what anyone would be concerned about when a young friend, a girl on the verge of being a woman goes out for an evening that could include the use of drugs and alcohol.

She was a young women, right? She wasn’t a child anymore.

Olivia had been through that scene and survived. Now that her friend, Emma, had goals and plans, and a life to look forward to, Olivia didn't see any reason to be overly concerned.

Three

Charlotte tried to blow smoke rings just like her mother did before she died about five years ago. Her friends said they couldn’t recall what they did when they were babies. However, Charlotte swore she remembered sitting on her mom’s lap trying to catch the rings her mother blew out of her mouth while she smoked her MacDonald Exports.

Standing on the corner waiting for Emma, now, stomping her feet on the ground, with her arms wrapped around her for warmth, Charlotte could see the green MacDonald Export box with the picture of the Scottish girl in the upper left-hand corner. And, Charolette laughed when she recalled all of those crushed green boxes and MacDonald Export butts lying in the gutter.

Charlotte took a deep breath and actually blinked back a tear. She always tried to be a hard case, but moments like this, alone, with nothing but the quiet of a Saskatoon evening around her, Charlotte would relax that tough facade.

God, I need to get high, Charlotte thought, praying in her mind that Emma had been able to squeeze enough cash out of Olivia to buy some dope, beer, and more smokes along with enough gas to get to a party.

Which party? Any party, Charlotte asked and answered herself. And if there wasn’t enough cash to get everything she wanted, well, Charlotte had a plan for that, too.

Of course, she wasn’t accustomed to scheduling her life very far in advance. What would happen in the next couple of hours was about as far as Charlotte ever looked into the future.

Emma might be thinking about going to a university and opening up some kind of business, but long-range goals were not Charlotte’s thing. Worrying about where her next buzz was coming from and what she might have to sacrifice to make that happen was always at the top of Charlotte’s agenda.

Her life was effortless. She moved in and out of her Uncle Stan’s house whenever she got hungry, sleepy, or cold, which occurred more during the winter than it did the rest of the year.

Uncle Stan’s door had always been open to her since her mom died. But Charlotte had been thinking for the past month that she was going to have to settle down. Maybe she would actually figure out some kind of a plan looking six months down the road.

Tonight, though, was not the time to be thinking about that. Tomorrow was soon enough.

Damn it, Emma. Where are you?

It was really getting cold. Of course, it was March, not January, but still, it was freaking freezing. This is Saskatoon, after all, Emma thought, as she heard a car coming closer.

Thank God, Charlotte thought. Emma. Finally.

Yo.

Oh, crap, Charlotte thought as she rolled her eyes. Fucking gangbangers.

Four guys in a Chevy. That’s heaven on a Saturday night in Saskatoon, and just the kind of thing Emma swore she wanted to get far, far, away from. She and Charlotte had taken more than a few rides in the backseats with these guys.

Emma said she was ready to break away. And, as impossible as it seemed to Charlotte, Emma was actually doing it. In fact, this was the first night they’d partied together in like forever.

Charlotte wasn’t ready for a dramatic lifestyle change, but she was not about to get into this car. This evening, she was street smart enough to raise a bit up on her toes and move into a sideways position. If she had to run, Charlotte wanted to be ready to roll and go fast. Her right hand moved into her coat pocket, gripping her keys. The case was in her palm. The tips of a key, to Uncle Stan’s house, along with a few random keys, were between her fingers.

If these guys were going to give her trouble, Charlotte would run. But if she couldn’t get away, she was ready to fight. Charlotte would punch with her right hand. If that wasn’t enough, she’d scrape the tips of those keys across the face of whoever was trying to hurt her.

She’d done it so many times, Charlotte didn’t even think about how she’d fight tonight if it came down to it. You grow up in Saskatoon; it’s part of your DNA, Charlotte told Emma the last time they’d partied.

Char, what you doing tonight? said a voice from the back seat of the Chevy.

She looked sideways into the car, scrunching down a bit, without losing her balance. Charlotte squinted and, in the glow of a marijuana joint, saw it was Nathan.

Relaxing because she realized she was talking with friends, Charlotte said, Waiting for Emma.

"Cool,’ said Nathan.

Wanna party with us? Wait here in the car, said a voice from a boy sitting next to Nathan. Plenty of room.

Yeah, I’ll bet there’s plenty of room in your dreams, Charlotte said with enough of a smile to let the boy know, whoever the hell he was, that she didn’t mean any disrespect.

Everyone in the car laughed, except Nathan. If you and your BFF wanna have some fun, I know where there’s a party.

Right here, said another random voice in the car, as he pointed to his crotch. As Charlotte heard what seemed like nervous laughter from the boys, she squinted. It was a voice she didn’t recognize. The boy, more of a man than the other kids, leaned forward. His jacket pulled up in the back, and Charlotte saw something she recognized only too well. The butt of a pistol, probably a 9 mm something or other. She didn’t know much about guns, but Charlotte knew she didn’t want to be around them. Especially not now.

Charlotte could also tell this new guy wasn’t fooling around. He was a bit more hardcore than Nathan and his usual posse of Sam, Logan, and Jacob. Whoever he was, he had jail written all over him. The others might have had some minor scrapes with the constables but this guy was the real deal. So Charlotte back away from the car, gripping her keys a little tighter.

Nathan sighed and shook his head. He took a drag off his cigarette. Listen, he said to Charlotte. If you and Emma want to have some fun later, we’re all going over to Jason’s place.

Jason? Wilson?

Yeah, that’s right, said Nathan.

Just as Charlotte thought that maybe she’d waited too long for Emma and would accept the invitation, everyone saw the headlights of another car, a bigger vehicle, perhaps a Crown Victoria. Probably not the police, but who knew for sure, so the driver, a good guy named Michael, didn’t wait.

He gently pressed the accelerator and drove off as Charlotte stepped back from the curb. She reached into her pocket, dropped the keys, and grabbed a new weapon. There was no telling who was pulling up next.

This was Saskatoon, after all.

Four

Charlotte was lovingly toying with what Emma called her little friend when her BFF finally pulled up in front of her. But she fiddled with it carefully. One time, Charlotte wound up in the emergency room after toying with her little friend until its sharp razor blade slid out. She was so blasted, Charlotte didn’t even feel the boxcutter slice her hand. Or maybe she didn’t feel it because the razor was so freaking sharp.

Whatever the reason it was pain-free, Charlotte still bore the scar in the palm of her hand. Maybe you should think of it as just another lifeline, Emma had said when the bandage finally came off.

Charlotte snorted. Lifeline? she said, holding her hand up to the light in Uncle Stan’s bathroom. This ain’t no lifeline. This is my mother fucking death line. That’s what this is, she said with a sarcastic laugh.

She might have tried to blow it off like the hardcore woman she wanted to be in the bathroom that night. But the white scar frightened the crap out of Charlotte. It ran from the base of her middle finger down to her wrist. The ER doc—pretty damn cute for one of Saskatoon’s indigenous people, she thought later—told Charlotte at the time she