In The Attic Rodgers, The residence at 469 Machleary Street was a sweet little place—not what
you’d expect for a house of horrors.
Well-kept. For this part of town.
The one-story bungalow with the steep roof was in the old city quarter—
probably built in the 20’s when Nanaimo was a booming coal town and shipping
hub. Now, that end of Machleary was being reclaimed from derelict rooming
houses, rentals, and mortgage take-backs. But there was something different about this yellow house with the white trim and the wooden-shingled architrave accenting a stained glass front door.
Something distinctly different.
Maria rode with me in my unmarked police Explorer. It had blacked-out
windows so she could sit locked safely inside while we checked her place for Billy Ray Shaughnessy. By “we” I mean, myself and two uniformed officers,
moreover, who arrived in a marked car, equipped for prisoner transport.
I parked two addresses to the west and got out, looking more like some
gray-haired, cheesy realtor in a shirt and tie than a cop packing a 9-mil loaded
with thirteen Eagle Talons in a shoulder-holster under my dark blue windbreaker.
We stood on the sidewalk, at the entrance to the gravel drive, and planned
for a minute. The house—cottage, I should say—was set back about fifty feet
How ever, from the curb and partly obstructed by two big, old, deciduous Larch trees that were probably planted when it was built. They cast tentacled shadows that reached for the left-side window. That was Maria’s bedroom.
“Yeah.” Maria coughed and touched her throat. “I mean yes.”
“When did this happen?” “Well, it’s been ongoing…but really got bad this morning…he had his knife out…at my throat…threatened to kill…kill me…but I offered to…have…have…I didn’t offer…I , Download for free bellow