“Signal the bridge to send help...an’ hurry,” he yelled before stepping between the boilers.
When Carlyle reached the men, both were down; one was moaning but conscious, the other was semi-prone on the deck, up against the side of the boiler. Half his face was gone. Carlyle controlled his reaction to throw up and bent down to check on him...he was dead. By now the steam had dissipated enough for him to survey the area, that’s when he saw the ruptured valve. It was clear what had happened: the valve had shattered, sending shards flying. One had struck the workman on the side of his face. He took another look at the dead man’s wound and within a few seconds saw the piece of metal embedded inside the wound. It entered just under his left eye.
He turned to the other man who was sitting on the deck. A quick check revealed he had sustained burns to his hands and face. Carlyle shifted and placed his hands under the unconscious man’s armpits and slowly dragged him back to the catwalk. Once clear of the boilers, he called out for the men to come and help him.
Meanwhile, the man reached the voice pipe leading up to the bridge. He put his mouth over the mouthpiece and blew into it then put his ear against it. A moment later he heard a voice.
“Bridge,” a man’s voice said in his ear. It was the Second Mate. He had been in the chart room going over some charts.
Turning his head, the man yelled into the pipe, “Get help an’ a doctor. There’s been an accident...hurry.”
“What’s that you say?” the Mate said.
Somethin’s happened. We need help an’ a doctor.”
The Mate quickly put the plug back into the voice pipe and pulled one from another pipe and blew into it. This one led to the Captain’s room.
“Yes?” A voice said.
“Sorry sir, but the engine room just piped up that there’s been an accident below. They’re calling for help and a doctor.”
“I’ll be right there.”
An hour later, the injured man and the body of the dead man were on their way to the hospital: one to the emergency department, the other to the morgue.
Chapter One
It was the summer of 1941. The war in Europe was still raging, as Hitler continued his march across Europe, conquering every country his armies entered. England was struggling for its very survival on a daily basis. The only thing keeping the country alive were the convoys bringing in valuable supplies and materials. These convoys bore the brunt of German efforts to prevent them from arriving. They had to run the gauntlet of U-boats while crossing the Atlantic, as well as the weight of German air attacks once within range of the continent. But, like so many times in its history, this small besieged island defied the odds and the powers being thrown against it.
I was sitting at my desk with my feet up on the desk, enjoying my second mug of tea and reading the local paper, catching up on the war news. The news was not good. The Germans had marched across Europe, crushing any and all resistance with help from their main ally, Italy. It looked like Hitler was having his way as he widened his continental ambitions.
My name is John Robichaud, Robie to my friends. I’m forty-three; in pretty decent shape and still have all my hair. I work at a job I am pretty good at, and happy doing, with the Halifax Police Department. I’m happily married to my wife, Elizabeth, and have a couple of great kids, making mine a nearly perfect life, in spite of the war.
The department is located in the basement of the city hall building on Duke Street which was the original site of Dalhousie University back when it was built. We have a few cells which are usually filled then with drunks and rabble rousers. We send the more serious cases up to Rockhead Prison in the north end of the city to await a court date.
So far it had been fairly quiet, with nothing serious to deal with since we shut down a major theft operation off the docks last year. Halifax didn’t have any really serious crime prior to the war compared with other major capital cities; it was mostly minor crimes and misdemeanours but times were a changing, and the city was dealing with a lot more people. Before the war, we mostly dealt with domestic disputes, investigating accidents and the like.
Our biggest problem now was dealing with the steadily increasing flow of soldiers and materials, both destined for the ever present merchant ships arriving for the transit to Britain, and the lack of places for war weary servicemen to relax and enjoy a drink. All this has led to tensions growing between the general population and the servicemen and sailors from the merchant ships arriving on a regular basis for the convoys, resulting in numerous altercations. Our cells were always full at the start of the morning shifts.
However, it was the number of serious crimes that worried me more than anything else that was going on since the outbreak of hostilities overseas. These ran from murders, graft and black-market operators to espionage as evidenced by the events of last year. Then there was the growing problem of the women coming to town looking for work and places to stay who, for any number of reasons, were making do by selling their favors. The city council had recently issued an new by-law requiring Halifax Police to pick these women up and charge them as vagrants, putting even a greater strain on us and our limited resources.
Another problem these days was the steady inflow of people looking for work and the military using the city and port as a major staging and departure venue are for the trip overseas. This gave rise to housing shortages and rent gouging; food and fuel rationing, and a decided lack of any facilities or other amenities for the servicemen and merchant sailors to relax from the stresses of the war at sea.
In addition to all this, there has been a growing number of thefts of war materials and a black market, but our biggest problem concerns the moonshiners and bootleggers.
I didn’t think things could get any worse until the phone on my desk rang.
I put my paper down and picked up the receiver. “Robichaud.”
“Robie,” the voice of Ted Wilson vibrated in my ear. Ted was the duty desk officer. “I got a call here from the VG emergency room askin’ for a detective.”
“Yeah? They say why?”
“Rape. Seems a young girl was brought in an hour ago. They say she’s in pretty bad shape.”
“Right. Put it through,” I said. Jesus, I thought as I waited for the call to be connected.
“This is Detective Robichaud,” I said when the line opened. A woman’s voice responded.
“This is Nurse Jennifer Jolson at the emergency room in the VG,” she said. “I’m calling to report a rape.”
“You’re sure it’s rape?” I asked.
“Yes, and a violent one. A young girl was brought in by ambulance about thirty minutes ago. She was badly beaten, and our initial examination showed signs of sexual abuse. She looks to be about sixteen or seventeen.”
“Is she...?”
“Dead? No sir, but she’s unconscious. We have her in intensive care at the moment.”
“Okay. We’ll be there right away. Make sure you have the ambulance report ready for us and keep everything she had on and with her.”
“Okay. Thank you,” she said and hung up.
Pete Duncan, my partner, sat back and looked at me.
Pete has been on the force for eight years. He worked his way up from patrolman and qualified for a position as a detective junior grade. After years or so, he sat for and passed his sergeant’s exam. He proved to be adept at investigative work, so I had him assigned as my partner. He’s twenty-nine years old, six foot tall with a solid muscular build. He’s pretty good in a scrap and has some training as a boxer. He’s also not that bad looking, or so I’ve heard some women in the building remark. Plus, he’s still single.
“Did you say rape?” he asked.
“Looks that way. A young girl was brought in a half an hour ago,” I answered, standing up. “Nurse said she was beaten pretty badly an’ is unconscious. Get your coat and let’s go.” I grabbed my jacket and hat. We headed for the parking lot upstairs and took one of the squad cars.
Anger roil
ed deep in my gut. Rapes are one of the worst crimes cops have to investigate. Rapists are the lowest form of coward and deserve the maximum punishment the law allows.
Pete found a parking spot close to the emergency entrance. We got out and went inside. I stopped a nurse and asked for Nurse Jennifer Jolson and was told to head to another section of the emergency room.
Doctors, nurses and orderlies were moving among an assortment of patients either laid out on gurneys, standing, or sitting in chairs. All were bandaged, most were still wearing their work clothes which were covered in crude oil. I asked a passing orderly what was going on. He said these poor devils were some of the survivors rescued by the navy after being torpedoed. He also said that was becoming all too common these days.
We finally found a Nurse’s Station. I asked one of the nurses there for Jennifer Jolson. A young attractive woman stepped forward.
“I’m Nurse Jolson,” she said. “You must be the police.”
Jennifer Jolson looked to be about twenty-two or four. She wore the traditional white uniform and the cap with a black band on it, signifying she was a Registered Nurse.
“Detective Robichaud, and this is Detective Duncan,” I said, showing her my ID. “Is there someplace we can talk?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “This way.”
She led us down a corridor to a small room.
“This is our lunch and rest room. It’s all we have just now since most of our other spaces are currently being used to treat injured people,” she said, indicating a couple of wounded men sitting outside the door. They didn’t look like the men we saw.
“Not a problem,” I said. “What happened to them?”
“An accident at the shipyards,” she answered.
I almost bumped into a doctor who was attending one of men whose arms looked badly burned, as well as part of his face which looked red and raw.
“That’s Doctor March. He was the one who attended to the girl when she was brought in.”
I nodded then asked, “Do you have the ambulance report?”
She passed me several sheets of paper.
“It’s on top. The others are Doctor March’s preliminary examination report.”
I took the top copy and passed the rest to Pete.
“Any identification on her?” I asked as I scanned the report.
“She had nothing on her when she was brought in. No wallet or purse.”
“Pete,” I said, “remember to tell the duty officer to let us know if any call comes in reporting a missing girl.”
“Okay,” he said.
I turned my attention to the report. It was brief and to the point.
A young woman was found unconscious in the bushes at Melville Cove by a
patrol car. The woman was picked up by ambulance and arrived at emergency
at 04:20. Initial observations revealed that she was still alive but unconscious.
Closer inspection showed she had been assaulted and sexually abused. She was
immediately admitted and treated for the superficial damages. Blood samples
have been collected: results pending.
When I finished reading, I looked again at where she was found. It was up around the city aerodrome in the northwest part of the city. The area was secluded and not overly populated, so it was unlikely anyone would have seen or heard anything, especially if it happened late at night.
“Rotten bastards,” Pete exclaimed angrily from behind me, breaking into my thoughts.
“What?” I asked, turning to him.
“Accordin’ to this, the doctor figures she was repeatedly sexually assaulted by one or maybe two attackers and even sodomized.”
“Let me see that,” I said, taking the papers from his hand.
After a quick read, I understood what angered him. I looked at him and saw the rage in his face.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s jus’...”
“Uh-huh. Me too,” I said giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
At that moment the door opened and a man in a white smock with a stethoscope sticking out of a pocket stepped in. He was a tall and heavyset man in his forties with greying hair. He looked tired.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “I’m Doctor Kevin March. I take it you’re the police.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Robichaud and this is my partner, Detective Duncan.” We exchanged handshakes.
Nurse Jolson here said you were the attending doctor when the girl was brought in, correct?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s right,” March answered.
“I read your report. Care to elaborate on it?”
There’s not a lot more to add at this time. I’ve ordered more tests but as you saw when you came in, we’re pretty much overburdened at the moment. And before you say anything, I do understand that what happened to her is a serious matter and I will try and put a priority on her.”
“I appreciate that and the fact that you got your hands full right now. It’ll help us if you can at least send along anything as it comes up. Meantime, what else can you tell us about her?”
“Certainly. As you know by now, the young girl was brought in at four-twenty this morning. She was, and remains, unconscious. There was a strong smell of alcohol on her. I’ve ordered a test for how much. I did a check of her body and discovered she’d been badly beaten around her face and head.”
“Any signs of a struggle, defensive wounds?” I asked, interrupting him.
“Some, yes. Bruises on her arms and some skin tissue under her fingernails. There were no other signs of injury, broken bones, punctures of the skin, that sort of thing,” he said, then continued. “I checked her pelvic area and discovered she’d had intercourse. However, it was obvious from the bruising and blood around the area that it was forced. She was raped in my judgement.”
“You indicated in your report that she was sodomized.”
“Yes. There were lesions around the anus indicating something had penetrated her there.”
I could feel the anger rising in me as he talked.
“This was a brutal assault,” he said. “I haven’t seen anything like it before.”
I choked back what I really wanted to say and said, “What’s her condition now?”
“We cleaned her up and addressed the superficial wounds and placed her in intensive care for now. At the moment, all we can do is let her body do its work and hope she awakens soon.”
“You sayin’ there’s a chance she won’t come to?” Pete asked, speaking for the first time.
“No, but she endured something that was a major shock to her body and mind. In such circumstances, it’s not uncommon for the mind to sort of shut down so the body can heal. Understand?”
Pete nodded, “Yeah, I think so. Does that mean, even if she wakes up, she won’t know or remember anything?”
“It’s a possibility. It’s another way the mind protects us. No one really knows or understands how this happens, but it is common all the same. She’s going to need a lot of care, especially emotional and mental, no matter what happens. However, she’s young and in good health so she should recover, at least physically, like I said. You have to understand, attacks of this type, even ones not so severe, can have devastating effects on the victim no matter their age.”
“How long you figure it’ll take?”
Dr March shrugged. “Depends on her really. Could be days, months, maybe even years.”
“I see,” Pete said.
“You indicated in your preliminary report that she was either raped by more than one person or repeatedly by one attacker. Care to explain?” I asked, cutting in.
“Of course,” March said, looking at me. “Without going into too much medical detail, the damage sustained in her genital area and posterior was such that it could only have been done by repeated penetrations. These were done over a short space of time”
I gave him a questioning look.
> “A man’s erection needs time to recover after an ejaculation. Like I said, the damage indicated she had to have been penetrated several times, and given the time frame from when she was brought in and the possible time of the attack, which I would guess to be within the preceding six hours, there could have been more than one man involved.”
“That’s pretty good guess work,” I said, maybe a bit too skeptically.
“Not really,” March said. “It will be explained in greater detail in my final report.”
“Okay, thanks. Anything else you can give us at this time?”
“Like I said a moment ago, she fought back. I found bruising on her arms and there were trances of skin under her fingernails.”
“So, at least one of her attackers will have scratches,” Pete said.
“That’s right.”
“How long will she be kept here, and when can we talk to her?” I asked.
“She’ll be kept here under observation for at least a week. I want to see her blood work before releasing her, and to make sure she hasn’t contracted any disease. Hopefully you’ll find out who she is by then, otherwise we’ll have to release her into a home for girls. As to talking to her, well, that’ll depend on when she wakes up. However, she might not be able to tell you anything.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Like I said a moment ago, victims and survivors of vicious crimes tend to block out everything associated with them. Again, it’s what the brain does to protect them from reliving the shock of the experience.”
“Right. That’s it for now. Thanks again for the help. If you find out anything, we need to know call me at the station,” I said.
We shook hands again and he left, returning to the ward and his other patients. Pete and I said goodbye to Nurse Jolson and headed back to the car.
Chapter Two
We drove up to where she was found. I had a copy of the patrolman’s report that I picked up before we left the station. It was only a single sheet, but the officer did a good job writing it up. We drove on in silence as I read. We were both angry and worked at keeping our feelings in check. Murders, assaults; those sorts of crimes are one thing, but rape...that’s something else, especially of one so young.
The Evil Men Do Page 2
