All she said was, ‘I don’t know, sir.’ Funny thing though. I could tell she couldn’t wait to get away from me. And there was something in her eyes, not fear exactly. It was more like sadness. I’m quite sure she didn’t mean to expose herself like that and I was careful not to let her know that I’d noticed. I thought it best not to ask her any more questions. I didn’t want her to suspect anything.”
“Fear and sadness; I doubt she’d feel that way about an excess of partying,” Kate said.
“The Mackenzie Suite. How can we find out who rents the accommodation? And wouldn’t it be great to get the membership list,” said Lucas.
“We could get someone to hack into the club’s server,” said Bart. “I’m dead serious about that.” He’d completed a third CD of our evidence pictures and plopped it onto the kitchen table with the other two, all of them couched in plastic cases and labelled simply 1, 2 and 3.
“I’m all for it,” said Michael. “It would have to be someone we trust completely.”
“Milhous Farthing!” said Lucas, looking at me for confirmation.
“Just the guy,” I agreed.
“Milhous?” asked Michael.
“He prefers Miles actually,” I said. “No one calls him Milhous except his wife, Verna. We were undergrads together at SFU. He’s a filmmaker too, a wonderful actor, a brilliant, crazy guy. But wonderful as they are, it’s not his acting skills we’re thinking of,” and I explained. “Miles hacked the university database as research for a film script he was working on about ethics and morality in our wired reality. He changed Verna’s grade in calculus from a B+ to an A, to prove that no database is safe from being hacked. Once he got a screen shot of the changed mark, he immediately dropped her back down to a B+, so no one caught on. She was horrified.”
“His hacking skills are pretty advanced,” said Lucas.
“Verna did get him to promise no more hacking.”
“Do you think he’ll make an exception for us?” asked Michael.
“Lucas is texting him,” I said, nodding in my guy’s direction. He looked up at Michael and smiled.
Kate wasn’t as carried away as the rest of us—wide-eyed with alarm was more like it. “Shouldn’t we ask Detective Fernice to do this for us? What you two are suggesting is against the law.” For her, there was a right way to do things, and then there was the wrong way. There was no in-between. She had to be convinced that there was no other way, or she’d never agree to this.
“I don’t think Fernice will go for it, Kate.”
Michael jumped in. “Kate, I would have asked for the list weeks ago, but I was afraid of raising suspicion with the wrong people. We still have no idea which club member, or members, are involved; or staff for that matter.”
“Fernice may have the same concern,” I said.
“She might, but I think that the only reason the VPD didn’t shut me down when I reported seeing Carey is because I’m a lawyer at a prestigious law firm. I’m Gits'ilaasü and I know the score. My job gave me credibility with the VPD that I might not have had otherwise. They were polite; they listened to me. They went through the motions. The officers at the VPD were a lot more receptive than the RCMP up in Terrace. When I went to the detachment up there to ask about the investigation into Carey’s disappearance, I got nowhere with all but one of the officers—and I do mean nowhere.”
“I think Fernice is frustrated that there’s so little information. And if she thought they should be linked, that means she’s looking very carefully at you reporting Carey’s presence at the club. Your club!”
“But both cases are linked now,” insisted Kate.
“Yes, they are, Kate, but there wasn’t much to link. I don’t know about the investigation into Morgan’s abduction, but up in Terrace, the investigation into Carey’s seems to have completely stalled out. There’s no new information and now—well that’s another story.” Michael was quite disgusted.
“What do you mean, Mike?” asked Bart.
“Rosie called me last night, really upset. Corporal Cumberland dropped in to see her. It wasn’t an official call. He came because he felt obligated.” Michael stopped, anger getting the better of him.
“Cumberland told her that rumours have been circulating at the detachment that Carey is something of a wild child and that Rosie isn’t there for her and can’t control her behaviour. This pisses me off so much! It’s all lies!”
“Someone’s trying to stall the investigation into Carey’s abduction,” said Lucas, with a glance in my direction. “Probably the same source as the smear campaign against Morgan and me at SFU.”
“You guys too? ... Right. Cumberland doesn’t buy it and that’s why he went to see Rosie. He’s sure the story didn’t originate with the cops. He asked Rosie if she knew Paul Revier. He’s one of the crown prosecutors up there; works the triangle which includes Smithers, Terrace and Prince Rupert, but his office is in Prince Rupert. Cumberland saw Revier having dinner with Sergeant Willis in Terrace. No court that week; nothing coming up on the docket; no reason for them to be meeting. Cumberland thought it was odd because he wasn’t aware that they were friends. It isn’t conclusive evidence, but it’s a small town and everyone knows everyone’s business. Willis oversees the investigation into Carey’s abduction and the nasty rumours about Carey and Rosie started to circulate almost immediately after.”
“Does your sister know Revier?” I asked. Michael nodded.
“She knows him, and she hates the guy—with a passion! There are lots of people who don’t like him because Revier doesn’t treat all folks equally, or fairly. Up in northern BC—just about anywhere, for that matter—that kind of prejudice doesn’t always get noticed.”
“He’s prejudiced against Indigenous people?” asked Bart.
“Yes,” said Michael. “But there’s another reason Rosie doesn’t like him. Revier has a past and it’s definitely relevant to this case. There was a paedophile that lived in Kitimat for years. The guy was a real pillar of the community; a businessman who won awards for community involvement. He was a coach for various sports including hockey and did a lot of volunteering with the youth. Over the years, his position made it possible for him to prey on a lot of young boys. For a long time, no one came forward. Then, one young man found the courage. There was an investigation, which eventually led to the paedophile being charged. When the word got out, others came forward too. There was strong evidence that he had sexually abused a lot of boys.”
“Bastard,” said Kate.
“It was Rosie’s observation that Revier dragged his feet on the case. Nothing you could put your finger on really. But remember, Revier was the crown prosecutor for the case and he was supposed to be acting for the victims. There were a few people who said—openly—that he was working for the defence, if you know what I mean: lots of continuances that seemed contrived; important evidence disappearing. But there were other things.
One young man withdrew his statement. It was never explicitly stated why, but the word in our community was there had been threats against him and his family. There was no proof, but Rosie remembers that kid and his family were scared. Another witness for the defence, a white boy, died under what were reported as mysterious circumstances. There was an investigation, but it went nowhere.
The boy who went to the police first was white. His family supported him 100% and he never wavered. It took almost four years from the time he came forward and the investigation began, to the actual trial. The verdict was guilty. But the night before he was to be sentenced, the paedophile committed suicide.”
“Paul Revier. We should look for a link between him and someone down here,” said Kate.
“Absolutely! After talking with Cumberland, Rosie thinks that Revier’s involved somehow in Carey’s abduction.”
“Jesus! Really?” this from Bart, who seldom swore.
“Really! Rosie’s in a position to know more about him than a lot of folks. Her job at the
women’s shelter brings her into contact with women and children who have been victims of violence or are at risk of being sexually exploited. There’s been talk around town about Revier and has been for years. If my sister says Revier is a bad man—take it from me, he’s a bad man.”
“We need the membership list,” said Kate, decisively, “and booking details on the club’s accommodations. And anything else we can get our hands on! Good grief listen to me! No one must ever know!”
“Don’t worry Kate. We won’t tell anyone,” I reassured her, not trying too hard to suppress a grin.
“Get away with you, Morgan O’Meara,” she grinned right back.
“What about banished boy,” said Lucas.
“He’s put himself in real jeopardy.” Kate’s grin was gone, replaced with a worried frown.
“I think he wants to be found.”
“I agree with Morgan. And he wants to help,” said Bart, “or he wouldn’t have tweeted the truck location.”
A perplexed Michael was looking from one to the other with raised eyebrows. “Who is banished boy? The truck. They found the truck?”
“I wanted to call you last night when we got back from 100 Mile House, but it was very late,” said Lucas.
“Call me anytime. Day or night. I’m not getting much sleep these days.”
“I’ll remember that,” said Lucas. “Someone who calls himself banished boy tweeted about a blue truck that was spotted close to where Morgan was rescued. Belongs to the guy that tried to kill Morgan. We drove up Tuesday night and viewed it Wednesday.”
“Okay,” said Michael. “Let’s keep a fire under this. I’ll get Marvin’s last name. You’ll have it the minute I have it.”
At that point, Kate wisely suggested that everyone check that they had the cell numbers of everyone else present. “We need to be able to communicate quickly.”
“Wouldn’t it be great if we could just speak with the tweeter. But of course, we can’t.”
“I hope he used a burner cell,” said Kate.
“It doesn’t matter if he did, he’s still in danger. Only the thugs’ inner circle would know about the blue truck,” I said.
“None of them are safe. Not him. Not Carey or the rest of the children,” said Bart.
“I think I need to book some time with you Doc,” said Michael, trying to pass it off as a joke.
“Anytime,” said Bart, and at Michael’s dubious look he insisted, quite earnestly, “Really Mike. You’ve got my number. Call me, anytime.”
Miles sent a text just before we reached home saying he wanted to talk about our request tonight. Lucas continued heading east and fifteen minutes later pulled up at Miles’ and Verna’s place at the foot of Capitol Hill in Burnaby. Verna was fast asleep when we arrived and Miles ushered us into his small, cramped office space, a converted second bedroom at the back of the apartment.
Lucas and I sat patiently, watching Miles fidget his way through a cup of tea and a smoke. We had declined a cup ourselves. I filled him in on our request.
“Sorry about the cigarette.”
“Don’t worry about it Miles.”
“I’m working on a screenplay. Got stuck. you know how that is, Morgan. Damn cigarettes. I hate them.”
I smiled with understanding. He’d been trying to quit for good as long as I’d known him. “When I get stuck, I eat. Easier on my lungs. Not so easy on my waistline.”
“You want me to hack the server at the Clarendon and get the membership list.” He gave us both a look. “And you also want to know who’s booking the overnight accommodation.” We remained silent while Miles sucked away on his cigarette between sips of tea.
“Morgan, you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I’m not worried about getting caught. I mean, I won’t get caught. This one’s too easy! But what if having this information brings more heat on you.” At this, he appraised my stitches and the yellowish blue ghosts of bruises.
“We’re being very careful, Miles,” I insisted.
“Right.” Miles wasn’t the least bit reassured.
Lucas tried another tactic. “We are being careful, Miles. I’ll get you a computer to work on from that can’t be traced back to you, or Morgan. And believe me, we’re going to be very careful how we use any information you’re able to get us.”
“A throwaway would be helpful, Lucas. But from where?”
“The Kinesiology Lab at the university. They’re upgrading and there’s a few computers up for give away. People from other departments have already helped themselves. I can get one tomorrow. You can do a disc wipe after.”
“Of course.”
“No one will know or care that I’ve taken it. I’ll get it to you and once you’re through with it, we’ll dispose of it,” said Lucas.
“It’s not like it’s a bank,” said Miles stubbing out his cigarette.
“Exactly,” said my guy, reassuringly. “Piece of cake for you.”
“How long has the girl been missing?” he asked.
“Four weeks,” I said.
“That’s a long time. And you say there’s other kids as well?”
“We’re sure of it,” said Lucas.
“When can you get the computer to me?”
“Tomorrow, by noon.”
“Okay then.”
“Are you going to tell Verna?” I asked.
“Not right away. I did promise her, no more hacking. If it was for anyone but you Morgan, she’d be furious.”
CHAPTER 23
It was Thursday night, a little past 7:00 pm, when Adam Ignace and Jeri Fernice pulled into the alley behind 168 Franklin Street. They’d finally gotten through to the owner in Florida and she’d arranged for a key to be dropped at the station. They slipped on latex gloves and made their way up wooden stairs to the front-porch landing. The door had seen better days but featured a serious deadbolt. She tried the key she had but it didn’t work.
“Maybe it’s the back-door key,” said Adam. They made their way back down the stairs, around the house and up to the back door. Jeri tried the key. It didn’t work. She shared a look with Adam, pulled out a set of lock picks and released the lock. The door opened onto the kitchen.
“It’s been shut up for a while,” said Jeri, sniffing. The kitchen was heavy with the smell of old cooking grease. A long kitchen table and chairs took up most of one wall. They split up to examine the house. Adam went down to the basement and Jeri headed upstairs.
The basement was damp and mouldy. He didn’t find a light switch at the landing, so continued down the stairs, hoping for a hanging pull. He was rewarded, but the overhead bulb wasn’t more than 40 watts and its meagre light dissipated quickly into the gloom.
The walls were original stone and had never been updated. Some light from a lamppost in the back alley fought its way through grimy curtains. He made his way around the circumference of the basement, looking for a storage area. Finding none, he cut across the basement to the stairwell.
An ancient furnace sat in the middle of the room. He was ducking under one of the heating ducts that sprouted from it, intent on not hitting his head, when he stumbled over something soft, directly in his path. His flashlight revealed a small rag doll. He picked it up. The price tag and the manufacturer’s tag, both the worse for wear, were still attached to one of the doll’s arms.
There was little else of interest. Adam made his way to the stairway. He noticed a small mattress under the stairs and when he bent to examine it closer, the acrid smell of urine rose to greet him. It was covered by a thin sheet, urine stains clearly visible. Satisfied there was nothing else of interest, he made his way up to the kitchen and living room area, which took up a good deal of the first floor.
Adam was still carrying the doll and he put it on the kitchen table. Keeping his flashlight beam low, he examined the cupboards and found an assortment of kitchen gadgets, mismatched dishes, all clean, basic foodstuffs, cereal and the like. One of the
drawers held cutlery, a few knives—one of them surprisingly sharp—a spatula and not much else. Most of the drawers were empty.
He moved to the living room. There was a small child’s pullover, stuffed between the arm and the cushion of one of the chairs. He found a hair barrette, the kind that young girls wear, under a couch cushion. There was a small room off the living room, an enclosed porch area. This room contained a single bed and mattress and a small night table and lamp. The drawer of the night table was slightly ajar. He pulled it open, revealing nothing, but when he tried to close it, it jammed and wouldn’t budge.
Jeri had arrived on the same floor.
“I’m in here,” Adam called out quietly, as he continued to struggle with the drawer.
“What’s this then?” she said, arriving at his side.
“Not sure. This drawer opened fine, but now it won’t close. I think there’s something caught between the bottom of the drawer and the right side.” His flashlight beam was trained on the small rectangular object that was causing the problem and he dug it out with a pen knife. He shone his flashlight on it.
“A flash drive,” said Jeri.
“Yup,” said Adam.
“I found a few pieces of children’s clothing upstairs, a young girl’s; all of it soiled with urine.”
He told her about the small palette in the basement, really only big enough for a child or small adolescent, also urine stained and the few items he found in the living room.”
“I saw the doll in the kitchen.”
“I found it in the basement.”
Jeri nodded. “It looks new. The tags are still attached.”
Determining there was nothing else, they left the house and headed down the stairs, waiting quietly in the shadows until a group of teenagers passed before getting into Jeri’s car.
Once in the car, Jeri fired up her laptop and Adam handed her the flash drive. She plugged it in and pulled up the file. On her laptop screen, a jerky home video played. A man with his back to the camera was raping a small boy, whose cries could be clearly heard. It was over quickly, and the man turned toward the camera, as if he was going to speak with someone else in the room. The video ended abruptly.
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