Blue Star

by Valerie Van Clieaf

  We found the Honda about 20 meters further down the trail. The left back passenger door was wide open. We approached the car carefully. The driver’s side was empty. I leaned into the open door. A young woman stared up at me.

  “It’s the women we questioned at the Franklin Street house,” I whispered. Even as I bent to take her pulse, I knew she was dead. An intense wave of anger pulsed through me and my adrenaline surged. I stood up.

  “Let’s get the bastard.”

  We both heard it then: the distant chink of metal against rock came from somewhere below us. As we descended, the sound grew in intensity until I was sure we were close. We stopped and listened. The digging had stopped. Moments later, the silence was broken by a thin, tuneless whistling. My hand shot out and I grabbed Lucas’s forearm.

  “That’s him.” I’d spoken out loud and slapped a hand to my mouth—too late. Lucas gave my arm a squeeze, put a finger to his lips and started a slow 360-degree turn. I kept my back to him and scanned from left to right.

  The whistling had stopped and there was only that silence peculiar to being enveloped by fog. We stood quietly, straining to hear, when I felt the air whoosh as the shovel came down behind me. Lucas let out a surprised grunt and pitched forward into the bushes to my right. I whirled to face our attacker, risking a quick glance in Lucas’ direction. Just his legs and feet were visible.

  When he raised his shovel again, I let fly with a roundhouse kick that connected with his left arm. He wasn’t ready for any kind of defensive move and he whirled with the kick and stumbled backwards. I heard the shovel fall to the ground. I looked again in Lucas’ direction, but he’d disappeared.

  “Lucas, are you okay?” No answer.

  The bastard was up again, without the shovel this time and shook off the kick. Both of us watched as Lucas came into view briefly on my right, then stumbled away and disappeared. Red face barely glanced at him before advancing on me. He meant to put me down first.

  “This time I’ll kill you bitch!” His big hands reached for me and I waited till he got close before I let fly with a knife kick to his right shin.

  Stumbling, he grunted in surprise. I pressed my advantage and tried to disable his right knee, but he backed off out of range. He was strictly a grab their throat and choke ‘em kind of guy.

  “What’s the matter asshole?” I said, adrenaline pumping. He came at me again, hands raised in front of him and I let fly with a roundhouse kick to his right hand. He howled in anger and I knew I’d done some damage. I immediately followed that with a vicious kick to his right thigh, but he managed to sidestep and deflect it. Then he stormed me, grabbed my left arm, and made a grab for my throat. I blocked the throat grab and delivered three fast punches to his nose, throat and one to his ear. He grunted in surprise and let go of my arm. I stepped back quick. Waited.

  He came at me again. Dead on. I feinted left, then right, then spun around and delivered a sharp kick to his right knee—heard the satisfying crunch when I connected.

  “Shit! You fucking bitch! I’m gonna kill you!” He limped off, barely able to put weight on his right leg and disappeared into the fog. I knew I’d caused some serious damage.

  “Lucas, are you okay?” Still no answer. Maybe he was unconscious. I had to assume I was on my own.

  I circled, slow and continuous, scanning the fog for any sign of the hulk. He wasn’t gone long. He emerged from the fog on my left. Oh shit, he found the shovel, which gave him reach. I’d have to be careful. He advanced on me slowly, limping—kept coming—eyes bulging with rage. I stepped to the right, looking for an opening. He swerved in my direction. I stepped left, waiting for him to get in close enough to try another kick to his weakened knee. He swerved toward me and kept coming, the shovel up over his head now. I’m about to feint right, when suddenly, he has the most surprised look on his face. I watched in amazement as his body lurched sideways, the shovel flew from his hands, clanging loudly as it hit the ground, and he collapsed in a heap, face down in front of me.

  “Yes! Way to go Lucas!” I yelled.

  Behind him, Lucas is clutching a good-sized rock. He held onto it as he came to stand beside me. We bent over the hulk. The only sound was my rapid breathing.

  “I thought you were unconscious. Where’d he hit you?”

  “He got me across my shoulder blades. Knocked the wind right out of me.”

  “That’s why you didn’t answer me.”

  “I couldn’t get any sound out!”

  Then I remembered Michael. “Hey Michael,” I yelled. “Can you hear me? We got him!”

  Seconds later, Lucas’ phone buzzed, and he put it on speaker. It was Michael.

  “I hear you! You got him!” came out, loud and clear.

  “Morgan fought him,” said Lucas, yelling in excitement.

  “Lucas finished him off with a rock.”

  “You guys are amazing! The cops are on the way.” Sirens could be heard on the road near us.

  “Correction. They’re here!”

  It wasn’t long before we could hear the slamming of car doors and the distant voices of the cops.

  “A squad car will be down here soon. They’ll take us up to the car and you can rest.”

  “Rest. Are you crazy! I’m totally stoked and ready for a run!”

  “That was amazing Morgan, the way you fought him.”

  “Thanks honey. It’s like riding a bicycle. You never really forget how.”

  CHAPTER 40

  The cell phone Jeri had taken off the skinny perp in the garage vibrated. She quickly pulled it out.

  Have you left yet?

  She texted back:

  On the way. Where to?

  Half a minute later:

  Mountain Air in Langley. Dirk Likely will meet you.

  She showed the text to Alex. “Let’s surprise Dirk.”

  Alex turned to Corporal Whitaker. “Mountain Air in Langley. What do you know about that outfit?”

  “Not much. Mostly lessons. Some short-haul cargo.”

  “The arrangement is to bring the children there and hand them over to someone named Dirk.” Whittaker got on the phone with the Langley detachment and filled them in.

  Shortly after Ignace arrived at the Lynn Valley cut-off, the ambulances started to arrive for the kids. The first one took away Carey and she insisted Christopher come with her. The second ambulance arrived soon after and two more children left. Not ten minutes later, the third and fourth arrived together. Once all the children were on their way to the hospital, Ignace texted Jeri. She called him back.

  “We need you to drive the Suburban to Mountain Air in Langley ASAP. We want to nail the perp who’ll be waiting there to buy the children. He’ll be looking for it. Langley RCMP have your number. They’ll fill you in.”

  “On my way,” said Ignace.

  Corporal Whitaker had started the ball rolling on search warrants.

  “We’ll have to move fast. These guys are well connected. Might even be good friends with the judge you get to okay the warrants,” said Alex.

  Whitaker smiled at what he thought was a joke, but Alex wasn’t kidding—he didn’t crack a smile. Whitaker’s smile quickly disappeared.

  “Yes sir.”

  The North Van officers were interested in the tall, blonde woman with the VPD badge.

  Jeri didn’t miss that, and she answered their unasked question. “I’m Detective Sergeant Fernice, VPD MPU. Sergeant Desocarras and I have been working this case jointly.”

  Alex nodded. Said nothing.

  “Is this the only entrance to the property sir?” asked Corporal Menard. Corporals Clement and Brookside, who’d arrived in the second cruiser, flanked her.

  “That’s the information we have. There’s a gatehouse close to the top of the driveway, just beyond the garage. Firsthand information is that there were eight men on the property. At least two are hires.”

  “One of the hires is bound and cuffe
d on the floor of the garage,” said Fernice. “Your dispatch has been informed that another perp escaped in a burgundy Honda with two women abducted from the property. One is deceased and it’s assumed the same fate is planned for the other. A cruiser is in pursuit.”

  “So are some civilians,” said Whitaker, with a grin. Fernice and Desocarras looked at each other grimly. Whitaker quickly lost the grin and Alex continued.

  “Which leaves six men. All of them are suspected of being involved in a human trafficking ring of unknown size and scope. At least one man, Ange Batlan, lives at this address.” He looked at the corporals, one by one.

  “Two of the six men are police officers,” he continued. “We don’t know if they're in uniform. One is an RCMP officer out of the Williams Lake detachment—Inspector Ford MacLeish.”

  “The other officer is Sergeant Phineas Rhodes of the VPD,” said Fernice. The officers looked at each other, at Desocarras, then Fernice. No one spoke.

  “Everyone on the property is to be arrested,” said Alex. “Any questions?”

  There were no questions.

  Fernice would take Whitaker and Menard with her to check out the main house and Alex, Clement and Brookside and would check out the gatehouse. Fernice would buzz Desocarras once her team was in position, then both teams would move. They had walkie-talkies as well, but there would be no live communication unless necessary. It was just after 3:30 am when they started up the driveway and disappeared into the fog that hovered, damp and cold.

  Once they were in position at the Gatehouse, Alex motioned Clement to go around back. He waited for Jeri’s signal, then he and Brookside moved to either side of the front door. It was unlocked. They entered quickly; guns drawn.

  Across the room, five men seated at a large, polished oak table stared at the police in surprise.

  “Stop now!” could be clearly heard from the back door. Clement entered, gun drawn.

  At the table, a short, beefy guy was pulling out his gun when Alex yelled: “Drop your weapon now! Put it on the table. Slowly!” His face red with rage, Ford MacLeish put his Smith & Wesson on the table in front of him.

  Alex advanced on the table; his SIG Sauer trained on MacLeish’s torso. Images from the video flashed in his head—the horrible rape of the small boy. It was him all right—the bastard. He grabbed the gun from the table. Brookside had moved to check the room under the stairs.

  “Someone slipped out the back door,” said Clement. “Should I pursue?”

  “Not much point in this fog,” said Alex. “Did you get a look at him?”

  “Not really. As I stepped onto the porch, he jumped off it and literally disappeared.”

  “All clear back there,” said Brookside, then he started up the stairs to the second floor.

  “Everyone on your feet, hands behind your head, walk away from the table to the middle of the room.”

  The men looked at each other.

  “Now!” yelled Alex.

  “Clearly, there’s been some mistake. I’m sure if you just give us a few minutes to explain,” said Rhodes. He started to walk towards Alex.

  “Shut up and stay put!”

  Rhodes halted in his tracks.

  “On your knees. All of you! That includes you sergeant! The lot of you, hands behind your head!”

  “All clear,” said Brookside, coming down the stairs from the second floor.

  “We should bring the skinny guy in from the garage. He’s in the corner by the side door,” said Alex, his eyes on Rhodes.

  “I’ll get him,” said Clement and left the gatehouse. Alex loved the barely concealed look of alarm on Rhodes’ face—watched the wheels turning—felt a great satisfaction when nothing came out of his mouth.

  Fernice, Whitaker and Menard came through the front door.

  “Main house is clear,” said Jeri.

  “Sergeant, thank god you’re hear. There’s been a terrible mistake,” said Rhodes.

  “Shut up,” said Jeri.

  Rhodes’ mouth gaped, but he said no more.

  “We have a perp on foot,” said Alex. Clement said someone escaped out the back door as she was approaching the porch.”

  They watched as the officers cuffed each man in turn and sat them on the floor.

  “Identify the man who escaped,” Desocarras demanded of the men on the floor.

  “There’s no one else here,” said MacLeish contemptuously.

  “The woman had the count right,” Alex said to Jeri. Mention of the woman caused MacLeish and Rhodes to share a quick glance.

  “We have the right to remain silent,” piped up a dapper, silver-haired guy.

  “What’s your name sir?”

  “Ange Batlan.”

  “You watch too much American TV,” said Alex. Brookside turned to him. “I called for the van to transport them to the detachment.”

  “Excellent,” said Alex. “Read them their rights and get them out of here.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Kirigin was at the fridge getting milk for tea when he heard the front door open. He turned, saw the gun at the other end of someone’s arm and quickly stepped out the back door and nearly into the arms of a cop coming up the back stairs. He took a quick step left off the end of the porch, right into the fog, nearly falling flat on his face. He headed for the road, trying to remember the layout of the property and found the end of the garage, a lucky break. From there, he quickly made his way down the driveway to the road. He scuttled left downhill and passed three empty police cruisers at the side of the road. He had to get away; fast. And not from Vancouver Airport.

  He moved to the shoulder of the road and stuck to the footpath that wound its way down behind the mailboxes. He needed a taxi but decided not to call till he was at least a kilometer away from the shambles up the road. Take no chances. He’d need an address, and a story. He began to shiver with the cold and hugged himself for warmth. His suit jacket was hanging on the chair in Ange’s kitchen. Briefcase lost to him too and his valise at the club. All lost to him now, but nothing incriminating in either. He always made sure of that.

  CHAPTER 42

  I drove to Lions Gate Hospital so that Michael could see for himself that Carey was safe. Hospital staff let him see her briefly. He took a picture of her, fast asleep in her hospital bed and texted it to Rosie so she could see with her own eyes that her girl was safe.

  When he hopped back in the car, Michael was still on the phone to his sister, talking and laughing, enjoying the moment with her. Rosie wasn’t on speaker, but we could still hear her cry and sob and scream out her happiness, Michael laughing and crying right along with her.

  As soon as he got off the phone, Michael booked Rosie and Elwin on the first flight tomorrow morning to Vancouver. Estelle and Geoff and Beth were coming down too. Then he called Amelia and left a message with the good news.

  Next, I drove us to the RCMP detachment office in North Vancouver. The media caught up with us there: a journalist from The Province, juggling coffee and a notebook and TV media including CBC, CTV and Global. The media scrum spotted us as we approached the front entrance and there was no getting around the tightly knit pack.

  They jogged alongside us, microphones extended, while their respective cameramen hoisted big shoulder digitals, jockeying with each other for the best angle.

  “Ms. O’Meara, what can you tell us about the children who were rescued from the home in North Vancouver?”

  “There were seven children rescued. Was one of them Carey Bolton, the child abducted from Terrace, BC?”

  “What can you tell us about the unconscious hiker who was admitted to Lions Gate Hospital earlier this morning? “Is he tied to this investigation?”

  Just a few days ago, I’d watched Candy Kristoferi of Global TV happily tarnish my name, and Lucas’s, with what appeared, at least to me, to be a good deal of relish. She wasn’t the only journalist who jumped on that bandwagon. She stuck out a microphone as she jogg
ed along beside me.

  “Ms. O’Meara, do you know the name of the young man suffering from hypothermia who was admitted to Lions Gate early this morning? Is he connected to this case?”

  I caught her eye, too tired to even attempt to hide my dislike. Lucas dished out some cold shoulder of his own. As we made our way resolutely through the reporters, Kristoferi turned to her cameraman and soldiered on:

  “Morgan O’Meara and Lucas Arenas have just arrived here. One of the officers involved with this case informed us that this brave couple apprehended, single-handed, a known felon involved with what we recently learned is a suspected paedophile ring that has been operating for some time right here in Vancouver. While it’s too soon to speculate …”

  The last of her words were lost as the detachment doors swung shut behind us. Hospital staff told Michael that Bart and Kate were already here. They were giving their statements when the three of us arrived. It was about 7:00 a.m. but things were sure humming. We found seats in the waiting area and settled down to wait our turn. Lucas sorted the players out for us.

  There were the RCMP who worked out of the North Van office, including a few plainclothes, and two plainclothes from VPD. Lucas recognized one from a seminar he had attended and guessed the woman with him was plainclothes as well. Things are usually busy after a Saturday night. This morning, it was a jurisdictional and logistical nightmare.

  “Both the RCMP and VPD will be investigating police misconduct. Maybe that’s why he’s here,” said Lucas, pointing out a grim looking RCMP Inspector from E Division headquarters. “And at some point, the Vancouver Police Board will be involved—civilian oversight.”

  Kate emerged from an interview room and spotted us. She was at my side in a few quick strides. I got up to hug her.