Blue Star

by Valerie Van Clieaf

  “We heard someone here talking about the big guy they brought to the hospital. I heard them say your name. Is he the one—the bastard at the lake?” she finished through clenched teeth.

  “The one and only.”

  “Morgan, are you okay? Tell me everything.”

  I looked at Kate, trying to figure out where to begin. “Maybe you should sit down Kate. This is one story that you’ll find hard to believe. I’ll start at the end.”

  “Morgan O’Meara, don’t you dare.” She refused to sit.

  “You’ll like the ending,” I said with a grin because I do so love teasing Kate. “I fought the bad guy. He has a badly messed up knee, courtesy of me, which I hope never heals properly, and what we’re hoping is the worst concussion ever, courtesy of Lucas.”

  Kate grabbed me up in another fierce hug. Two hugs back to back. It did feel so good to be hugged by Kate. We sat down together, kitty corner to the guys.

  “He hit me with a shovel and knocked the wind out of me,” Lucas was telling Bart.

  “Are you sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. Really! Morgan fought him off. She was on fire! The creep didn’t have a chance! Then I found a big rock. Actually, I tripped over it,” Lucas admitted with a grin. “Then I put it to good use and hit the bastard over the head.”

  “A shovel?” asked Kate.

  “He was digging graves,” I said. “One was for the young woman, the one we tried to talk with a few weeks ago, at the house on Franklin Street.”

  “Oh, no Morgan. She was just a kid!”

  “He also planned on killing the woman from the club. The one we saw go into Batlan’s suite a few times. She’s at the hospital too.”

  “Sweet Jesus!” said Bart.

  “What do you know about Seth Boyce?”

  Kate and Bart had been at the hospital nearly two hours before an officer brought them here. They’d given what little information they could to hospital staff regarding Seth and his mother, sharing his name and the fact that she lived in Prince George.

  “Seth’s in pretty bad shape,” said Bart. “They had to induce a coma. His mom knows he’s been rescued and a number of agencies—including a liaison with the RCMP, are arranging transportation to get her down here.”

  “Have you told anyone about Marie,” I said quietly to Kate.

  “Not yet. We thought the poor wee thing should get some rest and quiet. Or, we could just say nothing and let Detective Fernice or her partner Jas tell them.”

  “I like that idea,” I said.

  “Me too,” said Kate. “We should get going now.”

  “There’s nothing more we can do here,” said Bart, standing up to leave. “We’re hungry and some of us really need to sleep,” he said with a smile. Lucas, so alert a few moments ago, was nodding off beside him.

  Lucas and I still had our statements to give. I watched them leave, then moved to Bart’s recently vacated chair. Lucas and I linked arms and dozed while we waited our turn.

  CHAPTER 43

  Alex and Jeri stood at the big oak table in the gatehouse. Both were wearing latex gloves. They’d been tracking messages between Rhodes’ phone and the driver, a guy named Cecil.

  Langley had arranged a welcome for the buyer from Nevada, full name: Dirk Likely. Ignace was on his way and would meet them at an industrial complex about a mile from the airport.

  The rest of the cell phones taken from the men were bagged and sitting on the table. One of them buzzed. Alex slipped it out of the bag and turned it on.

  “MacLeish’s”, he said. “A message from someone named Paul.

  Kids gone? Tell Ange not to cry. I’ll get him another cutie.”

  “Revier. Crown counsel, Terrace/Kitimat. I wonder if he’s in town?”

  Alex pulled out the list Michael had given him as they left the club. “He was at Batlan’s dinner party earlier.”

  “Maybe he’s staying at the club?”

  “Probably,” said Alex. “That’ll be a VPD arrest warrant.”

  “Where’d you get the list?”

  “Michael Bolton, as we were leaving the club.” He handed it to her.

  “We’ll need warrants for Paul Revier, Prince Rupert. Penderman’s in the hospital. Plus, Danlever and Smyth, I don’t think they’re club members, and Marvin Roche.”

  “Have you reached your boss?”

  “I left a message. Shouldn’t be long.” He is gonna be so pissed with me, she thought, but didn’t share. “Don’t worry Alex. Revier’s not going anywhere. No plane to Terrace for at least a few hours is my guess.”

  “Where’s Whitaker?” Alex asked one of the uniforms.

  “Just outside sir, at least he was a few minutes ago.” The sergeants found him on the front porch.

  “Have we got the warrants yet?” Alex asked.

  “Any minute now. Homes and work environments of everyone present.”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “What about Dirk Likely, our perp at the airport?” Jeri asked. “Langley will need an arrest warrant.”

  “It’s likely he won’t be getting away,” said Whitaker. Jeri smiled.

  The crime scene techs arrived just before dawn. They started with the gatehouse. More uniforms arrived from North Van. They were herding the perps out the gatehouse front door and into the police van waiting in the driveway.

  MacLeish turned to Desocarras: “I’ll have your badge before this is over,” he said, low and vicious—no trace of fear.

  “No. You won’t,” said Alex, quietly. He stared him down. Something dawned in MacLeish’s eyes. He was the first to look away.

  The sun struggled to cut through the dense fog that continued into the early morning hours. You could feel its presence. The air was noticeably warmer.

  CHAPTER 44

  If it had been up to him, they would never have done business with MacLeish—little better than the Wild West really, but it was Severall’s decision to make and Eric was all for it. MacLeish was the big draw. Rhodes sweetened the deal. Having them on board guaranteed better access to Western Canada, the north, Alaska, the Yukon. Very lucrative for everyone and necessary to their long-range plans. But as time passed, what little veneer MacLeish had managed to grow in his rise to the top was wearing thin and the crazed animal who didn’t seem to have an off switch poked through, more and more often. Not that Kirigin wasn’t used to the type.

  He’d assured Eric there was nothing incriminating in the briefcase left behind at Batlan’s house—just his initials on the case—a pseudonym, of course. The room at the club was in Batlan’s name and he was a guest under his pseudonym. That preening idiot wouldn’t dare give him up. He wouldn’t live to see his next birthday if he did—he’d see to that.

  He couldn’t risk flying out of Vancouver, or Seattle. His Gregory G. Crothers passport was in the suitcase at the club and useless to him now. He’d need another to cross the border into the States. Eric was taking care of that. A contact would cross the border into Canada and meet Kirigin at an all-night Tim Hortons in Abbotsford, BC with the passport, a briefcase, and a coat. That would put them close to a US border crossing in Sumas.

  Kirigin had called a taxi and waited for it, freezing in the damp. Once the driver arrived, he pretended to be a little drunk, pretended to be leaving the residence of 7092 Marion Way to avoid a disagreement of some sort. But the man barely batted an eye. Used to all kinds. He hung onto the taxi with a considerable tip up front and had the driver head to Abbotsford. It had been twenty-five minutes since he made his escape from Batlan’s residence. Time was on his side. He had a window of three to four hours at the most before the cops would be looking for him. The contact would bring him back across the border into Sumas, Washington and drive him down the coast to Oregon. From there, he would rent a car and drive to Nevada. Eric was going to meet him for a little gambling.

  Dirk Likely had flown to Vancouver, BC on American Airlines. He wouldn�
�t risk taking the kids out of the country through Vancouver. Langley airport was a much better choice, small and quiet. He could see the pilot was ready to go. A small flight of stairs had been pulled up to the door of the plane. The guy wasn’t that happy working a Saturday night, but his turnaround was about three hours for the usual hefty fee.

  They’d be flying the kids to Rosario, another small airport, not too far from the US border. The driver and a truck would be waiting for him. They’d take the kids over the Rockies to Idaho then East to New York State and the buyer. He wasn’t flying these kids all the way to New York state. He’d done that before and it cut too deep into his profits. Overland was better. He’d feed them a couple of times and put them to sleep for the rest of the trip.

  Dirk Likely watched as Rhodes’ driver pulled through the main gate and made his way down the road to the main building. He stepped onto the tarmac and signalled the driver, pointing to the small Cessna just beyond the last building. Turning, he headed for the plane. The driver headed for it as well, getting there slightly ahead of him. Dirk walked up to the car and around it. The driver got out.

  “You’re new,” said Dirk.

  “Cecil couldn’t make it.”

  “No one told me.”

  “It just happened. You’d be Dirk.”

  “That’s right. Best we get moving.”

  “Not tonight, Mr. Likely. You’re under arrest.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Inspector Brandeis had been assigned to coordinate the overall investigation of the trafficking ring. He sent two officers out to search the area where Fred Norse had been apprehended the night before. One of the officers, Lassiter, had been present there last night.

  O’Meara and Arenas both said they heard Norse digging close to where his car was parked, somewhere to the right of the trail. The officers found a few boot prints where Norse had landed in a patch of soft earth at the side of the trail, leading in, so it was easy enough to find the freshly dug grave from there, about five metres in from the road; in just enough and no more.

  “People walk the trail. They didn’t necessarily walk in the woods. Still, you have to wonder at the brazen nature of the guy,” said Lassiter.

  “No kidding. Just looking at that grave creeps me out.”

  “Me too,” said Lassiter.

  They fixed the position of the grave and started to slowly traverse the area.

  “I marked two areas that I wouldn’t mind checking out,” said Lassiter, “within a 25-meter circumference. Both sites are sunken in a little.”

  “I found one that looks very recent. We should get Ryder and Pax out here.” Corporal Ryder was the officer who handled Pax, a shepherd trained to find human remains.

  “Officer corruption. Shit. It’s our worst nightmare,” said Whitaker. He and Alex were headed out to a local drive-through for something to eat.

  “Wish I could have played it differently,” said Alex.

  “Are you kidding Alex? You’ll probably get a promotion.”

  That’ll be the day, he thought. “After lunch, I’m on my way to the Surrey office to meet with the brass at E Division.” The adrenaline rush of the last 24 hours had left him exhausted. A nap would have been more welcome.

  “Did you talk with Brandeis yet?” Whitaker asked.

  “Yeah. Earlier.” As lead, it was his headache to make sure the case against the ring was air-tight and no mistakes were made. He’d be working closely with the VPD as well. Alex wondered idly how good his liaising skills were. The history of cooperation between the two forces wasn’t stellar.

  Jeri Fernice was at VPD headquarters on Canada Way. Her report was done. She was being interviewed and it was tough going, but she’d expected that, especially because of her decision not to inform her superiors of her suspicions regarding Phineas Rhodes.

  Superintendent Portchanal, who oversaw Special Investigative Services at VPD, sat across the table from her, along with Inspector Antoine, who was leading the investigation into the ring for the VPD. Chief of Police, Jim Chan was there and Ravinder Singh from BC’s Office of the Police Complaint Commissioner. OPCC was a civilian oversight body and the fact that Singh was already involved meant that the Chief had brought him in. The RCMP had their own oversight body.

  Phineas Rhodes was one of three sergeants in the Sex Crimes Unit. Jeri was the only high-ranking officer in MPU. They were both under the Special Investigative Services umbrella. No one—including her—knew for certain if the blot was going to spread within the VPD, or if it started and ended with Rhodes. The three men in front of her were grim.

  “You and Sergeant Desocarras, reviewing the evidence you’ve given us here, made a decision to investigate on your own?” Portchanal asked her.

  “Yes sir. That’s correct.”

  “Sergeant, you’re telling me there was no one in Investigative Services you felt you could trust.”

  “It wasn’t a lack of trust, sir, as much as it was that I, we, didn’t know who we could trust. Believe me when I say, neither Sergeant Desocarras nor I wanted to handle the situation the way we chose to. We’re both team players. I certainly am and I think my record reflects that. We were concerned—as I’ve already stated—that if we alerted the wrong party, or parties, we would blow whatever advantage we had to rescue the children. That was our first concern. After the phone call from Carey Bolton, we both felt the window to rescue them was very small.” Fernice saw the first glimmer of understanding. She pressed her advantage.

  “We’d just intercepted the sale of one child or that’s what we assumed.”

  “The child at the club?” asked Chief Chan.

  She nodded yes.

  “What happened to that child?” Chan asked

  “My partner, Jasmine Ray, found a safe place for her.” She didn’t miss that Portchanal and Antoine shared a glance at the mention of Jas. She ignored them and continued.

  “When we found out about the phone call from Carey Bolton, I had Detective Ignace go to the Main Street station and track the phone—a cell that I’d already determined Rhodes had signed out to Seth Boyce. As suspected, it was on Ange Batlan’s property. Within minutes, Ignace reported that Rhodes was having the same cell phone tracked by a civilian tech. Sergeant Desocarras had already uncovered that Boyce disappeared almost eight years previous. We had the evidence to link that disappearance to Ford MacLeish. That, and concern for the safety of Morgan O’Meara and those close to her brought Desocarras to Vancouver to meet with me.”

  “Desocarras didn’t report his suspicions to his commanding officer.”

  “Not immediately. At that point, MacLeish was the only suspect that was a police officer. By late yesterday morning we had some proof of Vancouver connections. Once we had access to the club lists yesterday afternoon, we began to narrow the field. That’s when Phineas Rhodes first emerged as a suspect. We still didn’t have the complete picture. What we did have was evidence of a paedophile ring and officers from two police forces incriminated. Then, last night, the phone calls from Carey Bolton that the children were at Batlan’s and were to be moved.”

  She paused briefly and took a sip of water before continuing. She’d been up 30 hours and counting and was feeling it.

  “Shortly after we arrived at Batlan’s residence, Desocarras pulled in the North Van RCMP. He notified his superior of what we hoped to achieve, and I notified you as well. Shortly after that, we found seven children, dressed to travel, in a Suburban parked in Batlan’s garage. All but one, Carey Bolton, were drugged. The plan was to fly them to the US out of Langley. We still didn’t know for certain there weren’t other children on site. We still had no idea if anyone else at VPD, or from another RCMP detachment, was involved in the ring—besides those we’d already identified as potential members. Our situation was a difficult one, but once we were on site, we felt we could control the outcome to the advantage of both police forces.”

  Deputy Commissioner Carl Pendergast sat across
from Alex, reading his report. Brandeis was in the building somewhere and would join them soon. Staff Sergeant McCormick, Prince George detachment, was scheduled to join them via teleconferencing.

  McCormick had dispatched a team to MacLeish’s home in PG to do a search and an assistant to Brandeis had flown up mid-morning to accompany them. Alex was willing to bet the PG RCMP would find incriminating evidence at MacLeish’s home, or on his workplace computer. He was arrogant and careless and that would be his undoing.

  In BC, the burden of proving guilt and the possibility of conviction rests squarely with the police and the Crown must be convinced they can convict before they’ll lay charges. The evidence had already started to pile up. Any heat that might have come Alex’s way had cooled considerably.

  It had been luck really, finding the children asleep in the garage. A half hour later might have been too late. Then Kate Brennan, against all odds, finding Seth Boyce in the fog. He’d read the reports and that certainly wasn’t luck. Alex made a mental note to rethink the whole psychic thing. Hospital staff had induced a coma, but Boyce’s chance of survival was slim due to trauma, blood loss and hypothermia. And the two women—one dead, the same fate intended for the other—that just barely averted. They had O’Meara and Arenas to thank for that.

  In the search of Batlan’s main house, police found remnants of a cache of child abuse materials, among them, some of the items O’Meara and Arenas found at the boatyard. Most distribution was on the net now. Keeping hard copies on hand was a holdover from earlier days, indicating they’d been operating for years. He remembered the report that Ignace had found—the sighting of the two girls behind the Clarendon; that was back in 1996. No case file on them. No follow-up. It had been almost 20 year ago. How many children had been grievously harmed over the years, right under everyone’s nose?