Red Paint

by Valerie Van Clieaf

  Chapter 15

  Two undercover VPD were parked halfway up the hill on Cambie Street bordering Pigeon Park, watching the entrance to the Dominion building on Hastings Street West. Summit’s office was on the third floor and overlooked the street. It was Saturday morning, and although it was well past eight am, the lights remained off in many offices. The street below them glistened under the passing headlights of Saturday morning traffic.

  “I could use a coffee. You?” said Frank, car door open, one foot on the curb.

  “Wait! We’ve got some action,” said Bob, the driver. Someone had just entered the Summit office and fluorescent light flooded the reception area. A figure in an overcoat walked across the room and disappeared through a doorway into another room.

  “He must have parked below Hastings and gone in the back entrance.”

  A few minutes later, he re-entered the main room and moved to the door.

  “He’s leaving.”

  “Let’s go,” said Bob, starting the car, quickly pulling out onto Cambie Street, heading downhill. The light was with him. He crossed the intersection and moments later, passed the alley behind the Dominion. A green Mercedes was parked behind the back entrance to the Dominion.

  “Our guy no doubt,” said Bob as he pulled into an empty parking spot further down the street. They didn’t have to wait long.

  “He’s coming our way.”

  The Mercedes flew past them and abruptly turned left onto Powell, heading west. Bob pulled out and moved to the turning lane. Traffic was light and he was careful to hang back. Frank pulled up the plate number.

  “Sanjit Rory. He lives in North Burnaby. He’s in a hurry and it doesn’t look like he’s going home.”

  Frank called Jeri Fernice and filled her in, then put her on speaker.

  “Rory is taking the Granville Bridge exit off Powell.”

  “Copy that,” said Fernice.

  “Looks like he’s heading south.”

  “I’m leaving the station now with backup. Stay on the line. We’ll take direction from you.”

  “Could be a dead end.”

  “It’s all we’ve got,” said Fernice.

  Twenty minutes later, Frank and Bob had tailed Sanjit Rory to a prestigious home off Granville Street, near 22nd Avenue. Rory pulled into a long driveway and drove to the entrance. Bob pulled over and parked a block behind. He waited a full minute before driving by the house. Rory’s Mercedes was parked at the end of a long, paved driveway, under the portico at the main entrance to the house. The entrance to a below ground garage was off to the left.

  Frank pulled up the address. “Sergeant Fernice, Rory led us to the home of Dr. L. Thorgood. The guy’s a surgeon. We think we’ve found the clinic.”

  “Move to the back and wait for us,” said Fernice. Bob drove around to the back lane and pulled in close to the address. A large, black van was parked behind the house. Frank pulled up DMV and checked the plates. “It’s a rental.”

  A few minutes later, two unmarked sedans pulled in behind them. Jeri Fernice hopped out of the front car. Six officers and Frank and Bob joined her.

  Jeri pointed to two officers: “You two take up positions at the front of the house.” Two officers disappeared into an opening in the hedge that surrounded the property. She sent Frank and Bob to scout the back of the house. She indicated the back entrance, ground level, set in from the lane.

  “See if there’s another entrance. If there is a clinic here, it may well have a separate entrance.” They disappeared into the same opening in the hedge.

  “I got a judge to agree to a search warrant. I hope this is the clinic. And that they haven’t started operating,” she added.

  “What if we need ambulances,” said one officer quietly.

  “The Vancouver General on 12th Avenue has been notified. Two are on standby.”

  Frank and Bob were not gone long. They emerged from the opening in the hedge and quickly joined them.

  “There’s three men in the kitchen just off the back entrance. Looks like one of them is cooking up something,” said Bob. “One of the guys is South-Asian. No lights on in the upstairs rooms. There’s a separate ground floor wing on the right side of the house.”

  “You can’t see it from the street,” said Frank. Looks like it was added after the house was built. Separate landscaping. Very discreet. Lights are on there too. It could be the clinic.”

  “Is there a separate entrance?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any other possible locations for the clinic?”

  “Not that we could see,” said Frank.

  “No basement entrance to the house?”

  “There doesn’t appear to be a basement.”

  “We’re in position,” said Jeri into her two-way. “One of you cover the front door and one take the garage entrance. If anyone exits the house, detain them. But do not enter the house unless I give you the signal. We think the clinic is in a wing on the right side of the house. Separate entrance. We’re going to check it out now.”

  “Copy that,” said a quiet voice.

  It was 8:55 am. Two officers remained at the back entrance. Fernice, with five officers, moved through the hedge to the wing and approached the entrance. A small portico protected the entrance from the weather. Fernice tried the door. It was locked. She quickly picked the lock, stepped to one side, and pushed the heavy oak door open. They filed into a small, well-furnished room. Cold air rushed in behind them and the last one in quietly pushed the door closed.

  They were in what appeared to be a waiting area: leather seating for eight to ten people arranged around small, mahogany tables; West Coast Indigenous art adorned several walls; the windows featured plush drapes and sheers that disappeared into ornate valances. All the usual accouterments of a clinic that served the well-to-do. There was a receptionist area to the right of the entrance. The door to a washroom was clearly marked near the end of the inside wall on the left. Fernice motioned to one of the officers to check it, which she quickly did. She gave the all clear. Fernice quietly directed her to stand guard at the entrance.

  Jeri and the remaining three moved to a carpeted hallway off the reception area. Four doors opened onto it. All of them were shut, but there was light visible under two doors, both further down the hallway on the right. Fernice quietly motioned to the light beneath the two doors and indicated Bob join her as she moved to the furthest door. Frank and the remaining officer moved to the second door. She gave the go-ahead. Tried her door. It was unlocked. Looked to her right. Frank shook his head. Fernice nodded and indicated he and his partner stay put.

  She quietly opened the door and entered what appeared to be a prep area, Bob right behind her. There was a big double sink on one side, soap, towels, lots of cupboards and open shelving crammed with surgical supplies. A swinging door with a window led to another room with the lights on. Machinery in the room they were in whirred quietly. Fernice moved to the window and risked a look. A man and a woman stood on opposite sides of an operating table, bent over an unconscious figure. She could see the IV drip. A large monitor at the unconscious person’s head registered temperature, heart rate and blood pressure. She continued to watch, horrified as the doctor lifted something from the chest of the person on the table and place it carefully in a stainless bowl beside him. She whirled back to face Bob.

  “I think he just removed someone’s heart,” she whispered. “Person would have to be on a bypass machine to do that. We’ve got to stop them before they turn it off. We need the ambulances from VGH now. See if they found us a heart surgeon. Make the call.” Bob left her and went out to the hallway.

  She looked around quickly, saw what she was looking for: operating masks. She put one on and pushed quickly through the swinging door, stopping just inside it.

  “Vancouver Police! Stop what you’re doing! Now! Don’t move!”

  A surprised and speechless Dr. Thorgood whirled to face her. The nurse raised
her hands. They both stole a glance at the stainless-steel receptacle in which a heart now rested. Thorgood’s face went from red-faced to ashen in seconds.

  “Is the bypass machine still on?” demanded Fernice.

  “Yes,” said the nurse softly.

  “Arrange the patient for transport to hospital. Now!”

  “You have to know that I acted under duress,” said the doctor.

  “Shut up,” said Fernice. “How many more patients are here?”

  “Five more in the recovery room, back through there,” said the nurse, pointing. “You’ll see the door on the far side of the room.”

  “Are they alive?” Fernice asked.

  “Yes,” the nurse answered.

  “This was the only heart?”

  “Yes,” Thorgood muttered as he quickly covered the victim’s open chest cavity with plastic sheeting. “But if the heart’s to be returned it should be done here. Less risk.”

  “Not a decision you’ll be making,” hissed Fernice. “Do whatever you need to do to keep this patient alive.”

  “We’ll need to continue anti-clotting medication if she is to be moved,” said the nurse.

  “20 ccs of heparin,” said Thorgood.

  Fernice left the operating room and spoke with Bob.

  “Thorgood says the heart operation should happen here. Less risk to the patient.”

  “What a creep! He’s kidding right?”

  “I don’t think so. What’s the word from the hospital?”

  “There’s a heart surgeon at the hospital already, but he went into surgery a short while ago, an accident victim. They’ve got two other doctors who can do it. They put all three of them on standby when you called earlier. They’re pulling the other two in now. A resident surgeon is coming here to make a risk assessment; whether it’s safe to transport the person.”

  “How long before the ambulances get here?”

  “They dispatched two. They said ten to twelve minutes max. We’ll get others as soon as they’re free. The rest of the patients are through here,” said Fernice, leading the way.

  They found two women asleep in beds. Three women were in reclining chairs. One of them was moaning softly.”

  “Stay here with Thorgood, the nurse and the patients. I told hospital dispatch we’re securing the house now. Ambulances should wait half a block from the house till I give the all clear. I’ll take the team to round up the guys in the kitchen and search the house. Our top priorities: get the heart transplant patient to VGH and get Rory’s phone before he gets a chance to tip off Kirigin. She looked at her watch. It was nearly nine am when Fernice headed for the clinic entrance.

  Chapter 16

  Kirigin and Severall were in the main room of Cartwright’s cabin. Kirigin’s laptop, cell phone and satellite phone, port schedules and maps were spread out across the kitchen table. Cartwright’s two-way radio crackled from a small side table. Severall was at the stove making tea.

  “There isn’t much milk,” he informed Kirigin. “I’ll give you what’s left.”

  One of the cell phones on the table buzzed. Kirigin grabbed it.

  “It’s Rory. Asshole’s nearly half an hour late! I told him to text me at nine am.”

  “What does he say?”

  “Vancouver clinic is on schedule. Nearly complete.”

  “I told you Rory would make it happen.”

  “They’re not done yet,” said Kirigin, his voice tight. A man who hated loose ends. He opened one of the tabs on his laptop. The Skeena Cellulose plant at water’s edge took up the left-hand corner of the screen. Another click and the highway entrance to the plant appeared beside it. Kirigin zoomed in.

  “The entrance gate is still locked. Jonas should be at the plant by now.”

  “He said they’d be there by nine thirty.” Severall checked his watch. “They’re a little late. We should be hearing any minute now.”

  Kirigin opened another tab and the bow of the Golden Harvest filled the box, screen right.

  “Where’s the boat now?” Severall leaned in behind him and placed his mug of milky tea within reach.

  “Kirigin maximized the image and played with Google view. “It’s nearly in sight of the plant. About half an hour and it will be docked. Where the fuck is Jonas!” Kirigin took a sip of tea. Severall kept quiet. It would all be over soon enough: the woman on their way to the man camps; everyone paid; he and his partner long gone and quite a bit richer.

  “What the fuck?”

  “What’s the matter,” said Severall, leaning in again. “Wait. Who’s that?” He pointed to the screen showing the entrance gate.

  Kirigin maximized the window and zoomed in as two men walked up to the gate.

  “That one’s native,” said Severall, pointing to the one without a hat. I can’t see the other one’s face.” They watched as a thin man of medium height wearing a large knitted hat examined the ground around the gate closely.

  “Who the fuck are they? Where’s Cartwright? He needs to get rid of them now!”

  “Wait!” Even as Severall spoke, the two moved off screen. “False alarm. Looks like they’re leaving.”

  Kirigin quickly adjusted his eye-in-the-sky view and followed them as they made their way down the road to a red Toyota Camry and got in. The car made a U-turn and headed down the highway.

  “They’re gone,” said Severall. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Nothing to worry about! Why the fuck were they at the gate?”

  “Probably thinking about breaking in and figured it to be too much trouble. Drink your tea before it gets cold.” Severall was hungry. He went to the fridge and found a package of cheddar cheese only half gone. He pulled that out, buttered some bread from a loaf on the counter and made himself a sandwich.

  “You want half?” Kirigin shook his head and sipped his tea.

  “Cartwright is arriving with the trucks.”

  “He’s only a few minutes late. I told you there was nothing to worry about.” Severall was behind him now, nibbling on his sandwich. They watched as Jonas pulled into the entrance area in front of the semis, hopped out and unlocked the wide gate, swinging it to the side of the driveway. He got back into his car and drove on through. First one, then the other truck pulled into the entrance and disappeared down the long driveway. The cell on the table beeped. Kirigin checked. It was Cartwright texting they had arrived at the plant. He enlarged the Skeena Plant view and the two men watched as first Cartwright’s car, then the semis appeared at the top of the driveway and parked. Jonas, three men who were with him and the drivers made their way to the shoreline. Everyone looked south and Cartwright could be seen pointing at something.

  “Maybe they can see the ship,” said Kirigin. Jonas and several of the men then turned and walked quickly in the direction of a large admin building, set well back from the shore. The drivers returned to their trucks and got in. One of the trucks immediately started up and headed to one of the berthing areas on the ocean. The other truck was close behind.

  “Cartwright is going to fire up the container winches.”

  “How long have they been using this site.”

  “Since 2009,” said Kirigin.

  “Nine years. And no one’s caught on!”

  “No. And right under everybody’s nose!” This fact seemed to calm Kirigin. He checked the cell. “Still no word from Rory,” he muttered.

  “I’m sure everything’s fine,” said Severall. But they were already past the moment of calm.

  Kirigin grabbed the satellite phone and sent an angry text to Brian Sullivan. “It’s been over two fucking hours since that incompetent’s been in touch. What is wrong with these people!”

  “Sullivan may have the sergeant in his sights as we speak,” Severall soothed.

  There was a flash of red in one of the windows on the desktop. It caught the attention of both men. They watched intently as a red Toyota Camry drove slowly by the entrance a
nd stopped briefly, before it continued up the road.

  “It’s the car the native guy was driving. Shit. They’re back,” said Severall.

  Kirigin called Cartwright.

  “You have company out on the road. Red Toyota Camry. Two guys. They’ve been to the entrance twice! They just drove past the entrance headed north. Send your boys to take them out. Now!”

  “The ship’s about to dock! We’re getting ready to load the women on the trucks.”

  “Do as I say!” yelled Kirigin. “We have to find out who these assholes are. We have to be sure we’re not exposed!”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll send a couple of the boys out. What about the ship?”

  “I’ll take care of the ship.” Cartwright disconnected. Kirigin got on the two-way and told the captain to hold off on berthing.

  “I’m about to dock for chrissakes!”

  “Don’t be an imbecile! Two men we haven’t identified are on site. You need to make sure the operation isn’t compromised! And leave the radio on!”

  The captain could be heard giving the course correction to steer wide of the berth.

  Kirigin and Severall hovered over the laptop. On one screen, the ship had started into a slow forward arc. Wave after wave rolled up and over the berthing area. On another, two men got into Cartwright’s car and disappeared along the long driveway. Less than a minute later, they appeared on another screen at the entrance to the plant and turned left, heading north.

  The satellite phone on the desk began to vibrate. Kirigin grabbed it and put it on speaker.

  “Cartwright?”

  “Yeah. The two in the Camry are trying to do a runner. Heading north. Boys are after them.”

  “Don’t let those punks get away!” screamed Kirigin. “And keep this line open!”

  “Don’t worry. They won’t get away. You want the plate number?”

  “Yes! I want the plate number! Cartwright gave it to Kirigin, who opened another window and used his PG detachment credentials to log into the DMV database.

  “The car belongs to Robbie Starr. Registered in Prince George. That’s not good Eric. Not good at all.”