Due Process

by Lyle O'Connor

  “Did he tell you about it?”

  Anna replied, “No, I saw it some months ago. He had more than twelve hours tape-recorded; most cannot be shown on TV in America.”

  “Maybe that’s what should happen. These were Americans, our own people.”

  I shook my head in dismay as Anna continued to talk about striking at the root of the problem. She kept repeating the words—sex industry. That’s what it was; a business. There was a market. There were buyers and sellers. This was a whole new playing field from the individual perps I had gone after previously.

  I was vaguely aware of child exploitation in the sex industry. I was naïve as to how prevalent it was. But, I have awakened to the reality. I think about it daily; all day long. I dream of extirpating this sex slavery with my lance. It consumes my nights and I treasure it. My only relief, however, is found in the recoil of my weapon and the smell of fresh-burnt gun powder. Only then is the burden tolerable.

  Chapter 17

  There are no innocent participants

  —Walter

  I arrived early at the mall to meet Anna. She said it was important. She had provided so many viable inputs I could scarcely think of doing what I did without her. If she said it was important then it unquestionably was.

  Anna had a way of making a grand entry and today was no different. Her long-red-flowing hair against the backdrop of a black and white suit added to her professional demeanor. Her swank leather satchel added an aura of mystique. She was the quintessence of elegance and sophistication.

  Making eye contact with Anna was an enjoyable and refreshing experience. They were a beautiful bright blue that expressed cheerfulness and comfort. I looked forward to gazing into them at every opportunity. Today, however, they were notably a steel blue, cold and piercing. I immediately felt something was terribly wrong. Without hesitation we sat next to each other and leaned close so that we could speak softly and not be heard by passersby.

  “Do you remember the TV documentary you saw on sexual exploitation in Thailand?”

  “How could I forget.”

  “The judicial system is powerless to do anything to these rich globetrotters. They travel as tourists to many of these destinations from Europe, Japan, and America to spend a lot of money for hotels, dining, and nightlife. In some cases their money goes to whet their sexual appetite.”

  I listened intently. Anna wasn’t defending their behavior, she was motivating me; she knew what to do and how to do it. Money didn’t buy a special brand of rights to prey upon the weak and young; if it did, it shouldn’t. These globetrotters might not be convicted criminals, but they knew right from wrong, evidenced by their travel to countries where they fed their cravings without penalty. In Walter’s book it was downright criminal.

  Anna casually glanced about the mall before continuing. I knew her behavior well enough now to see we were approaching the real reason for the steely blue eyes.

  “One of the five men profiled in the documentary is a doctor from Oregon. Do you know which one?”

  “No, they didn’t mention names or indicate where any of these degenerates lived.”

  Anna whispered a name, pronouncing each syllable slowly with a peculiar emphasis, “Richard Fell-er.”

  “How do you know his name?”

  “Let’s just say I know—and leave it at that. The question I have—are you the right person?” As I mulled over the question, Anna continued, “I have something I think you’ll find interesting. Hours of uncut film from the documentary that provides, shall we say, insight into Feller’s perverted lifestyle?” Anna paused while moving her satchel close to my leg.

  “I’ve got to go, Walter. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, I’ll go through the material tonight.”

  Standing together, Anna embraced me with a quick hug and smile

  “Walter, have you given much thought to our discussions on chess?”

  “Not really, I haven’t been able to find the time.”

  Anna nodded her head in acceptance. Not wanting to be ill-mannered, I quickly made an offer, “Maybe we can get together and play a game one of these days?” Her response was cool and indifferent. “I don’t play chess, but, maybe we’ll play soon.”

  What the—my mind raced back through the questions she had asked about chess, and now she didn’t play! What was her point about chess and chess pieces? What type of game does she want to play? Too many questions, I thought. My puzzled thoughts were momentarily interrupted as I watched Anna slip from view. Absolutely beautiful, I thought as I stood mesmerized.

  For the rest of the day and well into the night I watched the uncut footage from the documentary. The film, transferred to VHS, made segments easy to review and saved time when gleaning details. It was easy to see why the film was edited. I had never seen anything so graphic in nature as the sex abuse committed on these young victims; it was distressing.

  Walter, being criminal himself by nature, noticed something in the unedited material that many others might have missed because of the shocking display of sex acts. Feller participated in sex acts but he wasn’t purchasing the services. The transactions Walter saw were the sale of children to others. Feller was involved in human trafficking. Doctor or not, convicted criminal or not, Walter had his number.

  I lay in bed tossing and turning for hours. When sleep came it was interrupted by screams of banshees. Although I was cognizant I was in a dream I could feel a scythe in my hands and the motion of reaping. One moment I could feel resistance from the shafts of grain as I swept the blade through the harvest, the next moment it was the scythe decapitating Feller.

  In the morning I once again pored over the material. I shouldn’t have. I felt a boiling sensation that was unappeasable. I felt rage that only blood would vanquish. Anna had asked if I was the “right person.” I didn’t know any person more right for this kind of information than Walter but Thailand was a long way from Oregon?

  I was finishing up my third cup of coffee when my cell phone rang.

  “Do you trust me, Walter?”

  I was speechless. I knew it was Anna, but I didn’t know the answer. I wanted my reply to be yes, but the question lingered in my thoughts too long.

  “Do you trust me?”

  I thought it too late not to, so I answered, “Yes.”

  “Are you the right person?”

  Again I responded, “Yes,” only this time with less certainty than before. What was I the right person for? I didn’t have a clue!

  “Let’s get together.” Anna was clearly calling the shots on this. She followed up with a time and location for the meeting. I agreed to be there.

  Berardino’s was a quaint, well-established pub and diner in the Portland area. Anna was aware of my preference for meeting in public places. Casual conversation should not call attention to those meeting as long as it did not take on an air of secrecy. We met on the outdoor deck at the beginning of what was commonly referred to as happy hour. It suited me fine.

  “What did you think of the documentary footage?”

  “You know what I thought of it. I think there is more there than meets the eye.” I felt Anna was baiting me and she had me pegged well enough. Sure, I wanted to kill him, but then again, I had a rather large list that fits into this category.

  “What can I do about him unless you know he’s here in Oregon?”

  Anna replied, “He’s not in Oregon.”

  “Well, there you go! Nothing I can do about it.”

  Anna was quiet. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed in my response or my lack of adventurism. When she continued her dialogue I would know the answer.

  Anna looked out over the landscaped backdrop of the deck then toward where I was sitting, “Ever been to Pattaya?” A shimmering gleam in her eye and sinister smile revealed the thickening plot; I was digging it.

  Sitting back in my chair I entertained an awkward pause before replying nonchalantly, “Where in the world is—Pat-tay-yar?” I knew this
was going to be a doozy.

  “Thailand,” Anna sighed. She gave me a “Am I going to have to teach you everything” look and then continued. “I’ve compiled information on Pattaya for you. Oh, incidentally, Rich Feller has a bungalow there.”

  Before I could ask a single question, our conversation took a sharp turn to more delightful subjects. Anna spoke briefly about horses and her desire to have acreage to raise them. I related a few stories from my days on the ranch. She asked what I thought the future held for me. I was candid with my response, but reserved to the point of not being overly fatalistic. A few hours lapsed quickly, dinner, drinks and a few stories; it was time to go. We walked to her Lexus where she retrieved a 10-by-13-inch packet and held it out to me. I took the large mailer envelope and tucked it under my arm.

  Anna said, I’ll get back to you in a couple days, okay?”

  She embraced me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I liked our meetings more and more. I held the door open as she slipped into the driver’s seat. When I closed the door she flashed me a smile and waved as she drove away.

  Something continued to trouble me about her car but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The more I saw her car the harder it was for me to align my thoughts as to what I knew and what my subconscious was trying to tell me; it was becoming a blur. There was a connection here, I could sense it.

  The material in Anna’s packet was well organized and comprehensive, it was also time consuming. Since my earliest association with Harold Horn, I had held the notion that reporters and detectives came from the same mold. Anna was a prime example.

  Mr. Feller was the focus of Anna’s research. This was not a surprise. I knew what it was to target someone and she noticeably had him in her sights. I studied his personal background hoping to find keys to his personality. The psychobabblers said personalities were formed in the first five years of our lives. When I looked at someone’s personal history I looked for behavioral signs that provided insight into who I was dealing with. Nothing in his case stuck out as unusual.

  Feller was born and raised in Hollywood, California. His family life appeared stable with both parents employed in the cinema industry. The Fellers earned incomes sufficient to allow them to live in a ritzy neighborhood and their children to attend what is commonly referred to as “better schools.” Richard was a high achiever in school. He was popular, elected student body vice-president two consecutive years, lettered in baseball and was president of the Letterman’s Club his senior year. If anything was unusual about Feller it was the lack of behavioral problems. Tinsel town had a notorious reputation for its wild life and I’m not talking about four-footed critters. It wasn’t unusual for kids living in a high-roller environment to get snared in its pitfalls. He had the money for drugs, booze, and any vice he cared to engage in but nothing here suggested he was ever in trouble. He was a mystery of sorts.

  Richard matured and embarked on a medical career, specializing in podiatry. By all counts he seemed destined to be a valuable contributor to society. Soon after his graduation he volunteered his services to Global Center Alliance, a pseudo world peace health organization, destined to provide a form of socialized medicine to the world community. Now, a dozen years later, he still volunteered for “missions” instead of holding down a lucrative practice. If I had known nothing more of Feller’s existence, I would have dismissed the notion he was evil, but, there was more.

  The file contained official documents from Brazilian government sources on Feller’s activities while “volunteering” to help the poor in their country. These documents painted a different portrait of the good doctor, one more in line with the documentary. Feller’s Brazilian tour under Global Center Alliance’s banner was cut short. Suspicious? Absolutely! For a government to intercede and take away free help for the poor was a strong indicator something was rotten in Denmark or, in this case, Brazil. Embedded were government documents referring to Feller’s expulsion on the grounds of “questionable moral integrity.” Here was a government that harbored Nazi war criminals and allowed mini-concentration camps to operate within its borders that was kicking a doctor out of their country for questionable moral integrity? It didn’t make sense.

  Three months after his return from Brazil, Global Center Alliance reassigned him to a year’s contract in Indonesia. Things seemed to go okay for him there and then it was off to Thailand for a year’s tour. Richard continued to volunteer in Thailand and resided in Pattaya.

  Anna had an Oregon residential address for him but there was no indication he had ever lived there. He had never hung a shingle for his practice, assisted another doctor’s business, or served on staff at any hospital. He was an Oregonian without roots; a Podiatrist without a footprint. He was, indeed, a mystery.

  The kill was needed, but catching up with him would be a nightmare. Five days passed before I heard from Anna. “Meet me at Multnomah Falls tomorrow at 10 a.m. I’d like to hike to the upper bridge and feel the mist from the Punch Bowl.”

  “I’ll be there.” Nothing coded about this message. Anna wanted to go over the material. The Falls were a good idea. It had its share of tourists and got busy occasionally in the afternoons but a morning meeting would have few interruptions from people walking by. I was game.

  The meeting went off as planned. The parking lot spread out over a couple of acres, but with only a few cars closely packed at the trailhead it was easy to find Anna. She was dressed casually for the trek. Black jeans with a red and black windbreaker went well with her long red hair tucked under a black knit cap. Her informal elegance caught me off guard.

  At the upper bridge we watched the water cascade hundreds of feet before crashing into a pool dug out by centuries of repetition. The resulting mist saturated the air, adding an extra freshness to the already chilly morning. I waited for Anna to come forth with her proposal. Small talk and casual chat finally took on a serious tone as Anna pitched her idea.

  “Walter, you said you trust me. I want you to accompany me overseas.”

  I already knew the answers to the questions I would ask, but I wanted to hear it from her. “Where to and what for?”

  “Thailand—the ‘what’ will be up to you.”

  “You have my attention.”

  Anna and I moved to a nearby felled tree taking seats on the rotting bark. Anna wasted no time before launching into the details of her plan. I was to travel as her companion and cameraman for a feature she was writing. We would fly into Bangkok for her human-interest story, but as I’d already hypothesized, it was cover for our true destination and purpose. Our objective lay 100 miles south in Pattaya. It was a no-cost scenario to me. I was along for the ride and maybe some trigger time. The idea of a full-fledged partner was new to me. It would take time to get comfortable with the idea. Anna was trying to be helpful and she had put together what sounded like a first-rate project for a person relatively new to the game, but there were still issues to discuss.

  “I don’t have a passport and I’m not wild about exposing myself to risks in an unfamiliar arena.”

  Anna was quick to reply, “This is the part where you have to trust me.”

  “Okay, what hoops do I have to jump through to get the documents I need and how do I go about preparing for the trip?”

  “I’ll handle the legal requirements associated with getting your passport, visas, and corresponding identification. I have a contact that will take your photo and produce a set of high-quality forged documents. You will need to provide him with information you want on the documents. It is more difficult since 9/11 to forge identification but my contact will provide computer support for our entry. If everything goes well we’ll be leaving in a couple weeks.”

  “What about weapons?”

  “You won’t be bringing weapons with you. I’ll take care of all the things you’ll need.” I was hoping she was referring to more than weapons, but I knew I was dreaming. Nevertheless, I responded with a smirk and a statement I hoped would alert her to my fantasy.
>
  “Great, all I have to do is pull the trigger.”

  Over the next few days I called Anna with questions as I thought of them. I felt my concerns were legitimate but she tired of my badgering. Finally, after a multi-call day, she told me to quit being “pesky” and reiterated, “Trust me.” It was not reassuring.

  Anna called, “It’s time.”

  Dr. Richard Feller had no idea that 7,500 miles away Walter was boarding a plane with the intention of terminating his life. Anna had my forged passport, visas, and press pass in hand when I arrived at the terminal. It was official; my name was Walter Eloy Goe and I had documents that proved it. The prospects of sitting in a cramped cattle car for a sixteen-hour flight was less than appealing, but to accomplish what was necessary one must do what must be done. This trip would prove to be a learning experience in more ways than one.

  Unlike me, Anna was at ease in any setting. I was a bit insecure outside my realm, and although polite and considerate of others, I was not ashamed of who I was and apologized to no one. I looked out of place sitting beside Anna in first class. Other passengers surely wondered about us. What was such a classy woman doing with a simple-looking guy like me? Yeah, I knew they were considering various scenarios, but it would never cross their minds I was a cold-blooded killer who enjoyed his work and she my enabler.

  My mind processed what information I’d been given, but I didn’t know how my cameo role would play out on stage in Thailand until the closing curtain fell. For me this was nothing more than a one-act play; just another chapter in my life. A life and lifestyle I had chosen.

  We arrived at Don Mueang Airport as planned and processed through customs. I suspected Anna was a world traveler, and my suspicions were confirmed when the customs agent flipped through her passport looking for the correct page to place his seal; every page had multiple stamps.

  Anna hailed a cab at the airport, haggled with him over a price to a destination, and then slipped him some American currency. I didn’t know the Thai custom on payment or tipping, but he was all smiles. Miles south from the airport we entered the city of Bang Saen. A few left turns and a couple of right turns found us in the driveway of a getaway resort overlooking the Gulf of Thailand—an arm of the South China Sea. The area was touristy and a great place to blend in. We would be one of many nondescript foreigners spending our loot and taking in the sights.