by Don Easton
“Better make it two bottles,” said Natasha. “I’m going to have to be really drunk if you expect me to swallow the bullshit you’re feeding me.”
It was three o’clock in the afternoon when Pops gently awakened Linh.
“It’s a good time for you to call your dad,” he said. “He will be worried and will want to know you arrived in the States. You can talk to him for as long as you want. I understand you have a grandmother too?”
Linh nodded.
“Talk to her as well, if you like. With what has happened, I am going to figure out how to bring them both to America. Wouldn’t it be nice if you were all together?”
Without Hang, that is not possible, decided Linh.
Between crying spells, Linh talked for over an hour.
Bien felt that his heart was already broken, but the sound of Linh’s tears and being unable to hold her made him realize that his heart still had room for much pain. He asked Linh to be strong and to remember that they only had to look to the sky to know that Hang would be watching and waiting to see them some day.
When Linh finally ran out of words, she slowly relinquished the phone to Pops, who hung it up.
Pops smiled knowingly and said, “Come, there is a special hiding place I must show you. It is to be used if the police should ever come before the proper papers are in place.”
chapter twenty-one
At eight o’clock Friday morning, Laura walked into Quaile’s office. She looked at him in disgust and slowly turned around in a complete circle in front of his desk.
“Hi, Laura,” said Quaile, sounding friendly. “You look fine. There’s no need for you to do this anymore. Your attire is completely appropriate now.”
Laura didn’t comment and turned to leave.
“Where is Corporal Taggart this morning?” asked Quaile. “He hasn’t been excused from this.”
“He’s taking the day off,” replied Laura.
“I haven’t signed a leave form for him! Tell him to get in here!”
“I’m sorry, did you think I meant he was on annual leave?” asked Laura innocently. “He called in sick. Would you like him to bring a note from his wife? She’s a doctor.”
“I want his desk cleaned out before the end of the day,” said Quaile. His tone with Laura was no longer friendly.
“Sure, Quaile, I’ll do that,” replied Laura.
“It’s Staff! You will refer to me as Staff—and do so in a respectful tone!”
Laura placed the palms of her hands on his desk and leaned over so that her face was close to Quaile’s. He instinctively pushed himself back in his chair.
“When it comes to human qualities, you are a very small man,” she said. “They should never give power to a small man.”
The blood rushed to Quaile’s face as he tried to think of an appropriate response.
Laura turned and walked to the door. Just before she left she said, “And another thing, Quaile. I don’t respect you enough to call you by anything else ... except asshole!”
Later that afternoon, Laura sat in a car parked close to the Russians’ apartment. She had a shoebox on her lap and carefully looked at the contents. Believing she had control of her emotions, she picked up her cellphone and called Jack.
“I’ve been sitting on the Russians since nine o’clock this morning,” she said. “They haven’t left their apartment all day. I saw lights come on earlier, so I know they’re home.”
“What about Commercial Crime? Quaile will have your ass if he knows you’re still working on the Russians.”
“Yeah ... Quaile. I saw him this morning. I definitely felt vibes that he doesn’t like me. I bet I’m next on the chopping block.”
“Why? What did he say to you?”
“Nothing, really. It was just the look on his face when I left his office this morning. Call it woman’s intuition. I sensed that he doesn’t like me.”
“Laura, you promised,” said Jack
“I know what I promised,” she said evenly. “We’re close to nailing these two. Don’t worry, we’ll get them before he can push me out the door.”
“Just don’t do anything to jeopardize your career,” replied Jack.
“You once told me that you had to be able to look at your own face in the mirror when you shaved. I don’t shave, but I do put on makeup. I have to be able to look at myself as well.”
“Your record is exemplary. Clean. Don’t go and ...”
“Which is why it will take time for Staff Pendejo to kick me out. Speaking of which, he wasn’t going to authorize leave for you this morning, so I told him you had called in sick.”
“Thanks. I spoke with my new boss on Traffic Services and asked to take next week off. He said it wasn’t a problem and I could back-date the paperwork when I arrived. Sounds like a nice guy. His name is Mike Hewett.”
“Anyone would be better than Quaile.”
“Now my week is clear to help you. After what has happened, I thought we should take this weekend off to clear our heads. Then meet with Pasquali on Monday and do the UC on Giang.”
“Good, that’s what I thought, too. Besides, it will be better to let Giang stew about it. We won’t look so anxious.”
“Set it up with Pasquali for around noon. I’ll call you Sunday night.”
“Jack ... there’s another reason I called. I ... Oh, man,” she said, as her voice wavered.
“What is it? ... Laura?”
Jack heard her sigh, and she said, “I cleaned out your desk for you. I’ve got a shoebox here with your stuff. Coffee mug, pictures of Natasha, your niece and nephew, your little buddy Charlie taking his first step ...” She paused as her voice cracked and she swallowed and continued. “You know, stuff like that. I was going to drop it off for you on my way home tonight.”
“Oh ...” Jack paused as the feeling struck home. Seven years of my life bundled into a shoebox.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have done this without asking,” said Laura, sensing his pain. “I just didn’t want the asshole gloating around watching you do it.”
“I was going to come in and do that this weekend. Thanks, though. I really appreciate it. It would have been tough for me.”
“I have to go,” she replied.
Jack heard her crying before she fumbled to shut her phone off.
It was late Friday afternoon when Isaac waved for Connie Crane to come in and take a seat in front of his desk.
“I hope I’m not interfering with your schedule, Corporal,” said Isaac, “but I just called Staff Otto and he said you were in the building and would be the best person to bring me up to date.”
“Yes, sir. Randy called and told me. We still have no idea as to the child’s identity, but our investigation is progressing. Lab results indicate she had close to two hundred times the normal level of dioxin in her blood. This, combined with a birth defect of an extra thumb and other factors, indicates that, in all likelihood, she is of Vietnamese heritage. Not only that, but it would indicate that she is from an area that has been heavily contaminated with Agent Orange. My guess is she was originally from the central part of Vietnam, in the area the Americans referred to as the DMZ during the American–Vietnamese conflict.”
“The demilitarized zone,” said Isaac.
“Yes, sir. That’s it.”
“An extra digit. Surely the Vietnamese must be able to identify her?”
“We’ve checked. As abnormal as that would be here, it is common over there. Many children are still being born with such defects. Others with no limbs. It’s a result of all the defoliant the Americans dropped back in the late 1960s and early ’70s.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Locally, we’re tracking down sexual sadists: people who have a history of lighting pets on fire and the like. But as I’m sure you know, there are easily over a thousand in our area who are on the National Sex Offender Registry and likely that many more that we are not aware of.”
“Learning the identity of
this child would be a significant step,” said Isaac.
“Sir, we are trying. I’ve made inquiries with the local Vietnamese community. Some are more than willing to help, but others are either suspicious or afraid of the police.”
“Then step up the pressure on the Vietnamese police. An extra thumb, even if it is common over there—a child is missing. They should be able to narrow the list down. There can’t be that many children who emigrated here from Vietnam who would match this profile. Check with Immigration. I’ll call our embassy in Hanoi if you like, and help get things moving over there.”
“Sir, that has already been done. I suspect the real problem is that the child was likely smuggled into Canada.”
“Smuggled?” Isaac’s mind returned to a conversation he had with Quaile.
“The police over there are being very cooperative,” continued Connie. “But the problem they face is that people are not overly willing to come forward. The Vietnamese government is a communist regime and everyone knows they do not take kindly to their citizens being smuggled out.”
Connie stared at Isaac but he remained pensive and quiet.
“Sir,” she said, “I don’t mean to sound pessimistic, but we’re trying to identify a kid that nobody has even reported missing. We’re looking through stacks of files on perverts that ... well, it’s a little like looking for that proverbial needle in a haystack.”
Isaac stared intently ahead and Connie had the feeling that he was only half listening.
“Believe me,” she continued. “I want to catch this sick ...” Connie paused, glancing at the Bible on Isaac’s desk, and continued, “this sick person. Whoever did this ... well, the profile indicates he’ll do it again. This case is a priority for our whole office. We won’t rest until—”
“Have you checked with Intelligence?” asked Isaac.
Connie sat back in her chair. “Ah ... no, sir. We’re not looking at this as organized crime. The profile indicates a person acting alone. Probably single, keeps to ...”
Isaac raised his hand, signalling for Connie to stop and said, “Check with Intelligence. Corporal Taggart was working on a file involving human smuggling. Constable Secord was assisting him. The main culprits are Russian, but I believe it also involved local Vietnamese criminals.”
“I wasn’t aware of that, sir. I’ll go to their office and talk with Jack immediately.”
“Um ... I spoke with Staff Quaile this morning,” said Isaac. “He indicated that Corporal Taggart was home with the flu.”
“I know Jack, sir. He’s dedicated. He won’t mind if I call him.”
Isaac shook his head and said, “No, there’s a bit of a ... situation ... with Corporal Taggart at the moment. He’s been transferred and is no longer with Intelligence.”
“I wasn’t aware of that, sir.”
“It only happened yesterday.”
Isaac was about to suggest that Connie speak with Constable Secord, but he remembered that she was the reason Quaile called him this morning and thought better of it. At least for now.
Later that night, Isaac sat alone in his den, holding the picture of his daughter in his hand when Sarah entered the room. He quickly put the picture down.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll be right out. Didn’t mean to abandon you for the evening. Just needed a few minutes to think some things out.”
“A few minutes?” said Sarah. “Honey, you’ve been in here for two hours, ever since dinner.”
“Has it been that long?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
Sarah walked over and stood behind him and bent over, wrapping her arms around the front of his chest. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?” said Sarah, looking at the picture on the desk. “I miss her, too.”
Isaac nodded, but didn’t speak.
“Are you going to talk to me about it?” asked Sarah.
“About what?”
“About why you’ve hardly spoken a word to me ever since Aggi and Leon were here for dinner. Now tonight, it’s worse. Something happened today, didn’t it?”
Isaac swivelled his chair around, wrapping his arm around Sarah and sitting her on his lap. “You would have made a great detective,” he said.
“Doesn’t take much detective work to figure you out,” she said. “Not after thirty years of marriage. You’ve only acted this way once before, when ...” she didn’t finish, but glanced at the picture and back at her husband’s face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Can’t you talk to me about it?”
Isaac took a deep breath and slowly let the air out before replying, “I’m troubled over a homicide case.”
“The one Aggi told you about?”
Isaac nodded.
“You’ve encountered horrific cases before.”
“I know, but now, after losing Norah, it bothers me more.”
“Now you know what some other parent feels like after losing a child.”
Isaac nodded.
“We’ve had to learn to accept it. The pain never goes away ... but time makes it more bearable.”
Isaac looked into his wife’s eyes. No parent could ever accept or understand what this little girl went through.
“You’re worried that you won’t be able to solve the case?” asked Sarah.
Isaac nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Lord, surely you can show no mercy for whoever did this?
“Well, as you always said ... you just pick the best person for the job and let them do it. What else can you do?”
Her words echoed and replayed themselves in Isaac’s head.
If I were a criminal ... a child molester ... who would be the last person I would ever want on my trail?
“What is it, dear?”
“I think you’ve given me a message,” replied Isaac.
A few minutes later, Isaac kissed his wife goodbye at the door.
“I should come with you,” she said.
Isaac shook his head and left by himself. It was the first time outside of a normal religious event that he had gone to church in the evening.
It was also the first time that he felt justified in asking for forgiveness.
chapter twenty-two
It was seven o’clock Saturday morning and Jack lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling while Natasha slept soundly with her head on his chest. He didn’t know if it was the headache that awakened him, or the fact that his tongue felt thick and sticky in his mouth. He also had the urge to drink a litre of water. That would awaken Natasha, so he lay there as his brain regressed on his own life ... and what had gone wrong.
A knock on their apartment door startled him.
Natasha’s eyes flickered and she said, “Who is that?” She looked at their bedroom clock and added, “At this hour! Damn it, I feel ill. You got me drunk!”
“Coming!” yelled Jack as he put on his bathrobe and dropped his 9mm into the pocket.
He could only find one slipper, so he left it and padded barefoot to the door and stood to one side, gripping the 9mm in his pocket before waving his other hand across the peephole.
No shots ... good sign. He squinted into the peephole. “Jesus!” he said aloud, stepping back while releasing the grip on his gun.
“Who is it, honey?” asked Natasha.
Jack cast a glance at Natasha, who had slipped on her bathrobe and appeared behind him. He didn’t reply as he quickly opened the door.
Natasha had never seen the man before.
“Do you mind if I come in?” the man asked.
“Are you executing a warrant?” asked Jack, while looking out in the hall to see who else was there.
Natasha thought her husband was joking. He wasn’t.
The man seemed taken back by the comment, but smiled and said, “No. It’s not that kind of a visit. I came here to ask for your help.”
Jack nodded and motioned for the man to enter before closing the door behind him.
“I’m sorry to awaken you at this time of the morning,” the man said
, looking at Natasha.
“And you are ...?” she asked.
“Excuse me. My name is Jacob Isaac,” he said, offering his hand. “I, uh, work with Jack.”
Natasha shook his hand and asked, “Are you on Highway Patrol?”
The question caught Isaac off guard, but he grinned and replied, “Not anymore. Years ago, yes. Only for a short time.”
“Didn’t write enough tickets?” asked Natasha. She turned to Jack and said, “That’s the way for you to get out of there. Don’t write any tickets and the ol’ man, as you call him, will transfer you back.”
“Honey,” said Jack. “This is the ... uh, Assistant Commissioner Isaac. He’s the top boss.”
“Oh,” said Natasha as her cheeks developed a crimson glow. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to ...”
Isaac chuckled and looked at Natasha and said, “I am an old man ... but I would really prefer it if you called me Jacob.”
Natasha looked at Jack and said, “I think I’ll take a shower.”
Minutes later, Isaac sat at the kitchen table while Jack made coffee. He eyed Isaac curiously. Must be something pretty damn serious for him to come here—let alone on a Saturday at this time of the morning.
“It is something serious,” said Isaac, reading his thoughts. “I would like to delay your transfer,” said Isaac.
“For a few years?” asked Jack, hopefully.
“No. Just temporarily. I would like you to complete your investigation on the Russians. Particularly in regard to their smuggling operation.”
“Staff Quaile felt it wasn’t worthy of our attention. I don’t think he would appreciate me coming back.”
“I’ve already spoken with Staff Quaile this morning,” replied Isaac. “He assures me he is in complete agreement with this ... temporary extension.”
Yeah, I bet. “I take it something has happened?”
Isaac nodded and the sorrow he felt showed in his eyes. “An unidentified Vietnamese girl between the ages of ten and fourteen was sexually abused and murdered. Corporal Crane is the lead investigator and thinks she may have been smuggled into the country. Would you be willing to help?”
