A Criminal to Remember (A Monty Haaviko Thriller)

by Van Rooy, Michael

  Rumer tried to interrupt and I just got louder again. “People don’t trUST the police. We, the people, expect our police to be professional. We expect our police to be honest. That’s pretty much it. We’re not getting either honesty or professionalism and so the people do not trust their police.”

  The moderator was gesturing to me to shut up and finally he cut off my mike but I just raised my voice some more. “And that lack of trust is a goddamned shame! That’s just wrong. We should trust our police. And we don’t. So we need to change what’s happening. And we need to change it at a grassroots level!”

  My voice echoed in the auditorium and then I was silent. Down front Claire nodded and Fred clapped.

  Jim said sternly, “Mr. Haaviko, there are rules to debates and you are required to follow them.”

  I looked at him and imagined breaking his kneecaps, and then I lowered my head. “Sorry. I’m new at this.”

  He was satisfied and turned to Rumer. “Sir. Your turn.”

  “Thank you. I would like to say that most Winnipeggers do trust their police. I would say that my opponent is repeating lies and falsehoods.”

  I raised my hand and said calmly, “May I speak?”

  The moderator was surprised; I guess he was ready for me to rant. “Why?”

  “Mr. Illyanovitch is making a mistake. I wish to correct it.”

  Jim looked blank and finally said, “Certainly.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Illyanovitch, I am not telling a lie. I am giving an opinion. There’s a difference. Let me ask you something: do police officers rely on each other?”

  “Yes. With their lives.”

  “That requires trust.”

  “Yes. Absolute trust.”

  “Absolute trust. Good term. Now, do the police ever break the law?”

  “Certain bad cops have been found in the past, yes, but it is rare.”

  “And who turned them in?”

  “Who turned them in? Other cops.”

  I had the paper in front of me memorized but I looked at it anyway. “Three decades ago a woman was murdered here in the city and a man was arrested. The man went through three trials and four years in prison before being cleared of the murder and paid $2.6 million in compensation. The report criticized the unfortunate acts and omissions of some police officers. Two decades ago a man was shot to death by a police officer. The police department cleared the shooter. An official inquiry did not. Two decades ago a man was murdered and another was arrested. An official inquiry found flaws in the actions of the police and the Crown and paid the imprisoned man $4 million in compensation. Shall I continue?”

  “What do those have to do with anything?”

  “Simple. There is a pattern. Inquiries found miscarriages of justice in each case on behalf of the police and the Crown. Yet the police did not catch any of the miscarriages prior to the inquiries.”

  “Those were unique circumstances. And justice was done in each case.”

  “True. I would argue that three unique circumstances form a pattern that should be examined. But I digress; no charges were ever laid against any police officers, right?”

  “None.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why were no charges laid? A miscarriage of justice occurred in each case but the police, the investigative branch, could not investigate. The police could not determine who should be brought to trial and that is not right.”

  Rumer held up his hand and the moderator stopped me. “Mr. Illyanovitch. You wanted to say something?”

  “Yes. The police are professional, thoughtful, respectful and brave. They take care of dangers to society. They enforce the law of the many and protect the rights of the few. You obviously don’t understand that the role of the police commission should support the police, not hinder them.”

  The moderator turned to me and I responded, “Exactly! That is what I am supporting and what you are fighting.”

  Rumer was surprised and his hands fluttered to the pages in front of him. I went on. “Police are doing an impossible task and must trust each other implicitly all the time. Yet we expect them to investigate each other. To effectively spy on each other. We sow dissent by doing that. We make it impossible for them to do their job.”

  I looked over the audience. “It is a legal principle that a husband cannot testify against a wife or a wife against a husband. And the relationship of the police to each other is possibly equally strong—we always hear the term ‘brother’ used by the police, for example. And one purpose of the commission is to oversee an independent investigative system so the police will never have to investigate themselves again.”

  Rumer spoke up. “That’s …”

  I let the moderator shush him and went on, “After all, there seems to be a pattern here. When will it stop? The strength of the police, their traditions, their loyalty, precludes them from watching themselves. Yet Mr. Illyanovitch comes to you from a police background and wants to be chief of an organization designed to moderate the police. Yet he is a police officer and he will still treat the police as brothers. He has to do so. He is a police officer; he will always be a police officer. The police are his brothers and deserve his loyalty.”

  I paused. “How could he ever be fair when his brothers are threatened with arrest? You see how hard he fights to protect them here and now. The loyalty that makes him a great police officer makes him a lousy police commissioner. This is why you should vote for me. Because that vote is a vote for change.”

  #26

  Pandemonium ensued and I had a drink of water. Rumer waited it out and clenched his fingers over and over again on the podium. From where I was I could almost swear he was growling.

  Jim turned to Rumer and said, “You may begin.”

  “You started young.” Rumer held up a sheet of paper and gestured towards me.

  “Yes.”

  “As a criminal. AS A THIEF.”

  His voice echoed but I just nodded politely. This whole thing was kind of like a court case and I was used to listening instead of participating. It was kind of fun to be an actual participant. Rumer had apparently wanted me to react in a more aggressive fashion because he looked unhappy and then went on, “When you were sixteen you robbed a pharmacy and attacked the pharmacist with a hatchet. A year later you stabbed a female police officer with a screwdriver while selling her ecstasy.”

  He stared at me and waved the paper. “Should I go on?”

  “Sure.”

  “You were a member of Los Apaches, a street gang in Vancouver.”

  “No.”

  “You were a … what?”

  “I was never a member.” I turned to the audience. “I didn’t make it all the way to being a full member. I was a prospect. But I got kicked out for disobeying orders. They felt I didn’t show enough respect.”

  There was silence and then some people in the room started to laugh. I turned back to Rumer. “Where did you get that information?”

  Rumer just grinned tightly and I turned back to the audience. “Mr. Illyanovitch is holding a list of crimes I committed while I was a juvenile. That information is sealed by court order to allow the juvenile, in this case me, to start fresh when they become an adult. So Mr. Illyanovitch is holding something the courts will be very interested in. I, myself, cannot access that file. So how is it that Mr. Illyanovitch has it here and now?”

  I waited but Rumer had nothing to say so I turned back to the audience. “However. What he said is true. I was a violent man and a violent child. I was a thief and many other things, most of them bad. Now I am not.”

  I held my hands out to the sides. “All that is in the past. Let’s leave it there. Consider the future, consider this: police make mistakes sometimes, that’s a fact. If you or I make a mistake the damage is limited but a police officer making a mistake, breaking the law or looking away, can do an awful lot of damage.”

  Rumer tried to speak but I just kept going.

  “And other c
ops are forced to watch and stay silent because of loyalty. A loyalty that they must possess in great measure in order to do their job properly. And never forget that their job is to arrest people and provide a good case for the Crown to prosecute. Make no mistake that their job is very hard, almost impossible.”

  I glanced at the page in front of me.

  “I’m going to list some names. These are people convicted of murdering children.”

  I named them and there was silence in the room. I waited a few seconds and went on, “All convicted due to the flawed testimony of a pathologist who was later discredited in a public inquiry. For years police knew there was something wrong with the man but they kept referring cases his way because it was a quick, reliable way for them to do their jobs. Which was to arrest people and send them to trial and prison. This happened in another province but it shows a pattern.”

  Rumer quieted down and the moderator waited for me to finish.

  “There are other people, some convicted forty years ago because a cop didn’t like hippies. Another convicted two years ago because a cop didn’t like Indians. I could go on.”

  The moderator said, “You should wrap it up, Mr. Haaviko.”

  “Certainly. I want the police commission to watch the police so they can focus on being police. And the police commission cannot do its job if Mr. Illyanovitch is in charge.”

  I waited but Rumer still had nothing to say.

  I turned and addressed the gymnasium. “Something is wrong. We are not getting justice now. Something has to change. It’s time for a change and this commission is the start. And, if you vote for me, I will be the agent of that change.”

  Some applause and a few boos and catcalls and then it was Rumer’s turn. He stepped out from behind his lectern and faced the audience with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “My name is Rumer Illyanovitch. I was a Canadian soldier wounded twice in Somalia and the Balkans and I left the forces with the rank of lieutenant.”

  He brought his hands in front of him. “And I was a police officer who retired with the rank of sergeant.”

  He brought his feet together. “I have always protected the people of Canada and the people of this city. If you elect me as chief commissioner I will continue to serve and protect.”

  He lowered his voice. “That is all that I ask.”

  The applause was deafening. Hell, I almost joined in myself.

  #27

  Down on the floor Claire gave me a hug and a kiss and then whispered, “That man is going to kick your ass.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  Her eyebrow went up. “What’s your wager?”

  I whispered a complicated obscene act that was patently illegal and required a high degree of organization. She nodded. “’Kay.”

  “The bet is that he won’t win.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes. “You’re betting that Rumer won’t win?”

  “Yep.”

  “In exchange for …” She repeated the act with a questioning inflection.

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

  We shook hands and turned to the small crowd who were pressing forward. Dean and Brenda had appeared as well. Both had notebooks in hand and looked thoughtful, which I assumed meant they were going to chew my ass off.

  I ignored them and turned to the rest of the people who wanted to talk to me, three men and two women. Behind them were a television reporter and a camerawoman along with a man with a tape recorder in one hand and a fancy camera around his neck. I ignored the press and talked to the women first and then the men. In each case I shook their hands with both of mine while meeting their eyes directly and smiling broadly.

  The smile I had been practising since I’d started the campaign and the handshake as well. Shaking someone’s hand with both of mine gave me control of the person if necessary. It may have looked warm and friendly but it allowed me to move the person along with a little arm pressure if needed. And staring into the person’s eyes allowed me to gauge them.

  The first woman was middle-aged and middle-class with a wide mouth and a nice smile. She wanted to know more about my criminal past. “So did you do everything you mentioned?”

  “Pretty much. Plus other stuff. But I did all my jail time plus some extra so I feel pretty good about myself.”

  She was puzzled. “Extra?”

  “Sometimes extra charges and extra time get added. It’s how things get cleared up.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “Oh no. Not now. So can I expect your vote?”

  She pushed her head forward. “I think so.”

  The only other person who wanted to talk to me was a blond man in his early twenties who looked very familiar. As I was placing the face Dean swayed past me and said, “Be gentle. Cameras everywhere.”

  I kept my poker face. The blond man came in front of me and jutted his jaw out. “You’re a piece of shit.” He said it loudly and it made heads turn.

  My hands were already in front of me and my feet were braced so I kept the smile in place and said, “And you’re an asshole. Will you vote for me anyway?”

  The reporters and Claire laughed, but no one else did. The blond man flushed red, balled his left fist and leaned back to swing. I let him and it was the slowest, softest punch ever. I just stared at it. There were maybe six blocks I could use and two counter-blows and two ways to avoid it entirely. As it travelled towards me I saw Dean’s face was painted with a slight smile and so I chose to step forward and let the punch pass under my left arm.

  Up close the blond guy smelled like good aftershave and expensive soap. When my face was an inch from his I said, “You wanna stop this?”

  He didn’t and I wrapped my left arm around his right, going under and over and then I had him in a shoulder lock a drunk lesbian had used on me once. I braced and forced him backwards towards the ground. Before he could hit I slipped my left knee under his back.

  When he hit my knee he grunted and I smelled spearmint mouthwash.

  Again I leaned down. “I can break your back or your arm from here. Stop. Please.”

  The stupid smile was still on my face and the blond man stopped fighting and held up his other hand, open.

  “Hey, it’s cool.”

  “It is. You gonna behave?”

  “Yeah.”

  I let go of his arm and let him fall while I stood back. Two cops had appeared from nowhere and stood over the man. “Is there a problem?”

  “No.” I looked at the man on his back. “Are you having a problem?”

  “No.” I finally recognized the young man and helped him to his feet. Dean had talked to him for twenty minutes this morning outside the lunchroom where we were having coffee during canvassing. I repeated myself, “No.”

  The cameras had caught the whole thing and I saw Dean out of the corner of my eye and he smiled just a little

  more.

  That stunt had attracted a crowd and the camerawoman and reporter came in. I recognized her from the fairground and smiled. “Good to see you again.”

  “Mr. Haaviko. Can we ask some questions?”

  “Certainly. What is your full name, by the way?”

  She was tiny and tough and her smile was cold and I quite liked it,.“Candy Sawchuck.”

  The camerawoman must have been set up already. She planted her camera on the tripod and started filming. Candy turned to me immediately. “We’re talking with Mr. Montgomery Haaviko, ex-thief, currently running for the position of chief police commissioner. He’s made some dramatic claims about the dysfunctional state of the police.”

  She waited but I had nothing to add and she had to ask, “So how would you change the system?”

  “I would eliminate the Law Enforcement Review Agency because no one should be tried twice and that’s what LERA does to the police. It’s not fair. It’s a provincial organization but we can start there.”

  Rumer had wandered over and was listening but he didn’t react. The agency gave a get-out-of-j
ail-free card to the police but it was a damn hard thing to defend to civilians. So Rumer didn’t do anything but stand there smiling.

  Candy nodded and I went on, “I would also propose the establishment of an independent organization to review claims of wrongful imprisonment like they have in the UK.”

  Rumer couldn’t stand it and blurted out, “That would never work!”

  Candy held her mike to him and made him repeat himself and then I answered, “It’s been around since 1995 in the UK. It’s received more than 10,000 submissions and has referred about 400 to the courts. Sure beats the hell out of all these justice inquiries going one at a time, don’t you think?”

  Rumer was quiet so I went on, “I would also arrange to have every single police interrogation on film, and in fact I would do that for every single police/civilian interaction. As a society we seem to be willing to put cameras everywhere so I’d put them on the police as well. Then there would never, ever be a question of who said what, when. Those are the places where I’d start and those we could begin immediately and cheaply. The cost of one public inquiry would pay for all the hardware.”

  I turned back to Rumer. “And what would you do?”

  He didn’t have an answer.

  Candy waited for awhile and then shut down the camera, thanked me and left. Claire and I had to wait though and shake hands and smile.

  When everyone had left Dean handed me an envelope. “A present. Take tomorrow off.”

  “Can I speak with you?” He nodded and we went into a corner and I went on, “Your idea about the blond guy?”

  “Uh-huh. I thought of it this morning and just went with it. What did you think?”

  “It worked. Warn me next time.”

  “You bet. Now take tomorrow off.”

  So I did.

  #28

  Claire and I spent most of the next day in bed.

  When we weren’t fooling around we babysat, played with Fred, made shepherd’s pie and played cribbage.

  When Fred fell asleep we made love until Claire fell asleep.