by Don Easton
“No! I’ve had enough!”
“I need to know how you will react,” he replied, squeezing her tight to his body. She tried to push him away but he used his weight to topple her onto the bed. The wine he held spilled onto her blouse as he landed on top of her.
“Get off me!” she demanded.
He intentionally brushed his chest across her breasts as he placed the wineglass on the bedside table.
“Relax,” he ordered, before kissing her on the nape of her neck while trying to arouse her by slowly grinding his pelvis against hers. “I need to see how you will perform,” he whispered, moving his lips to the top of her breasts.
“I’ll perform for the benefactor, not you!” shouted Mia. “Let me go or I will contact the benefactor personally and explain how your actions led me to quit.”
Mr. Frank looked at her sharply and pulled away. “Direct contact is forbidden. As far as you are concerned, I am the benefactor. This is your destiny.”
“My destiny does not include having sex with you. That I know. Get off me,” she hissed.
He reluctantly got up and watched silently as Mia scrambled to her feet and grabbed her purse. Seconds later, she slammed the door shut.
He cursed himself after she left. Mia was one of the most valuable assets they had. For that reason, she was only one of two that he was assigned to handle. He had let his own lust interfere. Giving her wine spiked with drugs … the benefactor would never tolerate such action …
Chapter Three
Nancy said goodbye to her sister and returned to her chair. Toby expectantly looked up at her and waited until she gave a welcoming pat on her knee before leaping up to lay on her lap.
She smiled, reflecting upon the visit with her sister before nodding off to sleep.
Mia got into her white Lexus and slammed the door shut. After pulling out of the hotel parking lot, she reflected upon how strange she felt for only having had one glass of wine. The ecstasy … did he? He wouldn’t dare.
She thought about the stress she was under as she drove. Is it my nerves reacting over what I must do tonight? The thought of it makes me sick … yet I must for the common good. She glanced at her purse containing the two bags of drugs and her thoughts returned to Mr. Frank. Whatever the reason I feel strange, never again will I accept anything to eat or drink from him. Mom would be so angry if she knew I drank from a bottle that I had not seen opened and poured. She taught me better.
She examined her face in the rear-view mirror and saw that her mascara was smudged under her eyes and used her fingertips to wipe it. A lurching jolt of her car and the sound of screeching metal brought her hands back to the wheel. She had sideswiped an oncoming car and her hands spun the wheel hard to the right. It resulted in an overcorrection and the right corner of her Lexus hit a parked car and came to an immediate stop.
Nancy immediately sat upright, startled from her sleep by the sound of a car accident in front of her house. The commotion caused Toby to bark excitedly.
“Toby! Hush!” she commanded, reaching for the phone while peering out her window. She hesitated when she saw a woman in a red blouse get out of a white car and run back to a silver car. Seconds later, the woman driver in the silver car also got out and was using her cellphone.
“Looks like they don’t need our help, Toby,” said Nancy.
Mia scrambled from her car and ran over to the woman driving the silver Nissan. “Are you okay? Are you injured?” she asked.
“I, I think I’m okay,” she replied. “You drove right into me.”
“I’m sorry. A bee flew into my face and —”
“Looked to me like you were putting on make-up,” snapped the woman.
“I’m going to check my car,” replied Mia, deciding not to engage the woman. “Then we can exchange driver’s licences and car registration. Don’t worry, insurance will cover the damages. The important thing is that nobody was hurt.”
Mia returned to the Lexus to get her documentation. She knew she would have to call a tow truck as well. The sound of the woman talking on her phone caught her attention.
“Yes, it’s an emergency! I was driven into by a woman who is drunk. She has booze slopped down the front of her … no there are no injuries, but … thank you. Please hurry. I’m in Richmond at —”
Shit! Breathalyzer? Arrest? Am I stoned? Mia didn’t wait to hear the rest. She grabbed her purse from her car and retrieved her own phone. As she pretended to make a call, she walked over to the sidewalk, conscious that the other driver was watching her.
Mia dropped her purse on the ground and turned her back to the woman as she bent over to pick it up. As she did, she quickly grabbed the drugs from her purse and stashed them under a flowering rhododendron.
Two police officers from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arrived in a patrol car within a matter of minutes. Mia was subsequently given a roadside breathalyzer test. The machine paused on pass … then flickered into the warning zone.
The policewoman hesitated. “You smell strongly of alcohol,” she said. “Your motor skills and physical appearance are also indicative of drug use. Do you mind if we search your car and belongings?”
Mia sighed. “I had one glass of wine earlier, but the man I was with wanted me to have more and poured another one. I refused and he tried to kiss me. I pushed him away and he ended up dumping wine down the front of my blouse,” she said, indicating her blouse. “If I’m acting strange it’s because I’m still really angry.” She looked at her car and added, “Then to have this happen … well, I feel stunned.”
The officer stared at her a moment. “Okay, relax. I know the type,” she said, rolling her eyes for emphasis. “Still, you’re lucky that no one was hurt. I’m going to write you up for driving without due care and attention.”
“I understand,” replied Mia. “Will it take long?”
“Officers!”
Mia saw an older woman standing on the front porch of the house with the rhododendrons. A dog was at her feet. “Can I talk to you?” she called.
Mia swallowed and felt the dread as the other police officer went to speak to the woman. Seconds later, the woman pointed to the rhododendron at the front of her house.
Oh, fuck …
Chapter Four
For the second time in two days, Mia met with Mr. Frank. This time the meeting was brief and they met in a stairwell of an underground parking garage. Mr. Frank was too cautious to ever speak inside a vehicle or any other place he thought could be subject to electronic surveillance.
“The wine you spilled on my blouse was the reason the police came,” said Mia with a scowl on her face. “It’s your fault! The police also asked if I had taken drugs.”
“Keep your voice down,” cautioned Mr. Frank, nervously peering up the stairwell. “There is nothing to worry about. The matter will be looked after.” He tried to soothe her by patting her shoulder. She pulled away in anger. Perhaps his gesture would have been more convincing if the tone of his voice had not betrayed his nervousness. He knew he was to blame and feared the fatal consequence it could have for him.
“My first court appearance is next Friday,” continued Mia. “That is only a week away. They are charging me with possession. I was told they had even considered charging me with possession for the purpose of trafficking.”
“That is one good thing,” Mr. Frank remarked.
“Good thing?” She seethed. “If I end up with a criminal record …”
“I would never allow that to happen. It will be dealt with. Everything will be okay.”
“How?”
“The police are corrupt. You know that. A payoff will have to be made to the station commander, but that is all. I will look after it.”
“So I don’t need to show up next week?” asked Mia.
“These things take time,” he replied. “Show up and plead not guilty. The matter will be resolved long before any trial takes place. The important thing is that nobody finds out.”
“The Rolstads only
know that I skipped their party because I was in an accident and was too upset. So don’t give me a bad time for not going to the party when I returned —”
“No, I understand. Did you tell your mother what happened?”
Mia sighed. “No. I was too embarrassed to tell her.”
“Embarrassed? Because you had an accident?”
Mia studied his face closely as she responded. “No, I was embarrassed that I accepted a drink from you when I didn’t watch it being poured. Mom taught me better than that.”
“What are you saying?” asked Mr. Frank angrily.
“That I felt too strange for only having one glass of wine,” she retorted, suspiciously.
“Do not blame others for your own mistakes,” replied Mr. Frank. He shook his head in admonishment. “It was your nerves. I saw that at the time, which was why I wanted you to stay and help prepare you for your assignment.”
“Bullshit! I know what you wanted to do with me,” snapped Mia. “And don’t deny it!”
Mr. Frank shrugged. “I’m not denying it. I’m human. You dressed provocatively … sending out mixed signals. I thought you wanted me to come on to you.”
Mia frowned. “I was dressed for the Rolstads, not for … well, either way, let’s put it behind us. I don’t want my mom to know because I don’t want her to worry.”
“And there is no reason for you to worry, either. Do not give the matter another thought.”
Mr. Frank stared after her when she walked back up the stairwell. He knew he had a problem. He was not acquainted with any corrupt police officers. Action would have to be taken, but he could not jeopardize his own position. It was time to ask for a favour.
It was two o’clock Wednesday afternoon the following week when RCMP Corporal Connie Crane of the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team arrived at the scene. She flashed her identification at a uniformed officer to allow her access through the security perimeter tape and walked up the street.
She was the second member of I-HIT to arrive. The first member, Constable Stan Boyle, was new to the team and had asked for Connie’s assistance. She saw him talking to another uniformed officer farther down the street. Boyle was a big man whose gut hung over his belt and he forever had bits of sleep in the corners of his eyes. Connie didn’t care about his appearance, providing he was capable of doing his job — something she had yet to determine.
Boyle spotted Connie and broke off his conversation and ambled toward her. As he approached, she glanced at the yellow emergency blanket up ahead on the sidewalk. The body — or bodies, as she soon discovered — were still sprawled on the concrete.
Boyle muttered to himself and shook his head as he looked at Connie, somehow expecting her to know what was troubling him.
“What’s up?” asked Connie. “I thought it was a simple hit and run?”
“It is,” replied Boyle, “but uniform is trying to say otherwise. The guy is being really obstinate. If I hadn’t called you, he said he would.”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“Some jerk. A Corporal Dave Rankin. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Connie was introduced to Rankin. He was a uniformed policeman assigned to traffic and was the first on the scene when the 911 call came in.
After the initial greeting, Connie asked, “What makes you think this isn’t anything more than a hit and run?”
Rankin shook his head. “Because it’s not.” He pointed down the block. “The broken remains of a cheap bottle of wine are farther down the sidewalk where the car first jumped the curb at the entrance to that apartment building. It then travelled this way at a high rate of speed down the sidewalk, hit the victim, then veered back onto the road at the next apartment entrance.”
“Must have been going fast for the victim not to get out of the way,” noted Connie.
“The car came from behind her, so she wouldn’t have had much time to react … but it was going fast. She was also walking a dog. I think she panicked and got the leash tangled in her legs and fell before the car hit her. Considering the type of vehicle involved, if she had been standing, she would have gone over the car or into the windshield. She didn’t. She was dragged under the car for quite a ways. Her and the dog.”
“Witnesses?”
“One. The offending car was a blue Honda Accord. The witness was two blocks farther down the street, driving in the same direction when the Honda passed him at a high rate of speed. He caught a glimpse of two people in the car, both wearing baseball caps and he thinks dark sunglasses. He also thought they were Asian because of their black hair, but he wouldn’t swear to it. He never got a plate.”
“So what makes you think it wasn’t some punks who were out drinking and lost control?”
“Because the driver didn’t lose control. Anyone else accidentally hitting a curb and bouncing onto a sidewalk would have tried to veer back. There aren’t any signs of that.”
“Maybe going too fast,” offered Connie. “Once committed, the next available escape route past all these parked cars was the next apartment entrance.”
“There is also no sign of braking and they would have had a clear view of the victim prior to hitting her. I don’t think they were drunk. We were supposed to think that. Bet there aren’t any prints on the broken bottle.”
Connie studied the route the car had taken. None of the vehicles parked along the curb appeared to have been hit. There were a few broken branches from a hedge, but other than that, the car had managed to drive down a narrow pathway.
“That’s the other thing,” said Rankin, after Connie looked at the scene. “To take that route and not hit anything significant isn’t the sign of a drunk. It took some skilful driving.”
“Or lucky,” suggested Boyle.
Rankin shook his head. “As I told you before, I’ve been doing this work for twenty years. I’ve been to hundreds of fatalities and thousands of accidents. Believe me, this was no accident.”
“Who’s the victim?” asked Connie.
“A seventy-four-year-old woman who was walking her sister’s dog. The dog was killed too.”
“You run the vic’s name?”
“Yes. It’s Betty Donahue.” Rankin frowned. He knew what he had to say didn’t fit his theory. “There’s nothing on her. Not even a parking ticket. She lives in West Van and is a retired schoolteacher. So is her husband.”
“What’s the sister like?” asked Connie.
“Nancy Brighton. She was one of the first ones on the scene. She’s still bawling her eyes out. I got someone to take her back home and sit with her.” He pointed and said, “She lives in the house halfway down the block between the two apartment buildings. The one with all the flowers.”
“Anything on her?” asked Connie.
“Nope. Also retired. Used to be a Crown prosecutor.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah, but it was long before our time. I feel sorry for her. Her husband passed away two years ago from cancer. There are only two entries on the system for her address. One four years ago from her husband complaining of a noisy party from one of the apartments. The other was from Nancy last week. She spotted some woman stashing dope under one of the bushes in her front yard.”
“How much dope?” asked Connie, with obvious interest. “Maybe someone got the wrong person?”
“That’s just it. The woman was only charged with possession, so it couldn’t have been much. She had a non-injury MVA and the other driver called the police. She then panicked and tried to hide the dope before the members got there, but Nancy spotted her doing it and tipped them off when they arrived.”
“Straight possession. Hardly worth killing someone over,” noted Boyle.
“Who was charged with the drugs?” prodded Connie. “Any gang connections?”
“No gang connections noted on the system. It was a university student by the name of Mia Parker. She also doesn’t have any record … or won’t unless she’s convicted.”
Connie l
ooked at the long streak of blood, skin, and hair on the sidewalk from where the bodies of the woman and the dog were dragged under the car. She gave a nod of her head where the trail ended at the emergency blanket. “You’re positive it was intentional?”
“Yup, I’m positive.”
“Then how would they have known when to drive down the street at the precise time to run over her?” mused Connie. “They were two blocks away when they passed the witness.”
“I don’t know,” replied Rankin. “Maybe they kept circling the block.”
“If they were professional enough to set all this up to make it look like an accident, they would be professional enough not to draw attention to themselves by driving round and round the block,” said Connie. “I want the plates of every vehicle on the street.”
“Already done,” replied Rankin.
“Have any left since you arrived?” asked Connie.
“No. I didn’t think I should let anyone leave until you gave the go-ahead, but so far, nobody has even tried to leave.”
“Good job.”
“So you believe me that it was intentional?” asked Rankin.
“Not yet,” replied Connie, “but I won’t rule it out, either. I’ll treat it as a homicide for now and see where the investigation takes us.”
Connie looked at Boyle. “Start canvassing the neighbourhood for other witnesses.”
Boyle let out a big sigh and frowned at Rankin to show his disgruntlement.
“I also want to check every apartment security camera within a four-block radius.” Connie looked at Rankin and said, “If you’re right, the only way they could have known when to strike would be to have a spotter. Maybe we can pick something up from a security —”
Connie quit talking when Rankin raised his hand for her to pause as he answered his portable police radio. A blue Honda Accord had been located minutes ago. It had been reported stolen yesterday, but was found abandoned in an alley after being set on fire.
