Up All Night
A Brewed Moon Single Shot
J. Margot Critch
Copyright © 2016 by J. Margot Critch
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Please don’t pirate this book. Pirates are gross.
Cover Design by J. Margot Critch
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The police officers described herein are part of SJPD, a fictitious organization, and are not representative of the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary or the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 1
Mitch Swanson knew exactly what to expect when he met his partner, and brother, Peter at the mouth of the downtown St. John’s alley, not far from Brewed Moon café. He’d been woken up from a fitful sleep when he’d been dispatched after a concerned citizen called 911 to report a woman’s body in the early hours of the morning.
Peter pointed further down the alley where crime scene techs worked studiously to document any evidence left at the crime scene. But Mitch knew they would find none. Whoever was behind dumping the bodies worked cleanly, and left nothing behind but a body wrapped in plastic.
“What do we have?” Mitch asked his brother. Peter had arrived first, given the proximity of his and Erica’s apartment to downtown.
“Guess,” he said, as they walked down the alley to the scene. “Body dumped. Woman. Naked, but for her underwear.”
They walked to the large, green dumpster and he saw it. “Jesus,” Mitch Swanson muttered as he crouched over the woman’s body. Taking in her ashen skin, the unnatural pose of her limbs, her lifeless eyes opened to him. He looked up at Peter, who stood nearby. “This is the fifth one in the last six weeks.” He stood, but he couldn’t take his eyes from her.
Just like Peter had said, the woman was naked but for a barely-there, blue thong and the piece of plastic sheeting that had been wrapped around her, almost no chance at identifying her unless someone filed her missing report, or if she had some distinguishing features, or an arrest or dental record. Whomever she’d spent her last living minutes with, hadn’t given her the care or respect she’d deserved. It was sad, desperate, but finding discarded bodies in the small city was becoming an all-to-familiar occurrence. St. John’s was a small city, and he had no idea how so many women were going missing, without being missed.
The late October air held a damp chill that went straight to his bones and he pulled his leather jacket tighter. Par for the course for the east coast of Newfoundland, he figured, counting his blessing that at least it wasn’t snowing. He and Peter watched wordlessly as the crime scene techs finished their work, before they loaded the body into the van to transport it to the hospital for an autopsy.
The medical examiner’s report would take time, but Mitch bet that they would find a deadly combination of ecstasy and fentanyl in her system, and little else. He knew that her death would be labelled an overdose. And she would go unidentified and never be reported as missing. Just like the others. No amount of canvassing the streets of St. John’s, the night clubs and the gentlemen’s clubs would come up with any answers or people willing to admit they knew the women.
But like always, Mitch held out hope that this time would be different. He hoped that somehow the person who had dumped her here like a bag of trash had slipped up, left something behind, some clue that would lead them to who was behind the deaths of at least five women.
“Fuck, we need to find this asshole,” Peter cursed beside him. “We need to find out who’s putting these drugs on the street.”
“We will,” Mitch responded, not sure if he was trying to convince his brother, or himself. He narrowed his eyes on the body, training them to take in the crime scene, hoping to find something that would be useful.
“Think it’s Irish?” Peter asked.
Mitch shook his head. Earlier that year, they had dismantled the crime network of the Irish mafia in the city by killing one organization head and jailing the other. “I don’t know. The Irish are scrambling right now. Maybe they’re pushing bad drugs as a way to make some money, to rebuild. Let’s get Steve and Joe and pay a visit to Colin O’Connell in jail,” he told Peter, who already had his phone out to call their teammates. “See if he knows anything about it.”
With the body finally removed, Mitch started at one end of alley, and walked slowly to the other. His eyes trained to the ground, and the piles of garbage and filth, looking for something that was out of place. That wasn’t always an easy task in an alley where people throw garbage, and meet up for nefarious purposes.
But then his eyes settled on one thing that stood out from the trash bags, broken beer bottles, cigarette butts and used condoms.
“Holy shit,” he whispered and crouched again. Using a latex-covered hand, he picked up a cell phone, and turned to Peter. “Think this belongs to our guy?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Peter laughed. “You don’t think that someone would dump a body and drop his cell phone in the process, do you?”
“I sure hope so,” Mitch laughed. Knowing that it might be a long shot, he tapped the screen. It was locked. “Criminals slip up all the time. How many convictions have we gotten from a lucky break? Either way, let’s get this back to the precinct. Maybe Steve can take a crack at unlocking it.”
He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and before Mitch could fully stand upright, the screen of the phone lit up and the device vibrated in his hand and played an old Trooper tune. Someone was calling it. Mitch couldn’t believe it. He accepted the incoming call, and turned up the speaker so Peter could hear as well.
“Hello?” Mitch answered.
“Who’s this?” the person on the other end said in way of a greeting.
“Simon Smith,” Mitch gave him a phony name.
“You got my phone?”
“Probably, I just picked this one up.” Mitch improvised. “I found it outside a bar on George,” he said of the nearby bar-lined street.
“I want it back,” the man insisted.
“Sounds good to me,” Mitch said. “Come meet me and you can have it.”
“Where’re ya at?”
Mitch looked around his surroundings, making sure that he was far enough away from the crime scene before revealing where he was. He said the name of a nearby business. “I’ve got to get to work though, so you’d better hurry.”
“Alright b’y, I’m not far,” he said, and before Mitch could say anything else, the call was disconnected.
Mitch looked up and Peter was smiling at him. “What a stupid son-of-a-bitch. Did this solve just fall right into our laps?”
Mitch thought it might have, maybe they’d gotten lucky and no one else would be hurt. But he was careful to not get too cocky. “It looks like we might be close,” he admitted. They were silent, both mulling the case, both keeping their eyes open for the owner of the cell phone, who should be along soon.
It wasn’t long before they were approached. “Hey,” he called out. “You Simon? You guys got my phone?”
Mitch held up the phone. “That depends. Are you the guy I was tal
king to?”
“Yeah,” he said, getting close enough to reach out for his phone. But he was shorter than Mitch and when Mitch held it above his head, forcing the man to jump for it. “What the-”
Mitch pushed his jacket aside and flashed his badge, which was clipped to his belt. “How about you come with us?” Mitch asked the man. “We’ve got some questions for you.”
Chapter 2
Burton Davis sat across the table from Mitch. He was no mastermind, just a random street thug, who someone in St. John’s might refer to as a skeet, with a record as thick as a phonebook.
“Who’s the woman?” Mitch asked.
“I don’t know,” His blurry eyes were tired and dull. Mitch knew he wasn’t a murderer, but he might know who was.
“Just tell me where the drugs came from,” Mitch insisted, as the man, identified as Burton Davis, sat across from him in the dingy interrogation room. Before him on the table, five full-coloured photos of the deceased women sat in front of him.
“I don’t know, man.”
“You’re lying,” Mitch insisted. “Listen Burton, if you don’t cooperate, you’re going down for five counts of murder,” Mitch embellished the truth. They didn’t have enough to pin any crime on him, let alone murder. Steve was currently putting Burton’s information through the system in hopes that he’d have some outstanding warrants they could hold him on, but as far as Mitch was concerned, there was nothing wrong with a little white lie if it meant getting the information they needed. “But, if you can help us out, tell us where these women got the drugs and who wanted you to dump the bodies, then a judge will look more favourably on you, maybe you’ll get away with probation.” Mitch shrugged. “It’s up to you.”
Burton paused, but he looked at Mitch with fear, desperation, in his eyes. “If I talk, I’m dead.”
Mitch knew they were getting somewhere. He sat in the chair and looked at Burton straight on. He leaned across the table. “We’ll protect you if help us. You did dump that body, right?”
He nodded, not saying anything.
“What about the others?”
He nodded.
“Who are they? Can you tell us the names of the women? Help us identify them?”
“No. I don’t know who they are. Were.”
“Did you give them the drugs?”
Burton hesitated, then shook his head. “It was the guy at that club.”
“What club?”
“Leather & Lace.”
Mitch sat back, he’d heard of it. It was an exclusive club that operated in St. John’s. But it wasn’t like the pubs or night clubs that littered George Street, in the city’s downtown core. From what he’d heard, this one catered to a high-class clientele and providing them with a meeting place, where the men and women of the business and political arenas could mingle and make backroom agreements – oh and they could also their have every sexual need met. Mitch had never heard of problems from the people at the club. He wouldn’t expect to. With all the higher ups rumoured to be part of the club’s clientele, they were politically untouchable. But if someone they were distributing poisonous drugs, they needed to be stopped.
“Leather & Lace is killing these women?”
“Not the club itself,” Burton insisted. “It’s one of the guys there. And it’s not intentional,” Burton told them. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Does this guy have a name?”
He shrugged. “Some Russian guy.”
Mitch’s interest was piqued. He knew that under a man by the name of Yuri Petrova, a Russian crime syndicate, involved in drugs and human trafficking, was making a move on the city. But he wouldn’t be successful, not if Mitch and anything to do with it. “You have a name?”
Burton shrugged again, annoying Mitch more and more. “A guy asks you to dump five bodies and you don’t even get his name?”
Shrug. “He was supplying.”
“He was giving you drugs?”
Another nod.
Losing patience, Mitch pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He exhaled. “You did it for drugs? Anything else? Or are you just an extremely helpful guy?”
“He gave me money.”
“The Russian guy?”
Nod.
“And then what?”
“I would get a text to come to the back alley of the club. I’d show up. He’d already be out there-”
“With the bodies?”
“Yeah.”
“So, who were they? Who are these women?”
“I never asked.”
Mitch sighed loudly at another dead end. “What connection did the five women have with the club?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were they targeted or just unlucky to have been given poisonous drugs?”
Burton didn’t answer.
“Burton?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t good enough,” Mitch told him. “If you don’t give us more, we can’t offer you a deal.”
“The Russian guy works at the club. He’s not the owner, but he’s close to him. From what I heard, he brings in girls to the club, like professionals, you know, hookers. He’s the only one that I dealt with.”
“He works at the club,” Mitch repeated, and stood, and walked to the door. “Okay, good.”
“Hey,” Burton called out to him from the table. “What about my deal?”
“Oh, you’ll get your deal,” Mitch said, his tone dismissive. He opened the door and Peter and Steve walked in. “You’re under arrest,” he said, walking out the door. He walked down the hall to see if he could find his Captain. He had to see a man about a warrant.
“Absolutely not!” Captain Lewis shook his head. “We can’t invade the privacy of the club owners and patrons without cause.”
Mitch was shocked. “But sir, we have cause. We have five dead women. And a witness who says he picked them up at the club.”
“You’re going on the word of a guy who has a mile-long rap sheet. He’s just talking to get a better deal for himself. How do you know that he didn’t kill them himself?”
Mitch thought of the dull man he’d just interrogated. “Honestly, based on the lack of clues found on the bodies, the guy’s a meth-head, he’s not smart or careful enough.”
“I said no,” his superior officer insisted. “Issuing a warrant on Leather & Lace, going into a club like that would be a huge violation of privacy for everyone in job. We’ll all lose our jobs.”
Mitch knew not to argue with that tone of voice, as much as he wanted to. He narrowed his eyes at his boss, wondering why he didn’t care about solving the murders of the five women found in alleys scattered throughout the city. So, he said nothing and walked out of the office. He was on his own with this case. There was something strange going on at Leather & Lace, and he was going to find out why.
Chapter 3
Mitch and Peter were sitting at a corner table at Brewed Moon, a downtown St. John’s cafe, nursing their coffees and the disappointment from not being able to pursue their investigation. They both sat frustrated, brooding over their coffees. They had to get into the club, find the “Russian guy,” and build a strong case to take back to their Captain.
“You don’t think that maybe Burton was fucking with us?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know,” Mitch answered with a shake of his head. “But I don’t think so. There’s something going on in that club, and if we don’t find out soon then I have a feeling that more women are going to die.” He leafed through file on the table between them, which contained the crime scene reports for each of the women. “Okay, while we’re waiting to hear from Steve and Joe, let’s brainstorm. What do we know about these women?”
“If it has anything to do with Petrova,” Peter frowned, discussing the Russian monster, “they’re probably trafficked for sex work. Brought into the country undocumented. Eastern European maybe?”
Mitch nodded. “That’s what I was thinking too.�
� He flipped through the photos of the women, the lifeless faces too young for such a horrible fate. “He brings them here, promises them a life in Canada, but he forces them into prostitution. He hooks them on drugs, they make him some money, they OD and he dumps their bodies. Nobody knows them. Nobody asks any questions or identifies them.”
“Is Leather & Lace into prostitution, though?” Peter asked. “We’ve never gotten any indication that sort of thing was going down there.”
“We’ve never investigated them. But based on Captain Daniels’ reaction to me wanting to go in there, I’m sure lots of things happen behind those closed doors,” Mitch said, and he leaned over the table, and his voice. “They have their annual Halloween party tonight, and that’s why I’m going.”
Peter didn’t have a chance to respond before Juliana walked over to their table. Mitch looked up and slammed the file shut, sparing her from having to see
“You guys are quiet,” she noted, putting two plates in front of them. Each contained a chocolate chip cookie which was broken into multiple pieces.
“What’s this for?” Mitch asked.
Juliana shrugged. “They were broken, and I can’t sell them,” she explained. “And I saw you both brooding over here. I thought you might like something sweet.”
Mitch had always thought Juliana was gorgeous. But as a result of his previous investigation into her café, she was prickly, cold to him. Thankfully, though, she’d started warming up to him. He looked up at her and smiled. he was wearing a skin-tight black leotard with cat ears and a tail. She’d even drawn on a nose and whiskers. He cocked his head to the side at her appearance. “What’s with the get-up?”
“It’s Halloween,” she responded. “The real question is why aren’t you dressed up?” She dragged her eyes over him, and he tried to ignore the fire that her gaze ignited within him.
Mitch looked down at the black v neck t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. His team worked the street as part of a specialized anti-gang unit, and they dressed casually to blend in. “Because I’m an adult. And I’m at work.”
Up All Night (Brewed Moon 1.5) Page 1
