Open Season (Luc Vanier)

by Peter Kirby

  Brown was having trouble letting go. He kept interrupting, halting the flow to have hushed conversations with Kaminski.

  Half an hour into Kaminski’s questioning, the sun hit the window and the temperature in the room began to rise. Vanier took off his jacket and rolled his sleeves up. Katya had long since taken off her sweater and sat in a T-shirt and jeans. Vanier realized the bra he’d bought was too big. She was constantly adjusting it, trying to make it fit. It wasn’t the first time he’d overestimated the size of a woman’s underwear. Women could be forgiving with bras that were too big, but not panties, Vanier mused. Go large on panties and you’d hear about it forever.

  The three RCMP officers had their backs to the window, but they did nothing to acknowledge the heat, except sweat. Vanier watched a single drop hanging on the edge of Brown’s eye. It swelled and succumbed to gravity, slipping down the side of his face. If Brown felt it, he didn’t let on.

  Every now and then Kaminski would place a pack of photographs in front of Katya, a mixture of mug shots with serial numbers, and surveillance photos. The first batch seemed to be from Ukraine, then Vanier heard Rotterdam mentioned, then came a set for Montreal. Katya recognized some of the people; for others she gave a shrug or shook her head. In the Montreal pack she punched five with her finger. Vanier recognized the Kedrovs, mother and son, and pumpkin-head, but not the others. Kaminski placed the last pack on the table. Vanier assumed they involved the boat trip. Katya focused on one photograph. She became agitated and her voice started rising until she was shouting, tapping her finger up and down on one photograph, a headshot of an ordinary-looking guy smiling into the camera.

  Brown stopped the recording and had another whispered conversation with Kaminski, while Katya sat back in the chair, folded her arms and waited. Vanier had seen the same victim’s pose hundreds of times: You have what you want from me, that’s him. Now, please, go and do your job.

  When they resumed, the rhythm of the questioning had changed, and Vanier sensed the interview was winding down. Kaminski looked up from his notes and turned to Brown. “Unless there’s something else, sir, this part is done.”

  Brown reviewed his notes and thought for a few moments. He leaned towards the microphone. “Ms. Babyak, we thank you for your cooperation. We think that is all for today. It is now 2:15 p.m., and we are concluding the interview.”

  Before he could turn off the recorder, Katya interrupted. “What is to happen to me? I am valuable witness, no? They tried to kill me. Four people died last night. You know who is responsible. You have photos. I am witness.”

  Brown looked agitated. He leaned forward to the microphone again. “We are studying all of the possibilities, Ms. Babyak. We may or may not lay charges against you. We haven’t decided yet. When we do we will let you know.”

  “Charges? I do not understand. I am witness.”

  “By your own admission, you have entered Canada illegally, engaged in prostitution and attempted to enter the US illegally. For the moment, you will remain in custody until we have made some decisions.”

  “Fucking Christ,” Vanier said.

  Brown swivelled in his chair, furious. “Didn’t I say to remain silent? So, please, shut the fuck up or you’re leaving.”

  Vanier sat at the edge of his seat and glared impotently at Brown. Brown held up his hand again, though no one was looking. He switched off the recorder. “I am now going to start again and see if we can get a clean transcript.” He glared at Vanier. “Inspector Vanier’s intervention will be erased.”

  Vanier stood up. Before the door closed behind him, he heard Brown give his final instructions.

  “Get someone to take her back,” Brown told Carter. “Get her delivered to CBSA at the airport today. I want her on a flight out of here tonight.”

  “No. Please,” Katya was begging. But nobody was listening.

  Vanier waited until he saw Katya being escorted back to the cells by the constable before he went back into the interview room. Brown was helping pack up the equipment. He looked up. “Come back to apologize?”

  “I want to know what’s going on.”

  “None of your business. I shouldn’t have let you sit in on the interview in the first place. Why don’t you just go back to Quebec.”

  “You’re holding somebody who is a witness to crimes that occurred in my jurisdiction. I want to know what you intend to do with her.”

  Brown was still sweating in the suit and tie, but the rivulets of sweat had been cleaned up.

  “You really don’t get it do you, Vanier?”

  Vanier refused to answer.

  “I’m running a task force to combat human trafficking in Canada. Big-picture stuff. When we’re ready we’ll do real damage to these organizations. That whore is just a small piece in a very big puzzle. She’s given us all she’s got. Some of it is useful. Not much, but it confirms some theories. That’s all. I’m putting her on a plane and she’s going back to whatever hellhole she came from. She’ll be on a plane out of Toronto tonight and that’s the last I want to see of her.”

  “Tonight? I told you, she’s a witness. An important witness. I need her in Montreal.” Vanier knew she wasn’t a witness to any investigation he was carrying on, but that didn’t matter. She had been forced into prostitution and had seen four people killed. He didn’t like seeing any of that go unpunished. He also didn’t mind butting heads with Brown.

  “You can’t have her in Montreal. I know you, Vanier. You have a reputation. But you’re a big fish in a very small pond. I’m not fucking up our investigation just because you want to look flash back home. If I have any other questions for her, which I doubt, we’ll fly to Shitville, Ukraine, and ask her there. She’s not staying in Canada.”

  Vanier had no leverage. Katya was the RCMP’s prisoner, and Brown was going to decide what happened to her.

  “You have family, Brown?”

  “None of your business, Vanier.”

  “This girl. This kid. She didn’t choose this life. She was forced. She’s the victim here. She almost died with the others.”

  “Save it, Vanier. If we don’t get her on a plane tonight she’ll wake up and make a refugee claim, and then she’s here for three years while her claim is assessed. And we both know that in the end she’ll still be sent back. You think Canada needs another whore? Like we don’t have enough. I’m doing her a favour.”

  “Don’t put yourself out.”

  “I won’t, don’t worry.”

  Everything was packed, and Kaminski and Carter were waiting by the door. Brown picked up his own bag.

  “I’ve arranged transport.” Carter told Brown. “Someone from the station is going to deliver her to the immigration people at Toronto airport. She’s booked on a ten o’clock flight to Frankfurt and then a connection to Kiev.”

  “And we’re even paying her ticket.” Brown said. “It’s been nice meeting you, Vanier.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Vanier walked over to the window and waited until they emerged into the parking lot. Kaminski was driving. Brown opened the back door and stood outside the car, letting the heat escape. Then he removed his jacket and folded it, leaning into the car to place it carefully on the back seat. Once they had pulled out of the parking lot, Vanier turned for the door.

  On the ground floor, a constable pointed him to the shift sergeant, a big guy who dwarfed the small desk where he was poring over paperwork, holding a pen like he was ready to crush it in his ham of a hand. He looked up as Vanier approached, beaming at him like he was looking at an old friend. Vanier had never seen him before.

  “Vanier, comment ça va, mon ami?”

  His name badge said Jean Godin.

  “Vous êtes Québécois?”

  “No. I’m Franco-Ontarian.”

  Vanier smiled. “Me too. I was born just up the road from here, at the military ba
se.”

  “Yeah, but you got back to the mother ship. I’m still stuck here on Planet Anglo. Planet fucking weirdo, if you ask me. I heard you had a long morning with the Mounties.”

  Vanier was about to answer, but Godin held up his hand. He shouted over Vanier’s shoulder. “Sheehan. I thought I told you, take car fifteen to the garage. The back seat is knee-deep in vomit. Christ, it’s been there since last night.”

  Sheehan grumbled, but Godin wasn’t having it. “It’s been sitting in the sun all day. If it doesn’t get cleaned out, the smell’s going to be permanent. And I’ll make sure you’re driving it next winter. You’ll like that. Windows up tight and the heaters going full blast. It’ll smell to kill your nose hairs.”

  He turned back to Vanier. “Where was I?”

  “RCMP.”

  “Oh yeah. Can you believe that guy? What was his name, Brown? They all think we’re a bunch of country assholes. The ones in uniform, they’re ordinary cops like you and me. But the guys up there in Ottawa are a bunch of pussies. Look what they did with the Air India investigation. Ever see such a farce? And Airbus. And the disappearing Native women? The list goes on and on. A bunch of fart-catchers for politicians, that’s what they are. And now this,” he was waving a sheet of paper. “They want me to take someone off shift to take a prisoner to Toronto. Does it say fucking airport taxi service on the cars outside?”

  “I’m going to Toronto tonight. My girl lives there. Figured I was halfway there, so I should stop by for a visit. I can take your prisoner, if you want.”

  “Seriously?”

  “The airport, right?”

  “Year. Canada Border Services Agency at the airport. Apparently she’s on a flight out tonight.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “That would help me. My guys get nervous when they drive out of town. They go to Toronto, they get tickets for speeding. When they go to Montreal, they get tickets for going too slow! Every time they leave town, they get tickets.” Godin exploded in a belly laugh. “When are you leaving?”

  “Soon as I can.”

  “Okay.” Godin fished a sheet of paper from somewhere in the pile. “Here, sign this. A receipt for the prisoner.”

  Vanier wrote his name on the form and signed. He handed it back to Godin. “Can you print out another one of these for when I deliver her to CBSA? I guess I need to get them to sign off.”

  “Sure. Listen, I really appreciate this.” Godin punched the keyboard with his thick fingers, then got up and grabbed a sheet off the printer. He handed it to Vanier. “Why don’t you bring your car around the front, and I’ll have someone bring her out.”

  Vanier pulled out his card and wrote his cell number on it. “Jean, if you ever want to visit the mothership, give me a call. Okay?”

  “Sure thing, man. Thanks.” Godin grinned.

  Ten minutes later, Godin came out the front door leading Katya by the arm and carrying two Walmart bags. Katya’s hands were handcuffed in front of her. Vanier opened the passenger side door, and Godin put his hand on the top of Katya’s head as she stooped to get into the car. She gave Vanier a smile.

  Godin threw the Walmart bags into the back seat and went around to the driver’s side. “Here’s the keys, and my card. When you’ve delivered her, give me a call.”

  “You want the cuffs back?”

  “Keep them. A souvenir. She needs to be at the airport for eight-thirty at the latest. And don’t forget to charge those bastards in Ottawa for the mileage. Charge them for your time, too.”

  Vanier leaned across Katya to secure her seat belt. He raised his hand to Godin and took off.

  “Where do we go?” Katya asked.

  It was coming up to five o’clock in the afternoon. If he pushed it, he could be at the airport in two hours. “Walmart. It’s on the way to the highway.”

  Katya settled back into her seat. “Okay. Walmart.” She said it slowly, as though learning a new word.

  The parking lot was big enough for an airport. In one corner he counted fifteen large RVs, a caravan of Bedouin seniors looking for a safe place to camp in the wilderness.

  He parked the car and released Katya from the handcuffs. “Don’t run away.”

  Then he got out and marched across the expanse of empty tarmac to the main entrance, Katya trotting to keep up with him.

  Inside the door an ancient man was holding on to a shopping cart to stay upright. He smiled at both of them. “Welcome to Walmart.”

  “Thank you,” Katya said.

  “Women’s clothes?” Vanier asked.

  The old guy shuffled his feet back and forth to turn himself around and raised an arm to point vaguely to the centre of the store. “Up there, son. Up there, on the right.”

  Katya took off slowly in the direction he was pointing, taking everything in like a tourist in a cathedral. Vanier caught up with her. “First time?”

  “I saw in movies. But first time, yes.” She spun around. “All this?”

  “Yeah, all this.”

  When they got to the women’s section he led her around, picking things up. “You like?”

  She liked everything; it was easy shopping. “The sizes are good?” Vanier asked.

  Katya pulled at the waist of the jeans he had bought earlier. There was room to fit a small child in with her.

  “Sorry”

  “Is okay. Can I look?”

  “Sure. You look. You choose. I need to get a cart. Stay here and choose some stuff. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  Vanier went back to the main entrance and grabbed a shopping cart. When he got back to the women’s section, Katya was nowhere to be seen. He abandoned the cart and started the kid-lost-in-a-department store dance every parents knows by heart, half shuffling, half running in ever larger circles, chasing flashes of images, a colour he thought he recognized, blonde hair, the right body type. He rushed through the fishing section, electronics, menswear, food aisles and housewares. Back in women’s, an assistant was folding clothes.

  “I’ve lost somebody.”

  She looked up at him, concerned. “A child?”

  “No. Adult. Twenty-six. Blond. So high,” he gestured with his hand.

  The concern disappeared from her face and she shifted back to boredom. “You tried the changing rooms?” She nodded to a sign.

  He pushed the swinging doors and called her name. Katya stepped out in a plain blue dress. She was barefooted. “Good?”

  “Very good.”

  She smiled. “I am ready.” She disappeared back into the cubicle and emerged carrying an armful of clothes.

  “Is too much, no?”

  “No. Just right. Let’s go.”

  Vanier pointed to the pile he had selected earlier. “These too?”

  “No. They are nice,” she said, pointing to the clothes in the shopping cart. “But these are right size.”

  As they were walking towards the cash, Katya abandoned the cart and disappeared into the pharmacy section, searching up and down the shelves. She reached down and grabbed a box of large Band-Aids, examined it closely and then lobbed it underhand up the aisle and into the cart.

  “Good shot.” He picked up the box. “You’re hurt?”

  “No.”

  Before they had pulled out of the parking lot, Katya was already elbow deep in the bags. She grabbed the box of Band-Aids and ripped it open. She carefully applied a square patch to her arm, covering the eagle tattoo. She held it up to examine it, and showed Vanier. “I am free.”

  Vanier said nothing.

  The highway was two miles from Walmart. The sign pointed right for Montreal, and straight across the overpass for Toronto.

  He turned right.

  Katya continued to rummage through the bags, pulling out bits of clothing one by one to examine them, holdi
ng them up in the air for the full effect, and then holding them up for Vanier to see. “You like?”

  “Nice, very nice,” Vanier responded. “Lovely, oh yes, very smart.”

  And Katya echoed. “Nice, very nice, lovely, oh yes, very smart.”

  Vanier drove for an hour. Katya was fast asleep. He fished Godin’s card from his pocket and punched the numbers into his phone.

  “Jean?”

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “Vanier.”

  “Vanier, you there already? Ostie, you guys drive fast.”

  “There’s a problem. The girl. She’s gone.”

  “No, don’t tell me this. Don’t tell me. She was handcuffed, for Chrissake.”

  “I know. I had to stop for gas and to take a leak. I came back and she’s gone. I looked everywhere. I think she must’ve gotten a lift on a truck.”

  “There’s a thousand trucks on that goddamn highway. So she’s long gone.”

  “Looks like. I’ve looked everywhere.”

  “How special was she?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The RCMP sends three guys to interview her, and she doesn’t even get to go to the hospital for a checkup. But when they finished, they didn’t seem think she was so important.”

  “She was a victim, Jean. No more than that. Brown sucked her dry of information and was sending her home. He said if he needed to speak to her again, he could fly to the shithouse she calls home. That’s what he said.”

  “So it’s no big loss for him?”

  “But it makes us look bad.”

  “Luc, don’t worry. I can take care of that. I’ll have to write a report. You too. I’m going to say that I insisted that they take their prisoner to Toronto themselves, but those lazy bastards refused. I’ll say I told them I could only spare one man and it wasn’t secure. They’ll look like assholes. Don’t worry, my friend. Us francos have to stick together. You go and visit your daughter, have a good time. The girl will show up one day.”