“How you comin’ along with the raids?” I asked, switching subjects.
“All set to go. The boss got us two MPs and an’ two shore patrolmen. I’m gonna split them between our teams. They’ll be here in the mornin’ ‘round eight o’clock.”
“They understand they aren’t to involve themselves in the actual raids, right?”
“They will by the time we head out. They’ll know they’re there to step in only if we run into any trouble from any servicemen that try an’ interfere.”
“Okay. Good. When’re you goin’?”
“We’ll head out at nine-forty-five an’ hit the places at ten. Should be done by ten-thirty. What about you?”
“I’m gonna check on the Marchand girl first thing then head over to Dartmouth for a visit with the company that sold the defective valve to the shipyard.”
“Good luck,” Pete said.
“Yeah, you too.”
Two hours later, a bicycle messenger arrived with a sealed envelope from Mulroney. He turned it over to the desk officer who then sent it back to me.
I opened it and extracted two sheets of paper. Each had the name of a company making machine parts, dealing with the shipyards directly and with a couple of local companies, including Dartmouth Marine Supplies. Phil also included his department’s summary of his investigation into these companies. Nothing jumped out indicating any suspicions of shady dealings. However, my cop’s instinct told me something must be going on even if they were cleared by the security people.
* * *
When I arrived at the hospital the next morning, I got lucky and found a parking spot close to the entrance. Once inside, I headed up to the ward where Stella Marchand was located. I met with the duty nurse who led me down the hall to her room. She said the doctor was not in at the moment but told me the girl had regained consciousness during the night and that she was doing well.
“That’s great news,” I said. “Is she up to some questions?”
“Well, she’s still pretty weak and shaken up,” she said.
“I understand and I’ll try to go as easy as I can. It will really help if I can talk to her.”
“I know you need to talk to her, and I really want that animal caught so, I think she might manage a couple of questions. I’ll have to stay in the room and will need you to stop if I say so.”
“Okay,” I said.
We entered the room. I stepped to the bed and looked down at the girl. The bruises on her face were still visible but not nearly as bad as when I first saw her. At the moment she looked peaceful with her eyes shut.
“How’s she doin’?” I asked, quietly.
“She’s coming along as well as can be expected. As you can see, the bruises are beginning to fade. As to the other issues, well, her tests came back showing good results, you know, no infectious diseases. We won’t know for a while yet if she was impregnated.”
“That’s somethin’ at least,” I said. “Has her mother been in?”
“Uh-huh. Her mother comes in every day.”
I nodded.
The nurse went around to the other side of the bed and leaned down, placing a hand gently on Stella’s shoulder.
“Stella, honey,” she said, softly. “Are you awake?”
Stella slowly opened her eyes and focused on the nurse.
“There’s a policeman here who wants to talk to you. Is that okay with you?”
Stella turned her head on the pillow to look at me.
“Hi. My name is Detective Robichaud,” I said gently, looking down at her. “I’d like to ask you some questions about what happened to you, if you’re up to it.”
She slowly nodded and started to re-adjust herself on the bed. The nurse helped by propping her up a little onto the pillow.
I pulled a visitor’s chair closer and sat down, setting my hat on the bed and taking out my notebook.
“Good for you,” I said. “First, anytime you feel you don’t want to talk about that night let me know an’ we’ll stop, okay?”
“Okay,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Right. Why don’t we start with you tellin’ me what you remember ‘bout that night an’ the two men you went away with?”
I was mildly surprised when I noticed the look of pain and anger on her face as she collected her thoughts. After a moment passed, she began. She said she could only remember parts of what happened but what she could recall she told me.
She had snuck out and met up with her friends to go ‘cruising’ down by the hill. That’s what the local area residents called Fort Needham. They had done this a couple of times before and liked the attention from the young men who congregated there. These men were more than happy to give the girls sodas and cigarettes and sweets. On the night in question, she and her friends met two men sitting off on their own: a young sailor and a slightly older man dressed in civilian clothes. The information she gave me about the men matched with what I already had from our questioning the other night at Fort Needham and from the girlfriends.
She continued, saying they stopped and started chatting with them. The older man had a bottle of liquor in a bag and offered it to them. The other girls refused then he started to tease them, daring them to take a drink. The others still refused but she had a stubborn streak in her and accepted; that was when the other girls wanted to leave.
“Why didn’t you go with them?” I asked at this point.
“I don’t know,” she said, looking away from me.
“Okay, then what happened?”
“They left and I stayed.”
“Your girlfriends, right?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding.
“Then what happened next?”
“Well, I had some more to drink. I mean, they seemed nice and I felt, you know, like a...woman, I guess.”
“You’re doin’ fine,” I said. “Now, tell me ‘bout when you left with them.”
“I’m a bit fuzzy about that part. All I remember was we were laughing and having fun when one of them said he knew a place we could go for some real fun. The next thing I remember was being in a car somewhere I didn’t recognize. That’s when he started...,” she broke down at this point and started to cry. “I was really stupid, wasn’t I?”
“You made a mistake, yes, but what they did to you wasn’t your fault,” I said.
I let her settle down before continuing. I caught the nurse’s eye and she indicated it would be okay to go on...for now.
When it looked like she was ready, I continued.
“What do you remember ‘bout these men? The car?”
“Not much. It was very dark, and I was, you know, um, the alcohol. I remember one was called Charlie, I think.”
“You’re doin’ fine. Don’t worry about the liquor, okay? Anything else?”
She slowly shook her head.
“Do you remember if they both assaulted you?”
“I don’t think so. I seem to remember the man dropped the sailor off somewhere, though I can’t be sure.”
“Try an’ remember. It’ll help me catch these men who did this,” I said.
I must have pushed a little too hard at this point because it looked like she was going to start crying again, that’s when the nurse stepped up to me and said that I should let her rest now. I looked up at her, nodded and then stood up. I turned back to Stella. “That’s okay. You rest up now. Maybe we can talk some more again later.”
I followed the nurse out into the hall.
“She looks like she’s doin’ better,” I said as we walked back to the nurse’s station.
“Yes,” she said. “She’s doing remarkably well considering, although I suspect the full impact of what happened hasn’t really hit home yet.”
“Sounds like you’ve seen this before?”
She nodded, saying, “Once. A few years ago, when I was working in the U.S.”
“Can you do us a favor and keep at her to talk? Maybe she’ll open up more to a woman. See if she can give us
more information.”
“I’ll try but I won’t press her,” the nurse said.
“Okay, but anythin’ you can get will help. Thanks,” I said as I headed for the elevator.
I headed back to my car feeling angry again about what had happened to the girl. Sure, she did a stupid thing, like a lot of young people do; not thinking about the consequences, but that didn’t mean she ought to pay for it likethat.
Time to head for Dartmouth and my meeting with Dartmouth Marine Supply. Maybe I’ll cool down by the time I get there, I thought, as I got in the car.
* * *
Meanwhile, Pete Duncan was in Lieutenant Morrison’s office letting him know he was about to set out on the raids. The plan was straightforward enough. Each team would board one of the trucks and drive to a specified house run by a known bootlegger. The teams were to arrest anyone inside, especially the operators, and to confiscate all illegal booze on the premises. Simple. Direct. Morrison said he had made arrangements for all the confiscated liquor to be taken to the Citadel where the army would keep it under lock and key.
Pete went back to the squad room where he assembled the teams and went over the plan again. The squads would consist of three patrolmen and two of the men sent by the military. He, Will Lennox and Joudry would each have two of these men attached to his respective squad. They all wore the appropriate webbing and gaiters. Each had a sidearm and a two-foot-long riot stick hanging from his white web belt. All of them stood at least six-foot tall, appeared to be well built and looked like they could handle themselves. There was also a one-ton truck provided by the army, along with two paddy wagons, waiting up in the parking area
“Right,” Pete said to the assembled men. “You all know what we’re to do. Any questions?”
One of the shore patrolmen, a Leading Seaman judging by the chevrons and anchor on his sleeve, raised a hand.
“Yeah?” Pete said.
“So, we’re not to go inside with your men?”
“That’s right. The police will go in. Your job is to watch our backs and deal with any interference from anybody in uniform who might want to stick their nose in. Clear?”
He nodded. “Clear.”
“Right, then let’s go.”
Everyone headed out and up to the parking area where they loaded into the waiting vehicles. Once they exited the parking lot they drove off in different directions to their assigned targets.
Two of the teams had a fairly easy go of it, encountering minimal opposition and resistance. However, Pete’s team didn’t fare so well.
When they arrived and tried to enter the house they were blocked by several men in civilian clothes as well as about eight servicemen. A brawl ensued, leaving three men injured: two servicemen and one cop. The injuries were mostly abrasions and at least a couple of broken bones. When Pete finally got the upper hand, he spotted two men fleeing from the house through the backyard. It turned out one was a still operator and the other man was likely someone of importance, maybe a politician or businessman. Pete cursed his luck as he herded the perpetrators into the back of the truck along with the booze. Back at the station, Pete ordered the arrested men taken to the cells and all the liquor loaded into the army’s truck.
The whole operation was an overall success. They rounded up at least two of the bootleggers who ran the businesses and over thirty cases of illegal liquor. Pete opened a case and checked an unmarked bottle. It was almost pure wood grain alcohol. The bootlegger would have watered the alcohol down at a ratio of three to one, tripling his profits. He put the bottle back in the case, thinking that at least this batch of poison wouldn’t hit the streets.
Chapter Seven
Charlie Fletcher sat in his car holding a brown paper bag with a pint bottle of bootlegged liquor in it. He looked out the windscreen at a group of men and women milling around the statue of Edward Cornwallis in the park named after him. It was across from the train station and the Nova Scotian Hotel and was a popular hangout for sailors and soldiers with time on their hands. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and took another swig, his mind racing.
‘What the hell was I thinkin’?’ he thought, remembering that night again. It had been a couple of days since it happened. Every day he expected the cops to come and get him. The fact that there was nothing didn’t make him feel any better. Shit, there wasn’t even a word in the papers, except that one little piece about a woman being found unconscious.
He’d been staying clear of his favorite hangouts in case the cops had his description. It was a sure bet, he thought, remembering the other girls. They definitely could give the cops descriptions of him and Lewis. He hadn’t even heard from Gerald Lewis since that night, then he remembered Lewis said his ship was due to sail soon, so maybe he was out of the picture. He thought he’d better check and make sure that ship had sailed. If it hadn’t, then he’d have to try and get in touch with the kid. He was a loose end that could get Charlie hung and he’d have to deal with him. If his ship had sailed, maybe the Jerrys would take care of his problem.
Somewhere in his mind he knew his best option was to get the hell out of the city, but he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. He had a decent job and some money for the first time in his life. Maybe if things get hot then he’d pack up and split but until then...
He took one more swig then capped the bottle and set it on the seat beside him. He reached for the key and turned over the motor then, letting out the clutch, he eased his car into traffic. He drove down Lower Water Street, heading for the Naval Dockyard, wanting to see if Lewis’ ship was still in port. He didn’t see the beat cop on Barrington Street who stopped and watched as he drove past.
Fletcher reached the Morse’s Tea Building at the end of Lower Water Street where it merged with Hollis Street and changed to Upper Water Street. He continued on, heading for Cornwallis Street, where he turned and headed up to Brunswick Street. He found a parking spot near the Old Dutch Church and got out. The spot gave him a fairly good view of the naval ships tied up at the jetties below. He knew where Lewis’ ship usually tied up. He exited the car and went to a spot in front of a low stone wall where he could see the ships. He scanned two piers of ships, looking for Lewis’ ship number. After about ten minutes with no luck, he decided the ship must have sailed and turned back to his car, thinking he’d caught a break; now if only some U-boat came along...
* * *
I managed to get on the third ferry crossing over to Dartmouth after an hour long wait. Not even my badge could bump me up ahead of the supply and military vehicles waiting to cross enroute to either the refinery or the naval air station down in Eastern Passage. At least it gave me time to catch up on the news.
I waved to a young kid selling papers outside the terminal.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” I said, as he passed me a copy and took my nickel.
“Naw,” he said. “It’s a holiday.”
I gave him a hard look for a moment; it wasn’t a holiday.
Since the war started, I’d seen a lot of youngsters skipping school to scrounge around looking for things to sell or use at home. Most of these urchins were boys who came from the Greenbank area or the waterfront district. They were mostly the responsibility of the school who had their own truant officers.
The headline for that day read: BRITISH TROOPS INVADE SYRIA. Looked like the Brits were engaging in a few major offensives despite the threats at home. Another related article said that French General Weygand wasn’t too pleased with the British actions in Syria. The French! Seems they always had to have something to complain about when it came to the British. Not really surprising given their long antagonistic history. I guess it didn’t matter that a lot of Brits and Canadians were dying on their behalf, much like in the last brew up. I was half-way through reading the Mr. Nebb’s comic strip in the comics section when I caught the ferryman signalling for me to drive on board. I put the paper on the seat and eased the car forward, squeezing in between two army Lorries.
There was a man sitting in a thick leather chair behind a large oak desk and another man sitting at a table piled with papers. The man behind the desk stood when I entered.
“You must be Detective Robichaud?” he said, gesturing me to a chair in front of his desk. “I’m Iain Sinclair, General Manager and Partner.”
I guessed him to be in his early fifties or maybe late forties. He had an average build; well dressed in an expensive suit and silk tie. He didn’t wear any jewelry except for the gold chain fob across his vest. I spotted a ring on his right hand with what I assumed was a Masonic crest on it; nothing on the left hand.
“Can I offer you a coffee? Tea?”
“No thanks, I’m okay.”
He sat down. “Right. Now then, what can I do for the police?”
“I understand that your company supplies fittings to the dockyard and shipyards?”
“Among other things, yes. Why, may I ask, is this of interest to the police?”
“It’s nothing really,” I said, keeping my tone of voice even. “There has been an accident at the shipyard resultin’ in several injuries an’ we’ve been asked to look into it for possible sabotage.”
“I see,” Sinclair said. “I hope these injuries were not too serious.”
Serious enough. One man was killed.”
“Oh my. And just what does this have to do with our company? I mean, we are the supplier of parts not the manufacturer.”
“I understand that. I’m lookin’ for information on the manufacturers your company deals with.”
“Oh, I see. You think there may be some sort of malpractice going on.”
The Evil Men Do Page 9