Blue Star

by Valerie Van Clieaf

  “Jesus! I wasn’t ready for that,” said Jeri.

  “Me neither.”

  I’d only been asleep for a while and wasn’t sure at first what woke me up. The clock said 5:30 AM. Lucas was talking in his sleep, then moaning and suddenly, flailing his arms and gasping for breath. I spoke to him quietly and kept a reassuring hand on his shoulder. I told him everything was going to be okay, not sure if it was him or me I was talking to. I guess it was both of us, because in my heart, I wasn’t sure if anything would ever be okay, ever again. He didn’t wake up and after a few minutes, his breathing slowed, and he settled down.

  It’s funny how, when you least expect it, something you’ve always known and accepted—even if you didn’t understand the why of it—will become clear. I remembered the deep sadness in my father’s eyes. It lurked there, just behind his mischief, his jokes, his ready humour, and funny stories.

  The sadness in my Nokomis Effie’s eyes had always been there too, even when mom made her laugh. Mom had a great sense of humour and she was always trying to make Effie laugh. Maybe mom was afraid the sadness would be hers as well. I wondered if they’d ever talked about the years Nokomis endured at residential school, losing her sister there, or mom leaving home—leaving Greenwood Lake Reserve for high school and then to attend Lakehead. Mom stayed in town after she graduated from university and took a job teaching. It only a few years later that she married dad—married out.

  CHAPTER 24

  Friday morning, Lucas woke up bathed in sweat. He tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about, but it was all a jumble. His dad was in his dreams again. He was dreaming about him a lot lately.

  His mom had told him so many stories about Rafael: he was the man who loved her; who taught her to read when no one around her could; who gave up a life of privilege so that she could escape a lifetime of poverty, of bondage. Her gratitude and love for him were immense and she’d always painted him as larger than life. Lucas admitted to himself that he wanted the impossible: to know his father as a man, a Mestizo, like him.

  It was the smell of coffee that lured me from our warm bed. Lucas knew me too well. I was curled up on the couch, enjoying a cup.

  By 9:15 am, we were on our way to SFU’s main campus at the top of Burnaby Mountain. We went directly to the Kinesiology department and were shown to the room where the giveaway computers were being stored. Lucas checked them over and helped himself to one, letting a clerk in the office know he was taking it. She didn’t check it off a master list, just made note that there was one less computer to give away.

  I texted Miles that we had a computer for him. A few minutes later, he texted me to bring it. We dropped it off on our way home. Miles told us he’d call as soon as he had something for us.

  “Michael just texted me Marvin’s last name, the SFU student who works at the Clarendon,” said Lucas. “It’s Roche—Marvin Roche. I’m checking the student database.”

  I’d just finished skyping with the other TA, Carl Baraniuk, preparing additional reading material for the students on handling and using 16 mm and 35 mm film. The students wouldn’t be using digital equipment their first semester. It’s a glass wall though, given the digital universe in which millions of us swim every day, our cameras at the ready.

  “There is no Marvin Roche enrolled at SFU now, or in the past,” said Lucas. “If he isn’t enrolled, why would he say he was?” I left my desk to come stand beside him.

  “It’s a good cover on campus if you’re nosing around looking for information, or if you have other activities you don’t want to draw attention to. He could go anywhere, talk to anyone. Who would suspect?”

  “Sure, but why use the same ruse at the club? Why say he’s a student when he’s not?”

  “If he’s a student, it lets him be selective about how many shifts he works. If he’s dealing drugs, that could be very helpful.”

  “Point taken. No word from Miles?” Lucas asked.

  “Not yet.”

  We were both exhausted, having got so little sleep the night before and decided to take a nap. I woke up after a couple of hours, but Lucas was still asleep. I didn’t want to disturb him, he looked so peaceful, so I slid quietly out of bed, gathered up my clothes and went to the bathroom to wash up. After I got dressed, I went to the kitchen and raided the fridge in search of something to put in a sandwich.

  I was at the kitchen table finishing up, when I heard the water running in the bathroom, so I started a sandwich for Lucas. He’d be hungry.

  I heard something drop to the bathroom floor, then yelling.

  “What happened?”

  No answer. “I’m making you a sandwich. Bet you’re hungry.”

  Still no answer.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Get it off,” he yelled!”

  Okay. That was strange. “Get what off?”

  “So much blood! So much blood!” he was screaming now. That’s when I ran to the bathroom.

  Lucas was at the sink, anguished, tears streaming down his face, oblivious to me.

  “Sweetheart. What blood? There’s no blood!”

  He paid no attention to me. It was a few beats before I realized that he couldn’t hear me. It was as though he was asleep. His razor was on the floor. He had his hands in a sink full of water. A drop of blood oozed from a tiny cut on his chin. He must have cut himself. He was looking at his hands in the water like they belonged to someone else.

  He watched as his blood spread like a cloud in the water, until the basin was filled with blood. His mother, kneeling beside him, washing the blood from his hands and face. She was speaking, but he couldn’t hear her. She looked scared. He was scared too. Then he became aware of a hand on his arm, felt the pressure of fingers at his waist.

  “Sweetheart, there is no blood.”

  Lucas stared at me, completely perplexed. “The stream ... it’s in the stream!”

  “Whose blood is in the stream?”

  “I don’t know,” he screamed.

  Then I understood. I walked him to the living room and sat him on the couch, then grabbed the phone and called Bart. One of his nightmares had crossed over into reality.

  Miles checked online and found the Westward Inn on Chelsea Boulevard in Surrey, booked a unit online—one out of sight from the front desk entrance—and was at their door in under an hour. The bored clerk paid no attention to him as she handed over the key.

  He’d packed what little gear he’d need into an overnight bag. There was a desk of sorts in one corner of the unit. He switched on the desk lamp and quickly set up the computer equipment he had brought with him and established an internet connection. Veresinumeris, one of Miles’ favourite nicknames, got to work.

  The uncle of the missing girl had provided his membership information, including his username and password in case he should need it, but Miles doubted that would be necessary.

  No information in this world was completely safe from being hacked. Miles shook his head at the absurdity of it—the elephant in the room of a now gargantuan, wireless universe. He had snacks and a thermos of coffee with him, just in case.

  My phone dinged. A text from Miles.

  Got what you need.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” I yelled out in glee and immediately texted back:

  I can come now.

  Moments later Miles replied:

  I’m at home.

  “Hey,” I said, spotting a sleepy Lucas as he emerged from the bedroom. “I thought you were napping.”

  “I heard you yell.”

  “I am so sorry honey,” I said. “Miles has the lists!”

  Sleep forgotten; Lucas was at my side in a few strides.

  “Great! When can we see him?”

  “You sure you’re up to this? How ‘bout you stay here, and rest and I’ll go.”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  “Lucas?”

  “I’m fine,” then, after registering my skeptic
al look, “I’m okay, really! I’m just a little tired.”

  After the earlier episode, I’d talked him into lying down. He tried to protest, but I wasn’t having any of it. He caved and once I got him to bed, he fell asleep almost immediately.

  Bart called back and I told him what had happened.

  “I’ll come over right after work,” he said. But Lucas continued to sleep, so I let Bart know. He told me to call if we needed him and he’d come right over. I told Lucas about my conversation with Bart as he got ready.

  “There’s someone Bart wants you to see; a colleague of his.”

  “I’ll call him when we get back.”

  CHAPTER 25

  We got to Miles and Verna’s place about 9:30 pm. I knocked and moments later there were footsteps in the hallway. The door opened and Miles ushered us in and led us down the hall to the kitchen area.

  “Where’s the computer?” Lucas asked.

  “Wiped clean and dumped,” said Miles, grinning.

  “It was so brave of you to do this Milhous.” Verna was clearly thrilled by what he’d done. He’d caved and told her.

  “We can’t thank you enough,” Lucas said, as Miles handed us the lists and a flash drive.

  “I took the liberty of printing them for you. I assume you’ll be keeping all of this in a secure place?”

  “Most definitely,” said Lucas.

  “Tea or coffee, Verna asked?” watching with undisguised interest as Lucas and I immediately started in on the lists.

  “Herbal tea if you have it,” said Lucas, and I nodded agreement.

  Lucas started with the list of members and I had the list of guests using overnight accommodation for the past year.

  “That’s as far back as it went.” Miles said, indicating the stack of paper I was holding.

  “This is one list we’re very interested in.”

  “The member’s list is like a who’s who of commerce and law and not just in British Columbia,” said Lucas. “Here’s Michael. There are judges, lawyers, Queens’ Councillors, members of parliament, associate members from other Canadian provinces, even other countries.”

  “How much is membership?” asked Verna.

  “$9,000 for full membership and half that for an associate membership.” She whistled.

  “Here’s Ange Batlan, the guy that you and Amelia went to see.”

  “Batlan is a friend of the abducted girl’s uncle. He offered his help to us early on.”

  “And here’s a couple of VPD higher ups; and RCMP Inspectors, and the Deputy Commissioner, E Division. At Verna and Miles puzzled look, Lucas explained. “E Division is an RCMP designation, basically the province of British Columbia. The E Division Deputy also oversees M Division which is the Yukon.” Lucas, always the patient teacher, could see that confusion still existed. He was about to launch into a detailed explanation of the multi-layered policing system in BC, but Miles held up his hand.

  “That’s okay man,” said Miles. “Another time.”

  “Ange Batlan uses the overnight accommodation a lot. That’s odd, isn’t it? He lives in Vancouver, has that great condo downtown. It’s only about ten blocks from the club. He could walk or take a taxi home in minutes, literally.”

  “He’s signing for accommodation, but that doesn’t mean he’s using it. It could be for business guests, meetings, maybe even family members,” said Miles.

  “Right ... Of course. He works for Northfor Tech. It’s a mining company. They’re in a few countries, including Canada. Lots of visiting business interests and hence the need for overnight accommodation, especially if he wants to give them the VIP treatment. It looks like Batlan always books the Mackenzie Suite.”

  I picked up another list: Gratuities List: Member Functions and Servers.

  “I grabbed that too,” said Miles. “I didn’t know if it’d be helpful.”

  “I’ll ask Michael. He’ll know,” I said, texting him with our question about the gratuities list.

  Michael called a few minutes later to tell us the Gratuities List would be helpful. All club members must host at least one function a year. It was a requirement of membership. Staff members working member functions share a gratuity—a set percentage of the final sales for that event.

  “Can Michael make it for breakfast tomorrow?”

  I checked. “He is and he’s bringing Amelia and George.” Kate and Bart had already confirmed.

  Verna wasn’t one to stay up much past 11:00 pm and was nodding sleepily. We left soon after. We were nearly back home when I remembered that Alex hadn’t called me back.

  “Alex called this morning and left a message. I called and left a message, but he hasn’t gotten back. He said it was important he speak with me as soon as possible.”

  “Maybe he has the results of forensics on the truck?”

  “Or my clothing.” I’d had another flashback, this one about me in the back of the pickup. After I escaped from the box, I was trying to steady myself so I could jump from the truck. It was lurching all over the place because the road was so badly rutted. I remember the truck coming to a halt and the red-headed guy coming up over the side of the truck in a fury, his hands on my throat, squeezing tight. I must have blacked out before I stopped breathing. The puzzle was coming together for me, piece by piece and some of the pieces were damn scary. Maybe trauma counselling wasn’t such a bad idea. I wouldn’t be telling Lucas any of this yet. I was afraid of his reaction. And Bart, well, he’d be beside himself if he knew. Knowing what Lucas was going through, he was liable to try and sideline the both of us and I wasn’t having that. Lucas either was my guess. I wouldn’t be telling Kate either. She’d feel she had to tell Bart.

  It was empowering to remember why I couldn’t talk those first few days after my rescue. I’d tried to escape, and maybe not for the first time either. And I had escaped at the lake. If I hadn’t, there wouldn’t have been a rescue. Lucas interrupted my thoughts.

  “I hope they’ve got the forensics results back,” said Lucas. “Maybe they’ve identified the guy at the lake.”

  The guy at the lake. Part of a brutal dimension about which we know so little of. Business in the shadows: the sale of human beings. I’m intimate with that world now. An oil on my skin that won’t wash off.

  CHAPTER 26

  Sergeant Rhodes from Sex Crimes ran into Detective Hermes at VPD’s Main Street office. They often did as Sex Crimes and MPU shared a large wing upstairs. Hermes never failed to notice how handsome Rhodes was, tall and fit and always well dressed.

  “Detective Hermes, good to see you. How’s it going?” he asked.

  He was always the perfect gentleman, she thought. Unlike a lot of the guys.

  “Not bad, thanks,” she said. “And you, sir?”

  “Can’t complain.” He smiled engagingly. “Any good news on the Carey Bolton case?”

  Everyone was talking about the Bolton case, especially now that it was linked with the O’Meara abduction. “Not yet I’m afraid. The cases are linked but we’re not so sure that’ll be helpful.”

  “Why is that?” asked Rhodes, genuinely surprised.

  “The word is that Carey Bolton is pretty wild. Dad lives in Powell River and he’s not that involved in her upbringing. Her mother can’t control her behaviour, a single parent and all that. Could be that the kid just decided to take off with her boyfriend. Looks like he was in the picture for a few weeks before she disappeared. If that’s the case, we’re back to where we started with the O’Meara abduction—a freak incident, just some nutter. Who knows what we’re dealing with there.”

  “Well, that does put a different slant on things.”

  “The media has picked up some pretty interesting background on O’Meara as well. She’s no angel, and ditto with the boyfriend.”

  “I was out of town for a few days, so I missed that,” said Rhodes, giving her his full attention.

  “Detective Fernice isn’t buying it though.
She thinks that O’Meara’s a straight shooter and she thinks the stuff about her sleeping around and working as a prostitute in the past is,” Hermes stopped abruptly; then continued. “Well, not that it matters. I mean, the woman was forcibly abducted, beaten, nearly lost her life—but you know what I mean. And then, there’s the intel we’re getting that her boyfriend is a real hothead. He’s put her in the hospital in the past. He’s Latino.”

  “Lifestyle choices can have repercussions,” Rhodes said. “However, having never met O’Meara, it isn’t for me to comment. It’s certainly a shame about Carey Bolton though,” he said, shaking his head. “So young; taking off and not telling her mother. Anything could have happened to her. I deal with a lot of runaways. It’s sad when young kids end up on the street. It’s such a waste.”

  “Maybe if Bolton’s mother had spent more time with the kid; trying to understand her better; making sure the kid knew there were limits,” said Hermes.

  “We often see people at their worst, don’t we?”

  “We sure do,” Hermes agreed.

  “People make mistakes and they suffer enough for them without us adding our judgment. It can be hard at times, not to judge, but I’ve come to realize that it’s important to try and keep perspective. We serve them better when we do.”

  “Quite right sir,” said Hermes, somewhat chastened.

  CHAPTER 27

  The men started coming to the gatehouse around supper time. Carey remembered one of them was at Ange’s club, the first time she went there with him. Ford was here. He was sitting at the table drinking with Ange and the other men. He wasn’t wearing his uniform tonight.