NIGHT MOVES: The Stroll Murders

by Gar Mallinson

  ◆◆◆

  The next two days revealed nothing. Kylie was still missing, and nobody on the strip had seen her. Jen, Billy, and Jimmy had nothing to say when Will talked to them by the river. Alicia had descended even further into depression, and Harry had someone with her full time now. Charlie was rarely around, showed little concern for either Alicia or Kylie, and gave them nothing beyond anger when they talked to him at the dealership.

  Rory’s boys had filled in Bomber’s history. The man was connected. He was a key player in the operations of the Hell’s Angels Harbour City chapter and oversaw such activities as prostitution, drugs, and weapons. He also looked after enforcement. He liked to take on that work himself whenever possible and had served two jail terms for assault. He’d never been arrested for trafficking, but everyone on the street knew him.

  The house by the river with the tattoo studio was his home and served as a distribution point, among other things. Apparently, the cops had never caught on. Kylie had last been seen with him.

  ◆◆◆

  At RCMP headquarters, Alan Kim took Alicia through the squad room to the office in the rear. It belonged to the head of the department, but she was away at a conference, so the two detectives used it. At least it was decently furnished with good carpet, comfortable chairs, and a window—if not much of a view.

  They had already interviewed Alicia at home once the case had become more than a misper, and that had been a waste of time. She’d been too distraught. By now, they thought, it was a lot more serious than a girl who’d left home. Neither Alan Kim nor his partner, Spence Riley, believed the girl was still alive, but they’d act as if they did. They’d brought Alicia down here to avoid the house and its associations for the woman. They also had to assume that Charlie might have something to do with Kylie’s disappearance. That was another reason to do the interview here.

  Alan began by asking if she was comfortable, if she wanted anything. Alicia was despondent and shook her head.

  “We want you to know that we’re doing everything we can to find your daughter. Everybody on the force knows what she looks like. Extra patrols have been put on the case. If we haven’t found her yet, it isn’t because we’re not trying. It could be that she doesn’t want to be found, and that makes it more difficult. We’ve talked to all her friends, her teachers, and now we need to talk to you again.”

  Alan paused to turn on the recorder and begin the formal questioning. He explained to Alicia what he was doing and why. Alan glanced at Spence, then continued, identifying who was in the room and the date and time of the interview.

  “Now Alicia, Mrs. Wingate, we’d like to ask you about your husband. We need to know as much as we can about your family. Are there any problems we should know about? Is Kylie a problem in any way? How does your husband treat her? Let’s start with Kylie. How was she doing in school and at home?”

  Alicia sighed and shook her head. “We’ve been over this before. There wasn’t anything serious, you know, just teenage girl stuff, and Charlie’s hardly ever home.”

  “Let’s start with that,” Alan said. “What teenage problems is your daughter experiencing? Can you be specific?”

  The interview lasted about an hour, and at the end of it, the two detectives had little more. Alicia was vague about problems with Kylie and even more so about Charlie. They terminated the interview, drove Alicia home, and reassured her about finding Kylie as much as they could. They returned to the station.

  The two detectives were homicide, but they hadn’t told Alicia that. Now, they sat at their desks facing each other and went over the reports one more time.

  Homicide had twelve desks paired like theirs running down both sides of the room, grey regulation desks with computers. Mostly, the detectives still used paper. The computers were good for checking databases and not much else. Alan, like most of the others, preferred to keep a murder book for each case assigned to him and Spence. Everything they had went in there. Since Kylie wasn’t officially a murder, she didn’t have one, and Alan filed the pile of reports in his desk drawer.

  The room had a series of windows down one side without much of a view, especially since the outside grime rarely got cleaned off. The usual small utility room off to the side served as the lunch/coffee/crap room. One small table sat by an old fridge and held the Mr. Coffee and a variety of cups. The coffee, made first thing by the first in, was close to undrinkable. The boss, Josie Atardo, lived in a little glass cubicle with blinds and a door at the end of the room. She was approachable when she was there, but she was mostly only there afternoons after the meetings were over.

  “A bit previous stickin’ us on this,” Spence said. “We got no crime scene, we got no body, we got nothin’ to go on. Why’d the boss throw us this one? She got a bug or somethin’?”

  “Something.” Alan looked at her. “It’s from a floor up, so we can bitch as much as we like. We get a body, we go. Until then, we make work, cover what we can, and get it ready at least. Patrols’ve talked to all the friends, mispers sent over all the reports, we got lots of paper if nothing else. So we review and file.”

  “Let’s get to the old man, then,” Spence said. “We get him done, we’re as set up as we can be. The wife didn’t give us much. Jesus, that woman’s a mess. Doesn’t know much about her daughter either. If she was mine, I’d at least know what she was doin’ and who her friends were. And I’d get rid of that prick she calls a husband.”

  Alan looked at her. Spence was a high-energy woman, dark haired, and hundred and ten pounds of ‘don’t piss with me’. She could be nice when she had to be, and calm when the job called for it, but usually she was feisty and impatient, and she had a temper that could let loose anytime. She’d been his partner for almost a year, and they’d solved a few dicey ones. She was thorough and perceptive and a good partner, except for the energy. She squirmed too much when she wasn’t out there on one edge or another. Like now, with the paper. Paper and no action drove her nuts.

  “It’s set up for tomorrow afternoon. We know his history, but maybe we’ll get enough so we see him a bit more clearly. We know he’s too involved in his own thing to worry about his daughter, or his wife for that matter, so we cover the bases. You got the report on that gang that hangs out by the river?”

  The two worked on the paper until shift end, grabbed their coats, and headed for Aladdin’s Bistro down a few blocks. It was walkable and a favourite for off-duty cops. Late afternoon, the place wasn’t very full. They waved to a couple of guys from the force, took a table in the rear, and ordered the burgers they liked. They didn’t talk much. They just ate and thought about where this case might lead.

  VII

  The next morning, Alan met Spence at Aladdin’s again, and over a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, followed by lots of coffee, they talked about the private dicks, Harry and Sabina.

  “They’re plain weird, always at each other, jokin’ around. And she’s somethin’ else. Look at how she dresses—short skirts, tight tops. She looks like a hooker half the time. And he just laps it up. Somethin’ odd about her. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s somethin’. You wonder sometimes how they get anything done with the banter all the time. If we talk to them, I wanna watch. You do the honours.”

  Spence dove into what was left of the eggs and bacon and for a while, it was quiet. Then she started again.

  “So how you gonna handle it? Me, I’d hit ’em hard, you know, see if we can shake something loose. Got their noses too far in police business, I’d tell ’em. Maybe get at that chick. Jesus she’s tall, must be over six feet. And the hair, that’s gotta be phony, maybe a wig or what do you call them, those bits they stick in that make your hair bigger. Extensions. What do we know about her, anyway?”

  Alan sighed. Breakfast was almost finished, so he sat back with his coffee and considered how to answer. He didn’t understand why Spence had a bee up her pants over Sabina, but she sure did. He decided to go with just enough to shut her up.r />
  “She’s only been over here since Harry got back from that mess in Vancouver early this year. He met her there, on that case, and now she’s a partner in the new office. Harry’s place used to be a small operation, just him and Willow, that res girl he had. He did some work for McMillan Insurance and sort of goofed around, making enough to get by. They have a bigger operation now. Got a secretary and some guys working for them. They do a lot of divorce work, surveillance, that sort of thing. But this case is personal. Will Rocket’s one of their operatives, and it’s his sister’s girl who’s missing. So yeah, they’re in this one deeper maybe than they should be, but they’ve got good reason. Finish your coffee, we gotta get moving. And when we get there, be nice.”

  The unmarked car was over on Cavan at a meter with the “on duty” sign in the window. SHH Investigations was only up a block. The front door opened on a long staircase, which got a curse out of Spence, but by the time they got up and in the front door, she’d calmed down.

  In the office, Alan spoke to the brassy blonde at the front desk and asked for Harry. She raised one eyebrow, stuck her thumb over her shoulder, hit a button on

  her desk and went back to her keyboard.

  Inside, they found Harry at his desk, paper all over the place, and through another door they could see Sabina working a series of monitors and keyboards. She turned as she heard feet, keyed in a couple of commands to clear the screens and got up to join them. The office had some comfortable chairs, so they sat around Harry’s desk.

  “We got half decent coffee if you want some,” Harry said. “But the donuts’re gone already. Help yourselves, pot’s over there in the alcove, cups in the cupboard.”

  Alan and Spence shook their heads. “We know you got a personal stake in the missing girl case we’re working, Kylie Wingate,” Alan said. “So we came down to sort of coordinate efforts. Don’t want to waste a lot of time repeating what’s already done. We need you to let us see what you’ve got, and we need you to back off a bit and let us handle it. You keep in touch; we’ll keep you in the loop.”

  Alan sat back in his seat and waited. Spence crossed her legs and watched Sabina, who sat on the desk edge, skirt hiked, and twirled a bit of hair in her fingers. She looked at Harry. Harry looked at Alan.

  “Well, we’d like to be collegial about this, but we’ve got a vested interest as you know, and we don’t intend to stop looking for Kylie,” Harry said. “So we can’t back off, but coordinating, we accept. You can look at our files anytime, and we, presumably, can look at yours. That gonna fly for you?”

  Spence was about to jump in when Alan said, “We can live with that as long as you don’t get in our way. Be kind of hard to explain you being mixed up in a crime scene, if there is one.”

  Harry looked at Sabina who nodded. “We know you guys are homicide, and we think the way you do,” she said. “It’s pretty unlikely we’ll find Kylie alive, unless she’s running, and if that’s the case, you guys are gonna find her eventually. But if she’s dead, we’re gonna be on that like flies on honey. So we gotta compromise on that one.”

  Alan sat for a few moments looking at Harry. Spence stayed focussed on Sabina. He nodded. “Okay, we’ll go for that, but stay out of the way or we’ll all be screwed. Let’s see what you’ve got so far.”

  Sabina slid off the desk, glanced at Spence, and smiled, then walked to her office. Everybody watched. She came back and handed Alan a thin file before perching once again on the edge of the desk.

  “That’s what we’ve got, all of it.” She looked expectantly at Alan, crossed her legs, and looked at Spence who, she knew, was steaming. She cocked her head, smiled at her, and looked back at Alan.

  Alan looked at Spence and nodded.

  Spence reached down reluctantly, opened her bag, and took out a thinner file. She handed that to Alan, who handed it to Harry. Harry handed it to Sabina, who walked again to her office and printed a copy. Everybody watched.

  When she came back, she handed the original to Alan, who handed it to Spence, and then she gave the copy to Harry. Again, she perched on the edge of the desk.

  Spence squirmed and Alan knew she’d let it all rip if he didn’t get her out of there. He shook hands with both of them. “Good to get together on this.”

  He walked out of the office. Spence got up, glared at Sabina, and followed.

  When the door closed, Harry said, “That went well, don’t you think?”

  Sabina stood, brushed her skirt down, and grinned at Harry. “Gonna be a catfight sometime. She’s got a temper, and she can’t quite figure me out. Bugs the hell out of her. We all suspect Kylie’s dead, but there’s no body yet, no crime scene, no nothin’. So why do we have two homicide cops on the doorstep?”

  “Charlie,” Harry said. “Gotta be. He’s a prick, but he’s connected, probably got a couple councilmen buddies of his to stir the pot. Mayor probably called the chief, chief passed it down. They’re under pressure, so we better watch how we play this. Be a bit circumspect.”

  “Circumspect? You been into that dictionary again, the one you hide in your desk?”

  “That’s the scotch, as you well know. I keep the dictionary there to confuse Isabella when she snoops.” Harry hauled up the bottle, sloshed the amber liquid around a bit, and put it back behind the dictionary. “Little early for a tipple. How about another coffee? Ours is gone but the Modern’s got lots.”

  Isabella glanced up as they passed her desk. “Short day? Like most of them?”

  Harry smiled. “Work, work, work, it never stops. We’ll be in the field for a bit, Sweets, you hold the fort. Oh, and if Will calls, give us a dingle, will you?”

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “You get a moment in all that work, bring me a corned beef and some fries. Stress must be brutal tryin’ to squeeze in a day’s work before lunch.”

  ◆◆◆

  The Modern was almost full, but they found a table in the back, one of the high ones with tall chairs you had to slide onto, sort of like getting into one of those huge pickups everybody seemed to be driving. Sabina climbed up, slipped one leg over the other, propped her elbows on the tabletop, and glanced around the restaurant. She saw a pretty Native girl and waved to her.

  Harry watched the girl come over, then climbed onto his own seat. They ordered some coffee and for Harry, a piece of apple pie. The young girl slid away. Sabina watched her go.

  “She’s a sweet kid, that one, and she’s got a heavy sensual thing going there. It’s in her walk, the way she carries herself. She must get a lot of attention in a place like this. Wonder where she’s from.”

  Harry had been watching the girl too. “She’s gonna get a lot of resentment along with the attention. Don’t think women would like her much, and some men would get the idea she’s ready and willing. But she’s got a lot of poise about her too. Looks as if she’s happy being who she is. Probably can handle whatever comes along.”

  Sabina nodded and smiled as the girl came back with the coffee and pie. They spent the next few minutes talking over the morning meeting, finished up, and went to the cash to pay. Harry ordered Isabella’s sandwich and fries, added a piece of chocolate cake, and arranged for delivery. Then they walked around the corner and up the cobbled street to Sam’s bar.

  Sam always left one of the doors unlocked when he was inside, and it was open a couple of inches when Harry and Sabina got there. As always, he was leaning on the bar by the cash register, reading the paper. He glanced up, smiled, and reached under the counter. He got shot glasses, cups, and the coffee pot.

  “How’re you two doing? Business good? You look happy enough, something must be going right. Then again, there’s that case of Will’s sister’s girl. From what I hear, that’s not going well.”

  “It’s not going anywhere,” Harry said. “She’s still missing, nobody can find her. If she ran, she sure did it well. But none of us believes that anymore. Had a couple of homicide dicks around this morning, so that should tell you how things are going. No body
, no crime scene, but homicide dicks.”

  Sam poured coffee, put out cream and sugar, and filled three shot glasses.

  “How’s Will holding up? I know he’s not that close to Alicia, but he likes his niece. Gotta be bad for him.”

  “He’s still hopeful, still looking, and he’s got Rory and his gang on it as well. Checks in regularly. He’s in the same boat we are, no girl anywhere. Leads he develops just evaporate. We think she’s dead and so do the cops. I’m guessing so does Will, but he can’t really look at it that way right now.”

  Sabina stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Once we have something, anything, we’ll move and so will the cops. Most likely going to be a corpse like Harry said. In the meantime, people still go at each other, get divorced, find mistresses, do other stupid things, so business keeps getting better.”

  The three sat around for an hour or so, then Harry and Sabina said their goodbyes. Harry spent the afternoon following the owner of a bakery in town who made deliveries to cafes and restaurants with a couple of house stops mixed in. His wife felt one of those was a bit long.

  Sabina spent the afternoon in the office working the data they’d collected and checking the spider she’d sent into the RCMP computers. Everybody was making busy, even Isabella.

  ◆◆◆

  Mary Chan watched the Fraser River slide under the plane as the big jet sank toward the green and grey of Vancouver airport. The flight from Singapore had been a long one and not very exciting. What was exciting was travelling to a strange place with a different language and customs. For someone like her, seventeen years old and out from under her parents for the first time, even a dull, long, eventless flight was tolerable when it led to somewhere like this.

  The plane thumped down, tire screech audible even in the cabin. Engines roared with reverse thrust. Slowing sufficiently, the 747 jumbo lumbered off to the side strips in the long run to the terminal. Even though she wanted off, Mary sat after the seat belt sign went dark to let the others jostle their way, stop and go, up the aisle and out the door. She wanted her entrance to be singular and to involve only her, so she let the crowd bunch up and disperse before she got up.