by James Hornor
That evening I lay sleeping only a few feet away from Ramesh. Despite the adverse sleeping conditions, he was sleeping soundly, but since it was Friday I knew that the wardens might come in the middle of the night to pull him out and beat him.
About an hour later, I carefully removed Ramesh’s Yankees hat and placed it on my own head. Since we were about the same height and weight, I didn’t think they would notice the switch when they came to get him.
It was late, probably 3:00 A.M., when I felt a boot dig into the side of my abdomen. Three men were standing over me chatting in Hindi, and one of them yanked my arm so hard that I thought it had come out of its socket. They blindfolded me and dragged me out of the room and down a long corridor to a room without windows. I could see a little through the blindfold, enough to see that one of the men was the warden with the whistle when I had been forced to run the gauntlet. He was the one who ordered the other two men to strip off my clothes so that I was then naked and blindfolded and standing in the middle of the room. All three men had been drinking, and they continued to pass a bottle back and forth as they took a large rope and wrapped it around me from my ankles to my neck.
I had heard of “the helicopter” from other inmates who had been pulled from the barracks in the middle of the night, but even with their specific accounts, I had never understood the logistics of this particular humiliation.
There was a large meat hook suspended from the ceiling, and the hook was able to pivot in a 360-degree rotation. The three men lifted me up and fastened the meat hook with a clip to the rope, so that I was now horizontally suspended from the ceiling with only my head and feet free from the rope’s restraint. Because of the angle of the rope, my head was facing the ceiling along with my toes. While I hung there with my back to the floor, one of the men took his lit cigarette and put it out on the middle of my left foot.
Before they began to spin me, I could see that each of them had a bamboo cane with the end flayed—the same bamboo I had experienced in the gauntlet, only now my neck and face were completely unprotected.
The men positioned themselves at equal points below my circumference, and they began to spin me much as small children spin a merry-go-round. Because I was facing the ceiling and my arms were tied down, I had no way to establish any equilibrium, and this produced a loss of groundedness that I can only describe as the feeling you sometimes experience on an airplane in turbulent weather when the plane hits air pockets and any sense of gravity evaporates. The faster they spun me, the worse that feeling became, and I soon began to vomit. Because of the speed of my circumference, it was only with a great deal of difficulty that I was able to slightly turn my head and avoid drowning. My throat was partially blocked with vomit; I was dizzy and it became nearly impossible to breathe through my nose.
Finally the spinning slowed down and stopped. The men sat down on cement blocks and continued to drink and smoke cigarettes. They asked me several questions in Hindi, and I could only attribute their inability to distinguish me from Ramesh to their drunken state. I guessed that they had been drinking since much earlier that evening, and ironically their heavy drinking probably saved me from being raped.
After about ten minutes, they started to spin me in the other direction, only this time as I whizzed past them, they made a game of cracking me across the neck with the bamboo and spitting on my face so that my nostrils began to fill with both vomit and saliva. They gave my feet a similar whacking with the bamboo, so that when they finally took me down, my feet were cut and bleeding and my neck and face were covered in saliva and blood.
Somehow I managed to remember Ramesh’s hat as they pulled me back down the corridor and into my barracks. As I lay there dabbing away the blood, I looked over at Ramesh. He was still sleeping soundly, and as I carefully placed his Yankee’s hat back on his head I began to get a glimpse of the care for others that the nun had mentioned earlier.
Before I drifted off into a state of semi-consciousness, I felt an elation in my heart that I had never known before. Up until that moment, I had believed that the most exquisite joy to be found in this world was in the arms of a woman. Now, for the first time in my life, I knew that the highest good was personal sacrifice for others so that my friend did not have to go through another night of torture.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, JAMES DROVE THE FOUR hours from Lake Louise to Edmonton. He had some of Charlie’s clothes and personal items, as well as a letter that he had written to his son the night before. Before leaving, he had called Henry Moore’s office and spoken to Cheryl. There was really no reason for Henry Moore to drive to Edmonton. Macpherson had succeeded in bringing the evidence before a judge the previous afternoon, and so Charlie was officially under arrest. There was no information as yet regarding a court hearing, but Cheryl thought it would probably be in the next ten days.
When James arrived at the Edmonton Correctional Facility, he was immediately impressed by its newness and its cleanliness. His own prison experience in India had been the exact opposite. But he knew that Charlie was nevertheless reeling from the arrest and his transport to an actual correctional facility.
A uniformed woman in the reception area had James fill out visitation forms, and then she guided him down a labyrinth of hallways, through the security checks, and invited him to sit on one side of a long table in a room that was only a little larger than a cubicle. James had to fill out a form describing what he was bringing to his son, but even with the form, a guard outside the cubicle checked James for any weapons (he had already been checked when he entered the facility) and he again checked the bag with Charlie’s things.
Another guard brought Charlie into the room, and the first thing that James noticed was that Charlie now had on a blue denim shirt with “Benjamin” embroidered over the pocket, and he had on standard issue brown pants. They sat across from one another for a few seconds in awkward silence until James finally spoke.
“How are you doing, Charlie?”
“Does Heather know?”
“I spoke to Heather yesterday. She knows you are being detained. She doesn’t know you’ve been arrested.”
“Did she mention Ryan?”
“Not really. We were mostly talking about the circumstantial evidence and the incident when you pushed your father.”
“She told you about that? Why?”
“Your attorney, Henry Moore, wanted to know if there had been any domestic violence in the past.”
“That wasn’t really domestic violence.”
“I believe you. But there is a police report in Winnetka that is still on file. If this goes to trial, the other side will undoubtedly use it against us.”
Charlie stared at the floor. He had forgotten about the police report. Of course they would use that against him. He suddenly became more depressed.
“Why can’t they find the mechanic?”
“They actually did get into the call history of Jenny’s phone, and they have contacted him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that when we first sat down? That’s great news!”
“Not necessarily. The mechanic is saying that he witnessed an intense argument between you and Jenny. He said that there were obscenities exchanged, and she locked you out of the house.”
“That’s a complete lie.”
“Of course it is, but at this point, it’s just his word against yours.”
“What about that night?”
“He said that his wife would attest to him being home all night.”
“Did Heather say anything else?”
“She said that both she and Ryan love you very much.”
“Are you making this up?”
James could see that Charlie’s face had completely changed from resignation to a sliver of hope.
“I’m not making it up. It was the last thing she said before we got off the phone.”
The guard who had been standing behind the reinforced glass door motioned to James that his time w
as almost up.
“Don’t worry, Charlie. I got us a very astute attorney, and more importantly, you are innocent of any crime.”
“I know, but the guy whose cell is across from mine told me that his dad did fifteen years for a murder he didn’t commit. It was only DNA testing that finally got him exonerated.”
“That’s not what is going to happen here. I promise you.”
With that, James stood up, handed Charlie a letter and the bag of clothes, and touched his son’s hand as he exited the cubicle. It was the last time Charlie would ever see his real father.
As James drove back to Lake Louise, he played out in his head the entire sequence of events leading up to Jenny’s disappearance. He kept thinking that there had to be some small detail that had been overlooked, some small clue that would hopefully break open the case.
He arrived home a little after 4:00 P.M. and decided to drive into the village to get an early dinner at the diner. Because of the hour, there were only two men sitting at a table, along with one waitress and the cook, who was also the owner. He decided to sit at the counter, and he had just ordered when one of the men sitting at the table got up and walked over to him.
“You’re the man who runs the homeless shelter in Vancouver. Isn’t that right?”
“I’m one of the two. As you can see, I’m not doing much there today.”
“My brother stayed with you for a week a few years ago. You and your buddy really helped him to get back on his feet.”
“That’s what we do, give people a hand.”
“I think I may know something about your daughter. Your daughter’s been missing, right?”
James’s heart was racing. This was the break he had been praying for.
“So my buddy over there at the table heard some guy bragging at a bar down in Banff that he’d been getting it every night. His wife can’t figure out why he’s been so happy.”
“May I talk to your friend?”
“He doesn’t want to get involved. That’s why I came over. You helped my brother. I figured I owed it to you.”
“What else do you know?”
“He saw the guy’s truck in the parking lot of the bar and he realized that he had called him just a few months earlier when his car had to be towed. While he was riding in the front seat getting his car pulled to Banff, the guy told him about his fishing house on Lake Mead. There are only a few houses down there, and they’re only used in the summer.”
James remembered that he and Jenny had skied on trails around Lake Mead, but that had probably been five or six years ago. It would take a truck to get to those lake houses this time of year, and James knew that if he contacted the RCMP, they would want search warrants and three days of paperwork before they made a move.
“Thank you for coming over to talk with me. I know that it is often difficult to get involved with other people’s business.”
“You helped out my family; I wanted to help out yours.”
With that the man walked back over and joined his friend at the small table by the window.
James placed fifteen dollars on the counter and got up to leave. He hadn’t had a bite to eat, but already he was formulating how he could get to Lake Mead before it got too dark. He thought about going back to the house to get his shotgun, but he remembered the small handgun he kept behind the seat in the pickup. It would have to be enough in case he happened to arrive while the mechanic was there.
Lake Mead was about ten miles southeast of Lake Louise and he guessed correctly that the final five miles would be a rough ride—even for his pickup truck. The sun was just above the mountains to the west, and already the long mountain shadows of the Canadian Rockies were beginning to darken the valleys.
James remembered five or six houses all placed twenty-five or thirty yards apart and only about one hundred feet from the lake. The road next to the lake angled back and forth around the houses so that most of them were hidden from one another. He finally started to get glimpses of the lake through the barren tree branches, and soon he got to the point on the road where he could begin to see several houses up ahead.
The first two houses that he came to were clearly uninhabited, and there were no fresh tire tracks in either of the driveways. The third house was set back a little, but again, no tire tracks in the snow. As he approached the next house, there appeared to be a small lamp burning in one of the windows, and there were tire tracks in the driveway. But before he settled on that as the probable house, he decided to check out the last two houses just to be sure. There was an outside light on above the garage at the last house, but no evidence of any tire tracks.
He turned the truck around and headed back to the house with the lamp in the window. After pulling into the driveway, he retrieved his Glock 38 from behind the seat and checked to be sure that there were the full eight rounds in the chamber. He didn’t bother to strap on the holster, but instead grabbed his cowboy hat from the dashboard and concealed the pistol in the top of his hat, which he now carried as he walked to the front door. If he had chosen the wrong house, he wanted it to appear that he was holding his hat as a matter of courtesy, and if there was to be a confrontation, he also wanted to be fully prepared.
He knocked on the door several times. There were no voices and no signs of life. He thought about how there might be other houses around the lake that he didn’t know about, and he considered getting back in his truck to continue around the lake road. The snow was at least a foot deep around the exterior of the house, and he only had on his cowboy boots. He checked to see that the safety was set on the Glock, and he carefully placed it in the side pocket of his jacket. He headed around the side of the house and discovered a screened porch that faced the lake. The door that went from the porch into the house appeared to go into the kitchen, and once he had unlatched the outer screen door, he began to knock loudly on the door into the house.
At first he heard nothing, but as he turned to head back out into the snow, he heard a faint whining sound, almost like the sound of a dog that had attempted for the entire day to be disentangled from its leash and had almost given up. James stood dead still on the porch and had to wait almost a minute before he barely heard it again. He tried the door. It wasn’t budging a centimeter. He guessed it was probably locked and bolted shut. As he stood there playing with the lock, he heard the faint whining noise a third time.
He took the butt of his gun and broke out one of the panes of glass in the window next to the door. He carefully removed the shards of glass from the broken pane and reached the latch that unlocked the window. Raising the window as high as it would go, he reached in with his right arm and undid the two locks. Entering the kitchen, he began to explore each downstairs room until he came to a locked door, and now he could hear that the sound was coming from that room. Without hesitation, he began to kick at the door with his boots, and while the lock held, he was able to kick a small hole that then became large enough for him to insert his arm. He found the lock and the door swung open.
There was Jenny, tied and gagged to a small daybed and only half covered with a dirty sheet. Her eyes looked vacant. Her hair was matted and off to one side. James gently pulled up the sheet to cover her and he loosened the gag that held her neck and mouth. As soon as the gag was released, she began to cry hysterically and she sounded like a wounded animal. James undid the nylon rope around her wrists and ankles, and once she was free, she curled into a ball.
He held her head in his hands and placed his forehead just above her eyes.
“It’s OK, sweetie. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, and I’m going to get you out of here. Do you know where he put your clothes?”
“I think they’re upstairs.”
James darted up the stairs and found Jenny’s clothes strewn across a bed. He rushed back down, placed the clothes next to her and headed back into the kitchen to close and lock the door. As he was heading back to check on Jenny, he heard a truck in the driveway.
Jenny was only hal
f dressed, but she had also heard the truck. James looked out the window to the driveway. The truck was intentionally blocking his truck, and a man was getting out of the cab.
“Do you remember how to fire the Glock?”
The two of them had used the gun during target shooting practice just a year ago, so Jenny had some familiarity with how it worked.
“There are eight rounds. Remember to release the safety.”
“What are you going to use?”
“We don’t want to kill him if we don’t have to. I’m going outside to try and talk him down.”
“He’ll kill you, Papa.”
“I don’t think so. But he has to believe that you are still locked in the room. Don’t fire the Glock unless you hear shots being fired.”
“Don’t take the risk, Papa. Why don’t we just kill him when he walks in the door?”
“Let me try to disarm him without anyone getting killed.”
With that, James opened the front door just slightly and yelled out to the man.
“Sir, I just arrived here a few minutes ago. I’m searching for my daughter.”
“Your daughter’s not here, cowboy. Who told you she was here?”
James opened the door and walked out onto the porch.
“Someone at the diner told me they saw her at Lake Mead.”
James noticed that the man was holding a shotgun. It was a Ruger over-under, and if both triggers were pulled simultaneously, it could easily bring down a bear.
“She’s not here. I’ve never seen your daughter, and you’re trespassing.”
The man kept glancing at the front door as if he half expected Jenny to join her father on the porch.
“Sometimes we make decisions that we later regret, and we think that more bad decisions will solve the problem.”