by David Carter
“Good. I will assemble a small team and have them ready.”
Watson hesitated, then cautiously said, “Sir?”
“Yes, Watson?”
“This is going to be dangerous; we are talking automatic weapons, and lots of them. You need to be prepared for the worst; you will need as many boots on the ground as possible.”
“If your intel is correct, agent Watson, we will have the element of surprise. But I’ll be sure to take your assessment under advisement.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The commissioner paused for a moment, then said, “Watson: you are aware that you will most likely need to blow your cover on this operation. I need to know that if shit hits the fan you will be able to do the right thing and make the hard decisions, even if it means getting blood on your hands. After all, these people have been your family for the best part of twelve months now.”
Agent Watson’s voice hardened. “I should take offence to that remark, sir.”
The commissioner grinned. “Excellent answer,” he replied.
After discussing a few details, Commissioner Stuart clicked off, then dialled Ryan. When he answered, he said, “Tell me something, Detective.”
“All right, I’m awfully fond of caviar,” he replied.
“You’d be wise not to play games with me,” he said sternly. “You’ve had more than twenty-four hours to wrap your head around this investigation. Tell me what you’ve learned so far.”
“Why don’t you just listen through the wire you so kindly gave me?”
“Because I can’t always hear everything you say—such as your conversation over breakfast with Bobby Blaise this morning,” he seethed. “You may feel as though you got one up on me, Detective, but be warned: I’ve got my eye on you.”
Ryan grinned to himself. He didn’t mention anything about the “bathroom break.”
“Look, I’m doing everything you’ve asked of me. What you can and can’t hear isn’t my bloody problem. So, either drop the threats and lock me up or let me get on with my job!” Ryan snapped. “And as of this moment, you can shove that listening device you gave me right up your ass!”
The commissioner was taken aback. In that moment he realised he’d underestimated Ryan. And before he had the chance to reprimand him, Ryan calmly added, “But just for your information, I did actually find something out.”
“Yes?” The commissioner perked up.
“Blaze said something interesting about Fish: that he’s a drunken derelict and his sexual encounters are only with, shall I say, less-than-attractive women?”
“And your point being?”
“Look at the photos of the victims found with Fish’s body.”
The commissioner opened the file on his desk. After a moment, he said, “All potential beauty queens.”
“Exactly.”
“So, what was he doing with them?”
“That is what I intend to find out.”
“Very well.”
Ryan waited for the commissioner to give him an earful for his earlier outburst. But instead he said, “Say, how are you and Detective Gibson getting along?”
“Fine. Actually, she’s right here with me down at the morgue. Would you like to speak with her?”
“No, that will be all, detective. Keep me informed.” The commissioner hung up.
Ryan put his phone away into his grey suit pants and rejoined Sandra. She said, “Everything all right?”
“Nothing to worry about. You found anything interesting?”
She sighed. “To be honest, unless we get a match on the DNA samples I think we’re wasting our time.”
“There must be something on one of these girls to identify them?”
“Unfortunately, not. It’s like they never existed.”
“Wait,” said Ryan suddenly. He remembered something disturbing he’d read in the paper recently. “What ethnicity would you say this girl is?” he motioned towards the girl lying on the steel tray poking out from the freezer in front of them.
“Let’s see...” She ummed and ahhed for a moment. “Chinese if I had to guess,” she answered confidently.
“All right, hold onto that thought.” Ryan opened up another freezer door with one of the victims inside. “And this one?”
“It’s hard to tell,” she said as she looked closely as the girl’s features. “Possibly Ukrainian or Russian?”
“I thought Russian, too.”
“So where are you going with this?”
“Well, it was recently announced that China, Russia, and Uzbekistan are currently the three highest-ranked countries in the human trafficking industry. Do you think it’s possible these girls aren’t even from New Zealand?”
“That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”
“We can’t rule it out. The more time that passes, the more certain I am they aren’t New Zealand residents.”
“But that doesn’t explain the biker.”
Ryan didn’t answer. His brain was in overdrive. He suddenly pulled the door to Fish’s corpse open to take another look at him. There must be a plausible reason he was buried with them. “What do you know about his background?” he asked Sandra. “I’m yet to have found time to go over his history.”
Sandra sighed. “Let’s see: foster kid, high school drop-out, got into trouble through numerous drink-driving charges, joined the army to try and get off the booze before being kicked out after a bunch of alcohol-related incidents, and up until recently a member of the SAS.”
Ryan’s observant eyes picked up on something. “Hey, take a look at this,” he pointed curiously to some almost-invisible markings on the top of Fish’s left hand. He squinted as he read them aloud, “CL SP 0100.”
“Oh, that?” Sandra brushed him off. “It just a faded, home-made tattoo.”
Ryan cursed under his breath and exhaled heavily though his nose. “It’s not a tattoo, Sandra. It looks more like faded permanent marker. And when you factor in how long he’s been deceased verses how far the markings have faded, it roughly fits the timing of when the girls were murdered. I want a sample analysed immediately.”
“I’ll get the lab onto it.” She quickly made the call.
When she clicked off, she asked Ryan, “What makes you so sure this is even relevant?”
“Do you ever get a gut-feeling on the job sometimes? A feeling that you know you just stumbled onto something that seems totally minute and innocent, but can prove to break a case wide-open?”
She hesitated. “Every now and again, I suppose. But a gut-feeling doesn’t help us right now.”
Ryan grinned. “Then it’s lucky I have more than just a gut-feeling on this.”
“Yeah? What do you see?”
“Well, you said he joined the army, which is significant to the numerals on his hand.”
Sandra read them aloud as she took a close look. “Zero, one, zero, zero. You think it means zero-one-hundred hours? As in, one a.m.?”
“Exactly. Certain army habits never leave you. They get drilled into you from day one of basic training. Is it conceivable that he overheard a conversation about a shipment of something arriving at a specific time and destination, quickly grabbed the nearest writing tool he could find and wrote it down on his hand, before going to check it out?”
“And maybe got caught,” Sandra added.
“Which means he was...”
Sandra covered her mouth in shock before she answered, “Murdered as a witness.”
They both stood silently, stunned at their remarkable discovery. Sandra said, “I can see why you were brought in to lead this case, Ryan. You just blew it wide open!”
“Thank you. But for now, it is just our working theory, yes?”
Sandra agreed. Then she asked, “So what do the other markings stand for?”
“Well, like I said: a location, or a name, or both,” answered Ryan.
“Any thoughts?”
Ryan analysed the letters in his mind: C. L. S. P. He ins
tantly made a connection with the letters: S. P. Smugglers Point. According to Blaze that’s where all things illegal enter the country.
Sandra’s phone rang, interrupting Ryan’s thought process. She listened intently to the caller. She clicked off, then excitedly said, “We got a hit on one of the DNA samples! They are making an arrest as we speak!”
“Really? Who?”
“A crooked business man in Brighton City: Luther Sutherland.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of him. When is he available for questioning?”
“Shouldn’t be long; and hour or two, tops. They just have to process him first, then he’s all ours.”
Chapter 18
Francois led Vino up the stairs to Archer’s office at The Underground, with a pistol held to the small of his back. “What have I done? Why am I here?” Vino demanded.
“Shut up and keep moving,” Francois replied.
They reached the office door and shuffled inside. Archer sat behind his desk, glaring at a bewildered Vino. Mr Lombardi stood next to him, his eyes colder than dry ice. There was a chair in the middle of the room, facing towards Archer and Mr Lombardi. Francois roughly shoved Vino in the chair and began fastening his arms behind his back to its frame. Vino resisted, writhing and twisting, and put up a decent struggle until Francois slugged him across his jaw. “Sit still, you maggot,” he said harshly.
“Please!” Vino cried. “What have I done to deserve this, Uncle?”
Mr Lombardi checked the time on his gold pocket watch, then slowly leaned over so he could look Vino in the eyes as he said, “I gave you one job, Vino —” he paused as he shook his head, “and I made you my tenth captain. I welcomed you back into the family with open arms, and this is how you repay me?”
“What do you mean?” he replied. “I swear I have done nothing wrong.”
Archer turned his computer screen around and played a video that had broken out on the news. Vino watched on in horror as scenes of the graves he’d dug for the nine girls and the biker were flashed across the nation. The he saw Luther Sutherland being marched into the Brighton Police Headquarters in handcuffs, swamped by reporters and police personnel. He remembered him as one of the potential new clients that sampled the first shipment of merchandise he’d brought into the country. I’m a dead man, he thought.
“What have you got to say for yourself, Vino?” asked Mr Lombardi.
“I—I—nothing...”
THUD!
Archer pummelled the side of his face with his set of brass knuckles.
“I’m waiting,” said Mr Lombardi impatiently.
“I—er —”
THUD!
“All right,” said Vino in between gasps. Blood seeped from his mouth. “I buried them deep in the bush off the Brighton Highway. I can’t possibly imagine how they were found!”
THUD!
Vino’s ribcage felt the full impact of Archer’s disappointment.
“Why were all the bodies disposed of so close to each other!” Mr Lombardi roared.
THUD!
“You are lazy and cannot be trusted with even the easiest of jobs, therefore you are useless to me!”
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Vino was in agony. Archer removed the brass knuckles from his hand. Mr Lombardi asked Francois to hand over his pistol. He held it out in front of Vino’s face. “You have been nothing but trouble as long as I have known you, nephew. And it is sad that I should have to do this.” He nodded at Francois, who locked Vino’s head in his arms; Mr Lombardi shoved the barrel of the pistol in Vino’s mouth, then pulled the trigger.
Click.
The magazine was empty.
The room instantly smelled vile.
“Oh, damn; he’s shit himself, Governor,” Francois chuckled, before cutting Vino’s restraints and shoved him off the chair onto the floor.
Mr Lombardi handed the pistol back to Francois, then turned his attention back to Vino, who was now crying quietly. “Get up, Vino,” he said gently.
Vino just lay there, sobbing.
Francois kicked him savagely. “Take it like a man, Vino!”
He slowly rose to his feet.
“I am giving you one last chance to make this right,” Mr Lombardi said to Vino. “The governor and I have already set some details in motion, but I need you to complete two tasks for me.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Vino sniffled. “Tell me what I need to do. Whatever it is, I will do it.”
Mr Lombardi explained what he wanted from him.
Vino nodded as he listened to his instructions closely.
“Go, now, Vino, time is of the essence,” said Mr Lombardi. “And believe me when I say that if for whatever reason you should fail in your tasks, you needn’t bother coming back.”
Vino knew exactly what he meant, and made a bee-line for the door.
Chapter 19
Ryan and Sandra were led to the interview room where Luther Sutherland was being held. “He’s refusing to talk,” the young officer escorting them said. “He was literally ready to give a statement until his lawyer called him, at which point he clammed up.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Ryan.
Sandra raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You know; I’ve heard whispers about you, Ryan,” she probed.
“Such as?”
“That you don’t necessarily play by the rules when it comes to interrogating suspects?”
“Do you have a problem with justice?”
“No, but —”
“But, nothing.” Ryan cut her off. “I’ve bluffed confessions out of men who looked tougher than Mike Tyson, who were never going to incriminate themselves—until I persuaded them otherwise. Many families have received justice that they otherwise wouldn’t have because I was willing to cross the line.”
“Regardless of the consequences?”
“Some things are just worth fighting for.”
Sandra smiled. “All right, and while I admire that, I will not be part of any lines being crossed during our interview. I’m not jeopardising my career. I’ve got a mortgage and three girls to support. You feel me?”
Ryan sighed. God, I wish Hampton was here, he thought. “Maybe you can go ‘fetch us coffee’ if and when that time comes. And if any such dubious methods of investigation should take place, I will take full responsibility.”
“Thank you.”
The young officer unlocked the door to the interview room. Sandra walked in first. Ryan stopped the officer before he left them and slipped him a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Let’s just pretend you didn’t hear any of that conversation, yeah?”
“What conversation?” the young officer grinned.
“Oh, and can you turn the cameras off in five minutes time?”
“Are you serious?” he whispered.
“Deadly serious.” Ryan handed him another one-hundred-dollar bill.
“I’ll take care of it,” the officer replied.
Ryan straightened his collar and put on his best bad-cop face. He stepped into the room to see a middle-aged, overweight man dressed in a fine, blue Italian suit, handcuffed to the table in the centre of the room.
“He won’t talk,” said Sandra. “Says his lawyer can’t make it for another hour, at least.”
Ryan went through his usual routine: remaining completely silent while slowly laying out a series of photographs in front of Luther to peruse. He placed the last photo in Luther’s hands. Then he said, “I saved this one for last, Luther, as this is the scared little girl that you raped before she died.”
Luther scoffed. “No, I didn’t, and you can’t prove it.”
Ryan snickered. “But I can, Luther. You see, we found the bodies of the nine girls that you and your buddies had your way with. And your semen was found in both the anus and vagina of this particular girl. How do you suppose that came to be, huh?”
“I’m not saying anything until my lawyer arrives.”
Sandra’s phone rang. “Please excuse me for a moment,” s
he said to Ryan, and stepped out of the room.
Perfect timing, Ryan thought.
“All right, Mr Sutherland, I don’t give two shits about whether your lawyer is coming or not. Here are the facts. Your DNA was found inside this poor little girl, who was also murdered and sawn up into several pieces and dumped out in the middle of nowhere. You don’t have a goddamn leg to stand on. Work with me and tell me who else was involved, and perhaps I can cut you a deal—say life imprisonment without being put into general population.”
Luther lifted his gaze to meet Ryan’s face, and replied, “I didn’t do it.”
Ryan started rolling up his white shirt sleeves, exposing his muscular forearms. “Do you know what the inmates in gen-pop will do to you if they find out you are an underage sex-offender?”
“What do I care? I didn’t do it,” he said again, but without as much confidence this time.
“Well, let me tell you anyway. From what I’ve heard, they will find a broom handle and slot it straight up that sizeable ass of yours until they literally can’t shove it any further, or until you finally stop twitching.”
Luther’s face went ghostly-white.
“Now, who is involved?”
Luther shook his head.
Ryan’s patience had officially run out. He went to take a swing at Luther, but Sandra came back in the room and cried, “Stop!”
Luther breathed a sigh of relief.
Ryan was furious.
“He’s innocent!” she exclaimed.
“He’s what!”
Luther smirked. Looks as though my lawyer came through.
“But his DNA is a positive match found inside one of the victims’ body. How can he be innocent?”
“I just got off the phone to the Brighton Sperm Bank. They had a break-in on the same day the girls were murdered. And guess whose sample was the one that was stolen?”
“Please, Sandra, don’t tell me it was Luther’s.”
“I’m afraid if was. And the CCT footage was taken, too. Somebody tried to frame him.”
Ryan looked angrily at Luther. “You? A sperm donor! You’ve got to be bloody kidding me!”
Luther just chuckled; he knew he was off the hook.