Red Paint

by Valerie Van Clieaf

  Bill pulled a folder from an upright wire tray to his right and started to rifle through the contents. Triumphantly, he extracted a sheet of paper.

  “Here it is.”

  “Could you make a copy for me?”

  Bill ambled over to the copier, made the copy, ambled back to Alex, and handed it to him.

  “So, is he wanted for something?”

  “No. I’m just interested in speaking with him regarding a case I’m working on.”

  “You’ll want to know he’s definitely got some native in him,” said Bill, “although not as much as you if you don’t mind my saying.”

  Kathy shook her head and frowned, disapproving, then suddenly brightened.

  “Right! I remember now,” she said. “The Indigenous man with the beautiful hat.”

  “What about the hat?” said Bill.

  “I’m a knitter and I notice these things. I’ve never seen one like it. It was beautiful, one-of-a-kind, obviously handmade. He certainly didn’t buy it off the shelf.”

  “Can you describe the hat for me, Kathy?”

  “It was large, made of an off-white wool, not like the skimpy ones you buy in the stores that sit on top of your head and don’t really keep you warm. This one had a beautiful red and black design all around the bottom edge” –and she indicated with her fingers how wide– “and a tassel to match.”

  “Is there anything else you remember, Kathy?”

  “I asked him where he got it. He said his grandmother made it.”

  “Anything else.”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Well thank you both,” said Alex, folding the copy into his jacket breast pocket.

  The three men returned to the cruiser and climbed in.

  “Asshole,” grumbled Marchand. “He’s probably got some native in him and doesn’t know it.”

  Goodwin chuckled.

  Alex smiled, but said nothing.

  Marchand started up the car. “Where to?”

  “Let’s head back to the lodge. With any luck, there’ll be some lunch left.”

  Marchand eased into the traffic heading out to the highway. Alex pulled out his burner and accessed the Tor browser, then checked to see if wikem had been in touch. He had.

  Still nothing on GK … betting he did an ID wipe … do you have a pic?

  I have a picture. Will get it to you next message.

  Alex closed Tor, then checked for messages. He messaged Gwen that all was quiet, and they were on their way back from PG and he would let her know when he was heading back to the motel. Then he texted his father, asking him what wikem meant.

  “Looks like we’re in for some snow,” said Goodwin.

  “Hope we’re back before it hits,” said Marchand. “Roads are already a little icy.” He wasn’t kidding. Every so often, Alex felt the car shift under him from side to side, but he wasn’t worried; Marchand was in the zone.

  When they arrived at the lodge, everyone was eating. The cook dished up plates of baked chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli, and corn for them. Alex carried his over to where Brandeis was sitting with Kennedy and took a seat.

  “Get anything?” asked Kennedy.

  “Not much, though it looks like our hacker is a he, and may have some Indigenous heritage.”

  “Did you get a name?”

  “No. How’s it going here?”

  “Nothing definite yet regarding Palindrome, said Brandeis. The company was incorporated eight years ago. It’s based in Bethesda, Maryland. There is little on their website about who they work for and not much on their staff, mostly independent contractors. The bad news is that National Division is presently using them for website security analysis! Between that, the Prince George contract, and what we’re dealing with, it’s a monumental shit-storm!”

  “Has MacLeish been questioned about the contract?”

  “Someone’s with him now,” said Brandeis. “We should hear back soon, but even if he does confirm he hired Kirigin, it’s no help to us.” He left the table to get some pie.

  “Bethesda, Maryland,” said Alex between mouthfuls. He thought about what wikem had said about Severall. “Bethesda told us that Kirigin was living there with Eric Severall. It would be interesting to know if either of them was involved in the Palindrome start-up. What do we know about Golden Harvest? We only have about forty-eight hours before the ship docks in Prince Rupert.”

  Kennedy looked up, ready to call Kumari and Stuart over to join them, but they arrived at the table with Brandeis, who was back with a piece of pie. Everyone sat down.

  “We need to fill you in,” said Kumari.

  “The news isn’t good,” said Stuart.

  “It’s important,” said Kumari.

  “Very important,” said Stuart, handing a sheaf of papers to each of the men.

  “What am we looking at?” said Brandeis.

  “Everything we could get on the Golden Harvest and two other ships, but we’ll get to that in a minute.”

  “This is very extensive,” said Brandeis. “All ports of call and GPS locations for the last six weeks, cargo information.”

  “We started by requesting info on Golden Harvest from the Vancouver Port Authority. There was a reason we started looking at the other two ships,” said Kumari. “Look at the ship-to-ship transmissions logs, specifically the entries we’ve highlighted. When we noticed that Harvest consistently communicated with two other ships—we’re talking about ninety percent of their ship to ship communication— whether they were in port or not, we requested the Automatic Identification System information on them as well. Seattle gave us that.”

  We assume the cargo information is not accurate, but we’re thinking that it’s not the only information that isn’t trustworthy,” said Stuart. “All three ships are container ships, and all three participate in AIS transmission. AIS uses a transponder system that operates on a high frequency Maritime band. This enables ship-to-ship as well as ship-to-shore communication and as you can see by the sheets in front of you, all information relating to the ship itself, its geographic location, what kind of vessel it is and, of course, what we are most interested in—the cargo they’re carrying—is uploaded to port security.”

  “Governments love AIS because they think they have a better picture of what’s going on in and around their ports. The important thing is that the GPS information for each ship is embedded in the AIS,” said Kumari, “so that all information regarding vessel movements and cargo is uploaded automatically to electronic charts. AIS enables worldwide tracking on shiptracker.live.”

  “We know of one cargo that’s not on this list,” said Kennedy. “Who’s to say it’s not just people they’re hiding.”

  “What about these other two ships,” said Brandeis, “Red Dragon and Shanghai Sunset, how are they connected to the Golden Harvest?”

  “All three ships were built in the Ukraine and the registered owner is an outfit called Pravo. We’re still trying to confirm how many ships they own.”

  “Where is Harvest right now?” asked Alex.

  “It left the Port of Vancouver a few hours ago,” said Kumari.

  “Is the GPS live?”

  “It is. We’re tracking it on shiptracker.live.”

  “What’s the ETA for Prince Rupert?”

  “The ship radioed the mandatory four-day Notice of Arrival to the Triple Island Pilot Station. That was almost thirty hours ago,” said Kumari.

  “What about the other two ships?”

  “The Red Dragon was docked in Seattle with the other two boats, but when they headed north up the coast of Vancouver, it headed south,” said Stuart. “Shanghai Sunset left the Port of Seattle behind Golden Harvest and followed her up the coast but didn’t put in at the docks in Vancouver, at least not right away. Instead, Shanghai Sunset moored in English Bay, a few miles from the docks, and stayed there for two days before moving to the south port and unloading computer equipment.<
br />
  “You can bet it wasn’t in English Bay to enjoy the view,” said Kennedy.

  “There’s no record of contact with other ships, but they could have had small-boat visitors while they were moored in the Bay. That would be easy under cover of night. We have no way of knowing,” said Stuart. “Shanghai Sunset didn’t leave the Vancouver area until six hours after Harvest’s departure. It headed south, back down the coast.”

  “Lots of time for a hand-off to another boat,” said Alex.

  “I’ll pull in the Vancouver police,” said Brandeis. “This is great work you two! I’ll contact human trafficking in the States and tell them what we’ve got.”

  “Inspector, these bastards don’t know that we’re on to them,” said Kennedy. “One wrong move and we lose our advantage.”

  “I hear you, Ian. I’ll make sure they understand,” said Brandeis.

  “If Kirigin is controlling the AIS on those ships, can we trust any of the information we’re getting?” asked Alex.

  “Not really,” said Kumari. “We don’t yet know what Kirigin’s skill set is, but spoofing the GPS is definitely a possibility.”

  “Kumari’s right, but if the ship puts in at any port, each port has a protocol that must be followed,” Stuart pointed out. “It’s far more stringent than it used to be. Harvest’s captain–the guy’s name is Reggie Donaldson–has given Prince Rupert a four-day ETA. Next is a two-day ETA. Then a 24-hour ETA. Kirigin can move his ships around like chessmen on a board but he has to check in or he’ll arouse suspicion.”

  “If there are more ships, we can assume there’s a quagmire of companies hiding Kirigin or whoever else is holding title,” said Kumari. “The only reason we were able to track these three ships was because we know about Golden Harvest.”

  “Batlan wasn’t kidding when he said that joining forces with Kirigin meant they went international,” said Alex. “What do you want to bet there aren’t more ships?”

  Brandeis pursed his lips. “The first undercover team from Vancouver flew up to Prince Rupert. They’re at the Crest Hotel.” Another team from Calgary is flying to Terrace; they’ll travel overland to Rupert from there. That’ll give us twelve men on site.”

  “Anything new on Killam’s email account on the PG server,” asked Alex.

  “Nothing new,” said Stuart.

  “Try the pie, it’s good,” said Brandeis to no one in particular. He headed to a quiet corner to make some calls.

  The burner phone in his pocket buzzed. Alex fished it out. There was a message from Corporal McLelland.

  Call me when you get this. Possible lead on bomber.

  He dialed her number, and she picked up right away.

  “Linda, it’s Alex. What have you got?”

  “Maybe nothing but I wanted to run this by you. My partner and I dropped into Barney’s for a coffee earlier. I got to talking with one of the waitresses, a friend of mine named Ann. She’s been there a few years and usually works the day shift. Anyway, we were talking about the bomb you found at your place yesterday morning. Of course, the whole town is talking about it. Sorry Alex, I’ll get to the point in a minute. Anyway, we were at the till when she came over to us. She wanted to know what time the bomb was found. I thought it was close to ten thirty.”

  “Closer to ten forty-five,” said Alex.

  “Right. Well, Ann took us aside and told us there had been a customer in the restaurant at that time who was in her section. He wasn’t a local. She said he was a real snazzy dresser, that’s why she noticed him. I mean, who gets dressed up to go to Barney’s. She couldn’t say for sure when it was exactly, you know how busy they are mid-morning, but at around that time, she was walking by his booth with an order and he pounded the table and said: ‘He found it. Fucking son of a bitch!’

  “Ann said she remembered not just because of what he’d said, which was kind of loud, but because, when he pounded on the table, she was right beside him and it surprised her enough that a cup of coffee on the tray she was carrying slurped over onto an order of toast and she had to order more.”

  “Which booth?”

  “I’ll try to find out.”

  “Doesn’t Barney’s have CCTV covering their parking lot,” said Alex.

  “They do, and one camera at the door. It doesn’t cover the whole restaurant, just the two rows of window booths and the front till. They put it in after the robbery last winter.”

  “Get the footage. I’ll meet you at the office.”

  “I have the footage from both cameras. I’ll set it up now.”

  “Good work. Don’t use equipment at the office. Use a laptop.” Alex signaled Marchand and Goodwin that they were leaving. Kennedy and Brandeis had been listening in.

  “You have a lead on the bomber?” asked Brandeis.

  “Hope so. I’ll know soon.”

  “Get a laptop from Stuart,” said Brandeis.

  “I’ll come with you,” said Kennedy.

  The snow was still coming down, and the pines around the lodge were drooping under a mounting blanket of white. The four men made a dash for the cruiser and piled in. Marchand started it up and headed to the exit. It was already a little slow going with the snow, and the cruiser spun out as he made the turn onto the road leading to town.

  “Think you can get us there in one piece, Corporal?”

  “He can drive in any weather,” said Goodwin.

  Marchand smiled.

  Kennedy settled in for the ride.

  Chapter 7

  Barney’s Restaurant opened at six am and mid-morning was one of their busiest times. Alex watched the screen as a steady stream of people, young and old, men and women, walked through the door and into the restaurant. Usually, they either grabbed a booth or disappeared off camera into the restaurant proper. Some stopped at the till to place takeout orders. The restaurant closed their drive-through window during the winter months, so the area around the till was more crowded than usual with people ordering takeout.

  Alex had pulled several pictures from his case file of a group photo taken last fall at the Clarendon, a private club in downtown Vancouver. Michael Bolton, uncle of Carey Bolton—whose abduction Alex was then investigating—had taken the group photo without the knowledge of the men sitting around the dinner table. Police had tentatively identified one of the men as Gregori Kirigin. His most prominent feature was a shock of white-blond hair. One of the techs had created a somewhat grainy, close-up, side view of Kirigin: thin face, small mouth, slender nose.

  The only blond in sight was a woman sitting in a booth beside the window with her back to the camera. She’d arrived around 9:40 am and sat at a booth close to the door. She was joined a few minutes later by a middle-aged man. He gave her a peck on the cheek and sat down opposite her.

  There was a knock, and Linda McClellan entered and walked around to his side of the desk. He paused the footage at 10:14:16 am.

  “What did you find out?”

  “Ann said the guy we’re looking for was facing away from the door, so he’ll have his back to us. She couldn’t remember exactly which booth he was in, but she’d just picked up an order from the kitchen window.”

  “So, not a booth by the window.”

  “No. Ann would’ve walked around the till and headed down the aisle, away from the door.” She hadn’t gone far when a guy to her right pounded the table and she jumped.”

  “She’s sure about that?”

  “She’s sure.” Linda glanced at the photographs on the table. “Ann said he wasn’t alone.”

  “Does she remember how many men?”

  “She remembered two men especially. They had come in together a few times for meals earlier in the week. She thought they were the two men at the table when she spilled the coffee.”

  “Pull up a chair,” said Alex. Linda pulled one over and sat down; he hit play.

  They watched the computer screen in silence. The morning rush was unremitting and th
e crowd standing at the front of the restaurant waiting for takeout was a constant. Because there wasn’t enough room in the area close to the till and probably to avoid the draft from the front doors, those waiting automatically headed to the warmest spot, the area just inside the restaurant proper, right in front of the inside row of booths. This effectively blocked the camera view of the first two booths most of the time. Of the inside booths clearly visible, a teenage boy and a man were sitting in the third booth from the door. The boy faced the camera. Three men sat in the fourth booth. Only one faced the camera. A couple and another man were in the fifth booth.

  “Recognize anyone?” Linda asked.

  “Not yet,” said Alex.

  They continued to watch in silence. The kitchen staff must have caught up on takeout orders, and for a brief period, the area around the till cleared of people. Now they had a clear view of the first and second booth closest to the door. Alex froze the screen at time code 10:40:30 am. Three women were exiting the first booth. There was a man and woman at the second booth.

  “I found the bomb close to this time. I ran to the back of the house to warn the other men. They were finishing up at the back of the house. We all made a run for it out the back door. They hadn’t yet done a sweep of the front hall or our bedroom. There was a camera in the bedroom. They found it after. The perp was watching the feed from the bedroom camera and knew that I found the explosives under the bed. We’re looking for a guy who’s watching his phone. Once the cameras in the rest of the house were found, that just left the bedroom. The last footage he received would have been me looking under the bed.”

  “Whoa,” muttered Linda.

  Alex pointed to the computer screen. “In the third booth, we have a man and older teenage boy; in the fourth, three men; and in the fifth, two men and a woman.” Alex hit play and slowed the speed down.

  Not long after, Linda reached over and hit the space bar next, the screen froze at 10:42:55. She pointed to the three men in booth four.

  “Right there, beside that guy’s elbow. That looks like a phone that’s on.”

  “It does, and it doesn’t look like he’s using it.” Alex clicked on 10:42:30, forcing a short replay.