Angel in the Full Moon

by Don Easton

  Laura eyed Jack’s neck and rolled her eyes. “With Act Three,” she said, “I will be with you.”

  “You got it. First I’ll build up his greed and raise his expectations on the cocaine, then you come in and cancel the dope deal. He’ll feel let down and think he’s about to lose out.”

  “I tell you that we can’t buy the coke because we need capital to try and entice some girls to start working for us in Edmonton,” said Laura.

  Jack nodded and said, “Hopefully he’ll figure he can still salvage a deal and introduce us to Dúc or on up to the Russians.”

  “You going to meet him tomorrow?” asked Pasquali.

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t want to appear that eager. I’ll have him wait a few days—take away some of his confidence. Give him a bit of a roller-coaster ride on this. One minute he envisions the money in front of him and the next minute he thinks it’s gone.”

  It was midnight when Connie Crane, from the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team, ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape blocking the alley and made her way to the cluster of police officers. They were gathered around behind an apartment building.

  Homicide Sections from the B.C. lower mainland, with the exception of Vancouver and Delta, had combined into what was now known as the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team, but was commonly referred to as “I-HIT.”

  Connie was approaching retirement and had spent much of her career investigating homicides. She was a walking encyclopedia when it came to murder and was considered a valued asset on the I-HIT unit.

  When other homicide investigators were initially repelled by some of the more grisly murders they encountered, Connie would just shrug her shoulders and say, “Come on, guys. It’s just a body. It won’t bite. Let’s find out who did it.”

  Her cool, calculating mind was in high demand and her presence was requested at many scenes. Some cases were easy. Like the time she listened to the sobs of a couple who told another investigator that their baby had rolled off the changing table and died when her head struck the floor.

  “Arrest them both,” she whispered to the investigator. “Shaken Baby Syndrome. This kid wasn’t old enough to roll yet.”

  Other investigations, like the pig farm, were much more complicated and drawn out, but her energy and determination never waned.

  When she got closer, she saw a police officer trying to take a statement from a grubby, bearded man who was sitting on the ground while holding his head and rocking back and forth.

  She recognized the chubby profile of a man peering inside the Dumpster with a flashlight as that of her partner. “Hey, Wellsy! What have we got?”

  Wells turned around and said, “Hi, CC. You tell me. A lady from the apartment building heard a homeless guy screaming like he was being killed. She called it in. Turns out that Homeless Harry was Dumpster-diving when he found something other than empties.”

  “Homeless Harry got a record?” asked Connie.

  “Nothing serious. Uniform know him. They say poor Harry has a ton of psychiatric problems and is an alcoholic, but is also as gentle as a lamb and generally avoids the human race. Don’t think this will help him any.”

  Connie used her own flashlight to look into the dumpster. A distorted face of a girl stared back at her from a ripped garbage bag. She appeared to be naked and was in a fetal position with her hands up near her mouth.

  “Been dead for a while,” said Wells. “Most of her skin is abscessed and rotting.”

  Connie used the end of her flashlight to nudge open the plastic bag a little further. “You’re wrong,” she said. “Check out the blood. This body is fresh.”

  Something else about the body did not seem right to Connie—then she saw it.

  “Take a look Wellsy,” she said, using the beam of light from her flashlight as a wand.

  Wells stared for a moment and said, “I see it! What the hell?” he said, stepping back. “What kind of freak—Jesus! What do we have here?”

  chapter eighteen

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon when Isaac answered his secretary’s call.

  “Doctor Henckel on the line for you, sir.”

  “Put her through ... Aggi! How are you doing?”

  “Good. One more autopsy and I’m done for the day. What can Leon and I bring for dinner tonight? How about I pick up a cake for dessert?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Sarah already baked an apple pie.”

  “Sounds fancy.”

  “No, not at all. Don’t dress up. We’re having our first barbecue for the year. Sarah is going to cook a turkey on the rotisserie.”

  “That’s why you invited me! You want me to carve!” laughed Aggi.

  Isaac chuckled and replied, “Hey, you’ve been a pathologist for the last twenty years, I figure you must have learned something!”

  “We’ll bring some Sauvignon Blanc,” said Aggi. “See you at seven.”

  Aggi returned to the morgue as Connie Crane arrived.

  “Good to see you, Connie,” said Aggi. “You witnessing this one?” she asked as they walked over to the body just wheeled in from the cold storage locker.

  Connie nodded.

  “Must be important. Haven’t seen you down here in a long time. Better you than those fresh-faced kids you’ve been sending lately. Half of them can’t even keep their lunch down.”

  Connie didn’t reply and for the first time, Aggi took a close look at her. She saw the smeared mascara and the tear-stained cheeks. “My God, Connie ... what is it? You look awful.”

  “Never made it to bed last night,” said Connie lamely, as she pulled the sheet back. “Look ... her thumb ... she has an extra ... thumb ... growing out of the side of it.”

  Connie’s voice was a monotone. It drudged out of her body like she was a robot talking on slow speed. “My partner thought ... she was a freak ... but she’s ... just a kid.”

  Aggi looked down at the body and took one step back in horror.

  It was seven-forty when Isaac answered his door and invited Leon and Aggi inside.

  “Sorry, we’re late,” said Leon, looking helplessly at Aggi.

  “I forgot the wine,” said Aggi. “Came direct from work ... sorry.”

  The evening slowly progressed from one uncomfortable silence to another. The Isaac’s deduced that Aggi and Leon had a fight. Part way through dinner, Aggie dropped her knife and started crying.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, moving to leave the room.

  “Honey,” said Leon getting to his feet.

  “No,” she said, gesturing for him to stay. “I need a minute alone. I’m sorry, everyone. I’m okay. I just need a minute.”

  Seconds later, Isaac heard the door to his den close.

  “Leon?” he asked.

  Leon shook his head. “Something happened to her at work today. An autopsy she did on a suicide of a child. She’s been doing this for over twenty years. It’s been years since I’ve seen her break down like this.”

  “I’ve had a few tough cases in my life,” said Isaac. “Suicides of children are never easy. I’ll go talk to her.”

  Isaac sat with Aggi in his den and she temporarily regained her composure enough to talk to him. She rapidly told him the details like anyone in her profession would.

  Unidentified Asian female child between the ages of ten and fourteen. Found in a Dumpster in Surrey. Hesitation marks and puncture wounds on her wrists correspond to marks on her hand. Not defensive wounds. She used a thin rod of some sort, likely metal, to puncture and tear open the radial artery in her wrist, causing her to bleed to death. She had been scrubbed ... inside and out with bleach. No DNA. Stomach contents ... nothing ... as was her digestive tract.

  After this, Aggi lost her composure. Through intermittent crying spells, Isaac heard about the torture the child had endured. Aggi’s words spilled out as a mixture of medical jargon and raw human emotion.

  Isaac was stunned as he listened ... and found himself staring at the picture of his o
wn daughter on his desk. Norah ... killed by a drunk driver ... but this ... Lord, why?

  “Obviously victim to a pedophile who is a sexual sadist,” Aggi deduced, while struggling once more to gain control of her emotions. “Marks on her ankle show she was chained. By her condition and the phases of various fractures I would say she’s been held somewhere for at least three to four months. Maybe longer.”

  “Who is the investigator from I-HIT?” Isaac asked.

  “Connie Crane attended the autopsy. Incidentally, Connie said that the loss of sight in one of the child’s eyes, including how that occurred, will be hold-back information.”

  Isaac nodded and said, “Corporal Crane’s reputation is solid, but I’ll still give her boss a call tomorrow. This is not going down as a suicide.”

  “That’s what Connie said, too,” acknowledged Aggi. “Nobody—especially a child, could endure such abuse. Obviously, that is the reason she committed suicide.”

  Isaac agreed.

  They were both wrong.

  Isaac sat in bed reading as Sarah stood in their ensuite, washing off the last of her makeup. He thumbed through the psychiatric text and scanned the page describing the profile of a sexual sadist:

  The sadist wants sexual or psychological domination ... that may include imprisoning the victim through the use of restraining devices such as chains, handcuffs, plastic ties.... Acts performed on the victim may include whipping, electrical shocks, beating, burning, mutilation, biting, urinating, or defecating on the other person ... rape, murder ...

  Isaac pondered over Aggi’s description of the victim. Everything that happened to that girl, except the personal touch of murder ... along with the burning, biting, urinating, and defecation. Then again, the child was washed in bleach—perhaps the last two acts had occurred.

  “What are you reading, dear?”

  Isaac quickly put the book down as Sarah climbed into bed. “Just work,” he replied.

  Three hours later, Isaac got out of bed and slipped on his housecoat. He found himself sitting in his den, staring at his daughter’s picture.

  My sweet Norah, you know the pain that Sarah and I have suffered since your accident. Some day we will be together in heaven ...

  He turned his gaze to the window and out into the night sky. The child that Aggi told me about ... does she have parents? When they find out, what will they feel? Unfathomable, even for me to know.

  He rubbed his eyes and tried to block the images of what that child had endured. Eventually he resorted to saying the Lord’s Prayer.

  “You are faster than a monkey with stolen fruit!”

  Linh looked up from the deck of the fishing trawler to the rope ladder dangling from the ship above. The young woman who uttered the words waved at her, and started her descent over the side of the ship.

  Linh smiled and decided that she had descended faster than even a monkey could.

  Very soon I will be together with Hang—and my new family!

  chapter nineteen

  It was seven-forty-five in the morning when Staff Sergeant Randy Otto received the call from Isaac.

  “Are you still Corporal Crane’s supervisor?” asked Isaac.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Randy.

  “Are you up to date on this Asian child found in the Dumpster?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Randy. “Found the night before last. Corporal Crane attended the autopsy yesterday afternoon. She said it was a suicide but actually ...”

  “This was not a suicide!” said Isaac, harshly. “Try reading section 222 of the Criminal Code! A person commits culpable homicide when he causes the death of a human being through threats or fear of violence to do anything that would cause their death! I don’t have the Code in front of me, but that’s pretty damn close!”

  Randy had never heard Isaac swear before. What brought this on?

  “Sir,” Randy said. “I am familiar with that section of the Code. Your description, as I recall, is accurate. I hadn’t meant that we were treating this case as a suicide. I only meant to inform you of that detail before explaining the unbelievable abuse this kid suffered.”

  “Oh,” replied Isaac. He sighed and his voice softened as he said, “The pathologist on this matter is a personal friend of mine who was over for dinner last night. I am only too aware of what this child went through. I am sorry if I snapped at you.”

  “It’s okay, sir,” replied Randy. “I have two daughters of my own. This case is particularly upsetting.”

  Isaac was silent for a moment as he looked at Sarah and Norah’s picture on his desk. Now when he spoke, his voice sounded saddened. “I have to admit, I didn’t get much sleep last night—and when I did, the whole situation gave me a nightmare.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “I don’t want to interfere with your work. It’s always top notch. I just want to be kept up to date on the details. Anything you need, you let me know.”

  “Yes, sir. At the moment it doesn’t appear that she was even reported missing. We’re checking with schools, hospitals—she has an extra thumb. Somebody must know her.”

  It was noon and Jack and Laura were sitting at their desks, reading volumes of information from Commercial Crime files in regard to a suspected stock manipulation.

  Jack shook his head as he once again glanced at a link-chart where lines and dotted lines told of connections amongst various corporations, companies, and people involved.

  “This stuff is unbelievable,” he commented. “No wonder it takes them years to figure out if they can, or even should lay a charge.”

  “Does give me a new respect for Commercial Crime,” said Laura. “I find it boring, but it takes brains to decipher all this.”

  Jack received a call on his cellphone and quickly jotted down an address. When he hung up, he said, “Come on, time for you to meet someone. It’s my new friend from the Orient Pleasure. She wants to talk in person and only has an hour off for lunch. Sounds urgent.”

  Jack and Laura slowly drove down an alley and Jack stopped the car briefly as Jade quickly climbed into the back seat and lay down out of sight. Jack drove to an underground parking lot where they could talk.

  Jade was polite when she met Laura, but focused her attention on Jack. “I have news,” she said. “But you arrest Mister Dc, what happen to me?” she asked.

  “I told you I could get you out,” said Jack. “Safely. Nobody would know.”

  “I need little more money,” said Jade. “To buy house for brothers and sisters. More time.”

  “If Dúc is arrested, it is unlikely he would be in jail more than a day or two to start with. If the Orient Pleasure were to close, he would have someone re-open it someplace else.”

  “You would allow him?” asked Jade.

  “Our judicial system would allow it to happen. We need very strong evidence to arrest people. It takes time and once Dúc is arrested, he will simply have someone else take the risk. Even if convicted, he would not be in jail long. This is not your concern. Tell us what is going on.”

  “You know Cuóng?”

  “That was ...”

  “He man who take your money when you come to lay with me,” interrupted Jade.

  “I know him,” said Jack, catching a glance from Laura. “The young fellow who works on the front counter.”

  “Yes, that him.”

  Jack coughed to clear his throat and said, “Tell my partner that I did not ... lay with you.”

  “Oh!” A look of concern fleeted across Jade’s face as she looked at Laura and said, “Jack no fuck me. He nice man.”

  Laura looked at Jack, opening her eyes just slightly, pretending that she had doubts.

  “I hear Mister Dúc tell Cuóng he must rent big truck today after work. Cuóng take Tommy and go get more girls to come here.”

  “Who is Tommy?” asked Jack.

  “He work at Asian Touch. He Vietnamese, but no speak Vietnamese. Only English.”

  It was eight-fifteen at night when Jack
and Laura drove their car onto the last ferry of the day, leaving from the Tsawwassen terminal. The ferry was bound for Duke Point, near Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. The cube van, being driven by Cuóng, with Tommy as a passenger, was a few vehicles ahead of them on the ferry.

  Two hours later, they disembarked and headed north on Highway 19 from Nanaimo and west on Highway 4.

  “Think we’re going to Port Alberni?” asked Laura.

  “Could be, but my guess is closer to the ocean where a fishing boat could moor.”

  It was shortly after one o’clock in the morning and they were nearing Tofino before Jack and Laura saw the cube van leave the highway and turn down a gravel driveway leading into the woods.

  Jack continued past the driveway and parked on the shoulder of the road. They didn’t have to wait long. Less than half an hour passed and the truck reappeared, retracing its path and eventually heading east on Highway 4.

  “Back to the ferry,” suggested Laura.

  “Good thing,” replied Jack. “Be hard to explain to Quaile what we’re doing on Vancouver Island instead of listening to whose filing cabinets we’re going to seize in a couple of years.”

  “That’s right,” said Laura. “I forgot. There’s a meeting with Commercial Crime at eight tomorrow morning.”

  “Hopefully, Quaile will think that’s where we are,” replied Jack. “I’ll call Commercial Crime in the morning and say we’re tied up and to start without us.”

  They followed their quarry, catching the first ferry from Duke Point, departing at five-fifteen in the morning. They disembarked two hours later in Tsawwassen and by seven-forty-five they had followed the truck to a residential address in Richmond.

  Jack kept his head turned as if he were talking to Laura and drove by just as Cuóng was backing the truck up a driveway to a home with an attached garage.

  “The truck’s too big to go inside,” said Laura.

  “I’ll turn around and drive past again.”