A Criminal to Remember (A Monty Haaviko Thriller) (26 page)

Was she a cop? I looked her over carefully. Late twenties and fairly short but nicely built with hazel eyes and light brown hair. I could see through her white t-shirt and saw lace around the cups of her bra.

She caught me looking at her chest and seemed amused. “Are you done?”

“Ummm. Yes.”

I turned away and decided she wasn’t a cop for three reasons. One, I had never met a cop with lace around the cups of their bra. Two, she had challenged me and cops on tails didn’t do that, they were trained not to react. And three, she was reading
Il Milione, The Complete Travels of Marco Polo: The Yule-Cordier Translation
and I doubted a cop had ever read that.

There was careful printing on the bookmark and I caught part of it.

“Excuse me?”

Without looking up the woman said, “No you can’t buy me a drink and no I don’t come here often and no, you don’t know me. Any other questions?”

“Actually, can I read your bookmark?”

She slid it across to me silently and read it for me, “Seduction isn’t making someone do what they don’t want to do. It is enticing someone into doing what they secretly want to anyway.”

“Thank you.”

She didn’t say anything else and I left. Sometimes all it takes is a single idea to form to jell everything into a cohesive whole. And the bookmark was that idea.

I still had a little time before I had to be at the station and I walked erratically through the downtown streets and thought. Maybe the Shy Man was having relationships with his victims, just inside his mind. Maybe he was loving them in his own, destructive way.

Maybe he was seducing them.

Incidents break down into patterns; that was a basic rule of being a bad guy. It was almost a superstition.

If you’re addicted to cocaine you run out of it eventually. Then you have to rob someone to go buy more cocaine but you run out of it eventually and then you have to rob someone to go buy more cocaine but you … A pattern of behaviour leading to the incident of the robbery. This happens and then this other thing happens.

And sometimes incidents become patterns.

So. Maybe the Shy Man was having a relationship in his sick little mind. He met his victims somewhere or he saw them, somehow he connected with them. Then he sent them gifts, made phone calls, asked them out for coffee and maybe lunch and dinner and so on. All like a normal seduction/relationship.

Which would normally end with the couple falling into bed unless either partner decided against it.

But in the case of the Shy Man in the end the victim was taken apart.

Because that was the incident that ended the pattern and allowed him to start again.

He wasn’t stalking his victims, he was seducing them.

And in his mind they were helping. Because seduction required that the other person wanted to be seduced.

I got to the station with ten minutes to spare and both Brenda and Dean met me with concerned looks on their faces. Brenda spoke through tight lips as she started to brush at invisible fluff on my shirt and jacket.

“We thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“I did.”

Dean looked worried. “This Candy is trying very hard to be noticed at a national level in her industry. She will ask some provocative questions and will expect some provocative responses.”

I looked at them both intently.“Advice?”

They looked at each other and then Brenda spoke. “Go for broke. The station is getting good ratings; this might be your only chance. I say go for it.”

Dean nodded. “It could be your best chance.”

A young dark-haired man in a cheap business suit came and got me, introducing himself as Fred the production assistant. He led me onto the stage where two cameras were locked in place, one pointing at one chair and one at another. Between the chairs was a small table with glasses of water and from everywhere hot, bright light shone down and I regretted my grey suit for temperature reasons alone.

I sat down in the indicated chair and after about ten seconds Candy came out and sat down opposite me. A technician hooked us both up with little microphones attached to lapels and belt-mounted power packs. Candy was wearing a navy blue pantsuit and had her hair done up tightly around her face but the effect was still ruined by her overly wide mouth that seemed to want to smile no matter how cold she made her expression.

“Mr. Haaviko? May I call you Monty?”

“Monty is good. Candy, right?”

“That’s right. Shall we start?”

She was talking to me in a condescending way that I quite enjoyed. I think she thought she had me cold but that was okay. I love it when people underestimate me.

Dean and Brenda stood off to the side with two technicians and someone I didn’t recognize. Lights on the camera turned green.

“Let’s go.”

Candy started, “Good evening everyone, my name is Candy Sawchuck and I am here with Montgomery Haaviko, who is running to be the commissioner of the new police commission.”

She gestured to me and I nodded. “Happy to be here, Candy. Thanks.”

She turned back to the cameras and her smile vanished. “He is also a convicted felon.”

I think she expected me to be shocked. “I am that too.”

“So why should the people trust you?”

I laughed and it wasn’t even forced. “They shouldn’t. But then the citizens should never trust the people in power.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that right now the people have an opportunity to make a change. Up until now the police have policed themselves and now that’s going to change. But my opponent is an ex-cop and if he wins then what will really change?”

This was not what Candy was expecting. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that there is a definition of insanity I quite like. It says that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. That’s what we’re doing if we put cops back in charge of policing themselves. It hasn’t worked before so why should it work now?”

In the sound room Dean covered his eyes and Brenda grinned widely while one of the technicians looked a little stunned.

I was on a roll so I kept talking. “Let’s talk about effective policing. Effective policing is sometimes counter-intuitive to the people involved and that causes a lot of stress, especially for the police themselves. Sometimes what they want to do is not in the best interests of society.”

Candy cut in. “Can you give me an example?”

“Certainly. Imprisonment. Many police officers believe that stiffer penalties result in a reduction in crime.”

“Are you implying it doesn’t?”

“Yes.” I drank some water. “Stiffer penalties do not reduce crime. Check out the countries with the highest imprisonment records: the United States has 715 people per 100,000 behind bars, Russia has 584 people per 100,000 behind bars, South Africa has 402 people per 100,000 behind bars and Canada has 116 people per 100,000 behind bars. So, the United States should be the safest, right?”

“Well, not necessarily …”

“Right. The United States had about 4 murders per 100,000 people, Russia had about 20 murders per 100,000 people, South Africa has 50 murders per 100,000 people and Canada had about 2 murders per 100,000 people. Harsher penalties, more arrests, more people in prison does not mean a safer community. Yet many people are invariably in favour of longer sentences.”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“Because it seems like it should work but it doesn’t. It’s predicated on prevention through fear, and criminals are optimists.”

“They are?”

“They are. They never think they will get caught. But on a regular basis the idea of more prisons and more prison time gets passed around all the time. It’s normal, along with ideas that protecting the police means the same as protecting the community—and that is not necessarily so. Listen to the language being used by those who support more police and longer sentences, they talk about police taking out the trash, protecting society, damage to justice and enforcing the law. There are some very strong and negative words being used here. But let’s be honest, the truth is that the system is doing what it is supposed to be doing—reviewing each case one at a time and making impartial decisions.”

Candy looked intrigued. “And why does the system do that?”

“Our society spreads the blame around when we deal with justice. Which is what our society is designed to do.”

“Excuse me?”

“We say judge, jury and executioner. We divide the roles in criminal cases. We blindfold justice to make sure she is impartial. That is central to our idea of justice. We do not allow judges to rule in cases where they know the accused. We do not allow police officers to investigate their brothers and sisters. We do not allow prosecutors to prosecute people who have murdered their children.”

I drank more water and turned to the cameras.

“So why should we give more power to the police? We should spread the power and the responsibility around even more. Justice is not easy; if it were there would be no recidivism. Experts tell us things that are counter indicative, and following the ideas always generates resistance. And most of the resistance comes from the police themselves, which is normal.”

“I’m sorry Monty, I don’t understand.”

“Okay, here’s another example. In England the police are travelling to areas with high vehicle crime and finding vehicles that are in danger of being stolen. Then they put stickers on car windows to inform the owner that their vehicle is at risk. They even have boxes to mark to inform the owner on how the vehicle is in danger. To many this is counter-intuitive—it tells the thieves what and how to steal.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“But it also forces the owner to take action. It puts a police presence on the street. And it attracts the press so stories like this get out and people start to think about the world they’re in.”

Candy thought about it. “That’s interesting. Is that what really happens?”

“It is. But police resistance to the idea is widespread despite the fact that it is working. Theft is dropping in the areas where the stickers are being delivered.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Okay, now let me give you an example of what I’m talking about right here in River City.” Candy didn’t laugh; I guess she wasn’t a big fan of musicals and had never seen
The Music Man
. “Right now the police union is up in arms over a proposed plan for the service to start cutting the amount of time plainclothes officers spend in investigative units.”

“What do you mean exactly?”

“Units like vice, organized crime and so on. In the new rules detective sergeants could get rotated out after four years, compared to the current five. And constables could get rotated out after one year instead of three.”

“Why is the union complaining?”

“Because they feel that inexperience of officers in the premium units could hamper conviction rates. This is possible. But by changing the rotation rates the service is going to put more police officers with more experience back on the streets—which is where they do the most good.”

“That seems to make sense. But you say the police union doesn’t feel that way?”

“Nope. But they’re offering a possible result by describing the cases falling through, one that may or may not happen. Yet the plan will offer a concrete result—one we know will happen. The more police on the street the less crime you have. Period. I don’t mean police in cars or storefront offices or helicopters or submarines. I mean police on the street, walking around, talking to people, introducing themselves …”

“Hold on. You believe police on the street solves crimes?”

“No. It prevents them.” I took a drink of water and then took Candy’s glass and started in on that. She waited until I put the glass down. “So there are two viewpoints here. One that this will lower the crime rate and the other that it will increase the crime rate.”

“Yes. And the citizens need to hear both sides of the story. But they only hear one voice.”

“And you’ll provide a new voice?”

“Yes. I’ll provide a different voice. I will be a change. And it’s time for a change, isn’t it?”

W
hen the cameras were off Candy shook my hand and said, “That was the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. You have just alienated half of the city.”

“You think so?”

Brenda and Dean came up, both looking stunned, and Dean cut in, “Half at least. Maybe more. Jesus, Monty, what the hell were you thinking?”

I shrugged. “I was thinking of sending a message.”

“What message? That you’re nuts?”

Brenda said, slowly, “No. Not that. Actually I think Monty told the truth. Not that that’s a good idea.”

I nodded. “And fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.”

Candy hid a smile and Dean and Brenda wandered away. The last I heard they were both muttering something about tequila shooters.

I thanked Candy and the technicians and washed my face in the bathroom.

Outside I took my jacket off and hung it over my shoulder. My stomach growled and I realized I was starving so I looked around the parking lot for a hot dog vendor or something but there was nothing. While I was trying to decide what to do I heard a low cough behind me and a voice say, “Mr. Haaviko?”

I turned and saw a small, slight man in his late forties or early fifties about six feet away. He was wearing black wool pants and a long trench coat with a black felt bowler hat on his head. His right hand was in the pocket of his coat, an umbrella was hooked over his wrist and his left hand was open at his side. His face was closely shaved and his eyes were pale brown behind thick-lensed granny glasses. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Yes?”

The right side of his coat swung open and I saw his right hand and for a minute I saw double and felt confused and then I realized he had stuffed his empty sleeve with something to give it a shape and then tucked the empty sleeve into his pocket.

In his real right hand was a huge pistol held at waist level.

My hands became fists and I feinted left and started to move towards him. But he had already pulled the trigger and the gun went boom and something very hard hit me in the chest and knocked me backwards onto my ass