You Have the Right to Remain Silent

A sound like a bomb exploding jolted him awake. Before he could think two black garbed men in body armor wrenched him to his feet and dragged him from his living room. Black visors obscured their faces. He could not see ID tags.

“What’s going on? Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

Silence.

He tried to wrench his arms from their grip. They stopped only seconds to cuff his hands behind him. Fin glimpsed his apartment door as they passed. Inch-thick wood hung in splinters from twisted hinges, destroyed. Fin recognized their gear. They were part of Metro Vancouver Police Department’s Fugitive Apprehension Team.

Fugitive? Why me?

He yelled at the top of his lungs. Somebody slammed his head against the corridor wall. He thought he would pass out as they dragged him to the waiting elevator. Another figure carrying an assault weapon held the door open. If this was a dream, it was a nightmare he’d never experienced. The pain in his head, arms and wrists told him it was no dream.

Fin Marks tried again to ask questions. The man with the assault rifle responded by hitting him in the ribs with the butt. The men holding him yanked him upright. “Enough,” a third man said to Gun Man.

On the street, the men dragged him toward an unmarked windowless black van. The doors opened from the inside and two more from the same team dragged him roughly into the interior. Doors clanged shut. The van moved away with tires screeching.

Try to remember details; height; weight; sounds; smells.

He asked that of witnesses many times. Now he understood how difficult the task was.

“Who are you? Why have you taken me? What’s this all about?” They didn’t look at him.

Height? Both are taller than me. Even allowing for my stocking feet and their deep heeled boots and black helmets it puts them near seven feet tall. With their gear, they each weigh two hundred pounds. Giants.

Ordered to tell me nothing? Who is behind this? He had done nothing to warrant this aggression. A warrant? “I demand to see your warrant.”

Big mistake, Gun Man hit him in the head this time. As he slumped to the van’s floor he hit his head and passed out.

Fin didn’t know how long he had been unconscious. It must have been short, because he felt the familiar steep down-slope of Trans-Canada Highway heading to the Iron Workers’ Memorial, Second Narrows Bridge. The van moved at high speed. It wove in and out of traffic.

To Metro Central jail?

When they yanked him out of the van, he hit his head on the frame. His stomach heaved. He sprayed its contents on the two behemoths holding him. They swore, but he didn’t apologize. He was dragged through unfamiliar halls and deposited him like a load of refuse in an interview room. The cuffs on his hands were reversed to the front and hooked through a loop on the steel-clad table firmly secured to both a wall and the floor. His mouth tasted as if he had drunk from a sewage treatment plant in-flow pipe. He had never tasted it, but he had smelled one. The memory was indelible.

Not a cell? They’re ready for an interview this soon? Try to think how to handle this.

The effort to turn his wrist and check the time set off spasms up and down his arms. He put his head down on the metal table. It felt chilled; soothing to his forehead. The door banged open and vibrated as it hit the wall beside it. Two men entered. Fin recognized one. This one had a reputation for tunnel vision and willingness to seek easy answers.

Just great. This potential ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ has turned into an oncoming train.

“Anything to say before we charge you, Detective Marks?”

“Phone call.”

“Get him a phone,” Tunnel said to the other man.

“Not in here. I’m entitled to a private phone call. I want it now.”

They removed the cuffs from the table loop. Then they moved him to an empty office and left the cuffs off. “Press 9 for an outside line,” Tunnel said.

Fin assumed they would record the call. He hoped Call Display on the other end would make it possible to locate him. He knew Tunnel could ID who he phoned. A digital desk clock flipped to the next minute. 3:05 a.m.

A sleepy voice greeted him on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Dad. Sorry about the time. I need your help.”

Fin heard David Marks rise from bed and leave the room. “Fin? Are you OK? Where are you? What’s up?”

 “I’m not 100% sure where I am, but I think it’s Metro PD Central. I recognize it from the gasoline smell in the garage. They dragged me from home; jammed me into an unmarked van and drove here. I can’t get any answers. I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Get hold of Arne Thorvaldsen and ask him to represent me.”

“Why Thorvaldsen? He’s a criminal defense lawyer? Is this because of the video on the news last night?”

“What video?”

David Marks paused a long time. “They saw you attempting to abduct Cass Walters on her way to Court.”

“What the Hell are you on about? Abduct? I grabbed her, yes. But she was late for Court and tried to run across Smithe Street through lunch hour traffic. I picked her up before she put a foot off the curb. I carried her across the street and set her down on the other side. I crossed with a light to do it. Damit, Dad, whatever you saw, it was no abduction.”

“Come on, Fin. You know I believe you. But that video is very convincing. No question it was Cass. That auburn hair of hers gave her away. Your gait told me it was you.”

The events replayed on fast forward for Fin. Whoever it was who took the video didn’t catch the entire event. Cass ended up safely on the south sidewalk. There she screamed at him and shook her fist, turned and stomped up the Court-House steps and out of sight. The last he saw of her was the red soles of her Louboutin shoes. The gaze of people watching tracked him as he returned in the original direction. They glued cell phones to ears. He should have thought of videos and documented his experiences with a note. But to whom?

“Fin, I have to ask again. Are you sure you want Thorvaldsen? He’s a Pitt Bull. And he doesn’t always win.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. Have you forgotten what I went through with him when I was a witness for the Prosecution in the Dowden murder trial? He grilled me for two days, but it proved to me how thorough he is, and how hard he works for a client. Must say I’m not sure he will take my case, whatever it turns out to be.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m sure the novelty of having a seasoned detective from Metro PD Major Crimes will pique his interest immediately. But a caution first. Hiring him with the pedigree of his clients might send the wrong message. I don’t recall anyone who thought his clients innocent.”

“Then this will give him and the public something different. The whole thing stinks, Dad. They won’t tell me a thing. If you hadn’t seen that video, I wouldn’t have a clue.”

Grandma K saw it and raised the alert.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. Nobody in our extended family or your team at work will believe whatever BS they ladled over you. I’ll call Thorvaldsen. He owes me.”

“He does?”

“Long Story. This isn’t the time. Do you have a plan while you wait?”

“Say nothing.”

“Exactly. Don’t mention the video.”

“Why not, if it could clear me now?

“Because Cass Walters is dead, Fin.”

“That can’t be. How?"

“It isn’t clear. There is nothing official. I’ve alerted my investigator to track down all he can. A witness said Cass jumped from her twentieth floor balcony.”

“That’s impossible.”

“We don’t want it to be true either, but…”

“Stop right there. Heights terrified her. I’ve seen her close to paralysis at the thought. I’ll put money on the fact she never went onto that balcony, ever.”

“But she climbed trees on the Walters’ farm.”

“Yes. She hid in the crabapple trees to get away from her abusive father and brothers. Getting down was an entirely different matter. James and I got her down many times. Ask Grandma Kearney. She knows, because she went up Cass’ favourite tree and got her down. There is zero possibility Cass Walters jumped.”

“Say nothing about that history now. Keep it for Thorvaldsen.” David Marks rang off. Fin forgot to tell him he had a raging headache. As he set the receiver down, Tunnel erupted into the room. “That’s it. One call. And it’s over. Come with me.”

***

This time they took him to a cell. The sound of the lock was familiar, but not from this side. They emptied his pockets. His watch and belt taken too. His tie and shoes were at home. Standard procedure left him clothed yet feeling naked. Thorvaldsen’s arrival could be hours or half a day. Central had a reputation for forgetting where it put prisoners waiting to speak with a lawyer. A cop wanting to speak to a lawyer might insure he’d be lost even longer. Fin sat on the slab bed. He rested his pounding head against the wall to savor its chill.

The wait turned out to be short. “Somebody to see you, Marks,” a uniformed officer said. Fin him followed to an unfamiliar interview room. Arne Thorvaldsen was there and involved with installing a small device on the table. He stopped his task and shook Fin’s hand.

“That’s for white noise,” he said and pointed to the device. “How are you doing?”

Normally Fin would have answered, “Fine.” This time, with the pain in his head, he replied truthfully. “I feel terrible. My head is splitting.”

Thorvaldesen stepped closer and looked into his eyes. “Heard you vomited. Any dizziness, loss of consciousness, or sensitivity to light?”

“Yes, yes, and yes. And my mouth tastes like a sewer. Why?”

Thorvaldsen didn’t answer directly. He went to the door and spoke to the officer on guard outside. “Get the Duty Sargent here. This man needs to see a doctor. Do it now.” He closed the door and spoke to Fin. “I think you have a concussion. While we wait are you up to filling me in?”

“I need to while it is fresh in my mind.” Fin told him everything from being snatched through events of the ride. He went into detail about how and why he was with Crown Prosecutor, Cass Walters. “My Dad told me what happened to her. There is no chance she jumped. I know it. My grandmother does too. Cass did not jump.”

The telling took some time. Throughout it Thorvaldsen kept looking at his watch. “Where is that doctor?” He opened the room door and yelled the same thing down the corridor. A man sitting outside the door jumped to standing.

“I’m the doctor.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“I was told I had to wait.”

“I’ve got news for you. Doctors get priority. Remember that for future. I need you to examine my client. I suspect he may have a concussion.”

“Nobody checked him earlier?”

“No.” He said it with disgust.

The doctor checked Fin’s vital signs, asked targeted questions, and made some notes. This time he stepped to the hall and yelled, “Sargent. I’m transferring this man to the hospital.”

“Good,” Thorvaldsen said. He held up a hand to stop Fin from objecting. “Do you intend to charge my client, Sargent?”

“Not at this time.” No hesitation.

“I thought not. Fin, come with me. We’ll get you to Vancouver General.”

As they walked down the hall to collect Fin’s belongings, Thorvaldsen turned to the Sargent, “Please tell you supervisor to expect a call from me later. I doubt he will want it. In the interval he can prepare whatever it is he plans to cover your collective asses with.” When he was alone with Fin he said, “Now your job is to relax as much as possible. You father told me he has his investigators digging up information. I’ve begun the same through mine. Let us sort this out.”

The cop in Fin refused to let go, and he tried to object.

“You’re a suspect now. Not a cop to them. You need to let go.”

***

Fin’s parents, Eli and David Marks, met him at the entrance to Vancouver General Emergency. Eli nodded to an attendant guarding a stretcher.

“I don’t need it Mom.” The look she gave him told him he wasn’t in charge. He glimpsed Thorvaldsen’s attempt to stifle a smile. She smiled at him and reached out to shake his hand. Fin thought she said, “We must stop meeting here.” This time Thorvaldsen and his father laughed.

Fin’s mother took his hand. “You need to relinquish control now. Let the experts take over. I contacted a neurologist. He arranged for a CT scan for a start.” She signaled to the porter, who insisted on helping Fin onto the stretcher. He lay back to observe overhead directional signs. It was second nature to him to know his path if he needed to find starting position. The twists and turns made him dizzy. He stopped resisting.

The room was a surprise, a private one. He seldom thought about his mother’s senior position in health care administration. She hadn’t been a nurse here in years, yet she seemed well known.

A nurse hooked him up to monitors. A lab tech drew multiple vials of blood. Vital signs taken moments earlier were retaken again and recorded again. When he requested medication for the hammering in his head, the response was, “Not yet. You must remain awake for now.”

After the staff left, he lay back and closed his eyes. The noise of hospital monitors was an irritant he found soothing this time. He knew if his heart rate and breathing fell too low, somebody would come quickly to ensure he wasn’t sleeping. Let them.

Fin’s thoughts returned to events of the last twenty-four hours. Cass’s murder would not be his case. Vancouver Central wasn’t his division. Any attempts to assert himself would be rebuffed and viewed with suspicion. Eli Marks was right. He needed to let this go. And he couldn’t.

He knew he would do whatever it took to work the case. And he knew he would find the murderer after Metro Central declared it a cold case. His goal was not to avenge the gruesomeness of her murder. Some cops would see his work as zeal to put a feather in his cap, or to carve a notch of another case solved. He had to do it for the terrified, trembling child whose face he still saw as she clung to a branch high in a crabapple tree. He helped her then, would try again for her passionate spirit.