Goddess of the Night Read online

  Goddess of the Night

  Tasha Dumont

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  Goddess of the Night

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Copyright © Tasha Dumont (2019)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Tasha writes murder mysteries and espionage novels with a tinge of romance, often using a nom de plume. Her characters have strong personalities that dictate the directions that the stories take. Tasha had lived and worked in North America, Western Europe and the Balkans while affiliated with interesting people doing interesting things in interesting places. She was subsequently employed as university and college faculty. These experiences are woven into her themes and plots. When not writing, she is reading, playing chess or backgammon, and taking photographs of intriguing scenes she encounters in her travels.

  About the Book

  Ben McLeod is at his first detachment as a probationary constable when he and his RCMP field training officer, Sue Archer, discover the

  body of a brutally murdered transvestite. It becomes evident that the

  murder is related to the ongoing importation of narcotics and

  commercial crime investigations, and to an undercover operation. Ben

  learns that a university classmate with whom he had close relations is

  connected to Central American drug cartels. Her previous cartel

  relationships are linked to the killing of an undercover officer. This

  connection reveals corruption within policing, government and the

  judicial system. Sue and Ben are left in a quandary—who can they

  trust.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to Judy.

  Copyright © Tasha Dumont (2019)

  The right of Tasha Dumont to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781528918220 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781528918237 (Hardback)

  ISBN 9781528962230 (ePub e-book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2019)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  Chapter 1

  “Ralph, you there?” A commanding voice reverberated off the back wall of the Bayview Hotel office, which obscured direct sight of anyone seated at the solitary desk.

  “I’m here,” Ralph Perry glanced at the digital clock on the display console. It was ten minutes after the hour precisely. With British rail precision, Constable Susan Archer strolled into the office at the exact same time each night with a confident demeanour and a warming smile. She always appreciated the aromatic stimulation of the caffeine and the potential for intellectual conversation. You couldn’t find too many people with post-secondary education working the night shifts. Ralph was the only exception Sue was aware of.

  Some work nights out of choice, either because they like the relative peace and quiet or they just want to avoid plunging into the deep end of the pool of humanity. Others have displeased their bosses somehow, and as a result, have been condemned to Dante’s inferno, or worse, purgatorio.

  Recently, Sue had been condemned to the purgatorio of the night shift because she had annoyed her supervisor by shunning his unsolicited amorous advances. She had registered a sexual harassment complaint with her boss but it was found to be unsubstantiated due to insufficient conclusive evidence and a dearth of corroboration. That was the documented bureaucratic justification for the dismissal of her allegations.

  For Ralph, it was a conscious choice to be the solitary night auditor for the Bayview Hotel. He could see professional paradise, the elusive independent LED light at the end of the intern tunnel that glowed brighter as each shift ended. It was steady employment as he worked to complete courses toward a Chartered Accountant certification.

  “Any interesting personalities or unusual incidents, Ralph?” Sue asked. Her tone tended to teeter between interrogation and titillating inquisition with a smattering of the jovial.

  “Just the usual.”

  “That makes my life easy because I can just cut and paste the details from last night’s report into tonight’s. Even the weather is the same.”

  “Where’s your new partner?”

  “He’s in the car running some plates. He’s very focused on detail and analysis, so should become a good investigator if he can survive the bullshit that rains down from on high. Speaking of which, here he comes now.”

  Sue’s new partner was the perfect poster boy for RCMP recruiting. At six feet two inches, one hundred and ninety pounds of solid physique, and Hollywood handsomeness replete with a square jaw, he would be a magnet for potential recruits to sign on the dotted line. His only challenge, given his commanding stature, was an easy entrance and quick exit from the mid-sized patrol cars.

  If push came to shove, Sue had a reputation of being able to punch at her height and weight, which was a confident five foot eight and one hundred and fifty pounds. She had toned up lately, pumping iron in training for her black belt judo competition. A few of the more hubris locals might continue to question Sue’s authoritative directions, despite her prowess, commanding presence and reputation for standing her ground, but would have second thoughts with her new partner by her side.

  “Ralph, this is my partner in crime fighting, Constable Ben McLeod. Ben, meet Ralph, the night auditor at the hotel.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ben. Are you from BC or are you an import to the west coast?”

  “Good to meet you too, Ralph. Right the first time. I’m a BC boy, born and raised in Trail. Moved to Victoria where I recently completed a BA in Spanish and Cultural Anthropology at the University of Victoria. Joined the Force about eight months ago. This is my first posting and night shift.”

  “Welcome to Lotus Land,” Ralph acknowledged with a gracious bow. “At least working nights, you’ll have the days off to cruise the area. There is something aesthetically pleasing about a summer’s day on the beaches.”

  Ben smiled with an acknowledgement of the tacit reference to the inviting beach scenery.

  “Have you always wanted to be a police officer?”

  “Growing up, I read all of the Sherlock Holmes mystery novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. That pretty well defined my career path. What about you?”

  “Numbers seemed to come naturally to me. I excelled in the maths and finance courses in high school. Like Sherlock Holmes, pragmatic deductive re
asoning appealed to me. It was an easy choice.”

  “Sue told me that you always have a fresh brew of java beans on for the weary travellers and relatively palatable donuts to boot.”

  “A votre plaisir, monsieur. A parade of luminaries meander into the hotel lobby attracted by the aroma of the simmering coffee brewed with the beans that Juan Valdez had swept off the table onto the floor. In addition, I offer a limited yet selected array of succulent day-old donuts for those needing a late-night cholesterol fix but not willing or able to afford first editions off the baker’s assembly line. The owner of King’s Bakery, Joan Kerr, donates them to my cause in exchange for complementary financial advice, and help with her personal and business income tax returns.”

  “Sounds like a fair exchange.”

  What Ralph didn’t divulge was the fact that Joan also passed along titbits of information or just plain unglazed gossip that some of her shadier customers had furtively divulged in exchange for a complimentary second cup that they falsely assumed would accelerate their sobriety. Ralph then relayed selective intelligence that he had vetted for accuracy to the local constabulary in return for extra patrols of the hotel property. The barter economy worked well.

  “I didn’t catch your last name, Ralph.”

  “Perry. Ralph Perry. Not a really exciting name but it suits the appeal of the vocation.”

  “Thanks. Sue also said that you have a regular parade of short-term clients in the parking lot, and occasionally in a select few rooms that are rented out by the hour, fragranced with the air of stale tobacco and bargain-basement perfume.”

  “Oh, yeah. They keep me entertained into the wee small hours of the night. I only wish that they wouldn’t decorate the lot with a sorted array of select clothing, wine bottles and beer cans when cop cars stealthily cruise onto the asphalt like imperceptible fog off the water catching the unwary and otherwise preoccupied off guard.”

  “Speaking of cans, can I ask a favour of you?”

  “Sure, Ben. What?”

  “Can you keep a record of the makes and models, and the times, and what the occupants leave behind? I’m doing some anthropological research on what people discard, artefacts that are left for the jaws of the dumpsters.”

  “Yeah, OK. It’ll actually break the boredom of the night a bit more. I have a couple of regulars. One is a dark blue Ford that tends not to leave anything behind, except cigarette butts. Haven’t seen it this evening though. Another regular is a white Toyota that pretty consistently leaves in its wake decorative exotic lingerie with thrift store tags still attached, and screw-on cap plastic contoured wine bottles. Neither the apparel nor the nectar of the vines is of exquisite quality. Of course, I can only speak with any level of confidence to the wine and not the evening attire. You just missed the Toyota by about five minutes.”

  Ben chuckled as he winked at his new partner.

  “I still have some samples from yesterday morning in the garbage. Wanna sift through it?”

  “No thanks.” Ben’s smile seemed to extend from ear to ear, and was accompanied with lofty baritone laughter. “But most grateful for the gracious offer nonetheless.”

  “Hate to break up this intellectual conversation, guys. Ralph, have you seen Glenda lately? She’s usually working Lower Main Street by now. I haven’t seen her all evening and neither has anyone else. I’m not overly concerned right now but would be much happier if I could account for all the regulars.”

  “The last time I saw Glen was Monday afternoon. Ho Chen, the hotel owner, had asked me to come in early to answer some questions that Glen had about the hotel’s books. He was preparing a response to an inquiry by Canada Revenue Agency.”

  “Who’s Glen? I was asking about Glenda,” Sue interjected.

  “Glen is Glenda, or didn’t you know?”

  “Ah … no,” Sue admitted with a subdued expression of speculation. Not much fazed her. But on occasion, she would cock her head slightly to the right and with widened eyes, raised eyebrows and a sheepish grin, shoot a surprised look. This was one of those times.

  “By day, Glen is an accountant with Coast Accounting. He does the books for the hotel. He’s been one of my mentors as of late, helping me with my accounting degree program. Very knowledgeable! By night, he or she is Glenda the drag queen. On occasion, he takes off for a few days on what he calls business trips.”

  Sue was not a naïve twenty-year-old learning about the facts of life for the first time. Wrinkles covered by her foundation makeup and grey roots disguised by her hair colouring masked the overt manifestations of some rough years accentuated by physical and mental abuse at the hands of her ex. She had joined the Mounted Police on the heels of her divorce five years ago, motivated as much by the need to break away from her previous subservient abusive life accented with infidelity as by her aspiration for financial stability and independence.

  “Don’t look too amazed, Sue. Welcome to the night shift. It comes with the territory.”

  “Not so much amazed as constantly intrigued. Sometimes I think that I’ve heard it all. Then I get reminded that the more I think that I know, the more I know that I don’t know.”

  Ben took a discrete short step backward. His affable smile was replaced with an expression of muted amusement. He acknowledged the context of the implications of the discussion with a raising of his bushy dark eyebrows. Trail was also known for its home-grown luminaries.

  Chapter 2

  As they exited the hotel parking lot and set course for the downtown, Ben caught sight of a dark blue Ford as it slid in behind them at what appeared to be a safe distance.

  “Do you recognise a dark coloured Ford Crown Victoria?” Ben asked as he monitored the rear-view mirror.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Since we left Ralph’s day-old donut and coffee, one has been following us at a safe distance.”

  “Pull over and see what it does,” Sue directed with a forceful voice that left little for individual interpretation.

  Ben slid to a stop and both watched through the rear-view mirrors the other vehicle do the same.

  “I’m going to turn around and back track.” As Ben started his manoeuvre, the other car turned right and sped away at an accelerating rate.

  “Follow and see if you can catch up,” Sue instructed in an even more commanding anxious tone. But by the time they reached the intersection, the suspect vehicle was nowhere in sight.

  “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

  “I gather that you recognise the vehicle.”

  “Maybe. Take your next left and your first right after that.”

  “On it, partner. Where are we heading?”

  As they turned right, Sue uttered in distain, “pull up alongside the dark blue Crown Victoria and stop.”

  As he did, Sue stepped out and placed her hand on the hood and under the front wheel. “Just as I thought. That asshole.”

  Ben queried with a stronger response. “Who owns the car, Sue?”

  “He just stopped and took off on foot. I can smell the familiar fumes coming off the engine. If he wasn’t in such a rush, he’d have parked under his condo which has a secure garage door, but he didn’t have time.”

  “Who, Sue?” Ben demanded in a louder frustrated voice augmented with a direct stare at his partner who, for whatever reason, seemed to be evading the reply to his repeated question.

  “Corporal Bill Kaplanski.”

  “Your previous supervisor?” Ben quizzed for clarification.

  “Yes, one in the same. Ever since I filed the sexual harassment complaint against him and he beat the charges, he’s been following me. I’m convinced that he thinks that he can do anything he wants. I got moved to the night shift while he stayed on days. The shift rotates but he can now harass me in his own car when he’s on the opposite watch. That’s what they call separating the complainant from the respondent. Let’s get out of here.”

  As they turned back onto Lower Main Street and headed to the waterfr
ont, the morning light began to seep onto the horizon.

  “Let’s complete one last circuit before calling it quits for the night,” Sue uttered with an irritated growl.

  The night shift report would be same old, same old, cut and paste from the previous night. They wouldn’t mention Kaplanski’s antics despite the fact that it was an ongoing occurrence. Sue was more troubled at her inability to stop Kaplanski from harassing her than anything else. She could feel the rising tension in her fists that were clenched in a tight boxer’s grip.

  “What’s that?” Sue barked out.

  “Where? What?”

  “Back up. In the alley.”

  The spotlight mounted on the side of the patrol car put the depressing bleak reality into sharper focus. Protruding from behind a garbage bin at an awkward angle were two legs covered in torn mesh nylons. Ben turned the car off at the entrance to an alley as his partner bolted from her seat. Within seconds, he had joined her. They stood in stunned silence. Both beams of their flashlights simultaneously stopped on the bloodied contorted face and mangled neck of a lifeless soul. The smeared makeup suggested that it possibly was or had once been a youthful female looking as helpless in death as she was in life. A jagged gash extended the length of her corrugated neck. The left carotid artery had been brutally severed. What remained of the clothes on the upper torso were sodden with fresh crimson blood that had discoloured her splayed blond hair. Sue bent down and gingerly touched the side of the neck that had not been sliced open to check for a pulse. There was none. The body was warm. The crime scene was fresh. The sweet pungent smell of death had not fully ascended.

  There were only a few circumstances that gave Sue pause. Stumbling onto a brutal murder scene was one of them. She knew interpersonal violence all too well from her own dysfunctional family and malevolent marriage. These shards of memory, both ancient and recent, would not reduce her resolve for professionalism.

  “Call it in, Ben. Cover me while I check to see if anyone is hiding in the alley. Secure this entrance to the alley.”