They had to walk around the library in ever expanding concentric circles for nearly half an hour before they found the shoe prints again.
"Here," Fraser pointed at the near invisible mark of the tip of a shoe. Triangular, the barest smudge. "That's the dress shoe."
"What's this?" Ray wasn't as confident as Fraser, though he had been learning. Inuit tracking skills turned out to be strangely transferable to an urban environment. They should teach it at the academy... "It looks like Sally's shoes?"
Fraser nodded, then dropped to his knees.
"You realise if your doctor came along and saw you doing this he'd be pretty sure that you weren't cured?"
"I imagine that's correct Ray." He was moving along on all fours sniffing.
"Please don't lick, please don't lick..."
On the other side of the road a young couple pushing a pram glanced over, then hurried on.
"You know, Benny, sometimes I think you're doing this deliberately just to humiliate me... first time I ever saw you do your sniff and lick routine you were putting it on to trick someone."
"Was I Ray?"
"Yes, you were. So what I want to know is this... am I the butt of some Canadian joke?"
"No Ray, no you're not."
"Alright, so what have you found out?"
"Not much. They struggled, she must have fought hard because the drops of blood there..." he pointed, "appear to have splashed from this point," he indicated again, "which is where he was standing."
"Good for her."
"Yes. Unfortunately for her, someone came along to assist her assailant here, a fat man apparently, and Sally disappears there, where we have tyre tracks. From their girth the tyres probably belong to a haulage truck. Unfortunately," Benny finally got to his feet, looking as discouraged as Ray had ever seen him, "unfortunately for Sally the track grows cold here because the road is so busy... a hundred trucks or more must have gone down this road in the last week."
Ray sought to reassure him. "Yeah, so like you say Benny, we don't have that much." The famous Vecchio cheek offensive might cheer his friend up. "You've got enough here to write her autobiography."
"You mean biography Ray. You can't write someone else's autobiography."
"Yeah, whatever. Listen, let's get this info down to the station, whatcha say?"
Fraser nodded his affirmative, and Ray pulled out his car keys. He jauntily twirled the keyrings and walked over to the riv with a spring in his step. It felt good to be finally getting somewhere.
...
Simmons is waiting for them as they break down the door. He has thought of running, of course. That is what one does when pursued by angry mobsters on the one hand, and vengeful police men on the other. He's heard about the raid on the dry cleaners, and knows that whatever is going to happen will happen soon.
He sits in a wooden chair, facing the door, with a loaded gun in his hand. If Wong's men come through the door he is going to shoot himself in the head. If the police come through he is going to hand himself in. It is a form of Russian roulette. He is actually smiling as he strokes the smooth metal of the gun. He has never risked his everything before. It was always someone else's life on the line. It feels strange to finally be the one balanced on the edge of infinity, but he must have known this day would come. He has never felt the blood fizzing in the tiny capillaries of his fingers and toes before, and he has never before loved the beat of his own heart.
He hears them tramping up the stairs, even though they are supposed to be quiet. Police then, he thinks, too many to be gangsters. Gangsters would come by two or three at the most. However, he has engaged in chemical warfare against the police and they must see him as little better than a terrorist. Therefore the police in this case will be coming with a whole crew, a battering ram, gloved and booted, in full body armour. Gangsters could glide in and out and not be noticed. Everyone notices the cops.
He hears his neighbours closing doors, argued conversations dropping silent, and feels that sullen malaise that comes upon rough neighbourhoods when the law turns up.
He has lived in these kinds of dumps for fifteen years, since his research project failed, and all those unfortunate deaths ruined his reputation forever. He could never return to the scientific community, but he has no skills, no skills to live like this at all. It wasn't his fault that he'd become the kind of man he is, a fixer, a tinkerer, when he could have changed the world. This job for Wang, that would have been it. He would have been free to go where he wanted. But now the room, chilly with damp, and smudged charcoal grey with mildew has become so beautiful to him.
He keeps smiling at the door.
Whatever happens now he'll never be alive like this again.
He keeps the gun to his temple, just in case he has miscalculated, and fixes his eyes on the door.
Bang. The sound sends a shock wave through him, reminding him of what he holds in his hand. The metal is slippery against his palm... sweat, he thinks dispassionately, and lightly touches the tip of his tongue to the skin beneath his moustache, to taste the salt and know that he is still alive. His mind is clear, but his body is terrified of the gun.
Bang. He jerks again.
Bang. The door is down, and the cops swarm in.
…
Things started moving when they brought Simmons in. The poisoner, or as he called himself the analytic chemist did not just start to talk, he poured out information in a flood, giving them his formulas, explaining which plants and insects he had derived the active ingredients from, and the best counter agents. He spilled his guts about Wong, everything he knew about him, to everyone from Elaine to the FBI.
And then Elaine had Vecchio on the line, and the look on her face stopped everyone in their tracks. Welsh started barking out orders, sending people to the library, shouting, "don't contaminate the evidence, we need some prints back." And when the team returned grinning from ear to ear everybody knew that they had enough on Wong to actually bring him down.
The mood became celebratory, practically festive.
"Try not to mess it up this time, boys," the Lieutenant told the FBI, causing maximum embarrassment and irritation all round. Welsh contained his grin. It was worth it to see the guys squirm.
When Vecchio and Fraser came into the bullpen they were greeted by a wall of applause. Fraser bent his head, nervously rubbing his eyebrow, and Ray stretched out his arms in a tee shape, turning around in a circle to take in the whole room, gesturing with his hands, 'go on, keep it up.' The noise eventually abated, to be replaced by manly claps on the shoulders, and variations on the theme of "well done."
Welsh was leaning at an angle against his office door, massive and bullish, arms folded across his chest. It was hard to tell, but it almost looked as though he was smiling.
"Pleased to see you back to work, Constable," he said, gruffly, "we were worried about you."
"Well, yes sir, thank you sir... I was rather worried about myself."
"Any after effects?"
"Well, not as such. I'm still somewhat fatigued, but I'm sure a decent night's sleep should mend that."
"Well, before you take your well deserved rest, you might as well hear what's been going on." There was no doubt about it any more, Welsh was definitely smiling. "Following your lead at the library we did indeed find several sets of finger prints. Cleaners and librarians of course, but also Mr Wong's."
"That's great," Ray enthused. "Did you get the two kids fingerprints?" He shook his head. "What am I thinking, they won't be in the system, they're not perps."
"No, we didn't get their fingerprints, but the library's records show that they were both in the library that day."
"So," Ray said, "all we have to do is bring in Wong."
"And bring in the victims," Fraser added. "Remember how unhelpful he was last time? He won't tell us where he's hidden Bao and Sally."
Ray looked at the Lieutenant. "I think we should follow him sir," he said, "we can keep this thing quiet for a few hours, I think we should have someone tail him and see where he leads us."
"He must already know that we've taken in Simmons," Welsh said, "but I don't think he'd guess that Simmons would talk. He probably thinks he's got more on Simmons than the other way round."
"Yeah, makes sense," said Ray. "Understood," said Fraser.
Welsh looked at them appraisingly. "Are you two up to it? You look beat."
"We're fine," Fraser said, earnestly, then, sounding as though he was quoting someone, "we started, so we'll finish..."
"Yeah, you need a Mountie on the case," Ray said, and grinned slyly, throwing in his own quote. "You know what they say, they always get their man."
Welsh spread his hands out in a benevolent gesture. "All right. We'll put you and some other guys on it, but be careful out there. And you," he glared at Fraser. "I know I'm not your boss, but I want to be real clear on something... you've been through a lot, so no heroics, okay?"
"Understood."
Welsh sighed, then pushed himself from the door frame, and walked to the middle of the room. "Can I have everybody's attention please?" He glared around the bullpen until utter silence fell. "This is the plan. For the next few hours nobody is allowed in or out except on important police matters. No nipping out to buy donuts, nothing. And no bragging on the phone to moms and wives, okay? We're going to keep this tight, and to ourselves for the next few hours. Now, I'm going to need a few good men to join Vecchio and Fraser here. Sadly I don't have them, so I'll have to make do with you lot instead. Huey, Louie..."
As Welsh called out names and organised details Fraser leaned sideways to Ray and muttered, "you know Ray, I'm sure I've mentioned this already, but that's really not our motto... Mounties often get our man, but not always. You were quoting a film."
"Yeah? They made a film about Mounties? Who'd want to watch Mounties on screen? You're all so... red. You'd give people headaches."
"It was a black and white film, Ray."
"That's even worse. And I take it it was a Canadian movie?"
"Yes Ray, it was."
"So a black and white Canadian film about Mounties."
"Yes Ray."
"And that's where you get your slogan from?"
"Well, not exactly, the movie popularised an already extant cliché. However our actual motto is 'maintain the right,' or as the French have it 'ma...'"
"Vechio, Constable Fraser... if you don't mind joining the rest of the class?"
"Thank you Lieutenant!" Ray grinned. He loved Benny, but sometimes the guy could rant...
Welsh scowled round the room for silence and rolled out a map.
"Okay boys," he said, ignoring the fact that one of the detectives assigned to stake out was a woman, "I'll want cars here, here, here and here. I want you all to remember what you learned in basic training, but more importantly what you've learned on the streets. If he makes any of you for cops then we might well lose our chance of finding out where these kids are stashed."
He looked round and nodded. They were intent and focussed. They would do.
"Okay people, move it, move it." He shooed them from the room.
At the first moment's silence he looked up at the ceiling. Hi there God, he thought conversationally, I know we don't talk a lot, but I'm sure you understand. There's not a lot of point talking to someone you don't believe in. But just in case I'm wrong, could you help us get these kids?
He went back behind his desk. It felt like a great big anchor, pulling him down. He knew that he was desk bound by necessity, that he was good at this stuff. He was envious though. Tonight it felt like the real police work was out there.
…
"We're moving," Huey's voice crackled over the wire, and Ray sat up alert behind the wheel. "Okay, he's heading past the library, turning right... we're going to peel off now. Okay, whoever is by the docks, you should be seeing him about now."
Fraser leaned forward, staring through the darkness, with his hat balanced on the dashboard. "I see him."
"Okay, we've got him," Ray confirmed. "He's just made a left turn, looks like he's heading to the warehouses."
Fraser knuckled his forehead and muttered, "he doesn't have any warehouses listed here. I thought he might have them stashed on one of the boats."
"He's probably put them somewhere we can't trace, a property under a false name, or an associate is holding them for him," Ray said. "We mightn't have found them even with a warrant to search his business records." He put the car gently into motion. Sadly, it wasn't his beloved riv, but then A, he didn't want to risk her, and B she did stand out a bit. For once he was driving at a speed that didn't make Fraser nervous.
Up ahead Wong's smooth lined limo eased to a halt. Obviously he had no idea he was being followed, or he'd have chosen a more inconspicuous vehicle. Ray parked up at some distance from the scene. The inside of the car was thick with silence. Ahead of them Wong was talking to his driver, a very thin woman, and to a very fat man who judging by his broom appeared to be some sort of janitor. The woman laughed. Ray couldn't hear it, but he could see it in the way she tossed her head, and the flick of her hair. Once courtesies were out of the way they went in.
"He's gone into warehouse seven," Ray put it through, "we're going after them." Quickly he snapped off the walky talky before somebody could order them to stay in their vehicles. In less than a moment Ray and Fraser were out of the car and running, bent low, staying close to the sides of buildings.
Pausing behind a big dumpster they took a breath. There in front of them was a side door, a way in.
"You reckon this is safe Fraser?"
"No, Ray, not particularly."
Ray laughed under his breath. "Back to normal then?"
"Yes Ray." Fraser smiled, and took the moment to put his hat on. "Back to normal." Then he smiled, made a hush gesture, and began to creep forward. Ray was right behind him.
…
Sally is cradling Bao on her lap, and gentling him with her awful Chinese, and he's laughing at her through the pain, and trying to sing. He's hot, and very dry, and she thinks this might be the end.
Wong walks through the door, and she stops. She doesn't want that man to know their intimacies. She is fury incarnate, wants to kill him, but her legs don't seem to be working any more, and she doesn't move.
"Well, what a touching scene," Wong says. "You look like a Pieta. Though we all know that you're no Madonna."
She says nothing, stares sullen beneath her brows.
…
"What's this crap," Ray whispered, brushing dusty whiteness from his coat. "It's not more soap is it?"
Fraser traced his fingers across the dusty powder and licks. "Rice dust, Ray."
"So all those bags?"
"Rice, I would assume."
"Great, because the last thing we need is for the place to go off like the Fourth of July again."
"Absolutely." Fraser pointed. "You see those tracks?"
The dim light of the warehouse was taking some getting used to. Ray squinted in the gloom. "Not really."
"Wong's associates seem to have gone that way, and Wong himself is through that door."
"Where will the kids be?"
Fraser sighed. "We'll have to guess."
Ray sympathised with his friend's anxious expression. Guess work wasn't always Benny's strong suit. "Well, my guess is that Wong has gone to see his guests. He wouldn't travel all the way out here just for the view."
"When will backup be getting here?"
"Shouldn't be long. Ten minutes?"
Fraser looked at the door, biting his lower lip. "That might be too long," he said.
Ray nodded. "After you," he said.
The two men began to creep towards the door.
...
"You know," Wong says, casually, as though they were having the most normal of conversations, "I'm glad that you two met. Under normal circumstances you, Miss Cooper, would never have come to my attention. But you know, you did hurt Harry. He found me, you know. Tragic, really. If you had never left him for this unfortunate young man then Harry would never have betrayed you."
No, she thinks, he'd have married me for my inheritance instead. "He's not doing this for love," she says, tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth, "just the money."
"Well, that's an honest ambition, don't you think?"
She curls her lip, and wishes she could spit.
Wong laughs and pulls out a gun.
…
The door eased open, and Fraser stepped through it sideways. He saw the girl's eyes register his arrival, and lifted a finger to his lip. In front of him Wong was steadying his aim, gun pointed at the young couple. Fraser launched himself, a full body tackle, and brought his enemy to the ground. The gun went off, two, three times, harmlessly punching holes in a large sack of rice which began to bleed its contents to the floor. Ray had stepped in immediately behind Fraser, gun at the ready, but on seeing the kids (my God, they're children he thought) ran to their aid, skidding slightly on the rolling grains.
Fraser was mirandizing Wong, using the man's tie to bind him to the radiator. Ray was unbuttoning the boy's shirt, trying to cool him down. "Benny, do you know where there's water? These kids are burning over here."
Fraser turned to respond, then saw a shambles of a man coming through the door. His belly hung over slack tracksuit bottoms, and he wore, incongruously, a T-shirt with a picture of Christopher Lee as Dracula. "Are you finished in here now boss," the man said in Cantonese. Wong called back in English, "what the hell are the cops doing here, did you let them follow you?" The fat man fully entered the room, gun in hand. He stared, slack jawed, from his boss to the two cops, to the two kids, as if trying to figure out who to shoot first.
"Put down the gun," Fraser said in Cantonese. "You don't want to do this."
The man looked frightened and not very bright. He was blinking a lot, with a childish look on his face. The kind of poor schmuk that gangsters take advantage of, Ray thought, the slow kid who the bullies bait into taking the blame.
Fraser was thinking of him as Lenny from Of Mice and Men. He continued to speak to him gently in Cantonese.
"You don't want to shoot us, do you?"
The man shook his head dolefully.
"So, why don't you put down the gun?"
"The boss will be angry."
"I'm already angry you bloody idiot!" Chang shouted, again in English. Amanda didn't speak Chinese, and he knew that if he gave her warning she would run. The last thing he needed was for her to be captured and give testimony against him. Then in Cantonese he gave the order, "shoot them, shoot them now, or they'll have you and your mother arrested."
The large man gave a watery blink, and looked at the police again with suspicion hardening behind his sad eyes.
"We won't harm your mother," Fraser said.
"He's lying," Chang said, "you know the police. They're the same in any country."
Lenny, as Fraser was thinking of him, set his jaw, and raised the gun. "You won't hurt my mother," he said, and stepped back.
And stepped back...
Right onto the glossy white pool of rice. It rolled beneath his feet with a thousand tiny ball-bearings and he fell backwards against the sack, gun discharging at the ceiling.
"Sorry, sorry boss..." The bag had split completely under his weight, rice pouring everywhere. He looked around at the mess, apologetically, and throwing the gun down started trying to sweep it up with his hands. Ray came up to him, cautiously, and knelt by him. He gave Fraser a puzzled look, then took Lenny gently by the wrists and cuffed him. The man made no effort to resist, mournfully continuing in his attempts to scoop the spilled rice back into the damaged sack.
Ray looked at Fraser and gave a wry grin. "Useful information," he said. "Always remember to spill rice when arresting a Chinese vampire."