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  SAMURAI

  CODE

  SAMURAI

  CODE

  A Jack Taggart Mystery

  Don Easton

  Copyright © Don Easton, 2010

  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 (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  Copy Editor: Shannon Whibbs

  Design: Jennifer Scott

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Easton, Don

  Samurai code / Don Easton.

  (A Jack Taggart mystery)

  (A Castle Street mystery)

  ISBN 978-1-77070-451-0

  I. Title. II. Series. III. Series: Castle Street mystery

  PS8609.A78S36 2010 C813’.6 C2009-907482-6

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program, and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

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  1

  It was seven o’clock in the evening and the last Sunday in June when Constable Sophie White opened her locker. She had completed her first week on the job after graduating from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police academy in Regina. She was thrilled to have been transferred to the RCMP Detachment in Surrey. Less than an hour drive to Vancouver, it was one of the largest and busiest detachments in British Columbia.

  She glanced at the mirror hanging on her locker door and caught her own impish grin, betraying her excitement. Combined with her young face, she wondered if it gave her a look of innocence, revealing her lack of experience. She frowned, then hardened her jaw line and tried to look stern. Well, that didn’t work! At least my uniform is crisp and clean. Everyone will respect that …

  She put her holster, containing her Smith & Wesson 9 mm semi-automatic pistol, in her locker and closed the narrow metal door. Her hands fumbled with the padlock before the sound of the click told her it was locked. She knew she was a little nervous. Before going home, she had to meet with her supervisor.

  If she knew the horrific terror that awaited her, she would have wanted to curl up in the fetal position inside her locker and stay there. Her belief that everyone respected the uniform was about to be erased. Her journey home was about to become a journey to hell.

  “You did well this week,” said her supervisor, as Sophie approached his desk.

  “Thanks, Bob,” Sophie smiled back.

  “Caught a fourteen-year-old kid in a stolen car,” said Bob, glancing at the notes he had made. “Smoothed out three domestic disturbances and nailed one guy with two kilos of B.C. bud. Not bad for your first week,” he added, matter-of-factly.

  Sophie smiled again.

  “You handle a car well, too,” he added, focusing his attention on Sophie’s face. “City traffic doesn’t bother you?”

  Sophie shrugged and said, “I was raised in Calgary. If I could handle the Deerfoot Trail on a Friday night when half the rednecks are going home with a few beers under their belts, I’m confident I can handle the traffic here.”

  A flicker of a smile crossed Bob’s face before he became serious. “You are confident. But perhaps too much so, after that little incident an hour ago.”

  Sophie felt her cheeks flush. They had been driving through an industrial area when two cars raced away from a gravelled lane near some warehouses. Sophie had instinctively accelerated in hot pursuit. She had spun the steering wheel hard to turn down another lane in the hope of intercepting their quarry. Bob yelled for her to keep going straight, but she believed her shortcut would save valuable seconds and was anxious to show her ability. Halfway down the lane she slid to a stop at a gate blocking her path. Bob stared at her, with his arms folded across his chest. By the time she turned the car around and headed back, it was far too late to catch anyone.

  Sophie sighed and picked an imaginary piece of lint from her uniformed pants. Up until an hour ago, everything was going so great. She swallowed and looked at Bob and said, “I didn’t know the lane was —”

  “But I did,” interrupted Bob. “When I give you instructions, I expect you to obey.”

  “I’m sorry,” stammered Sophie. “It won’t happen again.”

  Bob looked at her long enough for her to feel more uncomfortable, before continuing. “You were caught up in the excitement of the chase. Next time, try to stay calm and listen to what I say!”

  Sophie nodded, feeling the heat prickle her ears.

  “At least the kids didn’t finish the job,” said Bob and Sophie nodded in agreement.

  When they returned to the warehouse they saw where cherry-red graffiti had been sprayed on the side of the building — GRAD 20.

  “You’ve only been here a week,” said Bob. “The kids around here know the area a lot better than you do. Make it a priority to change that. Whether you’re working or on days off, pay attention. Get to know your area. Learn which businesses are open late and when they close. Know which places have night janitors and which don’t. Recognize those who are delivering pizzas or newspapers, and those who are casing places for break-ins. It takes time. You’re new. The punks know that and will test you.” Bob paused and saw that Sophie was paying close attention. Her face was still flushed, revealing her regret. “Okay, enough said. You can go home.”

  “Thanks, Bob.” Sophie glanced over at some other officers who were running out of the office to answer a report of an injury car accident. She turned to Bob and said, “I’ve got some paperwork to do. Maybe I’ll hang around a bit.”

  Bob hid his grin. I was like that once. Never wanted to go home. The work was my life … until I discovered that those I arrested were going home sooner than I could finish their paperwork. He knew Sophie would learn about that soon enough. “Suit yourself, but I’m out of here. Next week we’re working seven to seven nights. Believe me, if you think this last week was busy, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  Later as she drove her Ford Focus hatchback home, Sophie thought about Bob’s remarks. She glanced at the envelope on the seat beside her. She had written to her mom and dad, telling them about her first week on the job and had tucked the note inside a Father’s Day card. She felt guilty that the card was already a week late, but told herself that at least she had found the time to call.

  Sophie scanned the street corners for a mailbox. Bob’s right about me not knowing the area. I don’t even know where a mailbox is. No wonder the kids made a fool out of me tonight! She checked her watch. Only nine o’clock. Not tired yet. With a determined look she drove back to the industrial area. One thing is for certain … within an hour or so, I’ll know every alley, road, exit, building, and damned gate within that area!

  Sophie was about to learn that nothing about life is certain. Not even survival.

  ***

  Melvin stood between two parked vans. With his hand inside his jacket, he stared at the front of the medical clinic, situated in the heart of Vancouver. It was twenty past nine and the sun was setting, but at the bottom of the skyscrapers, the shadows had already converged. Soon it will be night. He felt comforted. Darkness is my friend.

  Melvin continued to stare through the glass. Is she working tonight? Just then he saw Dr. Natasha Taggart enter into the waiting room. He took a step forward, but stopped when she disappeared down a hall.

  Natasha saw the slight lull in the waiting room as an opportunity to call her husband on his cellphone. He was also working that evening. Come to think of it, thought Natasha, he actually started work at eight o’clock this morning.

  Jack answered, but immediately asked her to hold. She could hear him talking to someone in the background. Female voice, probably Laura.

  Natasha hadn’t bothered to ask Jack what was going on when he called her that afternoon to say he would be working late. He worked on the RCMP Intelligence Unit in Vancouver. Constable Laura Secord worked for him, but was also his partner. Their work was secret. At least Jack tried not to bring it home but sometimes it followed him.

  Natasha felt herself tremble when she recalled how close she had once come to being murdered by some gangst
ers who intended to trap her husband. She intentionally pushed the memory from her mind.

  She heard the female voice again and smiled. It is Laura. Jack was very fond of Laura, but she wasn’t worried. She had also taken an instant liking to Laura, who was married to another Mountie.

  She trusted Laura and knew that Jack thought of her like a sister. Most men wouldn’t. Laura had long curly hair with a natural mixture of reds and gold that reminded Natasha of the leaves in autumn. She also had a body that would make any Hollywood starlet jealous. The important factor to Natasha, however, was that Laura was both intuitive and intelligent. For that, Natasha was thankful. Both Jack and Laura were seasoned undercover operatives whose lives often depended upon each other. There was no room for stupidity.

  “Sorry, hon, I’m back,” said Jack.

  “Just called to say hi,” replied Natasha. “You sound busy.”

  “Very. How about you?”

  “It’s quiet. Stuck my head in the waiting room and it’s actually empty for the moment. Think I’ll run out and bring a muffin back from the deli. You going to be home tonight? Should I wait up?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Jack. “Call me when you get home. If I don’t pick up, leave a message and I’ll try to get back to you. I have to go. Love ya.”

  ***

  Constable Sophie White slowly drove past the graffiti on the side of the warehouse. For Sophie, it wasn’t only graffiti. It was a sign of her failure to catch the kids responsible. Next time I will be ready. Next …

  For the next hour, Sophie drove through a maze of roads and lanes that dissected the industrial area. Not having seen another person or vehicle during the entire time, she was curious when she spotted headlights of another vehicle reflecting off the glass windows of a nearby building. Hmm, kind of late for traffic to be here now. She quickly parked her car and shut it off as she watched. Have I been seen? Hope not. She saw it was actually two cars, one immediately behind the other as they slowly meandered through the maze of warehouses. They’re back to finish the job!

  It appeared to Sophie that they may be checking to make sure they were alone. She felt her adrenalin surge as the cars drove toward her. She ducked down but peeked out over the dash as they continued past. She saw two figures in the lead car and the silhouette of one person in the car following. The cars slowed and turned down a side road.

  Her view was blocked by a large warehouse, but when the cars did not reappear, she knew they had stopped. She smiled. They had parked within a two-minute walk of where she was. Okay, kids. You’re about to be caught red-handed. She thought of the colour of paint the kids had used and snickered. And I do mean red-handed!

  Briefly, she thought about her gun back in her locker … But these are just kids. She was still in uniform, but decided to take out her leather wallet containing her shiny new badge and identification card. She couldn’t resist flipping it open and the leather emitted a small creak. I think I’ll have the desired effect! Still, mental note. Buy myself a cellphone. She smiled at the image she would soon present to her colleagues when she returned to the office in her car, followed by two cars with what were sure to be red-faced kids.

  She got out of her car and quietly closed the door before creeping toward the warehouse. She kept to the shadows, her journey to hell coming closer with each step.

  2

  Natasha hurried from the clinic, stopping briefly at the employee parking lot to get a sweater from her car before going to the deli. Her silver Nissan Altima was parked next to a van and she consciously looked around before approaching her car. The clinic was located in a high-crime area and being cautious was second nature. She didn’t see anyone, so she retrieved her sweater before locking and closing her car door. The light scrape of grit from a man’s shoe behind her told her she was not alone.

  She spun around and saw a man step out from behind the van. It was difficult to see his face, silhouetted by neon lights from behind, but she could see he had long hair and a beard. His hand was tucked inside his dark nylon raincoat. Raincoat? Hot for this time of year. And it hasn’t rained in over a week.

  “Who are you?” demanded Natasha, hoping the authoritative tone of her voice would hide her fear.

  The response was an unintelligible whimper and he scurried out of sight behind the van. Natasha breathed a sigh of relief and she recalled a patient she had last treated months earlier.

  “Melvin, is that you?” she asked.

  There was no response but Natasha could hear him panting as his fright level increased. She made a wide arc around her car and came around the side of the van so that the lights were behind her and she could see his face.

  “Melvin Montgomery! It is you! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Melvin glanced furtively about.

  Natasha knew that Melvin was neither an alcoholic nor a drug addict. His many illnesses were psychological. Among them, anthropophobia, also known as fear of people and fear of society.

  With some people, anthropophobia would come and go, but with Melvin, it was a constant presence. He had a morbid aversion to human contact. It caused him panic attacks, shortness of breath, rapid breathing, irregular heartbeat, sweating, nausea, and an intense feeling of dread.

  By nature, Melvin was gentle and much too afraid to seek help or remain in any environment where people were nearby. It was not an easy life. A life that forced him to live in a doorway in an alley, his existence dependent upon a few select Dumpsters behind the area restaurants.

  Natasha had encountered and befriended him before. The first time she had helped him, he had made it as far as the entrance to the waiting room, but when he saw the other patients, he wouldn’t come in. The receptionist became alarmed at the sight of a vagrant with an old green sleeping bag draped around his shoulders loitering outside. She notified Natasha, who went out and discovered he was suffering from an infection caused when he was bitten on his chest by an injured cat that he found. She allowed him to enter through the rear fire-escape door.

  A few days after that, Melvin returned after someone roughed him up and stole the antibiotics she had prescribed. His trust for her had grown enough that he had stepped inside to let Natasha re-examine his chest in the corridor. Maybe tonight will be easier, she thought.

  “It’s okay,” said Natasha. “I see you’ve been waiting for me. I’m here now. It’s okay. Are you hurt?”

  Melvin stared at Natasha for a moment before slowly taking his hand from his raincoat and holding it out. Blood seeped from a dirty rag wrapped around his hand.

  “Looks like I better take a look at that,” said Natasha. “What happened?”

  “I fell,” mumbled Melvin. “In a Dumpster. A piece of tin,” he added for explanation.

  Natasha sighed, not so much at the injury as to the predicament that caused it. “You should come inside so I can have a better look. You might need stitches.”

  Melvin looked at the clinic and shook his head, retreating farther into the shadows as two people strolled by on the sidewalk.

  “It’s okay,” said Natasha. “There is nobody inside the waiting room. I’ll walk ahead and make sure we’re not bothered.”

  Minutes later, Natasha had achieved some success as Melvin followed her into the clinic, but before she could examine him, he sought refuge in the rear washroom.

  As the minutes ticked by, Natasha heard the receptionist talking to some newly arrived patients.

  “Melvin?” she said quietly. “You have to come out. You can trust me. I’ll make sure nobody hurts you, but you —”

  The door unlocked and Melvin stepped out. He glanced around and saw Natasha was alone. “I wasn’t hiding from you,” he whispered, glancing nervously down the hall. “I saw you were scared of me when we were outside. I know I don’t look so good. I’m sorry.”

  Natasha saw that Melvin had wet his hair and slicked it back from his face in an attempt to look nicer. She smiled and said, “You did scare me, but that was before I knew it was you. I don’t need to be scared of you, do I?”

  Melvin looked concerned, shaking his head, then caught Natasha’s smile. He gave a small smile out of embarrassment at the irony of the situation and lowered his head.