Prologue

Friday, December 27th, 1972

The Red Dragon Bar, Saigon, South Viet Nam

THE YOUNG US Airman sat alone at a table for two in a dingy bar in Saigon called The Red Dragon. He was in love. On a stool, some thirty feet across from him in the busy room sat the object of his infatuation. or better said, his lust. Regardless, the girl had just noticed him looking at her, and she smiled back at him in a provocative way, prompting him to drunkenly wave back, inviting her over to his table.

He was here with two fellow airmen, the three of them having just finished a huge blunt before hitting the bars. Arthur (never Art, or Arty) didn’t have a clue where his buddies had gotten to, but then, he didn’t really care. The only thing on his mind at the moment was the young Asian as she approached his table.

The three young men had recently returned to base from ‘Operation Linebacker’, a bombing run outside of Hanoi, on December 26th. That particular mission, arranged by Kissinger and Nixon, was designed to break the will of the Viet Cong after the failed Paris Peace Accords in early October 1972.

Arthur was a turret tail gunner on a Boeing B-52 bomber with the US Air Force. On the day of the raid on Hanoi, he hadn’t seen a single enemy fighter jet, hence there was no action for him. His aircraft had never even experienced flak from groundfire, so he had allowed his mind to drift. All he did during the exercise was watch below his perch in the turret as ordinance from his bomber fell and exploded on the Hanoi landscape, thousands of feet below him. Despite the boredom, it was, nevertheless, a bit entertaining. He watched with interest as huge fireballs rapidly appeared, only to be covered in dense, black plumes of smoke which then would sprout upward like psychedelic evil flowers. Then below him, he continued to watch hundreds of tiny figures as they ran helter-skelter, like ants, from death.

Now Arthur was back in Saigon looking for a different kind of action. He had just turned eighteen the day before he responded to his draft call last August, and he was anxious to finally get to DO SOMETHING. To his great shame, Arthur was still a virgin, and he was getting tired of the hazing that he constantly had to put up with from his so-called buddies.

Arthur Fredericks was a loner, a social misfit. He had never been able to attract a girlfriend back in his hometown of Grassdale, Oregon, population one hundred and fifty-four, according to the last census in 1970. Grassdale was your typical smudge on US Highway 97 heading north to Canada. The tallest building in the shit-hole town was a grain elevator and the main street featured a gas station, a pool room, a convenience store, and one set of traffic lights. The only fun thing to do there was to go to the local raceway and watch the suped up junkers smash into each other while he got high on weed. Oh yeah, everyone knew how the town got its name.

The talk was, pretty soon the war was going to be over. He had arrived in Vietnam from Okinawa last year and if you could believe the gossip, they were expecting Nixon to pull out all of the troops by year’s end…then he’d be on his way back home. Too bad. He hadn’t even made a kill yet. Shit, here he was in a war, and he couldn’t even indirectly erase one or two yellow men.

~ * ~

She was a tiny thing, dressed in a skimpy black leather miniskirt, a faded green silk top, and black leather boots that reached to the top of her knees. He shifted his lanky frame nervously as she sat beside him, then he awkwardly asked her if she would like a drink. He was sweating profusely, very much aware of a huge, red pimple on the tip of his nose which he noticed from his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. The girl gave him a shy grin and told him a gin and tonic would be nice. He scrambled quickly to the bar and returned to the table with two drinks which they basically inhaled. In only a matter of minutes, and before he had a chance to begin any kind of conversation with her, she was leading him away from the crowd. They went down a long hallway and past a couple of sketchy washrooms. There they exited the building through a rear service door.

Arthur found himself in a dark alleyway with the girl. The pot he had smoked only a half hour ago, along with the drink he had just finished had definitely messed him up. Shit, this wasn’t what he had in mind, but what the hell. He was beginning to get too loaded to get his thoughts together, so he decided to simply go along with the girl and see what happened as she led him further down the alley.

As it turned out, the girl was Bian Ng. She was the fourth in a series of six girls born to a Viet Cong family in Hanoi. As the result of a US bombing raid in that area only two months ago, every member of her family had been killed. On that fateful day, she had been working in a nearby rice patty. After the bombing she immediately joined the PAVN (North Vietnamese Forces) and vowed revenge for her family.

Bian suddenly stopped halfway down the alley beside a garbage bin and pulled him to her. Then she started rubbing herself against him and he felt her hand between his legs as she impatiently began unzipping his khaki pants.

“You like me do this, Air Force Man?” the girl asked as she knelt in front of him.

Arthur was having a hard time controlling himself and his mind was not aware of anything other than the young lady’s ministrations. Consequently, he did not see nor hear the two dark clad figures that had silently crept behind him. The last thought he had just after the sharp sting in the back of his neck was that he probably wouldn’t be going home to Grassdale too soon.

Chapter One

Friday, April 27, 1992

Kelowna, B.C.

CONNIE WONG knew today would be her last. She knew this, not just as a strong intuition, but as a pure conviction, a certainty. And sadly enough, she was resigned to her fate. Her captor had already demonstrated that he was beyond every sense of evil she had ever envisioned over her short eighteen years. The atrocities he had performed on her during the past two days gave her every reason to look forward to the end.

As much as she wanted to forget everything that had happened over the previous days, her mind would not accommodate her wishes. How could she have been so stupid? He seemed so nice…

Connie was in her first year at UBCO, the Kelowna satellite branch of the renowned University of British Columbia. She was an attractive but shy girl. Her parents had arrived in Canada in 1982, her dad as a research analyst at the Kelowna General Hospital. Typical of most immigrants, over the years both of her parents had imposed very strict measures on how Connie’s social life had developed, or, in her mind, had failed to develop. Ironically, had she not been so eager to get out on her own or maybe if she had paid more attention to what her parents were constantly harping about, she would have avoided the situation in which she now found herself.

She recalled having arranged to meet him at The Shack. He was very handsome and although older than her, he was so cool. He fit in with the younger crowd and he was intelligent. Sadly, she now realized that secretly she had been looking forward to having her folks meet him, and she was sure they would have approved of their relationship. How childish she had been.

They had finished a couple of cocktails over supper, then the last thing she could remember was being pushed through a door, then stumbling down a dark wooden stairway. It was from beyond that area that she now heard someone coughing. This was followed by a loud curse and then a crashing sound like a chair or some other object being hurled against a wall. She didn’t even have the strength to physically react to this sudden outburst. As she lay naked on the fetid cot, shaking in the cold, damp, eight-by-ten room, she could hear him descend the stairs and then the door to the small room opened and he entered.

In his right hand he brandished a large syringe. His black eyes gleamed mirthlessly, and he tilted his head slantwise as he examined her like she was a species of insect, watching her as she involuntarily withdrew from his advance. Dragging the twelve-foot chain that was fixed to her right wrist, she crawled as far as she could from where the end of the chain was bolted to a ring in the center of the floor.

Her captor then told her he was going to be nice to her. He said he was going to administer a drug that would ease her pain. This, she knew from yesterday’s experience was a lie. Oh, the pain would be absent, temporarily at least, as he did his ‘work’. But the administration of the drug was certainly not the result of any form of compassion. Not hardly. And then when the drug wore off, as it inevitably did, her pain would return at an even higher level. He simply did not want her dying in shock. Not just yet.

“It’s only opium,” he said. “Surely you are familiar with opium?” he sneered, emphasizing his use of the second-person pronoun. He gently held up her head and showed her the instrument that he had been hiding behind his back, as if he wanted to surprise her with a present. He smiled broadly, then a maniacal giggle escaped from his mouth as he approached her. Behind him, she could see his reflection in a mirror on the wall facing them. The huge black and red dragon tattoo on his back seemed to ripple as he moved closer.

~ * ~

The digits on Iggy’s radio alarm clock had just rolled over to read 03:06 A.M. when his telephone simultaneously roused him from a sound sleep. It was Saturday, far too early for him to rise on a cold and rainy, late April Canadian morning. He looked over at his wife with a little envy. She was softly snoring on the opposite side of their bed, oblivious to everything around her. Heather, in her role as Head RN at the Kelowna General, had finished a grueling eight-hour shift at midnight and she was dead to the world. It dawned on Iggy that it had been some time since they had enjoyed each other in the physical sense. It was either Heather’s late-night work schedule at the hospital or his own weird hours, as was the case at the moment.

“Nat here,” he said.

“Nat, this is Captain Henderson. I know it’s very early, or late I guess, depending on your perspective, but I want you and your partner at a crime scene ASAP.  Over at the lakehead off of highway 97. It’s a bad one I’m afraid. With Gerry and Muldave still on vacation we’re running short, my friend.” He then went on to give Iggy specific directions.

“Yeah, copy that Cap’n. What are we looking at here?” asked Detective Ignatius Miles (Nat to his superior officers on the Kelowna Police Force, Iggy to his close friends).

“A young female, Asian. We think.”

“You think?” Iggy had to ask; he was still half asleep.

“Just get your ass rolling, Detective.” Henderson’s tone had changed suddenly as he responded curtly. Iggy noted his anger. Captain Dave Henderson rarely let the job get to him. His attitude while communicating with his staff usually reflected a calm demeanor, so Iggy immediately sensed this was not going to be a ‘normal’ homicide. Then Henderson must have realized he was being unnecessarily abrupt with one of his lead detectives, as he continued in a more moderate tone.

“Nat, there was no ID on the Vic, and there was a lot of mutilation. Whoever did this was definitely sick. The body was discovered in a large garbage bag by a couple of late party goers up there. They were driving home on their way back from The Shack in their ATV. Christ, they almost ran over it on the beach.”

He was referring to a location north of the city of Kelowna that was familiar to Iggy. It was on the north shore of Okanagan Lake, an eighty-mile-long narrow body of water that was a huge tourist draw for the city. Known for its excellent fishing and watercraft recreation in the summer, it was also home to Ogopogo, the famous lake serpent of Canadian folk lore.

“Forensics are on their way as we speak,” Henderson continued, “and Constable Doug MacLean is there now. He received the initial call-in and has preserved the scene for them. And Nat? I know your twenty is coming up and I also know that I don’t need to say this, but I will. There’s a very bad guy out there and I want his ass. You and Jake are our best, so let’s do it by the numbers, okay?”

“Roger that, Cap. I’ll call Jake right away. I’m sure he’s gonna love me.”

~ * ~

Nat Miles and Jacob (Jake) England were looking forward to retiring this year, both having entered the Kelowna Police Department on the same day in June 1972. Two decades ago, the two had oddly ended up in Kelowna as guests of the Federal Canadian Witness Protection Program, the result of their role in an international drug bust in Alberta, British Columbia, and the states of Montana and California.

At that time, they were simply a couple of young musicians from New Brunswick who had traveled to Calgary seeking to make a name for themselves and their rock band, Fusion. On arriving in Calgary, they had discovered that a close friend whom they had hoped to meet up with had been murdered the same week they landed. The boys had determined it was the result of his unfortunate association with a couple of small-time cocaine dealers. Driven by a sense of justice for their friend, they had been informally ‘utilized’ by two street-weary Calgary PD homicide detectives. An undercover operation was initiated that took them into the center of a cocaine drug operation that stretched from Calgary to Vancouver, then stateside to Whitefish, Montana, and finally back to Calgary where the detectives were successful in apprehending the major criminals.

After the bust, and to protect them during ongoing investigations, the CWPP had set them up in one of their available safe houses in Kelowna. Following a successful terror-filled battle against a two-man mafia hit squad that was connected to the bust, they each had the good fortune to meet the loves of their lives in Kelowna. They had taken up careers for which, as it turned out, they were well suited and were fortunate to find themselves surrounded by people they loved. Now, twenty years later, they were both getting tired of the dark side of life constantly hovering about them, creating far too much cynicism in the lives of the relatively young detectives. They were ready to retire.

Since joining the Kelowna Police Department, Jake had sporadically taken criminal law courses at the University of British Columbia (Okanagan) over the years. He had also complemented that with a Bachelor of Teaching program. Hard work and a natural ability to learn had paid off, and last year he had started giving part-time courses in criminology at UBCO. The plan at retirement for Jake was to continue teaching, maybe even write a book.

While Jake was involved in furthering his law enforcement career, Iggy had followed his main passion in life, continuing to hone his musical skills. In that regard he had become a gifted guitarist, locally appreciated for his abilities. He was now the go-to guy for the weekly lessons he provided to the aspiring youth in the area. Indeed, their original band Fusion still played on a quasi-regular basis at the Kelowna Community Center and other less frequent venues, offering up cover tunes from the ‘60s and ‘70s, straight up rock. The two of them often wondered how they were able to mix this pleasure with the diametric of their chosen profession. Yet, it worked. In fact, the large local following they had established in a relatively short time was a testimony to their abilities.

As a plus, they were even able to provide informal counseling to young male strays from their ‘groupie’ contacts, as required every now and then. Frequently, Iggy in particular received visits from young males seeking help with today’s normal societal problems. Drugs, self-esteem, girl problems. He was seen as a cool guy with authority who was approachable, handsome in that rugged Steve McQueen way, and Iggy in turn easily took to the role.

Jake was concerned that Iggy and Heather still had not started a family. He knew Iggy loved kids, and earlier on when they had first joined the force, he had confided in Jake that he was looking forward to having a family. So, something went wrong, and Iggy never brought the subject up again. Jake was reluctant to pry into that part of his life, so it went unspoken. Ah well, all in due course. He’d wait for the appropriate moment and maybe broach the topic with Iggy then.

Suzie England was not happy as she reached for the telephone which was rudely ringing on her side of the bed. Why was the phone on her side? She grumbled to herself for the umpteenth time as she looked at her clock radio. It was 03:21 A.M.

“Sorry Suzi, it’s Iggy. I need to speak with Jake. We’re on the job…”

~ * ~

A half-hour later they were heading north on Highway 97 toward the head of Okanagan Lake, some 90 kilometers away. Their drive would take them through Vernon, B.C., then west across the lakehead.

“Do you get much grief from Suzi when we gotta roll out at this time of day, Jake?”

“Ah, you know, Ig, the usual.” Jake knew this kind of conversation was going to lead into something he’d just as soon try to avoid. From previous discussions on the matter, he knew it was a sore point between Iggy and Heather. In truth, Suzi took the weird work hours in Jake’s career quite well and to indicate this to his partner, would only be pouring salt in the wound. So, he let it pass.

Following the instructions given to him by Captain Henderson, Iggy took a left on a dirt road at a designated point toward the shore of the lake. When they arrived at their destination, they saw that klieg lights had been set up on a large sand dune, glaring in bright relief through a fog that had settled on the beach an hour earlier. All was quiet save for a muted conversation that could be heard from where the kliegs had been erected as Iggy rolled his cruiser closer to the scene.

After Iggy parked the department issued unmarked Chevy, the two detectives walked the remaining distance of some fifty feet over soft sand toward the two men who were busy putting up a tent canopy. It was being used to cover a black garbage bag from which an extended pale arm could be seen. Jake was suddenly struck by the impossible contradiction in images that he was witnessing. On one hand, here was the beauty of Okanagan Lake, its waters now quietly lapping against shorelines of pure white sand, surrounded by the greenery of lofty firs, pines, and cedars. On the other was this garbage bag containing the result of an atrocity that one sick human being had performed on another.

“Hey John, Cap’n says we have a bad one,” Jake said to the taller of the two men as they approached the forensics team. Like Jake, John Briggs was a veteran of the department for over fifteen years, and he had seen his share of unmentionable crimes committed in that time frame.

“Morning, Jake. Yeah, it’s bad. Hope you haven’t had breakfast yet,” he grimaced.

“Hey, Jake, Iggy.” Another officer somberly acknowledged the two detectives as they entered the circle that had been hastily constructed with wooden stakes and yellow tape with ‘do not enter’ police markings.

“Henry,” Iggy nodded to the officer and looked at the bag in front of him as Briggs’s partner Henry Allen carefully unfolded the black plastic to reveal its contents. Iggy then turned his attention back to John.

“Talk to me, John,” he said, deadpan. John was the senior forensics man, and it was his role to outline to the detectives what the two had established thus far.

“Well, Nat. It looks like she was murdered in another location and brought here by boat,” said Briggs. He pointed to bare footprints in the moist beach coming from the lake. The forward moving prints preceded drag marks left behind by the garbage bag being pulled to where it now lay. The footprints circled the bag once, then went back to the lake’s edge. A deep indent in the sand at that area indicated a boat had either been pulled or driven onto the shore.

“What’s this about?” asked Jake, pointing to a set of four large-sized tire tracks that came from the northern part of the beach right up to the body, then swerved abruptly around the bag and continued on a south-easterly course.

“Yeah, looks like an ATV came across the body then continued on. I believe you’ll find that it belongs to the guy who called this in. Check with Constable McLean, Jake. We sent him home earlier.”

“Sure, John, sorry to interrupt. Please continue.”

“Apparently death only occurred several hours ago, since rigor mortis has not yet occurred,” Briggs’s latex gloved left hand lifted a limp arm and dropped it, and he resumed his account. “The Man will soon be here though, and he’ll confirm that,” he added.

Before he could say anything else, they heard another vehicle approaching the scene and they all looked up to see the Chief Medical Officer’s van arrive. A young, athletic looking Asian got out of the van and they were blasted by the melancholy introductory chords of George Bizet’s opera classic, Carmen, until it was muted by the van’s closing door. The young Asian hurried over in a confident manner to join the group. Briggs and Allen both looked at the detectives and Jake thought he saw Briggs give him an eyeroll as he went back to the job of examining the body.

Tommy Ling was new to Kelowna, having been hired only last July by the city. He was from Vancouver and had apparently earned his creds from the East Side of the metropolis as the Assistant Medical Examiner there. While he had a somewhat arrogant attitude at times which in truth bothered some of the officers in Kelowna, Iggy and Jake, both took him in their stride and let him do his work.

“Okay folks, make way, I’m here,” Ling ordered the group, and they allowed him access to the body. The next half-hour was spent with the medical examiner doing his thing while Jake, Iggy, and the forensic guys scanned the immediate area looking for anything suspicious that the killer might have left behind. Aside from the footprints and drag marks, the area was clean. Briggs and Allen began making casts of the prints for future use. When they finished, they joined Iggy and Jake by the vehicles.

“Whoever brought her here was not a huge man,” said Briggs. “Probably five-ten or so, around one-seventy. One interesting item though, he only has four toes on his right foot.”

Tommy Ling finished his on-scene work and joined the foursome. He lit up a smoke, surprising Iggy, and Jake. For some reason they had taken him for a nonsmoker. As he exhaled the smoke from the Player’s Light through his nose, he spoke to them.

“We have a young female Asian, probably eighteen or nineteen. She has been repeatedly raped. Both of her eyes have been surgically removed and she has suffered from a number of flesh burns all over seventy percent of her body. I would guess at this time a Bic lighter made them or a small torch of some kind. Death occurred just around midnight last night. From a quick visual, I’d say it was due to suffocation. That’s all I’ve got now folks. We’ll know more after the post.” With that, he flipped his cigarette away from the tape-enclosed crime scene and went to his van.

As usual, Iggy and Jake were left with more questions than answers. Tommy was so damn clinical in his delivery. He was like a robot. Jake knew he had to be like that. Otherwise, the work would surely eat him up.

The mournful cry of a loon came to the detectives from somewhere on the lake as they returned to their vehicle.