When Linh finally ran out of words, she slowly relinquished the phone to Pops, who hung it up.

Pops smiled knowingly and said, “Come, there is a special hiding place I must show you. It is to be used if the police should ever come before the proper papers are in place.”

chapter twenty-one

At eight o’clock Friday morning, Laura walked into Quaile’s office. She looked at him in disgust and slowly turned around in a complete circle in front of his desk.

“Hi, Laura,” said Quaile, sounding friendly. “You look fine. There’s no need for you to do this anymore. Your attire is completely appropriate now.”

Laura didn’t comment and turned to leave.

“Where is Corporal Taggart this morning?” asked Quaile. “He hasn’t been excused from this.”

“He’s taking the day off,” replied Laura.

“I haven’t signed a leave form for him! Tell him to get in here!”

“I’m sorry, did you think I meant he was on annual leave?” asked Laura innocently. “He called in sick. Would you like him to bring a note from his wife? She’s a doctor.”

“I want his desk cleaned out before the end of the day,” said Quaile. His tone with Laura was no longer friendly.

“Sure, Quaile, I’ll do that,” replied Laura.

“It’s Staff! You will refer to me as Staff—and do so in a respectful tone!”

Laura placed the palms of her hands on his desk and leaned over so that her face was close to Quaile’s. He instinctively pushed himself back in his chair.

“When it comes to human qualities, you are a very small man,” she said. “They should never give power to a small man.”

The blood rushed to Quaile’s face as he tried to think of an appropriate response.

Laura turned and walked to the door. Just before she left she said, “And another thing, Quaile. I don’t respect you enough to call you by anything else ... except asshole!”

Later that afternoon, Laura sat in a car parked close to the Russians’ apartment. She had a shoebox on her lap and carefully looked at the contents. Believing she had control of her emotions, she picked up her cellphone and called Jack.

“I’ve been sitting on the Russians since nine o’clock this morning,” she said. “They haven’t left their apartment all day. I saw lights come on earlier, so I know they’re home.”

“What about Commercial Crime? Quaile will have your ass if he knows you’re still working on the Russians.”

“Yeah ... Quaile. I saw him this morning. I definitely felt vibes that he doesn’t like me. I bet I’m next on the chopping block.”

“Why? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing, really. It was just the look on his face when I left his office this morning. Call it woman’s intuition. I sensed that he doesn’t like me.”

“Laura, you promised,” said Jack

“I know what I promised,” she said evenly. “We’re close to nailing these two. Don’t worry, we’ll get them before he can push me out the door.”

“Just don’t do anything to jeopardize your career,” replied Jack.

“You once told me that you had to be able to look at your own face in the mirror when you shaved. I don’t shave, but I do put on makeup. I have to be able to look at myself as well.”

“Your record is exemplary. Clean. Don’t go and ...”

“Which is why it will take time for Staff Pendejo to kick me out. Speaking of which, he wasn’t going to authorize leave for you this morning, so I told him you had called in sick.”

“Thanks. I spoke with my new boss on Traffic Services and asked to take next week off. He said it wasn’t a problem and I could back-date the paperwork when I arrived. Sounds like a nice guy. His name is Mike Hewett.”

“Anyone would be better than Quaile.”

“Now my week is clear to help you. After what has happened, I thought we should take this weekend off to clear our heads. Then meet with Pasquali on Monday and do the UC on Giang.”

“Good, that’s what I thought, too. Besides, it will be better to let Giang stew about it. We won’t look so anxious.”

“Set it up with Pasquali for around noon. I’ll call you Sunday night.”

“Jack ... there’s another reason I called. I ... Oh, man,” she said, as her voice wavered.

“What is it? ... Laura?”

Jack heard her sigh, and she said, “I cleaned out your desk for you. I’ve got a shoebox here with your stuff. Coffee mug, pictures of Natasha, your niece and nephew, your little buddy Charlie taking his first step ...” She paused as her voice cracked and she swallowed and continued. “You know, stuff like that. I was going to drop it off for you on my way home tonight.”

“Oh ...” Jack paused as the feeling struck home. Seven years of my life bundled into a shoebox.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done this without asking,” said Laura, sensing his pain. “I just didn’t want the asshole gloating around watching you do it.”

“I was going to come in and do that this weekend. Thanks, though. I really appreciate it. It would have been tough for me.”

“I have to go,” she replied.

Jack heard her crying before she fumbled to shut her phone off.

It was late Friday afternoon when Isaac waved for Connie Crane to come in and take a seat in front of his desk.

“I hope I’m not interfering with your schedule, Corporal,” said Isaac, “but I just called Staff Otto and he said you were in the building and would be the best person to bring me up to date.”

“Yes, sir. Randy called and told me. We still have no idea as to the child’s identity, but our investigation is progressing. Lab results indicate she had close to two hundred times the normal level of dioxin in her blood. This, combined with a birth defect of an extra thumb and other factors, indicates that, in all likelihood, she is of Vietnamese heritage. Not only that, but it would indicate that she is from an area that has been heavily contaminated with Agent Orange. My guess is she was originally from the central part of Vietnam, in the area the Americans referred to as the DMZ during the American–Vietnamese conflict.”

“The demilitarized zone,” said Isaac.

“Yes, sir. That’s it.”

“An extra digit. Surely the Vietnamese must be able to identify her?”

“We’ve checked. As abnormal as that would be here, it is common over there. Many children are still being born with such defects. Others with no limbs. It’s a result of all the defoliant the Americans dropped back in the late 1960s and early ’70s.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Locally, we’re tracking down sexual sadists: people who have a history of lighting pets on fire and the like. But as I’m sure you know, there are easily over a thousand in our area who are on the National Sex Offender Registry and likely that many more that we are not aware of.”

“Learning the identity of this child would be a significant step,” said Isaac.

“Sir, we are trying. I’ve made inquiries with the local Vietnamese community. Some are more than willing to help, but others are either suspicious or afraid of the police.”

“Then step up the pressure on the Vietnamese police. An extra thumb, even if it is common over there—a child is missing. They should be able to narrow the list down. There can’t be that many children who emigrated here from Vietnam who would match this profile. Check with Immigration. I’ll call our embassy in Hanoi if you like, and help get things moving over there.”

“Sir, that has already been done. I suspect the real problem is that the child was likely smuggled into Canada.”

“Smuggled?” Isaac’s mind returned to a conversation he had with Quaile.

“The police over there are being very cooperative,” continued Connie. “But the problem they face is that people are not overly willing to come forward. The Vietnamese government is a communist regime and everyone knows they do not take kindly to their citizens being smuggled out.”