An Ordinary Decent Criminal (6 page)

Thompson got up and started to pace. “Okay. So we’ve got an unsigned confession.”

Thompson had his pad in hand and kept doodling with his scratched pen. Apparently it still worked. Montblanc made good pens, I’d have to remember that. He continued, “So how do we get the confession thrown out? Assuming you never made it.”

“I never made it. The cops got nasty. There was a Detective Walsh and two other cops, one with bridgework in the front of his gob and the other with an anchor and a cable tattooed on his arm. They beat me, swabbed pepper spray in my eyes, shit like that. I told you that last night.”

Thompson looked a little sick.
He swallowed it. “Great. Prove it.” He doodled some more before speaking again. “Chemical tests for pepper spray?”

“Good. However, it would take two or three days to get it set up with a qualified lab. By then the evidence would have been washed out. Next.”

“What about bruises?”

“No good. Maybe they happened before I was arrested. Who can tell?”

Thompson scratched the top of his head with the blunt end of his pen. “What about damage to your kidneys? Yours were pretty badly bruised, from what the nurses are saying.”

We were both quiet and then I spoke up. “Could you get the doctor in here?”

Thompson left and I closed my eyes until he came back, dragging a young Chinese man wearing a knee-length white coat and holding a clipboard. He looked about eighteen and I realized with a sinking feeling that he probably was a doctor and that just made me feel old and tired. The doctor stared at me peacefully while listening to Thompson, who said, “So I am the lawyer for Mr. Parker here. He was beaten by the police last night. We need a medical opinion and you are his physician, correct?”

“Yes, but . . .”

It was a lawyer trick to end statements with questions. It was supposed to force participation but, in this case, it just seemed to irritate the doctor. He turned to address me.

“Mr. Parker. I am Dr. Leung. Good morning. You caused a considerable disruption.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Well. Do you remember me, Mr. Parker? You were delirious when you came in.”

He went to the foot of the bed and held his clipboard in front of his groin.

“Not very well. Thank you, by the way.”

Leung showed very bad teeth in a vague smile and tapped his clipboard with his forefinger. “How are you doing?”

“I’m in a lot of pain.”

He made a note. “I will ask the nurse to bring you something.”

“No. Thank you, though.”

He hissed loudly and read the notes at the foot of the bed. “You are very stubborn. Okay, Mr. Haaviko, or is it Parker?”

Thompson answered him before I could. “His name is Parker and we would like to know about his health.”

“Okay, Mr. Parker. I can answer some questions, but I am not an expert in . . . forensics, I suppose. For this reason, my value in a court would be minimal. You are not in danger but you will be in pain for quite some time. Your kidneys are bruised, practically ruptured, and we will probably have to put you on dialysis for a period of time. Do you understand?”

He was lecturing me, which was fine, so I nodded and answered. “It’s a mechanical means of cleaning blood when the kidneys don’t work.”

Leung put the records back and walked around to where he could hold my wrist. His lips moved as he counted off the pulse and then he listened to my heart with a stethoscope. “You seem to be in extremely poor physical condition. May I ask why?”

My first instinct was to tell him to fuck off but I swallowed it.

“No secret. I was hooked on crystal meth, coke, and other stimulants up to about nineteen months ago. I popped ’em in the skin, injected them in the vein, snorted ’em, smoked ’em. I was also a casual abuser of morphine, heroin, other downers, but that was never as serious. I managed to kick but it’s taken a toll.”

He sat there and blinked quickly like he was sending some kind of message. “So that explains your general aversion to drugs.”

He looked me over and flashed bad teeth and worse gums, and then turned to look at Thompson. “Well, what is it that you wish to know?”

Thompson spoke up. “Could he have hurt his kidneys himself?”

“No. The bruising is considerable and he would have become unconscious long before the required amount of damage was done.”

“Could it have happened before the arrest?”

“Of course, it’s hard to tell exactly when a wound occurred unless it killed the patient. If death results, then there are physical processes that stop and that allows a determination of the time of death to be made. The injuries could have happened yesterday, maybe earlier if Mr. Parker took it easy. After the injuries were caused, he would have remained conscious for only a little while before collapsing.”

Thompson doodled some more before speaking. “So there’s no way to prove that the damage was done while he was in the custody of the police?”

That tickled a memory so I coughed to attract Thompson’s attention. I asked, “Excuse me, Doctor, but could I have lifted anything heavy while injured, done any kind of serious physical labour before collapsing?”

“No. The injury is much too severe. There was much bruising in the kidneys, torn muscles around them. In truth, I’m surprised you survived, especially now that I’ve learned your history. Street drugs do tremendous amounts of damage to kidneys. They’re notoriously impure and toxic.”

Thompson looked at me pointedly. “So? What’s the deal with the heavy labour?”

“I wasn’t very popular in Edmonton before I left. The cops thought I was running some kind of scam before I left, so did most of my bad-guy friends.”

“I repeat, so?”

“The cops had me under surveillance, possibly filmed, hell, probably filmed. They were looking to bust me back inside on any kind of violation once I was out of the halfway house. Probably their Major Crimes division. There’s a guy named Theophillus who arrested me the last time and thought I should do lots more time. He would’ve run anything they had going.”

The doctor looked mildly interested and I went on. “So, if you act fast and call Edmonton, maybe you can get a copy of the report, maybe even the film.”

My lawyer was looking intrigued. “I repeat, again, so?”

“I loaded the truck in Edmonton. By myself.”

He got the point right away.

“So, we might get film from the cops showing you weren’t injured before you came to Winnipeg.”

He ticked it off on his fingers.

“And the cops say you weren’t injured in their custody but you are injured now.”

I went on. “And, according to the physical evidence, I shot the three men in my house, which meant I was fairly active. To nail that we’ll need to get me a paraffin wax test, which will prove I fired a gun that night. You should also be able to find some neighbors who saw me unload. Plus there might be testimony from the guy at the U-Haul station who took the moving van back. That’s another person who saw me up and about before the arrest. Which means?”

Thompson finished it. “The only place a judge will be able to place the injury is in the custody of the cops. There’s physical evidence showing no injury at any other time. If Dr. Leung will testify.”

The doctor exhaled softly and adjusted the sheet around my feet. “I can testify that someone with Mr. Parker’s injuries could not have lifted any great weight. That I can do.” Then he addressed me directly. “However, couldn’t the police simply state that you had received the injuries during your . . . altercation?”

“Yes. But if that had been true, then they would have, should have, taken me to the hospital or offered me first aid. They would have records for that. Neither happened.”

Leung looked at me steadily with very calm eyes that seemed to have seen a great deal of pain and approved of little of it. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I now have rounds to do.”

He reached for my wrist again and put his forefinger gently against
the underside where the big veins and arteries were, and stared placidly at the space between my eyes. “Mr. Parker, did you poison the young lady who was watching you during the night?”

I could feel my pulse and so could he and I wondered about the possible consequences if the doctor decided I was lying. However, I could answer the question, I could even answer it honestly.

“No.”

He stared at me with happier eyes and I could see tiny crow’s feet in the corners. “Of course not. The young lady will be all right, by the way. The other gentleman should be fine as well. He has a serious concussion, though.”

Dr. Leung tilted his head to the side and I answered.

“He could be dead.”

“There is that. I will check on you later. Were you really beaten by the police?”

“Yes.”

Gee, two questions in a row I could answer honestly, must be a red-letter day. He let my wrist fall to the bed.

“Well, they did a fine job. I’ll talk to you soon. Eat very little. Drink less. Try to rest.”

“How long will I be here?”

Leung smiled. “A week, maybe two. It depends entirely on how well you follow directions.”

After he was gone, Thompson picked up his briefcase and slid the pad of paper into it.

“We’ve got a lot to do, Monty—I mean, Sam. Rest, like the doctor said. I’ll call the Crown right away and she’ll pull the cops back a little if she’s even half bright. The situation last night might put a different spin on matters. I’ll try to put a rush on the court date. Do you need anything, anything at all?”

“Something to read.”

He tossed me a magazine someone had left on a shelf and went on. “You know, we’re probably not going to win.”

He was watching me to see how I felt about it.

“And I wasn’t supposed to live to thirty. And I wasn’t supposed to be able to kick my various bad habits. And there was no way my marriage was going to last.”

“Right. Just so you know.”

He snapped his fingers. “What about your neighbors? Would they have seen anything?”

I could have kicked myself. “Yes. I yelled out that I wanted a lawyer when Walsh arrested me. The cops heard, so did the paramedics and about thirty of my neighbors. It might be worth getting statements, if they’ll give ’em.”

He waited for more but I was tired, so he left. I found I couldn’t sleep, even when they brought me back to my room. I was still thirsty but I ignored it and started to read
Bowhunter’s Digest
. A new cop, a uniformed one, came in and sat in a chair they brought and ignored me. A few hours later, Claire and Fredrick showed up to visit and after that the hospital finally gave me something to eat. It was barely edible but Fred seemed to like it. Claire held my hand and she talked about moving furniture around in the house. Then she broke off on a new subject.

“You know, this is a pretty dumb way for you to spend the third day in our new home town. It’s suspicious, even.”

Fred grabbed the handcuffs on my left hand and rattled them.

“You think I did this to avoid unpacking?”

She nodded solemnly and we both smiled.

The Winnipeg Law Courts were downtown near the provincial legislative building and were an unattractive pile, a mixture of old and new buildings. Half were built of pale Tyndall limestone blocks and half were made entirely of steel and tinted glass, both with tall, narrow windows. Inside, Thompson told me, there were lots of steel barricades, bars, bulletproof glass, metal detectors. I’d been given a temporary release from the Health Sciences Centre with police escort and had been dropped off on the corner with a leg chain hooked through the frame of the wheelchair. Claire and Fred were already at the court and so it was just me in the chair with Thompson pushing and a sparse scatter of pedestrians. Well, actually, it was us two plus six cops in civilian clothes making sure I didn’t make a break for it, and to top it off the sun was out and Thompson was singing Gilbert and Sullivan. Badly.

“. . . felonious employment, lonious employment . . .”

He was struggling with an obvious hangover and seemed determined to ride it out.

“Must you?” I had a lap full of three briefcases and was busy keeping them from falling to the ground.

“Could be worse. I could be singing ‘Sympathy for the Devil.’ ”

He belched and paused to adjust a shoe and then looked up. “We must hurry, though. We have a date with justice. A date with destiny. A date with . . . shit.”

He muttered to himself just loudly enough for the cops around us to hear. “Too much for some, too little for others, too late for all.”

I looked up and saw a crowd of about thirty people with microphones, TV cameras, and still cameras coming towards us from the court entrance. Three of the cops from behind moved to intercept the crowd while the other three stayed close to me. One of them put his hand on my arm and my lawyer looked at him in disgust, and said, “Like he’s gonna run.”

He turned back and his lips moved as he counted. “We’ve got print, radio, and TV bringing up the rear. Not bad. Mr. Parker, let me do the talking.”

In the front of the pack were reporters with micro cassettes; the ones behind had big belt units of recording gear and collapsing poles, while the ones with the TV cameras were far at the back. Cables draped across from battery to microphone and back, and the poles probed up and over to catch every nuance. Thompson, looking grayer, spoke in a loud and booming voice that obviously hurt him. “Ladies and gentlemen. Please, excuse us.”