“Ah, the intrepid Canadian,” replied The Shaman. “I wondered if you felt he would be worthy.”

“He has many connections,” replied Lee. “Furthermore, he has never been convicted of any criminal acts. He is welcome to travel anywhere, including the United States.”

“He is like you,” observed The Shaman, “in that you have no criminal record.”

“Somewhat different,” noted Lee with a smile. “Goldie, like Wang, controls a large gang of barbarians. The drug business is different than our other, more corporate, enterprises. Goldie and Wang did not make their way to the top by relying entirely on their intelligence. They are both personally familiar with the use of … lethal persuasion.”

“So, his resumé is different from yours in that you have never had to soil your hands with another person’s blood,” said The Shaman.

“I suppose so,” mused Lee, “but I do respect his intelligence, nevertheless. He has never been convicted and it has been years since the police even came close to catching him. And that was not in Canada. Since then, like your past analogy of the onion, he has developed many layers of protection.”

“Despite what you think, if he is to fill your position, he will not do so without proper screening, including a polygraph.”

“Most certainly. As you have taught me about the onion — the closer you are to the middle, the more intensity exists. If you do not wish to fly someone in, here in Vancouver are several firms that offer the services of lie detectors for corporations.”

“We will decide at the time, but you will mention it to him within the next few days. I will be spending a week golfing at Crown Isle in Courtenay on Vancouver Island. I hope it is as luxurious as the Internet makes it out to be.”

“I have never been there.”

“Perhaps next time I will invite you to accompany me.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, we will meet again next week before I leave Canada. I will wish to know how Mister Goldie reacts to our proposal and the security measures we require. He knows a great deal about us. If he refuses, I would see it as a serious problem.”

The Shaman’s eyes glanced through the glass window of the balcony to where Da Khlot was seated inside before adding, “Should that happen, as Mister Khlot has said, to keep him would be of no benefit.”

“I see no reason that he would refuse. I didn’t,” added Lee with a smile.

“No, you didn’t. And if all goes well, you will be stepping through the last layer of the onion yourself. The protection will be for you as much as for me.”

“He will be scrutinized carefully,” said Lee. “If he passes, would you like to meet him in person?”

“He will be your responsibility. I see no necessity for him to know my name. I’m sure that in time, with the transactions involved, he will figure it out, but I see no advantage in personal contact. His placement is your decision. I hope you have chosen wisely. Your life will depend upon it.”

Lee nodded sombrely.

“Now, this brings us to another small matter that needs to be discussed. Trivial, but requiring prompt attention.” The Shaman paused, smiled, and said, “Like peeling the onion, I hope it does not bring tears to your eyes.”

Da Khlot hurried to open the door to the balcony when The Shaman and Lee stood up, signalling an end to their meeting. Lee’s face did not portray the jubilance of a man who had been promised a promotion. His eyes appeared distant and his jaw was set with determination as he hurried out of the suite.

Da Khlot looked at The Shaman, who returned his gaze and said, “Tonight you wear your new suit.”

8

It was two o’clock in the morning when Corporal Connie Crane arrived at Coquitlam River Park, where the murder had been reported. She was the second member of the Integrated Homicide Investigative team to arrive.

Several marked and unmarked police cars lined the side of the main road, and yellow police tape sealed off a small, gravelled parking lot leading into the park. Inside the park, floodlights running on generators were being turned on, sending an array of light and shadows through the trees.

She parked behind a patrol car and approached two uniformed officers standing near the tape.

“I’m with I-HIT,” she explained, reaching for her badge inside her windbreaker. “Do you know where my partner —”

“Over here, CC!” yelled Dallas, answering her question.

Connie ducked under the crime scene tape and approached Dallas. He was a new addition to I-HIT and this was only their second case together. He was a blood-splatter expert, which was a field of expertise unto itself. CC felt he had distinguished himself on their first case and was glad to be paired up with him.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Accident on the Port Mann. What have we got?”

“Adult male, still warm. Multiple gunshots. Empty 9 mm six-shot semi-auto pistol beside the victim. Whoever did it made no attempt to hide the gun.”

“Where’s the body?” asked CC.

“Less than a minute walk along that path,” replied Dallas, pointing to a trail leading from the parking lot. “Face down beside a small creek.”

“The parking lot doesn’t look well used,” noted Connie. “Couldn’t hold much more than five or six cars. Who reported it?”

“A young couple who came to park and make out. They got into an argument and ended up going for a walk. I think what they saw took their mind off the quarrel. They didn’t see anyone and there were no other vehicles.”

“How does the couple look?”

“I don’t think they had anything to do with it. They’ve given statements. I did a quick statement analysis … appears truthful.”

“Victim a dealer? Into drugs?”

“Don’t know. He looks and is dressed like a street person. Also had a relatively fresh dressing on one hand. Looked professional. I’m betting he received medical treatment recently. I patted him down for a wallet, but there wasn’t one. No identification that I could find yet. Maybe when we print him —”

“Robbery?” said CC.

“Don’t think so. It was more like a kidnapping and execution. The guy’s hands were bound behind his back with duct tape. His mouth was taped, as well. So were his ankles, but I found a piece of duct tape in the parking lot. Looks like he managed to get most of the tape off his ankles while being transported. I think he was dragged out of a vehicle and dumped on his back on the ground. Someone tried to shoot him in the face but the bullet took a chunk out of his ear. The victim rolled in panic. I think that’s when he freed the last of the tape on his ankles and got to his feet and bolted. Later he took another bullet through his thigh, one in his back, and then one to the back of his head. The last one was at such close range that the muzzle likely touched the back of his head before the final shot. Pretty cold thing to do.”

“No shit.”

“I checked the gun. Looks like all six rounds were fired.”

“So whoever murdered him was a lousy shot. Probably missed him with two rounds altogether.”

“Could be. Something peculiar, though. The victim had a large garbage bag over his head and torso.”

“How was he able to run so far down that path?” asked Connie.

“It wasn’t the dark-green type of bag. Made of clear plastic. The type you would use for disposing of leaves and stuff in the fall.”

“Someone figured it would help eliminate DNA from their vehicle.”

“That’s what I figure. The victim was coughing up blood before he got here. The inside of the bag was sprayed from blood coming out his nose.”

“Maybe the bullet in his back went through a lung.”

“No. Wait until you see the bag. There was quite a bit smeared around inside. I think the bullet in his back was followed in short order by one to the skull.”