Uncommon Complaints

Uncommon Complaints

Published by Ken Merkley at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Ken Merkley

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Acknowledgments

Once again my editor, Valerie Harlton, has my earnest appreciation for ensuring that I remained on track in preparing this novel. As always, her patience, valuable suggestions and careful attention to detail has made my job as author so much easier.

I would also like to thank Bruce Brown, British Columbia Deputy Police Complaint Commissioner, for his explanation of the Office of the Police Complaint Commissioner's organization and operations and for the tour of the office headquarters in Victoria.

The proof reading services of Mike Bannon and Brian Holl are also greatly appreciated.

Finally, I especially wish to thank my wife Bernadette, as I greatly treasured her patience and encouragement during the drafting of the novel.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Prologue

It had been a real fluke that had allowed Len Wilson to uncover the scheme in the first place. He had the habit of wandering through his department’s offices and corridors after everyone else had gone home, ostensibly to ensure that the employees under his jurisdiction were keeping the place tidy and ship-shape. But he would linger longingly over the pictures, kiddie’s drawings, mementos and other personal artefacts that reminded him a life outside of work was possible. That’s when he noticed the file sitting on Alex Peterson’s desk, the big confidential stamp on its cover making it clear it shouldn’t have been left out. Obviously a security violation, he thought to himself. He would need to have a word with Peterson’s section manager in the morning.

But then, curious about the contents of the file, Len opened it and saw it contained a big stack of vehicle registration records from all across Vancouver Island. He spotted a small tic mark in pencil placed alongside some of the registrants who owned newer or more expensive vehicles. Intrigued, but discovering nothing else unusual about the file, he decided he would personally question the employee about the tic marks.

Still unable to leave it alone, he started rummaging through Alex’s desk. There didn’t seem to be anything of any importance, other than a picture of a woman named Sonia, sitting in a very similar looking office, who he assumed to be a wife or girlfriend. She also likely worked in the public sector, he thought, given the standard government-issue furniture and effects surrounding her in the picture.

He then turned his attention to the filing cabinet, but discovered nothing of interest in the three top drawers. Groping desultorily through the last drawer, he uncovered a similar confidential file under a pile of nondescript paper supplies and empty file folders. Startled by this finding, he quickly brought it to the desk, sat down and started going through it. It turned out to be a British Columbia Government Ministry of Family Assistance file, maintained by one Sonia Peterson, and containing ministry client welfare records. He studied the file carefully and quickly noted some of the names were familiar. Comparing the file to Alex’s vehicle registration file, he discovered many of the names were the same as the registrants that Alex had ticked off in pencil.

He couldn’t immediately see the connection between vehicle registrations and welfare assistance records, but the fact Alex had the second file in his possession illegally indicated to Len that the couple couldn’t be up to anything good. Wanting to know more about Sonia, he used Alex’s computer to look up her name on the government website and discovered she worked as a Ministry financial assistance clerk and was indeed married to one Alex Peterson. It was clear from the records it was her job to work with individuals claiming financial hardship to apply for and receive government benefits.

So, Len thought, what does vehicle registration records have to do with welfare recipients? Was it some kind of stolen vehicle scheme? Generally in the province, if a vehicle is stolen, a claim is raised with the Insurance Corporation of British Columbia and the owners will either receive a replacement car or a cash equivalent. Frequently, the owner of a vehicle who can no longer afford monthly payments will abandon the automobile at a place it won’t be located for a while, trash it, and then maintain it was stolen. Next, they will raise a claim and use the ICBC payout to settle with their bank or loan company.

In addition, over the years, ICBC has often been a target of organized gangs, who steal cars, then either alter the serial numbers and re-sell them, ship them overseas or chop them up and sell the parts. And while they have a large team of investigators who look into suspicious claims, Len knew that all too often the corporation has been bilked out of huge amounts of money.

Was it possible that Alex and Sonia had ingeniously combined these schemes and had come up with a plan to approach destitute welfare recipients with vehicles they obviously couldn’t afford and show them how they could make some easy money? There were certainly plenty of hard-up individuals in society foolishly purchasing pricey vehicles on no-money-down schemes that quickly got them into financial trouble. But then, the plan would be pretty risky. All they would need is one report to ICBC and they would both be out of a job.

But what if the Petersons had been recruited by a gang that specialized in fraud and extortion rackets? What if they used the Petersons’ records to approach and buy the cars from cash-strapped government welfare recipients for a token amount, talked the owners into claiming the cars had been stolen, and then took a healthy share of the settlement, once they had been reimbursed by the corporation? This, on top of money received from selling the cars after they got their hands on them, could prove to be extremely lucrative, with very little chance of getting caught. Especially after the original vehicle owners were made aware of what would happen if they ever went to the police or confessed to an ICBC investigator. If, what he was thinking was true, then the Peterson’s and whomever they were working with, could be taking the traditional rip-off scheme to a whole new level.

At first, he had decided to report his discovery, but being methodical, he wanted to gather as much information as he could before he notified the Vice-President over in North Vancouver. Also, he had to cover his own ass by making damn sure he couldn’t be faulted for allowing the fraud to happen as a result of allowing his manager to get away with sloppy recruiting practices. Finally, he had never liked that shifty-looking Peterson and he wanted to make sure that he nailed him solid before he reported him. Of course, he didn’t like anyone else very much either, but that was beside the point.

Thinking it over, Len decided that if what he suspected was accurate then the whole scheme must have been set up in advance, meaning that Peterson had applied specifically for a position in the corporation that gave him access to vehicle registration records. At that point, Len could see he had a whole lot of work to do before he reported his findings. For now, he would make copies of the files and put them back where he found them. For the time being, he didn’t want Alex to think his scheme had been uncovered.

Somewhere along the line, his thinking started to shift from exposing the racket to getting a piece of the action. It was as if his whole dull life had suddenly come to light and he realized how much he hated it. But the decision to blackmail the Peterson’s was not consolidated until he reviewed the corporation’s insurance records and confirmed that many of the current reimbursements were indeed to the owners that Alex had ticked off on his list. He now knew that a thorough police investigation would lead to at least some of these owners confessing they had received pay-offs. This knowledge, together with the duplicate records he had made, would be enough to convince Alex that should Len report his findings, he would soon be going to jail for a lengthy stay.

Until his discovery, the Director of Vehicle Registrations had been content to be a drab, emotionless and uncontroversial bureaucrat who kept his mind on his work with ICBC and stoically received his occasional promotions within an insulated, routine world. But since he had found out about the insurance scam, he had undergone a total mind-set change. The thought of a fresh and lucrative income source had opened his eyes to the possibility of a new life he hadn’t even contemplated before, including travel, an expensive condo close to downtown, a flashy car and maybe even access to the exciting women of the city he had watched from afar but was always too afraid to approach. Suddenly the idea of gobs of money had made him realize he had only been half alive and he couldn’t wait to start spending it.

If he had been honest with himself, he could have had those things long before. He made enough money on his senior manager’s salary. But with an inferiority complex a mile wide and unwilling to take a chance on anything, he blamed his inabilities on circumstance, the Victoria housing market was too expensive, he had a perfectly good Honda sedan and anything better would have made him look ostentatious and where would he travel to by himself anyway? And as far as attractive women were concerned, well, who would go out with someone as dull as him to begin with?

Len wasn’t Peterson’s direct superior, so he found an excuse to borrow his personnel file to learn more about him. It didn’t surprise him when he discovered that Alex had once been convicted for theft in the Fraser Valley and had served a three-month prison sentence. But with an otherwise clean record and an impressive set of credentials, Peterson’s manager had decided to take a chance on him and up until now had been pleased with his work.

Having found out about the record, Len next followed up on Alex’s references. He was prepared to explain to those who had vouched for him that Peterson was up for a promotion and he wanted to learn more about his work history. But as soon as he checked, he found out his references were either fake, or were given by people who didn’t hold the prestigious positions that Alex had claimed they did. It was obvious that Alex’s section manager, who was Len’s immediate subordinate, had either not done his job properly or Alex had somehow gotten to him. Of course, in order to avoid criticism from the VP, Len would have to make it clear that section vacancies were filled directly by their managers and Len was much too important and busy to deal with something as mundane as section hiring practices.

Finally, when Len looked into Alex’s credentials, he discovered they were non-existent. He had never received the bachelor’s degree in actuarial science he claimed to have, not to mention the Certified Management Accounting diploma that hung prominently on the wall at his work station. It was clear that Peterson was still engaged in a life of fraud and deception, which was what he had obviously been engaged in when Len had stumbled on the scheme in the first place.

So now, Len sat quietly in his stark corner office, mulling over the task of tackling the Petersons. He stared vacantly through his big picture window at the rain pelting down on the cars parked on the side street below. Outside his door, in the main office, his brow-beaten secretary-clerk worked her way grimly and methodically through an endless stack of dowdy brown filing folders. Fiddling absently with a paperclip, Len noticed neither.

Finally, he gathered the courage to settle on the direct approach. He would simply inform Alex of what he knew and that he wanted in. For the next few weeks, he waited for the opportunity. Choosing a week that the section manager was on vacation, he kept Alex after work and hit him with the revelation. He was pleasantly surprised by the reaction he received.

All right, so you know about it and you want in, Alex replied calmly. Provided you keep it to yourself and leave me alone to do my job, I’m sure we can arrange something.

Len was surprised by his quick agreement but he recovered quickly. Okay, I want you to arrange a monthly payment of $2,000.00 in cash to go into a post office box that I will set up for you.

Okay, I’ll do it, but if there is ever a peep, or any further demands from you, you are a dead man.

Man that was easy, thought Len, with pleasant thoughts of his new life swirling in his head.

Alex arranged a meeting with the Vipers. At the agreed time of ten o’clock in the evening the following Tuesday, he drove from his house in Gordon Head to the rendezvous point above the cliffs on Dallas Road, overlooking the ocean. Peterson parked next to a large black late-model Mercedes whose occupant, a short, dark-skinned man dressed in expensive-looking casual clothing, left his car and climbed into the passenger seat of Alex’s Honda.

The visitor, Viper lieutenant Bashir Chamoun, listened calmly while Alex explained the situation. When he was finished Bashir gave him a look that turned Alex’s blood to ice.

So, you’re telling me you left confidential files from ICBC and Sonia’s office out where anyone could find them. Is that about it, Alex?

Well, yeah, that happened, Alex replied anxiously, but Christ, Bashir, it was an oversight. I’ve been working so fucking hard on this lately and then I got a call from Sonia, right at quitting time, and that threw me off. Sure I fucked up, but who would figure that prick, Wilson, would come snooping around the only goddamn time it happened.

Paul ain’t gonna like this, Alex. You gotta way to fix it?

Yeah, well first we have to get rid of Wilson and then find and destroy any duplicate files he may have made. Then we have to secure the files Sonia and I made and maybe ask Paul to put this thing on ice until everything blows over.

Your ass is on the line here, Alex, and you fucked up badly just when Paul wants you to do something for us.

Oh, what do you want me to do? Alex was eager to get back into the gang’s good books?"

Some housekeeping stuff. We've decided to move into Victoria permanently and we need to arrange a proper set-up. You know - a convenient location for our activities, a cover operation that won’t arouse suspicion, a good-sized warehouse, legit ID for the local operatives we recruit, stuff like that.

Okay, Bashir. I’ll find a spot that will work.

Of course you will, but later I might want you to take on a different assignment.

What kind of assignment?

We’ll figure that out when you find a place for our Victoria operations - maybe a printing business or something like that.

Yeah, okay. I’ll think of something. When do you need this by?

As soon as you can, but do it properly. We’ll provide the seed money to get it set up. We want to cash in on next year’s tourist drug business, so you have about six months at best.

No problem, Bash. I’ll be ready.

Good. Now get the fuck outta here and keep me posted. He climbed out of Alex’s car.

But what about Wilson and his files?

Who? Bashir replied. He slammed the door.

The contracted agent, sent over by the Vipers, watched Len Wilson carefully for a few days, and after easily charting his predictable routines, arranged for him to suffer a mishap in his non-descript West Victoria apartment. With very little extra effort, he also found the duplicate files where the unimaginative bureaucratic had stuffed then above the false ceiling tiles. Later, everyone was very surprised that such an honest and boring bureaucrat was found at home, sitting in his padded leather easy-chair in front of his still-running television set, with a bullet in his brain.

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Chapter 1

Royal Canadian Mounted Police Sergeant Tim Murphy was feeling very pleased with life. His optimism was a bit of an exception, really, as generally, morale in the RCMP was lower than the Dead Sea, what with staff cuts, penny-pinching budgets, a distrustful public and navel-gazing senior officers trying to survive in an overly-politicized work climate. Then there was the Force’s outdated intelligence practices that, in comparison to the sophisticated criminal organizations they were expected to penetrate, made them look like Neanderthals.

Tim was oblivious to it all. He had recently solved a complex criminal trafficking case that had brought down a consortium of unscrupulous characters involved in off-shore drug dealing, sex-trade trafficking and illegal organ transplantation. He had only recently returned to work after suffering a knife wound while arresting the main culprit in the case, and he was happy to be back at his regular research job. It was a job he loved in spite of the obsolete tools that he was expected to work with in his crowded work space in the Island District Office Headquarters, just outside of downtown Victoria.

In Tim’s mind, what helped to make it enjoyable were the other team members at the Investigative Research Unit and the leadership of the District’s Operational Commander, no-nonsense Inspector Errol Fields, whom he had learned to respect and admire. Recently he had lost one of his two team members, Debby McGill, who had left the Force and gone to work with the Coast Guard after moving with her new husband to Cornwall, Ontario. But Deb, who had been a pleasure to work with and be around, was replaced by Corporal Sheila York, a colleague and former work partner from his Traffic Services days.

Over the last couple of years, Sheila had also become a good friend of Tim’s wife, Gloria, and had even given Gloria one of her kidneys when she had experienced a complete renal failure. The transplant had allowed Gloria to discontinue her dialysis treatments at a local hospital and she soon returned to full health.

It was a little strange to be working with Sheila when she was so close to Gloria. Nevertheless, the District Office didn’t seem to have a problem with her transfer and it was something she desired to do after years of mind-numbing work in Traffic Services. Still, it was difficult for Tim to be objective, particularly as he and Sheila had tumbled into her bed one night a few years ago when they both had had too much to drink.

But Sheila was now happily married, fit in well with her workmates and had no problem with Tim being her boss. Together, with dependable Constable Roy Cooper, the Unit members were very close-knit and functioned well together. Also, as Inspector Fields left them alone and isolated from the unhealthy politics that permeated the District Office, they could focus on their, to Tim, never-boring research assignments. These assignments ran the gamut, from implementing modern fraud fighting policing techniques finding success in other jurisdictions, to the implementation of new community relationship methods, such as working with youth groups to combat drug use.

A specialty of the unit was reviewing cold case files, an endeavour that Sergeant Murphy seemed to have a penchant for, even though this seemed at odds with his impetuous and individualistic nature. The work in the unit appealed to him because he could assign specific tasks to his team members and then bury himself in his analysis work, where he could operate on his own. What Tim particularly hated were jobs where he had to work in a chain of command relationship, endlessly moving paper and messages from superiors to subordinates and vice versa. Or in a large team situation, such as a complex raid on an organized gang, where it was so easy to be jeopardized by incompetent senior officers, dim-witted underlings, or back-stabbing colleagues trying to look good at the expense of other team members.

Inspector Fields had decided that Murphy needed a break from the more urgent cases that he normally assigned him and his team, so that he could have time to completely recover from his knife wound. He had asked the unit to take on a most unusual job, but one that had been puzzling crime forces across the Pacific Northwest for the last seven years – the case of the washed-up feet. Recently, a fourteenth foot had been found off the southern tip of Saltspring Island and determining its ownership had become the responsibility of the RCMP. Such a job might normally be assigned directly to the Major Crimes Investigative Unit, but at this point there was nothing to indicate that a homicide had occurred. Another unit that might have been assigned the job was Missing Persons, but to date there was no suggestion the foot had belonged to a person who had been reported as missing.

The small detachment on Saltspring Island at Ganges had been first to take on the investigation, but very quickly determined they would be unable to identify the owner of the foot. Not a single missing person from Saltspring Island, and there were only seven of them, met the criteria for the foot, a man’s size thirteen right, snugly secured in a padded lightweight walking shoe. With a detachment of only eight officers, responsible for policing the 10,000 residents and up to 15,000 visitors to Saltspring Island at any one time, the Ganges Detachment had neither the time nor the skills to carry out a thorough investigation as to where the foot might have come from.

To make the situation even more difficult, in two previous cases where the found feet had been identified, the feet had washed ashore at locations well removed from where they had originated. Thus, there was nothing to suggest the foot had belonged to a person from Saltspring Island, and it was just as likely the foot had washed up from one of the other Gulf Islands, Vancouver Island, or even the Lower Mainland.

Never a man to waste time, Tim immediately called Sheila and Roy into his small inner office as soon as the Inspector left. He outlined what he had been told and they began brainstorming on how to proceed.

One thing you can do Sheila, is interview the Commanding Officer at Ganges, Sergeant Sam Sheldon, along with the Detachment officers who were involved in the investigation, Tim began. See if they have anything to add that is not in their report. Because you worked at Ganges you know them, and if there is anything else to tell us, they’re more likely to share it with you than with me or Roy.

That’s probably worth doing, Sheila agreed. Sam’s reports tend to be short and sweet. I get along pretty well with the guy, so I can pick his brain a bit and maybe he will come up with something that he forgot to add to his statement. What about forensics, Tim? Do we have any idea how long the foot was in the water before they found it, or how long it had been on the beach?

Yeah, Inspector Fields gave me a copy of the forensics report. They figure about six or seven months in the water, but only a few days on shore before a cottage owner on Mt. Tuam Road, southwest of Fulton Harbour, found the foot. You could talk to him, as well, while you’re over there. His name is Dale Tucker.

How far do you think a foot could drift in six months? Roy mused. Any idea if we could ballpark where the foot might have come from? By now, with thirteen previous cases like this, we must have some idea where the feet first went into the water.

"That’s part of the problem. In each case there was a different police