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Steps of the Plowman

by Dale Miettinen

277 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-0290; ISBN 1-4120-2462-5; US$24.00, C$27.77, EUR20.00, £14.00

A serial killer stalks pedophiles in the city. Five dead to date. Why no public panic? Is it because only a handful of police know about the killings? Maybe.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book In the late spring and early summer of 2002, a serial killer is on the prowl in a city of almost a million people. By mid-June, there are five bodies. Uniquely, there is no public panic. The reason? The only people aware of the murders are a small group of police investigators. Such secrecy was implemented, not only to avoid hysteria, but because rumors exist that the perpetrator is either a current or former member of the local police. Another cause for the close confidentiality emanates from the fact that all five victims were high-risk predatory pedophiles recently released from prison. The story deals in part with the personalities of the killer, his victims, and the impact on the people that were preyed upon by these pedophiles. As the tale unfolds, there are self-examinations by the police, prosecutors, officials in the justice system, and a young defense lawyer. In addition, a member of the judiciary is persuaded that the entire system has contaminated "the law" that allegedly protects children from monsters. Political will and effectiveness, and the ever-present media, also surface. The five bodies are discovered within a ten-day period. Physical evidence is practically non-existent. Another contributing factor surrounding the pressure on the police team to solve the murders as quickly as possible concerns the perception of their motivation to interrupt the vigilante before he's "finished." The investigators don't want to be seen as "dragging their ass." The initial stages of the investigation are discouraging, but as the police plod their way, a description of a suspect emerges. His identity, of course, is a different story. A profile develops with a full description of an older man seen in the company of the first three local victims hours before they are found dead. The only thing is who the hell is he? It soon becomes clear that the old man has "inside help" on locating the pedophiles. The police hope that it's not someone from their department. A break and a coincidence provide identification of the suspect, and a widowed senior citizen becomes the focus of the investigation. The police team sets up two types of surveillance and obtains a photograph of the man. His photo is identified without any hesitation by three witnesses and, later, two more. A circumstantial case is presented to the prosecutors. They believe enough evidence exists, and, like the police, feel that physical evidence will surface after the arrest. Wrong! An omission, perhaps inadvertent, is discovered by the old man's legal aid lawyer in the police report given to the prosecutor's office. This is enough to secure the freedom of the accused 'judicial interim release.' Two nights later, the old man "rehabilitates" another dangerous pedophile at his own home. This little escapade becomes more complicated and results in solidifying a case against the old man. His lawyer has other plans, however. Her client tells her about his old friend with the justice department whose 5-year-old daughter was abducted and murdered in 1998. The friend's wife was now in a mental hospital, and the friend's health was slowly ebbing away, since there had never been any arrest or any kind of closure. The friend volunteered to work with the old man's lawyer and make a proposal to his life-long friend, a judge in the Court of Queen's Bench. The proposal suggests that, if this matter were to get into court, the young lawyer would call every police officer, jail guard, prison psychiatrist, victim, and the families of every victim of all six pedophiles. These witnesses would describe the impact of the intrusion of each pedophile since and including his first conviction. A hearing is arranged in front of the judge, much to the chagrin of a Member of Parliament and an associate of the legislature. This is because they haven't yet "figured it out." A seventh murder is discovered early in the morning on the day of the hearing. As if things weren't complicated enough.

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About the Author The author has been active in a variety of law enforcement roles since 1960. He was a police officer, police detective, investigator in both the public and private sector, and the owner/operator of a private investigation agency. He is the father of three, grandfather of five, and husband of one. He has always taken his work seriously, but never himself. He and his wife Joan have been blessed with a truly unique Miniature Schnauzer named Max.

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Excerpts

[Sun 7 Jul 2002/13:22]
There's no doubt that Rollo had the most challenging chore of anybody on the team. He had been lent the two most promising young police officers from the latest recruit class. At least, that's what the defensive driving coach had told Rollo. The big sergeant was having a little trouble believing that. Rollo got a call from Joe late Friday. Joe asked him if he could line up a couple of recruits, some oddball cars, and give the young officers a crash course (figure of speech) on live surveillance. Rollo had agreed, even though he knew the whole procedure could give him a stroke. When Rollo was young, he thought he'd mellow with age. It never happened. In fact, he got more impatient and short-tempered with age, but, by God, he had tried. It had just never worked out.

One of the immediate problems was that the young policemen had heard most of the stories about the big sergeant. When they saw the squint of his little piggy eyes, and watched as his upper lip began to disappear a couple of times, the young men were having difficulty focusing on the task at hand. After a couple of hours at the biggest parking lot they could find that was fairly close to Fraser's house, things started to shape up. Rollo had decided to actually smile at the young men on more than one occasion, and they relaxed enough to listen as Rollo went through the procedures to follow in a number of different situations.

He explained some of the basics. Change the appearance of your car at every opportunity. Have stuff in the back seat that you can put in the back window, and change them as often as you can without being seen by the target vehicle. These items included footballs, baseball caps, hardhats, loose items of clothing, or umbrellas. Whatever you see in the back windows of other vehicles, use the same kind of stuff. If you have a dark shirt or jacket on, have something light colored underneath and change back and forth when possible. If you get too close to the target vehicle, pass it, let your teammate know, and they can fall back behind the tailee.

Rollo almost started to like being an instructor, but not quite. The young guys started to catch on, and the three of them, with Rollo in the front passenger seat no matter which one was driving, headed for the general area of Fraser's house. Rollo noticed, over the next hour or so, that both of the young guys slowed noticeably upon approaching a set of signal lights at an intersection. "Why do you do that?" asked Rollo.

Paul, the larger of the two young cops, replied, "That's the way we were taught, in driving school and at the defensive course."

"That's right," said Barry from the back seat. Barry looked to be tall enough to be a policeman, but Rollo was positive he couldn't weigh more than 140 pounds. He probably does, thought Rollo, but he sure doesn't look it.

"Well," said Rollo, "it ain't gonna work for this kinda stuff. If you slow down like that, anticipating a light, you're gonna lose your target." Barry and Paul nodded.

"Okay, Paul," said Rollo, "just pull over here and park for a few minutes." He did. "Okay," said Rollo, "do you see the green house on the right just past the light pole?" They both nodded. "Well, that ain't it." Barry and Paul weren't sure what to make of that remark, so Rollo carried on, "it's the white house up ahead on the right with the beige trim and the two spruce trees in front. The subject's vehicle is the Cavalier parked in the front driveway. That's going to be the focal point of any surveillance that happens." Geez, I can't believe I'm using words like beige and focal point. Maybe I should retire before I'm completely wrecked.

Rollo, Paul, and Barry, in one vehicle, spent the next couple of hours checking the main thoroughfares and the side streets for about a mile radius. Barry and Paul made fairly extensive notes, and the more they moved around, the more comfortable they became. Rollo started to develop a more optimistic outlook for the success of the venture. Paul and Barry had been cut loose from other duties for this project, and they were taking it very seriously. In their minds, if they did a good job, it would be a bonus for their career. Rollo, of course, had been a little stingy with information as to why they would be tailing the old man to and from 408 Canyon Crescent S.W. He didn't want to come right out and tell them they'd be tailing a killer or it might overwhelm them. There was time to let them know in more detail the reasons for the surveillance. He did tell them, however, to use extreme caution in any unexpected confrontations with the resident of the target house. He also told them they should practice as much as possible the following day with their separate cars and the radios. Rollo also suggested that they practice on random target vehicles in other neighborhoods, and talk to each other on their two-ways. "Nobody can hear you," Rollo told them, "so don't worry about codes or anything but the task at hand." The task at hand? You're losin' it, old son.

[Sun 7 Jul 2002/23:33 p.m.]
Geezer lay on his bunk in the dark, hands behind his head. One of the frosted, wire-meshed glass skylights was open a little because the day had been a little muggy. If he had been at home, in a hotel, or at a bed and breakfast, nobody would have given a shit if it was muggy. He was, however, one of the group of people in the world that seem to have the most rights, so the skylight had been opened to let in cool evening air for the prisoners. Without even asking, yet. He could hear raindrops, and it seemed strange that rain wouldn't leak through an open skylight. Every once in a while, he could hear the screech of brakes, and the honking of horns. Three or four times, he had heard some pseudo-cowboy give forth with a yip, yip, yahoo, or some other Calgary Stampede drunken mating call.

At what must have been somewhere between 1:00 and 1:30 a.m. on Monday morning, he was still awake. It had stopped raining, which was good, because it had started to piss him off that the rain wasn't leaking through those damned open skylights. Everything was quiet now and Geezer could hear himself think. Tomorrow, oh, no, today, I guess, could be the day. Maybe tomorrow, Ellie had said. The sooner, the better. I've got work to do and I don't need to waste any more time in here.

Geezer knew that the police weren't going to give up on him. For sure, they'll have surveillance on me. Mills is pretty smart, and Rollo's been around for a long time, so they'll know enough to have two cars. They also know I did this crap for a living. I'll know when I'm tailed or not. They might put a tracker on my car, too. They'll think I have experience in electronic auto tracking. I don't, but they'll probably guess that I do. When I could have used one of the damn things, they cost 15 thousand bucks, U.S. Now, you can get one of those satellite Spy-Track units for a little more than a grand. Timing is everything. I hope they didn't search the house too well. I'm gonna need some of the stuff I've got stashed in my little hideaway.

Geezer finally dozed off at about four o'clock in the morning. He was awakened about 7:30 a.m. by a young, bored guard, who brought Geezer a sumptuous gourmet delight of cold toast that smelled like margarine, something that looked vaguely like a jam of some sort, and a cup of lukewarm coffee. Geezer suspected someone else had already consumed the coffee at one time, but he didn't think he'd be able to prove it.

[Mon 8 Jul 2002/02:28]
Ellie couldn't remember the last time she was awake in the middle of the night. Maybe in her early days of law school, but she quickly learned that to party hearty was not conducive to a good education. She realized that being a woman lawyer was going to be tough enough, without being hung over half the time while trying to get her degree. She thought about the events of the last few days and wondered how her client was doing. She'd been listening to the rain outside, but it had stopped over an hour ago. The rain always reminded her of spring at home.

I actually like the old guy. I hope everything works out for him. He's certainly easy to believe about not being the right guy. I'm not totally convinced, but, like the cops, I have nothing of substance on which to base any belief, one way or the other. Anyway, if he is doing what he's suspected of, I can imagine the social strata he'd be operating at if he was ever sentenced to prison. Just about two or three points above anybody else inside the walls, whether he was an ex-cop or not. Prisoners have kids, too, and permanently rehabilitating pedophiles would have to rank right up there on the social ladder.

Ellie, too, finally dozed off. While she drifted off, she thought about whether Cosgrove would do what he was supposed to do, or if he might somehow screw everything up because of his ego. Ellie firmly believed she had enough leverage in this case, but she still had that tiny bit of uncertainty relating to the Peter Principle, especially in the goddamn justice system.

Even if nothing happens today, I'll go see Fraser this afternoon.

She had a vague, fleeting thought that she might want to meet that woman detective at some point in time.

Where the hell did that come from?

CHAPTER 53

[Mon 8 Jul 2002/11:04]
The little closet that was referred to by Ellie's supervisors at Legal Aid as an office wasn't exactly the homiest place on the planet. It was kind of sad, she thought, that I'd rather go and visit an old man in a prison than sit in this little hole.

When the phone rang, she jumped, partially, she supposed, from not having had much sleep, and partially because it hardly ever rang.

"Good morning, Ellie speaking."

"Miss Edmonds?" said the female voice.

"Yes."

"This is Nancy at the offices of the Crown," said the voice. Offices of the Crown - oooooooh -pretentious bitch.

"How may I help you?" said Ellie.

"Mr. Cosgrove asked me to call you about the accused Fraser," said the voice.

"Yes?" said Ellie.

"Mr. Cosgrove has made the arrangements for a judicial interim release for your client," the voice said.

"And?" said Ellie.

"He will be released this afternoon, subject to certain conditions," said Nancy.

"What are the conditions?" said Ellie.

"I don't know," said Nancy.

"Oh," said Ellie, "then, can I speak with Mr. Cosgrove?"

"I'm sorry," said Nancy, "he would have called you himself, but he was required on urgent business at the Court of Appeal." Of course, a late Stampede breakfast and hoedown.

"Okay then, Nancy," said Ellie, "how do I determine what the conditions are?"

"I can get a copy and fax it to you," said Nancy. Do ya think?

"That would be very nice, Nancy," said Ellie, "how can I ever thank you?"

"Oh, that won't be necessary," said Nancy. Ellie stared at the phone. Either you're a hell of a good actress, honey, or you really didn't catch the sarcasm.

"Okay, then, I'll wait for your fax," said Ellie.

"All right," said Nancy. "Goodbye."

"Bye, now," said Ellie, as she cradled the phone.

Well, that gutless son of a bitch. Ellie went and poured herself a cup of coffee and waited for the fax. Surprisingly, it didn't take that long. When she heard the silly-sounding ring of the fax machine, and confirmed to herself that it was indeed the fax because it only rang one and one-half times, she went out to the main office and gave it a cursory glance as it fed through the machine. As usual, there was nobody in the main office. So, she grabbed the fax, and retreated to her closet before somebody came to the front counter and she had to function as an information officer, yet again.

She read the three pages. Everything appeared in order. Fraser could be released forthwith. He was forbidden from leaving the city of Calgary during his interim release. There was a prohibition on the consumption of alcohol or drugs. He was to remain on standby alert, not in so many words, but he was to make himself available for re-arrest, whatever the hell that meant. Looks great, said Ellie to herself, there's nothing about refraining from murdering pedophiles, so I guess it's not overly restrictive.

Ellie photocopied the document, making three copies. She wasn't sure of her responsibility as to presentation, and to whom, of the release forms, so she made one for her client, one to carry with her, and one in case it suddenly became her job to serve it on the jailer so her client could be released.

As it turned out, the jail had already been forwarded a properly processed copy, and the jailer was preparing to unload her client. When Ellie rang the front door buzzer at the cellblock, Geezer had already turned in his mattress, bedding, tin cup and plastic cutlery, and had signed for and received the personal belongings he had turned over to Pat Flanagan when he was booked in. Ellie accompanied him to the street.

"What were they going to do with you if I didn't show up till later?" she said.

"According to the one guard," said Geezer, "they were just gonna open the front door and wave bye bye."

"Boy," said Ellie, "that prosecutor is some piece of work. I would love to have heard his application. I'll bet the son of a bitch just trashed the cops and played the victim in a world-class whine."

"No doubt," said Geezer, looking around. "So, this is what the outside world looks like." He took a deep breath of air and looked at Ellie. "You know, I haven't been in there that long, but this is one good feeling. I have you to thank."

"It's my job," she said, smiling at the old man. "Did anybody give you a copy of your interim release order or go over it with you?"

"Nope," said Geezer, "they said that was your job."

"Okay," said Ellie, "let's go over it. Where do you want to go?"

"How about a bench in Olympic Plaza," said Geezer, "if there's one to be had?"

"Sounds good," said Ellie.

Despite the crowded streets, there was an empty bench in the park. They sat down and Ellie gave Geezer a photocopy of the release order. "You can keep this copy," she said as she handed it to him.

"Thank you, counselor," said Geezer. He read it without comment.

"Where are you going now?" said Ellie.

"Home, I guess," said Geezer, "except I'll have to call a friend to pick up a key. I gave my set to Inspector Mills."

"How are you going to get to your friend's place?" said Ellie.

"I don't know," said Geezer, "probably walk."

"I'll give you a ride, if you like," she said.

"That would be a big help," said Geezer. "Thanks."

"No problem," said Ellie, "do you want to call your friend? I have my cell phone with me."

"You know, for a lawyer, you really are a big help to me, as well as getting my butt out of that place."

"Service with a smile," she said, "tell all your killer friends."

Geezer laughed and told her the telephone number, she dialed, and a man answered within a couple of rings. She handed the phone to Geezer and he spoke briefly with the man. They then walked to Ellie's office where her car was parked underground. Free underground parking was her only perq, but it was a good one, considering the price of downtown parking. She unlocked the car, got in behind the wheel, and reached over and unlocked the passenger side door. Geezer got in and away they went.

After they had stopped at Geezer's friend's house and picked up the house key, they headed for Canyon Crescent with Geezer giving directions. He suggested that Ellie park about three houses up the block from his place.

"Why?" Ellie asked, smiling, "don't you want your neighbors to see you with a girl?"

Geezer smiled back. "No, that's not it," he said, "it's just that there may be one or two cameras on the place."

"You think?"

"Well, I'm not positive, no," said Geezer, "but there's no point in givin' anybody an opportunity to do you over. You never know, Cosgrove might have some flunky cop watchin' you 'cause you made him look like a bit of a dork."

"I appreciate the consideration," she said. "Which house is yours?"

"The white one with the two blue spruce trees in front."

"Nice," said Ellie.

"Yeah, well, it's home," said Geezer, pausing a moment. "I guess I better let you get on with your day. I really appreciate what you've done for me. I'll never forget it."

Ellie felt a tear forming, and she put her hand on Geezer's arm. "It was my pleasure . . . Geezer." She had almost called him grandpa. Wouldn't that have been cute?

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Catalogue Information

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