In Defense of Innocence

By David Wickenden

Abused as a child, Janice Williams became a cop to make a difference. When a vigilante starts killing child abusers, she is tasked with capturing the killer. But the vigilante knows her every move. When Janice uncovers the identity of the vigilante, she is faced with the dilemma to do her job to uphold the law or help this person escape a nation-wide manhunt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Wickenden
• Release date: Sep 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393822721

David Wickenden

Dave Wickenden has spent time in the Canadian Armed Forces before the Fire Service, so is as comfortable with a rocket launcher as a fire hose. He has brought six people back from the dead using CPR and a defibrillator and has help rescue people in crisis. He has learned to lead men and women in extreme environments. He loves to cook, read and draw. Dave ran his own home based custom art business creating highly detailed wood and paper burnings called pyrography. One of his pictures of former Prime Minister Jean Chretien graces the walls of Rideau Hall in Ottawa. At home in Sudbury, Dave and his wife Gina are parents to three boys and three grandsons. His two youngest boys are busy with minor hockey and fishing, so you can guess where you'll find Dave when he's not writing. After 31 years in the Fire Service and attaining the rank of Deputy Fire Chief, Dave retired to write thriller novels full time. He has been a member of the Sudbury Writer’s Guild since 2014 and the Canadian Union of Writers.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The industrial grey color of the walls of Millhaven Maximum Security Prison was one of many things that James Goddard would not miss once they released him. He looked at his watch for the umpteenth time this morning, but the arms seemed not to have moved.

His time served had been fairly easy thanks to the guilt-ridden liberals that felt it was necessary for it to segregate child abusers from the main prison population. Couldn’t have the regular prisoners dispersing their brand of justice on people the government deemed sick. He certainly wouldn’t argue even though he did not think he had a problem. He had certain tastes, no different from gays and lesbians. Strange how the government felt that was okay for two women doing each other as long as it’s past a certain age.

Fucking hypocrites.

The boys who played his game had been old enough to say no, but they wanted what only he could offer. It wasn’t like he was taking candy from babies. He was offering them a chance at greatness. To play in the NHL was a chance to be part of the greatest show on earth. And they were willing to pay the price.   Hell, they stood in line.

It wasn’t an issue when they cut their multi-million dollar contracts and all the endorsement deals they could handle. No, it was only after the hockey mill had chewed them up and spit them out to be replaced by younger players that they had regrets. Instead of being pissed off with an organization that used its athletes to rake in billions while paying out a pittance for the honor, they came after him, the guy that opened the door to their dreams.

Goddard heard the guard’s footsteps before he saw them, and he stood up from his bunk. 

It’s a little early for lunch.

As funny as it sounded, the thing he would miss the most was the food. Prison food was better than what most Canadian families could indulge in. Free dental, medical, and education made the stay almost bearable.

Looking over his meager possessions scattered across his cell, he decided that he needed nothing. He would leave as he entered, with the clothes on his back. Everything that mattered was in another country, pilfered away before his arrest.

The guard stepped into view. Goddard, you have a visitor.

The surprise must have been written on his face, because the guard smirked and said, Relax, it’s just your lawyer.

My lawyer?

Fifteen minutes later after Goddard and the guard passed through many checkpoints, the guard opened the door to the private visitor room and released his hold of Goddard’s arm.

You both know the rules, said the guard, indicating the camera.

James, Evan Roitenberg said, his hand held out in friendly greeting, You’re looking well.

What’s wrong, Evan? Goddard said, ignoring his lawyer’s hand. You wouldn’t be here unless something was wrong. 

The lawyer’s hand dropped awkwardly, and he said, There’s been a death threat against you.

Another one?

I know. I informed the warden and a bunch of other government types that there had been multiple threats during the trial, especially after the first sentencing.

Goddard knew that he was talking about the two-year sentence that the original judge had issued Goddard. The verdict caused such a public outcry it had gone to a high court and increased to five years; this was the sentence which would be over in a few hours.

So what’s so different about this threat?

Well, first off, in case you don’t know, there are about 200 protesters and media at the front gate waiting for your release.

Goddard shrugged, annoyed but unconcerned.

If you’ve been watching the news, you’ll know that your pending release has created a feeding frenzy with the media and everyone’s getting on the bandwagon. You’re a household name again, five years after the fact.

Goddard sighed, hoping the man would get on with it.

Okay, said Roitenberg, holding up his hands. The feds are taking this seriously because the threat came with some information concerning your case that had not been released previously.  This is not just some guy on the street.

Like what?

You remember the allegations that you had recorded some of the sessions with the players. The same recordings you assured me had been destroyed? he said, staring hard at Goddard.  Well, a digital recording was sent to the Justice Minister as proof you were lying.

How the hell... Goddard’s stomach dropped as if someone had kicked him.

My question exactly. My suggestion is that once released, you make yourself scarce.  I’m guessing that there is paperwork already being prepared to have you charged with the production of child pornography.

So... a whirlwind of scattered thoughts made concentrating almost impossible.

So, I’ve negotiated a change of venues for your release. The government fears this threat has some legitimacy, and rather than having you wait at the gate for a bus it has agreed to fly you to Ottawa airport by helicopter. From there, you can catch a flight to wherever you wish.

OTTAWA.

That made things handy, although, part of me had been hoping for an excuse to spend some time in Mexico. Hot sun and cool waters.

Either way, Goddard isn’t getting away.

I meant the death threat to get them moving, but I couldn’t be sure how everything would work itself out. Goddard’s arrogance suggested that he wouldn’t go with the protective custody thing. They could have flown him to either Montréal or Toronto. Both had direct flights to Mexico, and the security was, well, secure. The size of either airport was both good and bad.  A lot of places to set up, but some distances made for an impossible shot. 

But, I’ll take Ottawa. It’s home, and it’s familiar.

Boosting the utility van was easy work once I got word of their intentions. I was able to put together a uniform that resembled a service technician and get through the service gate at the airport. 

A phone call to the airport information line told me exactly where any helicopter traffic landed and took off. I had two buildings to choose from, and I decided on the one with the least amount of activity. Pulling up, I gave a wave to one of the hanger workers. Then, after pulling on a set of gloves, I set up the ladder.  Like most work places, you just had to look like you belong and no one would question it.

Work belt in place, I carried a longer than normal tool box up the ladder to the roof.

I walked towards an HVAC unit near the front of the hanger, pulled off the side cover, and propped it up against the frame. At least if someone poked their head over the rooftop, it would look like I was servicing the unit. The vantage point gave me an open view of the entire area. I pulled out a monocle range finder and smiled; the area was completely within my shooting range. On the other side of the unit, there was a raised aluminum ductwork that ran the width of the building. This turned 90-degrees for six feet until another 90-degree turn attached it to the unit. This raised six foot section would be my shooting platform.

Elevated. Stable.

I rolled out a shooting blanket over the duct work. Then I broke open the case and withdrew a rifle. The scent of gun oil lingered only a second in the light breeze. I attached a large scope to the rifle and positioned it on the shooting blanket. The weapon, a Remington, was a true work of craftsmanship and beauty, blemished only by shallow burn patches from the acid someone had used to eliminate the serial number. It would be a shame to leave it behind, but there was no sense taking the chance of being caught with it after the shot. 

From a side pocket, I pulled out five Remington Core-Lokt shells, their long tapered copper jacket gripping the 240-grain soft point lead bullet. The shells were reliable ammunition that promised double expansion creating a devastating wound channel, destroying anything in its path. I individually thumbed the shells into the clip which was then seated into the lower receiver. Drawing back on the bolt, it lifted a shell into the chamber and rammed home as the bolt was closed, arming the rifle.  

Ensuring that the safety was on, I returned the rifle to the blanket. 

GODDARD WATCHED THE helicopter from the 424 Transport and Rescue Squadron touched down hours later in the Millhaven prison yard, with Roitenberg standing beside him. Both shielded their eyes from the debris being tossed by the turbo wash before they were waved over by a crewman. 

Once they were strapped in, the chopper lifted off and headed over the wall of the prison. Goddard’s stomach dropped; he felt the acidic coffee climb his throat and had to swallow hard to keep it in place.

The pilot, observing the crowd below, motioned to Goddard and commented through the headset, Looks like some people are really pissed off down there.

As Goddard watched with Roitenberg looking over his shoulder, the crowd surged toward the prison gates. The mob was a sea of faces and signs looking skyward as the target of their outrage escaped their outcry. Robbed of their chance to press their agendas, the demonstrators took their frustrations out on the police and prison guards.

The media sat back and filmed it all. It wasn’t the show they had hoped for, but it would sell regardless. 

My job is not to entertain the mob, Goddard said with disdain over the headset.

I LOOKED AT MY WATCH for the last time as the sound of the rotors of the incoming helicopter became distinct. I assumed the prone shooting position, my legs set apart and at an angle from my body. 

Picking up the rifle, I watched the magnified image of the aircraft and was reassured that there would be no telltale flash off the scope because the shooting platform was in the shade of the HVAC unit.

As the machine settled onto its skids, the side door opened and a serviceman stepped out and helped two men out of the passenger compartment; they scuttled under the blades to a safe distance. Both Goddard and his lawyer turned and waved to the pilot who powered up and lifted away, returning to their home base.

Pulling the butt of the rifle deep into my shoulder, I flipped the safety off. This would be mercifully quick. He wouldn’t have to suffer years of guilt and torment like his victims.

I settled the crosshairs on Goddard and took a deep breath before letting it half out and froze all movement. 

WELL, YOU’RE A FREE man, James, said Roitenberg.  In a few of hours, you’ll be sitting in the sun with all this behind you.

Goddard didn’t reply. He was still trying to figure how one of his hidden files had been discovered. If one of the digital movies had been found, it was only a matter of time before the others surfaced.  When I get...

Goddard didn’t hear the zzzzzzpp, a high speed hornet that ended in a thump. But he felt that thump. A heavy pressure bloomed across his chest, followed by a tipsy-turvy ride that ended with his face rubbing hard against the pavement. His entire vision was centered on a crack in the pavement. Tiny pieces of asphalt and gravel impregnated his torn skin, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why it didn’t hurt. He tried to get up, but his limbs refused to follow simple demands. Suddenly his vision moved, and he saw blue sky and... Roitenberg.

What? I can’t hear you... what the...?

At the bottom of his vision, red tinged bubbles were forming. It was like when you blew through a straw into a strawberry milkshake. He watched bubbles building on each other, rising up and then sliding down out of sight.

That’s weir...

Chapter 2

Inspector Janice Williams of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police’s (RCMP) Child Exploitation Center waited for the task force meeting to begin. The boardroom in which she sat, its walls covered in a richly appointed dark wainscotings, seemed too eccentric for the small group that was gathering. It was the first time she had been invited to the Minister of Justice office and might have been slightly intimidated if not for the familiar sight of two of her colleagues.

Ian Woods, her immediate superior, stood at the head of the table, his tall frame bent over arranging several files before him. The top of his head was as ruddy as the rest of his complexion, a sign of possible high blood pressure, alcohol consumption, or both. Thirty-odd years of dealing with the worst of Canada’s criminal and political issues equaled a lifetime buildup of stress, and Janice hoped he had a handle on things. She had a soft spot for Woods as he had mentored her at different times in her career with honest advice and feedback that helped her gain her current position. In fact, she eventually discovered that it was Woods who had put her name forward for her current position.  Obviously he saw something in me.

Across from her, Inspector Trevor Kilgour, who managed the Major Crime Unit, was taking notes on a yellow legal pad with a Blackberry pressed to his ear. He wasn’t speaking, just writing a record of the information being offered. Janice had been on several training courses with the big man and liked him. He was not someone you wanted to cross, but Janice knew that he was as loyal as they came and had a good heart.

The unannounced meeting had thrown her entire day for a loop. She had a number of open cases and active teams that needed her attention and having to drop everything for a political nightmare had done nothing to impress her.  So Goddard’s dead, so what?  She wasn’t homicide. The case had little to do with her today. She had been part of the original investigation that helped put him away for his crimes, but what could she really offer with this current investigation? Her specialty was sex crimes, not homicide.

Kilgour disconnected his call; he looked up and gave Woods a nod.

Good morning, Woods said. Sorry for the short notice, but the murder of Goddard yesterday is top priority. Just a quick intro if you would. Name and agency. We’ll get to know each other as the investigation moves along.

They each introduced themselves. Janice was surprised that the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) was at the table. Warden Linds made sense as well as the political hack from the Minister’s office, named Hyndman, but a spy?  She had to suppress a smile as an image of Prohías’s Spy vs Spy cartoon characters from the MAD Magazine came to her.

Trevor will be the point man for the investigation. Janice, I’ve brought you in because you know more about the Goddard investigation than anyone else. I want you to compile a list of potential suspects and organizations that might have wanted Goddard dead.

She couldn’t catch herself in time and her shoulders dropped.  Shit.

You have a problem with that, Janice? Woods asked, the surprise evident in his voice.

She drew a breath and looked across at Kilgour, then at Woods. When we have time for a side bar, Inspector.

Fair enough. We’ll speak afterwards, Woods said.

Thank you, sir, she said. She pulled her dark hair behind her ears to disguise any signs of worry she might have shot herself in the foot. She could feel some of the other’s eyes on her and knew she was being judged. Janice ignored them; she’d been judged her entire life.

Woods continued, Trevor, you’ll coordinate with Darren Forbes of the CSIS, indicating the spy, as Janice couldn’t help seeing him. The man waved at Kilgour. Darren’s main objective is to determine if this is a hate crime, and if so it falls within his agency’s mandate. Kilgour might be rough and gruff, but Forbes looked smooth in his casual posture. His gray eyes seemed to catch everything and belied the relaxed facade. There definitely appeared to be more to this guy than he let on, and she would have to keep her guard up with him.

Trevor, do you have anything for us? Woods asked.

Kilgour looked to his notes and started reeling off the facts he had compiled. First off, the rifle was left at the scene. The shot was made from a roof of one of the maintenance hangers about 350 meters away. The rifle was a .3006 Remington Bolt-Action, basically a hunting rifle. They melted the serial number off. No prints, so the shooter had to be wearing gloves or wiped everything down. Empty shell still in the chamber.  He looked up and eyed the others. He took the shot and walked away. No one heard the shot.

Suppression system? asked Forbes. 

No. We believe he took the shot as a jet was taking off.  The engine’s roar would have covered or flattened the report of the rifle. With everything combined, it points to a pro. 

Janice said, I was tactical for six years. It sounds like a pro or one hell of an experienced shooter. I suggest you check the MO against international or US shooters. The FBI has been very cooperative in the past, as has Interpol.

Kilgour nodded and made a notation to that effect.  We have a team going over the security tapes. We are concentrating on a tip from employees who stated that an HVAC company truck was on site and working on the roof an hour prior. No one saw the truck leave. We do have a report of a stolen HVAC truck from Carlton Place, so I’m not sure what we’ll find. 

Anything else, Trevor? Woods asked.

Kilgour shook his head. 

It seems to me that the main question is, said Janice, How could the shooter know about the change in plans for moving Goddard by helicopter? 

Linds, the warden, said, I have some information on that. 

He sat up straighter and tugged at his tie. Janice watched him fidgeting in his chair. She knew that Kilgour saw it, too. Obviously, Linds was scared that he might end up being held responsible. He didn’t look old enough for retirement, so this could eat him up alive. When politicians are involved, you have to watch your back. 

Here we go.   

Linds cleared his throat several times. Once we heard about the shooting, we asked the same question and searched Goddard’s cell, but found nothing.  It was noted by my staff that Goddard was told about the helicopter solution in one of our interview rooms by his lawyer, Roitenberg. Linds paused and looked at his hands. We found a listening device on the underside of the table in the room. It looked pretty high-tech, and it wasn’t the only one we found.  

You’ve got to be shitting me? Kilgour muttered, echoing Janice’s thoughts.

All the interview rooms had one, as well as our own boardroom. There’s no telling how long they have been in place. We are checking the records of all the individuals who accessed these rooms. 

Forbes leaned forward and asked, What have you done with them? 

I brought them here with me. Linds pointed to his briefcase.  We are expanding our search to our phone system and visiting center. 

Okay, Forbes said. I’ll have my people take a look at them to see who manufactures them, but there are a lot that you can purchase right off Amazon or eBay. Can you contact your people and ensure they don’t remove any others they find? I’ll have one of my techs run down to your prison and dismantle the unit to check the setup and also check for fingerprints. 

After the first one was found, my people used gloves, so they didn’t contaminate the evidence, Linds said defensively before he picked up his Blackberry and began texting.  

Okay, said Woods, Warden, you’ll work with Darren on the listening devices and the list of all those who have access to those rooms. You can have them dusted downstairs for prints.  Trevor will follow up on the security tapes at the airport with his tactical people, nodding at Janice to acknowledge her earlier comment, and also try to find and process that stolen truck.    Please send all reports to my office. I will put reports together and pass them on to the Minister’s office through you Mr. Hyndman? 

Hyndman just nodded. He hadn’t said a word during the meeting.

Janice looked over at David Hyndman, the Minister’s aid. It surprised her at how young he was.  He’s either good at what he does or he knows someone.  He had been texting during the entire meeting as if it were unimportant, giving off an air of superiority that didn’t sit well with Janice. 

Woods looked around the room and asked, Does anyone have anything else? 

After a couple seconds, he said, No, then we’ll adjourn. Once we have some results, my office will send you an invite for the next meeting. Thanks for coming. Janice, stay back and we’ll talk. 

Trevor looked over at her and gave her a nod as he got up.  

Woods waited until the room cleared and then closed the door before sitting back down.  Janice noticed that he kept his original seat rather than moving closer. She wasn’t sure if it was to keep the separation as her supervisor or if it was because of some old-fashioned sense of propriety. 

Okay, Janice, what’s bothering you? 

Look, Inspector, I get it. This has political written all over it. But I have 24 open cases, some of them time sensitive, that need my attention, she said. We had over 85 death threats prior to and during Goddard’s trial. They were all investigated and the results are in the reports. What you are asking for can be put together by any of our analysts. Goddard is dead and although what happened is wrong, nothing we expose will bring him back. I have children who are in harm’s way and could suffer if I drop the ball on any of those cases.

Is there no one in your command that could take over your role for a while?  The force encourages that kind of career development. This could be a perfect opportunity to test one of your people. It’s that hand-on experience that sets leaders apart from the followers. 

Normally I wouldn’t have an issue, but my division is short. I have three from my office alone out on maternity or paternity leave and another four more on stress leave. I know that you are aware of what my people have to deal with and how it affects some of them. The issue is we’re not getting any backfilling of personnel. I’ve had no choice but take an active role in some of the investigations. 

Woods nodded and contemplated his hands which he held together in front of his chest.

I appreciate your situation, he said after a minute. Tell you what? I’ll try to deflect some of this. But your name came from higher up. To be honest, I think some people want to see how you handle yourself in a multi-agency task force. It might be a onetime opportunity. 

The statement caught her off guard. Her silence must have told Woods the same because he said, I’ll take care of the analysis, but I need you ready if this heats up. You know more about sex crimes than anyone else in the country, so I think you will be able to bring a different perspective to this investigation. 

Janice nodded, knowing he was doing her a major favor, but that she was going to pay for it in the end.  No getting out of this one. 

I’ll try to move some cases around so I’m ready when you need me.  Inspector, I appreciate your understanding. 

He nodded. 

I’m afraid that this might be just the beginning, Janice said. There was so much backlash over this here and in the States during the trial that there may be other attacks. She paused and then looked back at him, The press has stirred up the rhetoric and that in itself might have been the trigger. The way the press will be reacting to Goddard’s killing, I don’t think this will be an isolated event.

I HONESTLY HATE COMPACT vehicles. Especially for hiding in.   

Goddard had done the deed. For the abuse molestation of several young boys hundreds of times, he was originally sentenced to two years.  It was as insulting as it was unjust.   

When the sentencing came down, I was just as pissed as the rest of the country. Judge Willard showed no remorse either.  Even when the penalty had finally been increased to five years, she didn’t care. She would go on to deliver other weak penalties against child abusers. 

I would see if she’d care tonight. Fortunately for me, she didn’t park in a well-lit area.  Probably figured that as a judge, no one would dare confront her. The pompous bitch would soon see how wrong she was. 

Her heels clicked on the pavement as she approached her car.  The jingle of keys was a prelude to the click of the lock opening and the car starting remotely.   As the door opened, I prayed that the black sheet that covered me in the rear passenger compartment hid me completely. The body of the car squatted slightly on its springs as Willard slid into the driver’s seat.   

After the door closed, I rose from my position. I ignored the pins and needles in my muscles as I rose up and threw the lightweight wire over Willard’s head. I pulled on the