by Brandon Enns
"Were you all in Clavet at the same time?"
He nodded. "Morrows grew up there. Pearson came for a year because of their football team. Had a good shot at winning provincials. Reiders were only there a couple years."
"When exactly were you all attending?"
"I think..." he narrowed his eyes, trying to recall the year. "A couple years. 2001, 2002? Pretty sure."
The school, the parents, the sealed document. It wreaked of a cover-up.
"Was Tanner Pearson also in your grade?"
"The one year, yeah."
"Were you all close?"
"No, not at all."
"I see. I was hoping to speak with Bart Reider, but he wasn't home. I think I just missed him for work probably."
Steven appeared edgy now.
"You two have been through enough," she said.
Derek Reider, Danny Adams, Mia Morrow, all kidnapped
(probably murdered); Steven Adams and Bart Reider both alive and well, while Mia's brother Kyle sat in prison for the murder of Tanner Pearson.
What Jennifer couldn't figure out was why their time together in school was relevant. Eli didn't go to school in Clavet. He had bounced around schools in Saskatoon, dropping out of Marian Graham his graduating year. How would he have run into these people? Had they done something to Eli somehow when they crossed paths? Did he have an infatuation with the school itself for some reason? Were other past students of that school in jeopardy?
Steven grabbed his laptop bag off the floor.
"Yeah, so—" he was making an excuse to leave, and Jennifer interjected, "Steven." Her stare burned into his.
He nodded, looking down at his double-double.
"Are you all friends still? Or just when you were kids?"
"Well, I think Kyle and Tanner were good friends
until...you know."
"Right. Do you think Kyle murdered Tanner?"
"I don't know. I guess he did."
"You guess he did.”
"The courts corrected their mistake."
The conversation wasn't going to last much longer, and she had already extracted some good information. "What's going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean these kidnappings. Tanner Pearson's murder. You all went to the same school. You were friends with the siblings, one of which is in prison for murdering his friend. I'm missing the beginning to this story, Steven. Help me fill it in."
His sadness disappeared. "I'm sorry, you said you were RCMP?"
"That's right."
"Can I see your badge and ID please?"
"I'm off duty." He could put an end to me with one simple phone call.
"You should have that on you."
"What's your connection to Eli Baker?"
"First off, I don't know Eli Baker. Only what I saw on TV. Second, you could be in some trouble, Ms. Allen. Impersonating an officer."
"I'm not impersonating."
"Well not carrying your credentials to conduct police work doesn't do much good for you either."
"I should have it on me, yes. But Ste—"
"Have a good day." Steven walked away with his coffee, leaving Jennifer in a nervous state of limbo, another can of
worms that would potentially be opened.
2002. Eli's sealed report.
***
Kyle Morrow. Saskatchewan Federal Penitentiary.
Jennifer sat in a steel chair, dressed formally this time for her meeting. A Plexiglas window separated her from the prisoner side.
Kyle Morrow took a seat across from her. He looked burned out. Kyle had grown out a scruffy ginger beard that didn't match with his dark brown hair. Jennifer was the first to speak.
"Hello, Kyle."
"Who are you?"
"I'm with the RCMP. Corporal Jennifer Allen."
Kyle straightened up in his chair.
"Did they find new evidence?" he asked.
"No."
"So nothing has changed with my case?"
"Not yet, anyway. Have you heard about these kidnappings, Kyle?" His face sank and tears welled. He was a piece of shit, but he was human. Baker was not.
"You went to school with all these people, Kyle."
He hesitated.
“I already know Kyle.”
"So?"
"I'm just trying to piece this together. It's not a coincidence, but you know that."
He shuffled in his chair.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" she asked.
"No." He glanced at the floor then back to her.
"Are you sure?"
He looked to his left, as did Jennifer. Another young inmate was speaking with who Jennifer assumed was his mother.
"I don't think you killed your friend Tanner."
His eyes met hers again. "That's because I didn't."
"I know. Who did?"
"Something to do with politics. I don't know who."
"That's what you actually believe?"
"What else would it be?" As the question escaped his lips, his face flattened, bottom lip quivering. There was an obvious affliction tearing at him.
"Seems to me that no one was ever digging back far enough. You dig hard enough, you're bound to find something."
"I don't know what you think you know, but..."
"But what?"
"Tanner was my best friend. I'd never kill him. Even if he was screwing my wife. Don't matter."
"What do you know about Eli Baker? Before he was convicted ten years ago."
"Not one thing."
"You're lying."
"I'm honestly not. Mia..." he whispered. Kyle wiped away a tear. "This is all so messed up."
"I know this sounds like bullshit, but it will be better for you if you tell me what happened. Something back when you were all in the same school?"
"There's nothing." His voice was rigid, like an automated response.
"Your friends’ lives could be on the line here, Kyle. Mia's
life is on the line."
"It doesn't make a difference. We're all screwed."
"Why are you all screwed?"
"There's something bad out there...just...stop it. Find it and stop it now. And tell me when it's over."
He looked distraught, like he remembered something important, then he started to babble into the phone. It was difficult to hear, but she got the end of it. "Whatever it is, it won't stop. Not until it's finished. I know it won't. It won't!"
Kyle pulled the phone away from his face painfully, about to hang up.
"Kyle listen to me. Just tell me what happened. You don't have to hide it anymore. Let me help you!"
Kyle tapped the phone against his forehead.
"Don't you hang up that phone, Kyle. Why are you here? Just tell me what happened. I can keep the rest safe. I can find your sister! Kyle, I'll find your sister! I just need time."
Kyle held the phone in front of his face, hand trembling. He hung up and rose to his feet.
Jennifer was already standing with her left hand pressed up tightly against the glass. She pounded her fist. "Wait! Hold on. Just wait! I need you!"
The security guard took him away from the glass and back to his cell. Jennifer was still wailing her fist against the glass as a security guard on her side grabbed hold of her shoulders and pulled her away.
***
She didn't even remember the drive home. Suspended, performing an illegal investigation, possibly busted by Steven Adams, along with her documented visit to Kyle Morrow. Her fist hurt from punching the Plexiglas, her neck was
tight from tossing and turning in bed every night. A nasty migraine had consumed her entire head.
What will happen when Brian finds out? It'd probably go to the committees if it got back to Brian that she was investigating against orders while suspended. Until then, she had to try and save Mia.
Mia...she was there when I was...you don't know that, Jennifer. He must hold his victims elsewhere.
She had a decisio
n to make. Go to Clavet and continue her search for answers or pay a visit to Eli once more.
13
It smelled like rainwater and rust. The steel bars were cold on Brian's hands. He tried to pry them open, believing he could. The bars did not bend, they did not break. How long had he been in that old prison cell for? His cellmate was gone. Had they cleared out for yard time without him?
The constant drip from the ceiling was collected in a pool near the toilet, accentuating the smell of excrement, the fumes jabbing at his nostrils with great offense. He had told them to fix the hole many times. He maybe shouldn't have, though. Demonstrations of preferential treatment could have caused suspicion, so it was a good thing they ignored his requests.
There was not a sound in the entire prison other than the constant drip hitting the puddle. How would he get out if all the guards were gone? They had the keys.
He hadn't completed his undercover mission yet. He had to locate his target and get the information, by any means necessary. Brian required a full confession or the repercussions would be dire.
On his cellmate's bedside there was a massive hole in the wall, much like Andy Dufresne's in Shawshank Redemption, he thought. Had it been there the entire time? Had he been there for hours though? How long had everyone gone?
He had to locate inmate 479 and had to get him to talk. Brian needed names.
The drip, drip was like a clock ticking down, running itself out of time. Faster, faster, faster. Brian's heartbeat matched
the timing of the dripping until it stopped dead. Sunlight shone through the small hole in the ceiling, the bright rays illuminating his arm. He could feel the heat from it.
Looking back toward his cell bars, a group of inmates stood outside, ready to attack. Their grins were evil, gazes filled with reckoning intentions. A familiar guard split through the inmates like Moses parting the Red Sea. He recognized the guard. Moody was the last name.
"Thank God, Moody. You gotta help me out here. Can you get me to the yard? I'm supposed to meet with 479. I'm out of time."
Moody gave no reply, instead, he held a matching grin with the rest of the inmates. He winked at Brian and pulled out a key to his cell and slid it in the groves, ready to let the flood of prisoners feast on his flesh. Brian lunged for the hole in the wall, having to crouch as he walked down a dim pathway surrounded by pipes for water and sewage. He was making good progress, separating himself from the chanting and cheering hounds.
Suddenly, Brian was no longer walking. Much like Andy Dufresne, he was crawling through a pipe, covered in sewage. The stench was unbearable, causing vomit to flow out of him with ease like water. Brian pulled his body briskly without any feeling of muscle exhaustion. The sound of dripping returned, driving him mad with panic. It rattled in his head, consumed his mind, tormented his heart; drip, drip, drip. Again, it was accelerating, his heart thundering along with it. He was running low on precious time. As the dripping reached its climax, and his heart was about to rip from his chest, a hand reached out and grabbed his foot, pulling him backward.
Falling.
He was tumbling from space, weightless.
Brian stood in the prison yard all alone on the east side of the fence. From the west side came inmate 479. A white man, long hair to his shoulders. He should have been shaved like everyone else, but he wasn't. What had started out as a walk had turned into a jog. He was running at Brian with a full head of steam and a shiv in his hand. The blade slid into Brian's belly, down to the wooden handle. Inmate 479 twisted the blade. He did not smile menacingly, nor did his eyes burn with any signs of hate. His one eye looked dead, likely glass.
Now, Brian stood in solitary confinement without any light. Only darkness, listening to the drip, drip, drip. It wasn't the rain this time, however; the dripping was from his stomach, the shiv still lodged in. Brian yelled for help but heard nothing but his own voice. The blade was hot, his body cold and clammy.
***
Brian awakened gasping for air. In doing so, he choked on his own spit and coughed violently. He rolled over and reached for the pillow but it had fallen off the couch. The TV was still on, playing Sportsnet highlights for the umpteenth time. Brian's forehead was cold and damp with sweat, a feverish weight wrapped around his body. Every time he had this particular nightmare his body would rise in temperature, trying to rid itself of the trauma.
The dream came in different variations, but it didn't take a shrink to know it stemmed from his time undercover during his stay out East.
He worked with a major drug op. They placed him undercover in prison. His job was to extract information from
a player relatively high up the food chain that had access to the right people. Although the journey to earn the man's trust in prison was complex, the desired outcome was not. They needed a name and a way to reach the right contact. Brian had to work his way through the common generalities of any prison, earning respect and standing strong, alone for as long as possible until prisoners started coming to him, not for a beating but with a proposal to join their ranks.
What was planned as a three month capped extraction had extended over six months.
Six months away from his family.
His target, who they called “Forks,” had an arsenal of men inside the prison, and Brian soon figured that it would take him more time to get to Forks than the DED had estimated. There was a firm code, and that code said any man that tried to even look at Forks would be put in the infirmary.
It took several brawls in the yard to gain the eye of Forks. Brian grew accustomed to pain. Ribs were the worst, always breaking and dislocating, never healing quite properly. And just as he'd start to feel better he'd be forced to fight again. In the beginning, the guards were inclined to jump in right away but were soon instructed to back off to let Brian fight his fights. The RCMP eventually wanted to pull the plug, but Brian refused. He was in. Invested.
Once he had finally earned his way to some one-on-one time with Forks, a background check was requested. This involved having one of Brian's "guys" meet with one of Forks' on the outside. The DED was prepared for this, and they worked diligently to ensure that their undercover bait was legitimate on paper to confirm Brian's drug running identity.
After a grueling half-year, Brian had managed to earn his
trust. The plan was for Brian to join his right-hand man on the outside to help with distribution, expanding their market through Brian's connections. His supposed partner in crime on the outside was apparently connected to a better cook and had ties with multiple crooked cops to steer heat away from their process. Brian was successful in getting the information that DED required to further pursue their investigation and cut the head off the snake, so to speak. Brian left prison, met his contact, and was soon led to the top.
It all came at a price, one he and his family paid and continued to pay.
Then came the Eli Baker case.
***
Brian used McDonald's drive-through later that morning and managed to convince the lady to serve him burgers during breakfast hours. He stared down at the half-eaten McDouble in his lap when his cell phone rang.
"Brian here."
The voice on the other end sounded familiar. "Sergeant Peters."
"Yeah, hello." He still couldn't place them.
"It's John. Harris. I figured you might not remember me."
John was an old colleague and friend from his time out East before going undercover. He was a good man, one that was a little heavy into the bottle after hours.
"I remember embarrassing a John Harris in Depot. That you?"
"Funny. I don't remember that happening."
"What's up? Need me to come show you how to do your job?"
"Well, in a way I guess."
"What are you talking about?"
"They want you in Ottawa."
"Really?"
"Corps Sergeant Major."
"You're kidding."
"I'm not. You or Benning on M division...
I like your odds though, Peters. But what do I know."
"I uh—"
"Don't tell me you're getting emotional."
"Oh, shit. Emotional if they put onions on my burger." He glanced down. "When do you need me?"
"Need to fly you in tomorrow. The meetings start bright and early next morning."
"Okay then..." Brian was out of words. He thought about Susan. She wouldn't like it. But, if he could manage to get her on board, he was confident it would help repair things between them. It was this damn city. Cursed. Convincing her would definitely be easier said than done.
"That work for you, princess?"
"Uh...yeah, no. That works. Send me the details then."
"Were you seriously hesitating?"
"No. Just got some things I gotta tie up. You do realize I have a wife and child."
"Of course. I'll email you your flight details."
"Thanks, John."
"Yup."
Brian pulled out of the parking lot.
***
To say he was ambushed when he arrived home was an understatement. Brian stepped through the front door of his
house to find two suitcases at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor. His wife Susan walked around the corner while putting her coat on.
"What's this?" Brian asked, withholding devastation from his voice.
"We're going to my sister's place." Susan turned toward the staircase and yelled. "Chris. Come on, let's go!" She turned back to Brian. "Keep this casual in front of him."
She throws me the nastiest curveball and then asks me to be casual. This was an immature act, a temper-tantrum, a guilt trip on steroids, an empty threat. Totally unfair to Chris.
"Why exactly are you going to your sisters?"
"Oh, Brian. This has been in the making for a while now."
"What has been in the making? What are you saying?"
