Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 4, 5 & 6 (Box Set)

by Robert P. French

  She looks shocked. “Dale? No. He would never. No, not Dale.” Her emphatic response waves a little red flag.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  She looks at me. I can’t quite read her expression. Suspicion maybe?

  Finally she answers, “I just am.”

  Without thinking it through I ask, “Did you and he ever—”

  “Certainly not!” she snaps and stands up. “I don’t know who you are. Any friend of Dale’s would know there could never be another woman in his life except Marly. As far as I’m concerned this interview is over.”

  “OK. Look, I really apologize if I offended you. I didn’t mean to.” I stand up. “Listen, if I track him down I’ll tell him to call you.”

  “Thank you.” She’s tight lipped and quivering with anger.

  We say our goodbyes and I leave with the suspicion that Marly Summers’ worst fears are in fact right: her husband’s having an affair, maybe with the woman standing glaring after me.

  But maybe I’ll know more this evening.

  5

  Stammo

  Something’s up with Rogan. I’ve known him too damn long to not see when he’s worried. I’ve also known him too damn long to bother asking him, he’ll get to it when he gets to it. I just hope he doesn’t try and talk about Matt again. It’s not my job to soothe his damn conscience. Besides, I’ve got a worry of my own and I don’t know whether to share it with him or not.

  “So what did you find out about Dale Summers?” he asks.

  It’s a more interesting question than he suspects. “He’s an anomaly,” I say.

  “How so?”

  “He’s twenty-nine, rich, in a solid profession, married to a doctor—yes, she’s a doctor, she just qualified—and yet he has a tiny digital footprint. Unless he’s using a pseudonym, he’s not on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. He’s got a LinkedIn account but he hardly ever posts anything and when he does it’s only about work, all pretty standard stuff.”

  “What about other stuff?” he asks.

  “Nothing there. He’s never been in trouble with the law, not even a parking ticket. He’s got a great credit rating. His family has more money than God and none of them seem to be in any sort of difficulties, legal or otherwise. I tried to find out why he’s estranged from them; I had a good dig in all the tabloid and fake news websites but there’s nothing except one whack-job site claims his brother’s one of the lizard people who run the government.” I give a smile, not at the lizard people thing but at the fact that I’m holding the best bit back for a while.

  “It’s a bit unusual, the social media thing.”

  “A bit?! It’s bizarre. Everyone in his demographic is all over Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. I’m thinking he’s hiding something, in fact I’d bet a bottle of Jack Daniels on it.” I wonder if he’ll take the bait.

  “Yeah, but what? Maybe I should ask Marly.” Bingo! He looks pleased at the thought of talking to her.

  “I already did.” His face drops just a bit. “I asked her if he used a different username for social media. She said he always claimed social media was an invention designed by the devil to waste time and that he wouldn’t have anything to do with it. But then she said something interesting.” I pause, just to irritate him. I don’t know why we do this to each other but we do. Just as I see the frustration appear on his face, I continue, “She said she walked up behind him one time and he didn’t hear her. She said he was on his phone, on Facebook, thumbs tapping away. When she said something, he stopped and blanked the screen. Said he was doing some checking on a client. Only reason she mentioned it was that he looked a bit guilty and when she asked which client, he hesitated a bit too long before naming one.”

  “So are you thinking he might be using a fake name?”

  I nod.

  “Can you dig through Facebook and find what name he’s using?”

  I snort and shake my head. For such a smart guy, Rogan knows jack shit about the internet.

  “I wonder what he’s hiding?” he asks.

  I hold back on my growing suspicion. I’m not ready to bring up the subject just yet. I leave it at, “Dunno. I’m betting it’s another woman. Though why the hell…”

  He shakes his head. “If it is, I don’t want to be the one to tell her.”

  Like I do?

  He’s got that faraway look in his eye he often gets when an idea’s forming. I know to keep quiet, I don’t want to break his chain of thought. He looks at me as if trying to decide something.

  “Can you do something for me Nick?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  A long pause. I get the creeping suspicion this isn’t about the Dale Summers case. He looks worried. I’m betting it’s about the killing but I can’t go there right now. I gotta tell him.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says before I can open my mouth. “It’ll keep.” He sits up in his chair. “I’ve got one lead on Dale Summers which I can follow up this evening. For right now I’ve got some ideas about the other cases we’ve got on the go.”

  I feel a wave of relief that we don’t have to discuss the elephant in the room. “Sure,” I say and I can see the relief in his face too.

  But we’re gonna have to talk about it some time.

  6

  Tomás

  “The lawyer says that Rogan used to be a cop, Patrón. But he was released yesterday.” The news spears through me. How can a triple murderer be released? No one has that level of clout.

  “How so?” I keep the words as even as I can.

  “Our lawyer says the charges for killing your father and the politician have been dropped but the charge of killing the Bookman stands.”

  “What?!” I cannot keep the anger out of my voice. It’s a mistake. My father never showed anger unless it served a purpose. I need to remember that.

  He says nothing. Just stands in front of me. He’s measuring me against Papa. That’s OK. Just because I went to Harvard Business School doesn’t make me any less ruthless than my father. Maybe it makes me more so. It’s one of the reasons he sent me there.

  “It’s good. Out in the open he will be more vulnerable. Remember, I don’t want him killed. That would be too easy on him. I want him to suffer like we suffer. His family, his friends: at least three lives of people he loves in return for the life of one Santiago.”

  “Si Patrón.” He has a cruel smile. Good. It’s the last thing Rogan’s loved ones will see in this lifetime.

  “I want the details of everyone close to him. When you have tracked them down report back to me. I will give you the details of how I want this done.”

  I nod and he leaves.

  Now another task to organize: how to cause the maximum possible pain for Mr. California Rogan. And how to observe him while he suffers. Yes. That feels right.

  7

  Cal

  The offices of Beloff and Plasker were palatial but this is in a whole other league. The furniture in the reception area looks like it’s worth more than the annual revenue of Stammo Rogan Investigations. I’m surprised I was able to get an appointment to see Luke Summers without having to get Arnold Young to broker it. Luke is the CEO of Summers Holdings Inc. which owns the hotel chain bearing his family name. My surprise gives way to something else. Something I will need to probe for.

  He strides into the reception area and I know without asking that this is Luke Summers. He’s as tall as me with fair hair, cut like a Marine, and a face that resembles the picture of his brother. Yet he’s subtly different; slimmer and more confident looking. He has a bearing that speaks of money and power yet he seems relaxed and approachable. I can sense this is a person whom his subordinates would follow through the gates of hell if he asked them to do so.

  “Mr. Rogan. I’m Luke Summers, welcome.”

  I stand and take the proffered hand. He has a firm but not overwhelming grip and I’m struck by the genuine tone of his welcome. “Please, call me Cal. I really appreciate that you could see me so quickl
y.”

  “My pleasure Cal. Come with me please.” We walk down a corridor, lined with pictures of Summers Hotels from around the world, and go into a corner office facing the North Shore mountains. It must be at least a thousand square feet. He leads me to a seating area comprising a circular coffee table surrounded by six deep leather armchairs. “I was about to have an after-lunch Americano. Would you join me?”

  Before I can think, I have answered in the affirmative. It’s a gentle reminder to me that I must not get seduced by this man’s charisma and urbanity. As I sink into one of the chairs, he marches over to an expensive espresso maker. “So you wanted to talk to me about my brother Dale,” He says as he starts pressing buttons and placing china cups in position under two of the six spouts. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m afraid your brother seems to have gone missing.”

  “Uh-huh.” He still has his back to me as he turns two dials and presses buttons directly above the waiting cups.

  “His wife came to our offices yesterday afternoon. She hasn’t seen him since Thursday morning.”

  He turns from the hissing coffee machine and makes his way back to the seating area. “Ahhh, Marly. The ever concerned wife.” He sits down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to seem harsh but she is a bit of a worrier.” His apology seems forced. I don’t think he likes his sister-in-law one little bit. Then it hits me. Marly told Nick, she had never met any of Dale’s family. Unless Nick misheard her, either she or Luke is not telling the truth. I’ll probe that later.

  For now I just say, “Well in this case she might just have a point. He’s not been seen at work since Friday afternoon.”

  “Mmm. That’s unusual. He’s always seemed overly concerned about that job of his.” I sense that perhaps his urbanity’s slipping a bit.

  “You don’t approve of his work?” I ask.

  “Not per se,” he responds and I try not to show my irritation at people who use per se. “Dale’s a bona fide genius when it comes to corporate finance,” he continues, again with the Latin, “that genius is wasted working for a CA firm. If he were in the family business, he would be CFO earning four times what he makes at Beloff and Plasker.”

  “So why doesn’t he work here?”

  His face goes hard. “Stubbornness,” he says. I sense I’m getting somewhere.

  “How so?” I ask mildly.

  “Because he—” He stops himself for an instant, then, “Because he’s just not prepared to make some changes.”

  “Changes…?”

  “It’s a family matter. I would rather not discuss it and I doubt it’s relevant to his going missing.”

  I’m not going to give up that easily. “Does it have anything to do with Marly?”

  “Ind—” He stares at me and his look of irritation abates. A small smile plays on his lips. “You’re good,” he says. “You almost got me to say more than I want to on the subject of my brother. Anyway our family history is not relevant to the fact that he’s missing right now.”

  The way he says it convinces me that exactly the opposite is true but I’m equally convinced I’m not going to get anything out of him on the family history. However, I think the curtailed word might have been ‘indirectly’. “You don’t like his choice of spouse do you?” I ask.

  “I’ve never met the woman,” he replies and I note he neither confirmed nor denied it.

  “Really? You said before she was a bit of a worrier.”

  “I’ve never met her but I know a lot about her. When I learned of her relationship with Dale, I had her checked out thoroughly.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  He smiles grimly. “That’s for me to know and you to try and find out.” He stands and extends his hand to me. “I haven’t seen my brother in years so I doubt there’s anything I can help you with however, when you find him, please let me know.” I too stand and shake the proffered hand. There’s no way I’m going to get anything more from Luke Summers. But I’m going to find out what’s the deal between Dale and his family and I’m betting it is relevant to his disappearance despite what his Latin-quoting brother may say.

  As I leave I realize I never got the proffered Americano.

  “Hello. I’m Cal Rogan, Ellie’s dad. I’m sorry for any inconvenience but I need to take her out of class early today.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know something’s wrong. Her face changes, she looks across at her fellow worker and they exchange glances. Not good glances by any stretch of the imagination.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Rogan, your ex-wife has taken Ellie out of school for the balance of the term. Didn’t you know?” The last three words are laced with vitriol. Now she’s looking at me like I’m a child molester.

  What the hell is Sam up to? She knows what I did on that island but she can’t think I would do any harm to her or Ellie… Can she?

  I look at the guardian of the school office and know what she’s thinking about me and to make matters worse, I feel a flush rising in my cheeks. Why is it that we blush when innocent as readily as when guilty? She doesn’t know That blushing red no guilty instance gave. To her I’m just some deadbeat father and husband.

  I turn, walk out of the office and stride down the hall. I can feel tears rising to my eyes: tears of sorrow, love and anger mingled. Suddenly a cold hand of desire for a hit of heroin sweeps through me. I long for the unworried bliss only it can bring. As I push through St. Cecelia’s school doors into the spring drizzle, I can see my car parked across the street. In fifteen minutes I could be in the downtown east side; in thirty minutes I could be safe at home in the arms of the Beast free of all cares… for a while anyway. I really need it. Right now.

  I get into the car. To get downtown I need to go in the opposite direction. I fire up the engine, taking no joy in the throaty roar of the Healey’s exhaust. As I do the u-turn, I look at the school. The front doors swing open. Have they sent someone to ensure I’m off the premises? No it’s a kid. Not just any kid either. I hit the brakes and get out.

  “Ashleigh,” I call.

  She looks up guiltily from her phone but when she sees me she smiles and walks over.

  “Hello Mr. Rogan,” she says and extends her hand. Manners are a big deal at the school. I shake her hand but let go quickly, aware of the accusations that might be levelled at a father whose kid has been removed from the school by her mother.

  How do I do this? It can’t be an interrogation as it was the last time we spoke.

  “You must miss Ellie,” I say.

  “Yes,” she smiles. “But she’ll be back in September, right?”

  “Oh, yes. You must have been in touch with her on Facebook, right?”

  “Instagram,” she corrects me. “It’s funny, I was just texting her.”

  Perfect! “Where is she right now?” I ask.

  “I’ll ask her.” Her fingers fly over the screen. I can’t believe how lucky I am. She stops typing. I wait patiently. She looks at me and I feel as if I need to say something. But what? Just as it starts to get awkward, her phone buzzes. She frowns and purses her lips then her fingers fly for less than a second. When the reply comes she looks somewhere between puzzled and annoyed.

  “She said she’s not allowed to say.”

  Before I can question her further. I hear a man’s voice. “Hey.” It’s a shout. I look up. A less than fit security guard is making his way toward us, eyeing me unpleasantly. I weigh my options and choose the most sensible.

  “Thanks Ashleigh,” I say, then turn and take the six paces back to my car. I’m one hundred meters down the road by the time the panting guard reaches the sidewalk.

  My frustration at the lack of information from Ashleigh is tempered by the knowledge that I may have found a way to track down Ellie and Sam. That faint hope somehow gives me the strength to resist the siren cry of heroin, at least for today.

  I hope.

  8

  Sam

  “Mommy. I’m texting with Ash and she says Dadd
y’s there.” The excitement in Ellie’s voice sends a maelstrom of emotions through me but the biggest one overwhelms all the others: fear. In my rush to get from the kitchen to the living room, I forget my cane and stumble, almost sprawling on the hardwood floor. The stress of the last few days has aggravated my MS, damn it.

  “DO NOT text her back,” I yell.

  Ellie looks puzzled at first but then her stubborn streak shows. “Why not?”

  “Because I say so.” It’s a lousy answer, one I promised I would never say to a child… until I actually had a child. I limp unsteadily over to her and drop down on the couch. She has started to type and I just manage to grab the iPad from her before she finishes.

  “Hey.” She’s angry now. “That’s private.”

  I look at the text. The Your dad says where r u? from Ashleigh is followed by Ellie’s unfinished response of Tell him we are at… Fingers trembling, I backspace over the text and type Tell him I’m not allowed to say and hit Send.

  Why?

  I can’t say. Sorry Ash. I reply.

  There’s no response to that.

  Ellie’s really angry now. “When you said I couldn’t have a phone but could have an iPad, you said it would be private. Why can’t I tell Daddy where we are? I want to see him.”

  How the hell do I answer that question without scaring the life out of her? Do I say because it’s safer for us and for him that we stay apart for a while? That’s partly true. Or do I just tell her an outright lie? And if so, what lie? I guess I’ll fall back on that other parental standby.

  “It’s difficult to explain sweetie.”

  “Why?”

  The inevitable question, which I evade. “It’s just very important that Daddy doesn’t know where we are for the moment, OK?” She looks not in the least mollified. “Listen El, I’ll try and arrange for us to meet up with Daddy soon but until then, you must promise me two things: one, you won’t let anyone know where we are and two, you will not talk to or text Daddy until I say it’s OK. Do you promise?”