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

by Robert P. French

  “What happened next?”

  “He contacted us a few weeks later. Said he’d freed her soul and we should come to the church to meet with her again. When we got there he said Jan wanted to speak through him. He went into some sort of trance and we believed Jan was talking to us. He said a whole bunch of things we thought only Jan would know, then she thanked us for getting him to set her soul free and that she was passing over to the other side and would give us messages from time to time. It sounds foolish now but we really believed it was her talking. We kept on going to the church and every so often he would give us a message from Jan. We got one two weeks ago.”

  “So why did you call my office this morning?” I ask.

  “We were doing some shopping in White Rock yesterday afternoon when we ran into a woman we’d met at the church. We asked her how she was and she said she was so happy because her husband was finally free. She said her husband was an American and that he’d fought in the Viet Nam war and that something was holding his soul in Viet Nam until Pastor Kilman went over there and freed him. We asked her when this was and when she told us the dates you could have knocked us down with a feather, eh Flo?” Florrie nods and her face is dark.

  “Don’t tell me,” I say. “He was in Viet Nam and Winnipeg at the same time.”

  They both nod.

  “I promise you Mr. and Mrs. Franks, I’m going to do everything I can to get your money back and the money of anyone else who has been bilked by this phony preacher.”

  “Thank you Detective Rogan. We really do appreciate it don’t we Flo?”

  She nods vigorously. “Yes dear, we do.” I can tell her words are heartfelt.

  “You told our office manager you didn’t want to go to the Langley RCMP detachment because one of the members of the church is an RCMP officer, is that right?”

  “Yes. We were worried he might be in on it.”

  “OK. Leave it with me. I’ll look into it. But first I need you both to tell me everything you can remember about the meetings you went to at the church.”

  We spend a good half-hour going over the details of the con that was perpetrated on them and I’m starting to get a good idea of how it was done.

  When I’ve got all they can remember, Phil says, “Now, I understand you need to be paid for this. How much do we need to give you as a retainer?”

  Stammo won’t like my answer. “Nothing. I’m going to collect my fee from Pastor Kilman. I don’t know how yet, but I will.”

  But I need to go and make a purchase before my dinner with Em.

  I didn’t expect to be back here so soon but I thought it would be a nice place to bring Em. It’s expensive but not too expensive and I really want to try the food I didn’t get to try when I was here observing Marly Summers, Sean O’Day and Big Bob Pridmore. Fortunately the waiter who was here last night is not in evidence.

  Em looks stunning. She’s not wearing the same clothes she was wearing when I saw her this morning at her office. I’m wondering if she went home and changed. I kind of hope she did. I wonder where she lives.

  The waiter pours our Chianti and we clink glasses. It goes down well.

  “So tell me Cal, how did your meeting with Ms. Summers go?”

  “It was interesting. She had her lawyer present.” I describe Big Bob to her and give a summary of the meeting. “There’s some sort of Svengali/Trilby dynamic going on there.”

  “Ahh,” she says archly. “She’s under his sway.”

  “I think so. I think either or both of them could have killed Dale.”

  “Really? Do you think she’s the sort of person who could commit such a gruesome crime?”

  “No. I think if either of them did it, it would be the lawyer.”

  “So he’s your prime suspect?” She takes a sip of her wine and I can tell she’s enjoying it; she has a cat-like sensuality to her which I feel myself reacting to.

  Trying to keep on subject, I say, “Maybe. However I had an interesting meeting with Luke Summers.”

  I give her a blow-by-blow of my meeting with the coffee-loving CEO.

  “So he’s a suspect too?” she asks. I nod. “How very Cain and Abel.” She enjoys another mouthful of wine. “It has been my experience that a very small percentage of very highly religious people can be capable of the most horrendous crimes.”

  “A lot of people from your part of the world are very religious,” I say. “Are you?”

  “I was religious as a child but when I lost my sister, I’m afraid I also lost my faith.”

  She shifts her position and leans forward planting her elbows together on the table and putting her chin in her hands. I rein in a strong desire to lean forward and kiss her, although I don’t think she’d object if I did. “Tell me about the rest of your day,” she says.

  “Talking about religions, I have an interesting new case centring on one.”

  I take her through the details of my afternoon with Phil and Florrie Franks, then she tells me about her job and how she has become pretty much of a nomad and then something spurs me to tell her about my heroin addiction. It’s as if I want to get this issue out in the open before we go any further. If it’s going to be a roadblock to a relationship I want to know sooner rather than later. Happily she seems to take it in her stride and we find all sorts of things to talk and laugh about through the antipasto della casa, the main course—cioppino for her, veal saltimboca for me—and the shared chocolate ganache torte.

  Twenty-four hours ago I was sitting in my car just a hundred yards from here, whining about the fact I hadn’t been on a date in ages and trying to decide whether to go and buy a flap of heroin and shoot myself into oblivion. Now here I am on a date, just twenty-four hours later, and not just a date but a great date. I take a sip of the cognac before me and ask, “Where do you live Em?”

  “Why ever do you ask, sir?” she says in an over-the-top Southern drawl. Busted! I can feel myself blushing. “I’m sorry Cal, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. My home is in Atlanta but for the past two-and-a-half years, I have moved between four different cities managing Southbrook’s expansion. Right now, I’m staying at the Waterfront. If it’s not raining again perhaps you could walk me home.”

  “I would love that Em.”

  We finish our coffee and cognacs chatting companionably until I call over the waiter and pay the bill.

  We collect our coats and just as I’m helping her into hers, my phone buzzes and does the popcorn ringtone. It’s a text from Stammo; he showed me how to set up ringtones for different people’s calls and texts. Sorry Nick, you are not going to intrude onto my evening with Em. I ignore it and open the door for her. As we head toward her hotel, she links her arm in mine and I feel a lump in my throat and a frisson of pleasure mixed with a little bit of fear of where this might go.

  Not ten yards along Water Street the popcorn ringtone summons me again. One hundred more yards of companionable silence and Stammo texts again. Em senses my agitation. “Why don’t you answer it and get it over with?”

  “Are you sure?”

  She squeezes my arm and nods.

  I pull out my phone. The three texts from Stammo read:

  Google 20:13

  Google 20:13 right now

  Google 20:13 right now then call me.

  “Sorry Em, if I don’t do this my partner’s never going to stop.”

  She gives me a warm smile and I have an overwhelming desire to kiss her but instead I Google 20:13.

  Holy crap!

  Now there’s only one suspect in the murder of Dale Summers.

  27

  Ellie

  Saturday

  I love the smell of bacon and Mommy cooks it just right. Daddy’s a good cook too but his bacon isn’t crispy enough. You have to pick up Mommy’s bacon with your fingers because it just breaks up if you try and put a fork in it. Mommy puts my breakfast in front of me and sits next to me at the table. We always have breakfast sitting next to each other like this because we can look thro
ugh the glass doors and see the beach and the water and Grandpa’s boat. I wish Grandpa and Grandma were here.

  “Are Grandma and Grandpa coming to see us?”

  “Not this weekend sweetie.”

  “Why not?”

  “They have a party to go to at Grandpa’s yacht club.”

  Oh. That’s a shame. Grandpa always makes me laugh. He pretends to box with me and gives me what he calls the Tapscott Tap.“Mommy?”

  “Yes sweetie.”

  “My name’s Rogan because Daddy’s name’s Rogan. Your name’s Cullen but Grandpa’s name’s Tapscott. Why?”

  “Don’t you remember? I told you this before, when you were younger. When I was a little girl my daddy died. After a while Grandma met Grandpa and married him but I kept my daddy’s last name.”

  “Daddy’s daddy died too. I remember going to the funeral.”

  I wish Daddy was here. I really wish that.

  “Mommy, can Daddy come and visit us?”

  Mommy looks at me and she smiles but I think it’s a sad smile. How can you be sad and happy at the same time?

  “I don’t think so sweetie. He’s very busy with his work.”

  Mommy’s busy with her work too but she has her computer here and works a little bit every day. “Is that really true?” I ask her.

  She looks at me again and this time her smile isn’t sad. She gives a little laugh. “You’re just too clever for me El,” she says and laughs again. “OK, I’m going to tell you the truth.” Now she looks serious… and sad too. “Daddy did something and I’m very worried that the criminals he did it to will try and hurt him and us.”

  “Why would the bad people want to hurt us? We didn’t do anything to them.”

  “They know Daddy loves us very much and that hurting us would hurt Daddy.”

  “That’s like so mean,” I say. “What did Daddy do to them?”

  She looks at me again. I know that look. She’s trying to decide whether to tell me the truth. “You can tell me, Mommy.”

  She leans over and kisses the top of my head. “No sweetie, I can’t tell you the details. But I know it would make them very angry.”

  “How do you know they’re trying to hurt us?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why are we staying on Grandpa’s island?”

  “Because I can’t take the risk they might be trying to find us.”

  “How long are we going to stay here?”

  “Until…” She stops suddenly and bites her lip. “I don’t know El. I just don’t know.”

  As I look at her, I can see a tear forming in the corner of her eye. It gets bigger and runs down her cheek. Poor Mommy; she misses Daddy as well. I give her a big hug and it makes me start crying too.

  28

  Tomás

  I give her my most charming smile. I’m wearing a conservative suit and look as non-threatening as I can. “Good morning, Ma’am” I say. “I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for Mr. Tapscott.”

  She returns the smile. “Oh, you have the wrong house, Mr. Tapscott lives next door.”

  “Yes, I know,” I say, then add the lie, “I was just there but he seems to be out, nobody’s home.”

  “That’s funny, I saw him last night. Maybe they’ve gone shopping.”

  “I was wondering about that but it seems a bit early for shopping.”

  “Yes, it does. I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “I need to get an important message to Mr. Tapscott. I work with his son-in-law. I’m afraid Cal had a very bad accident last night and I can’t find his ex-wife. I really need to talk to her. I was wondering if she might be staying with Mr. and Mrs. Tapscott?”

  “Oh dear.” The old bat puts her hands to her mouth. Good. Her distress will put her in a frame of mind to be helpful. “I haven’t seen Sam around but maybe she’s there.”

  “Is there anywhere else they might be? Could they have gone away for the weekend?”

  “They might have gone to their place on Hardy Island but there’s no phone service there. I think cell phones might work up there. I’ll go and get Neil’s cell number for you if you’d like.”

  “That would be so kind of you,” I say.

  She turns and walks down the hallway to the back of her house. Silently, I step inside and close the door behind me. She doesn’t hear me follow her into the kitchen. There’s no one else here. I need to be sure. I step up behind her and clamp my hand over her mouth. She screams but the sound’s too muted for anyone to hear.

  “I’m going to let go of your mouth now. If you make a sound, I will kill you.”

  She nods.

  I turn her round to face me. “Where’s your husband?”

  “He’s dead,” she says, puzzlement joining the fear on her face.

  I step back and pull the silenced Colt from the holster under my jacket.

  “Say hi to him for me.”

  As I get into the back of the Escalade, Javier can see the look on my face in the rearview mirror. “Success Patrón?” he asks.

  “Success Javier. I want you to get Victor to check out every parcel of land on a place called Hardy Island and get me the details of the one owned by Mr. Neil Tapscott.”

  “Sí, Patrón.”

  I pull out my phone and open Google Maps. Hardy Island is about a hundred kilometres north of Gibsons. There are no ferries to it. It just keeps getting better.

  “We will need the boat, Javier.” I’m grateful for the thousandth time I had the good sense to leave Samuel Island on the cigarette boat immediately after my father’s assassination. I look at his reflection in the mirror. “Your reward is near at hand my friend.”

  He licks his lips and smiles.

  29

  Cal

  Nick has a big grin on his face. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. It was so obvious. I even remember my father quoting it to me. And it was all because of you, Adry. You are amazing.” She gives a big grin that matches his and then some.

  “Fantastic work you guys,” I say. “I would never have guessed. Who thought to Google it?”

  Neither of them speaks for a moment until Nick says, “Go on.”

  “It was me… well actually, my brother,” she says shyly. “I was thinking about it at home last night. What if it wasn’t the time of death? I thought it was a bit odd to be a time. Why would thirteen minutes past eight be significant to anyone? Unless it might be a scheduled time for a train or a plane or something. I racked my brains for what it could be. I thought it might be a ratio, twenty to thirteen—which incidentally is one point five, three, eight, four something, in case you’re interested—or maybe part of a chemical formula. I called my brother, he’s a chemist and I asked him about it but he said they don’t usually use colons in Chemical formulas. He asked me if I’d Googled it. So I did.”

  “That’s when she called me,” Nick chimes in, “and so I texted you.”

  “I almost fell over when I saw it.” I say, laughing again. “What you guys don’t know is that I met with Luke Summers yesterday. I found out in the meeting he’s very religious. He even referred to the bible in the meeting. I’m surprised he didn’t quote Leviticus at me.”

  Nick turns to his screen. “I got this from biblegateway.com: Leviticus 20:13. If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads. It couldn’t be much clearer than that could it?”

  “So Cal,” says Adry. “Do you think Luke Summers killed his brother?”

  I don’t want to dampen her enthusiasm but I don’t want to get completely carried away with the idea. “It’s looking that way, but let’s play devil’s advocate,” I say. “The only thing we have is the fact that there seems to be a colon after the twenty in the autopsy photos. What if it isn’t a colon, what if the killer’s hand slipped while he was drawing the square around the numbers. Or what if Dale writhed in pain as he was doing it
. That would rule out the Leviticus verse; there would be no religious angle to the crime.”

  Nick reluctantly agrees with me. Also, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to think a religious person could do something like this. We look at each other. The laughter has gone from both our faces; I can see he feels as let down as I do. We had high hopes for a moment but my words have dashed them. I hope after all her hard work on this Adry doesn’t feel crushed. I look at her and she’s grinning broadly. “There is one other thing,” she says.

  She walks back to the reception area and returns with her iPad in hand. She holds it facing us. On the screen is the picture of a crucifix. The crossbar and the part above it are ornately carved and encrusted with jewels. It looks familiar; I think I know what’s coming. “This is a picture of a cross from a cathedral in Cefalù, Sicily,” she says. She scrolls the screen. Bingo! It’s a crime scene photo, the photo of the dagger stuck in Dale Summers’ chest. They are almost identical.

  “Of course, a crucifix. I knew there was something about that dagger as soon as I saw the picture. It’s because it looked like a crucifix. That cannot be a coincidence,” Stammo says. “I’ve got to hand it to you Adry, you spotted something that Rogan and me and the VPD all missed. There’s something else, Steve told me these may be manufactured by a company in the States. They’re replicas of the daggers used by the Crusaders; that’s another religious angle. As we’re helping them on this case I can ask him for the name of the manufacturer if he’s found it out yet.”