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

by Robert P. French

  “Fantastic work Adry,” I say. “You’ve put us one step ahead of the game.” I look back at Stammo, the question on my face. He knows what he should do here but I’m guessing he can feel the thrill of the chase too.

  Five long seconds. “OK, Rogan,” he says. “I’ve gotta tell Steve about this but I don’t have to do it right away. I’m sure it can wait ’til Monday, I wouldn’t want to spoil his weekend.” His grin is back; we both know with a high profile murder case like this, the guys at VPD are working round the clock; everyone’s weekend’s already spoiled. “What you’ve gotta do is go see Luke Summers again and question him some more.”

  “Yeah, I might have blown that.” I tell them about my meeting with Luke Summers yesterday morning and add, “When I asked him if it would have been worth killing his brother to keep their religious customers, he pretty much chucked me out.”

  “A guilty man would do that,” says Adry.

  “Any man would do that,” growls Stammo. “Why would you want to alienate him like that?”

  “When I walked into his office, he made the point it was the third visit in four days. He wasn’t going to see me again in a hurry, so I wanted to check his reaction.” My words sound suspiciously like a rationalization, even to me. “I couldn’t get a read on him. Either he was an innocent man feeling affronted or a guilty man pretending to be.”

  “Anyway,” Nick says, “I wanted us to meet here at the office so that we could thank Adry for her work on this. Let’s all go for a big, expensive breakfast over at the Pan Pacific; great food, great view and, seeing that despite everything we had our best ever month in March, the company can pick up the bill.”

  I had kind of decided to take the trip to Hardy Island and see Sam and Ellie. I really want to see them but I’m a little scared of how Sam might react to me turning up there unannounced. Not only that but, for some reason, I’m starving.

  “I’m in. Let’s do it. There’s something else I want to talk to you guys about as well.” I say.

  I’ll go see Sam and El tomorrow instead.

  Our plates heaped with breakfast goodies, the only sound is chewing and the occasional appreciative comment. Despite the rain, we can still see across Coal Harbour to the North Shore mountains, their peaks wreathed in cloud.

  Stammo and I are eating like condemned men at our final meal. If I look back toward the waterfront, I can just see the hotel where Em’s staying. It churns up mixed feelings. Despite the distraction of Stammo’s texts we had a wonderful time. She was fascinated by the twenty-thirteen connection. Brought up in Georgia, she was raised in a religious family and immediately got the allusion. We drank cocktails in the hotel’s bar until midnight. Then got to that awkward moment. Will she invite me up to her room or will she be too embarrassed to? Should I suggest it or would that be too much for a first date? My feelings were in a turmoil so I took the honesty-is-the-best policy route. I told her truthfully that I hadn’t really sorted out my relationship with Sam but that I would really like to see her again. She responded by giving me a gentle kiss and saying she would really like that too. All-in-all, a great evening.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Adry says.

  I don’t want to share those particular thoughts so I say, “I was just thinking what a great decision it was to hire you.”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire” she says with a grin.

  “No it’s true. Not only have you got the office humming along but you’re also a real asset on the detective side of the business.”

  “That’s for sure,” says Stammo around a mouthful of Cumberland sausage.

  “Thanks guys,” her grin’s even broader. “Here’s to Stammo Rogan Investigations Inc.” She lifts her mimosa and we all clink glasses.

  “So Rogan,” Stammo says. “You said you had something else to talk about.”

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure we’re onto something with this religious angle and on the face of it, Luke Summers looks like suspect numero uno. But there’s something going on between Marly Summers, her lawyer Bob Pridmore, and Sean O’Day, her husband’s lover.” I tell them about my meeting with Marly and Big Bob and her claim of being blackmailed by Sean, then finish with, “I get the impression Pridmore has some sort of hold over her. I think we owe it to her to find out what it is and see if we can help her.”

  “Except for one thing,” says Adry. “Nick knows this Cal but I didn’t get a chance to tell you. Late yesterday afternoon a courier arrived with a letter from Pridmore’s firm ending our association with his client and there was a cheque for ten grand as final payment. So she’s not our client anymore.”

  “Good money for not a lot of work. We should have a few more clients like her,” adds Stammo.

  I mull it over for a moment. “Who signed the letter?”

  “Some paralegal ‘on behalf of’ Robert X. Pridmore,” Adry replies. “The cheque was drawn on his firm’s trust account.”

  “So, not from her.”

  Stammo puts down a forkful of mushrooms. “So you’re thinking we should continue to investigate this?”

  “Yes. Starting with a one-on-one meeting with Marly and without Pridmore. I’ll set it up later,” I say.

  “Y’know what? Why don’t I take a shot at her. A change of face might get her talking.”

  “Boys, boys,” says Adry with what is becoming her signature grin. “No need to fight over her. Are you sure you’re not interested in this case because she’s… just… so… pretty?”

  “No, I’m—” Stammo and I both say. I cut myself off from saying ‘still married.’ Funny, that’s not even true, but my former marriage to Sam came to mind before how I feel about Em. I wonder what Stammo was going to say.

  Adry giggles. “OK.”

  “Good idea Nick.” I get the conversation back on track. “Go and see her and see what Big Bob has over her.”

  “Any idea what it might be?” he asks.

  “Before, I thought that maybe Marly killed her husband, Bob knew about it and was blackmailing her. Or, Bob killed Dale and was threatening Marly in order to keep her quiet about it. But given what we know now about twenty-thirteen both of those are less likely.”

  Nick chews on this for a while, then says, “Unless one of them was the killer and knew Dale was gay and branded him with the twenty-thirteen to put us off the track.”

  “Maybe they were trying to implicate Luke Summers,” Adry suggests.

  A gloom descends upon us. We just went from one suspect back to three.

  30

  Stammo

  This is not the best way to do a stakeout. Apart from anything else, I’m still a bit buzzed from the five mimosas I had at brunch; I shouldn’t have driven here at all but after sitting for three hours it’s starting to wear off. Normally, I’d have left my meeting with Marly Summers until Monday—when Big Bob Pridmore is likely to be at his law office making himself rich—but I’ve got nothing else to do with myself so I might as well be here as anywhere.

  I almost let it slip at brunch too. I need to be more careful. Then again, maybe Rogan should know, Adry too. I’ll have to think on that.

  I look across at the house again. I’m betting the blue F-Type Jag is hers and the fucking great matt-black Hummer belongs to Big Bob. I would like to have been here early this morning, to see if Pridmore spent the night. Rogan reckons they’re having an affair and he’s probably right except that he just doesn’t seem like her type.

  The front door just opened. It’s Pridmore. As I guessed, it’s the Hummer he gets into. He backs out the driveway and peels off in the direction of Marine Drive. I’ll give it a minute, just in case he comes back for anything and then I’ll—

  Wait a minute. The door opens again and Marly steps out of the house. She locks up behind her and then looks down the road in the direction Pridmore drove off. She stands for a second staring then walks over to the Jag, gets in and takes off down the road. I fire up the van and follow her.

  Having followed her at a discreet
distance from West Van to Vancouver, I’m right behind her in the line for the Hotel Vancouver’s valet parking and I’ve got a good idea who she’s here to see. She gets out of the Jag and walks behind it, passing inches in front of my van. I shrink back in the seat out of reflex. If she looks through the windshield she’ll see me anyway… but she doesn’t. She walks into the hotel and disappears from view. As one valet drives her car off, another one opens my door, “Good afternoon, sir—” His greeting is cut off when he sees my chair. “Oh, sorry sir,” he stammers. Poor kid, he’s embarrassed. Why do people have to feel embarrassed by people in wheelchairs? It just makes matters worse. He looks like a nice kid; I can’t get mad at him. I explain the hand-operated brake and gas controls to him, back my chair up, rotate a one-eighty and operate the buttons to open the back door and put down the ramp. Within two minutes of Marly entering the hotel, I’m wheeling through the door held open by the valet.

  As I move forward I see Marly sitting at a table in the bar area and, no surprises, she’s talking to a man who fits Rogan’s description of Sean O’Day to a tee: black hair, blue eyes and good-looking. I stop and try and size them up. They’re at a round table and are sitting next to each other rather than opposite so I can see both their faces. She’s talking quite quickly, explaining something it looks like, and he’s listening but also he’s darting glances here and there as if looking for enemies. At one point he looks straight at me but only for an instant. He’s never seen me before and anyway I’m just a guy in a wheelchair, no threat to him.

  Now he’s talking to her. It seems like a tense conversation on his part but she’s just sitting there with that tiny smile on her face that cleverly hides what she’s thinking.

  I wheel over to the table, push the third chair out of the way and maneuver myself into its place.

  “Good afternoon Marly.” I extend my hand and she calmly shakes it, showing no surprise that I’m here.

  “Hello Mr. Stammo.”

  I offer my hand to her companion. “Nick Stammo. You must be Sean O’Day.” He looks confused, first at me then at Marly.

  She comes to his rescue. “Mr. Stammo’s a private detective, I believe you’ve met his partner Mr. Rogan.”

  Without a word he takes my hand but the mask has come down: his expression gives no indication of how he’s feeling about my appearance at the table.

  With the little smile playing on her face, she says, “Unlike your partner, I don’t think you can claim not to have been following me Mr. Stammo.”

  I look from one to the other, his handsome face is completely expressionless and hers has that silly little smile, what they call supercilious I think. Time for me to rock their boat a little bit and, in a flash, I know how to do it.

  “Cut the crap Marly. You two are up shit creek without a paddle and you both need my help to get you out of whatever trouble you’re in. So stop trying to be a smart-ass and tell me what’s going on and this time I want the truth from both of you.”

  Her smile’s gone and so has his poker face. They look at each other and they both look relieved. I think I might get to some truth now.

  31

  Cal

  I’m on the dock in the tiny village of Saltery Bay. For the tenth time since I left the ferry terminal at Gibsons, I have called Sam. After brunch with Nick and Adry, I decided to escape the frustration of the Dale Summers case and just come up here and see my girls. The problem is there’s no ferry or water taxi to Hardy Island. The residents and their guests have to come or go by boat. I don’t know if Sam’s out with Ellie on her step-father’s boat, or if they have gone for a walk in the rain, or if her phone’s off, or if she’s just ignoring me. I stopped leaving voicemails after the fifth call. There are a number of boats tied up at the dock but on a rainy day most of them are empty, their owners probably sitting by a cozy fire warming their toes.

  I walk up to a Sea Ray. It’s bobbing in the swell left by the departing ferry and I can see someone in the wheel house. I walk into his field of view. He’s an older man and he seems to be working on the boat’s instrument panel.

  “Excuse me sir,” I call. He looks up and smiles.

  “Hello, what can I do for you?” His accent is very British. It’s not like Florrie Franks’ accent; it sounds more upper-class.

  “I need to get over to Hardy Island, it’s an emergency. Could you possible ferry me over there? I’d be happy to pay you for your time and for gas.”

  “I’m awfully sorry,” he says, “I’m afraid I can’t. I’m having a spot of bother with the electrics. I can’t even get the old girl started.”

  “Thanks anyway,” I say. I look down the dock. There’s one other boat which might have someone aboard so I start in it’s direction.

  “Wait a minute old boy. It’s an emergency you say?”

  I turn back. “Yes. My wife and daughter are over there and they’re not answering my calls. I’m worried sick something might be wrong.”

  “Never let it be said that I left another human being in distress.” He goes back into the wheelhouse and comes out holding a key on a chain attached to a yellow float about the size of a tennis ball.

  “We’ll take my pal’s boat. He’s a weekend sailor but he’s not coming up until the end of the month. I keep a key in case of emergencies and this qualifies as one don’t you think?” He sets off down the dock at a brisk pace and I follow on, effusive in my thanks.

  We come to a rather luxurious motor yacht which looks to be forty feet or more.

  “Hop aboard,” my saviour says. “We’ll be over there in a trice in this baby.”

  The small dock at Sam’s father’s property is empty. I don’t know whether to be relieved or more worried. Maybe they’ve gone back to Vancouver but if so, why didn’t Sam pick up my call? Surely after five calls she would have known it was important.

  With great skill my newfound friend reverses the boat up to the dock. “Looks like nobody’s here,” he says. “Why don’t you hop ashore and I’ll wait while you check the house.”

  I step off the swim-grid onto the dock and jog through the little copse and the hundred-and-fifty yards or so to the house. It stands grey and grim in the rain. I walk up the steps to the patio, the third one creaks as I step on it. I look through the window to the right of the door. The dining table is in the foreground but it’s overcast and getting dark so I can’t make out any details of the room. It certainly looks deserted. I walk to the door and rap three times to no avail. I try the handle but it’s locked. However the handle feels slightly sticky. I look at my hand.

  It’s blood.

  32

  Stammo

  She takes a deep breath and looks questioningly at Sean O’Day. He nods. She looks at me and she’s different. I can see why. Before, she always looked like she was hiding something. Now, it’s like I’m seeing her without makeup. I’m seeing the real Marly Summers. Behind the beautiful mask. Or maybe I’m fooling myself. We’ll see.

  “Bob Pridmore has been my lawyer since before I met Dale. One day, a few months after Dale and I had stopped having relations, I was feeling particularly down so I contacted Bob to find out what would be the situation if I were to separate or maybe even divorce. I gave him a copy of Dale’s trust agreement. He was so nice to me. He was very supportive at a time when I needed someone’s support. I don’t want to seem like I’m making excuses for what I did, but I was very vulnerable and… well, I ended up having an affair with him. I wasn’t in love with him but he was really nice to me and made me feel good about myself. I really needed that.”

  “Hi, what can I get you today?” Damn. The waiter has broken the flow of her conversation. We all order coffees of various types and he disappears to get them.

  “Go on,” I say gently, praying she doesn’t change her mind about coming clean.

  She pauses and looks at Sean again. Please don’t stop! He nods encouragement.

  She turns back to me.

  “We had been seeing each other for a coupl
e of months, when Bob started to make some, uh, suggestions about, you know, things he wanted to do in the bedroom. I’m not a prude Mr. Stammo, I went along for a while but then his requests started to get more and more creepy. So the next time he called me to get together, I told him it was over between us. He just said, ‘We’ll see about that,’ and hung up on me.

  “The next day, I got an email. There were attachments. Movies he’d taken with a hidden camera in his bedroom. Movies of the nastier things he likes doing to me. He was clever too. He never faced the camera and he blurred some of the images of himself where he might have been identifiable. The email said that unless I continued the affair, he would make them public, put them up on a website and send links to Dale and his brother Luke.”

  She hangs her head and looks at her hands clasped in her lap.

  I feel rage and sympathy brewing in about equal amounts.

  “Did you?” I ask.

  “Continue the affair? Yes.” The last word is little more than a whisper.

  Sean reaches out and squeezes her forearm.

  “You see,” she continues, “I didn’t know then that Dale was gay. I didn’t want to hurt him and I knew if those pictures became public, he would lose his trust fund. I couldn’t do that to him.”

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “Why would he lose his trust fund? I thought he would only lose it if his homosexuality was made public.”

  “The trust fund also has a moral turpitude clause. Apparently his brother’s does too. Basically it says if the recipient of the fund, or his immediate family, does anything that brings ‘ill repute to the family name’ I think the phrase was, then the trust could be folded.”