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

by Robert P. French

  Finally the Minister goes with Steve and gets into the back of his cruiser.

  The congregation are agog. Some are aghast and some are bemused. This is the most exciting thing they have witnessed this century.

  Luke Summers speaks quickly to the RCMP member and then heads over to a congregant in a two thousand dollar suit. I’m guessing he’s a lawyer. After a brief conversation Luke scans the crowd until his eyes land on mine. He heads toward me and, taking me by the arm, leads me out of hearing distance of his fellows.

  He says four words and when I agree, he shakes my hand.

  I can’t wait to tell Stammo we have a new client in Luke Summers. I press and hold the button on my earpiece. “Call Nick Stammo.” Pause. Voicemail. “Nick, call me as soon as you get this.”

  I accelerate along 200th Street toward the highway. Pastor Mueller has not been arrested but has been asked to ‘help the VPD with their inquiries’ into the death of Dale Summers. That was all Luke Summers could garner from Steve and the RCMP officer. He has hired us to try and find out what possible evidence there could be against the minister. As I mull it over, I’m betting the techies at the VPD, or maybe the RCMP, have traced the ownership of the twenty-thirteen.com site to Luke’s church.

  Steve won’t take a call from me but he and Stammo are still buddies so Nick might be able to find out what’s happening. Of course, Nick’s going to say it’s a conflict of interest but he’ll come around when I tell him Luke Summers said he would send us a twenty-thousand dollar retainer.

  I mentally review everything I know about Dale’s murder. For Steve to have taken Pastor Mueller in for questioning, he must have a boatload of evidence.

  As I reach the Trans-Canada, I press my earpiece again. “Call Office.”

  “Hi Cal.”

  “Hi Adry. Is Nick there?”

  “No. He hasn’t been in.” Her voice sounds worried. “Hasn’t called either. It’s not like him.”

  “I’m on my way back. Can you try and get hold of him for me?”

  “I’ve tried Cal. I even called his landlady Mrs. Van Vloten.” Oh right, that’s Mrs. V’s name. “But got no reply from her either.”

  “OK, well, try him again please.”

  “Sure Cal.”

  “Thanks. See you in about half an hour.”

  “OK.” I reach up to tap my earpiece but stop as she says, “Did someone named Sam get hold of you? She phoned to say she tried your number but it went to voicemail.”

  My heart’s beating faster again but this time in a good way. “Thanks Adry, I’ll call her right now.”

  I’m feeling like a love-sick schoolboy; this is the call to say all is forgiven. I feel excited at the thought of speaking with her… but scared too. Then I remember the call I missed at the cemetery; it must have been from Sam. I can get a preview of what the conversation is going to be about. Good or bad.

  Tap. “Check voicemail.”

  “Cal, call me as soon as you can, it’s urgent.”

  Not exactly what I was hoping for but… Tap. “Call Sam.”

  One ring. Two. Three. Four. Fi— “Cal. I need you to come up to Hardy, right away.”

  “Why? Are you OK? Is El?”

  A pause. “Sam?”

  “It’s my MS, I’ve had a bad attack. Fortunately the doctor on the island was able to see me. But I need you here to take care of Eleanor. Please hurry Cal.”

  I process it for a second. “I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can, it may take a few hours but hang in there. Stay safe.”

  The Healey leaps forward as I push the gas to the floor.

  I have to get to Hardy as soon as possible and I know someone who can help.

  If I can just remember his name.

  44

  Cal

  As we come round the headland, the house comes into sight, looking peaceful in the lowering sun. The man at the helm brings the boat into the cove and expertly executes a one hundred-and-eighty degree turn, reversing gently and allowing me to step off the transom onto the dock. “Good luck Cal,” he says, his voice reassuring.

  “Thanks, you too,” I say absently. I start out toward the house, wondering exactly what reception I will get. The boat’s engines roar as it accelerates out of the cove.

  I walk along the dock and onto the trail which leads to the house. As I come through the tiny copse, I focus on the house, its grey, weathered wood looking golden in the sun. The curtains are drawn which is unusual; they’re reserved for keeping the sun out of the main floor in the hotter days of July and August. I try to remember the interior layout but it’s so long since I’ve been here; it was when Ellie was a baby, about four months before that fateful night when, in an unholy show of machismo, I first took heroin. I shake off the memory as I cross the lawn and walk up the six steps to the patio, the third step creaking under my weight.

  I pause at the front door and take a deep breath, open it and step inside.

  Sam and Ellie are sitting cuddled together in the middle of a long couch to the left of the wood stove which is opposite the door. Sam’s in my favourite bikini but is partly covered by a cushion which she has drawn into her lap. Ellie looks terrified.

  Resisting the desire to go to them, I say, “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

  I turn on the light, move quickly to my left and open the curtains.

  “How nice of you to come Mr. Rogan, I’m delighted to meet you at last.”

  I spin toward the source of the voice. The speaker is a tall, good looking man, impeccably dressed, with a broad smile on his face. He’s standing in front of the dining room table, like a soldier ‘at ease’, legs apart, hands behind back. Beside him is another whose most noticeable feature is the Uzi machine pistol in his left hand. Immediately in front of the speaker is a man gagged and secured in a dining chair, his head hanging down, face a mass of blood and bruises. It’s Stammo.

  “Who the hell are you two?” I ask, carefully backing away from them toward the far left of the room.

  “Don’t you recognize me? People say I resemble my father.” His voice is educated, smooth as Devon cream. “Allow me to introduce myself.” A pause, a smile. “I am Tomás Santiago. This is my colleague, Javier.” He turns toward his sidekick. “Javier, please offer Mr. Rogan a seat.”

  I back further away, my eyes betraying my fear.

  “Sit there.” Javier indicates an upright wooden chair near the left hand end of the couch. I comply. Objective accomplished. Javier walks over, his pistol trained on my gut. “Hands behind.” I do as he asks. I feel my body tense, ready to spring. Javier takes one step closer, two steps. Just one more…

  “Don’t do anything hasty Mr. Rogan.” I look at Santiago. One of the hands that was behind his back is now in evidence. In it: an identical Uzi. It’s pointed at Sam and Ellie. I don’t move an inch as Javier goes behind me and none too gently cuffs my hands with cable ties. He uses three of them. “You might be able to break one but never three,” Santiago assures me.

  “No need for the Uzis,” I say. “Why don’t you put it down? Please.”

  Santiago shrugs and points the Uzi toward the floor away from Sam and Ellie. I breathe a sigh of relief as Javier secures my ankles to the legs of the chair and frisks me thoroughly: underarms, back, pockets, ankles and finally crotch. “Clean,” he grunts.

  “Good.” Santiago says. He stays in the dining area behind Stammo’s chair; the curtained windows to the right of the front door are at his back.

  “First I would like to thank your daughter. Her photograph of the boat at the dock was all my people needed to track you down to this charming hideaway.” He does a mock bow toward Ellie. “Now… Let me describe the evening’s entertainment.” I feel myself struggle against the ties as I’m overwhelmed by a desire to kick the confident smile off his face.

  “First you are going to watch the execution of this one.” With his free hand, he punches the side of Stammo’s head. “But we are not going to do it quickly with a bullet.
Oh no, that would be just too easy. You see, we know his part in the assassination of my father. So you will get to watch as Javier and I beat him to death. We even brought a baseball bat for the very purpose.”

  Sam has put her hands over Ellie’s ears and pulls her closer. “You pig,” she spits at Santiago.

  He just laughs. “Then Mr. Rogan, Javier’s going to get his first reward and you are going to watch him.” I look toward Javier and his eyes are drilled on Sam. “Yes that’s right. You and your brat are going to have ringside seats to Javier enjoying the pleasures of your wife’s body. He has promised he will make sure you get to see every little detail.”

  “You bastard,” I rage. “I swear to God if that animal touches a single—” My words are cut off by Javier’s fist full in my face. As the pain surges through me I tell myself, keep calm. Don’t let them rattle you. Your chance will come.

  Santiago laughs long and cheerfully. “Just imagine her naked body writhing under Javier’s. She’ll pretend she’s not enjoying it but we both know she will secretly love it.”

  “Never,” Sam chokes out. “NEVER.” Tears are streaming down her face.

  If I can just get Santiago closer… “Wow,” I say, my voice matter-of-fact. “Despite your educated voice and nice clothes, you’re just a degenerate thug like that useless sack-of-shit father of yours.”

  For the first time his urbane manner slips. He takes two furious steps toward me but catches himself. Damn. I need him closer. Way closer. He regains his composure. “Javier,” he says and nods in my direction. My blood runs cold as Javier steps toward me and puts the end of the Uzi’s barrel on my knee. He looks at Santiago who smiles.

  I squeeze my eyes closed ready for the impact of the nine millimetre bullets.

  But they don’t come.

  “Not yet,” the smooth-as-cream voice says. I open my eyes and Javier steps back. “Not yet.”

  I try and get my breathing under control. I have to think of a way to get Santiago three or four steps closer.

  “I have to go to the bathroom. Badly.” Ellie’s voice cuts through the thought.

  Santiago looks at her, his face expressionless.

  “Badly,” she repeats.

  “Go.” He says. El scurries to the far end of the room and through to the bathroom behind the kitchen. “Perhaps it’s better she doesn’t hear what’s next. You see, Mr. Rogan, after Javier has sated himself on your wife’s body, you are going to watch while we kill her. Then I am going to break every bone in your hands, feet, arms and face and Javier will enjoy putting some of those nine mill bullets into your knees. We will then break as many ribs as we can without puncturing a lung. Then Javier and I will say goodbye to you and leave you to die a long, slow and painful death, with the bodies of your partner and your wife. You will be safe in the knowledge that your little girl will be in our care.” He smiles expansively at me and my rage returns. “When we have enjoyed her company enough … then we will sell her. You would be surprised what a child of her age will fetch on the dark web. You will have lots of time to imagine the buyer and what he will do to her.” I struggle with all my might to control myself. I must keep calm. I must get Santiago to take two more steps in my direction. Just two.

  Then I see our one chance. Now I have to keep Javier’s attention on me. He’s grinning down at me. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I say, “Now I see why your boss is happy for you to have Sam. He can’t embarrass himself. He’s not man enough to have her because he can only get it up for little girls.”

  Javier’s hand snakes back. I turn my head to lessen the impact of the blow and in the millisecond before it strikes, I see that Santiago, his face contorted with rage, has taken a step forward and that our one chance, Ellie, is behind him holding what looks like a screwdriver in her hands.

  Three seconds.

  One. The back of Javier’s hand connects with my face, I hear a yelp of pain and a clattering.

  Two. As my vision clears, I see Santiago holding on to his right arm, the Uzi and the screwdriver at his feet. Ellie runs toward me and with a snarl Santiago follows her. I yell “Now!”

  Three. Ellie slams into me.

  Santiago, bathed in the last of the sunlight coming through the window, reaches out to grab her. His head explodes. There’s a tinkling as a shower of glass hits the floor. Javier pitches forward and there’s a second tinkling followed by the sound of Sam’s scream.

  “Both targets are down,” I yell.

  Suddenly silence. Five seconds of it. Then Sam’s whispered, “Thank God. Thank God.” She’s trembling but she forces herself off the couch, stepping over Santiago’s body, and envelops Ellie in a hug. “What just happened Cal?”

  I start to laugh as Sam starts to sob: both normal reactions.

  The front door slams open and an RCMP member in full swat gear steps inside and sweeps the room with his Smith and Wesson. He ignores us and checks the bodies. “Down and out,” he says into the microphone attached to his helmet.

  A little voice says, “I did good Daddy, didn’t I?”

  “You did sweetie, you really, really did.”

  My laughter takes on a hysterical overtone.

  An RCMP Emergency Response Team member holds Sam’s hand as she steps off the dock across the transom and onto the boat’s deck. “Thank you,” she says. “And thank you for what you did…” she looks toward the house, “back there.”

  “My pleasure,” he says. She just keeps looking at the house until, with an air of finality, she turns away and takes a seat in the cabin.

  Ellie’s next. “How did you know the bad people were here?” she asks him. Her voice is excited. She’s showing no sign of any trauma. I wonder if this is normal and worry how witnessing a double killing might affect her psychologically.

  He smiles as he lifts her over the stern and puts her down on the deck. “Your daddy told me. He asked us to help him stop them from doing anything bad.”

  Ellie turns to me as I step aboard. “How did you know Daddy.”

  “It was Mommy who let me know. When I spoke to her on my phone, she said two things that let me know something was wrong.”

  “What did you say Mommy?” she asks as we step into the boat’s cabin.

  Sam doesn’t answer. She’s staring out the window across the water toward the last sliver of the descending sun.

  “Mommy was very clever,” I say. “She told me she had seen a doctor on the island but there’s no doctor here; there are only five properties and I didn’t remember any of the owners being doctors. Then she referred to you as Eleanor.”

  “But that’s not my name. My name’s Ellie. I don’t like it when people call me Eleanor.”

  “I know. That’s when I knew for sure that something was wrong. So I asked the Emergency Response Team people to help us.” I remove the lapel pin from my jacket and hold it for her to see. “They gave me this tiny microphone so they could hear what was happening in the cabin. When I saw the bad men I said ‘Who are you two?’ so that he would know how many of them were inside.”

  The ERT member walks into the cabin and takes his place at the helm.

  “I can refer you to a company which specializes in crime scene cleanups,” he says to Sam. “No one will ever know what happened there.”

  “But we will,” Ellie pipes up.

  Sam grabs her and pulls her close. “Listen to me Ellie,” her voice has a fierceness I have never heard from Sam before. “You must never, ever, speak about this to anybody. Do you understand?”

  “Mommy, you’re hurting me.”

  “Do. You. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise me you’ll never talk about it.”

  “I promise.”

  “What do you promise?”

  “I promise I’ll never talk about it.”

  “Not to anyone!”

  “OK, OK. I promise. I’ll never talk about it to anyone.”

  After a beat, Sam’s shoulders relax. She pulls Ellie into a hu
g on her lap and stares out over the water again, while I wonder if Ellie will ever need to talk about it to a shrink.

  I want to talk to Sam but have absolutely no idea what to say.

  The ERT member starts the engines. “There was a third one,” he says. “He was in a yellow cigarette boat moored on the east side of the island. We arrested him.” He points to the corner of the cabin. “That wheelchair was on board.”

  Greg MacKay, Stammo’s buddy from Sechelt RCMP, whose name I managed to remember, steps into the cabin carrying Stammo like he weighs nothing and puts him gently into the wheelchair. His face has been cleaned up and he has been given basic first aid but he still looks a mess.

  He looks around the cabin and his gaze settles on me. He smiles. “You know what Rogan?” he says, “If I live to be a hundred, I swear I’m never stepping on another boat.” He gives a crooked smile and adds, “Unless it’s a frickin’ great cruise ship.”

  At least Stammo and I are OK.

  45

  Cal

  Wednesday

  The atmosphere in the office is upbeat. Halfway home from Hardy Island Stammo had remembered how Santiago and his thug Javier had taken him. They had gone to his apartment and forced his landlady to call him and get him to come home. When he wheeled through the front door all he remembers was being knocked senseless. He was worried sick for the safety of Mrs.V. When we got back there last night, to our great relief, we found her trussed up in a chair, hungry, thirsty, indignant but unharmed. She fussed around Stammo and I left him to her ministrations knowing they were both in good hands.

  In an attempt to put Hardy Island behind us, we are in early and focussing on our caseload. Just as I finish telling him about how it all worked out with the conman Pastor Kilman, Adry walks in.