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

by Robert P. French

  “What are you early birds doing h—?” She sees Stammo’s face. “My God Nick! What the hell happened to you?”

  “I got mugged.”

  “How did—?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, OK?”

  “Sure… I guess.” She doesn’t sound too sure but she lets it drop until she sees my face. “What the… Have you boys been fighting?”

  “Not with each other,” is all I can think to say.

  “So anything happen at the funeral?” Stammo cuts in, pointedly changing the subject..

  “Oh yes indeed. Sit down Adry, you need to hear this too.”

  She gives a big smile.

  “We have a new and, might I add, rich client.”

  Now Stammo gives a big smile. I notice he has a missing tooth, courtesy of either the late Tomás Santiago or his newly departed buddy, Javier.

  I tell them about Steve showing up at Dale Summers’ funeral and taking the pastor with him. And about Luke hiring us.

  “So now we have three people paying us to find Dale’s killer.” There’s glee in Stammo’s voice. “Marly Summers, the Southbrook’s VP—what’s her name Cal?—and now Luke Summers. Go figure.”

  “It’s Emily Audley,” I say. I must call her. Maybe she’ll be free for dinner tonight. “Nick, do you want to give Steve a call and see if you can find out why he showed up at the funeral and if he’s got anything on the Pastor.”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s another thing. I found out Dale Summers was a member of an organization called GAMMA.”

  “Oh yeah, the Gay and Married Men’s Association. They’ve got chapters all over the place,” Stammo says. “Makes sense that Dale would be a member.”

  “So I thought it might be worth checking out the Vancouver chapter. Someone might know something.”

  “Good thought.” Stammo rotates his wheelchair and taps his keyboard. After a few keystrokes and a couple of clicks, he turns back. “They have meetings Wednesdays, Fridays and every other Saturday. I’ll go tonight and check it out.”

  I feel an initial surge of irritation; I wanted to check out GAMMA myself. But then again, I’d rather have dinner with Em and let Stammo go.

  “What time are the meetings?” I ask.

  “Tonight’s is at seven-thirty.”

  “The last time Dale was seen by anyone was at seven on Friday. He left the Railway Club with Sean O’Day. Maybe he went from there to a meeting. I’ll ask O’Day.”

  “Great and I’ll ask around at the meeting.”

  “Anything I can do Cal?” Adry asks eagerly.

  “Three things.” I take one of the bundles of cash donated by ‘Pastor’ Kilman and hand it to her. Her eyes go wide. “You can deposit that in the bank. While you’re out, buy about a thousand of the cheapest thumb drives you can find and I want you to copy a file onto each drive; I’ll email it to you.” She looks disappointed. “But before you do all that I want you to do some investigation for me.” When I tell her, the disappointment disappears from her face.

  As I pull into the parking lot my phone rings. I tap the earpiece.

  Stammo. “I talked to Steve. He was a bit close-lipped but I found out one of the reasons they questioned Pastor Mueller.”

  “Go on.”

  “After I told Steve about the twenty-thirteen.com website, he had his techies look at the site and in the metadata, they found a reference to Luke Summers’ church.”

  “What’s metadata?”

  “It’s like data on the site you don’t see; it’s used by search engines and stuff.”

  “So does that mean the site was created by someone from the church?”

  “Not necessarily, but it could be. The thing is…” He’s silent for a beat. “The thing is I must have missed it when I looked at their site and… well I should’a spotted it.”

  “Don’t sweat it. Anyway, I’m there now, so it’s good to know. I’ll call and tell you if anything new comes up.”

  “OK.” He hangs up. He’s annoyed and I know why. Nick’s getting to be pretty good with all this computer and internet stuff and he’s just mad at himself that the VPD techies found something he missed. He’ll get over it.

  I get out of the Healey and walk over to the side door of the church. I’m surprised to find myself in a reception area pretty much like you would have in a regular office. There’s even a receptionist: a lady in her fifties with glasses like my mother used to wear.

  “Good morning,” she smiles. “Are you Mr. Rogan?” When I say yes, she points to a door opposite her desk and says, “Pastor Mueller and Mr. Summers are expecting you.”

  Before I reach it, the door opens and Luke Summers ushers me in and introduces me to the florid pastor who has a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He’s not as impressive as he looked at the funeral yesterday morning. Was it only yesterday? It seems longer. He’s dressed in chinos and a golf shirt but is wearing Nike’s. I can’t help noticing that although he’s a good twenty kilos overweight, his arms are muscular and he’s wearing three rings: a wedding ring, what looks like a fraternity ring and a large, ornate ring with a crucifix embossed on it.

  “I’m so glad to meet you,” he says as he shakes my hand. “Luke says you are one of the best private investigators in Vancouver.” Interesting. Why would Luke say that? I got the distinct impression he didn’t like me. Maybe he’s done some digging. “Please, sit down, sit down.” I sit at an impressive boardroom table; the church is clearly not short of cash. Pastor Mueller sits opposite me but Luke Summers stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows covered in sheer curtains, through which I can see the Healey.

  “What happened with the police after the funeral?” I ask.

  “It was very strange. Very strange indeed.” He’s speaking quickly. “They said they thought I could help them with their inquiries and they took me to the RCMP office just down the road from here. They asked me about a website, I’d never heard of it before, they asked if it belonged to the church. I told them the church only had one website and they asked me the name of the people who manage our site. They didn’t tell me what it was about. It was quite distressing really.” He pauses for breath.

  “Was the website called twenty-thirteen.com?”

  “Yes, I think it was. Yes, it was. What’s it about?” I have an uneasy feeling about him. It feels like he’s acting the part of an aggrieved and innocent man. I look over to Luke Summers but his face is impassive.

  “How seriously do you take Leviticus 20:13?” I ask.

  “Oh. twenty-thirteen.com. Oh, I see. Well, it is quite clear. We take it to mean that homosexuality is abhorrent to God. Is that what the website’s about?”

  “Yes. It has images of Dale’s murder. Explicit pictures which were almost certainly taken by the murderer.” I turn again to Luke. “I don’t recommend you look at it,” I say to him. He gives no noticeable reaction.

  Pastor Mueller says, “And the police think the church had something to do with it? Why would they think that?”

  Without taking my eyes off Luke I say, “Your church’s name was in the metadata for the site.” There’s no reaction from Luke.

  “How could that be? Just because we are opposed to homosexuality, it doesn’t mean we would kill someone… well, gay.” As I turn back to the good pastor the words doth protest too much come unbidden into my head. Or am I just being cynical? The line between skepticism and cynicism can be a fine one. Yet I can’t shake the feeling this meeting was rehearsed.

  “So how can Stammo Rogan Investigations help?” I ask.

  For the first time since he made the introductions, Luke Summers speaks. “Quite simply. You are investigating the murder of my brother on behalf of his wife.” There’s venom in the final word. “I will pay you to do the same. By increasing your revenue, I will expect you to put more resources on the project and look at all possible suspects. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “And I’d l
ike to start with the name of the people who manage your website.”

  The Pastor looks uncomfortable for a second or two then takes a pen and a business card from his pocket and scribbles a name and number which he hands over.

  “Unless there’s anything else you need…?” Summers leaves the question dangling. There are some things I’d like to ask the Pastor but I don’t want to ask them with an audience present. I shake my head. “Good. There will be a retainer cheque at your office in the morning.”

  I get the feeling he’s paying us to implicate Marly and, when I think about it, she may be paying us to implicate him. Well at least if one of them did it, the other will still be left standing to pay our final bill.

  Although I usually take it black, I add as much cream as I can—within the bounds of politeness—to Florrie’s toxic coffee; I even add sugar in the vain hope it will make it drinkable. The cinnamon bun she has placed before me is fresh from the oven and smells sublime. I take a bite. “Mrs. Franks,” I say in all truthfulness, “that’s the best cinnamon bun I have ever tasted.” She smiles broadly and there’s even a hint of a blush in her cheeks.

  I slide the envelope across the table. “There’s ten thousand dollars in there, courtesy of the so-called ‘pastor’ Kilman.”

  Phil’s face lights up. “Tell me you’re not joking, son,” he says. I shake my head. “You were right Florrie, we got our money back. I’d never have believed it.” He opens the envelope and looks inside with a chuckle. “How did you persuade him to give us a refund?”

  I pull the digital recorder out of my jacket pocket and play them the recording of Kilman’s wife telling him what the microphones in the lobby picked up.

  “So that’s how he did it. Well I’ll be…” He chuckles again.

  “Thank you so much Detective Rogan. You’re a real hero,” Florrie says. “But you must let us pay you for this. We’ll share this money with you won’t we Phil?”

  “Absolutely,” he concurs.

  I tell them Kilman also covered my fee so there’s no need for them to pay me. “However,” I add, “a couple of cinnamon buns to take home would be OK.”

  As Florrie packs some buns in parchment paper and a Ziploc bag, Philip says, “We’re real grateful you got our money back Cal but I don’t like it that Pastor Kilman’s still stealing money from good folks. I wish we could do something about it.”

  I finish my mouthful of cinnamon bun and say. “Funny you should say that.”

  They look at me and they’re both all ears.

  46

  Stammo

  The guy speaking right now has one of those voices which make you want to drift off to sleep. I look around the circle and there’s just about as big of a variety of men that you are going to see anywhere. Of the dozen or so, two are bikers in leathers and chains, one man who looks like he’s close to homeless; in contrast there are a few businessmen in suits, one of them looks like he’s worth a small fortune. There’s an older guy named Jeb who looks like a rock ’n’ roller from the nineteen-seventies and there’s one well-dressed guy with a blond crewcut who’s good looking, but a little bit too, I dunno, gay for my taste. He’s sitting between a couple of jocks who look like they play for the NHL and overuse steroids.

  I wonder if Rogan noticed I was a bit too eager to check out this meeting. I don’t think I gave anything away. Then again, why not. Maybe he and Adry should know. I dunno. I’ll have to think about it some more.

  “Anyhoo,” the speaker drones, “When I told her, she was OK with it. Said she thought I’d found another woman. It was like she was relieved I was gay.” He smiles for a second and then gets serious. “Now I gotta tell my kids. It’s gonna be tough on my oldest, he’s made a few remarks about gay kids at school; said some ugly things. I dunno how he’s gonna take it when he finds out his old man’s gay.” He pauses for a second. “So that’s about it.”

  Everyone joins in an applause for him. A couple of people share their stories about coming out to their kids and one guy has some pretty good advice. It makes me think of my own kids. We’ve been pretty busy with work which has been good. It’s kept me from thinking about Matt and how he died. I wonder how he would have reacted.

  It gets me thinking again. If I admit Rogan was acting in self defence, I’m admitting my own son was a crook and a killer and he deserved to die. How can I do that? I let Matt down in life. Can I let him down in death? As I reach up to rub my eye, my hand brushes across the bruises; it reminds me I owe Rogan. If it weren’t for him I’d likely be dead. Hell, I’d definitely be dead. Then again maybe I’d be reunited with Matt somehow.

  “Who’s next?” The words snap me out of the darkness. Paul, the guy running the meeting, is tall and good looking with a small scar under his left eye shaped like the Nike swoosh. He catches me looking at him, “Nick, would you like to share something?”

  I think about it for a bit. “Sure,” I say. Why not? They seem like a pretty nice bunch of people.

  I wheel up to the front, turn and face them. A couple of the guys smile encouragingly. I take a deep breath in.

  “I’ve been in the closet my whole life. When I was a kid, I tried to tell my dad but he just quoted the bible at me. Leviticus twenty-thirteen.” I look around the group but there’s no reaction from anyone. “He said I should snap out of it or he’d beat it out of me. I lived back east and I always wanted to be a cop, so I joined the OPP, got married and had two kids but never said anything about how I felt… you know… about guys. The OPP was a pretty macho outfit; if I’d have come out it would’a been hell. The few times I actually got together with a guy, I was always scared someone would find out. If I got close to someone, I’d usually end up breaking it off.

  “My wife knew something was up of course, but like your wife,” I nod toward the previous speaker, “she just assumed it was another woman. I never manned up and told her. After we got divorced I moved out here and joined the VPD and was with them until this.” I tap the sides of my wheelchair. “So anyways, I’m still in the closet.

  “My ex was out here a couple of weeks back, for the funeral of our son.” I cough away the catch in my throat. “Listening to you guys, I wish I’d’ve come clean with her. I wish I could’a told my son before he… you know… before he died.” A tear’s running down my face and, when I brush it away, I realize I don’t feel embarrassed with these guys.

  “Thanks for sharing Nick,” Paul says and there’s applause from everyone. For the first time in my life, how I feel about men doesn’t seem like such a burden. “Well I guess that’s it for this evening. Max brought coffee and goodies.”

  “Atta boy Max,” someone says and the blond guy with the crewcut gives a little wave.

  Now to test Rogan’s theory that Dale’s murderer might be someone he met at GAMMA. I wheel over to Paul. “Thanks for letting me speak,” I say. “You don’t know how much it helped.”

  “It was great to hear your story, Nick.” He gives me a big smile and I realize I’m attracted to him. Better be careful, I’ve kept it bottled up for so many years it may just be an overreaction. “How did you hear about GAMMA?” he asks. Perfect.

  “My friend Dale Summers told me about it.”

  “Just a point Nick, we don’t use last names here.”

  “OK. Sorry.”

  “No prob. There’s a Dale who’s a member but he hasn’t been to a meeting for about, what…? ten days, I guess. It’s not like him. He’s a regular. He was all set to come out to his wife.”

  “Marly,” I say.

  “Yes. I wonder why he’s not been around.”

  I shrug, feeling guilty for not coming clean with him.

  “Anyway,” he continues, “I’ve got to go.” He gives a little smile. “On a date.” I feel a little jab of jealousy that he has a date. He hustles off to get his coat and I wheel over to a group chatting and having coffee. I join them and they immediately welcome me. We spend some time chatting and once I feel I’ve got some rapport going, I ask t
hem if they remember anything about Dale’s last evening here. No one remembers anything unusual or seeing him leave with anyone. In fact they remember him as a bit of a loner who usually left the meetings right after they finished. Rogan’s idea that someone here might have met up with Dale is a dud. But to tell the truth, I didn’t put much faith in it. I’ve often thought about coming to their meetings and this was a good excuse.

  I’m glad I came.

  47

  Cal

  I walk up the steps to Sam’s apartment, my Ziploc bag full of Florrie’s cinnamon buns clutched under my arm. El is going to love them. Sam too… if she lets me in. On the boat from Hardy Island she was silent pretty much the whole time but when we got to the marina I walked her and Ellie to her car. Before she got in, she hugged me so tightly it hurt then whispered, “Thank you so much for saving us, Cal. I thought…” She stopped speaking, kissed me on the cheek, got in her car and drove off. I’m hoping that at least we can get back to talking.

  I look through the stained glass in the front door. The apartment’s in darkness but they’re probably preparing dinner in the kitchen at the back. Maybe I’ll get invited in to eat. I was hoping Em would be free for dinner but she has to have dinner with her boss, who’s in from San Francisco for a flying visit. Thinking of Em while I’m standing on Sam’s doorstep stirs up the emotional conflict again.

  I ring the doorbell and it seems to echo in the apartment like it did when I was here ten days ago. There’s no response. I ring again. I feel a thread of paranoia tug at me. Maybe I’ll just check around the back. As I start down the steps I hear the front door open.

  Great! They are in.

  I turn back but Sam’s door’s still closed. It was the neighbour’s door I heard. “Detective Rogan, hi.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Hunt. How are you?”