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

by Robert P. French

  “Yes. Hi. Cal.” I step over and extend my hand which he takes and shakes. His hand feels like a bag of bones but his grip’s more than firm.

  “Ronny Chu. Come and sit down.” He pulls over a guest chair which just fits in between his desk and the desk of one of his colleagues, a young woman with her right arm covered in tats. “You said you were looking for someone to redesign your website?”

  “Yes.” I smile, trying to imagine the conniption Stammo would throw if I were serious about getting someone to redesign the site he so lovingly crafted.

  “After you called, I took a look at it and it’s already pretty good. What was it you wanted changed?”

  “I like our site, it’s just that I saw the website for the Baptist Church of the Savior and I really liked it and Pastor Mueller told me you did it.”

  “Oh,” his eyebrows go up. “Are you a member there?” He’s one of those people who wear their emotions on their sleeve. This emotion is hope.

  “No, why?” I ask.

  Hope dies. He bites his lip for a moment. “It’s nothing.” I just look at him with a questioning expression. It works. “It’s just that they owe us money. Four months ago we did some changes to the site so their members could make donations by credit card and they haven’t paid us yet.”

  “Sorry, I can’t help,” I say, suddenly glad Luke Summers is the client and that his cheque for our retainer arrived at the office just before I left for this meeting. “Did you do any other sites for Pastor Mueller?”

  The hope which was on his face has been replaced with suspicion.

  “Are you with the police?”

  “No, why?”

  “There was a detective here yesterday afternoon asking about the church’s website.”

  I shrug. “Do you ever do websites to run on servers in Russia?”

  “That was what the detective wanted to know too. I’ll tell you what I told him, basically no, never. Why do you want to know?”

  “It’s just there’s a Russian-hosted site where Pastor Mueller’s name is in the site metadata and I was wondering if he had got you to put up the site for him.”

  “Oh. The detective didn’t tell me that. But no.” He shakes his head and looks at me. “You don’t really want us to redesign your site do you?”

  I feel a twinge of guilt. More than a twinge, in fact. Normal people don’t use lies and subterfuge as part of their business model. This visit has drawn a big fat blank. Time to come clean.

  “No, I’m sorry I deceived you, it’s just that this Russian website has some pretty disgusting stuff on it and I wanted to find out if Pastor Mueller might have been implicated. When he told me you did website development for him, I just thought maybe you could cast some light on it.”

  “I told you.” It’s the girl with the tattoo at the next desk.

  “I know Meghan, you were right,” he sighs.

  I look toward her, the question on my face. “I told Ronny not to do business with that church,” she says.

  “Why was that,” I ask.

  “We’d never done church websites before and the first one we did was just horrible; the client kept trying to tell us how to do our job and the stuff he wanted to do on the site was a design nightmare. It was horrible And it was him who referred us to Pastor Mueller and the Baptist Church of the Savior and then he didn’t pay us our final payment, said it was his commission for the referral. Now Mueller owes us a ton of money too. No more churches, OK Ronny?”

  “OK Meghan, OK… I get it.” I feel like this is a familiar dynamic between them.

  But she doesn’t want to stop worrying this bone. “I ask you,” she says, “what church would go by the name of the Church of the Pure Divine Light? It’s got woo-woo written all over it.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands to attention.

  “You guys did the website for that shark Kilman?” I ask. Meghan grunts in the positive. “And Kilman referred you to Mueller?”

  “Yes.”

  The fact that Kilman the conman and Mueller the gay hater, know each other cannot be a coincidence. I can’t guess what it means but I just know it’s germane to the case. I smile at the feeling of elation building inside me. I can’t wait to talk to Stammo about this.

  “Thank you both so much. You’ve been very helpful. One last thing, did you tell the detective about the connection between Kilman and Mueller?”

  “No. It never came up.”

  Yes! It’s always great to be one step ahead of the VPD.

  My phone rings.

  The caller ID is like a bucket of cold water.

  It’s the call I’ve been dreading.

  51

  Stammo

  The phone rings. Damn. Adry’s out picking up lunch. Just when I don’t need the distraction. Maybe I’ll just let it go to voice mail. Then again maybe it’s a client; maybe even a new client. Better make sure. I press the right buttons. “Stammo Rogan Investigations.”

  “Hello Nick, it’s Steve.” My former partner at VPD.

  “Hey Steve, what’s up?”

  “I was just phoning to see how you’re coming along with your investigation into the murder of Dale Summers.”

  My suspicion antennas are twitching. He’s having trouble with his case. “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,” I say.

  Silence for a bit then, “OK. You first.”

  Luckily I can trust Steve. “Did you know your suspect Mueller was once a member of a radical anti-gay church in Kansas.”

  “Yeah. It was the first thing that decided us to take him in for questioning. How did you know about that?”

  “We have our ways.” I must remember not to mention this to Adry, she was so proud of digging it up, and rightly so.

  “Have you dug up anything else on him?”

  I was right; his case against Mueller’s weak. He’s not going to be happy when he hears this. “I don’t think Mueller did it.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Rogan’s out following up on a lead but I don’t think he’ll come up with anything. I just don’t think Mueller did it.”

  “Why not?”

  “You remember that website twenty-thirteen.com?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “Your guys found Mueller’s church’s name in the metadata on the website.”

  He chuckles. “Yes we beat you to it, eh.”

  I ignore his little jeer. “There’s two things wrong with it though. First, why would Mueller put their name, or have a website developer put their name, in the metadata in the first place?”

  “Our techies say it was probably done in error by whoever developed it when he first set up the site. He might have copied some data from Mueller’s church’s site.”

  “Possible. But I don’t buy it. I told you about the site on Sunday. When did your guys find Mueller’s name?”

  “They told me Monday morning. It was the second thing that decided me to go and question Mueller the next day. Why?”

  “I looked at the site after you told me about his name being in there. I found it, but I’m certain that when I looked the first time his name wasn’t there. If I’m right it means Mueller’s name was put into the metadata sometime after Sunday morning when I found the site and before Monday morning when your guys found it. That can’t have been an accident.”

  “If you’re right that it wasn’t there originally.”

  “I’m sure Steve. Absolutely sure. Someone who knows Mueller put his name into the metadata of the twenty-thirteen.com site sometime after Sunday morning and before Monday morning. Someone’s trying to frame him.”

  He’s silent. Cops hate it when the case against a favourite suspect gets shaky. Now it’s Steve’s turn. “So what have you got for me?” I ask.

  “Hang on.” I hear some background noise and the sound of a door being closed. “You didn’t hear this from me, OK?”

  “OK.”

  “This morning there was a new booklet entered into
VICLAS.” I can guess what’s coming. VICLAS is the Violent Crime Linkage System and a booklet’s a file on a new crime; the name’s a hangover from the days when it used to be a physical booklet. “Murder in Burnaby. The body was found by his cleaning lady early this morning. It’s just like Dale Summers; almost certainly the same killer. Twenty-thirteen branded on his stomach and death caused by the sword buried in his chest. There was one extra thing, his penis had been amputated. The killer’s escalating.”

  “Jeez… that’s sick.” The thought sends an unpleasant tingle worming through my gut. “Any indication he was gay?”

  “No but I’m betting he was.”

  “What was the time of death?”

  “Won’t know ’til the autopsy but the booklet says probably late last night.”

  An uncomfortable thought worms into my gut. The words of the Leviticus verse: and they shall be put to death. “What was the vic’s name?” I ask.

  “Paul Beauchemin.”

  Thank God. It wasn’t O’Day.

  Then the worm bites down… hard. My relief vanishes. I try to focus my mind on last night. Paul.

  “Did he have a small scar under his eye…?” I focus on the memory, “left eye I think. Looked like the Nike logo.”

  Silence.

  “Steve?”

  “Hang on I’m checking the crime scene photos.”

  In the silence I can hear the clicking of his mouse.

  There’s a sharp intake of breath. “Did you know this guy, Nick?”

  Oh Jeez!

  “Yes. Well not really. I met him last night.”

  “How d’you meet him?”

  “Rogan got this lead that Dale Summers was a member of an organization for gay married men. I went and checked ’em out last night. Paul was one of the guys in the meeting.”

  “Did he leave with anyone?”

  “Not that I noticed. But he did say he had a date that night.”

  “I need to talk to these people. Can you give me the details of the group?”

  I do as he asks and then he’s silent for a second. “I might need your help on something.”

  “Sure,” I say. “Anything.”

  “OK, I’ll get back to you.”

  He hangs up.

  I grab my mouse and click on a browser window.

  New tab. Type twenty-thirteen.com.

  Right there with Dale Summers’ murder scene are the explicit photos of Paul Beauchemin’s mutilated body.

  I close the tab before I throw up and before Adry comes back to the office. No one should have to see that.

  We are going to get this monster before he escalates again.

  Wait a minute!

  Escalating!

  Yes. If he’s escalating, I wonder if…

  I grab my mouse and get to work.

  52

  Cal

  It’s not your typical lawyer’s office. It looks more like someone’s living room… someone’s untidy living room. There are books and files everywhere but I get the distinct impression Jim Garry could lay his hand on any file or any book he wanted on the first try. Right now he’s sitting opposite me with a worried look on his face.

  “As I told you on the phone,” he says, “we’ve got a court date for you. Six weeks from today.”

  “Is that good or bad?” I ask.

  “Bad, I think. Normally it takes months but it’s only a few weeks since they arrested and charged you, yet already they have a court date. It’s so unusual it worries me.”

  “Do you have any idea why it was so fast?” My nervousness is chewing into my gut.

  He just shakes his head and rubs his knuckles on his chin.

  “But you still think I’ll be found innocent right?” I can hear the pleading in my voice.

  “No one is ever found innocent, only not guilty,” he says. I know of course but I’m not thinking straight right now. “It depends on the testimony your partner gives. Do you have a read on that?”

  “Well I think he’s pretty conflicted about it. We haven’t really had a good conversation about it. He cuts me off if I bring up the subject.”

  “Listen carefully Cal. You need to have that conversation. I have to know which way he’s going to go. If we don’t get this right you could spend a very long time in jail.”

  For the second time in as many days, I park the Healey in the lot of the Baptist Church of the Savior. If this goes as expected it will be my last visit here but we shall see. Armed with the shocking information from my long phone call from Stammo, I enter the offices.

  The same lady with the glasses is behind the reception desk.

  “Oh, hello,” she says. “It’s nice to see you again. Mr. Rogan isn’t it? Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. I was hoping Pastor Mueller was in and that he had a few minutes to talk. I have some good news for him.” I know he’s in. Adry called a couple of times and asked to speak to him and then hung up when he answered. I didn’t make an appointment because I want to see the Pastor without the presence of Luke Summers.

  “Let me see,” she says. “Have a seat.” She taps away at her keyboard for a second and announces, “He’ll be right out.”

  While I wait, I re-run the conversation I had with Jim Garry. I can’t imagine Stammo throwing me to the wolves but what if he does? The thought of being an ex-cop in a high-security prison frightens me. And I can’t imagine Sam would let Ellie visit me. I worry this over in my mind until the Pastor arrives.

  “Good afternoon Mr. Rogan. Please, come with me.” He shakes my hand and leads me into the same conference room as before. After we are seated, without an offer of coffee or water, he asks, “How can I help you?”

  “Can you tell me everything you did from about eight o’clock last night until eight this morning?”

  He looks at me uncertainly but answers, “I gave a Bible class from seven-thirty to eight-thirty and then I had a meeting with the finance committee from nine until about eleven. Then, after a last prayer with my wife, we went to bed.”

  “That’s good. I’m sure if the police ask you the same question you will be able to give them the names of the people you met with?”

  “Why would the police ask me?” He looks uncertain now.

  “Would those people verify you were with them?”

  “Well… well, yes. Of course, yes. Why do you ask?”

  I ignore the question. “Do you still believe God hates fags?” I ask.

  His face goes pale. He starts to speak and then thinks better of it. He licks his lips. “How did you find out about that?”

  “Quite easily, actually. So did the police. It was the main reason they took you in for questioning on Tuesday.”

  If anything, he goes a whiter shade of pale.

  I press my advantage. “Do you think it’s God’s work to kill gay men Pastor?”

  He pauses. I suspect it’s in order to word his answer just right. “No. They will receive judgment at God’s hands not mine.”

  “What about Paul Beauchemin?” I watch him with all my senses for any indication he might have known the second victim.

  “Who?”

  There was absolutely no reaction to the name that I could detect. I run it again. “You know… Paul Beauchemin.”

  “Sorry, I’ve never heard of him.” I’m sure he’s telling the truth. The good Pastor Mueller is very probably out of the frame. But there’s still something I need to know.

  “I spoke to the people who did your website. They told me you were referred to them by a Pastor Kilman. Is that correct?”

  His guards come up. “Kilman gave them our name, that’s true.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I met him at a conference about a year ago. He seemed like a nice enough guy. The conference was about uses of technology for churches. I mentioned we were looking to redo our website and he referred us to Ronny Chu.”

  “Was that your only contact with him?”

  “No. He called me a couple of w
eeks after the conference and suggested we meet for lunch. I agreed at first but when I checked his website I saw immediately that he was a false prophet. I cancelled the lunch and never heard from him again.”

  “Did he say why he wanted to meet with you?”

  “Yes, he did. He wanted to talk about a joint fundraising exercise. It sounded like a good idea on the face of it but it was likely some ploy of the devil.”

  Damn. More likely some ploy of Kilman to perpetrate a scam on Mueller’s church. I was hoping for more. Now I only have one more thing to ask him.

  “Does the bible say something about a workman worthy of his pay?”

  “Indeed it does. First Timothy five-eighteen. For the scripture saith, thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn. And the labourer is worthy of his reward.”

  “Perhaps you should take that verse to heart and pay the money you owe to Ronny Chu and his company.”

  To give him his credit, he blushes. Then nods.

  We both get to our feet and say our goodbyes and I leave in the hope I never have to return here.

  I’m early. The barman’s different from the last time I was here but the tall cadaverous manager’s the same; fortunately he doesn’t recognize me. I sit at the bar with a cold glass of Trash Panda, an appropriate drink as my black eyes, courtesy of the late Javier, still make me look like the raccoon on the label. For what must be the tenth time I re-read the email from Sam. Cal, not dear Cal, We are getting settled into our new life. I will contact you soon to arrange for you to have some contact with Ellie. She sends her love by the way. I just need to find a way for her to have a relationship with you that maintains the anonymity of our location. Bye, Sam.

  I had Stammo look at the email. He dug into the metadata but was unable to work out where she was emailing from. ‘I’m thinking somewhere in Canada,’ was the only guess he would hazard.

  I have to accept that my life with Sam is over but the thought that I won’t see Ellie any time soon is a real physical pain, a gnawing deep in my gut. I long to hear her cheery little voice and the chime of her laughter. And it’s all my fault. I order a second glass and think that if I weren’t having dinner here with Em, I would go find a quiet bar and drink myself stupid; not the wisest of plans but infinitely better than heading to the downtown east side and finding some smack to shoot into a vein. The thought gets the old longing washing over me. In rehab they told me it would come and go but I’ve been pretty lucky it has never overwhelmed me yet. The thoughts get darker. I even think maybe I could—