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

by Robert P. French

  Scritch!

  It’s faint but distinct: a key in a lock.

  The squeak of a hinge that needs oiling.

  A closing door.

  Silence.

  I can feel my heart rate climbing.

  More silence.

  Then shoes on wooden stairs. They’re above me, coming down. I’m in a basement.

  Another door opens. This one just feet away.

  It closes.

  Someone is in the room with me. I know the science. We can tell someone is close to us, not by intuition or sixth sense or psychic power, but by tiny sounds and movements of the air of which we may not be consciously aware.

  I know for sure there is someone in the room and he or she is probably standing looking at me.

  My heart is playing a tattoo now. The intruder must be able to hear it.

  I try to control the urge to speak; to ask who’s there. Just to discover if they’re only the product of an overheated imagination.

  “Good. You’re awake.”

  I know the voice.

  “We can get started now.”

  19

  Cal

  Relief. Susan is standing in the doorway of a room. She’s not hurt. Thank God. I was sure something had happened to her. Then I see the look on her face. It’s pure Edvard Munch. As I step towards her, I follow her gaze to the object of her silent scream. One of the ERT members is crouched over a body, his gloved hands pressed on the stomach. Blood is seeping out onto the floor. He yells again, “I need paramedics, right now!”

  The body is Stammo’s.

  I rush and kneel beside him. He’s conscious. “Hang in there Nick,” is all I can think to say. He reaches up and I grab his hand. “You’re gonna be OK Nick.”

  “Listen, Cal.” It’s hardly more than a whisper. The effort seems to drain him. He closes his eyes.

  “I’m here Nick. Hang in there buddy.”

  His eyes flicker open. “Tell my daughter, I love her and that…” he fades for a moment and then revives. “Tell her I’m sorry I was never there for her.”

  I feel a deep pain in my gut. “Just relax. You’re going to tell her yourself. You’ll see.” His eyes close again. “We’ll be laughing about this tomorrow.” I can hear the desperation in my voice.

  He shakes his head and with a struggle, he again opens his eyes.

  “And Cal,” he takes a couple of quick breaths. “I for…” Another breath, deeper this time, then another. “I forgive you for Matt. OK?”

  The pain ramps up and tears run down my face.

  His eyes close and his lips are moving but no sound is coming through.

  I squeeze his hand, unable to speak.

  “Step aside please sir.”

  It’s a paramedic. He’s in a bulletproof vest, trained to work with ERT. Nick is in the very best of hands. I get unsteadily to my feet. As I look down, he and his partner start working on Nick. Susan comes and stands beside me. “Your partner?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I manage to grunt.

  “He’s going to be OK, Cal.” She puts her arm around me and I collapse into her. We hold each other tight.

  I watch as the paramedics work. Nick’s eyes are closed now. But I can see he’s still breathing, his chest is rising and falling quickly.

  In record time they have him patched up, in the stretcher and out the door.

  “I’m sure he’s going to be OK,” she repeats.

  Deep down, I know she’s wrong.

  Because, through the tears, all I can think is, he never calls me Cal.

  I hear a cough behind me.

  It’s Inspector Wardell, Steve beside him.

  He looks at me. “Nick’s a tough old bird, he’ll get through this.”

  It’s difficult to look stoic when your face is covered in your own tears. I try, nonetheless.

  “Pursuant to your agreement with Nick,” I say, hoping that the legal wording will carry some extra weight, “this lady is going to leave now and remain anonymous forever.”

  Wardell nods. “Thank you for your help,” he says to Susan.

  I take her elbow and lead her out, through the back garden, to the lane. There is a young uniformed officer standing guard, he is about to say something when he sees Steve beside me.

  “Jag,” Steve addresses him, “would you mind walking this lady to her car?”

  “Yessir,” he says.

  “Wait,” I say. Susan turns to me. “You have to tell him.”

  She nods. “As soon as I get home. Thank you, Cal, we owe you and your partner everything.”

  I stand looking after her as she walks down the alley with the officer, treasuring the feeling of her arms around me and just a little bit jealous of the man she’s going home to.

  “Thanks Cal,” Steve says. “This was a big bust. Thanks to you and Nick, we’ve closed down a big fish in the illegal arms trade and if all his records are here, we may net a few others.”

  I nod, too full of emotions to speak.

  “They’ve taken Nick to St. Paul’s. Why don’t you go over there, I’ll join you later when we’ve sorted out this mess.”

  “Just one thing,” I say.

  I walk back into the house. For the first time I survey the scene. There are three bodies on the floor. Two are dead and the other is face down and in handcuffs. I walk over to the body wearing the good suit and lying on its side. I look down at him. He’s good looking, even in death. I take half a step back, then step into it and with all the rage bursting out of me, I kick him in the face. It hurts like hell. I do it again. I feel something break. But I do it again.

  Steve’s arms grab my shoulders and pull me away. “Come on Cal,” he says gently, “we don’t want to make the autopsy too difficult for Dr. Marcus, do we?”

  Everything drains out of me.

  Without a word, I turn and limp out of there.

  St. Paul’s is less than a three minute drive from where I’m parked.

  Is this the second time I’m going to go there and watch the death of someone I love?

  20

  Jen

  His voice is casual, like we’re sitting having coffee. “Let’s try this the easy way.” I feel his hands beside my head. They are gentle and warm. He removes the blindfold and the world comes flooding in through my eyes. I’m in an unfinished basement, looking up at the rafters above my head. The walls are covered in bare plywood and there seem to be no windows. Looking down, I can see I’m lying on a bed of some sort, with a dirty, old grey blanket over it. I cringe at the thought of the pillow which my head must be resting on. My wrists are handcuffed to rusty iron rings which seem to be attached to the bed frame with multiple cable ties.

  I crane my neck to the right to see my jailer. It’s Harvey.

  “So you’re not really a Mountie are you?” I ask. He shrugs. “Impersonating a police officer, unlawful confinement: you’re starting to build a list of indictable offences.”

  He moves closer to the side of the bed. He’s not quite close enough for me to use my feet against him, but he’s getting there. He may regret omitting to tie down my legs.

  He looks down at me. “Before I can let you go, I need some information from you.”

  “Cut the crap Harvey, or whatever your name is. The moment I saw your face the letting-me-go option was off the table.”

  He purses his lips and nods his head like a professor considering a student’s idea. “True, true. But on a different subject did you know that under torture people always speak. They may hang on for one or two days but they always end up speaking.”

  “Yes I did know that. But did you know that seventy percent of the information elicited from the victims of torture turns out to be false?”

  “Correct. So we seem to be at an impasse. I could torture you but there’s no guarantee that the information you give me would be true.” The bastard’s playing cat and mouse with me. “Except for one thing: I actually like inflicting pain. I can torture you until you tell me something. I
check it out. If it’s false, I come back here and torture you some more. If it’s true, I come back and give you the coûp de grace.”

  The sheer matter-of-fact tone to his words sets a worm of fear wriggling in my gut.

  “Or maybe we could take a different approach. We could just be friends.” His gaze leaves my eyes and wanders slowly down my body. He reaches down, pulls open my jacket and runs a finger in a circle around my left breast. “Friends with benefits.”

  Even as I cringe at his touch, I know he’s shown his first weakness.

  “What do you want to know?” I ask.

  He looks into my eyes. “Why are you in Vancouver?”

  I hold his gaze. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine in return.”

  He laughs. “You’re not exactly in a position where you can bargain from.”

  “Perhaps, but if you answer my questions, I’ll answer yours truthfully. It’ll save a lot of time and unpleasantness.”

  He chews this over for a second. “Sure, why not?” he says. “I’ll go first. Why are you in Vancouver?”

  “I was looking for Denis Lamarche.” Before he can react, I say, “My turn. I think you lied when you said my boss knows I’m here. How did you know I was here and where to find me?”

  “That’s two questions,” he says slyly. “I’ll answer the first one. The RCMP has jurisdiction over the investigation of terrorist attacks. Since the bombing in Ottawa, we’ve been getting the passenger lists of all flights out. Your name was on one.”

  So he is RCMP. “Why would you care?” I ask.

  “Sorry, my turn.” He’s enjoying this game. Good. His enjoyment might take the edge off his interrogation skills. “Why were you looking for Denis Lamarche?”

  “I knew his sister, Annie. She talked about him. I wanted to tell him about her death.”

  The back of his hand slashes across my face before I see it coming. My cheek is on fire and there is a ringing in my left ear. My left eye is watering where his knuckle caught it. Without a word, he walks away from the bed. One wall is entirely covered by a pegboard with tools hanging from hooks. The wriggling worm becomes a cold tentacle deep in my bowel as he grabs a pair of pruning shears from among the gardening tools and marches back.

  “Listen, bitch,” he spits out. “I know a lot more about you than you think. So don’t try and lie to me again.” He holds the pruning shears in front of my face. “You know how in crappy detective books the bad guy threatens to cut off someone’s finger?” He snaps them shut just millimetres from my nose. “Well if you lie to me again I’m going to cut off your nose and both of your nipples. Understand?”

  I nod.

  “Good. Let’s start over. Why were you looking for Denis Lamarche?”

  Through the fear, I’m wondering what he knows about me and why he cares that I’m here. “I wasn’t,” I say, knowing that he can hear the quaver in my voice. “I came here because someone tried to contact a colleague of mine.”

  “Who tried to contact Sally Hyde?” he asks.

  My mind goes into overdrive. How did he know it was Sally? I play for time. “My turn to ask a question,” I say.

  “Fuck you.” His urbane cover has gone. “You lost that deal when you tried to lie to me. Who tried to contact her?”

  “A private detective named Nick Stammo.”

  “And why did he want to contact her?”

  “He was trying to contact the next-of-kin of Annalise Lamarche, to tell them that her brother, Denis, was dead. He and his partner are investigating the murder.”

  He goes silent. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head.

  Without a word he turns and goes through the door at the bottom of the stairs. I hear him go up and close the door at the top. Then silence.

  What the hell is going on? And who is this guy? I’m pretty sure he’s an RCMP member and I believe what he said about spotting my name on a passenger list. He’s a good interrogator for sure; he spotted my lie immediately. But the RCMP don’t kidnap people and threaten to torture or kill them. Why would my name be of interest and why would he care that I took a flight to Vancouver? And he knew it was Sally I was following up on, so he must be plugged into the bombing investigation in some way. But what seemed to be a big surprise to him was that Nick and Cal are investigating Denis’ death.

  Denis’ death! Now I remember what happened to me. After he told me that cockamamie story about my boss wanting to talk to me on a secure line, we walked to his car and when we got in, I was just about to ask him about why he met Denis Lamarche in that pub when he stabbed my thigh with what looked like a hypodermic.

  But why?

  So many questions.

  And I just thought of one more.

  How the hell do I get out of this basement?

  21

  Cal

  It seems like we’ve been sitting here for hours. For what must be the hundredth time I’ve checked my watch. Adry is sitting beside me; sensing my agitation, she pats me on the arm. “Nick’s tough. He’s going to be OK Cal,” she says. I smile at her and nod.

  A man in a white coat enters. I recognize him but can’t remember his name. He was Roy’s doctor four years ago. He goes to the nurses’ station and the nurse points us out.

  He extends his hand to Adry. “Hi, I’m Barry Duffus, are you Mr. Stammo’s daughter.” His British accent is somehow comforting.

  She takes his hand and says, “Yes doctor.” I’m too shocked to say anything.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you that your father has received a very bad wound. He’s in the operating theatre right now and we have an excellent team working on him. I’ll be honest with you, his chances of pulling through are only about thirty percent, but if anyone can save him it’s the doctor who’s leading the team.”

  “Thank you doctor,” she says. “When will we know?”

  “Not for some hours yet. I suggest you leave your phone number at the nurses’ station and we’ll contact you with any news.”

  “Ok, thanks,” she says.

  “Oh, by the way,” he adds, “your father was in and out of consciousness but he said to tell you he loves you.”

  Adry looks uncomfortable as she thanks him again.

  We sit back down. “I told him I was Nick’s daughter because they won’t give too much information out to non-family members. Now I feel bad about it.” It’s my turn to pat her arm encouragingly. “Anyway,” she adds, “I called his daughter in Ontario, she and his ex-wife are on their way out here.”

  We sit in silence for a while. I try not to think of what life would be like without Nick. I remember Tina saying that I should tell him how I feel about him and now it may be too late. Tina! I look at my watch again. “Oh my God,” I say, “I just remembered I have a date tonight.” I feel a wave of guilt that I haven’t even thought of Tina today.

  I pull out my phone, get up and walk out into the corridor.

  She answers on the second ring. “Hi Cal, I’m so glad you called.” Her voice soothes away some of the worry I’m feeling. “I had a deadline on a story so I got a bit behind and I’m running about half an hour late.”

  I feel a flush of emotions that I haven’t felt in a while. For a second, I think about taking Dr. Duffus’ advice to leave until they call, and take Tina out for dinner somewhere close by. Instead, I tell her about Stammo. She listens without comment until I’ve finished, then just says, “Stay there, I’m on my way over.” Before I can respond, she hangs up.

  I go back and sit down next to Adry. “I guess I’m about to have my first date in a hospital.”

  She smiles. “They do say the food in the coffee shop is divine.” Then her face becomes serious. “Cal, I’ve been thinking about Jen.”

  In the excitement of the last couple of hours, I had almost forgotten our other case. “Yes. I can’t believe we were fooled by her,” I say. “But I think I know why. If she’s in league with the guy who killed Denis, she was probably trying to put us off track somehow
, maybe get us to drop the case.”

  “Yes, maybe.” She sounds unsure. “It’s just that I really believed her. I somehow can’t accept that she’s not who she says she is. What if the big guy somehow fooled her or maybe forced her to go with him.”

  “I wish I had a hundred bucks for each time I’ve really believed someone and then been wrong about them. In this business everyone is suspect. Facts are facts. Dougie said she was laughing when—”

  Of course!

  I get up. “Come on,” I say. I stride over to the nurses’ station.

  The nurse smiles up at me. I ask her, “The paramedics brought in a homeless man early afternoon today. His name’s Dougie Blake. Is he still here?”

  She checks her computer. “Yes, he’s being kept in overnight for observation. He’s in neurology on the fifth floor of the Providence building. Just go into the corridor and follow the blue line on the floor to the elevators.”

  Within minutes we are standing at the foot of Dougie’s bed.

  “Hello Rocky,” he says, “what are you doing here?”

  “I got to the park, just after you had your fall. I thought I’d come in and see how you were doing.”

  “My own stupid fault,” he says, “I was being a complete asshole. I’d had a drink or two and was hassling this Arab lady; I don’t know why, the booze just brings out the anger in me. I let go of my cart and it ran off the steps. Like a fool, I tried to hold on to it with my other hand but it pulled me down. Now I’m in here and I’ve lost all my stuff.”

  “Well, I’ve got some good news Dougie. I picked up your stuff, put it in your shopping cart and it’s safe in our office.”

  His face lights up. “Thanks Rocky. You turned out all right. Old Roy would’ve been proud of you. You’ve made my day.”

  “Dougie, you remember that big guy in the picture. You saw him get into the car with a tall woman with short dark hair.”

  “Yeah absolutely. A knock on the head isn’t going to affect my memory. I remember her perfectly. She was pulling one of those little suitcases on wheels.”