I find the light switch and turn it on.
The front door leads straight into the living room. It’s obsessively tidy. Nothing is out of place. To the left is a staircase leading up, and to the right is a round dining table with four chairs all pushed in. Beyond the dining table is a counter and the kitchen which runs the width of the house. There is what looks like an IKEA storage unit on the right-hand wall. A quick check reveals nothing but children’s games, tablecloths and napkins and books. Everything carefully placed in neat rows. Even the books look like they were selected by an interior designer to look ‘just so’.
No desk, no computer, nothing.
I slip off my shoes. Not because it’s the Canadian thing to do but just to be quiet. Just to be safe, I switch off my phone’s ring. The wall against which the staircase is situated is shared by the house next door. And just maybe I’m not alone in the house.
I head silently upstairs to a landing with three doors leading off it. All closed. I gently turn the handle and open the first door as silently as possible. A bedroom, also immaculate, bed made, pillows plumped, everything in place. It looks like no one has ever slept here. I open the closets. Five suits, three pairs of pants, seven shirts all neatly arranged on hangers. Sock drawer, underwear drawer. Nothing on the shelf above.
I slide back the closet doors, making sure they are fully closed and return to the landing.
Door two is the bathroom. Everything immaculate. One bath towel, one hand towel, the cupboard above the sink with just the bare necessities: one bar of soap, unused, a toothbrush, a toothpaste tube full, with no dents in it.
Back to the landing. A phrase from my childhood pops into my mind, from where I don’t remember. What’s behind door number three, Monty? I reach for the handle and the answer is… nothing. Literally nothing, except the blinds on the window.
I pad back downstairs.
Just out of interest I walk through to the kitchen. Same story: minimalist and anally arranged. The fridge is empty.
Nobody lives here.
So what was Harvey Clegg doing here tonight?
Picking up mail? Meeting someone?
He’s RCMP. Maybe this is a safe house. Except it looks like it’s never been used.
My suspicion that Harvey Clegg is not just an RCMP member has just quadrupled. Time to blow this pop stand. I head for the front door. Underneath the staircase I see another door, it obviously goes to the basement. Maybe I should check—
I jump. The vibration of my phone feels like an electric shock in the quiet of the moment.
It’s Tina.
“Is he back?” I keep my voice a little above a whisper.
“No. I was just feeling a bit worried. Is everything OK?”
“Sure no prob. I’ll be right out.”
I slip my shoes back on and leave, closing the front door quietly behind me.
Move on. Nothing to see here.
24
Cal
Sunday
I am running, terrified and naked, along the seawall in Stanley Park. At least, I think it’s the seawall. Except that the view is different, instead of English Bay and the North Shore mountains all I can see is a vast expanse of stark, brown land. I stop and step off the seawall and onto the soft earth. It smells of coffee. Not just any coffee. Good, freshly roasted coffee. I breath it in and slowly open my eyes… to an unfamiliar bedroom.
“Good morning, sleepy head.” Tina’s words pull me up from the tatters of the dream. She’s standing beside the bed in a patterned, silk dressing gown. The memories of last night, equal parts of passion and tenderness, flood in and I smile. She hands me a coffee. “It’s black, no sugar.” She sits on the bed. “As I was making it, I wondered if it’s OK to sleep with someone when you don’t even know how they take their coffee. But I guess it’s a bit late for that.”
I feel the glow of a deep contentment. I pull myself upright and kiss her cheek before sipping the dark, hot brew. “Perfect,” I sigh. As my mind clears, I remember it’s Sunday. “What shall we do today?”
“Maybe we should check on your partner.” She says it gently, with no judgement in her voice, but I feel guilt stabbing me as I think of Nick fighting for his life. If thou survive my well-contented day Shakespeare adds unbidden.
I grab my phone off the bedside table.
I just look at it, dreading to make the call.
Tina slides over and puts her arm around my shoulder.
I let out the breath, which I was unconsciously holding, in a long sigh and say, “Hey, Siri, call Adry.”
It takes a while to connect and I almost hang up, wanting to delay the bad news as long as I can. But I don’t. I have to know.
One ring.
Two rings.
Adry answers on the third ring. “Hi Cal,” she says, “Good news. The doctor just told us that Nick’s going to be OK.”
Thank God. Thank God. Thank God. I collapse into Tina’s hug.
“Is he awake, yet?”
As she hears my words, Tina gives an extra little double hug for victory.
“Yes. His real daughter is with him right now. I’m sitting in the waiting room with Brenda, Mrs. Stammo.” Nick’s ex-wife. I wonder if she will be able to stay sober enough to see him. “They’re only allowing one visitor at a time.”
“Were you there all night?”
“Mostly. I went and picked up Brenda and Lucy from the airport.” Lucy is Nick’s daughter; I never knew his wife’s name until now. “Their flight arrived at six this morning. I’m going to wait to see if I can see him for a moment and then I’m going home to sleep.”
After I hang up, Tina says. “Drink up your coffee we’ve got a hospital to visit.” She grins and kisses me. “And it’s still raining hard so we can take my car. It doesn’t leak through the roof.”
As I see them I feel guilt. Twice over. Once for what I did to them six months ago and twice for allowing Nick to risk his life facing down David Fox yesterday. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rogan,” Nick’s daughter takes my proffered hand.
“How is he?” I ask.
“He’s still a bit woozy from the anaesthetics, but he knew who I was. The doctors say we can have some more time with him later on.”
I turn to Stammo’s ex. “I’m really sorry about Nick,” I say.
She shakes my hand. “Nick always was one for getting into scrapes.” There is no sign of alcohol on her breath or in her demeanour. “He’s a tough one. He’s going to be just fine.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask automatically.
“No, we’re fine. But I do want to thank you for covering the flight out here, that was very kind.” I look over at Adry and she smiles sheepishly. I give her a smile back and nod.
“My pleasure, it was the least we could do. You should thank Adry, she did the arranging.”
Relieved that I’m OK with the agency paying for their flights, Adry says, “I spoke to Mrs. V., Nick’s landlady. She said that Brenda and Lucy can stay there while Nick’s in the hospital. It’ll be a bit tight, but they’re OK with it.” Brenda and Lucy nod.
I raise my eyebrows. I’ve only been to Nick’s place once and he has a small bedroom with a single bed.
Before I can say anything, Tina stretches up and whispers in my ear.
“Are you sure,” I ask. She nods.
“I’ve got a two bedroom apartment,” I say. “You’re welcome to stay there. There’s food in the fridge and the supermarket’s a block away. You could stay there and I’ll stay at Tina’s. It will be a lot more comfortable than sleeping in Nick’s single bed.”
“Are you sure it wouldn’t be a problem?” Brenda asks.
“No problem at all.”
“Cal’s car’s a two seater,” Tina adds, “we could drive you over there this evening, in my car, after you’ve visited with Nick some more.”
Tears well up in Brenda’s eyes. She hugs Tina and then me.
It feels good to do a favour.
It
feels strange being driven. The last time I remember being driven by someone was years ago by Sam. It wasn’t a happy experience. Being a passenger reminds me of being in a police car and I find myself scanning the parked vehicles and the sidewalks as we drive towards my apartment. I need to tidy up and change the sheets before Brenda and Lucy settle in.
It’s kind of exciting, the thought of staying at Tina’s place. It’s waaaaaaay too soon in the relationship but I’m pretty sure it’s going to work out just fine. We just had a great breakfast downtown and she told me about her career as a journalist and I told her all about the last major case we had. She said it was perfect for her planned book about unusual killings in Canada.
“Turn right just up ahead,” I say. She pulls onto my street. “It’s about halfway down the block on the right.” We’re in luck. There’s a parking space right in fr— “Keep driving. Whatever you do, don’t stop.” She senses the urgency in my voice and turns towards me. I turn towards her so that the back of my head is towards the window. “Just keep driving and take another right at the end of the block.”
“What is it, Cal?”
“Just do it.” She continues along the block and turns right. “Sorry about that,” I say. “If you can find a place to park I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
About three-quarters of the way along she finds, and backs into, a parking space.
“What is it?” she asks and I can sense an eagerness in her voice.
I tell her what I saw and her eyes widen. Not in fear but in excitement. And it doesn’t even change when I tell her what I want her to do next.
I give her the detailed instructions I just thought up.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I see her coming down the street. She gets into the car and says breathlessly, “Did it.”
“How many were there?”
“Just the one. Just like you described.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. I checked the back seat as I walked past.”
Good. Hopefully I’ll find out why he’s alone. “Did you get it?”
“Yes,” she chuckles as she opens her purse. “Is it legal?”
“It’s a grey area.” I take the Glock from her, check the magazine and the safety and put it in the pocket of my rain jacket. “OK, here goes.”
“Wait. Why don’t I drive you around the block. That way he won’t see you coming.”
“Definitely not! I don’t want him to see your car. He’s trained. He would probably get the plate number and that could put you in serious danger.”
She leans across the car and kisses me. “Good luck.”
I grin and as I get out of her car; I say, “If I’m not back in thirty minutes, call Steve Waters at the number I gave you and tell him everything, then go home. Don’t even think of going around the block to see what’s happened.”
The words bring a look of worry to her face. She just nods.
I close the door, pull my Vancouver Canadians baseball cap out of my pocket and onto my head. And set off down the street. I turn right at the end and when I get to the end of that block, rather than turn right immediately, I cross the road and start down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. If he’s checking his mirrors I will be partly shielded by the cars and SUVs parked along the curb.
As I draw level with Harvey’s grey BMW I have my two options clearly in mind. I do a quick check: there are no other pedestrians on the block. I take my Glock out of my pocket, walk briskly across the road and pull the rear-passenger, driver-side door handle. It opens. Option one. Thank you BMW for unlocking the doors when he put the car in park. I’m inside the car before he can turn around and see my gun pointing at his face. “Face forward and put your hands on the steering wheel.” He does it. I push the gun barrel against his neck. “Reach down with your left hand and lock the car doors.” He does it and then returns his hand to the steering wheel. “Now give me the key.” He passes it back and again returns his hands to the wheel.
I lower the gun. No point in showing it to a passing pedestrian, out for a Sunday morning stroll. “My gun is pointed through the seat at the back of your spine.”
“You’re a PI and an ex-cop. I don’t think you’re going to pull that trigger.”
He’s right. I think. “I’m sure you checked me out and found that I’m suspected of killing a politician and a drug dealer, right?” He nods. “Well, I put you in the same category as them.”
“What do you want?”
“Information.”
“How do you know I’ll give it to you?”
“Let’s try. Where’s your partner?”
In the rearview mirror, I see his eyes narrow in momentary puzzlement. Then understanding dawns. His eyes flicker to the right. “She’s pursuing other lines of enquiry.” It’s a lie. So where is Jen? Is she pursuing this line of enquiry. Or maybe Adry’s right. Maybe he tricked her, maybe she’s not his partner. Except how did he know I even existed if Jen didn’t tell him?
“Why did you kill Denis Lamarche?”
“Who?”
Then suddenly, I remember Annalise’s letter that was hidden in Denis’ bible. I know the answer.
“Was it because Denis knew his sister was having an affair with the Minister of National Defence?”
The shock on his face is palpable. He looks at the rearview mirror and sees my eyes drilling into his. My shot in the dark hit the bull’s eye.
Before he can speak I ask, “Why are you staking out my apartment?”
He fights to recover his composure… and succeeds. “Really? You live in this dump?” His eyes hold mine and there is a mocking gleam in them.
I don’t really care. I’m sure I now know the answer.
I think back to Friday morning when we found Annalise’s letter to her brother. Jen scanned it first and then read it to us. If she were in league with Harvey, she would never have read that letter to us; she would have claimed some national security bullshit. And even if she had read it to us, she would have reported the fact to Harvey. But from his reaction, I’m sure he was monumentally surprised that I knew.
It leaves me with just one other question: what to do with Harvey? I can’t release him into the wild, he’s too dangerous for that. There’s no point calling Steve; Harvey’s an RCMP member and I have no proof of any sort that he’s also a killer. My only option is to kidnap him but how the hell do I do that?
“Look over there Rogan.” His voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He’s looking out the side window. On the other side of the street are a couple with two young children: the parents are holding hands, one kid’s in a stroller being pushed by her mom and the other kid’s perched happily on the other mom’s shoulders. I hear the click of the car’s locks. Before I can react, he has opened the door and got out. He strolls across the street and walks along beside them, throwing a grin back at me.
I concede defeat. No way I’m going to put that family at risk.
But maybe it’s only a partial defeat.
I open my door, get out of the car and get in the driver’s seat. I slip the key into the ignition and the Bavarian-made engine roars into life. I check the side mirror, no cars are coming, but I can just pick out the look of rage on Harvey’s face as I accelerate down the street.
I tell my phone to call Tina.
She needs to be safely at home.
I know what I have to do and I don’t want her anywhere near me when I do it.
I back the car into the driveway, remove the key, get out of the car and lock the doors. It’s the polite thing to do. As I run to the front door I throw the key into the bushes. You can take politeness too far. This time I don’t bother with the doorbell. My picks have me in the house in seconds. I don’t have a lot of time. Harvey is probably on his way here. If he was lucky enough to find a cab he might be here in minutes.
I go to the one door I never opened on my previous visit here: the door down to the basement. I run down, taking two stairs at a time, and push the do
or at the bottom. Except it’s locked. The stairwell is illuminated only by the light coming in through the doorway above but I can just see the key. I turn it and open the door. It’s an unfinished basement. In the middle of the floor there’s a bed. There’s duct tape everywhere, on the bed, on the floor. It looks like someone was kept here. I step inside and my world explodes.
25
Jen
Cal!! Oh my God, what have I done? I drop the gardening spade and crouch down beside him. He’s very still. I try to roll him onto his back. He groans. Oh, thank heaven. “CAL.” I shake him and he groans again. “Cal wake up.” His eyes flicker and open. He looks at me, confused, and closes his eyes. “Cal! Open your eyes.” No response. I repeat it and after a few seconds he does; he looks at me again; then he looks down in puzzlement. Does he not recognize me? He looks back at my face and silently mouths my name. Then I get why he’s confused. I feel the flush of embarrassment. That bastard Harvey took my clothes. I’m naked.
Cal closes his eyes. “Take… jacket,” he croaks.
He keeps his eyes closed while I help him to sit up. Gratefully, I slip off his rain jacket, put it on and zip it up. He’s a couple of inches taller than me so it pretty much covers everything.
“I’m OK now,” I tell him. “Let’s get you up.” It’s a struggle but I manage to get him to his feet.
He sways. “I… ahhh… gotta sit down.” I help him to the bed and he slumps down. I keep him upright.
“No rush, let me look at you.” The side of his head which came into contact with the spade is a mess of blood and hair. The blood is still trickling down his face and soaking into his shirt. It’s bad but not life threatening. “I am so sorry, Cal,” I say. “When you’re feeling up to it, we’ll take your car and I’ll drive you to the hospital and get you checked out.”
Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 4, 5 & 6 (Box Set) Page 37
