Then I see him. I can’t be sure. He may be one of the men from Harvey’s porch but if not, he’s cut from the same cloth. He’s waiting for someone at one of the intake desks to finish his phone call. Maybe I’m being paranoid but sometimes paranoia’s good. Any sudden change of direction will give us away. Still holding her elbow, I move slightly in front of her so that I have to turn back around a little bit more to look at her, thus shielding my face and hers. We are just going to have to walk past him.
When we are just two steps away, I hear the receptionist hang up the phone. “How can I help you sir?”
“I’m looking for one of your patients,” he says. “Jennifer Halley.”
I grip Jen’s arm. Then I see Adry’s face. She’s just about to speak. “Adry, can you take her other arm,” I say, just a bit too loudly. She looks at me and I shake my head. She gets it and takes Jen’s other arm. As we pass the intake desk I hear the tapping of keys. “She’s only just been discharged,” he says. “If you go along that corridor and take the first door on your right, she might still be there.”
The man grunts his thanks and heads off in the direction we just came from.
Jen winces as I speed up. We need to get out of here before the cop discovers she has just left.
I push the first set of double doors open and then hold the second one open for Jen and Adry. “Where’s your car?” I ask the latter.
She points. “Just over there on Laurel, at a meter.”
“Go with Jen and take her to the office.”
They walk as quickly as Jen can manage, which is not nearly fast enough for me, and I take up a position behind an ambulance. I have a clear view of Jen and Adry and can see the exit doors through the windows of the ambulance’s cab.
If the cop comes out before they are out of sight, I’m going to have to create some sort of distraction, without drawing attention to myself. Sounds like mission impossible to me.
For once in this whole affair, I get lucky. I see them get into Adry’s little Mazda and drive off, just as the cop burst through the exit doors. I see his lips perform a four-letter expletive. Twice. Then he pulls out a phone and dials.
He walks off talking to someone. By the look on his face it’s a superior officer. Good.
As the rate of adrenalin pumping into my blood eases, I get the feeling I’m missing something.
Something important.
“Maybe we should go to the VPD and hand ourselves in.” Jen looks really tired. I can picture the massive blow inflicted by Harvey’s fist and I’m surprised she even lived through it.
“Maybe,” I say but I’m not convinced.
“How did you know they were cops, Cal? Did you recognize them?” Adry asks.
“No. But VPD has thirteen hundred sworn members and I haven’t worked there in three years, not to mention they could have been RCMP. So the chances of me recognizing them would be slim to none.”
“So how do you know they were cops?”
“I don’t know, they just had the look. The neighbour must have suspected something and called them.”
We lapse into silence.
Adry is the first to speak. “Where are your own clothes Jen?”
“Harvey took them. He took them off me when I was unconscious.”
“That is so creepy. You must have felt terrible.”
Jen just nods.
“So maybe the cops found them at the house. You must have had your ID in one of your pockets or in your purse.”
“Maybe.” Jen sounds unsure. “When I managed to free myself from the duct tape, I looked for them but they weren’t in the basement. I didn’t have time to check the rest of the house because I heard Cal show up and I thought he was Harvey. Sorry about that by the way.”
“No prob. And that was good thinking Adry. That house was unnaturally tidy. I would have seen the clothes if they were anywhere on the main floor. If he put them anywhere it would have been upstairs during the time between my two visits there..”
“What about your suitcase, where was that?” Adry asks.
“That’s another good question,” says Jen. “It’s probably still in Harvey’s car. That’s the last place I put it. But I’m pretty sure there was nothing in it to identify me.”
Adry’s good at this, she’s a natural in fact.
“Oh my God,” says Jen. “It’s Monday. And it’s two o’clock in Ottawa. I’m supposed to be back at work. I have to talk to my boss.”
“What are you going to tell him?” I ask.
“The truth, I guess.”
“Yeah, except that implicates me in a murder and you as an accessory.”
She thinks about it. “OK, part truth.” She goes and sits at Nick’s desk and I get a twinge of guilt that I haven’t been to see him and update him on what’s been happening.
She dials a number. “Hi Tony,” she says. A pause. “Actually I’m in Vancouver.” A longer pause. She takes a deep breath. “I’ve been looking into the fact that Annalise’s brother was killed in Vancouver at the same time she was killed in Ottawa.” Another pause. “Yes, I know but—” A longer pause, a lot longer. “OK… Yes… Straight away.”
She hangs up. “I’m not in his good books right now. I have a meeting with him first thing in the morning.” Adry is about to say something but Jen holds up a finger. She thinks for a long moment and continues, “Tony sounded weird somehow.” She thinks some more. “I’m already up shit creek, so what the hell, if the cops come looking for us we need to have answers, so let’s start over again,” Jen takes a deep breath. “Let’s go through what we know. Annalise is having an affair with her boss Neil Harris, the Minister of National Defence. She tells Sally Hyde, my colleague at CSIS, that she wants to discuss something that effects national security and she sends some documents to her brother. She and Sally are both killed in a terrorist bombing. At the same time, her brother is killed in Vancouver by a rogue RCMP officer, Harvey Clegg. He learns that I’m here and kidnaps me and tries to kill me. Cal rescues me and kills Harvey. Does that about cover it?”
“There’s one other thing,” I add. “I forgot to tell you about it. Clegg was staking out my apartment, he knew we were involved in this whole thing. That was why he wanted to kill me.”
“Well,” says Adry. “When you put it all together like that, it sounds like some sort of conspiracy. I’ll bet the answers are in those documents.”
She’s right and it’s Monday. Damien’s back from his trip. I pull out my phone, dial and press speakerphone. We do the polite stuff then I say, “We know what that ‘garter’ reference was. The person who encrypted those documents was the son of an Englishman, Sir David Fetherstonhaugh. He was a member of the Order of the Garter.”
“Wow. Order of the Garter, that’s the most senior type of knighthood in the UK. He must have been a big deal,” says Damien. A chuckle comes over the phone. “I should have thought of that usage of the word garter.”
“We think that his father was the clue to the encryption key. Could you give that a try? And Damien, this is a matter of life and death.”
“Hang on a second.” I hear a muted clicking of keys and some subvocal muttering for about thirty seconds, then, “I tried his name and the words ‘order of the garter’ but nothing. Encryption keys are usually longer than that anyway. I’ll get one of my guys to work on it and see if he can get a combination of words in his name and title with and without capitals and spaces and hyphens. See if we can get a key that works. We’ve got some software here that he can use to help us generate a whole bunch of different options.”
“That’s great man, I really appreciate it.”
“Sure. I’ll call you as soon as we get something.”
I hang up. “I wish Nick were here, I’d like to know what he might come up with.”
Jen was deep in thought while I was on the call. “Let’s assume your buddy Damien can’t crack the encryption key,” she says, “and we never get to find out what’s in those documents. Where do
we go from there?”
“You’re in CSIS, why don’t you get an appointment to go and see her boyfriend?” I ask.
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Lowly intelligence officers like me don’t get to interrogate Cabinet Ministers. Neil Harris is like one of the top five people in the federal government.”
“Well, without the documents, he’s the only person who might know what’s in them that could have got Denis murdered.”
“OK, so you interview him.” She laughs as she says it.
I think back to the first thing that Jen said and I follow it through to its logical conclusion. I get up. I know what I must do now.
“I’ve got to go see Nick.”
Nick looks a lot better than he did yesterday, though he’s still hooked up to all sorts of drips and machines. He has the TV on and he’s watching CBC news. I update him on the happenings at Harvey’s house and when I was picking Jen up at VGH. He hears me out without comment until I get to the end, “So I was wondering if I should go and turn myself in to Steve? They’re going to find my DNA in there soon enough, so I think it’s better to get out in front of it. What d’you think?”
He looks at me for a moment, frowns and asks a question I wasn’t expecting. “You said there were three members?”
“I suppose there must have been. There were two at the house and then one at VGH. I drove as fast as I could from the house because I wanted to pick Jen up and get her out of there before the neighbour told them about taking her to the hospital last night. When I got there Jen was already dressing and ready to leave and as we were walking out, he was already at the front desk asking for her. I can’t be sure he wasn’t one of the cops on the front porch of the house but I don’t think so.”
“Weird.”
“Why?”
“Think it through,” he says. “The VPD are there because the neighbour called them, right?”
“Sure, why else would they be?”
He doesn’t answer but continues, “Last night, the neighbour thinks you’re Harvey Clegg and Jen’s your wife. He takes you and Jen and drops you off at VGH. He goes home, parks Harvey’s car in the driveway and goes to bed. Next morning for some reason he thinks something’s wrong. Maybe he got nosy and looked in through a basement window and sees the late Harvey with his face blown off. Whatever. He calls nine-one-one, uniforms arrive, enter the premises and find the body. It looks like a suicide or a murder. What do they do? They call for a detective team. That’s one, maybe two detectives and the crime scene guys.” He pauses and looks straight at me. “When do you ever remember three detectives going out on a suspicious death call? Where did the third one pop up from?”
He’s right. It never happens.
“And there were no crime scene personnel there,” I say.
“The third guy,” he asks, “are you sure he was looking for Jen?”
“Absolutely. I heard him ask the person at the front desk, ‘I’m looking for one of your patients, Jennifer Halley.’”
His eyes go wide. “What?!” It’s almost a shout.
And I get it. That must be what was bothering me after we got Jen out of there this morning.
How did he know her last name? A cop would have been looking for Mrs. Jen Clegg.
“Those guys weren’t VPD cops,” I breathe.
“You better believe they weren’t.”
We sit in stunned silence.
“So who the hell were they?” I finally ask.
“And what do we do now?” he adds.
More silence.
This time Nick breaks it. “OK, we’ll worry about who they were later. Right now, Rogan, here’s what you’ve got to do. The real VPD are going to find that crime scene and your’s and Jen’s DNA is going to be all over it. The last place those phony cops are going to look for you is back at that house. You’ve gotta go back there and clean it up just like you were planning to do this morning. If you can stage it to look like a suicide, so much the better. Oh, and if you can find that neighbour, ask him if he called the cops or if they just showed up there. I’ve got fifty bucks on them just showing up.”
No takers on that bet.
We chat about all the implications of who these guys might be and what it all means for us. Then I ask him a question and he asks me one.
For once we completely agree with each other.
I turn to go.
“Wait,” he says. “Look.” He’s pointing at the TV. The face of a young man peers out at us. He looks nervous in the photograph and his eyes point in slightly different directions. I listen to the voice of the newscaster. “…released the name of the bomber who killed eleven people last month in Canada’s first-ever, terrorist bombing. He was Hamza Kashif from the Ottawa suburb of Nepean. Neighbours told CBC News reporter John Wilcox, that they were shocked. According to most of them, he was a quiet young man who was always polite and friendly. We go over now to John who’s currently in Nepean…”
I’m looking at the face of the man who killed Annalise Lamarche.
I mull over all the implications of my conversation with Stammo as I drive up Main Street. The traffic’s heavier than usual. I hear sirens and see flashing lights in my rearview mirror; they remind me of hearing sirens on Main last night. I pull over. This time the sirens are from a fire truck. As soon as it passes, I pull away from the curb and follow it as closely as I can. It’s a good way to cut through the traffic. I follow it across Fifteenth, Sixteenth and Seventeenth, flashing past the vehicles which have pulled over to allow the red monster to lumber past.
To my surprise it hangs a left onto Eighteenth.
I see its destination.
It’s my destination.
Harvey’s house is ablaze and is taking the house next door with it. The fire has really taken hold with tongues of flame licking their way out of the upstairs windows. I know what this means. Vancouver’s fire department is organized so that every address in the city is no more than four minutes from a fire hall. This means it’s no more than four minutes since someone called in the fire, yet the house is almost consumed already. I foresee the word arson on the investigator’s report.
As the firemen unroll their hoses and attach them to hydrants, I watch the blaze gather strength in the neighbour’s house. and hope our good samaritan, Gilles, is out. I scan the crowd but don’t see him there. I back the Healey into a parking space and grab my phone, run across the road and turn back towards the faces, all mesmerized by some atavistic fascination with the overwhelming fury of fire. I take several pics of them. Maybe one of the arsonists has returned to examine his handiwork. I text them to Adry with instructions to have them printed on the largest size sheets she can find.
The firemen are now pouring jets of water onto the houses but they are lost. The roof of Harvey’s house collapses in a profusion of sparks.
I now no longer need to worry about DNA and fingerprints. They won’t survive. But two things will: the shattered bones of Harvey’s skull and the remains of the bullet that did the shattering.
Adry already has the pictures printed and she and Jen are looking at them.
“Adry, book tickets for Jen and me to Ottawa this evening. Nick okayed the expense.”
“On it,” she says and returns to her desk.
“Do you recognize anyone in the pictures,” I ask Jen. She shakes her head. I pull a magnifying glass from Stammo’s desk drawer and scrutinize the first print. Adry has had them magnified and printed so that there are about eight faces on each sheet. I put each face under the lens and search my memory for a match with the men that I saw on the porch from about fifty yards away and the man whom I glimpsed at the hospital some five minutes after.
On the third sheet, I get a possible match. It could be the man from the hospital. I grab a sharpie off my desk and circle it. “I think that’s the guy who was looking for you at the hospital. What d’you think?”
She looks at the face and shrugs. “I didn’t really see him.”
I examine all the other faces but only the one looks familiar.
Gathering all the prints into a folder, I update Jen on my talk with Nick and on the fire.
“Most conspiracy theories are nonsense,” she says, “but I’m starting to agree with Adry; there’s something going on here and it sure as hell involves the Minister of DND.”
Adry walks back into the main office. “Done, I texted you your boarding passes. Air Canada flight three-four-four at five o’clock, it gets in at half past midnight their time.”
I check my watch. “We’d better get going.”
“You’ve got four hours,” she says.
“I know but I have to stop off at three places before we head out to the airport. Come on Jen, let’s go.”
“It feels funny,” she says, getting to her feet. “Everything I had when I came to Vancouver is gone. All I’ve got are the clothes Adry lent me and the burner phone she bought for me with your company credit card.”
“Adry, can you access the company’s computer system from home?”
“Well, duh.” She looks at me like I’m crazy so I take it as a yes.
“The guys who burned down Harvey’s house know about us. I want you to close down the office, go home and work from there. Make sure all our current clients know that there will be delays in their cases.”
“On it,” she says. “You guys have a good trip.”
She and Jen have a big hug and we head out the door.
As we get to the elevator, Adry calls, “Cal! I forgot to tell you, I did some research about that garter thing, I thought the key might be—” The elevator dings.
“No time,” I call. “Text Damien and let him know.”
She gives a big thumbs up and again I feel the twinge of worry that the people who burned down Harvey’s probably know about the existence of Stammo Rogan Investigations Inc.
All errands done, I got us to the airport in good time. It took us a while to get through security because Jen had no ID. But she did have an image of her Passport and her Ontario Driver’s Licence in cloud storage, so they were able to check her identity. I’m enjoying my last BC draft beer before our flight is called and Jen is breaking the law by telling me about the security measures in place for Canadian Cabinet Ministers.
Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 4, 5 & 6 (Box Set) Page 39
