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

by Robert P. French

  He pauses and he’s breathing heavily like he’s just run a race.

  “Are you all right Mr. Gutkowski?” Lucy asks. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, looking back to Adry, “but I have a heart condition. My doctor tells me I must be careful. He has refused to let me travel. I wanted to go to Hong Kong but because of my heart, Aleksander offered to go there and talk to the police.”

  He stops again to breathe more deeply. He takes a bottle out of his pocket and pops a white pill in his mouth. Poor guy, it must be hell knowing your kids are in trouble thousands of miles away and you can’t do anything. We have got to find this girl.

  He picks up his water, takes a sip and continues. “Aleksander flew to Hong Kong and went to the police. He agreed with me that they were not being serious enough, so we decided to hire a private detective. Aleksander found one and the man started to work on the case. For three days Aleksander contacted me every day with progress reports. The detective was able to find a nightclub that Zelena had gone to and learned she had talked to a man there. The man was known to the staff of the nightclub, he was a regular there. The detective paid a couple of the staff members to contact him if the man showed up. But that was the last I heard. Aleksander didn’t call me on Saturday evening with his progress report. I tried repeatedly to contact him all day yesterday but nothing. I was all set to take the risk and fly out to Hong Kong today, but my wife remembered that a year or so ago, you tracked down the daughter of one of our friends, Rebecca Bradbury, and that she recommended you highly. So Francesca insisted I see you. Can you help me?”

  “Definitely.” Rogan and I say it at the same time.

  “Do you know the name of the private detective your son hired in Hong Kong?” I ask.

  “I believe it was a Mr. Wang.”

  “Do you know his first names?” Rogan asks.

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “There are over ninety million people with the last name Wang,” Rogan says. How does he know all these odd facts? “Do you remember anything more about him?”

  He pauses, lost in thought. “I do remember one thing. Aleksander said his office was on, or maybe just near, the main shopping street in Hong Kong.”

  “Nathan Road,” says Lucy. That’s my girl!

  “Yes, that’s it,” he almost shouts. “How did you know?” Yes, how did she know?

  “Well done Luce. That narrows it down a lot,” I say.

  “How did Aleksander pay this detective?” Rogan asks.

  “He used our family credit card.”

  “Then the name will be on the credit card statement.”

  Well duh! Why didn’t I think of that? I must be losing my touch.

  “Of course,” Gutkowski says. “I can look it up online.”

  Adry pitches in, “Where are Zelena’s things?” Good question.

  “What things?”

  “The clothes and personal effects she had on the trip. There might be something among her things that could help us, a diary or notebook or something.”

  The old man gives me a grim look. “I asked Stephanie to bring them back with her but the silly girl shipped them as freight. She said she had too much luggage to take Zelena’s too. We would have paid for the excess baggage. As I said, not a serious girl.”

  “Will you let us know as soon as you receive them. There might be something useful.”

  “Did your son stay at the same hotel your daughter stayed at?” I ask.

  “No, Mr. Stammo, Aleksander stayed at the Hilton.”

  “What happened to his things?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I suppose they are still at the hotel.”

  “OK,” I say. “We’re going to need to get a whole bunch of details from you, starting with the name and contact information for her friend Stephanie.”

  Adry opens her laptop and we get down to it.

  I’m going to make sure we get this man’s kids back if it kills me.

  5

  Cal

  I ring the doorbell of the ivy covered house situated in Kerrisdale, Vancouver’s second most expensive neighbourhood.

  After Janusz Gutkowski left the office today, we made two decisions: one, with two new cases today, and given our existing workload, we need to hire another investigator; two, because of the travelling that’s going to be needed, it’s better if I take the Hong Kong case and Nick takes the blackmailing case. Which didn’t actually delight either of us. So I’m on Adera Street to interview Stephanie White, Zelena Gutkowska’s best friend and travel companion.

  The door is opened by an elegantly dressed woman in a conservative blue dress and a string of pearls that I’ll bet cost more than I made last month. “Mr. Rogan?” she asks. I admit to my identity and she invites me in. “Stephanie’s in the living room, come through.”

  The room is a reflection of the owner. Elegant, conservative, expensive and, predominantly, blue. Her daughter gets off the couch and shakes my hand. “Hi, I’m Steph,” she says. She has slightly frizzy blond hair, blue eyes and a very genuine smile on a round face that exudes warmth. I don’t feel any of the reservation Janusz Gutkowski expressed.

  “Would you like coffee or tea?” her mother asks.

  “No, I’m fine thanks,” I say. She sits down next to her daughter and indicates a chair for me.

  Something tells me to ease into the questioning about the trip to Hong Kong. I open with, “How did you and Zelena meet?”

  “At school. We met in grade 8.”

  “Magee?” I ask. Obvious choice, it’s just down the road. It’s where I went, although I definitely did not live in this more ritzy part of Magee’s catchment area.

  “No. Crofton House.”

  “My wife went there,” I say. Mrs. White smiles and nods in what I suspect is acceptance of my presenting an upper-class credential. Better not mention she’s my ex-wife now.

  “Stephanie was valedictorian. She’s at UBC now.”

  “What are you studying?” I ask.

  “Biology, for now,” Stephanie says.

  “She’s going to be a doctor,” her mother interjects and the hint of a frown passes across Stephanie’s happy face.

  “You must have been excited when Zelena won the trip and asked you to come along.”

  “Yes, it was great,” she says but her answer lacks the enthusiasm I expected. It’s probably because of what happened on the trip.

  “What made you guys choose Hong Kong?”

  She glances at her mother for a second. “It was Zel’s idea. She said she’d always wanted to go there. I thought it would be pretty cool too, so we decided.” Something in her demeanour tells me that what she said isn’t completely true. But why would she lie?

  “When I talked to her father, I forgot to ask how she won the trip,” I lie.

  Her smile seems less genuine this time. “It was on a YouTube fashion channel we both watch.” Again she glances at her mother. “They said if you left a comment, they would choose someone at random to go on a trip anywhere in the world.” This agrees with what the father told us. It still sounds odd. Do kids talking about clothes on YouTube make enough money to give away expensive trips and why would they?

  “Did you both leave comments?” I ask with a smile. “Double your chances of winning?”

  She looks up for a second. “Yes. But it was Zel who won.” It’s a lie.

  I turn my most charming smile on Mrs. White. “Can I change my mind? If the offer’s still open, I’d love a cup of coffee.”

  She frowns. She wants to say no but years of polite behaviour win out. “Certainly,” she says, getting up and leaving the room without closing the door.

  “Stephanie,” I say, dropping my voice, “your best friend is missing. I need to find her. I can only do that if you are completely honest with me.”

  She glances towards the door, her face flushing. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I shouldn’t have lied. It’s just that my mother is so… I don
’t know… she just has to know every detail of my life and the lives of all my friends.”

  I hear the murmur of voices and drop my volume one more notch. “Tell me about the contest on YouTube, what channel was it?”

  “There was no contest,” she says, her volume matching mine. “We just made that up. My mother would have freaked if she knew the truth and Zel’s dad… you’ve met him, can you imagine what he’d do?”

  “So what did happen?”

  She glances up. “Well,” she says at her normal volume, “the hotel was very nice. It was the Kerry Hotel right on the waterfront and we had a room facing the harbour.”

  “Your coffee will be here in a moment, Mr. Rogan,” her mother says, retaking her place on the couch next to her daughter. I was hoping for more time but clearly Mrs. White doesn’t need to take time making coffee when someone else can do it for her.

  I continue asking innocuous questions about the trip and get back equally innocuous answers which, incidentally, match perfectly with the answers we got from Janusz Gutkowski earlier. They match a little too perfectly in fact. I keep it up for about fifteen minutes—through the arrival of the housekeeper with my coffee—noticing that when Stephanie answers my questions, sometimes, if her mother’s not looking directly at her, she will let me know the true answer by nodding when saying 'no’ or shaking her head while saying 'yes’. I keep up the charade until I have drunk enough of the coffee to be polite.

  “Thank you very much, Stephanie,” I say as I stand up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.” I take out my wallet and withdraw a business card. I hand it to her. “Please text me immediately if you think of anything at all that might be important.” She looks directly into my eyes and nods. As an afterthought, I hand a second card to her mother, just to take away any excuse she might come up with for taking possession of the one I gave to her daughter.

  My darling Ellie is only ten and a half. I hope Sam and I never get so controlling of her that she feels she has to keep things from us. Or will everything change when she gets to be a teenager? I hope not, but maybe I’m being unrealistic.

  As I drive away, I hope Stephanie doesn’t wait too long before contacting me.

  “We’re on!” Nick whoops as I walk into the office. He sees my blank expression. “The new client. Me and Adry talked to him half an hour ago. He’s received a blackmail demand for twenty-five grand. He’s on his way in to plan how we’re going to handle it.” He wheels over to the cabinet where he keeps all the gizmos we bought when we set up the business and have hardly ever used. After fishing around for a few minutes he pulls out a box. “Tracking device,” he says with a big grin. He wheels back and puts it on his desk. “How’d it go with the best friend?”

  “Looks like the story she and Zelena told their parents isn’t true. She couldn’t tell me the details because her mother was there most of the time. She’s going to text me I hope. If not, I’ll go to her house again first thing tomorrow and ask to speak to her alone. I’m not too sure how the mother will react to that.”

  “I checked Zelena’s social media accounts. They were easy to find. There aren’t many Zelena Gutkowskas,” Adry says. “She has a Facebook account and her posts all look very vanilla: her at school with friends, skiing at Whistler, pictures in restaurants. But no selfies with guys. Looking like she does, she has to have a boyfriend or, at the very least, a string of wannabe boyfriends. From what you just said, I suspect she uses Facebook for the benefit of her parents and their friends. However, she also has an Instagram account but it’s private so I can’t see any of the posts. I’m guessing it tells a different story. Maybe you could have her friend show it to you.”

  “Did you check the brother, Aleksander?” I ask.

  “No, I didn’t think to for some reason. I’ll get right on it.” She turns back to her screen.

  I hear Lucy’s voice greeting our other new client. Nick grabs the box on his desk, nods at me and we go out to the reception area and lead Connor McCoy to our conference room.

  “Is your colleague not joining us?” he asks as he puts down his briefcase and takes a seat.

  “Not just yet,” I say. He looks disappointed and I think I know why. Maybe I should tell him that Adry already has a boyfriend.

  Nick gets straight down to business. “Tell us about the phone call.”

  McCoy nods. “It was odd,” he says. He pulls out his mobile and shows us the recent calls list. “It’s the call from area code eight-oh-two, I looked it up, it’s in Vermont.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Stammo grunts. “It’s easy to spoof area codes and numbers; telemarketers do it all the time. Did you recognize the voice?”

  “It could have been Mike but I’m not sure. It’s over ten years since I spoke to him.”

  “Did you hear any background noises?” I ask.

  He frowns. “I don’t think so.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked if I wanted to buy a video for twenty-five thousand dollars. I told him yes and he said to have the money in cash, in a Safeway bag, and be at Victory Square at six this evening. He said to sit on a bench right by the memorial, the bench with the words 'To the Valour of our Sailors’, and wait for his call. Then he just hung up.”

  I bring up a mental picture of Victory Square and start to formulate a plan.

  “In cash, eh,” Stammo says. “That’s a bit old-school.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “Serious blackmailers ask for bitcoin. It can’t be traced and you don’t have all the problems that go with a handoff of cash. This guy’s an amateur. That’s good, we’re going to catch him.”

  “Catch him?” McCoy says. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

  “The alternative’s worse,” Stammo says. “He must know you run a successful company. There’s no way that twenty-five grand is going to buy his silence. If he gets away with this, he’s going to ask for a second, bigger payment, probably much bigger. You could be paying him for ever. No, we have to take him down.”

  McCoy bites his lip. “I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, you’re right.”

  “There’s another thing,” Nick says. “I tried to track down Mike Anderson. I wasn’t able to find anyone of that name from BC who’d spent time in jail during the time you mentioned.”

  “Hmm. That’s odd.” He thinks for a bit. “You know what? His parents were originally from Russia. They changed the family name to Anderson when Mike was a kid. Maybe try the Russian spelling of Michael.”

  “Do you know the original family name?” I ask.

  “If I ever knew it, I don’t remember it now.”

  “OK, we’ll keep trying,” Stammo says. “Anyway, I dealt with a couple of blackmail cases when I was with the VPD. If you’re willing to risk it, it’s better to use real money. There’s always a chance that the person who picks up the cash takes time to check it. If the cash is phoney, he’ll know something’s up and he’s going to throw it away and get out fast. If he sees it’s real, he’ll think he’s succeeded and might just be lulled into a false sense of security.” He checks his watch. “If you’re OK with it, you might want to go to your bank and withdraw the money. You’d better call them first, banks aren’t used to handing over large sums of cash.”

  “No need,” McCoy says. He opens his briefcase and takes out a Safeway bag. He empties the contents onto the table: twenty-five bundles of twenty-dollar bills.

  Nick whistles quietly.

  “I have to get back to work. I have a client call at three-thirty.” He starts to put the money back in the Safeway bag.

  “Leave the money with us,” Nick says opening his box. He takes out a device that looks like a white credit card with a red wire protruding from it. “I’m going to put this tracking device in one of the bundles.”

  “You can track the money?”

  “Absolutely,” Nick grins. “If we’re going to use real money, we’re going to do everything to make sure you get your money b
ack.”

  While they’ve been talking, I’ve been developing the beginning of a plan. “There’s a Bean Around the World coffee shop on the corner of Cambie and Hastings, kitty-corner from Victory Square. Meet us there not a minute later than five-fifteen,” I tell him.

  We get up and see him out. As soon as he’s gone, Stammo gets to work with his tracking gizmo. I take out my phone and text Tina that I’ll be home late tonight. Then I scroll through my contacts list and smile when I see the name. I make the call and I’m pleased the number is still active. It was only a fifty-fifty chance. “Hey, Rocky,” he says, using my old street name. I give him detailed instructions of where and when I want to meet him, and tell him what the payment will be. I can hear the grin in his voice as he says, “Fuckin’ A.”

  Now to go to Victory Square and think through all the options. And maybe I can get a handle on the nagging feeling something’s going to go wrong, no matter how well we plan and execute this take down.

  Connor McCoy comes out of the coffee shop’s bathroom and he is one nervous puppy. I speak as calmly as I can. “OK, this is it, just relax. Remember, we’ve got it all covered. It’s three minutes to six: time to go and sit on the bench. And remember to check the other benches, like you don’t know which one says 'To the Valour of our Sailors’.”

  He nods distractedly as he fumbles to put his earbuds in. “Can you hear me OK?” he says.

  His voice comes through my own earbuds. “Perfectly. Remember, when he calls you, press the conference call button so I can hear what he says too.”

  He nods, takes a deep breath, and heads out the door.

  I scan Victory Square. It is a one-block park, sloping up from Hastings to Pender, honouring the Canadian service men and women who died in the twentieth century’s two world wars. The main feature is a concrete monument with the Canadian flag and the flags of the Army, Navy and Airforce. Due to the nice May weather, there are quite a few people around and because the square is on the cusp of downtown and the east side, they are a mix of social classes. Among them, I can see Ghost and his buddy Tommy. They are two homeless guys I know from when I too was homeless and living on the streets of the downtown east side. They fit right in with half of the denizens of the park.