The Evil Men Do

by H. Paul Doucette

  “How long you reckon we’re gonna sit here?” Pete asked, looking at me.

  “Don’t know,” I answered. “We know he left the bank a short while ago. I’m guessin’ he’ll make a try for his stuff before takin’ off.” I glanced at my watch then added, “If he doesn’t show in the next fifteen minutes we’ll take off.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did we miss anythin’, you know, from all we got? Maybe someplace we overlooked?”

  “Don’t think so,” Pete said. “Mind you, what we got ain’t all that much and we did cover that.”

  “Yeah, but I got a feelin’ we’re missin’ somethin’. He isn’t a goddamn ghost.”

  We sat there for several minutes silently thinking over everything we knew.

  Suddenly, it came to me.

  “Don’t these houses in this part of town back onto a backyard of sorts?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Pete said. “So what?”

  “Maybe there’re back doors.”

  “Shit! You’re right, an’ alleys.”

  I opened my car door and stepped off quickly up the street. Pete was a few steps behind me. When we reached the door to Fletcher’s house I banged on the door. A few moments later, the door opened. We pushed past the woman who held the door and ran up the stairs followed by curses from her. When I reached the door to Fletcher’s room, I grabbed the knob and turned it; it was unlocked. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  The first thing I saw was the open and empty drawers in the dresser. I moved to the closet and found it was also empty.

  “Christ,” I said aloud.

  “Shit,” Pete said behind me. “He must’ve just been here.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go. We gotta get a car down to the ferry an’ one out to the Northwest Arm to watch for his car.”

  “You think he’s gonna try an’ drive away?”

  “Maybe. I don’t think he’ll chance the train, figurin’ we’d be watchin’ for him there, but jus’ in case, you an’ me will go to the train station. Let’s go.”

  We were almost out of the room I spotted the loose floorboard.

  “Hold up,” I said, bending down to look under the loosened board. “What do think he has in here?”

  “I dunno; maybe, money?”

  “Um, or somethin’ else,” I said softly. That’s when I detected the slight odor of gun oil.

  Back in the car, I called in to the dispatcher with instructions to send a car to the ferry, one out to the Northwest Arm and another to the road leading to Bedford in the north end with a description of Fletcher and his car. I also ordered him to send at least three men down to the railway station. The orders were to stop the car and arrest the occupant. I also warned him the man might be armed and to use caution.

  At the end of the call, I was informed that Mrs. Marchand called from the hospital to let me know she had spoken with a lawyer from the Crown and she had agreed to allow her daughter to appear in court and identify her attacker, if and when, we arrested him.

  “Damn,” Pete said as he drove away, heading for the train station. “The girl’s got a lot of guts.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  * * *

  Ian Sinclair slammed the phone down on its cradle as he stood up abruptly. He looked across the office at his partner, Michael McPherson.

  “What’s the matter?” McPherson said, sounding startled at Sinclair’s outburst.

  “That was our man over at Kempt’s shop. He said the police have arrested Kempt. They closed the shop and have two uniformed officers watching the place,” Sinclair said; the panic in his voice was evident.

  McPherson collected himself quickly. “Did he say why they arrested him?”

  “No,” Sinclair said, shaking his head as he walked to McPherson’s desk. “What are we going to do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing! What do you mean...nothing? If he talks...,” Sinclair started to say.

  “So what? He cannot implicate us in any serious way. Certainly, he can say we’ve been doing business with him but he can’t prove we were involved with anything he did on his end.”

  “But he can implicate us, I mean, we did work out a deal with him after all, once we found out.”

  “True. But it would be his word against ours. Besides, we can always claim we were unaware of what he was up to since we had no part in the manufacturing of the parts we ordered. So, how will the authorities prove anything against us?”

  “Even so, Michael, there is always the money. If they decide to do an audit...”

  “They’ll find nothing. That money is securely put away elsewhere,” McPherson said, taking out a pocket watch attached to a silver chain hanging on his vest. “Stop worrying. Now, let’s head over to the club. I hear the chef managed to get his hands on fresh halibut again.”

  “Did you talk to our friend?” Sinclair asked, letting the food reference slide, as he put on his overcoat.

  “Yes. I don’t think we can expect any help from him.”

  “Oh?”

  “He claims there’s too much attention from certain sectors.”

  “Sectors? What does that mean?”

  “I can only assume he means the police or the security people, or both, and he isn’t prepared to stick his neck out beyond letting us know if these, uh, enquiries might touch us. Personally, I believe he’s avoiding helping us.”

  “Typical. I knew he would baulk when push came to shove. He’s a politician after all.”

  “Maybe so, but he is a lodge brother. I expected more from him,” McPherson said, switching off the lights and closing the office door behind him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fletcher walked the short distance to where he had parked his car out of sight in an alley on Starr Street. He unlocked the trunk, tossed his bag inside and took out the red five-gallon steel gas can then closed the trunk bonnet. He put the can on the back seat before slipping in behind the wheel and starting the motor. Easing into the street, he turned and headed for the west end of the city where he would likely find a car with gas in its tank, and close enough to the highway that would take him away from the city.

  It was risky, but he needed to get gas if he was to have any chance of getting away. His plan was to find a quiet street and park where he would wait until dark; then target a car parked in a driveway and siphon as much gas as he could. If he was lucky, he would fill his tank and refill the can with extra gas for the drive.

  Fletcher made it up to Liverpool Street just after five o’clock. The street was lined with trees; still leafless from the waning winter. Single family homes ran the length of the street on both sides. This was one of the new neighbourhoods where the mercantile workers — managers, administrators, civil servants — lived; the so-called middle class.

  It was still too early for him to try for the gas. Many of these homes had cars parked in driveways or on the street but it was still too bright, so he drove to the end of the block and turned, heading back toward the Forum where he planned to park and wait until after dark.

  Meanwhile, Pete and I sat in the car outside the entrance to the railway station waiting for the men I had requested to arrive.

  “You know this is gonna be a real pain in the ass trying to spot this guy, right?” Pete said as we watched the crowd of people entering and leaving the station. Most were servicemen carrying duffle bags and rifles, arriving to be shipped out.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Nothin’ else we can do. Luckily, most of the people here are uniformed servicemen so, maybe we’ll get a break an’ spot him if he tries to leave by train.” I nodded to the crowd outside the windscreen. “Should be easy to pick out.”

  “Never hurts to be optimistic, I suppose.”

  “Part of the job.”

  Ten minutes passed before the three constables arrived in a patrol car.

  “Stay here,” I said, opening the door and getting out. “I’ll be right back.”

  I headed for the car as the m
en were getting out. After filling them in on the assignment with a description of Fletcher and instructions to arrest him, I headed back to the car and got in.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said, as Pete turned the motor over.

  “Where to?” he asked, letting out the clutch.

  “Back to the station. We’ll wait there for anyone callin’ in.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Besides, I want to tie up the loose ends on the shipyard business. I think I’ll lean on Kempt some more. Squeeze him a bit harder. Maybe get a few more names.”

  “You think you’ve enough to nail them?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Even if they manage to dodge a trial, I think there’s at least enough circumstantial evidence to shut them down an’ damage their reputations.”

  “Be nice to see the bastards locked up,” he said as he manoeuvered through traffic.

  “Yeah, I agree, but I’ll take what I can get.”

  “Whaddya want me to do when we get back?”

  “Finish up the liquor file,” I said.

  When we arrived back at the station, the duty officer waved me over. He passed a couple of phone messages to me.

  “The one from Mulroney sounded important,” he said. “Called three times.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “What’s up?” Pete asked when I joined him.

  “Phil. Called a few times. Not much else.”

  We entered the squad room and went to our respective desks. I picked up my phone and dialed.

  “Inspector Mulroney’s line,” a female voice said in my ear.

  “Hello,” I said. “This is Detective Robichaud at the...”

  “Yes sir, I know who you are,” she said, interrupting me. “I put you through right away.”

  Hm, I thought, nice to feel important.

  “Robie,” Mulroney’s familiar voice sounded in my ear. “Thanks for calling back.”

  “No problem,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “Thought I’d bring you up to date on that bad booze business. We passed your information along to the appropriate people and they’ve already taken action. I got a call a few hours ago. They hit all the places you told us about and made a number of arrests and busted up their stills. Looks like you won’t be having anymore issues with bad booze.”

  “That’s great news, Phil. Thanks. Pete’ll be happy since he did most of the leg work on this one.”

  “Speaking of leg work, how’re your other cases coming along?”

  “Okay. I think we’ll be makin’ some arrests on the faulty valve business within a day or two.”

  “That’s good. Anything in there for my people?”

  “Don’t know yet. I’ll let you know.”

  “And that business with the young girl?”

  “We’ve identified our man an’ have an alert out. The girl’s still in hospital but doin’ okay. Looks like she’ll go to court an’ testify against him once we pick him up.”

  “That’s great. The kid’s definitely got courage.”

  “Yeah, we think so too.”

  “Well, that’s it for now. Let’s meet up after you and Pete finish and catch up, maybe at the mess for lunch. I might even persuade Michael to join us. He’s back from Ottawa and I’m sure he’d like to see you guys again.”

  “Sounds great,” I said, smiling. “I’ll let Pete know and call you back.”

  “‘Til then, cheers.” The line went dead and I hung up.

  “So?” Pete asked, looking at me.

  “Looks like your information paid off. Phil said he passed it along an’ they raided the locations you identified an’ shut them down. They even made a number of arrests.”

  “That’s great news,” Pete said, smiling. “So, no more poisoned liquor, then?”

  “That’s what he said, yeah. Good work, by the way,” I said to my friend.

  “Thanks.”

  Just then my phone rang. I reached out and picked up the receiver.

  “Robichaud.”

  “I just got off the phone with the prosecutor’s office,” Morrison said in his usual direct manner. “You got your warrants for Sinclair and McPherson. The charges will be profiteering, conspiracy to defraud the government and involuntary manslaughter. They’re on the way down to you.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “That was quick. I wasn’t sure if they’d go for the charges though, I mean, they’re pretty serious charges.”

  “You made a good case. Good work. I hear you’ve commandeered several men?”

  “Yes sir. It’s the rape case. We’ve identified our man an’ think he’s heard we’re lookin’ for him. I think he’s about to do a runner. I got men an’ cars watchin’ all possible points where he might try to leave by.”

  “Good. Keep me updated on your progress.”

  “Yes sir.” Then the line went dead. I hung up.

  “What’s up?” Pete asked.

  “The warrants for Sinclair an’ McPherson came through.”

  “No kiddin’?”

  “No kiddin’. They went for my suggested charges: profiteering an’ manslaughter. They even added one of their own, conspiracy to defraud the government.”

  “Jesus. When you gonna to bring them in?”

  “Right after we pick up Fletcher.”

  The call came in later that night. Pete and I went hone around seven. I left instructions to call us if anything came in. We both arrived back at the station shortly after nine o’clock.

  “Whatzzup?” I asked the duty officer when I stepped inside the building.

  “A patrol car workin’ up on Windsor Street was cruisin’ toward Young Street when he thought he spotted a car looked like the one you’re interested in parked behind the Forum. Sez he didn’t see anyone inside. I told him to move away an’ take up a position on a side street to wait ‘til I called you.”

  “Good. What street is he parked on?”

  The duty officer reached for the mike on the radio set beside him.

  “Car twelve, come in, over.”

  “Car twelve, over,” a voice crackled through the speaker.

  “Car twelve. What is your location? Over.”

  “Cork Street, over.”

  “What’s happenin’ with the suspect?, Over.”

  “No change, over.”

  He looked at me.

  “Tell him to stay put. Pete and I are on our way,” I said.

  “Detectives are on their way, stay put. Over an’ out.”

  The officer passed Pete a set of car keys and we headed for the parking lot. Pete headed for Connelly Street to approach Cork from below the Forum and come up behind the patrol car when the radio sounded.

  “Car four, over.”

  I lifted the mike from its hook and pressed the send button.

  “Car four, over,” I said, holding it close to my mouth.

  “Car four. Patrol car reports suspect has moved off. Heading south on Windsor. They’re following’ him, over.”

  “Tell them we’re almost there an’ will try an’ intercept at Almon Street, over.”

  “Roger, over and out.”

  I set the mike back on its hook.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Pete, who was already turning the car up Almon Street.

  When he reached the intersection of Almon and Windsor Streets, he slowed almost to a stop. We both looked left down Windsor. Traffic was light that time of night, so it was easy to spot the patrol car. I saw Fletcher’s car first. He was two car lengths ahead of the patrol car.

  “There,” I said, pointing to the car. “That’s him. Cut him off.”

  Pete spun the car sharply to the left, hitting the accelerator enough to make the car jump ahead. When he was about twenty feet away from Fletcher’s car, he yanked the wheel to the left again, this time hitting the brake.

  I already had my door open when the car stopped moving and was half-way out with my pistol in hand. I watched from behind the door as Fletcher came to an abrupt stop about ten feet away.
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  “Charles Fletcher,” I yelled. “This is the police. Shut off your motor and get out of the car...slowly.”

  Fletcher sat staring out the windscreen at the two men looking down their pistols at him. He knew instantly his luck had run out. The only thought in his head at that moment was of him dangling from a rope. The image sent a cold shiver of fear through him. He reached inside his coat and gripped the pistol still wedged in his waistband.

  “Did you hear what I said?” I yelled again. “Give up. You got nowhere to go.”

  The patrol car pulled in behind Fletcher. The officer had got out and stood behind his open door, gun in hand.

  Fletcher took a quick look in his rear-view mirror and saw the patrol car, its red light flashing steadily. He slowly pulled the pistol free from his pants. He looked down at it as he thumbed the hammer back; the sound of the two clicks seemed overly loud, he thought. He raised his eyes once more, looking out of the window. It was then he realized he was crying.

  I could clearly see Fletcher sitting behind the wheel in the light from our car. He still hadn’t made any move to get out of the car. Then, suddenly, he raised his hand. I saw the gun and got ready to fire. What happened in the next few seconds stayed with me for the rest of my life. Fletcher raised the gun to his head; the explosion of the shot rang out from inside the car.

  “Holy Mother of God,” I heard Pete cry out as I sprang to the car door. The inside of the window was covered with blood. I yanked open the door and stepped back as Fletcher’s lifeless body fell out onto the street. The young cop from the patrol car stepped up then suddenly turned away and bent over, emptying his stomach.

  “Jesus...I never,” Pete said, standing beside me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You better call it in an’ tell them to send some more men an’ an ambulance.”

  “Yeah...okay.”

  I turned to the officer.

  “You okay?” I asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Yes sir. It’s jus that I never...,” he started to say.

  “Yeah, I know. What’s your name?”

  “Danny, uh, sorry, sir. Constable Danny Foyle.”

  “Look Danny, you okay to help here?”