Is This Goodbye?: A Frank Moretti Thriller

by Frederick Wysocki

  Murphy turned down his mouth.

  “Frank has powerful friends who won’t look kindly on anyone who tries to screw with him. Capisci?”

  “I understand what you’re saying but if you want a sympathetic Crown Counsel, it takes money.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good, now let’s get your client freed and back on his way.”

  Luca nodded. “Good. Now, I’ve already obtained as much of Ashley Kelly’s information as I could.” He pushed Murphy a file folder. “These are her mental health records.”

  32

  With Detective Longfellow and Detective Sergeant Campbell listening and watching through the one-way glass, Woodrow started phase two of the interrogation. “Mister Moretti, my job is to look into all sudden deaths that are suspicious or where unknown circumstances exist.”

  Frank stared at him. “I’m hungry. I didn’t get any breakfast this morning. Can I have something delivered? Can I get you something as well?”

  “You’ll just have to wait until I’m finished asking you questions.” Then Woodrow slipped Frank the question. “Did you plan this whole thing out or did it just happen on the spur of the moment?”

  “What?”

  Detective Woodrow had deliberately asked Frank a loaded question that contained an unspoken assumption of guilt.

  Frank realized he was being invited into a trap. “As I’ve already told you, Ashley’s showing up was a complete surprise to me. We had some lousy sex during which she took some drugs. I fell asleep. I woke up to find she’d died. That’s it.”

  Woodrow had heard murderers try to minimize their actions many times. “The facts tell us otherwise Frank.”

  “Which facts would those be?”

  “I think things got out of hand.”

  Frank started to move his head left to right. He knew Woodrow was fishing.

  Woodrow took his head movement as Frank’s tell that he was telling a lie. “You choked her… You made her swallow the drugs that killed her. You posed the body. Then you had a shower to wash away as much evidence as you could.”

  Frank noticed Woodrow’s soft, soothing voice. He’s trying to be non-threatening, trying to lull me into a false sense of security.

  If I deny anything, he’ll interrupt me, telling me that I need to listen.

  Frank said, “That’s it. I’m not saying another word until my lawyer arrives.”

  Woodrow sat back in his chair. “We can do that, if that is what you wish, Frank. You need to realize however that unlike American police, I’m trying to solve the mystery surrounding Miss Kelly’s unnatural death. If you and I can’t discuss the facts surrounding her death it will be unlikely that I can exonerate you.”

  “As I said, I’m not saying another word until my lawyer arrives. And I’m still hungry. Say, do you have any delivery menus at your desk that I can order from?”

  Woodrow turned towards the mirror and shrugged. Then he stood up and left without looking at or saying a word to Frank.

  33

  An hour later, the interrogation room door opened.

  Frank watched as Luca Testini walked in. He was followed by another suit that also cried high-powered lawyer. Unlike Testini, this one was past middle age and even his tailor hadn’t been able to hide a spare tire around his waist.

  Frank saw Luca smiling at him and he suddenly felt upbeat.

  “Frank Moretti, this is Wayne Murphy who is representing you here in Canada.”

  “Mister Moretti.” Wayne Murphy offered his hand to Frank.

  Frank shook it.

  “From this moment on I will be talking to the police on your behalf. Do you understand?”

  Frank looked at Luca who nodded, then back at Wayne. “I do. But surely I haven’t been charged with anything.”

  “The police say that they have reasonable and probable grounds to believe that you have committed a serious crime.”

  “But I’m completely innocent.”

  “Here in Canada, while the police complete an investigation they have the right to detain you for questioning. It is called Hold Pending Investigation or HPI. It is an administrative designation that is initiated when a person is arrested on reasonable grounds for an offence and there is justification for continued police detention.”

  “You make it sound like I’m going to jail.”

  “Yes you are, but only as long as they continue their investigation to determine whether or not there is enough evidence to support a Report to our Crown Counsel. I can assure you that Canada isn’t some banana republic where you can rot in a jail cell before anything happens. The Major Crime division must conduct a continuous investigation until either the Crown Counsel recommends a charge or you’re released.”

  Frank looked at Luca.

  Testini shrugged.

  Murphy tried to soften what was about to happen to his wealthy client. “I will be present for all further interrogations. The good news is that later today, you will not be photographed, fingerprinted or transferred into the B.C. Sheriff’s custody when you enter the Vancouver Jail. None of that happens until you are charged with the crime.”

  “But they fingerprinted me at the scene.”

  “Did you give them your permission?”

  “They said they needed my prints to eliminate me as a suspect.”

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  Frank was worried about the FBI finding out that he was in trouble again. They had tried to pin Ashley’s supposed death on him. What had him worried now was that his being arrested might lead the FBI to find a reason to reopen the sale of Ravven to Raylac. If they do, my share, my eight hundred million dollars is at risk.

  “My goal is to have the Crown Counsel either find you innocent or to find there isn’t sufficient proof of guilt to proceed with the filing of charges.”

  Regina Lofthouse guaranteed my immunity as long as I worked for the CIA. So, I’ve got to assume the CIA won’t let the FBI touch me.

  Frank looked to Luca. “Can I borrow your phone to call Regina Lofthouse?”

  A look of surprise burst onto Luca’s face. “Have you forgotten that Regina is Ashley’s aunt?”

  “I’m hoping she can get me released.”

  “She may be CIA but she’s probably going to ask the Vancouver police to throw the book at you then throw away the key.”

  Wayne spoke up. “It’s my job to ensure you are not charged, Mister Moretti. I can assure you that no member of the American Intelligence community is going to pull any strings for you better than I can.”

  Luca chimed in. “He’s right, Frank.”

  Frank trusted Luca. “Okay, I won’t call her yet.” This entire trip has been cursed ever since Naomi left for Virginia.

  Frank came up with what he thought was a creative solution. “Is there any chance I can post, say a million dollar bond and wear an ankle bracelet while I check into a hotel until they finish their investigation?”

  Wayne smirked. “I’m afraid that isn’t an option, Frank.”

  Frank pulled the ring box from his pocket. “Luca, I don’t want this to go missing. Will you hold onto it for me?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll return it to you when we get you set free.”

  “Thanks.” Frank handed it to Luca.

  “I haven’t eaten today. Can you get me something, I’m starving.”

  Wayne said, “I know where the vending machines are. I’ll grab you something. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wayne left Frank and Luca alone.

  “How are you holding up Frank?”

  Frank closed his eyes and ground his teeth. “That bitch set me up. She offered me sex when I was vulnerable. “Put your hands on my neck,” she said. “It’s erotic,” she said. Then she took some pills. I figured they were to help her get horny. How was I supposed to know they could kill her?” Frank slammed his fist on the desk.

  34

  Five minutes later Wayne returned with a shrink wrapped old ham
sandwich on white bread, a Mars candy bar and a can of Coke.

  The sandwich was dry and stale. Frank wolfed it down anyway as Luca softly asked a few questions. “Where’s Naomi?”

  Frank swallowed some Coke to help get the sandwich down. “She flew back to Virginia for the CIA.”

  “Good.”

  “Did you invite Ashley to your room?”

  “No. She hijacked me at the company I was here to see. Regina Lofthouse must have set it up. Ashley and I had a brief talk. I told her to leave me alone and was ready to fly home when she showed up at my room.”

  As soon as Frank was finished eating, there was a knock on the door.

  Luca looked at Frank. “Are you ready?”

  Frank barely nodded.

  Luca opened the door.

  Two uniformed officers entered.

  Frank Moretti was placed in handcuffs. “Ouch, those are way too tight. Please loosen them before they cut off my blood.”

  “Relax, they’re tight because they’re new. They’ll stretch out after a while.”

  Friendly Canadians, my ass!

  Luca spoke up. “Hold on.”

  Wayne grabbed Luca’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Shut up or they’ll take it out on Frank.”

  Frank was led out of the room away from Wayne and Luca.

  He was given a shove to move down a staircase and several hallways before he reached his ride. Stepping outside, Frank was pushed through an open rear door of a blue and white van. “Up and in, eh.”

  Frank sat on the steel seat.

  Across from him were two burly men. One seemed to be zoning out on drugs while he assumed the other was a native. The native glared at him.

  Frank looked away.

  The driver of the van seemed to enjoy taking sharp turns.

  As he sat hanging onto the seat he was anxious about the next terror that was to invade his life.

  We’ve stopped. He clenched his jaw.

  The van’s door opened and the three men were escorted into the municipal Vancouver Jail on Cordova Street.

  With a corrections officer on each side, Frank was led inside where he was signed in with an HPI status.

  Frank surrendered his iPhone and wallet.

  He had no idea what to expect next. Frank’s nerves were on hyper alert.

  He was unceremoniously led through the electronically controlled and locked security doors on the way to his cell.

  Every inmate is staring at me.

  They’re sizing me up.

  Shit, I’m the fresh meat.

  The guards appeared indifferent. To them I’m just another criminal.

  It didn’t surprise Frank that he passed a number of Asian men who looked like they might be gang members.

  Frank had seen movies that glorified the rampant race-based violence and sexual abuse that are standard fare behind the walls. Whatever I do, I can’t drop the soap.

  He scrunched up his nostrils as the stench of fast foods, sweat and bodily waste assaulted him.

  The corrections officer escorting him growled. “You’re in the pussy cell block. Still, I wouldn’t close my eyes if I were you, sugar plum.” Then he laughed.

  Prick.

  They stopped in front of a generic cell that was meant to intimidate new residents.

  Frank stared into his new home. At six feet by nine feet, the dull gray walls were already suffocating him.

  His spine turned cold and made him stand more erect. No way I’m sleeping in there!

  His heart was pounding.

  He could feel his nostrils sucking air into his lungs and his feet were sending out tendrils as he rooted into the cement.

  I’m fit, but I’m no athlete like Naomi. Shit, I wish I’d paid more attention to her lessons on how to defend myself.

  When the guard opened the cell door and Frank didn’t move, the guard shoved him in.

  His stomach rose into his throat as he eyed the double bunk that could have passed for warehouse shelving.

  The thin flat mattress meant he wouldn’t get a restful sleep.

  At least there’s a toilet.

  Oh, and look, a mini television.

  Then he saw it.

  A large lump of filthy clothes. It must have crawled out of whatever grave it was buried in.

  The odor spoke of a possible homeless person who had been pulled out of sewage runoff. It’s wafting from the lower bunk.

  Looking closer, Frank made out greasy hair and beard covering most of its head and face.

  On his neck was a tattoo.

  Probably some gang member.

  No way am I falling asleep tonight. Frank set his jaw to project his poker face.

  It must have turned its head and opened its jaw as Frank automatically cringed from the odor.

  Through the scaly lips, he glimpsed what was left of rotting yellow and black teeth.

  The cell door closed.

  God, how I wish Naomi was here to keep him away from me.

  35

  Thursday

  Vancouver Metro Regional Coroner Office

  Detective Constables Woodrow and Longfellow had been called to meet with Coroner Gary Iceborn at the Vancouver Metro Regional Coroners Office, which was located in the adjacent city of Burnaby.

  They had no choice but to use surface streets to get there. As always, the traffic was heavy and the cursing repetitive.

  “Why didn’t any of the city planners ever put in a freeway system?”

  Woodrow answered as if he were swearing. “Bastards wanted everyone to take public transportation.”

  “How about parking lots that can hold the number of people who work in the office buildings?”

  Woodrow played along. “They deliberately allow only a few parking spaces so that everyone will take public transportation.”

  “That’s why we have road rage instead of speeding tickets.”

  Both detectives grumbled a pretend chuckle.

  They’d arrived in foul moods.

  They were fortunate and quickly found a parking space and entered the building.

  “Hey, Woodrow.”

  Detective Woodrow knew he was spending too much time looking at dead bodies. He knew every attendant by name and spoke to them as he passed. “Hey, John, it seems deader than normal around here.”

  John smirked, kept quiet and kept walking.

  Woodrow joked to Longfellow as he opened one side of the double door. “Since the body’s less than twenty-four hours old, the smell shouldn’t be too bad.”

  “Great.” Longfellow hated this part of his job. The mix of formaldehyde and bleach was powerful but did nothing to hide the other smells.

  “Iceborn calls the odor in here his job security.”

  Longfellow continued trying to ignore his partner.

  Iceborn was waiting for them. He was standing next to the head of a nude female corpse.

  “I wanted you to see this.”

  Woodrow was happy to see the body had a sheet over the area Iceborn had opened. “Thanks for rushing this one for us. What are we looking at Iceborn?”

  “I never rush. Now look here, there is evidence of bruising around her throat. They could have been from an attempted strangulation.”

  “I see the marks. Is that what she died from?”

  “No. Her hyoid bone wasn’t fractured. However, the bruises do suggest either intent to harm or a certain taste for kinky sex.”

  “Really Iceborn. What do you know about kinky sex?”

  “Don’t kid yourself, I’ve seen everything on my slabs.”

  “Wonderful for you. Now, what did she die from?”

  “I performed an autopsy and had the lab run a tox screen.”

  “And the result?”

  “She died of an overdose. The body had fentanyl with traces of heroin and cocaine. A 4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine was also present.”

  “What does that mean in the Queen’s English?”

  “She had taken at least two different type
s of pills. The first was a psychoactive and hallucinogenic drug that is commonly known as Ecstasy or Molly. What actually killed her though, was the fentanyl in the street drug known as China White.”

  “Do you know how many pills she took?”

  “Street drugs are not made to exacting standards. However, the results were consistent with perhaps two pills of each type of drug. The death would have occurred very quickly if not immediately. I must also tell you that Ashley Kelly was legally drunk at the time of her death. Alcohol exacerbates the effects of opiates like fentanyl. Drinking heightens the risk of an unintentional overdose. Simultaneous use of the two can cause irregular heart rate and respiratory arrest, coma and death.”

  “Was there any evidence of her being forced to swallow the pills?”

  “The bruising around her throat could be a result of that, but she could have just as easily spit them out. That won’t hold up in court.”

  “Any chance of tracking where the drugs came from?”

  "The instructions on how to make them are on the internet. Anybody who's been to an organic chemistry class can try to synthesize fentanyl. The drug is not manufactured in controlled laboratory conditions, so it would be impossible to determine if doses were fatal even if she had taken only one of each, especially fentanyl. It’s very easy to overdose from. Look, we’re having a fentanyl epidemic. It’s a recreational drug. Once she’d taken the pills, unless you’d stabbed her in the heart with an adrenaline needle, she was dead. It’s the same drug that the famous musician died from back in 2016. My best guess is that she took the Ecstasy with the China White in an effort to have a wild night of sex with whomever she was in bed with.”

  “So, how exactly does Ecstasy work?”

  “It activates increased production of the neurotransmitter serotonin, causing the user to feel enhanced sensory stimulation, higher energy, and desire for closeness and interpersonal interaction.”

  “In English please.”

  Iceborn spoke slowly. “While it may not directly increase one’s desire for sex, it can make a person feel more sensual and passionate toward their partner.”