The Consultant

by Claude Bouchard

  “Before I say anything, I want you to promise me immunity and, if required, protection.”

  “Immunity and protection from what?” queried Nick, his curiosity mounting.

  “What I have to talk about concerns a major murder case in Montreal, which was solved a couple of months ago,” she responded, hesitating before adding, “The killer is still on the loose.”

  Nick leaned forward slightly in his chair. Denver; the name became more familiar although he still couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Maybe this lady wasn’t crazy after all.

  “What killer, ma’am,” he asked softly.

  “Immunity and protection,” she insisted, a little more confident. “Then I’ll talk.”

  Nick glanced at Jonathan who gave a slight nod. He was also curious as to what this lady had to say.

  “Okay, Mrs. Denver,” Nick accepted. “I’ll presume that you aren’t guilty of some hideous crime and, on that basis, I’ll agree to your request. However, until you tell us more, I can’t promise you anything specific.”

  “I haven’t really done anything wrong myself,” she nervously explained. “M-my late husband did some things with computers though, that I was aware of. That’s the extent of my guilt.”

  “Well, that sounds tame enough,” reassured Nick. “I’m sure we can overlook that in exchange for something concrete about a murder.”

  “Murders,” she corrected. “Alright, I’m going to trust you gentlemen. Frankly, I’ve got nothing to lose, nowhere to go and I’m scared as hell.”

  She took a deep breath to calm herself and plunged ahead. “Are you familiar with the Vigilante?”

  Denver… Carl Denver… It all came back to Nick. Two months earlier, Carl Denver had committed suicide when cornered by the police. For a period of seven months, the Vigilante had been active in the Montreal area, killing a variety of criminals which the system had either failed to penalize or never caught up with. Approximately thirty victims had met their fate before the authorities had finally zeroed in on Denver.

  From what Nick could remember, the evidence in that case had been airtight. Denver was the Vigilante and he was dead. His wife had disappeared on the day of his death.

  “You are Mrs. Carl Denver?” Nick stated more than asked, staring at the woman before him.

  “Yes,” she replied with pride. “And my husband was innocent. Carl never hurt anybody. He hated violence.”

  “Mrs. Denver, I realize that this is difficult for you to accept,” Nick sceptically insisted. “But from what I know about the Vigilante case, the evidence was rather clear. One of the murder weapons, a blood stained baseball bat, was found in your husband’s car. Blood tests matched with some of the victims. Computer records showed that he had sent and erased messages to the police on Eazy-Com.”

  “Carl was framed,” she retorted emphatically.

  “Then why did he kill himself when the cops went to him?” Nick shot back.

  “The money,” she quietly replied.

  “What money?” asked Nick, somewhat puzzled.

  He did not remember anything about money being involved in the Vigilante case.

  “Carl was a computer genius,” Mrs. Denver replied, less proud. “He had been skimming money from a variety of sources for a while; banks, trusts, brokers, that kind of thing. On the day that he died, we were planning to disappear. I did. He died. We had six million dollars accumulated in an account in the Cayman Islands.”

  “So you’re saying,” Nick spoke slowly, “That your husband killed himself because he thought he was getting busted for the money scams?”

  “That’s the only thing that makes sense,” she nodded, tears welling up. “Carl was not the Vigilante. He rarely went out alone and we were together on many of the nights that murders took place. On several occasions, we were even out to dinner. Credit card slips were signed by Carl. Check it out. You'll see Carl was not the killer.”

  “Do you have any idea who the killer might be?” Nick gently enquired.

  “No, not really,” Mrs. Denver shook her head. “It was someone who discovered what Carl was doing with the money, but I don’t know who.”

  “How do you know that?” probed Nick.

  “Carl and I had agreed that, no matter what, I was to take the plane and leave. I did and made it to the Caymans. When I tried to access the cash, the account had been cleaned out. The killer is still out there, my husband is dead, I’m broke and wanted by the cops. I’m scared, gentlemen. I will do what I can to help you but you must help me.”

  “We’re going to have to check all of this out, you understand,” Nick informed her. “But if what you’re telling us is true, yes, we will help you, Mrs. Denver. We have a witness protection programme we can get you into. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “What happens now?” she asked helplessly. “I had left, and returned, under an assumed name. I don’t have anywhere to go and like I said, I’m broke. The only money I do have is in the bank under my real name. I’m not real comfortable in going there or going back home.”

  “And we wouldn’t want you to do that either,” answered Nick. “We have a few places, safe-houses, where we keep witnesses from time to time. We’ll set you up there until we can work things out. Don’t worry, you’ll be comfortable and in complete security.”

  He picked up the phone and punched a few numbers. “Arty, we have a guest here for our Lake Brome residence. I’d like you and Sammy to drive her down there. Thanks.”

  He replaced the receiver in its cradle and smiled at Mrs. Carl Denver. “We’re all set. All you have to do now is relax and let us do our job. I’ll let you know if you can do anything else to help.”

  “Thank-you,” she murmured gratefully and rose to her feet as Arty opened the office door to escort her out.

  Once she had gone, Nick glanced at Jonathan and feigning surprise, exclaimed, “Oh, are you still here?”

  Grinning, Jonathan replied, “Yep. Just didn’t have much to say. You asked all the right questions so why should I interrupt?”

  “So? What do you think?” asked Nick.

  The lady’s story had been quite believable but he didn’t know quite what to make of it.

  “I think she’s telling the truth,” Jonathan answered with conviction. “Once we start checking, everything will pan out.”

  “We?” enquired Nick, now his turn to grin.

  Smiling widely, Jonathan replied, “You know how my mind works, Nick. I followed the Vigilante case closely enough and was pretty impressed by the guy. Honestly, I was disappointed when it ended. Not because they had caught up with him, mind you, although I did consider the man was actually doing society a favour. What really bothered me was that he ended up not being as smart as I had given him credit for. Now, to find out that he’s not gone, it’s not over, that he got away clean as a whistle? Now, I’m proud of him again.”

  “So, you’re thinking recruit?” asked Nick, although it was not really a question.

  “You never know,” Jonathan admitted. “Let me work on this for a bit and save you some man-hours.”

  “Be my guest,” Nick invited. “I much prefer spending your budget over mine.”

  “Speaking of which,” replied Addley. “I believe that I’m supposed to buy you lunch. Let’s go.”

  During the months which had followed the initial meeting with Mrs. Denver, Jonathan, with the help of a few consultants, had quietly begun digging into the Vigilante case. They had been quickly able to confirm that Carl Denver’s wife had spoken the truth as Carl’s whereabouts could be clearly established on many occasions when murders had taken place.

  This had led Jonathan to review the entire Vigilante investigation with two major questions in mind. Who was the actual killer, and why had the money which Denver had electronically skimmed never been questioned, never even been an issue?

  As Jonathan had continued to search for answers, one name had strangely kept popping up; Chris Barry, Executive Vice President at CSS, Denver�
��s employer. Barry had worked closely with the police on the case and, by monitoring Denver’s PC activities, had been the one to discover the latter’s Eazy-Com message transmissions and subsequent erasures. If this was actually what had transpired, why hadn’t Carl’s money scams been uncovered? These had all been accomplished with the use of the computer, hadn’t they? And according to Mrs. Denver, Carl had performed several of his tricks during the weeks which had preceded his death. Police records indicated that Barry had been monitoring Denver’s PC during that period of time.

  Verification of Barry’s financial records had confirmed that he had not taken the cash unless it had been diverted to some confidential account. This, Jonathan doubted as the guy was filthy rich as it was. It was not as if he needed an additional six million.

  The investigation reports had mentioned the possible involvement of a mini-van in the Vigilante crimes and Carl Denver owned a Chevy Astro. Interestingly enough, although this was far from solid evidence, DMV records indicated that Barry had owned a Chrysler Town & Country at the time. In addition, though it had no bearing in the case, both men had coincidentally also owned Corvettes. Barry had since replaced both vehicles.

  It was when Jonathan decided to look into the past that things, however still fragmented and inconclusive, became more promising. Through birth records, he had come to discover the identity of Barry’s parents.

  His father had died when Chris was very young, leaving Mrs. Barry to see to the upbringing of her son and daughter, alone. She had taken on employment as a cashier with a major supermarket chain where she had remained until a few years ago, when she had retired. Group insurance records indicated a Jean Picard, common-law spouse, as her beneficiary, a number of years earlier.

  When attempting to establish the whereabouts of Mr. Picard, Jonathan had learned that the gentleman had been murdered a few months prior, the time of death coinciding with the end of the Vigilante’s activities. Police records indicated that Picard had had a history of domestic violence which included complaints submitted by Mrs. Barry. She had eventually left the man, bless her heart.

  The past of Chris Barry’s wife, Cassandra Taylor, had also proved somewhat interesting. At the age of seventeen, she had witnessed the murder of her father during a fouled hold-up at the family-owned convenience store. Those responsible, three unidentified teenagers, had never been caught. As chance would have it, Cassandra and Carl Denver had both grown up in the same neighbourhood and, although she was a couple of years older than he, both had attended the same high school.

  Jonathan had paid Carl’s mother a visit to try to find out more about the supposed Vigilante and his earlier years. He had heard her speak of a quiet, studious boy, beyond reproach, except for those hoodlum friends of his, Mike and Eddy. When he had later attempted to track these gentlemen down, Jonathan had discovered that both had since been murdered, one as recently as last July, in Vancouver. Verification had quickly shown that Barry, as well as Denver, had been on the West Coast at the time.

  Jonathan knew that he did not have anything close to a foolproof case against Chris Barry. In fact, what he had was really nothing more than a lot of bits and pieces which could all be attributed to coincidence. However, he also had a gut feeling and such feelings had proven more often right than wrong in the past.

  He had just learned that Mr. Barry had recently opted for a very early retirement, having sold his interest in CSS Inc. Considering that the gentleman was about to have much more free time on his hands, Jonathan felt that the time was right to get together with Chris to discuss the past and, possibly, the future.

  Chapter 3 - Friday, January 10, 1997

  Officer John Riley turned right off De Lorimier onto Logan and immediately saw the turquoise Plymouth Sundance, still parked in the same spot.

  He had first noticed the vehicle two days earlier and had written a ticket for parking by a fire hydrant. The previous day, he had seen the car again and called in the plate number to verify if it was stolen, which it wasn’t. He had added a second parking ticket to the first.

  He pulled up behind the automobile and climbed out of the warmth of his cruiser to investigate further. Although the abandoned car’s windows were somewhat frosted from the cold, he could see inside well enough and noted nothing of interest. The parking tickets remained in place under the wiper blade, indicating that the vehicle had not yet been moved. He tried the doors but both were locked, as was the trunk. Returning to his patrol car, he called in to dispatch.

  “Kelly? Riley. Listen, you want to check on plate number TIN 147? Turquoise Plymouth Sundance, a couple of years old. I’d like a name and address of ownership. The car’s been abandoned. Let me know when you find something. In the meantime, send a tow truck to the corner of Logan and De Lorimier to pick this thing up cuz it’s been here for over two days. Thanks. Over.”

  As he set down the transmitter, he gazed at the abandoned car and suddenly noticed something which he had not earlier. Several brownish-red, elongated spots could be seen on the license plate, as if someone had splashed a few drops of paint or stain.

  Climbing back out into the bitter cold, he hurried over to get a closer look and, though he wasn’t certain, those stains could be blood. Several more similar spots were splattered on the car’s bumper.

  Determined to find out more, he went to the trunk of his cruiser and pulled out a crowbar. Returning to the Plymouth, he jammed one end of the crowbar under the lid of the trunk and, with the help of his two hundred fourteen pounds, popped the trunk open like a bottle top.

  The body inside was frozen solid, thanks to Montreal’s sub-zero January weather. He searched the corpse for identification and quickly found a wallet in an inside pocket of the man’s suit jacket. As he looked into the wallet for I.D., the portable transmitter-receiver attached to his coat collar crackled.

  “52-10, do you read me?” called Kelly’s voice.

  “Yeah,” Riley grimly replied. “I read you.”

  “I’ve got that ownership information you wanted on the Sundance.”

  “Let me guess,” interrupted Riley, “George Robinson, 6240 Rosemont Boulevard.”

  “That’s right,” responded Kelly. “How did you know?”

  “I found his driver’s permit in his wallet,” answered Riley. “I asked for a tow truck before. You better send a meat wagon too because this guy’s definitely dead.”

  Chapter 4 - Monday, January 13, 1997

  Chris Barry sat at the large crescent-shaped desk in his corner office on the twelfth floor of the CSS building. It was a sunny day and he was admiring the view, watching the sun’s reflections as they bounced off the expanse of snow covered ground and trees in Maisonneuve Park across the street below.

  He knew that he would miss this place but he was due for a well earned break. He estimated that he had put in excess of thirty-five thousand hours in the rebuilding of this company over the last nine years and felt he now deserved some free time to truly enjoy life with his precious Sandy. Vacations over the years had always been interrupted on a daily basis with phone calls, faxes and decisions to be made. It would be nice to travel with only leisure activities in mind for a change.

  The buzz of the intercom broke into his reverie.

  “Chris, there’s a Jonathan Addley down at the gate who wants to see you. Says he’s with the Ministry of Defence. Steve says the I.D. looks official.”

  “Okay, Sonia,” replied Chris. “Let him in. I'll see him.”

  A visitor would be a nice break in the monotony as this was Chris’ last week and he didn’t really have much to do. The people from CompuCorp had collected pretty much all the files of current and potential contracts, leaving Chris and Walter with little to occupy their final hours with the firm.

  Following several minutes of waiting, the intercom buzzed again.

  “Mr. Barry, Mr. Addley is here to see you,” Sonia’s voice formally announced.

  “Thanks,” Chris acknowledged. “Be right there.”
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  He crossed the wide expanse of white oak flooring to the door leading to the tasteful reception area which also served as Sonia’s office.

  Seated in one of the comfortable visitors chairs was a man in his early forties who did not resemble any of the government bureaucrats Chris had met in the past. Of medium height and build, this man looked fit, tough and determined. Chris had a strange impression that his visitor would have felt right at home in a camouflage suit, tracking enemy snipers in a jungle somewhere. As he approached, he had a weird feeling that his guest was sizing him.

  “Mr. Addley,” greeted Chris with his usual charming smile.

  “Mr. Barry.” Jonathan jovially responded, standing as he reached for his host’s extended hand.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” offered Chris, gracious as always.

  “If you can find a cup of coffee somewhere, that would be great,” accepted Jonathan.

  Chris glanced at an already nodding Sonia and grinned. He would definitely miss her once he was gone. She deserved to have her picture by the definition of ‘Administrative Assistant Extraordinaire’ in any dictionary.

  “What can I do for you?” Chris curiously enquired, ushering his guest into his office.

  “I was hoping you and I could discuss a little business,” answered Jonathan as Chris gestured for him to sit.

  “You might not be aware of this, Mr. Addley, but CSS has been sold to CompuCorp. I will be leaving the company at the end of the week so I’m probably not the best person to speak to. Perhaps I can refer you to someone over there?”

  “No, Mr. Barry,” Jonathan confidently replied. “You really are the person that I want to speak to.”

  “Sure, fine,” Chris shrugged. “And call me Chris. Formality and I don’t get along very well.”

  “Okay,, Chris it is,” smiled Addley. “You can call me Jonathan.”

  They paused for a moment as Sonia entered the room with a complete coffee service. Once she had gone, Chris did the honours and they resumed their conversation.