“If this is related to the AFI,” said Chris, “Whatever they’re really planning is going to be on this side of the border. Why risk bringing across explosives when they could get them just as easily in the States?”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Jonathan nodded. “The annoying part is that all we’ve got for now is those four punks in Sutton and I’m seriously starting to doubt we’ll ever get a lead from them. The only advantage we have is that they don’t know we’re onto their bluff.”
“I’m just as frustrated as you are, Jon, but as I mentioned in the past, barring rounding them up and beating something out of them, there’s not much we can do.”
“I know,” Addley sighed, “And even if we did that, there’s no guarantee we’d get anything useful. They might simply not talk or, more likely, they aren’t even aware who exactly their leaders are.”
“Let’s just hope that if these explosives are tied in somehow, Nick can get us some kind of lead.”
“I’m crossing my fingers,” Jonathan agreed. “In the meantime, it might be worth our while to look into upcoming events in the area which might make a worthy target. I’ll ask Leslie to research anything coming up between now and the end of February.”
* * * *
The first five ex-security guards who had been interviewed had proved to be of little value, which kind of reflected why they had been fired in the first place. However, Paul Normandin had seemed edgy upon his arrival at the RCMP’s downtown headquarters and was now literally sweating as he sat across the table from Nick Sharp and Inspector Arty Nicholson.
“You seem very nervous, Mister Normandin,” Sharp commented, fixing the man with a cool, grey, unblinking gaze. “Please tell us why you seem so jumpy.”
“I’m at home after getting fired over the phone and the RCMP rings my doorbell to take me in for questioning,” Normandin retorted. “Wouldn’t that make you nervous?”
“Not if I had nothing to worry about,” Sharp replied as he turned towards Nicholson. “How about you, Inspector?”
“I wouldn’t be nervous,” said Arty, shaking his head, “Unless, of course, I had something to be nervous about.”
“Do you have something to be nervous about, Mister Normandin?” asked Sharp.
“No, not at all,” Normandin quickly answered. “I just did my job like the others but it seems we didn’t do it well enough. You can ask Roland. We worked the evening shift together all weekend.”
“It’s funny that you mention Roland,” Arty smiled, “Because we met with him just before meeting you. It seems you sent Roland to get some take-out chicken on Friday, your treat. Roland was surprised because, according to him, you’re usually pretty cheap.”
“So what, I bought a guy I thought was my friend a chicken dinner,” snorted Normandin. “Is that a crime?”
“No, it not a crime,” Sharp replied, “But it is against company regulations according to the contract your employer had with the client. You were supposed to be two guards onsite at all times. Roland even told you he had brought something to eat but you insisted.”
“He wasn’t gone long,” Normandin argued. “Maybe half an hour.”
“A half hour would have been plenty of time for someone to get into the explosives container and take the missing explosives,” Sharp stated, “Especially if the thief had you helping him out by letting him in, showing him where to go and keeping an eye out.”
“A-are you accusing me of being involved with the theft?” demanded Normandin, failing miserably at seeming incensed.
“How much were you paid, Paul?” Arty asked, ignoring the man’s question.
“This is ridiculous,” argued Normandin as he started rising from his seat.
“Sit down, Paul,” Sharp ordered, both he and Nicholson rising to their feet as well. “Now, answer the question.”
Normandin cowered back into his chair. “I wasn’t paid anything because I didn’t do anything. You can’t prove any of this.”
“We’ll see about that,” Sharp replied before turning to Arty. “Keep our guest company. I’ve got a call to make.”
* * * *
“We’re on it,” Jonathan said into the phone. “He lives alone? – Good. I’ll call you back as soon as we’re done. Later.”
He cut the connection and smiled at Chris. “Nick is itchy about a Paul Normandin, one of the security guards he’s currently interviewing. He’d like us to go to the guy’s place and look around, see if we can’t come across something that might be considered a payoff.”
“You know me,” Chris replied, “Always willing to help.”
* * * *
Paul Normandin lived in a two bedroom apartment just east of the downtown core, allowing Chris and Jonathan to get there in just over ten minutes. Once inside, less than five minutes were required to find a letter-size envelope in the top dresser drawer under a pile of sweat socks.
After counting the cash found in the envelope, Jon pulled out his cell phone and speed dialled Nick Sharp.
“Nick. We’ve got fifteen thousand reasons in various denominations to suspect Mister Normandin. We’re coming over to meet this gentleman.”
* * * *
Paul Normandin was annoyed as he sat waiting in the interrogation room but more so, he was worried. Shortly after Commanding Officer Sharp had left to make a phone call, he had returned and summoned Inspector Nicholson for a brief conversation in the hallway. A moment later, Nicholson had reopened the door to the room only long enough to say, “We’ll be back soon enough.” Normandin had distinctly heard the lock after the man had closed the door anew. That had been over an hour earlier and they had yet to return.
As this thought was going through his mind, he heard the click of the lock and the door swung open. Sharp entered, followed by two men, both in business casual attire.
“Paul, these men would like to have a word with you,” Sharp announced then about-faced and left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
“Hi, Paul,” Jonathan greeted without a smile.
“Uh, who are you?” questioned Normandin, his unease growing.
“That’s not really important,” Jon replied. “We have some questions for you and would like you to answer them as completely as possible.”
“Am I under arrest?” asked Normandin. “If I am, I would like to get a lawyer before answering any other questions.”
“Whether or not you’re under arrest isn’t my decision or my concern,” said Jonathan. “All I know is that we have questions for you now and you will answer them. If you need a lawyer once we’re done, by all means, you can get one.”
“Okay, that’s it,” Normandin replied as he stood. “I’ve been cooperative with the RCMP’s questions. Then I’m locked in here for over an hour until you two guys show up, refuse to tell me who you are and try to intimidate me. I’ve had it and I want to leave now.”
He glared at Jonathan and Chris, waiting to see their reaction and, when none came, pushed his chair back and swaggered to the door with a confidence he didn’t truly feel.
He remembered that the door was locked as he reached for the doorknob.
“Would someone unlock this so I can get out?” he asked just before the nine hundred fifty thousand volts from Chris’ Knuckle Blaster sent him crashing to the floor in a writhing heap.
“To answer your question,” said Chris as he gazed down at him, “No.”
They waited a moment until his convulsing subsided then lifted him on rubbery legs and dropped him back onto his chair.
“Th-this isn’t l-legal,” he spluttered as he slowly regained control of his spastic muscles. “I-I’m gonna s-sue you f-for police b-brutality.”
Chris leaned over, bringing his face inches from Normandin’s, and smiled. “There are two problems with that threat, Paul. Would you like me to tell you what they are?”
“W-what?” Normandin asked, fear etching his features once again.
“It’s simple, really,” re
plied Chris as he stared into the man’s eyes, the smile now gone. “For one, we’re not cops, but I guess you could accuse us of brutality or assault regardless. However, the second one is the real kicker. Want to know what the second one is?”
Normandin nodded without replying.
“Put very simply, a dead man can’t sue or bring charges of any kind against anybody, right?”
Normandin’s face went grey as he shook his head, sweat sprouting from his forehead.
“Y-you c-can’t do that,” he whispered between gulps of air as he tried to fight the bile rising in his throat.
“Nobody says we have to,” said Jonathan, “But, as I mentioned before, we have some questions and we’ll beat the answers out of you, even if we end up killing you in the process.”
“All you have to do is cooperate, Paul,” Chris added. “Tell us what we need to know and we won’t lay a finger on you.”
“I would if I knew anything,” Normandin insisted, “But, I don’t know anything. That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”
Chris glanced up at Jonathan who reached into an inside pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out a letter sized envelope enclosed in a plastic evidence bag which he tossed flat on the table in front of Normandin.
“Wrong answer, Paul,” Chris smiled again. “Part of the rules is, if you lie to us, we don’t consider that cooperation.”
“W-what is that?” Normandin stammered as rivulets of sweat dripped down his forehead and into his eyes, making him blink.
Chris looked up at Jon and sighed. “Do you want to answer Paul’s question? He’s really starting to annoy me and I need a moment to compose myself.”
“If I must,” Jonathan replied, stepping closer to Normandin as Chris moved away, shaking his head.
Jonathan’s hand suddenly lunged out at Normandin’s throat, knocking the man and his chair backwards to the floor.
Without releasing his grip, Jonathan followed the man down, slamming his head against the floor and kneeling heavily on his chest as he glared at him. “Listen very carefully because my friend here isn’t the only one getting annoyed. We found that envelope in your dresser in your apartment, Paul. Inside it is fifteen thousand dollars that someone gave you to either steal the missing explosives or to let someone in to steal them.
“Your prints will be found on that envelope and on the bills inside so don’t give me any bullshit that you don’t know what it is. Any way you look at it, you’re in a deep pile of crap, asshole. If you’re smart, you’ll start talking so that we can find out where those explosives went. If you’re stupid, which is what you’ve demonstrated so far, you will end up in prison for a long time on terrorism charges, if you’re lucky. If you’re really stupid, you won’t have to worry about prison because, I will kill you, Paul. I hope you understand what I’m saying because I’m not bullshitting you and that’s a promise.”
He glanced up at Chris who approached and they quickly returned the chair and Normandin to an upright position.
“Now, Paul,” said Chris. “Who gave you that money?”
Normandin burst into tears and sobbed, “I don’t know his name.”
“Tell us what you do know,” Chris encouraged. “You’ll see that it’ll be easy once you get going. Tell us what happened, Paul. Tell us everything.”
Normandin closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths before starting. “I started on that site last Wednesday on the four to midnight shift. I like nightshifts cuz I like sleeping in the morning and it gives me time in the day to do my stuff. Anyway, Thursday after my shift, I decided to stop for a couple of beers at the Bonanza on St-Charles.”
“This is in Vaudreuil?” Jonathan asked.
“Yeah,” Normandin confirmed. “I grew up in the area and I always found the girls were really nice there. Not like the stuck-up dancers downtown.”
“Get on with your story, Paul,” Chris prodded.
“Yeah, right. Anyhow, I’m at the Bonanza watching the girl on stage and this guy comes in and sits at the table next to mine. She finishes her set and the guy turns to me and asks if I’m interested in making some decent money, real quick. I look at him strange like he’s a pervert and tell him to go get his kicks somewhere else. He smiles, gets up and sits across from me at my table and says he’s not talking about sex, he’s talking about a serious business proposition.
“Now, I can always use some extra cash so I decide to hear him out. He explains to me that he was watching the site and that there’s something he’s going to need from there soon. I asked him what and he tells me flat out he needs some explosives to take out some tree stumps on some land he has up north. I tell the guy no way, that he can buy dynamite for that kind of thing and I don’t want to get in any trouble but he keeps on insisting. He’s starting to get on my nerves but then he pulls out a wad of bills and starts counting out money right there on the table, five thousand bucks.
“I’m tempted cuz I’ve got some debts and stuff but I tell him, no, sorry. So he tells me there’s another ten thousand that goes with that if I just play along. It was a mistake, I understand that now but, Jesus, fifteen grand. I’m sorry, guys. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Damned straight on that, buddy,” Jonathan growled. “Go on.”
“He confirmed my shifts with me,” Normandin muttered, “And asked me when the explosives would be coming in. The boss had briefed us on the schedule so I knew the container was expected the next morning. We agreed that he’d come to get what he wanted on Friday night. All I had to do was get rid of my partner for a bit and keep my eyes open and I’d get the other ten thousand so, I did it. Once again, I’m sorry.”
“You’ll be damned sorrier if any innocent people get killed because of this,” Chris barked. “Tell us what happened on Friday.”
“It all went down pretty much as planned,” said Normandin. “I sent Roland to St-Hubert’s for take out chicken and two minutes after he left, the guy showed up on foot with a gym bag. He’d parked a bit down the road so his car wouldn’t be right at the site. He showed me the cash and I pointed out to where the container was. He was back there less than ten minutes. When he came back, he gave me the envelope and left.”
“Did you see what kind of car he was driving?” Chris asked.
For the first time since they’d met, Normandin smiled a little. “Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”
Chris pulled the Knuckle Blaster out of his jacket pocket and pressed the two metal contact plates against Normandin’s damp forehead.
“You did understand the question, Paul, yes?”
“A greenish-gray Toyota Corolla,” Normandin gasped. “I don’t know what year but it was probably six or seven years old. I have the plate number.”
“You what?” Jon asked in surprise.
“When he went out back, I jogged out onto the road and got his plate number,” Normandin explained. “I have it here in my wallet.”
“Let’s have it,” Jonathan ordered with a beckoning finger gesture then snatched the slip of paper Normandin proffered with one hand while speed dialling on his phone with the other.
“Nick, have someone run this plate number, RYT 784. Our friend here got it off a Toyota Corolla, half a dozen years old.”
Jon cut the connection and looked at Normandin. “Back to your buddy you let in at the site. What did he look like?”
“I don’t know,” Normandin shrugged. “Pretty average, I guess.”
Chris slapped the man none too gently on the back of the head. “Height, weight, age, hair colour, nationality. What did he look like, Paul?”
“Uh, shorter than me for sure so maybe five-six,” Normandin replied, rubbing the sting on his skull. “Probably around a hundred sixty pounds. Dark hair and beard, nearly black, dark skin too but not like a black guy. More like a guy from India or something.”
Chris glanced at Jonathan then continued. “Maybe Pakistani? Did he have an accent?”
“Could be Pakistani,” Normandin ag
reed. “Yeah, he had a bit of an accent that could be Indian or Pakistani. He spoke real proper, no slang.”
“You didn’t happen to take his picture with your cell phone, Paul?” Jon asked, his sarcasm evident.
“No, sir,” Normand replied. “I didn’t.”
“We need to find this guy as quickly as possible,” said Chris. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help?”
Normandin shook his head. “I’ve told you everything.”
“Nothing he said that stuck out?” Chris insisted. “Anything to help us narrow down our search?”
“He did say something a couple of times I didn’t understand,” Normandin replied after a moment. “Assal-something. I remember cuz I thought he was saying asshole at first. He said that when he left the bar the first time I met him and when he showed up at the site. Then, when he was leaving, right after he gave me my money, he said it again with a grin, but it seemed longer that time.”
“Assalamu alaikum?” Jonathan prodded. “And when he left, Assalamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatuh?”
“Sounds like what he said,” Normandin agreed. “Is that hello or goodbye or something?”
Chris nodded. “It’s a common Muslim greeting which means ‘Peace be unto you and so may the mercy of Allah and His blessings’.”
“Would you recognize the man if you saw him again?” asked Jonathan. “You did spend some time with the guy on two separate occasions.”
“Probably,” Normandin shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Are we almost done here?”
“We’re done but you’ll be sticking around for a while, Paul,” Jonathan informed him. “Commander Sharp and Inspector Nicholson will be with you in a moment. They’re going to read you your rights and you’re going to waive your right to have an attorney present.”
“Now just wait a minute,” Normandin retorted.
“Shut up and listen,” Jonathan shot back. “They’ll basically ask you the same questions we did and you’ll give them the same answers. They’ve heard our whole conversation so if you answer differently, they’ll know. Once you’ve finished with the interview, you’ll be looking at photos for a while to try to find the guy you met. After that, it’ll be up to the courts to decide what happens to you.”
Discreet Activities (Barry/McCall Series) Page 10
