The CleanSweep Conspiracy

by Chuck Waldron

  “What is this place?” Matt asked before he tried to settle in. “You said something about a theater.”

  “It’s a cop thing. Scotty and I have our inside jokes. If we use the word theater, it means this reservoir park. All the cops have secret hideaways.”

  Matt smiled at their attempt at small talk. “A doctor told me once about a code they used when he was an intern. When they heard a page for Dr. Better, they knew a poker game was on.”

  He was trying to ease the tension, but it didn’t help much. He tilted the seat back and closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, Carling was punching him in the arm.

  “It’s my turn, Mr. Blogger.”

  With Matt standing watch, Carling stretched and walked to the toilet. When he came back to the car, he got in the backseat. The next thing Matt heard was snoring, a sound louder than a jet trying to take off. He attempted to ignore the sound, but finally got out to sit on the hood of the car. Turning his face to the sun, Matt enjoyed the warmth. If he had any doubts about being able to stay awake while he was on guard duty, they were dispelled by the noises emanating from Carling.

  The constant nervous energy—and running the night before—had taken a toll on Matt. His legs were cramping, and he felt a need to stand and walk. He circled the car but didn’t dare venture any farther than a few steps away. Even then he couldn’t escape the snoring.

  Suddenly, he heard a car approaching—well before he saw it. There was a relatively steep grade leading up to the reservoir park, and it sounded like the car wasn’t up to the task. Finally, he saw it top the rise.

  “It’s his personal car, a ’56 Peugeot,” Carling’s voice caused Matt to whirl around. “It makes an awful racket, but Scotty loves that car. Fortunately, it runs better than it sounds or looks. He knew this was no time for him to use a cop car, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  The car crunched over the gravel, and Scotty waved and gave a quick “hello” toot on the horn as he braked and opened the door. He was wiry, and looked like a man ready for a fight. Matt liked the man’s pugilistic countenance as he strutted over to where they were waiting. The two detectives embraced.

  “Thanks, Scotty.”

  Scotty looked over at Matt. “So you’re the guy we’ve all been looking for, eh? Public Enemy Number One—through Ten—and all at once!”

  Matt felt uncomfortable until Scotty started to laugh and dropped his hand around Carling’s shoulder.

  “If this man says you’re OK, you’re OK.”

  The three men walked over to a picnic table. The wood was warped and weathered, and a wide variety of names and comments had been carved onto its surface.

  “You two smell terrible,” Scotty said.

  “You should have smelled him before he washed,” Matt said, pointing to the small building with the toilets.

  “I didn’t forget,” Scotty said. He got up and walked back to the Peugeot. He reached into the backseat and picked up four large takeout bags, carrying them back to the table. “Here’s the food,” he said. Then he started pulling Styrofoam containers from one of the bags and setting them in front of Matt and Carling. From another, he removed cups. “Coffee,” he said. Matt watched the steam curling from the lids. “I wasn’t sure, so I brought this as well,” he said as he put two metal cans on the table. They both put the coffee down and lunged for the beer.

  “This shopping bag has the clothes you asked for. I suppose a shower is out of the question, but you both could use one,” Scotty said with a laugh.

  Matt and Carling raced each other to finish the food. When they were done, Carling motioned Scotty to a seat next to Matt. Matt watched Brick as he flipped the plastic lid of a coffee cup, took a sip, and began to outline his newest plan.

  “Who’s your contact at the morgue?” he asked, turning to Scotty.

  “Marsha Liner. You remember her? The one with the big tits—”

  “Yeah,” Carling cut him off. “Can she keep her mouth shut? Will she do what we want without getting nosy?”

  “It always helps to have a trump card,” Scotty said. “It must have been about four years ago. I was working vice. I have a video she made back then, one she definitely doesn’t want to see posted on YouTube. She’ll keep her mouth shut. What are you thinking? You always have some devious scheme in mind when you have that look on your face.”

  Matt turned his head from one to the other, following the words going back and forth as if he were watching a tennis game.

  Carling pulled a face and finally said, “We need a body—a dead body. Where better to look than the morgue? Give her a call on your backup phone.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Scotty said.

  “The first question: is there a male on ice with the general size of our friend Matt here?”

  “I think I see where this is going…” Scotty said with a broad grin. “I love it. We’re gonna make Matt dead, right?”

  “In a special way,” Carling said. “I’m thinking a jumper—a suicide. After all, Matt Tremain has been under investigation, and according to the story being circulated, his friends have noticed how depressed he is.” He turned to Matt. “We need to hear from Marsha,” he said as he made a rude two-handed gesture, cupping his hands over his chest. He then laid out the plan in more detail. “If there’s a candidate, we’ll take Matt’s original clothes with us and dress the cadaver. The key will be how to move it without being noticed.”

  “I can borrow a van,” Scott said. “From a carpet-cleaning company. I know the owner—no questions asked. It shouldn’t raise suspicions.”

  “Yeah, something like that should work,” Carling said. “Do you have one of those master entry cards we use to get into those upscale condominiums?”

  “Never leave home without it.” Scotty patted his pocket.

  “This part involves you, Matt. Are you game?”

  “It all depends…” Matt said. A touch of concern in his voice caused both detectives to give him a stare. “But, I don’t think I have a choice.”

  “I know a place that would be perfect,” Carling said. “It’s new, but not that new.” He turned to Scotty. “You know the City View Condominiums?”

  “The one on the Esplanade, right?” Scotty nodded. “A place for the crème de la crème,” he said, the tone of his voice implying his distaste for the snobby occupants.

  “That’s it. There’s a steep driveway leading down to the service entrance. It drops down from the next street. Wait until just after dark. I checked, and the sun will set a little after seven thirty tonight. There shouldn’t be much traffic at that time of the evening, and it’s a dead-end street anyway.”

  Matt started to ask a question, but Carling held up his hand to stop him.

  “Let me lay out this plan. Then you can ask questions. We dress the John Doe at the morgue and carry him in a plastic body bag. This building has a large service elevator at the back. You don’t have to worry about any residents getting on. They’re all so damn snooty they probably don’t even know such a thing exists. Chances are you will be in and out without any notice. There’s a keypad you can use to disable the computer.”

  “Doing what?” Matt finally exploded.

  “This may offend your delicate sensibilities about the truth and all, but we need to convince everyone you’re dead,” Carling snapped. “We’re going to arrange that, unless you want CleanSweep to make it a reality. This isn’t a plan for the long run. It will only buy us some time. We need a distraction.”

  Matt leaned back and waited.

  “Scotty, I want you and Matt to carry your package to the roof. Our police-issue entry cards will get you up there. When you hear three clicks on our handheld radio, just toss the guy over the edge. Oh, and make sure it comes down at the front of the building—on the Esplanade side.”

  “OK,” Scotty said. He looked at Matt for confi
rmation.

  Matt, realizing what he was about to do, felt numb. “Go on…”

  “I plan to be waiting at a nearby corner in the next block,” Carling explained. “When the call comes from dispatch, I should be the first one on the scene to investigate. I’ll make a quick ruling that it’s an obvious suicide—a jumper. What else could it be? I will have the body taken to the morgue—ironic as that may be. I will file a report that suggests I think it looks like Matt Tremain, but will note that we have to wait for final confirmation.”

  Carling thought for a moment. “Matt, give me your wallet. I want to be able to find it as evidence when I check the body.”

  Matt was beyond the point of argument. He handed it over. “Just my license and a couple of bucks,” he said. “What the hell…here.”

  Scotty checked his watch. “We have a couple of hours yet. Matt can come with me. We can walk from here.” He threw the keys to Carling. “Still remember how to drive a stick?”

  Carling turned to Matt. “You need to call Susan and Carl again now. Tell them not to believe everything they’re going to hear on the news,” he said. He started to laugh.

  • • •

  “Ted Johnson, Action 21 News, reporting. A young man, estimated to be in his early thirties, died in a fall tonight. Police have not confirmed the identity, but it is rumored to be Matthew Tremain, a popular investigative journalist. It appears that he jumped to his death from the roof of a midtown condominium. Our sources tell us that Mr. Tremain was undergoing treatment for depression.

  “There was considerable damage to the body. We will be told when fingerprints and DNA can confirm identity. Investigators at the scene recovered a wallet and are checking the address on the driver’s license. An anonymous informant told us that until they know for sure, they are treating this as a John Doe case, and the investigation is ongoing, but was able to confirm that Matt Tremain was the name on the ID.”

  • • •

  Matt hoped, after having tried Susan and Carl several times without success, that they didn’t hear the report before he had a chance to warn them.

  CHAPTER 37

  Day Care

  Carl squinted and shook his head, trying to focus on the road. “Hand me something to wipe the windshield with.” He rubbed the condensation that was forming on the glass, dropped the tissue on the console, then rubbed his forehead. “I need to get some sleep.”

  Susan had started to say something when her cell phone rang. She opened the cover and listened. “We’ve been lucky so far,” she said, and then she listened again. “We’re scared. Let me put you on speaker.”

  “CleanSweep just issued an all-points for you guys.” Matt’s voice came through clearly. “We just heard it and have to assume they are capable of listening to us now. Carling said they do have the technology to monitor everyone’s movements using SIM cards, even when they’re not talking.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We don’t have a choice,” Carling’s voice boomed in the background. “Give them the address again, and be quick about it. We have to take the chance.”

  “Like I said, it’s 66 Tilson Avenue—park in the alley behind.” The phone went quiet, and Susan sat staring at it.

  • • •

  Two men monitoring communications traffic at CleanSweep were at the end of their double shift, and caffeine wasn’t helping them stay alert.

  “Did you catch that?”

  “All I heard was 66 Til-something. Do you think we should tell Vaughn? I’m sure it was that TV lady talking. Fuck me, I didn’t have the recorder on.”

  Two men were sitting at a monitoring console. One had his headphones off and was staring at a screen. He pointed.

  “The call to them originated downtown, near Casa Loma.” He tapped the mouse, and another screen came up. “The call from Payne and the camera guy came from well north of the city. I could see their signal moving while they talked. Crap, they must have disconnected now.”

  “There’s an all-points out on them. We have to let her know,” the other said. “They must be using old phones, the ones that don’t track when they’re turned off.”

  They played a round of rock-paper-scissors, and the loser started to dial headquarters.

  “We’re in trouble; you should have been paying attention,” the winner said, pushing the blame away.

  • • •

  “What’s our plan, Carl?” Susan asked. She sounded tired.

  Carl pulled to the side of the road and looked at her, thinking he had never seen her look so disheveled. He reached over and touched her cheek.

  “Hand me the map.”

  There was still enough light to make out the details. He traced some roads with his finger, shaking his head no. He followed another route with his finger. “I don’t see any way in that might help us avoid detection.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Carl didn’t have any words of encouragement.

  “You always come through in a tight spot,” Susan said, words registering her fear. “We need another ride. We’ve had this car too long already. I saw another old pickup parked back at that feed store. As soon as it gets dark…”

  He looked at the map again, his finger tracing yet another way. “I know what Carling said, but if we take this road, it’ll be rough, but I don’t see anything else. Look here,” he said, pointing. “We may be able to get into the city on this road. The last time I was hunting, I walked a fire-lane corridor, one that ran under high-tension wires. There’s no telling how well maintained it is, but if we follow it here”—he pointed again—“we come out down by the river. There, the road takes us under the 401 freeway. If the truck is up to it, and that’s a big if, we face a pretty steep climb. But if we make it, we will be within half a mile of that address Matt gave us. Let’s hope that old truck is up to it.”

  Susan started to cry, softly at first, but then she broke into sobs. She waved her hand, motioning Carl away. “I’m sorry…”

  “We have to hope there’s enough gas in that truck. It wasn’t covered in dust, so someone must have used it lately. We’re both beat, and I need to rest. Can you stay awake?”

  “There’s no way I could sleep,” Susan said. “I’m more wired than tired.”

  “Wake me when it’s dark.” Carl leaned back and, within seconds, was softly snoring.

  Two hours later, Susan pushed his arm. “Now?” she asked.

  Carl rubbed sleep away from his eyes and sat up. “Has anyone driven past? I was hoping this road wasn’t used much.”

  “I just saw a couple of cars heading that way.” She pointed behind them. “They didn’t even slow down or look at us.”

  Carl started the car and made a U-turn. Five minutes later, he pointed. “There it is, and there’s nobody around.” He parked off to the far side of the deserted parking lot. “Get your stuff and stand by the truck. We need to make this fast.”

  Susan followed him and stood to the side while he tested the door.

  “It’s unlocked at least,” he said. “I hate to do this to someone, but we need—”

  He had leaned in to look under the driver’s seat, but he stopped when they heard a dog barking in the distance. When it was quiet again, Carl continued looking in all the usual hiding places for a key. When nothing turned up, he said, “I’ll have to hot-wire it. It should be easy on an old crate like this.”

  He crouched under the dash panel again and pulled a harness of wires down. He told Susan to reach in his left pocket and hand him his knife; he used it to strip two. When he touched them together, the truck sputtered and then started.

  Stealing a vehicle this way is getting easier, Carl remarked to himself. He quickly twisted the wires together and motioned Susan into the passenger seat.

  “There’s enough gas. Now all we have to do is hope we don’t get caught. Damn thing needs a tune-up.
I lose respect for people who don’t take better care of their trucks.”

  He drove back past the place where they had rested earlier and continued on. “It shouldn’t be much farther,” Carl said. He pointed. “See the power lines? There’s the road.”

  They came to the high-tension lines, and saw the utility road that ran off to the right, toward the city. Carl steered the truck down into the ditch and up the far side, where they came to a fence blocking their way. He didn’t pause; he accelerated and smashed through the barrier. The left headlight got twisted in the crash and dangled, pointing down and to the left, but one light was enough.

  The truck bounced over potholes and ruts, its springs moaning in protest. Susan held on with both hands and didn’t complain.

  The light from the city skyline was getting brighter, and soon it was chasing the darkness away. Carl reached up and turned the headlights off completely.

  “No need to have that broken light drawing attention. I can make out enough to see the road.” He slowed until his vision adjusted to the light and then accelerated again. “That’s the freeway up there,” he said.

  They could see the utility road and high-tension wires following an incline that ran parallel with the river. The freeway bridge was high overhead.

  “I don’t think anyone could see us unless they have someone posted on the bridge as a lookout. I can’t imagine why they would do that, but…”

  Soon the bridge was behind them, and the river made a curve to the west, the utility road and high-tension lines curving with it. “That red-brick power substation is just ahead. That’s where I’ll try and get us up to a regular road. If I recall, there’s an access road that veers to the right. The address Matt gave us shouldn’t be far—if we make it up the hill.”

  “What if a cop sees the damage—the broken headlight—and stops us?”

  “What option do we have?”

  When they came to the substation, the main string of high-tension lines continued on, but some wires branched to the right or left. Carl stopped the truck and got out. After looking around, he got back in and put the truck in gear. The access road wasn’t as steep as he had remembered, and the old truck made it to the top of the hill with only a whimper. He stopped short at the edge of the road.