Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 1, 2 & 3 (Box Set)

by Robert P. French

She stops him hitting me but nothing else changes. He’s still kneeling on my chest and holding my throat. I see blackness creeping in around the edges. And still he don’t move.

  Then I know that he’s enjoying it. He’s gettin’ off on watching me suffocate. Sadistic bastard. It’s starting to get dark. I hear Sam from off in the distance. “For God’s sake George,” she’s sayin’.

  Then he lets go and stands up and I’m laying here gasping for air like a fresh caught fish. My chest and my throat both feel like they’re badly damaged but I got a far greater worry: little Ellie’s come downstairs and is standing in the doorway looking down at me and I can see she’s terrified, poor little soul. But I don’t know if she’s terrified of me or him. In a way I hope it’s me, ’cos she’s gotta live with him. I shouldn’a come here, stirring up her life like this, poor kid. I won’t come again.

  Fortunately, Sam swoops across the kitchen and scoops up Ellie and takes her into the hall. I’m glad she dealt with Ellie first—a kid shouldn’t hafta see violence in her own home—except that it’s left me with George. He stands, looking down at me for a bit, then, real quick, he reaches down, grabs the front of my coat and pulls me to me feet. He shakes me and the lapel rips; he done it on purpose. Bastard! He ain’t that tall, shorter than me in fact, but he’s strong and hard too. I don’t know what I feel the most: anger or fear.

  He takes my arm, none too gently, and leads me to the front door.

  “Don’t ever think about coming back here again,” he snarls as he pushes me out.

  My anger wins out over my fear. I look him right in the eye. “Any man who acts like that in front of a little kid ain’t worth shit in my book.” I don’t care what he does to me. “He ain’t a man at all,” I tell him.

  I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable but instead of reacting the way I expected, he just gives me one of the most creepy smiles I ever seen before he slams the door in my face. I can’t resist flipping him the bird through the fancy woodwork. Bastard! I get a horrible feeling that I ain’t seen the last of George.

  Well, I guess this was mission impossible. Rocky ain’t gonna listen to me. Sam was my only hope of getting him to stop being a cop and investigating Kevin’s murder.

  I take off out of the driveway and along the street towards Marine Drive. It’s cold. I hope I don’t have to wait too long for a bus. When I get back to the east side I’m gonna get pissed and stay pissed; this whole trip has just stirred up too much stuff for me. I’m glad I told Sam about Rocky but apart from that I shouldn’a come here. It lifted my spirit seeing little Ellie and talking to her but that bastard George ruined it all. It breaks my heart but it’s better I don’t go see her again.

  I’m almost to Marine when one of them fancy black SUVs pulls up next to me. Shit! I just know it’s George! I dunno why the bastard’s out to get me. Back at the house, Sam’d stop him from doing anything real bad to me but here, I’m a sittin’ duck. Here in West Van, no one’s gonna question someone like George dealing with someone like me.

  I break into a run. At the corner of Marine, I see a number 250 bus coming. If I can just get across the road in time and jump on it, I’ll be safe; even if he follows the bus, I can get off at Granville Street downtown, where there’s always a lot of people about. Safety in numbers. I just need to get across Marine Drive.

  But the lights are against me and there’s a ton of traffic on Marine. I glance back at the SUV and see the black-tinted side window slide down. I have an image in my mind, from some movie prob’ly, of a gun, with one of them silencers, poking out and shooting me. Then I think of the look on his face as he was chokin’ me and it don’t seem so movie-like. That sadistic SOB’d kill me in a heartbeat. Despite the cold, I break into a sweat.

  The lights are still against me and the traffic’s too heavy for me to risk running through it. The bus is real near; it’ll be past the lights soon. I’m not gonna make it on time.

  Then the lights start to change.

  “Roy. It’s me, Sam.”

  I squint through the SUV’s windshield and see that it’s her at the wheel. I walk back and check through the open window; she’s alone. Relief floods through me and my stomach rumbles.

  “I’m sorry about George,” she says. “He’s a good man but sometimes he has a temper.” I don’t like that she’s making excuses for him. “Please let me make it up to you and give you a lift back to the hospital. We’ll visit Cal together.”

  I climb in. It’s real nice; it smells of leather and brings back memories of the seventies when I used to have some jack in my jeans and drove a Pontiac GTO.

  “What happened to Cal, Roy? Why did they beat him up?” She pulls onto Marine.

  “It’s prob’ly ’cos they know he’s an ex-cop who’s put some dealers in jail,” I lie. I don’t want her to know the truth about how Rocky makes his money. “But the why ain’t what’s important here, Mrs. Rogan. What’s important is that he gets off the streets, goes into detox and rehab and gets himself clean.”

  She reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “Call me Sam, Roy; I’m not Mrs. Rogan anymore.” Bless her. Most people don’t want to touch someone like me. “You know, for years, I’ve tried to get him to go into detox but he always has an excuse. It’s a lost cause. I gave him two years to sort himself out, stop using and become a real father to Ellie, but he’s done nothing. I can tell you, he’s never going to do it; I’ve given up.”

  I can’t do it alone. I gotta get her on side. With the two of us pushing him…

  “He’s got this idea in his head that his buddy Kevin was murdered and that it’s all up to him to solve the crime. He thinks if he can do that, then they’re gonna let him back into the police department, which is bullshit—excuse my language—’cos they’re never gonna let a junkie back in. But as long as he believes that, he’s gonna use it as an excuse to not get clean. He says he’s got to solve it first. But if he don’t get off the streets, they’re gonna kill him fer sure and leave your little girl without a father. You gotta help me, Sam.”

  “He’s hardly a father to her now. One four-hour visit, once a week.” She shakes her head.

  “But that’s better than no father at all! Anyways, if he got clean, it could all be different.”

  She shakes her head again and stays silent for a long moment. “Can I ask you something Roy?” she says.

  “Sure.”

  “Why do you care so much?”

  I can give her one of the reasons. “I known Rocky a long time. I was his snitch, you know, when he was still a cop. I helped him put quite a few dealers in jail. Anyways, since he’s been living on the streets, I been helping him out ’cos, uh… well… I’m kinda responsible for him taking heroin in the first place.” I don’t think I could have confessed that to anyone other than Sam. “So I reckon that if I can get him into detox and rehab, well, I’ll have done my best to make amends.”

  She looks across at me and smiles. “Don’t blame yourself for him being an addict. Cal has always made his own decisions. You’re a good friend to him, Roy. I’m not sure that he deserves you.” She thinks for a bit, then takes a deep breath. “Maybe there is one more thing I could do to apply some pressure to him. God knows it would be good if we could get him to drop this so-called murder investigation and go into detox. But I’ve got to tell you, I don’t hold out much hope.”

  I stifle a sigh of relief.

  “But you’ll try, right?”

  She nods. She bought it. Thank God, ’cos she must never know the other reason I want him in detox and rehab. That’s a secret I hope to take to my grave.

  24

  Arnold

  If ever there was a paradox, this is it. Here am I, sent by Mr. Wallace—the man to whom I owe my very life—to protect Cal and help him find Kevin’s murderer. Yet, for the greater good, I need to have Cal accept that Kevin’s death was suicide and to accept it without me leading him there and being disloyal to Mr. Wallace. The one way I can control what happens is by contr
olling Cal, or at least by knowing what he is up to.

  As I look down at his battered, sleeping face, I cannot help but remember the young Cal Rogan, armed with his Master’s degree and his idealism, donning the uniform of the Vancouver Police Department for the first time. If only he could have stayed loyal to that uniform, instead of taking those filthy drugs until he became a degenerate, just like all the other scum on the streets. What a stupid waste of a life.

  “Arnold?” His voice is weak and his eyes are hardly open. He looks around, trying to orient himself. “What happened?” he asks.

  “Apparently, you were beaten up.”

  “Oh.” He thinks for a moment. “Oh, yes… In the alley.” He looks like he is searching his memory for the details.

  “You’ve been unconscious for almost three days.”

  He stares at me for a while and then asks, “How did you know I was here?”

  “A dickey bird told me.” I do not want him to know the answer to that question.

  “Where do you Limeys dredge up these expressions?” he asks.

  I ignore the insolence, with some difficulty it must be said.

  “Well, you being in hospital is not advancing your investigation is it?”

  That annoys him.

  “No Arnold, it isn’t. That’s why I need you to help me get out of here right now. I have a new lead I need to follow.”

  Interesting… I make a mental note to find out about this lead. “That’s all very well, Mr. Rogan, but if you leave here now and go back onto the streets, you are likely to run into the same people who put you in here in the first place. Next time, they might not be so gentle and you may end up in the morgue instead. Don’t you agree?”

  He doesn’t reply, so I press my advantage. “If you reconsider Mr. Wallace’s offer of that rooming house, you will have a safe place to live and a good base of operations. You will be a lot less likely to run up against your enemies again.”

  He shakes his head but he doesn’t refuse the offer. I just wait for him to respond.

  “I’ll take it if you get me out of here today,” he says sullenly. Good. The sale is made; now we are just negotiating the terms.

  “I spoke to your nurses. They assured me that you are far too weak to even sit up in bed today. But if you agree to take the room, I will come back tomorrow and see what we can do about getting you out of here. Deal?” It’s a lie; there is no way he will be able to leave tomorrow.

  He nods.

  “In your room you will find three bags of groceries, clothes, toiletries and change for the washer and dryer. I’ve even provided a decent backpack so that you don’t have to keep your possessions in a garbage bag.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “You were pretty sure that I would accept,” he says.

  From my breast pocket, I take the business card with the address of the rooming house and hand it to him. As he lifts his hand from the blanket to take it, I withdraw it six inches, just out of reach. “The new lead you want to follow up, what might that be?” I ask.

  Gainsaying the nurse’s assurances to me, he snaps himself upright and grabs my wrist in an unexpected, iron-hard grip. He slides the card from my hand. “All in good time, Arnold, all in good time,” he says. “I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready.”

  He holds my eye for a long moment before letting go.

  I concede the point, for the present. Now to make one of my own.

  “Is your reason for being here connected with your investigation of Kevin’s murder or your, uh, lifestyle choice?”

  He sighs, “Did you know that, according to Kevin, addiction is a neurochemical condition not a ‘lifestyle choice’.”

  Yes, I’ve heard that worn old excuse before.

  “So Mr. Rogan, did they beat you up because of your investigation into Kevin’s death or because of your ‘neurochemical condition’?” I cannot keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “The latter,” he grunts.

  “Are you sure of that?” I plant the seed.

  It takes root. I can see the shock on his face. He looks up, searching his mind for something, and then a frown of frustration crosses his brow.

  “How…” The cogs are turning.

  I turn and leave before he can ask the question that I see forming in his mind.

  25

  Cal

  I just played the amnesia card which was not too hard because I’m still having difficulty with some of the details; I don’t remember anything after the gang started beating the heck out of me and I know I’m missing something important. Sarge wasn’t buying it, he’s been around far too long for me to fool him. However, he did agree to ask Steve Waters to visit me. We’ll see if he does.

  And we’ll see if Steve brings Stammo along with him.

  I squeeze the morphine dispenser but cannot tell if is working or withholding.

  Arnold’s visit keeps buzzing around in my head. What the hell was that all about—

  “Cal?”

  Sam’s voice stops my train of thought.

  “Hi Sam.” She looks great, in a wool sweater, tight-fitting jeans and boots.

  In one smooth, elegant motion, she pulls up a chair and sits. She takes my hand and kisses my cheek. “How are you feeling?”

  “All the better for seeing you,” I grin.

  She takes a piece of paper out of her purse and my stomach turns over. The only papers that pass between Sam and me are divorce papers, guardianship and custody agreements and letters about my drug addiction with copies to her lawyer.

  She unfolds it and holds it up for me to see.

  “Ellie sent you this picture. She says that it will make you feel better.”

  My heart melts as I think of her painting this. I imagine her bent over a desk in her bedroom, a bedroom I have never seen, her tongue peeking out of the side of her mouth.

  It is a very complex work for a seven year-old, a pastoral scene with rolling hills and an orange sun shining out of a blue sky. A variety of farm animals are grazing or standing beneath trees. A different coloured bird, yellow, green and purple, is perched on the head of each animal. In the middle distance, looking down from the top of a hill, is a city with houses and buildings all dominated by a tall skyscraper. It’s familiar but I don’t know why and, for some reason, I feel I should.

  Several roads bearing brightly coloured cars and trucks converge on the city. At the top of the skyscraper is a design with three bright colours, matching the colours of the birds. I’ve seen the design before somewhere, perhaps in one of her other pictures. The whole thing is strangely compelling.

  “Wow.”

  Sam places it on the window ledge so that I can enjoy it from the bed, then sits back down and takes my hand again. It feels great.

  “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “I don’t know, I’m on morphine.”

  That causes a cloud of concern to cross her face; she knows that morphine and heroin are kissing cousins.

  “At least you’re conscious now. I sat here and talked to you most of Saturday and Sunday, hoping that it would get through to you; I didn’t know if you would ever wake up. George was mad at me for spending so much time here but I was so scared Cal.”

  “I’m fine Sam.” God, I love this woman. She sat vigil beside my bed. Why would she do that? Unless…

  “You don’t look fine,” she says, but not unkindly. “Here’s what I think you should do. You said they’ve got a bed for you in detox on Saturday, right?” I nod. “That’s five days from now. Why don’t you stay here in the hospital until Saturday and then go straight there. I’ll come over and drive you, if you like. You’ll have somewhere warm and safe to stay and—”

  “I can’t, Sam. I need to use those five days to solve Kevin’s murder.”

  Her face saddens. “Oh, Cal.”

  “Sam, I can’t prove who killed Kevin from inside the hospital or inside detox.”

  Now her face hardens. “Cal, listen to me and listen very carefully. I meant
what I said last week. If you are not in detox on Saturday, I am going to cut you out of Ellie’s life.” Her voice drops a couple of decibels and so does my stomach. “I’ve talked to my lawyer. Because you have done nothing to sort yourself out since we signed the custody agreement almost two years ago, I have grounds for refusing you access to her.”

  She takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t going to tell you this.” She pauses, undecided whether to continue. Then another deep breath. This can’t be good. “George has business interests in Toronto, he already spends two or three days a week there and he wants me to move there with him. I’ll do it in a heartbeat if you let me down on this. Do you understand?”

  Ellie in Toronto? That’s over two thousand miles away. The blood runs from my face and I feel nauseous. I just know that George would love to take Ellie away from me, too. Without Ellie, I would lose my compass. She is the one thing that keeps me in the real world. The thought of never seeing her cheery little face, never hearing her laugh and of not watching her grow up grinds in my gut. I look up and swallow hard to keep any tears at bay. I look at Sam and I know this is hard for her too. But I know Sam; she is nothing if not determined. But so am I and I am determined to bring Kevin’s killer to justice.

  “Sam. I will be in detox on Saturday no matter what. I won’t risk losing Ellie. She means more to me than anything. I promise you. But that’s why I need to get out of the hospital as soon as possible. You see, I think I know who killed Kevin. Kev was working with a street guy. I don’t want to go into all the details, but some bad stuff happened and I think he killed Kevin. I even think this guy Roy was responsible for me getting beaten up like this. I don’t have all the details worked out but I can wrap it up in a couple of days, tops.”

  Sam’s grip is crushing my hand. Her body is rigid and I can see the whites above her irises. “Roy?” she whispers.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Yes.”

  “Jesus, Cal. He’s been to the house. It was him who told me you were in here. He said he was your friend. He was talking with Ellie. Oh my God, do you think she might be in danger from him?”