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

by Robert P. French

  I slide across the seat and out of the car. “Give me your cell, quick,” I exclaim.

  “Sure, it’s in my car.” He runs towards a silver BMW parked in the middle of the eastbound lane with it’s four way flashers on. The car is an M5 about fifteen years old.

  I follow him, catching a quick look at the Camaro. Its nose is buried in the side of the cruiser and the airbags are deployed.

  He retrieves his phone from the centre console and hands it to me.

  I don’t take it. “Call 911 and tell them that an officer is in pursuit of a maroon Toyota. Tell them to check with Detective Steve Waters. That’s important. You got that?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He starts to dial and I jump into his car. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “Just make the call,” I shout, “and tell them your license plate number.”

  I do a lightning check of the cockpit. It’s a manual transmission and the key’s in the ignition. I fire it up, slam it into first and fishtail down Pacific, the momentum causing the driver’s door to slam shut.

  I’m praying that George will see that I am no longer in pursuit and will slow down to a normal speed. I fly through the lights at Davie, wracked by fear that he might have turned off. It doesn’t make sense for him either to double back or to head down to False Creek; I have to play the odds. I weave through the traffic as best I can but it’s Yaletown on a Friday night. Finally I get to the stadium and the road opens up into three lanes.

  Then with a shudder I know that I’m going the right way. I know where George is heading. And he’s taking my baby with him. But why? Why is he going there?

  I push down on the gas and the car leaps ahead like an eager stallion. I flash by the other traffic. I must be doing seventy-five miles an hour and my fear for Ellie is pounding through my veins.

  And as I approach Abbott, I know that I’m right. A block ahead, I see the Toyota turning left onto Carrall. I slow the BMW down and follow at a normal pace.

  I can see that George is still on his phone. Who can he be talking to? And why is he heading towards the alley? There are three cross streets before we get there. The lights are bound to be red at one of them. Then I’ll have him.

  I run through a plan in my head. As we come to a stop, I’ll jump out and in two seconds have his door open. One quick punch to the side of the head to disorient him and then I’ll reach in, turn off the engine and remove the key. Then, George and I will have a little conversation.

  The first set of lights is green.

  Then the second.

  The third turn red as he approaches.

  He stops and removes the phone from his ear and looks down to dial it. Great! He won’t see me in the mirror.

  I fling open the door of the BMW and all hell breaks loose.

  A bicycle, laden with two giant plastic bags full of drink cans, smashes into the door and the cyclist flies over the top with a shout. A dumpster diver and his recycling. One of the plastic bags rips open and there are evil smelling cans everywhere.

  George’s head snaps up and again our eyes make contact. But this time, instead of surprise, I see rage.

  I leap out, throw the bike aside and race for George’s door. I can’t yank it open. He has locked it. Then the door handle is wrenched out of my hand as he accelerates through the red light.

  Somehow he makes it across Hastings.

  I turn back. The owner of the bike is on his feet swearing at me in Technicolor.

  I ignore him and get back into the BMW.

  There is no traffic in the right hand lane and George dashes down the half block and turns right into the alley. I catch a glimpse of Ellie’s face looking back towards me. Even at this distance, I can see the fear.

  The dumpster diver, however, is not prepared to be ignored and plants himself in front of the car, swearing and pointing at me. I hit the horn and edge forward but he refuses to budge. I want to just floor the gas and run him over.

  I jump out and grab my wallet. The last of the money that I stole from Kevin is in there. I give it all to him and push him out of my way.

  Then I’m in the BMW, the lights are green again and I scream across Hastings and turn into the maw.

  The Toyota is slewed across the alley, half way down, just this side of the dumpsters. The lights are off and in the dark I cannot see if George and Ellie are in it. Any fear I have of this place is obscured by my need to protect my daughter. I drive down to within six feet of Brad’s car. The interior is illuminated in the BMW’s lights. It seems empty.

  I get out and scan the area before approaching. The usual lost souls are in the alley, looking malevolently at the vehicles which have invaded their territory.

  Four steps and I am at the Toyota. I call, “Ellie? George?”

  Silence. Even the crack-heads are quiet.

  Somehow George has escaped. Maybe through the back door of one of the buildings. This is his escape route. Has he taken Ellie or has he decided that he has no further use for her? Would he feel the need or the desire to silence her?

  My nerves tingling with fear, I reach the door of the abandoned car, dreading what I might find crumpled on the floor. As it opens the interior light comes on, providing him with a signal.

  Then George stands up and is pointing Brad’s .357 in my face.

  The safety is off now.

  He is on the other side of the car, his left hand clamped cruelly over Ellie’s mouth.

  “Let her go George. She shouldn’t see this.”

  He has a moment of indecision. I guess that he has spent most of his time managing the gang’s enterprises in the background, staying away from the sharp end of the business; Blondie would have laughed at me as he pulled the trigger.

  George nods. “I’m sorry, honey, for taking you from your Mommy and for…” his voice, unexpectedly kind, trails off as he releases her.

  With waves of relief rushing through me, I tell her, “Go and get in the car behind me sweetie and lie on the floor. OK?”

  She whispers, “Yes, Daddy,” and runs around Brad’s car. I hear the BMW door open.

  “Back up against your car.” I do as he says.

  He comes around the Toyota without the gun wavering an inch from its aim at the middle of my chest. I could really do with that Kevlar vest now. Then I remember I still have Roy’s knife in my pocket. It would be justice indeed if his knife brought George down. My hand creeps toward my pocket.

  He extends his arm and the gun is pointing at my face. Amateur!

  He smiles, “Goodbye, Cal,” and pulls the trigger.

  The noise is deafening. I feel like I have been punched hard in the shoulder and I spin around to the sound of broken glass tinkling on the pavement.

  My fall to the ground is slowed as my head makes sharp contact with the side of the BMW.

  When I open my eyes, I don’t know if I have been unconscious. My head is spinning and all time sense is gone.

  I roll on my back and look at where George was standing but he has vanished.

  I must get to Ellie. I push myself back onto my feet.

  Which is impossible.

  The .357 bullet should have shattered my shoulder beyond repair making my arm about as useful as spaghetti.

  Then I see George lying on the ground, covered in blood.

  I cannot stop the victory whoop from bubbling up. Brad’s fifteen year neglect of the weapon has resulted in a catastrophic misfire. The gun exploded in George’s hand. Part of it hit me in the shoulder and other bits broke the windows in both vehicles… which stops the laughter. Ellie!

  I yank open door of the M5. There is glass everywhere but no Ellie.

  Adrenaline fires through me.

  Wait. Wait. These days, kids always get in the back seats of cars. It’s automatic for them. I sigh with relief and pull open the back door but she’s not there either.

  I look over at George but he is still unconscious. Did he call an accomplice to meet him here? Has he taken Ellie?

  “ELLIE
!” I shout, hearing the panic in my own voice. “WHERE ARE YOU.”

  The alley has eaten her up. I look up and down and all I can see are the damned junkies. There is no sign of her. No one is running or acting strangely. I have no clue what to do. My fear is screaming at me. I look again in the BMW, praying that by some miracle I overlooked her the first time. Nothing.

  I go over to George, if I can make him regain consciousness I can force it out of him. I kneel down, grab his lapels and shake him. “George… GEORGE.” But he is out for the count.

  “Over here,” a voice croaks.

  I spin towards the sound. It’s coming from a darkened doorway. There is an emaciated woman of indeterminate age. She smiles at me, showing two lines of gums, her teeth the victims of a lifelong devotion to crack cocaine. She’s crouched down and the arm of her filthy pink hoody is around Ellie’s shoulders. Ellie has her arms wrapped around her and her face is buried in the bony shoulder. “There’s yer Daddy sweetheart,” she says. “He’s all right, see. I told’ja he would be, didn’t I?”

  Ellie looks up cautiously at first but as soon as she sees it’s me, she lets go of her protector and rushes towards me. I drop to my knees and envelop her in my arms.

  Through my tears I look at the woman in the pink sweater and mouth the words ‘Thank you’. She nods at me and I can see that she too is crying, perhaps for the loss of that brief moment when she hugged and was hugged by an innocent child. My heart goes out to her.

  The alley has thrown everything it can at me. Heroin, beatings, attempted murder and kidnap. But it couldn’t beat me. I’ve survived. Ellie has survived. Its hold on me drifts away in the chill wind that blows between the buildings.

  I hear the scream of approaching sirens. In Vancouver, the sound of a gunshot does not go unnoticed.

  As my adrenaline level drops, the withdrawal pains come back with a vengeance. I have to have a hit very soon or I will be screaming. But I don’t submit. I won’t let it beat me. I won’t let go of Ellie. Never again.

  We cling to each other until the cavalry arrives.

  57

  Cal

  Steve and I are enjoying a brief respite, sitting on the designer chairs in the QX4 reception area. We are waiting for Sandi to arrive for work. Although it is a Saturday, when Steve called her, she asked him to meet her at the office.

  Neither of us has slept and it shows. My right shoulder is throbbing where the chunk of Brad’s gun sliced it. Another fragment scored my left cheekbone but that was fixed with four stitches. An inch higher and it would have entered my brain via the eye socket.

  We have just come here from Vancouver General. Brad was taken there unconscious last night. Early this morning he told us everything.

  When George bailed Brad out with the half-a-million loan, George asked Brad to hold on to a lock-box for him, as a flavor Although Brad did not know it at the time, it contained three different sets of identities and fifty thousand bucks in cash.

  It was a smart move on George’s part. If the noose ever tightened on his operation, he knew that his office, houses, plane and boat would all be searched or at least staked out, and perhaps safety deposit boxes in his banks would be too. Where better to keep his stash than with an acquaintance who owed him big time?

  When George arrived at Brad’s place with Ellie in tow, he explained away her presence by saying Sam was sick and Rosa was away. Ellie told us that he had threatened he would go home and kill Sam if she didn’t play along with this story. For that alone, I could kill him. He paid for it when he made the error of putting Ellie in the bedroom, with a phone beside the bed, while he talked to Brad.

  Brad handed over the lock-box but in his hurry, George had forgotten to bring the key. But for that mistake, we would never have got to Brad’s in time. George needed the contents immediately in order to effect his escape; unfortunately for him, it was sturdy and fastened by a big padlock. They tried unsuccessfully, for some minutes, to open it with Brad’s meagre collection of tools and so they needed to knock on several neighbours’ doors until they were able to borrow a small pry bar. Once it was open, George had checked the contents and stuffed them in his pockets.

  And then he turned.

  We learned that George knew about Brad’s gun because Brad had boasted about it at one time. He paid for his braggadocio. George demanded that he hand over the weapon and rewarded Brad by pistol whipping him into unconsciousness.

  Why George left in Brad’s Toyota, and took Ellie, is a mystery. Steve’s theory is that he saw the police cars and could not get to the car he had taken in North Van. So he took Brad’s car and dragged Ellie along as insurance.

  As for George, during the night, he underwent surgery and is still unconscious. He is handcuffed to a bed in St. Paul’s under police guard. When he regains consciousness, he will be formally charged with kidnapping, assault, money laundering and maybe more. The Crown Prosecutor’s office is working on other charges related to organized crime and conspiracy.

  There is one loose end. Sam told us that George received a phone call at nine last night which set him off. Stammo traced it back to a disposable cellphone. We may never know who made that call. Steve thinks that maybe one of the gang escaped from the ambush in the alley and called George.

  The reason Steve and I are here, waiting for Sandi, is to tie up the case against George for Kevin’s murder. I have told Steve and Stammo everything I know about the case and I have held nothing back. It took several hours and is one of the reasons we haven’t slept.

  While I am still mulling over all that Brad has told us, I see Sandi striding towards the building. As she walks though the revolving door, she spies me. With a look of annoyance she heads for the security guard. Steve gets up and walks towards her with his ID in hand. I follow.

  “Ms. Palmer, I’m detective Waters of the Vancouver Police Department.”

  She ignores him and glares at me. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Mr. Rogan is helping us in an ongoing investigation. It might be better if we all go to your office.”

  She turns from me and affixes her glare on Steve; then shrugs and leads the way to the elevators.

  In her office she says, “Well I suppose you’d better sit down.” The very model of graciousness. She also sits and I notice that the chair behind her desk has been adjusted so that she is several inches higher than the people in her guest chairs. Some corporate ego thing, I guess. “What do you want to know?” At least she avoids the I’m a very busy person cliché.

  Steve has told me, in no uncertain terms, that he will conduct the interview with Sandi and that I am only to speak if he directs a question to me.

  “Ms. Palmer, your company announced that it had received authorization from the Therapeutic Products Directorate of Health Canada to proceed with human trials of your new drug Addi-ban, is that correct?”

  Sandi frowns. This is not a question that she was expecting.

  “Yes.”

  “And you announced it on Friday November twelfth. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ms. Palmer, when did you first learn that the human trials had been approved?”

  She hesitates. Gives a furtive glance out the window. She is deciding whether to tell the truth. Steve spots it too. “It would be best if you told the truth here, Ms. Palmer.”

  She snaps him a hard look for a moment… and then deflates.

  “We received the approval on Friday October twenty-ninth.”

  “That would be three weeks before you announced it?” Steve’s question is rhetorical. “QX4 is a public company. I understand that you are bound to publicly disclose any news that might affect the share price and that you should do so immediately. Can you tell me why you delayed this particular bit of news?”

  “We would have announced it right away but then, when Kevin died, we decided to sit on the information. The company knew that Kevin’s death would be disastrous for the share price, so we decided to let that happen bef
ore we made the announcement. Two announcements at the same time, one good and one bad, might have been very confusing for the investing public.”

  “Hmmm.” Steve is playing it exactly right. “When you say ‘we’ decided, who specifically do you mean?”

  “Mr. Walsh, mainly… in consultation with me.”

  Clever George. He let Kevin’s death push down the share prices so that he could buy cheap, then announce the approvals of the trials and watch his money grow.

  “And when did you and Mr. Walsh make this decision?”

  “On the Monday following Kevin’s death.”

  Steve is silent, hoping perhaps that Sandi will supply more. She does not.

  “On the Friday, when you received the approval from Health Canada, who knew about it?” This is the question. George knew about the approval and he knew about Kevin’s illicit drug testing. So he made the decision to kill Kevin. If word of the illicit drug testing got out, QX4 would be finished for ever and George would lose millions. Kevin’s death by suicide would only cause a temporary blip in the share prices, one of which he could take advantage.

  “Only me. There was a slip up by our mail room. The package was addressed to Kevin but he was off that day; he was very depressed about something.” She cuts a sideways glance at me. She wants to know if I have told the police about Kevin’s illegal testing. I keep a stony face and she continues. “The mail room boy delivered the package to Kevin’s office, this office, when it arrived on Friday morning. It sat here all day until about five thirty.

  “I was out of the office in the morning, on personal business.” It was on that Friday morning when she learned about the death of her brother. “I went to get some papers from Kevin’s desk and found the courier envelope. I saw who it was from and knew I had to open it.”

  “What did you do next?” Steve asks.

  “Well, I thought I should tell Kevin first but I couldn’t get hold of him. So I called George—Mr. Walsh that is.”

  “How did he react when you told him?” Steve asks. There is another question that I want to ask but I bite my tongue.