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

by Robert P. French

  He wipes his eyes on a monogrammed cotton handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Cal. Wrong sort of hex.” He chuckles again but avoids a return to the hysterics. “It’s hex as in hexadecimal.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Computer code.”

  “Oboe is blood is computer code?”

  “Well, yeah.” He perceives my perplexity. “Do you know what a byte is?”

  “A computer character?”

  “Right. In computer terms, each byte is described by two hexadecimal characters.” As he is speaking, he pulls a laptop out of his briefcase and starts it up. It is obviously a lot better than my computer at home because it starts up almost instantly and the desktop looks different. Damien sees my look. “Linux,” he says, which means nothing to me.

  He opens a document. “OK,” he says. “A byte is often expressed using two hexadecimal characters. Hexadecimal means sixteen. So each hexadecimal character has a value between zero and fifteen, which is expressed by the numbers 0 through 9 and the letters ‘a’ through ‘f’. So look at this.”

  He types the letters and numbers 0b0e15b100d into the document.

  “Look at the first four hex characters, zero b zero e. If you treat the zeros as the letter o. it spells ‘oboe’. Now the next two characters are 1 and 5. If you treat the 1 as an I and the 5 as an S, the 15 becomes ‘IS’. Now in the next five characters if you treat the number 1 as the letter ‘L’, b one zero zero d becomes ‘blood’.” He types in spaces. “0b0e 15 b100d says ‘oboe is blood’. It’s the same for all the other words you mentioned.”

  I digest this for a while. “What about stab?” I ask.

  He types in 57ab. “It’s a bit of a stretch but the 5 is the s and the 7 is like a ‘T’, kind of. I didn’t make these things up; they are just fun for us geeks. My favorite is ob5e55, obsess.”

  “So what does oboe is blood actually mean then?” I ask.

  “I dunno. It’s just describing a string of bytes. It might be a large number or a code of some sort. I’d need to know the context.”

  “How about I give you a lift home and I’ll explain on the way.”

  Damien may have dashed my hope of a connection between the rituals of the church and the hex words but something else is forming in my mind and I’m not quite sure what it means.

  33

  Cal

  “It’s definitely relevant, Steve.” I can feel the rush. Something in this case is breaking and I’m sure we are getting closer to the truth of what happened to Terry Wright and Elizabeth Varga. Unfortunately the excitement I feel does not blunt the withdrawal symptoms that are ramping up fiercely. “They made a big mistake trying to kidnap Michael Chan.”

  A random thought runs through my head. Could the people who tried to kidnap Michael be the same people who kidnapped me?

  “Why?” the keen, young Eric Street asks.

  “Because this oboe is blood thing is the connection between Terry and Michael. They must have wanted to kidnap Michael so that he couldn’t tell us the whole code. The code must be the key to Terry’s murder. If we can find out what it means everything will fall into place.”

  I know that the significance of oboe is blood has taken us closer to solving this crime but has it put me in more danger from my kidnappers?

  Steve nods. “Also, if we can find the would-be kidnappers we can sweat them. The license plate the kid gave us was from a stolen Mini Cooper but his description was real precise: an Escalade ESV, All Wheel Drive, black ice metallic. Eric’s contacted all the Cadillac dealers in Western Canada to see who bought one in the last year or so. Maybe we can track them down that way.”

  Something about the Cadillac’s description is bothering me but the pain in my bones is too distracting for me to focus.

  “I haven’t got anything back yet but it should be fairly soon.” Eric has a big smile on his face.

  “So, Cal,” Steve asks, “What d’you think should be the next step?”

  This is the first time since I’ve been back in the Department that Steve has asked my opinion. I’ve been pretty much treated like a rookie, kept under Stammo’s wing. It feels good for a moment until I remember why Stammo is not here to supervise me.

  “I think the first thing is to try and get the full code from Michael. I’ll get it to my buddy Damien and we’ll see if he can decipher it, then I—”

  “Who?” Steve interjects, “the witchcraft expert?”

  “Yeah, I forgot to tell you, a couple of years after he left high school he dropped all that goth stuff and got into computers. He consults to organizations like CSIS and the CIA. He was in Germany helping track down a hacker who had got into their government’s most secure email server.”

  Steve shrugs. “OK, but you’ve gotta give it to our own forensic crime unit too.”

  “Sure, of course. Anyway,” I continue, “I also want to talk to Mark Wright. In his living room, he’s got a big computer setup. Terry may have got the code from him.”

  “Good, go for it.” Eric and I both get up.

  “One other thing,” Steve says, “I contacted the Crown Prosecutor’s office. They agreed that Elizabeth being a member of that church and having an affair with the minister’s brother, combined with the picture of the mutilations just like Terry’s, might be enough cause to get a warrant and go search the church’s premises.”

  Oh, this is definitely turning out to be a good day. By this time tomorrow we may have made an arrest. I can’t keep the big, stupid grin from my face.

  On top of this, I feel that my relationship with Steve is moving back to the way it was years ago before I was started on heroin. We were a real team then. It feels good.

  Eric leads the way out of Steve’s office.

  “Oh, Rocky, before you go…”

  I turn back with a smile only to see Steve take a bag out of his desk.

  A brown evidence bag.

  He shakes it and I hear the plastic bottle rattle around inside. “It’s that time again.”

  34

  Cal

  “DO IT. DO IT NOW” My body screams at me.

  “Why not, Cal. You’re busted anyway,” whispers the Beast, who is so much more subtle. “Tomorrow or the day after, the lab results will be back and you’ll be fired. Makes no difference if you take this little hit now. It’ll take the pain away; all the pain. Tomorrow you can work on giving up.”

  The items are laid out before me on the kitchen table: alcohol swab, surgical elastic, spoon, eye dropper, sterile water, lighter, tiny cotton-ball filter, needle and that last precious bag of white powder.

  My hand reaches out and takes the baggie. I open it and pour the contents onto the spoon.

  From nowhere, the image of Terry Wright’s body, forlorn in the forest, comes to mind. In this image I can see the quasi-pentacle. His face changes and it becomes Ellie’s face. My subconscious is telling me something. If the people who killed Terry are the same people who kidnapped me, then they will not think twice about hurting Ellie or Sam. I shudder. I have to solve this crime.

  The Beast laughs. “Come on Rocky,” he whispers, “taking it will stop that picture in your mind. Just use it to ease the pain now. In the morning you’ll feel stronger. You can take charge and go cold turkey. But there’s no point in wasting this last hit.”

  The Beast is right. It can’t make matters worse. Maybe with the pains gone, I can better focus on the details of the crime.

  I feel weak.

  Out of nowhere, I think of Sam. Whenever she feels weak she takes out her father’s five year AA chip; it reminds her what happens when you give up. He gave up, started drinking again and six weeks later he killed himself. Sam never gives up.

  The spoon vibrates; my Blackberry is ringing. I glance at it lying on the other end of the table. Coincidence?

  I press the talk button. “Sam?”

  “Hi, Daddy. Guess what?” Ellie’s enthusiasm explodes out of the phone and my heart melts. Even when I was living on the streets of the down
town east side, I kept my relationship with Ellie intact.

  “Hold on just a minute, Sweetie. There’s something I need to do first.”

  “OK, Daddy. But be quick.”

  I sniff. “I’ll be as quick as I can, my little love.” I put down the phone.

  Do it now and do it fast.

  I take the spoon, get up from the table and step to the sink. Tap on. Spoon under tap. The white powder is carried away and disappears down the drain. I grab the spray and swoosh away any last remnants.

  “Stupid,” sneers the Beast. “Now you’ll have to buy more.” My body joins in with a fierce pain in my leg. I force myself to ignore them both and grab a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol from the end of the counter.

  I pick up the phone. “Hi, Sweetie. I’m back.”

  She prattles on about her day at school, her voice is the sound of a fountain in a peaceful garden. I concentrate on the victories and defeats of her day to keep away the screams of the Beast and the pains of the withdrawal.

  “Daddy.” Her voice has changed to a whisper. “I think Mommy still loves you.”

  The lump in my throat imprisons my reply. Maybe telling her I still love her has got through to her.

  “Do you know why?” she asks.

  “No, Sweetie,” I manage to croak.

  “It’s her new boyfriend.”

  I feel like a voyeur. Like Ellie has become a spy for me. It feels wrong. I should stop Ellie talking like this.

  I fill the silence. “What about him?”

  “Well he’s not a policeman or anything—”

  Decency wins out for once. “Ell, I don’t think you should be talking to me about Mommy’s friend. I don’t think Mommy would like it, do you?”

  “No, but—”

  “OK. So let’s talk about what we are going to do tomorrow night, when you’re with me.” And Sam is with… The Beast chuckles at my thoughts.

  “OK, Daddy,” begrudgingly,“I want to go for dinner at Cactus Club and then…”

  As she talks, her old enthusiasm returns but the thought of Sam with another man sits uncomfortably in my stomach and spoils my enjoyment of it.

  After we say goodnight and make kissy noises over the phone, I hang up and the demands of the Beast tell me where I need to go and what I need to do next.

  While I’m waiting, I tune out the droning voice and think about the events of the day.

  After my urine test, which I took in silence—no questioning why on consecutive days, no attempts to avoid or delay—I visited the Chans and Michael was amazing. While I held the digital recorder he recited the code. It was hundreds of characters long yet something tells me that he recalled it perfectly. I sent the recording to our Forensic Unit and uploaded it to a URL given to me by Damien. Hopefully one of them will tell us what it means.

  Another voice takes over, opening with the familiar words. Its drone is less but I tune it out too and take a sip of coffee, not very good coffee at that. The cup is polystyrene. Only here. Everywhere else the cups are made of paper.

  The Wrights were not at home when I went there. The Rocky part of me was glad because the withdrawal pains were bad; the Cal part really wanted to know where Terry got the code from.

  If he got the code from his father’s computer, what was in the code that made it worth killing him and trying to kidnap Michael? Who would overhear one of them reciting the code and know its importance? Anyone hearing them say oboe is blood would just assume it was gibberish. I turn the possibilities over in my mind… and then I have it. In a flash it becomes crystal clear… and I do not like it one bit.

  “Cal.” The voice cuts through my speculations. “Would you like to share?”

  I get up and walk to the front. After one more sip, I put down the polystyrene cup.

  “Hi. My name’s Rocky and I’m an addict.”

  35

  Cal

  Wednesday

  I have got to solve this case today because tomorrow I’m a dead man. The results of the urine test will be in Steve’s hands by tomorrow morning at the latest and I’ll be out.

  The withdrawal pains are just bearable. Maybe the four Extra Strength Tylenol I took?

  I’m going to get some answers from Mark Wright. It’s seven AM, too early for him to have left the house for the day.

  As I reach up for the bell, the shattered wood is obvious. The door is partially open; it has been forced. I pull my Sig from its holster and push the door open. It is quiet in the house. There is a metallic smell in the still air.

  I look across the tiny entranceway into the living room. The dining-room table is in my line of sight. The three computer monitors are still there but dark, powered off. There is a mousepad and a mouse with its cable hanging off the edge of the table, connected to nothing. The expensive looking computers under the table are gone.

  “Mrs. Wright.”

  No reply.

  I step into the living room, sweeping it with my gaze and my gun. She is slouched on the sofa in a silk robe, eyes staring at me; one long, elegant leg is uncovered, which makes me catch my breath.

  She is motionless.

  “Mrs. Wright?” I hear fear in my voice.

  But it is unfounded.

  “Gone.” Her voice is flat, her body motionless.

  “Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “Gone.” She repeats. Is she referring to Mark or to whomever broke in?

  I cross the room and push open the kitchen door. Empty. Through the kitchen, into the hallway. The bathroom smells of her perfume; it reminds me of being in Terry’s bedroom with her and I feel a tightness in my chest. Terry’s room is exactly as I remember it. Along the hall, I check the master bedroom. Empty.

  As I turn, I startle. Elizabeth Wright is standing, silent, behind me; her eyes wild. And again I feel the catch in my throat.

  She brushes slowly past me, placing one hand on my chest as she does so. One lapel of her robe brushes my jacket and pulls back to reveal the silky rise of her breast. She walks round the foot of the bed and stands across from me and I feel myself breathing faster. I need to get this back on a business footing.

  I cough away the catch in my throat. “Mrs. Wright, what happened here?”

  “Gone,” she says.

  “Who is gone, Mrs. Wright?” I get a strong sense that I might be dealing with a mad woman. I know I should call for immediate backup, including a female officer. I don’t like my reason for not wanting to do so.

  “Terry is gone. Mark is gone. Seth is gone.”

  She fixes her eyes on me as she undoes the belt of her robe.

  “Where is Mark?” The catch is back in my throat.

  She lets her robe fall open, revealing white skin from her throat to below her navel.

  I try to say something… anything.

  She shrugs the robe from her shoulders. She is naked beneath it.

  I have not been with a woman in five years. My libido, long suppressed, is now in full flight.

  She kneels on the bed and I cannot take my eyes from her perfect body. I want this woman so badly. I’ve felt it from the first moment I saw her.

  “Help me to forget… for just a moment.” A tear rolls down her cheek. “Please.” She reaches out a hand to me. “Please.”

  I know I mustn’t do this. It betrays my feelings for Sam. It betrays Elizabeth’s fragile mental state. It betrays my honor as a police officer.

  Steeling myself, I turn around.

  And close the bedroom door.

  It was fast, passionate, with an animal, almost feral intensity and an unbelievable, explosive conclusion. A release we both so desperately needed.

  “Thank you.” She whispers.

  I kiss the top of her head, resting on my chest; my tenderness toward her is counterbalanced by my self-loathing for taking advantage of her.

  “I don’t want to spoil the moment but I do need to ask you some questions.” The cop in me trying to assuage the guilt.

  “That’s OK,
” she sighs. “I feel safe for now.”

  “You remember we talked about Terry repeating oboe is blood and how it annoyed Mark?”

  “Sure.”

  “We have reason to believe that it was part of some sort of computer code which he may have got from Mark’s computer, something important. Mark may have been angry with him for repeating the code, not just a father irritated because his son keeps chanting nonsense.”

  “Step-father. Mark was Terry’s step-father.”

  Ah-hah. That adds strength to my theory.

  “What do you know about Mark’s client?”

  In the silence I feel the movement of her jaws against my chest. She is grinding her teeth. It’s something Sam used to do. I feel a grinding in my gut.

  “Not much. I only met him once. I didn’t like him, he scared me. Mark wouldn’t talk about his work; he said it was confidential, secret. But I didn’t like what it was doing to him. He became very erratic, nervous. He kept saying that it was going to make us a lot of money.”

  “Did he know about your affair with Seth Harris?”

  She shows no reaction at my knowing.

  “I told him about it on Sunday. Told him I wanted to leave him and be with Seth. He stormed out of the house. I was sure he would come back but I haven’t seen him since. I was worried that he would go to Seth and confront him, so I called Seth. He was angry with me for telling Mark.” She is crying, I can feel her tears on my skin. “Seth hasn’t returned my calls after that, so I went to see him yesterday evening at the church. He wouldn’t let me in…” The tears become sobs. “Just told me… that he… never… wanted to see me again.”

  I hold her and stroke her hair until she calms. Her talking seems to be cathartic, or so I tell myself.