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

by Robert P. French

  We are gathered around the monitor connected to the interview-room camera, agreeing our strategy. In addition to Steve, Stammo and me, there are two people whom we all agree we can trust. I think it is the first time I have seen Sarge out of uniform; he went with Steve to pick up Varga and he is going to play a big part in our little charade, although, for his own protection, we have not informed him of all the issues in this case. The other is Hank King from the Crown Prosecutor’s office: gray-haired, hawk-like and with a mind like a steel trap; we have told him everything that we have learned or that we suspect.

  “OK. Let’s do it.” Steve stands, adjusts the tiny earpiece and walks out of the room. Within fifteen seconds, we see him on the monitor entering the interview room.

  Immediately, Varga stands. “Sergeant Waters, have you contacted my good friend Superintendent Cathcart as I demanded?” He has lost none of his pomposity.

  “Yes sir, I did. He said that he is unable to come right now,” Steve lies.

  It is like a slap in the face. Varga visibly flinches but does not deflate as I expected he would. “Then I…” He stops himself. I think he is about to ask to have a lawyer present.

  “Yes sir?”

  He is undecided for a moment, then says, “Then I suggest you ask all your questions now so that I can go.”

  He sits down and Steve follows suit.

  Varga has been told that he is needed to answer some questions regarding his wife’s death, so Steve’s first question is going to throw him. I find myself smiling in anticipation and flash a glance at Stammo. He is wearing his wolf’s grin. I’m glad he’s had my back the last few days.

  “Mr. Varga, for how long were you and Mark Wright running your money-laundering operation?”

  A look of panic springs into Varga’s eyes. It lasts for less than a second, replaced by a look of puzzlement. It fools no-one; his face has turned several shades whiter. If he is going to ask for his lawyer, now would be a good time.

  “If Superintendent Cathcart is not available, I insist upon seeing someone more senior than a mere sergeant.” He stands and glares down at Steve.

  “Sit down please sir.” Steve’s voice is measured. “Or I will have to have you handcuffed to the table.”

  This time, Varga deflates as he sits. It’s a perfect state of mind for him to be in as Steve delivers the next blow.

  “So when you discovered that Mark had stolen two million dollars of the money you were laundering, you murdered him?”

  “NO! I didn’t even know he’d taken the money until—” Too late he stops himself. Steve broke him in under ninety seconds by accusing him of a murder we know he didn’t commit.

  Beside me, I hear Hank King murmur “Prima facie.” Admitting to his involvement in the money-laundering operation will give him a motive for murdering Terry, which in turn gives us grounds for a search warrant.

  Sarge gets up to go but Hank holds up a finger, signaling him to wait.

  In the monitor, we see Steve shift his posture to mirror Varga’s.

  “Mr. Varga,” he says quietly. “We have some sympathy for your situation.”

  Varga looks up, hope daring to break through the defeat on his face.

  “Your only sin was gambling in the wrong place. We know they blackmailed you into taking part in the money-laundering scheme.”

  “That’s right.” Varga sits up straighter and leans forward and I smile as I watch Steve do the same. “They threatened to expose me at the Bank, I couldn’t allow that could I?” Steve nods and pats Varga’s forearm and the VP of one of the country’s biggest banks recites a lengthy justification of his actions ending in, “…and so none of our clients lost any money as a result.”

  “Good enough,” Hank says into the microphone and we see Steve nod his acknowledgement. Hank, in turn, nods to Sarge, who picks up the paperwork for the warrant and heads out to go see the on-duty judge.

  In the interview room, Steve says, “I understand completely Mr. Varga and I think we can go very lightly on you… if you can help us with just one thing.”

  “Absolutely Sergeant Waters, anything.” I smile at the fact that Steve is no longer a ‘mere’ sergeant.

  “I want you to tell me about the police officer who has been involved in this whole operation.”

  The fawning expression is replaced by one of naked fear. Varga is unconsciously shaking his head. The video camera’s resolution is not good enough to show it but I am betting that a cold sweat is beading its way on to Varga’s forehead.

  Steve’s voice is soothing. “Sir, if you are prepared to testify in court about Superintendent Cathcart’s involvement, we can offer you protection and we will grant you full immunity for your part in the money-laundering operation. I have a prosecutor waiting outside, willing to sign a confidential letter with your lawyer guaranteeing not to charge you with money-laundering in return for your co-operation.”

  The look passing over Varga’s face makes me think of the Bard: The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief, to him that bears the strong offence’s cross. But there is something else. Confusion perhaps. He is silent for a long time, then, “Alright, in return for full immunity, I will give evidence about Superintendent Cathcart’s ah… complicity.”

  “Why don’t I leave you to call your lawyer. When he gets here we’ll sign the documents,” Steve says and leaves the room.

  Varga pulls out his cellphone. The wait for his lawyer to arrive will give us the time we need.

  We are playing a game against time. We need to get some proof of Varga’s guilt in Terry Wright’s murder before the immunity letter gets signed with his lawyer. The forensic team at the Wright house has worked out the routes by which Varga could have left the property and the members have combed the areas in detail. They have found two slivers of material caught in a fence. One has been matched to a tear in the green t-shirt that Terry was wearing when he was killed.

  The good news is: Varga’s lawyer, named Sigmund Rice, a corporate type with an expensive suit and a pot belly, was difficult to contact; when Varga first called him, he was in church with his cell off. It took several calls followed by a two hour wait before he arrived. Steve showed him the footage of his client admitting to money-laundering and left them together for a while.

  The bad news is: by the time Sarge got the on-duty judge to sign the search warrant, allowing the second forensic team to enter Varga’s property—and the third team to examine his car, parked below this building—over an hour has passed.

  Steve has badgered the forensic teams and, so far, we do not have everything we need.

  Now Steve, Stammo and I are watching the monitor. Stammo is biting his nails

  There is a letter on the table between Hank King and Sigmund Rice.

  “This seems straightforward,” says Rice. “You are giving my client immunity from prosecution on charges of money-laundering, if he assists you in your inquiries into corruption in the Police Department.”

  “Correct,” King says.

  “Hmmm… I think you need to amend this,” Rice gives a creepy smile.

  “How?”

  “I want you to extend it to immunity from charges of money-laundering and all other activities arising therefrom.”

  I feel myself holding my breath and note the concern on the faces of my colleagues. If Varga suspects that we know about Terry’s murder and has communicated his suspicions to Rice, they are going to want blanket immunity to cover that too.

  “Why would I do that? It’s far too vague,” says King with a snort.

  “Firstly, the police made mention of my client being involved in illegal gambling and secondly, they accused him of murdering his colleague, Mark Wright, which he patently did not do. I want those specific things covered in the letter.”

  King makes a play of thinking about this, then gets up, looks up at the video camera and leaves the room.

  Varga is about to say something to his lawyer, but the latter points to the camera. And signals Sshhh.<
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  Within seconds, King enters our room. “Have you got it yet?”

  “No.”

  “Crap! I guess I can stall for a bit.” He waits a few minutes then leaves and reappears on the monitor as he enters the interview room.

  “My bosses are OK with those changes. Give me a moment to write them up,” he says and leaves again. Varga and Rice sit silently, not wanting to talk in front of the camera. I take some small pleasure in the fact that the silence is costing Varga five hundred bucks an hour in legal fees.

  Before King reenters our room, Steve’s phone rings. “Yeah… OK… How long? … OK, as fast as you can.”

  He hits the end button. “We might just make it,” he sighs.

  “Tell us about your money-laundering activities please, Mr. Varga.” Steve is relaxed and friendly and both Varga and his lawyer seem to be the same.

  “I was in debt to a gambling operation, not out of control you understand, but I needed a little time to pay. The man I owed the money to—”

  “That would be Dominique Dufresne?” Steve interrupts.

  “Yes. He threatened me. I had to do as he asked.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Back in June of last year, Seth Harris, from my wife’s church,” the last word comes out as a sneer, “had enlisted the help of Mark Wright who said that he could hack into the bank’s computers if there was someone on the inside to handle the money once it had been through the clients’ accounts. They forced me to go along with it, otherwise I would have been exposed to the Bank as a gambler.”

  Beside me, Stammo shakes his head. “Slime ball,” he grunts.

  “Was Mark being pressured too?” Steve asks.

  “No,” the distaste in Varga’s voice is strong. “He just did it for the money.”

  “Do you know who was behind the money-laundering?”

  “Yes, some criminal in jail back east. I don’t know his name but Seth worked for him and so did… the police officer you want to expose.”

  “Superintendent Cathcart?”

  Varga looks at his lawyer who nods.

  “Yes.”

  “So how did the money-laundering operation work?” Steve is switching between subjects to try and catch Varga off guard.

  “Mark cracked the bank’s encryption in October. Seth had bribed or blackmailed someone at the phone company to connect a device to the lines into the bank’s internet banking network. It recorded people’s banking transactions and routed them through to computers in Mark’s house. Mark’s computers decrypted the transactions and got the account numbers, usernames and passwords of thousands of customers.

  “Seth worked with the drug dealers. He would give them a list of names and account numbers and the dealers would have someone deposit cash into the accounts. It was always under ten thousand dollars, to avoid the bank having to report the transaction to the federal government. Then he would log on to the clients’ accounts and transfer the money out of the clients’ accounts into an account which I controlled. I transferred eighty-five percent of the monies deposited to offshore accounts. The other fifteen percent was the fee for doing the transaction which went into an account controlled by your Superintendent.”

  “How much money were you laundering?” Steve asks.

  Varga smiles. He almost looks proud. “We were processing money for drug dealers and gamblers throughout Western Canada. Last month we processed just over fifteen million dollars.”

  “Holy shit,” I hear Stammo gasp.

  In the interview room, Steve doesn’t miss a beat. “So your fee last month was two and a quarter million dollars. How much of that did you get?”

  “Mark and I both received a hundred thousand dollars for our services.”

  By using words like fee, processing and services, Varga is trying to add an air of legitimacy to what he has done.

  Then Steve asks Varga the question that I was thinking. “How much of the fee did Seth Harris receive for his services?” Steve is using Varga’s own language patterns to maintain the sense of rapport with him.

  “I don’t know, you would have to ask him.”

  Interesting, Varga doesn’t know Seth has been murdered. I wonder if Steve is going to tell him.

  “So what went wrong?” Steve asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean?” Steve has raised his voice; he is changing tactics, switching from good cop to bad cop. “There you all were making money hand-over-fist, then Terry Wright and your wife get murdered within less than two days of each other. Something went wrong wouldn’t you say?”

  Varga looks down at the floor. He is fiddling with his wedding ring.

  “Well Mr. Varga,” Steve stands up. “What went wrong?”

  Varga mumbles something and his lawyer tells him to be quiet.

  “The only way you’re free from prosecution is if you’re completely straight with us.” Steve’s voice is quieter.

  Varga’s lawyer leans over and whispers something in his ear. Varga nods and looks up at Steve. “It may have been my fault,” he says. “I told Seth that I wanted out. I told him that the bank would eventually start to ask questions about the account all the money was passing through. I told him that I couldn’t go on; that I wouldn’t.”

  “When was this?”

  “Two days before Terry passed away.” The euphemism angers me.

  “How did Seth react?” Steve asks.

  “He exploded. He got physically violent with me. He hit me repeatedly in the stomach and back. I can show you the bruises. He’s someone you should be arresting. He told me I had to go on and that I didn’t understand the people I was dealing with. He said that he couldn’t guarantee what would happen if I tried to back out.” Varga thinks for a moment. “But it was strange now that I think back on it. He was angry, sure, but I think he was also frightened of what might happen to him if I backed out.” He stares off into the distance.

  “Did you ever speak to your friend Superintendent Cathcart about your wanting out?”

  “No, why would I?” he says distractedly. For some reason, his response jars me. There is something that doesn’t feel right. Steve seems not to notice anything; maybe I’m imagining things.

  “So after you told Seth that you wanted out, what happened next?”

  “The next evening, two women came to my house and demanded to see me. Ugly, brutish women they were. My wife answered the door, they quite frightened her. I met with them in my study and they told me that if I tried to get out now that I would regret it. They were very menacing. After they had gone, I spoke to Mark and he said that he had met them and that they worked for Inspector Cathcart. He sounded frightened.” Varga looks Steve in the face. “Sergeant Waters, I believe that Seth Harris killed Terry Wright and those women murdered my Marguerite in order to keep Mark and I in line.” He seems so sincere that I am getting a new respect for his ability to tell a bald-faced lie. I wonder if other parts of his story may be less than truthful and I wonder…

  Steve drops his bombshell. “We believe that they are complicit in Seth Harris’ murder, too.”

  Varga’s eyes go like saucers and he sways in his seat. Rice, his lawyer has to steady him. Varga’s eyes snap upwards toward the camera and it feels like he is looking straight at me. “Sergeant Waters, you must protect me,” he says. But it feels like he is pleading with me, not Steve, and just what is he trying to tell me?

  My mind is drawn away from the question by the ringing of Steve’s phone on the desk in front of me. As agreed, Stammo picks it up, listens for a while and a rare smile crosses his face.

  “Gotcha!” he says.

  64

  Cal

  He looks each of us over. “If I had been asked to guess who was knocking on my door at three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, I would never have guessed you three. I suppose it must be important, so come in.”

  Inspector Vance’s apartment is in a modern building in Yaletown.

  Steve leads and I wheel
Stammo into the living room.

  I really appreciate that Steve has brought me to this meeting. Vance will be at my disciplinary hearing tomorrow and it will help that he sees what I have been doing… I hope.

  After enquiring about Stammo’s health, he asks, “So what can I do for you three?”

  Steve takes the lead. “Thanks to some excellent work by Cal and Nick, we have solved the Terry Wright case.”

  A big smile spreads over his frog-like face. “You’re kidding, who was it?”

  Steve tells Vance about the case including all the forensic evidence we got while Varga was being interrogated. “At the scene, we found evidence of Terry’s clothing, with some other material that we matched to Varga’s coat, which is definitely the coat that we saw in the video. But the real clincher was that we found blood on a pair of Varga’s shoes. It has been sent for DNA matching which I have asked for quickly; it’s O-negative which was Terry’s blood type. In addition, we found a tiny piece of Lego in the trunk of Varga’s car. It had a partial print of Terry’s on it. When we presented him with the evidence, he confessed.”

  “Was it a clean confession?” It’s the question that is always asked.

  “Very clean. His lawyer was present and although he tried to stop him, Varga just kept talking.”

  “You got him at 275 Cordova?”

  “Yes.”

  Vance mulls it over. “That’s good work guys but you didn’t come to my apartment on a Sunday afternoon to tell me this did you?”

  “No sir. I’ll come straight to the point. There’s a senior member in the department who is up to his ears in this money-laundering scheme.”

  Vance’s finger’s tighten over the arm of his chair. “Steve, before you go any further, are you sure?”