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

by Robert P. French

  She’s kind of cute and wholesome looking but she’s not Sherri Oliver.

  My mind revs. I take a step back.

  “I work with Mark.” It’s the only thing I can think to say. “I needed to pick something up from him but he’s not home.”

  “So how did you get in?” Very suspicious.

  “The door was unlocked, so I just let myself in. Thought I’d wait inside.”

  I don’t know if she’s buying it.

  “OK.” She is backing into the elevator, her suspicion now laced with fear.

  “Is there a message I can give Mark?” I ask.

  “Uh, yes. OK.” She’s nervous. “Tell him Natalie was here. Tell him I’ll call him.”

  As the elevator door starts to screech closed, I see her reach for the button to take her down.

  My guess is she’s Mark’s girlfriend. She expected him to be here. That, combined with the TV being on, means he’s almost certainly going to be back at any moment. Maybe they’ll meet in the lobby. I look down the hallway. At the far end is the exit to the stairwell. Good sense demands I hightail it out of here but… curiosity triumphs over good sense.

  I go back into the apartment. I go back to the Mac. I need to find any reference to Sherri Oliver.

  I hear a ring tone. It’s the same as Stammo’s and it’s coming from what I assume is the bedroom. Natalie calling to tell Mark about the stranger in his apartment? If his cell is in his bedroom, then so is he. Maybe he’s a heavy sleeper.

  I’m holding my breath. Waiting for the sound of his voice.

  It doesn’t come.

  The ringing stops. How sound asleep is he?

  A cold finger strokes my spine. Juliet’s nurse says, Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! just before she discovers…

  Three strides take me to the bedroom door. I yank it open.

  Three eyes stare at me. One is greenish, one is brown and the third one, drilled into the centre of his forehead, is black and red-rimmed.

  My hopes of saving Ariel before morning shatter into tiny pieces. Where do I go from here?

  23

  Cal

  Thursday

  Steve has given me the info I needed from Forensics and I feel a twinge of guilt for not reciprocating, especially seeing as he’s letting me watch the interrogation through the two-way glass. I’m pretty sure Thomas Radcliffe is guilty of killing Mark Traynor to keep his dirty little secret and I’m equally sure that Steve will be able to break him. But I’m also almost certain that he is not responsible for kidnapping Ariel Bradbury and I can get Steve to test this theory.

  After I found the body, I spent some time on Traynor’s computer before the police arrived. I checked his files, emails, contacts, calendar and social media sites for a reference to Sherri Oliver but could find nothing; maybe VPD forensics will unearth something. Only one thing caught my eye, an entry in his calendar, a meeting for tomorrow evening at seven o’clock. There was no name. Just a line of dollar signs followed by the words ‘The Lift.’

  The Lift is a high-end bar and restaurant in Coal Harbour, way beyond the means of Mark Traynor. My guess is that he thought he was going to meet Thomas Radcliffe there to get his ‘severance pay.’ We’ll see.

  In contrast to his very dapper lawyer, Radcliffe looks as worn out as I am. Steve had him arrested in the early hours of the morning on child pornography and voyeurism offences. With the overwhelming weight of evidence garnered from a search of his office yesterday evening, Radcliffe is screwed. Satisfying, but I am impatient for him to get onto what interests me.

  Steve has finished questioning him about the movies.

  Time for the switch.

  Fighting off the tiredness that losing a night of sleep bestows on me, I focus all my attention on Radcliffe. He’s sitting at a table facing the two-way mirror and I have a ring-side seat.

  “Where were you last night between eight and eleven PM?” Steve asks.

  Before Radcliffe can answer, his lawyer interjects, “How is that relevant to the charges?”

  “It’s not,” Steve says smoothly. “There’s something else we need to ask your client about.”

  No reaction from Radcliffe.

  “What specifically is that?” the lawyer asks.

  “It’s about Mark Traynor, a former employee of your client.”

  That gets a reaction. Radcliffe’s pupils dilate. His lawyer’s eyes narrow.

  “What ab—?”

  “Don’t say anything, Thomas.” The lawyer’s eyes drill into Steve’s, “What is this about Sergeant Waters?”

  “Mr. Radcliffe, did you kill Mark Traynor yesterday?”

  “Mark’s dead?” He seems genuinely surprised.

  “Don’t say anything more, Thomas.”

  Steve barrels on. “Did you kill him?”

  “Sergeant Waters!”

  “Why would I kill Mark?” Radcliffe ignores his lawyer’s instructions. He looks terrified.

  “To stop him ratting you out about your kiddy-porn movies.”

  “I wouldn’t kill—”

  “Thomas, that’s enough!” The lawyer’s voice is a shout. He sounds like an angry parent. “Sergeant Waters, are you accusing my client of murder?”

  “Not yet. I’m just trying to eliminate him from our inquiries.”

  “May we have a moment Sergeant?”

  Steve nods and leaves the interview room. He enters the viewing room, turns off the speaker and taps on the glass. Radcliffe and his lawyer go into a huddle.

  I use the break in the action. “Steve, when you go back in, ask him about firing Sherri Oliver. She’s the key to Ariel’s kidnapping. She was posing as the cop at the school on the day Ariel disappeared. She poses as a boy named Justin. When she gets a girl who seems like a good target, she gets a cell phone to them by leaving it in their garden. She gave one to Ellie.”

  “Ellie? She tried to groom your Ellie?”

  I nod. “She even talked to her. When Ellie told me she had spoken to ‘Justin,’ I wondered if the kidnapper was using another kid, a boy, to talk to the targets. But when I was talking to Ellie about it, I heard Bart Simpson’s voice on the TV. Bart’s voice is done by a woman. I realized that Sherri could be Justin’s voice.

  “There’s one of two possibilities. One is that Radcliffe is the kidnapper and Sherri Oliver is his accomplice but if that were the case, why would he have volunteered her name to me when I asked him if he had recently fired any employees. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Steve thinks for a second and nods his head. He’s not happy; he liked Radcliffe for the kidnapping.

  “Radcliffe told me he found her going through some files on his computer. Find out what files. There may be a clue to finding her.”

  There is a knock on the glass behind me. Radcliffe’s lawyer is signalling for Steve to come back into the interview room. Steve turns the speaker back on and leaves the viewing room.

  He re-enters the interview room.

  “Thomas,” says the lawyer, “please tell Sergeant Waters what you were doing yesterday evening.”

  “I was in a dinner meeting with investors from eight until close to midnight. You can check with my secretary, she was there the whole time. She can give you the names of the people I met with if you want to talk to them too.”

  Steve nods. “Give me the name, address and phone number of your secretary please.”

  Radcliffe complies and Steve casually scribbles down the details.

  While he is still writing, Steve asks, “Did you have an appointment with Mr. Traynor tomorrow night at seven at The Lift restaurant?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  Crap. So who was Traynor going to meet? Maybe no one. Most likely Radcliffe told Traynor he’d meet him there in order to make him think he was actually going to get his ‘severance pay.’

  Steve ignores his question and does another switch.

  “You told Cal Rogan that you fired Sherri Oliver because she was snooping in some files on your c
omputer. What files were they, Mr. Radcliffe?”

  It gets a reaction: puzzlement.

  Radcliffe rubs his nose. “When I walked in on her, she had a number of files open. Files on the families of the kids on my show. I don’t remember which ones.”

  “Any other files?”

  Radcliffe slowly shakes his head but I recognize the look on his face. He wants to be seen to be cooperating. Maybe the next thing he says will be what he thinks Steve wants to hear.

  “Yeah… I remember… It wasn’t a file, but she also had a window open to BC Ferries’ website.”

  Interesting. The internet café Sherri used to communicate with the girls she has been grooming is on Salt Spring Island and, unless you have a boat or a plane, the only way to get there is by ferry.

  “Do you remember which route she was looking at?”

  “Yeah, it was Tsawwassen to Pender Island.”

  Not Salt Spring. For some reason the name of Pender Island throws up a red flag but I don’t remember the context. It’s something recent, but what? I must be getting old or maybe it’s just the tiredness. I haven’t slept for twenty-six hours and I may not sleep until I find Ariel.

  I listen to Steve interrogating Thomas Radcliffe about Mark Traynor’s murder but I’m only listening with half an ear.

  When Steve switches to questions about Ariel’s disappearance, I get up and leave. I need to check in with the Forensics guys and then find out if Stammo has come through for me again.

  24

  Ariel

  They let me play in the garden yesterday, it was nice but I still cried ’cos I miss Mommy and Daddy so much. And I wanted to see the dogs. They bark at night. But they wouldn’t let me.

  I’ve been here soooo long now. I wonder if I’ll ever see Mommy and Daddy again. They’ve given me lots of toys to play with but I just want to go home.

  That click! It’s the key to the door. The woman who doesn’t speak English. But it’s not. It’s that policewoman. She’s not in uniform but she might… “Are you here to take me back to Mommy and Daddy?”

  She smiles. “Not today but I do have some good news for you.”

  I run over to her. “What is it?”

  “Mommy and Daddy are getting better and they will be out of the hospital soon, so you will be going home to see them very soon.”

  I can’t stop myself from jumping up and down. “When? When? When?”

  “Very soon,” she says. “And do you know what? Mommy says she really wants to see you dance for her, so she asked me to teach you some new dances. Would you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the quicker you learn the sooner you’ll be seeing them.”

  “OK. Teach me.”

  “First you need to put on your costume, the red one with the cute little skirt.”

  “Does it have to be that one?” That was the one I was wearing when that man came to see me. He looked at me like… I dunno but it was yucky.

  “Yes, sweetie, it does.” She smiles but she looks a little sad.

  25

  Cal

  Forensics said that the phone that Sherri Oliver used to call Ellie is a burner. She used it from Salt Spring, then turned it off and unfortunately, as of nine this morning, it hasn’t been turned on again. Anyway, when it is, they said they’d ask Steve to call me.”

  Stammo grunts. “So you’re thinking we’re gonna see Sherri Oliver on the video my RCMP buddy emailed from Salt Spring.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well let’s see. It’s from last week when Ariel was on Facebook talking to ‘Justin.’”

  He has already queued up the tape. He hits play.

  “The resolution’s not great, it was from a bank machine opposite the cafe.”

  As we watch, a bunch of kids looking like students come out of the cafe and an elderly person walks in. Then the entrance to the cafe is blocked by a large man using the ATM. “Hurry up,” Stammo tells him to no avail. He takes his time making his transaction. He leans forward to squint at the ATM’s screen and we can’t even see the sidewalk on either side of the cafe entrance. “Come on!” Stammo yells at him. After what seems an age he finishes his business and wanders off. Just as he does so, I catch a glimpse of the back of a girl in a ponytail going into the cafe.

  “That could be her,” I say and note the video’s timecode. 2:57:30 PM. Just as I thought.

  “You told Steve about her didn’t you?” Stammo asks, ever suspicious.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Good ’cos—”

  “Pause it!” I yell. He does.

  “What is it?”

  I stare at the screen in horror. “Can you magnify that guy.” I can see my finger trembling as I point. Stammo zooms in. The man is leaning against the wall just to the right of the cafe’s front window. He looks like he’s standing guard. Watching out for something.

  My blood runs cold.

  “I know that ugly great face,” Stammo breathes. “Who the fuck is he, Rogan?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ve seen him before somewhere, I’m sure of it. And it doesn’t feel good to me.”

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “Heck if I know, run the video.”

  We watch people walking past the cafe. The man seems to study each one intently as if he’s looking for someone.

  We wait, watching for forty-five minutes.

  Then Sherri Oliver walks out of the cafe. Even with the video quality, I can tell it’s her. She turns to our left and walks out of frame down the sidewalk.

  A second passes, then another and then another. The man looks left and right, eases himself off the wall and follows her.

  “What the—”

  “Nick. I gotta go. I promised Arnold that I’d do some things for him. I’ll talk to you later. Just don’t talk to anyone about what we’ve just seen.” Even as I speak, I’m up and on my way to the door.

  “Just wait a goddamn minute, Rogan—”

  His voice is cut off as the door shuts behind me.

  26

  Stammo

  I don’t feel as vulnerable as I did on Monday. I’ve got a blanket across my knees covering my dear old Glock 17. I’m in my wheelchair, on the edge of the tiny paved triangle known as Pigeon Park, a couple of doors away from the entrance to the flophouse. I’m surrounded by the usual trash. There’s a young guy injecting himself with heroin, a bone-skinny crack-whore talking to her pimp and the usual gathering of drunks getting sloppier and louder by the minute. I’ll never figure out how Rogan got to be part of this scene. He’s explained it to me but I still don’t get it.

  I look down the street and see a face I know. It’s not a happy memory. I swivel my chair away from him. Please God he hasn’t seen my face; I don’t want to deal with the aggravation right now.

  “Hello Nicky boy.” I’m out of luck. I swivel back. He towers above me, straggly hair, fat belly, tattoos. “Good to hear about your accident.” He sneers. “Helps to make up for what you put me through.”

  “Yeah. How’d you enjoy your vacation in Millhaven, Carl?” I inch my hand under the blanket.

  The name of Canada’s toughest prison brings a look to his face that makes me wish I’d kept my big mouth shut. Carl’s big, ugly and mean but Millhaven is full of criminals that make him look like Mother Teresa. I’m betting his stay was not a happy one.

  He leans forward and grabs the front of my jacket. I can feel his breath. Smells like something died in there. “Listen you little motherfucker,” he rasps. “You ain’t a cop no more so I’m going to teach you a little lesson.”

  His face is so close to mine that he doesn’t see my hand slip under the blanket and close around the grip.

  As I pull out the Glock, the front sight snags on the blanket and he sees the movement.

  He’s fast.

  His free hand snakes down and locks over the barrel, forcing it back down between my legs.

  He lets go of my shirt and I see his hand bunch into a fist
. He signals the punch, big time, but in my chair there’s nothing I can do to avoid it.

  Shit. What am I doing out here on the streets? This is gonna hurt.

  “Carl!” The voice is not loud but there is a tone of command in it.

  Carl looks at the speaker who’s standing behind me. There’s a look on his face. Not fear exactly, more respect.

  He drops his fist and lets go of the Glock. The temptation to put a bullet in his knee is big but it’s not the best idea I’ve ever had.

  I swivel the chair to look at the newcomer and I don’t know which of us is more surprised.

  “Tyler.”

  He doesn’t respond to me.

  “Wait for me inside,” he says.

  Carl nods. He looks down at me and smiles—it’s not a pretty sight—then turns around, walks along the sidewalk and goes into the flophouse.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Stammo?” Suddenly the man who just gave orders to a great hulking thug is a young kid again.

  This may be my only chance to talk him around. “More to the point Tyler is what are you doing here? Your Dad and Mom are worried sick about you.”

  “Did he ask you to track me down?” He sighs. “Yes of course he did.” He looks around him. “Listen, Mr. Stammo. There’s no way I’m going back. My Dad wants me to work in a factory for Chris’sakes.”

  “I understand that,” I say. “Once I moved out here, I never wanted to go back east. But the people you’re mixed up with are a bad crowd. I don’t know much about this Bookman character you’re hanging out with but he’s gonna get you into a lot of trouble.”

  “There’s a lot of stuff you don’t know, Mr. Stammo. I can’t just leave like that, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

  It doesn’t ring true. I’ve got to find a way.

  “Listen—”

  He cuts me off quickly. “Tell Dad and Mom I’m OK and not to worry.” He turns away from me. “Just leave it alone Mr. Stammo. For your own good.”