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

by Robert P. French

  “Has he been in politics long?” he asks.

  Phew, good, a change of subject. “Not that long. He came straight out of business to win the federal seat eight years ago. He’s a successful entrepreneur. He has, or should I say had, a food importing company. Imported a lot of stuff from Asia, mainly Thailand. He loves Thailand. Says the Thais are lovely people.” I realize I’m wittering on about him but it’s neutral territory. “When he talks about the natural beauty he gets almost, I don’t know, poetic.”

  “Is he married?”

  Less neutral. I just say, “Widowed.”

  Ell comes downstairs with her pink backpack of stuffies. “Let’s go Daddy,” she says effectively stopping the interrogation. Well, it felt like an interrogation.

  Cal finishes his coffee and gets up.

  “Let’s go Elles Bells,” he yells, matching her enthusiasm.

  He picks her up and twirls her around.

  “So I’ll drop her off here tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” I take Ell from his arms and give her a big hug. “Have a terrific time with Dad my wonderful girl.”

  “I will Mommy.” She hugs me again.

  I put her down and they march to the front door. He opens the door and takes her hand then turns to face me. “Why don’t you come with us?” he says.

  “I can’t,” I say and part of me wishes it were not so.

  “Why not?” he persists. I look at him. Why is he asking? Am I wrong about his feelings? But I can’t take that chance, can I?

  “I have some things I have to do.”

  He looks disappointed but Ellie giggles and looks at me. I smile back at her wondering if an eight year-old can keep a confidence. I gently grab her nose and give it a little shake. “Remember what we agreed,” I say.

  “I will,” she giggles again.

  “You will what?” Cal asks.

  “Girl’s secrets,” Ellie says. I smile to cover my worry that she may break under any gentle interrogation he may give her.

  “’Bye Mommy.”

  “’Bye sweetie. ’Bye Cal.”

  He gives me that quirky smile of his. “See you tomorrow.”

  We exchange mad waving as they head down the steps, through the front yard and into his car. After they have driven off, I close the door.

  Damn you, Cal. You are being the mad, wonderful, impulsive man I used to love, all over again.

  32

  Stammo

  Here again. The streets of the downtown east side. I don’t have my Glock with me but I’m in my van so I’m safe from any encounters I might have with pissed-off ex-cons. I’ve just driven the streets looking for familiar faces, faces who might know something about the Bookman and be willing to tell me. I’ve drawn a blank. Not even my old buddy Eddie is around.

  Ever since Bob called me about Tyler, I’ve been thinking about Matt. I know I was a crap father but I want to see him again. And Lucy. Since the brush with death that put me in this wheelchair and this modified van, I’ve wanted to make amends with my kids. Maybe go and see them in Toronto. Maybe I should call my ex, except it’s afternoon back east; she’ll have started drinking by now. Maybe I’ll call Bob later, see if he can do a bit of quid pro quo; help me track down Matt.

  Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe I’ll have a beer and go home.

  I find a meter a block from the Cambie pub, put down the ramp and roll down in the chair. I put the ramp up, lock the doors and make my way to the pub. I like the Cambie. It’s old style. Not like the places that are springing up everywhere, catering to the young and the wealthy. I’ll just have one—

  The Shelby!

  It’s stopped at the lights going South on Cambie. If I can just get close enough to it maybe I can talk to Tyler again. Get him to— Wait. Maybe the Bookman’s driving. If I could get my eyes on him. As I get closer, I can see there’s a passenger who’s blocking my view of the driver. He’s a man about my age, well-groomed, wearing a shirt and tie and his face is familiar. Could he be Carlos Santiago? His eyes meet mine. I definitely know him from somewhere but he shows no signs of recognition. I’m just another wheelchair person in the downtown east side. He looks away, the lights change and the Shelby accelerates away. There’s no way I could get back to my van, get myself inside and follow but I gotta remember that face, something tells me it’s important.

  Real important.

  33

  Cal

  It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The best being my time with Ellie: from the short floatplane flight in the brilliant Spring sunshine, to the exploration of one of the few beaches on the island—where we found tiny crabs and wiggly things under rocks—to this lovely moment on the deck of our B&B. The worst being that I have visited most of the marinas on the island and none of them have responded to my only clue in the search for Ariel. I showed the picture to every person in every marina but no one recognized it. Although I couldn’t get the registration details of the boat that Sherri Oliver escaped in, I saw enough of it to be able to find a picture online that resembled it enough to maybe identify it. But I guess not. And no one recognized Sherri Oliver either. Maybe I’ll get lucky tomorrow?

  “Can we go have dinner now, Daddy?” Her happy little voice pulls me out of the down mood.

  “Sure sweetie.”

  I swallow the last of my gin and tonic and reluctantly pull myself out of my chair. I look out over the water and am amazed once again at the beauty of the Gulf Islands and grateful that I live in Vancouver and can visit them at any time. As I take in the view, I am struck by its familiarity. I’ve seen this specific view before. It’s unusual. It reminds me of…

  Then I get it. The picture on Rebecca Bradbury’s wall. The one with her and her husband and baby Ariel. The view behind them looks just like this view. The dragon with his head in the water. Except that it’s wrongly oriented.

  “Come on, Daddy, I’m hungry.”

  I try to remember the details of the picture. If I were further north… I look to my left. There is a wooded promontory about a mile or so away. I know I need to go there.

  “OK, Elles Bells, let’s go.”

  As I drive I can see the promontory on my right. I’ve just passed one of the marinas nestled in a pleasant cove. If I take the next right it should take me where I want to go. There’s the road. I turn right and accelerate, enjoying the growl of the exhaust. The area is heavily wooded and I can’t see any signs of habitation. As I come to the end of the road, there is just a dirt driveway left. I take it and wind my way carefully through the trees which form a canopy over our heads. I’m glad we are in a pickup truck from the island’s only rental agency; the Healy would almost certainly bottom out on the uneven surface.

  “This is a funny place for a restaurant,” Ellie chimes in.

  “The restaurant’s not here Elles, I just need to stop here for a moment.”

  The driveway bursts out of the trees and facing us is a beautiful house. A kind of rustic villa high up overlooking the ocean.

  “Wait in the car for a moment, sweetie.”

  I get out of the truck. The place looks deserted. Like it hasn’t been lived in for a while. Not exactly abandoned but empty. Lonely. Behind us the sun is westering and the house is completely under the shadow of the forest. I walk to the windows to the right of the door and peer in. The ground floor is open plan. It is one huge floor with wooden pillars holding the beams upon which the upper floor rests. The furniture is draped in dust covers and I can imagine that there are cobwebs forming in the corners of the ceiling.

  Everything is silent.

  I can see through the house to the deck at the back. I don’t even have to go around the house to know that the photo on the wall of Rebecca’s living room was taken from there.

  I don’t know what it means. But it means something.

  I hear a scuffing noise behind me and I turn.

  “Sweetie, I told you to—”

  I’m looking into the twin barrels of a shotgun. My spine goes
electric.

  “What the fock dj’think yer doin’” The voice has an accent. Irish maybe or more likely Newfoundland.

  I glance over at the truck. Ellie’s eyes are like saucers. She has seen a gun before, when she was five. The circumstances were not optimal.

  “Put that down,” I tell him. “You’re frightening my daughter.”

  The gun does not waver a millimetre

  “I said, what the fock yer doin’, bye.” Definitely Newfie, especially that last word.

  “My name’s Cal Rogan.” I say it calmly and reasonably. “I am a private detective helping the Bradburys with the disappearance of their daughter. I thought while I happened to be on Pender Island, I’d take a look at their house here.”

  “If yer helping look for young Ariel, what are you doing here on Pender Island with your own daughter?”

  Fair question.

  “I got a lead that the kidnappers may have been to the island recently. I brought my daughter because I’m a single father.”

  “To a place where kidnappers could be?”

  Fairer question.

  “I had no choice.” I leave it at that.

  He lowers the gun. It’s no longer pointing where it could remove my head though it could easily shred my lower half.

  “OK. You’ve seen it. You can leave.”

  I turn and, not taking my eyes off him, I sidle over to the truck and get in. The driveway connects to a paved circle in front of the garage. I use it to turn and drive off.

  “Are you OK Ell?” I ask as we move under the tree canopy.

  “Why was that man pointing a gun at you Daddy?”

  “He thought I might be a burglar. He looks after that house.”

  “Oh, OK. Are we going for dinner now?”

  I give her a bigger smile than I feel. “We sure are.”

  I pull off the driveway onto the road and head back the way we came. At the end of the road I signal right. There is a restaurant about a half mile away. As I look to the left for any oncoming traffic, I notice the street sign. For the second time today, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This changes everything and, again, I don’t know what it means. But two things I do know: I will find out and I’m going to call Arnold as soon as we get to the restaurant.

  Arnold is not one for praise so his “Very well done, Mr. Rogan. It could be a coincidence but I think not” felt good. He will look into the matter further. As will I.

  After the initial rush at the discovery, I have settled down to a nice dinner with Ellie. Tomorrow we will go to the last marina to see if anyone recognizes the boat, but for now we’re just going to have fun.

  It’s a family-style restaurant which, Ellie was delighted to discover, served her current favourite restaurant food: chicken strips and fries. I settled for the Salisbury steak which is better than I expected and I’m allowing myself one celebratory beer.

  “I like eating in restaurants,” says Ellie as she dips a fry deep into her ketchup. “Two in one day. I like this one better than the one at lunch.”

  “Me too.” Another mouthful of IPA descends into my stomach.

  “I went to a restaurant with Mommy and her friend.”

  “I know sweetie. Mommy told me. Did you like it?”

  “No. They didn’t have anything I liked.” The silly, jealous part of me is glad that Edward Perot couldn’t take Ellie to a place that she liked.

  “Do you know what Daddy?”

  “What sweetie?”

  “They had rabbit on the menu. That is sooooooo mean.”

  Rabbit? Not many places in Vancouver serve it. It must have been expensive.

  “What was the name of the restaurant?”

  “It was a silly name. I wouldn’t have remembered it except that Mommy’s friend kept talking about it.”

  “What was it?”

  When she tells me, I chuckle at the coincidence, then as I remember what Sam said, combined with three words in a calendar, electricity fires through my spine for the third time in an hour.

  Everything, but everything, has been turned on its head.

  34

  Sam

  I’m so glad you were free this evening. I was surprised.” He has an open, friendly face. As he looks at me, it makes me feel like I am the only person in the world and that he is completely focused on me. It is no wonder that he’s such a success as a politician.

  “Me too,” I say with a grin. “I was surprised that you asked me after the fuss Ellie made over dinner the other night.”

  He chuckles. “I don’t blame her. Anywhere that doesn’t serve chicken strips and fries doesn’t deserve a great customer like her.”

  “That’s kind of you to say that. Do you have children?”

  “Unfortunately not. My late wife and I tried but…” He leaves it hanging.

  “Well it’s never too late.” I smile. Then I realize the implication and feel a blush ascending into my cheeks.

  “Well who knows,” he says with the raise of an eyebrow which makes him look very sexy. It makes me feel a lot better; I wonder if that means… Oh stop Sam! There I go, getting ahead of myself again. “Ellie seems like a very well brought up young lady. You should be very proud of her.”

  “I am.” I smile, the embarrassment has passed.

  “What are her interests? Other than chicken strips and fries.”

  “She loves math and science. She has a small group of friends she likes to socialize with and when she grows up she wants to be a detective.”

  “A det—?” his sentence is cut off by the buzzing of his phone. He looks down at it and his smile fades. Before I can look at it he has picked it up from the table. “I’m so sorry,” he says, “a politician’s life is not his own. Do you mind?”

  “No, of course not.”

  He stands and talks into the phone, “Ed Perot.” He walks out on the restaurant’s patio and listens to what the caller is saying. He occasionally says a word to two and a worried look has come over his face. Although I can’t hear what he’s saying I feel like an eavesdropper. I bury my nose in the menu. Mmm, they have Osso Bucco, I wonder if it’s as good as mine. Cal says mine’s the best in the world. Cal, what are you doing in my mind again? The miso salmon in phyllo sounds quite wonderful. I think I’ll have that or the chicken penne.

  “Sorry about that,” he sits back down and smiles although the look of worry hasn’t completely left his face. “I’ll switch it off.” He shuts off his phone and puts it in a pocket. That was a nice gesture.

  “So tell me all about Ellie.”

  Like every parent I never miss a chance to sing the praises of my child. I do so for what seems altogether too long a time but he seems attentive and interested, so I finally wind it up.

  “She sounds marvellous I have a favourite niece who sounds just like her; she loves ballet. Does Ellie like to dance?”

  I remember Ellie’s cavorting in parody of the Canada’s Littlest Beauty show and chuckle. “Well she certainly is enthusiastic in that department but probably needs some lessons.” I love that he’s interested in Ellie but I really want him to ask about me.

  “Where is she tonight, with a babysitter?”

  “No. She has gone with her father to Pender Island.” His face looks a little, I don’t know, puzzled? I wonder what that means. Still, it’s given me time to change the subject so I ask, “Was it difficult to go from business to politics?”

  He smiles a little ruefully, “Oh yes. They are very different worlds. In business, you know how you are doing by the numbers. If you make your company profitable you’re doing well. But in politics, it’s a lot less straightforward. You seem to have so many masters. It makes for strange, shall we say, bedfellows.” Again that rather sexy raised eyebrow, is he coming on to me? I do kind of hope so.

  If I had to guess, I would say that he misses his old life as a businessman.

  “But never mind all that,” he says pulling a broad grin back onto his face, “tell me about you. I know you’
re a talented photographer and a great designer but that’s about all…” his voice trails off. He is looking over my left shoulder and the look of worry has returned. Except that it’s not worry. I think it’s fear.

  “Excuse me a moment,” he says and gets up. A young man has come up to the table. He is quite tall, rather handsome and well dressed. I think I’ve seen his face somewhere before. He takes a long look at me and I feel a wave of fear roll over me followed by relief when he turns back to Ed.

  He has a bulky envelope in his hand which he hands over.

  “You know what this is for?” he asks.

  Ed nods and takes it.

  “OK then.” He turns and walks off, his showy snakeskin boots making an irritatingly loud noise on the restaurant’s parquet flooring.

  Apart from the intrusion of the messenger with the envelope, it has been a wonderful evening. Ed and I have found a whole host of things in common and his interest in Ellie and her comings and goings is endearing. He is interesting without being dangerous like Cal.

  He opens the door of his Jaguar for me and takes my hand to help me out. It’s a little old-fashioned but I really like it. And he doesn’t let go as he walks me to my front door. He holds on to my hand as we climb the steps. Our conversation has ranged over a wide variety of topics and the combination of good food, fine wine and his undoubted charm and sexiness has emboldened me to follow through on the decision I made halfway through dessert. “Would you like to come in for coffee and a nightcap?”

  He takes my other hand and looks deep into my eyes. “Are you sure?”

  Holding tightly to his hands, I stand on tiptoes and give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Very sure.”

  His face has turned very serious. “Then I would like that very much.”

  I reach in my purse and with a slightly trembling hand, I unlock the door and lead him inside.