“Yes, sir,” replied Pierce in a soft voice, almost a whisper. “The project was only narrowly approved by city council – by three votes – in the face of a strong opposition lobby by an environmental group. The developer bought off these three council members and their votes were crucial to city approval of the project.”
“I need to know your sources and how reliable they are. Do we have the adequate documentation to back up these charges? We’re about to accuse the Mayor of this great city and two of his colleagues of being crooks. It would be nice if we were right!”
“Yes, sir. I have copies of the deposits to offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. I have two sources – one is an accountant for Tridon who is appalled at the illegalities. My second source is a former executive employee fired by Robert Peterson, the president and CEO of Tridon.”
“Sounds good.” Young nodded his approval.
“I’ve been very thorough in this story, sir. We have them dead to rights. This deal stinks so high the stench is overpowering. The story is especially timely given Mayor Dandridge’s campaign pledge of honesty and integrity in politics.”
“Good, very good, Donna-Marie.” Young smiled. “This is a fine piece of investigative journalism. We’re flying it by Legal to cover the paper’s ass, but if the legal beagles give it the green light, you have a career-making story here, young lady. We’ll run it in tomorrow’s paper. You have a great future in journalism. Now, get out of her and get back to work. Brace yourself for when the shit starts to fly and I want you on the follow-up stories. Hopefully we’ll end the political careers of these three sleazebags and send them to jail. Good job.”
“Thank you, sir. This is why I became a reporter in the first place. I want to thank you for the opportunities you’ve given me.” Pierce left the room with a big smile of satisfaction on her face.
Young returned to the work at his desk, but within a few minutes he was interrupted by a knock on his door.
His secretary Denise Taylor stood in the doorway. “Excuse me, Mr. Young, but there is a young lady out here who says she is your daughter.”
“Megan? Send in her right away Mrs. Taylor.”
Young came out from behind his desk and hugged Megan when she entered the room. “Sweetie, what brings you down here? Is anything wrong?”
“On the contrary, everything is just fine, Daddy. Sorry to disturb you at the office, but since I was downtown I thought I’d drop in to give you the wonderful news.”
“What news, princess?”
“I had lunch with Dennis. Things went swimmingly. He flew all the way up here to apologize. He wants me back. I still love him, Daddy. Perhaps he deserves another chance. He wants me to fly back to New Jersey with him tomorrow.”
“Whoa there, girl. Not so fast. You just left this jerk yesterday and here you are less than 24 hours later willing to forgive and forget. Don’t be in such a hurry.” A frown creased Young’s face as he showed his irritation with his daughter’s impetuosity. “Give it some thought. Remember, he cheated on you. He’s likely to do it again once things settle down. Leopards don’t change their spots.”
“But Daddy, Dennis truly is sorry. He came up here after me. I can’t ignore that fact.” A hint of anger flashed in Megan’s brown eyes. “You never have liked Dennis from the beginning. He deserves another chance.”
“What he deserves is a kick in the balls, or better yet cut them off. That’s the only way to ensure the cheating bastard doesn’t do it again.” Young couldn’t hold back his anger at Dennis and at Megan for being so gullible.
“That’s a terrible thing to say, Daddy. I’m willing to give him another chance to save our relationship. What makes you such an expert after the way you treated Mom. You were never there for her or me when we needed you.”
Megan’s biting comments slashed deep to Young’s heart. She was right. He was no expert on relationships. But he knew and understood men like Dennis. They were lady-killers who flattered and charmed their way into women’s hearts and their beds. But loyalty and fidelity were not in their vocabulary.
“You may be right, Megan. But I’m the one you came running to when things disintegrated. All I’m saying is give it some time to think it over. You need to have some space to think. There’s no rush to go running back to him at the first apology.”
“Yes, Daddy. But if I let him return to New Jersey alone, he’ll probably go back to the arms of that blonde tart. I’m ready to fight for him no matter what you say.”
Young felt his anger boiling over. “Fine, go back to pretty boy. Just don’t come running back to me when he goes back to screwing everything in skirts. It’s time you grew up and faced realities, Megan. Life is not a fairy tale. There are no Prince Charmings out there and everyone doesn’t live happily ever after.”
“Dad, you really are a cynical shit.” Megan glared icily at him and stormed out of the office.
Chapter 35
Toronto Police Headquarters 2:25 PM
THOMAS PHILPOTT started to sweat.
The glare from three overhead fluorescent lights bored into his pupils. He sat at a small metal table with chairs, across from Detectives Moon and Savage. They had interrogated him for more than 30 minutes.
Savage played the bad cop, haranguing Philpott with dire threats of what would happen to him if he didn’t confess to the Wolfman murders.
Moon played the good cop, trying to sympathize with Philpott. Telling him things would go easier on him if he just confessed and got things off his chest. He told Philpott he would feel better by coming clean.
Philpott, however, stubbornly stuck to his story. He denied being the Wolfman.
“You’ve got the wrong person, officers. I could never commit such horrible murders. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I never sent those e-mails.”
“Look you perverted piece of shit. If you don’t come clean soon, I’ll knock it out of you,” said Savage, staring at Philpott menacingly while clenching his right fist.
“Now Brian, that will be enough of that talk. There is no need for threats. Mr. Philpott wants to help us with our inquiries, don’t you, sir? If he didn’t do it, he is perfectly within his rights to deny it. There is of course one way to definitely prove you are not the Wolfman. Would you be willing to provide us with a DNA sample for testing?”
“Of course, I have nothing to hide,” replied Philpott. He was eager to grasp at any straw that would prove his innocence.
“It is very simple, Mr. Philpott,” said Moon, removing a Q-tip swab from his desk drawer. “I will take a sample of your saliva and we will test it against DNA evidence recovered from the Wolfman’s victims.”
He took the sample from Philpott’s mouth and placed the Q-tip in a small sealed container. It would take a few hours for the results to test Philpott’s DNA with evidence from the bite marks on the victims, but that would conclusively tell them whether Philpott was their man. But Moon was beginning to seriously doubt it.
Philpott’s vehement denials and his body language under interrogation didn’t strike Moon as being indicative of this wimpy librarian being the Wolfman.
“But have you ever found anyone in your office who shouldn’t be there?” Moon eyed the anxiety-filled suspect closely. He was beginning to believe Philpott’s story. He somehow couldn’t see him as the Wolfman. He didn’t fit the bill.
It must be someone else at the newspaper.
“But if it wasn’t you who sent those e-mails, who did?” Moon took a softer tone in his inquiries. “You must have some idea who might have had access to your computer.”
“Anyone at the paper could have sent them, detective Moon. I’ve told you that my office and the library are never locked. Like I told you at the paper, I never come in that early and those e-mails were sent in the early morning.”
The door to the interview room suddenly opened. Another detective poked his head around the door and beckoned Moon. The detective sergeant excused himself and stepped outside to
consult with the other detective, David Sloan.
“Peter, we’ve checked out his home and his computer,” said Sloan. “They’re clean as a whistle concerning this Wolfman stuff. No indication that he’s our guy. In fact, we found some gay porn on his computer. I think this guy’s interests lie in other areas. He likes young boys. He may be a pervert, but I doubt he’s a killer.”
“Thanks, Dave. I’ve been coming to that realization myself. This just confirms it. We’ll run a DNA test to be certain, but I think we’re going to have to kick him loose. I don’t think he’s any threat to the women of this fair city.”
Moon pulled out his cell phone and called Katie Cannon’s number.
“Katie, just wanted to let you know that Philpott is not our man,” said Moon when he heard Cannon’s voice. “We’re going to release him shortly. We need to start to looking elsewhere. If he didn’t send those e-mails, then someone else at the paper did. The Wolfman is someone working at your paper. I need you to come down here so we can get profiles of who might be likely candidates.”
“I’ll be glad to help if I can Peter, but it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” replied Cannon. “There are more than 350 employees at the Daily Express. I only know a few of them and I have no idea who could be the Wolfman.”
“Well, we have to start somewhere. At least we’ve narrowed the field down to 350 or so suspects out of a city of three million. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”
“Don’t bother, Peter. I’ll drive myself down to police headquarters. I’m leaving now and should be there in 20 minutes.” Katie scooped up her digital recorder, dropping it into her purse.
She headed out of the newsroom towards the garage and her waiting car.
Chapter 36
Antonio’s Restaurant 2:45 PM
THEIR LUNCH seemed to take an agonizing time to complete.
Chase felt like a fish furiously wriggling to get off the hook. Ashley and her marriage proposal had caught him completely off guard.
Between bites of her salad and sipping a Chardonnay, Ashley rambled on about how wonderful their life together would be. She seemed to assume that Chase had accepted her marriage proposal, though he firmly remained non-committal.
“Listen, Ashley,” he said. “This has all come as a big surprise and shock for me. I need some time to reflect on your proposal. I’m already in a relationship that I’m committed to although I’m not quite sure yet whether my partner feels the same.”
“Nonsense, Andrew,” Ashley replied. “If she doesn’t realize what a catch you are, you should kick her to the curb. We are alike you and I. We’re like two peas in a pod. We complement each other nicely. We travel in the same social circles. We should be making this lifetime journey together, darling.”
Ashley smiled like a cat eying a tasty bird.
“You didn’t feel like that eight months ago when you dropped me,” said Andrew.
Chase still carried the hurtful wounds from that experience. He enjoyed the relationship with Ashley. They did have a lot in common and enjoyed some memorable moments, if you could put aside her innate selfishness. He was surprised when she suddenly ended their relationship.
Ashley was high maintenance and needed to be catered to constantly. That would never change. She was comfortable to be with, but Chase was not sure that he ever loved her. Not in the deep sense that he loved Katie Cannon.
But Chase was tiring of their secretive life.
It is time for Katie to publicly declare her love for him. It is time their relationship moved on to the next step. If not, perhaps it would be better to part and go their separate ways. He desperately needed to talk things out with Katie. He needed to know whether she was as committed to their future together as he was.
Chase’s desperation for new sources of funding for the newspaper made the $40 million offer from Ashley’s father attractive. If he couldn’t marry for love, perhaps the next best alternative would be to marry for money. At least his other love, the newspaper, would continue to flourish. He wouldn’t have to sell to that ogre Rupert White.
Choices. Difficult choices.
Who says being rich is easy and carefree? The burdens of management and ownership are sometimes overbearing.
Chase sometimes wished he could chuck it all and live a carefree life as a beach bum on some Caribbean island with Katie. Ah, but there’s the rub. He could only contemplate such a carefree life with Katie – never Ashley.
Ashley would never surrender her high society life to go to a Third World island. Katie was the one he really loved and he needed to talk to her before responding to Ashley’s offer.
Chase pushed his plate to one side. He picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth. “Well, Ashley, this has been wonderful. But it is getting late and I need to get back to the paper.”
“Yes, it has been simply marvellous seeing you again, darling. I do hope you will consider my proposal and get back to me soon. We will need to start planning right away. I think a Christmas wedding would be simply delightful. Daddy will be so happy when I inform him of our nuptials.” Ashley took another sip of her wine and smiled sweetly at Chase.
He signaled for the waiter and handed over his credit card to pay for the bill.
“Well perhaps we’d better not tell Daddy just yet,” said Chase. “We wouldn’t want to raise his hopes falsely. I’ll consider your proposal carefully Ashley and phone you in a few days with an answer.”
As Chase arose to leave, Ashley said icily: “Do that, darling. But please don’t take too long. I don’t like to be kept waiting. We do need to start planning the wedding soon. The sooner it happens, the sooner Daddy will write you that big fat cheque. I’m sure you can put it to good use.”
“I’m sure I can, darling,” replied Chase brusquely.
He couldn’t leave the restaurant fast enough.
Chapter 37
Road to Peshawar Friday 1:00 AM
(Pakistan Standard Time)
TREVOR TREVANIAN was back on the road again in Pakistan.
He was headed to Peshawar -- the nearest city to the tribal areas with the facilities to file his interview with Osama bin Laden.
Peshawar is the provincial capital of Pakistan’s northwest frontier. The name literally means City on the Frontier in Persian.
Numerous invaders have ruled this city of about 3.2 million people over the centuries, including the Persians, Greeks, Turks, Mongols, Afghans and the British. Peshawar is the commercial, economic, political and cultural capital of the Pashtuns in Pakistan.
Trevanian was again a passenger in the rusted Lada as it sped along the dusty highway toward Peshawar. Dharwal, accompanied by his heavy-set associate Abu Garzai, drove the vehicle.
Garzai seemed to be riding shotgun. He didn’t speak much and Trevanian figured he didn’t speak English. When he did utter words to Dharwal they were in a language Trevanian couldn’t comprehend. It sounded like Pashto.
Trevanian sat in the back seat again. Only this time he was unrestrained and without the nasty black hood.
The ride was bumpy, but much more comfortable than his journey from Afghanistan into Pakistan. He worked on his laptop writing up the interview.
Dharwal was chattier and friendlier during this leg of the journey. He said they should arrive in Peshawar within 90 minutes if all went well. Good, thought Trevanian. He hoped to file the story tonight in time to make the late edition of the Daily Express.
Dharwal’s English was quite good.
“I have great respect for you Canadians and your independence from the American infidels,” he told Trevanian.
“Ah, so we’re a better class of infidel are we?” quipped Trevanian.
Dharwal told Trevanian he has a cousin living in Toronto who drives a taxi.
“I take a lot of cabs when I’m in Toronto, I’ll be sure to look out for him.” Trevanian couldn’t help wonder whether Dharwal’s cousin was part of an al-Qaida cell in Toronto. The Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS)
would likely be interested in Dharwal’s cousin.
Trevanian checked his watch. It was 1:15 a.m. Friday here and 3:15 p.m. Thursday back in Toronto. With luck he should be in Peshawar by 3 a.m., plenty of time to file his story for the Friday edition of the Daily Express.
There was no doubt this story would be picked up by the wire services and carried by news outlets around the world. Osama bin Laden may be a terrorist with blood on his hands, but he remained big news around the world. Especially since he had not been seen or heard from in quite some time. Trevanian’s piece would be sure fire proof that bin Laden was still alive and a threat to the West.
Trevanian continued to work on his laptop as the car sped along the highway in darkness. He could see little outside the windows of the vehicle. It was pitch black outside with only a little moonlight.
After about 30 more minutes, the Lada began to slow. Trevanian could see lights ahead and two vehicles blocking the road.
“It appears to be a police checkpoint ahead, Mr. Trevanian,” commented Dharwal. “No worry. Let me handle it. Some baksheesh should take care of this. The Pakistani police are very corrupt.”
As the car pulled up to the roadblock, two uniformed officers stepped in front of the vehicle.
One was a short, paunchy individual sporting a large black moustache. He held his arm out to signal a halt. The second man was taller and thin, almost emaciated looking. He wore a different uniform and appeared to be higher ranked than the other officer.
“This may not be so easy,” said Dharwal looking a little agitated. “These are not just police – they are Pakistani security officers. They are not quite as corrupt. Please be silent, Mr. Trevanian. Let me do all the talking. Perhaps we can talk our way through this. I will tell them you are a Canadian journalist and we are transporting you to Peshawar to file a story.”
Dharwal rolled down the window and cheerily greeted the two officers in Pashto. The paunchy security officer offered a curt response and demanded something of Dharwal.
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