When the Flood Falls

by J. E. Barnard

  And now she knew what was behind it, although not who or why. The prowler wasn’t some shadowy figure driven by hate or lust, someone in her small circle wearing a friendly mask. The prowler wasn’t even out to do her harm, except as a by-product of doing some good for their own interests. The main reason for bugging the office of a real estate lawyer was strictly and simply business. Lacey believed anyone who would invade your privacy to that extent was surely a physical danger as well. In the policing world, that was as likely as anything to be true. But in business it was information, not physical coercion, that held the real power.

  What Lacey didn’t understand was exactly how much was at stake if it got out that Dee’s office had been comprom­ised. The East Village deal, for starters. Lawsuits, Law Society hearings, her professional reputation. With all that on the line, she could not phone the RCMP tonight. She had, instead, uncased her good work camera, the one she used to document jobsites, and taken photos of the undoubtedly illicit bug from every angle. She had downloaded the stills and sent copies to her work email, as well as Lacey’s for backup. She had put copies on a thumb drive to take to her safety deposit box on Monday morning. She had recorded herself and Lacey each recounting how they had discovered the bug taped outside her window. She had sent those files to several places, too. If the shit hit the fan over this, there was very little cover to be had, but she could at least do this much. Doing it gave her a sense of control.

  After a long shower, Lacey headed downstairs and put her half cup of forgotten tea into the microwave. Then she opened one set of drapes on the great wall of windows and leaned her forehead on the cool glass, watching the last of the night’s rain trickle down the driveway. The nearest trees were visible in the growing light. If only she could see the way forward as clearly.

  The little digital recorder that had been duct-taped to Dee’s office window sat in a Ziploc bag on the coffee table. A second bag held all the scraps of rust-brown tape that could be cut away without disturbing any possible fingerprints. The recorder was a basic piece of equipment, smaller than a smartphone, with simple controls: record, playback, fast-forward and rewind, and a button to switch between voice-activated or steady recording. She had seen these before. Wayne used one for talking to himself on jobsites. The screen that displayed file names, date/time, and such was still covered by tape.

  It might have stayed up there undetected for weeks if they hadn’t come home after dark, if she hadn’t sat in that exact spot and looked at the house from that specific angle and spoken loud enough to activate it. Maybe it had been there for weeks already. She sighed. Dee couldn’t take much more right now, but they had to come up with an action plan, or neither of them would sleep.

  When Dee came down, her hair in a towel and the rest of her in flannel pajamas decorated with penguins, Lacey said, “Doing nothing is not an option. Somebody is actively spying on you. It’s not a professional bugging or we’d never know it was there. For all we know there might be a webcam out there, too. I’ll take a look when there’s more light. Meanwhile, this is evidence. The prowler’s fingerprints might be on it, for heaven’s sake. The police could find that out for you by lunchtime. It’s their job.”

  Dee raised red-rimmed eyes to her. “You know it’s not that simple. If any of my clients turn out to have lost money because confidential information was leaked out on that recorder, I’ll be the one in trouble. In this market, millions are at stake every day. I could lose my house to lawsuits, face a Law Society hearing.” She sat, tucking one foot under her, but the schoolgirl pose couldn’t mask her determination. “Nobody can know about this until I’ve listened to the recording and figured out how to cover myself legally. If I even can. But you won’t let me play the damned thing because of fingerprints that might not even be there, will you?”

  If Lacey hadn’t left the Force, she could have asked a friendly crime scene tech to do the job. Someone would have been happy to take ten minutes out of their routine day, even on a weekend. But she was cut off from those tools as a civilian. Or was she?

  “Okay, here’s a compromise. I’ll ask Wayne if there’s a way to copy the recording — any recording, not mentioning you — onto a laptop. Hopefully we can do it without messing up any fingerprints. You can listen to every note it recorded, figure out what you have to do to protect yourself from legal action. Meanwhile, I’ll take the recorder to Tom. He was going to check with Cochrane detachment about the original prowler complaint. He could get the prints checked by saying there’s a possible person of interest.” It would be true.

  “But the police would want to listen to it.”

  “Not if he says the evidence could become inadmissible without proper authorization. No officer likes to risk a case falling apart on technicalities. They’ll wait for the prints, and then wait longer while the prosecutor’s office chews over the file, deciding whether to apply for an audio warrant or not.”

  Dee put the heels of her hands over her eyes. “You would do that for me? Tom would? And not tell anyone I’ve been compromised?”

  Lacey knelt by the chair and put one arm over Dee’s shoulders. “Of course we will. Nobody has to know unless it goes to court. So, deal?”

  “Deal.” Dee sat up straighter and blew her nose. “When we wake up, you phone Wayne. Once I know what’s recorded on there, I can review my files for the past several weeks and assess the risks. If only I hadn’t worked from home so often. I may have commented on dozens of files in that time. But it will be clear very soon if this is something Neil could dream up. God knows how many times he might have traded on information he picked up from me or my secretaries while we were married. How soon can you get Tom on it?”

  “This afternoon. I want to collect my mail, anyway, in case my pension transfer paperwork has appeared. I’m supposed to go to his shift breakfast early Sunday, but no way I’m leaving you alone after this. You’d better come with me this afternoon, too.”

  “I have to be here. There’ll be post-gala details to take care of and the party at Jake’s. And I have to get the Lexus from the museum, plus some groceries.” Lacey argued, but Dee was adamant. “It’ll be daylight. I’ll be surrounded by neighbours. I’ll bring the dogs indoors when you leave. They might not bark, but they sure as hell won’t sit by if someone tries to hurt me.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Lacey paced to the window and back, thinking. “The RCMP will need Neil’s fingerprints for comparison — unless they’re on file for some reason?”

  “Not that I know of.” Dee bit her lip. “Oh, wait … that stupid pen.”

  “Huh?”

  “He got them made last year as giveaways. Your Dream Home at My Fingertips.” Dee scrabbled through the end table drawer and came up with a fat ballpoint pen. She tossed it to Lacey. “Push the little knob by the pocket clip.” Lacey pushed. A small, blurry beam of light shot out the back end. She lowered the pen until the blur came into focus on the table. It was a fingerprint. “Neil’s right thumb,” said Dee. “It took him a whole evening of inking and pressing and scanning to get the image, and all for a one-sentence sales gimmick. Typical Neil, over-focussing on the tiny details and ignoring the overall impact. He’d have used his thumb to hold that recorder, wouldn’t he?”

  “Uh-huh. This might not be a clear enough print, but I’ll pass it along. If he did this, we’ll make him suffer.”

  Dee dragged herself up to bed. Lacey went through her door-and-window check and took another hard look at the office window from the inside. A decorative valence had hidden the recorder from anyone in the room, and the curtains had mostly stayed closed. But if she were the one spying, she’d want an eye on the scene, say, a webcam on the garage eaves. This amateur might not have thought of that. If they had, chances were they’d use something just as low-tech as the recorder. Probably not a live wireless webcam with dark-sight, which would have told them instantly their scheme had been blown. That garage eave would be
her first search area in the morning. Or rather, after some sleep. It was already morning.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In the early afternoon, Jan woke from a fitful sleep to the faint sound of the theme song from The Road Runner Show down the hall. Saturday cartoons: Terry’s secret vice. Was Rob still here, too? She lay listening, picturing the Road Runner and the Coyote in their endless game of tag. The familiar pain behind her eyes magnified as her pupils resisted the bedroom’s shadowy light. Terry was right. Those pills, even at a half dose, messed her up. She’d skip Jake’s party tonight. The food smells alone would probably make her puke.

  After a cup of anti-nausea tea and some dry toast, she settled on the sunroom lounger with her dark glasses on and her binoculars in hand. Down at the museum, a dozen vehicles remained from last night, the red Corvette most visible. Jarrad had probably walked to Mick’s place. She could see the Hardy house plainly from here. Mick was stretched out on a lounger on his terrace, eyes covered by a panama hat. Whatever his heart trouble had been, he hadn’t been kept in the hospital for it.

  Rob came to sit on the floor beside her. Sunlight danced on his frosted tips, but his expression was gloomy. “Ready to hear the highlights of last night?”

  “Looks like there were lows. Terry didn’t mention any, except Mick’s heart trouble.”

  “Yeah, poor guy.” Rob fidgeted. “I think I’ve lost the permanent contract because of him.”

  “Why? You did what was needed, right? Got him some help ASAP?”

  “Yeah. But —”

  Terry appeared with the coffee pot and refilled his and Rob’s mugs. “But what? He won’t blame you. Assuming he survived.”

  Jan pointed down the hill. “He’s on his deck right now. So it couldn’t have been that serious. What has Mick’s heart got to do with the permanent contract?”

  “Not Mick. His wife.” Rob turned his mug in his hands. “When I went looking for her last night, I tried the stage and then went down the backstage stairs to the dressing rooms. The lights were low. It didn’t look like anyone was down there.”

  “And?”

  “I was halfway into the women’s dressing room when I realized it was occupied.”

  “Camille?”

  “Uh-huh. And she wasn’t alone. I mean, she really wasn’t alone.”

  Jan pulled her glasses down her nose. “She was making out in the basement while her husband was having a heart attack upstairs?”

  “Uh-huh.” Now that the worst was out, Rob relaxed a bit. “Her and her co-star. They were groping each other all week at rehearsals, so it wasn’t really a surprise. But it didn’t dawn on me that anyone would … well, I’m no prude, but really, there’s no graceful way to greet a woman whose bare ass is bent over the makeup table.”

  Jan blinked. “Ew. Thanks for that mental image.”

  “You asked. Anyway, you can see why our sitting at a board meeting together will be awkward. She’s a rich board member; I’m a lowly temporary employee. Guess which of us won’t be around after my contract is up next month.”

  “I see your point.” If Rob left, if his contract wasn’t renewed, not only would he be unemployed, but her last link with her old life would be gone.

  Terry stretched out on the carpet in the sunshine. “Dee wants you there. If Jake sides with her, Camille can suck it up. Er …”

  “Terry! Between the two of you, I’ll never look at that woman again without thinking about her sexual athletics.” Jan picked up her mug. It wasn’t as much of an effort as the first time, but it still hurt to move. “You’re right, though. She can’t tell him the truth about why she doesn’t want you. Jake’s a tad sensitive about cheating wives.”

  “Problem,” said Rob. “I’ve only met the man about three times. His donation was done long before I hired on. I doubt he’d recognize me on the street, much less overrule the board for me.”

  Three horses trotted down the road. Jan popped up her shades again and shielded her eyes to identify the riders. Young men, well muscled. Some of Jake’s hockey guests taking advantage of the amenities. She would meet them tonight if she went to the Finals party. If she went, she could talk to Jake about Rob. But she had to convince Terry she was fit to go out, and without sneaking a quarter pill first. She sat up, channelling the surge of dread at the prospect of losing Rob.

  “Come to the party tonight. Meet Jake on his own ground.”

  “Not invited,” Rob pointed out. “I can’t just show up on his doorstep.”

  Terry shrugged. “One more won’t matter to Jake. He loves a houseful. If you can stand to socialize with the ladies of the board for the second night in a row, that is. Including Camille.”

  “Are you sure you can simply drag me along to an oil baron’s hockey party? I’d totally die to be there with all that hot stuff on the hoof.”

  “Aren’t hockey players a bit out of your usual line?” Terry asked.

  “A gay art historian can’t appreciate a manly sport? I was a serious Canucks fan in university, wasn’t I, Jan? Besides, one of those hunks last night was giving off ambiguous signals. Him I’d like a second look at.”

  “Hussy,” said Jan. “Just don’t pull a Camille in a dark corner. I’m pretty sure that’s one thing Jake would not tolerate.”

  “No fear. This job is much more important than any piece of tail could be. Even one as ripped as that guy last night. But what’s the dress code? I can’t go in Terry’s leftovers. No offence, old man, but your clothes were not designed with seduction in mind.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Terry. “Think business casual — golf shirts and khakis.”

  “If Dee takes you as her date,” said Jan, “it will be an extra boost in Jake’s eyes. He thinks she can do no wrong.”

  “First I’m to crash the party and now I’m to tell the woman who signs my pay slip that she’s helping me do it?”

  “She’ll be fine with it,” said Jan. “Somebody get me a phone and I’ll fix it.” It crossed her mind as she punched buttons that Dee might be having a leisurely visit with her dear old friend and not appreciate a museum-related interruption. Today’s brain wasn’t up to holding that worry for long, though. By the time Dee picked up, Jan had almost forgotten why she was calling. “Oh, right. Dee, can you take Rob to Jake’s party with you? It’s a cunning plot to circumvent Camille if she tries to block him getting the permanent curator job.” She listened for a moment and hung up. “Told you she’d be delighted. Meet her at her place around four. Faceoff is at five and there’s schmoozing to be done first. Not to mention eating. The food will be fab.”

  Rob looked at his watch. “I’d better get my skates on. Too bad I left my car down the hill.”

  Terry went for his jog, Rob went for his car, and Jan rested in the sunroom. More cars left the museum parking lot as their owners rose from the fumes of last night’s event. If only she could be as certain of rising above the pill hangover. For Rob, she would make the effort, maybe sneak the quarter pill a bit before. Jake liked her as much as he liked Dee. If he saw how much they both wanted Rob to stay, Camille wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As soon as she got into Tom’s car, Lacey took a good-natured swipe at his hay-thatch head. “Jackass. You made my fingerprints your excuse to duck out of an afternoon with Marie’s parents.”

  Tom flashed teeth too perfect to be natural in a mouth that had met half a dozen immovable objects during their patrol years. “Thanks for backing me up, McCrae. If I’d realized we’d see them every single weekend, I might have stalled on moving back here.”

  “You’ve only been here a couple of months. The novelty will probably wear off. If not, there’s always work.”

  “I can hope.” Tom wheeled expertly into traffic and Lacey settled back in the passenger seat. Only with other cops could she really relax as a passenger. Civilians were either too tentative or
clearly outdriving their reaction time. “To keep this off book for now, Sergeant Drummond will meet us on his supper break. He says he knows you.”

  “Not Bulldog Drummond? What’s his real name again? Steve? We went through Depot together.” Another old pal still on the Force, ideally placed to support her in uncovering Dee’s stalker. “I’ll let Dee know I won’t be back for a couple of hours. After last night, she’s got to be freaked about being alone out there. Even though there was no other spy equipment that I could find.”

  She dialed, and after three buzzes Dee answered. Before she could say a word, Dee jumped in with, “Lacey, you’re on speaker. I’m driving. Should I pull over?”

  “Is someone with you?”

  “Rob from the museum. He’s coming to Jake’s party with me. Say hi to Lacey, Rob.” He did so.

  Lacey said hi back, mentally revising what she’d been about to say. “I’m on my way to Cochrane with Tom. An old pal of mine wants to meet for an early supper. I can ask him about this morning’s thing, plus he knows those brothers we were curious about, what kind of work they do and all that.” Hopefully Rob would think she was talking about contractors for renovations or something. He would be too polite to ask, anyway. “I expect to be back well before dark. What time does your party end?”

  “You can take your time,” said Dee unexpectedly. A hint of steel entered her voice. “I think I know who played that prank on me, and it will not be happening again.”

  “You know? Uh, should I not go ahead with the, uh, other thing?”