Eric stirred but didn’t open his eyes. “Do you want to order another bottle?”
Ken set his glass on the table and glanced at his watch. “No, we better pay our bill and get to Ottawa, your flight is in eight hours.”
“All right, I’ll take a quick shower. Can you settle the room, Ken?”
“Will do.” Ken walked over to the closet and grabbed one of two carry-on bags, their only luggage. He threw it on the bed and unzipped the top. Inside was a change of clothes, toiletries, and a thick envelope held closed with an elastic band. It snapped off into Eric’s hand as the envelope opened, exposing a thick stack of twenty-dollar bills. Quickly counting off twenty-five bills, Eric took enough to pay the room bill without leaving an electronic trail. Grabbing his phony Spanish passport issued to Juan Sanchez, the young man left the suite. In the elevator on the way down to the lobby he glanced to his right. A short, chubby, dark-haired chambermaid eyed the red passport. She looked up, smiled shyly, and asked from where Ken came. “Hola Señor, de donde es?”
Ken smiled down, recognizing her Madrid accent. He replied in a perfect southern Spanish accent. “Soy de Sevilla, Señora. Y su?”
“Soy de Madrid.”
A buzzer sounded announcing the arrival at the twentieth floor. Looking dejected at the limited conversation and possibly a little homesick, the woman started to leave the elevator. “Adios.”
Ken peeled off two twenties, flashed a big smile, and handed her the money. “Adios Señora y gracias.” The door closed, the short woman bowing her thanks. Eric continued alone to the lobby. He paid the bill, using broken English with the clerk. He returned to the room to find Eric freshly showered and dressed, working on the laptop.
“Toronto Detectives Collins and Folk are assigned to the case,” Eric looked up as he spoke, “Collins is a veteran, and Folk fairly new.”
“Sounds like Folk fits our bill.”
“Right.”
The two carry-on suitcases stood by the door. Ken did a final search of the room, stopping when he was certain there was nothing left behind that could tie them to anything. The brothers departed and walked several blocks north. Once alone on a quieter side street they set down their suitcases and looked around. Ken gave Eric the thumbs up, Eric nodded, and they peeled off the plastic fingerprints fixed over their own. After tossing them in a garbage can they walked several more blocks away from the hotel before hailing a taxi. A blue taxi stopped and Eric leaned in the open passenger side window.
“Good day sir, how much to get to the Ottawa airport?”
Eric saw the driver trying to size up how much he could squeeze out of him. “Well, on the metre it would come to over eight-hundred, but I can do it for six-eighty cash.
Eric held back a smile as he thought back to the taxi ride to Toronto two days earlier for five-hundred and eighty. He decided to dicker enough that the trip wouldn’t not stick out in the driver’s mind. Eric held a thick wallet in his hand, the bills visible to the driver. “Five-twenty cash, including tip.”
“Hop in.”
A final look up and down the street confirmed nobody had followed them. With a wry smile on his face Eric shook his brother’s hand and climbed into the back of the taxi, setting his carry-on beside him.
The driver glanced in his mirror at the small case. “Travel light, eh?”
Eric pulled out the newspaper that came with the hotel room and flipped it open without answering. The veteran cabby got the message and drove in silence for five hours.
Once his twin’s cab was out of sight, Ken walked down the street and turned into a bustling bus station. Pulling a key out of his pocket he opened a locker and removed a small sports bag and a tool kit. Locking himself in a stall in the large dirty washroom Ken changed from sweater and dress pants into municipal coveralls and work boots. After carefully folding the dress clothes and concealing them in the sports bag he checked the stall three times before leaving, confident he left nothing behind. Next he locked his suitcase and the sports bag in the locker and walked several blocks. In an alley he reached behind some pallets and garbage and pulled out a stepladder and cracked light globe. As he clipped on an identification badge he took on the persona of a municipal worker. He picked up the ladder, set the globe in a paper bag, and carried them up the worn steps, past a bank of lights with the same globe, and walked, unnoticed into Toronto Police Headquarters.
The detective’s department, a collection of back-to-back desks in a large room, was nearly empty. Ken moved from desk-to-desk, glancing at letters and business cards. Eventually, he found the desks belonging to Collins and Folk. Flipping open the ladder, Ken climbed up to the cracked, peeling ceiling and removed the globe from the light above the desks. After descending, he pulled the cracked globe out of the bag and set it beside the good globe on Folk’s desk. He wiped both globes with a dust rag, reached inside the cracked globe and removed a minute hypodermic needle fastened onto a small, strong magnet. A small click sounded as the magnet grabbed onto the metal frame at the bottom of the backrest on Folk’s chair. The ultra-fine needle was the only thing that stuck out pointed towards the front of the chair. After confirming the magnet was secure on the metal chair frame Ken replaced the good globe on the light fixture above the desk and carried the ladder out of the room. The few busy police officers in the room barely looked at the tall maintenance man. Ken walked out of the building, the globe and ladder in hand. Once outside and around the corner of the building he removed the identification badge and threw it along with the light globe in a garbage can. He set down the expensive ladder near a group of homeless people and continued on for several blocks, certain the ladder would disappear in minutes. After ascertaining he wasn’t followed he returned to the bus station and changed his clothes, including the work gloves. Walking five blocks north, Ken hailed a cab and rode to the airport, his U.S. passport and ticket to Los Angeles were in his breast pocket.
* * *
Collins and Folk entered the security office at Dominick Investments. The security man in charge led them to the video recording area.
“Here it is.” The security guard pointed to the video recorder handling the camera in the gym at Dominick Investments. The system was modern and in colour.
“Could you fast-forward to the time Mr. Houston was in the gym?” Collins asked the guard.
“No problem.” The guard pressed a button and the video became a blur. The guard, concentrating on the time rather than the screen, stopped the speed of the tape. It played for a moment and stopped it. The security man looked again at the written log that listed the time of the electrical disruption. A look of concern appeared on the man’s face as he replayed the sequence again at a slower speed. The tape again showed normal activity in the gym.
“That’s very odd,” said the guard.
Folk leaned closer. “How’s that?”
“It shows activity in the gym, but something is wrong. Just a sec.” The guard leaned close to the screen.
“Now I know this ain’t right.” The guard paused the tape and pointed to a woman behind the bar. “That’s Christine. She was off yesterday.”
“Are you saying the tape wasn’t working yesterday?”
“No, the time stamp shows yesterday…there was a feed from a previous day somehow recorded over what really went on yesterday.”
Collins leaned back on a wall. “Can you find out where the feed came from?”
“There are only two places where the cable from the gym is accessible. I was here all day and nobody else came in the room. It’s unlikely it happened in the gym where the cable only juts out of the ceiling a few inches as it feeds into the camera. There were too many people around and not enough room to install a feed. It had to be the junction box in the lower stairwell where all the camera feeds are linked before they’re fed into this room.”
The guard waved over another guard. “Jack, take over here.”
The guard led the detectives to the rear stairwell and the dusty area
under the bottom stairs. The guard pointed to the area. Folk and Collins slipped on latex gloves and moved the stack of chairs. They spotted the sleeping bags and video recorders.
Collins turned to Folk. “Does your cell phone work down here?”
Folk flipped open the phone, put it to his ear, and nodded. “Identification team?”
“Make it two, we need one in the gym too.”
Collins stared at the elaborate video setup under the stairs “Someone went to a lot of effort to kill Mr. Houston. We need to talk to the gym staff while their memories are fresh. You head to the gym. I’ll wait here for the ID team.”
Folk and the guard ran up the stairs two at a time.
In Folk, Collins was blessed with a young partner possessing a strong mind and an abundance of energy. Collins had no problem letting the younger man do more than his share of the legwork. Collins wanted to stay on the job for another eight or ten years and knew he had to pace himself. Even though he kept himself in pretty good shape he had his limits.
After ID arrived Collins joined Folk in the corporate gym. Folk already examined the area around the treadmill and the bar.
Folk spoke to the bartender at the health food bar. “We’re looking for anything ingested by Peter Houston as well as anything unusual that happen the afternoon of the death of Mr. Houston.”
The bartender pointed across the room. “Peter stopped by the bar and had his usual, a large orange juice and soda water.”
“How did Mr. Houston look to you?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. As far as anything unusual, there was the incident with the new TV.”
“What incident?”
“A maintenance man was working on the back of the television when sparks and smoke filled the far end of the gym.”
“That is a state-of-the-art plasma TV. What was wrong with it?”
“Nothing as far as I knew. I came to work yesterday morning and there was a sign on it saying it was out of order. The odd thing was, after the fireworks the repairman packed up his things and was gone in a shot. The TV and exercise equipment worked fine.”
“Do you have the containers from the orange juice and club soda?”
“The soda water is on tap. Half the drinks use it.”
“If that was the source we would have an epidemic on our hands.”
Collins turned back to the bartender. “What about the OJ?”
The bartender tapped a machine behind the bar. “Only fresh squeezed, and again, we sell gallons of it each day.” The bartender scratched his chin. “I know Mr. Houston had a sports drink. He always carried one with him.”
“Thanks.” Collins handed the bartender a card. “If you think of anything else give us a call.”
The bartender took the card and slipped it in his shirt pocket.
Collins pointed to the bowl of nuts on the bar. “Did Houston eat any of these?”
“Never touched them.” The bartender pushed them towards Collins. “I opened a fresh bag this morning.”
“Thanks.” Collins grabbed a handful and tossed some in his mouth. The detective winced. “What the hell are these?”
“Soy nuts,” answered the bartender.
“That’s ridiculous. Who ever heard of nuts made out of soy?” Collins was about to toss them in the garbage can when he spotted something inside the garbage can. He set a napkin on the bar and placed the nuts on top. He slipped on latex gloves and removed a bottle of Megapower.
Collins showed it to the bartender. “The same?”
“Same brand and flavour.”
Collins waved the newly arrived ID team over. “I want this whole gym checked.”
“Right.” Responded the lead ID person.
Folk grabbed his phone. “I’ll have the lab check the water bottle.”
Folk made the quick call and Collins turned back to the bartender. “Just one more thing, where is the manager?”
The bartender waved over a young attractive woman and turned away to serve a man at the other end of the bar.
“My name’s Alison Page, I’m the manager. May I be of assistance, gentlemen?” The woman smiled.
“I’m Detective Collins. This is my partner, Detective Folk. We have a few questions about the events here yesterday afternoon. Can you give us the details for our report?”
“Of course.” Alison led them over to the huge television. “There was a workman fixing the television when there was a small explosion and the power went out in half the gym.” The manager pointed to the equipment along the one wall. “The affected equipment, including the treadmill occupied by Mr. Houston, jerked to a halt, sending him, and others, off balance. Mr. Houston ended up lying on the floor. He wasn’t hurt and we quickly helped him to his feet.”
Alison pointed to a rowing machine. “I was helping a woman with her rowing technique on that machine nearby. Mr. Houston’s water bottle was still on the machine and a gentleman from the next treadmill handed it to him.”
“Can you describe him?” said Folk.
“Tall fellow, wearing sunglasses. That’s about it. It was very busy.”
Folk looked at the back of the television and the power receptacle behind it. “There are no signs of a fire or charred wiring. How long did it take the repairman to fix it?”
Alison thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it, the equipment and the television were back in working order right away. I remember because I wanted to have a word with the electrician, but he was gone before I could get over there. I called maintenance and they didn’t have a record of a workman in the gym. I presumed it was someone from the television supplier or cable company. This equipment is leased.”
Collins and Folk exchanged glances.
“Alison, this is very important, did you get a good look at the repair man?”
“Well, I didn’t see his face, he was hidden behind the TV, but it struck me that he was a large man.”
“Why’s that” asked Folk.
“Because despite being hunched over. His back stuck out well above the television set, and it is a large set.”
“Thank you, Alison. Please call if you think of anything else.” Collins handed her a card.
Alison walked away and Folk crouched behind the television. “She’s right, Jim. You would have to be six-three or better to have your back exposed.”
Collins paced. “Two tall men. Two smart, tall men. That’s a start, partner?”
Folk and Collins worked with the ID team and came away with nothing to add to the sighting of two men in the elaborate poisoning of Houston. As they exited the building Collins’ phone rang.
“Detective Collins.”
“Detective Collins, this is Detective Albert Thorpe from the Edmonton Police Department. I understand you have a case that parallels my case here.”
“Yes, it appears a man had his Megapower sports drink poisoned. We’re just leaving the crime scene.”
“Right. The Provost case here in Edmonton is a clear parallel. The team told me someone had been donating cases of Megapower for the past few months. They presumed it was the manufacturer since they’re in Edmonton. I spoke to the owner of the company, a Mr. Gervais, and he’d never heard of Mr. Provost, nor had his company donated product to the team. He seemed concerned about the reputation of the brand name, but I assured him that it was clearly only one bottle that was tampered with. If it’s all right, I’d like to fly out right now and go over the case with you two.”
“Of course. One of us will pick you up at the airport. Oh, Albert, can you contact Mr. Gervais again and ask him if he’s heard of Peter Houston? Houston lived in Edmonton up until six months ago.”
“Will do. I’ll call him on the drive out to the airport. See you later today. I’ll catch the next flight out.”
Chapter Three
Eric Clelland dozed in the back of the limousine as it weaved its way through Edmonton’s river valley. The flight from Ottawa landed in Edmonton an hour earlier. Eric took a few minutes at the a
irport to rip up and throw away the fake identifications and the false beard. He still wore the wraparound sunglasses, helping to reduce the chances of his identification on a video camera. The long, black car stopped outside a large shopping centre on Jasper Avenue in downtown Edmonton. Eric paid and tipped the driver in cash and walked into the shopping centre. An espresso coffee and a read of the newspaper at a second-floor coffee bar took thirty minutes. He left the shopping centre through a different exit in order to confuse anybody trying to follow his movements through video cameras.
Eric walked the seven blocks to the building where he shared the penthouse apartment with Ken. He took the private elevator to the top floor, punched in the security code word created by the brothers, s-w-e-e-t-r-e-v-e-n-g-e. Taking a deep breath of relief, he dropped his bag on a table, crossed the plush white carpet, and stared out the corner floor-to-ceiling windows. The fine leather on the overstuffed sofa squeaked as Ken stirred awake from his nap. “Welcome home. Any hitches?”
“No, things went exactly as planned. You?”
“That rented private jet is the only way to go. Finished my task and still beat you here.”
“Are you in shape to update the list?”
“Just a sec.”
Eric went out on the balcony and smoked a joint while Ken sat inside with a worried look on his face. Eric re-entered the apartment. “Let’s do it.”
Ken reached under a cabinet and pressed a hidden button. The cabinet moved upward revealing a wall safe with two numbered keypads. Ken tapped in a code. “Your turn, bro.”
Eric slipped past his brother, squinted at the keypad with dilated pupils, and tapped in his code on the other pad. The thick door popped open, revealing a large pile of cash and a leather-bound book. Ken pulled the book out of the safe while Eric reached into his suitcase and grabbed several bundles of twenty-dollar bills. He tossed the bills onto the pile in the safe. The brothers sat down at the table and Ken flipped open the book. The first page contained pictures of a young man in goalie equipment. Below the picture and on the following page were detailed notes on his habits. A dark red X was scored across his picture. The second page held a picture of Peter Houston. The pages contained details of his habits, including the regular trips to the gym.
Rough Business Page 2
