“Ken, when do we finish this thing?”
“Patience, tomorrow we hit the third target.” Ken slashed a red X across Houston’s face and flipped to the next page that contained a photo of an attractive young woman riding a bicycle.
“Can’t we take a break?”
“We agreed to get the job done, and done quickly. We’ve done all of our organizing and just need a few more days work and we’ll be finished.”
“Yes, but…”
Ken walked over and put his arm around his brother. “Easy does it, Eric. We’ll be fine. Just be patient.”
“All right, all right, I’ll be cool.”
* * *
Claude Gervais had started to relax. The effects on the sales of Megapower weren’t noticeable after the incident with the goalie. It was treated as an isolated incident. While he was making plenty of money, the future of his company was riding on the one product. When his secretary advised him Detective Thorpe was on the line, his heart raced. Gervais was under a ton of pressure. The company was taking up a great deal of his time. It was affecting his personal life. His wife’s annoyance at his absence was appeased by the huge limits on her credit cards. She spent huge amounts of money, but Gervais had to keep her happy, she did own half the company, and knew his darkest secret.
Gervais hesitantly picked up the phone. “Gervais here.”
“Good morning, Mr. Gervais. I have a couple more questions for you, if you have a moment.”
“Of course.”
“Mr. Gervais, I’m afraid there has been another incident involving Megapower, this time in Toronto.”
“My word. What happened?”
“A gentleman in a private gymnasium had his sport drink poisoned in the same manner as the incident involving Mr. Provost.”
“Is there anything I can do? Is a recall warranted?”
“No, it was an isolated case, but since it also involved Megapower we’re investigating all angles. Mr. Gervais, are you acquainted with a man named Peter Houston? He lived in Edmonton last year.”
“No, I can’t say I know the name.”
“Very well, thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Gervais.”
“Any time. Good bye.”
Gervais hung up the phone and reached into his desk for a drink. Instead of Megapower, Gervais poured a stiff drink of scotch and downed it. He mopped his sweaty brow with a tissue.
* * *
Collins and Folk stopped to eat on their way back to headquarters. While eating Collins called the Toronto Chief of Police and let him know about the visit from the Edmonton detective.
Folk dropped Collins off at Toronto Police Headquarters and headed out to the airport to meet Thorpe. Collins pulled a chalkboard out of a corner of the room and set it by his desk. He cleaned the board and wrote the details from the Houston murder in bold letters, finding it easier to analyze information when he could sit back and stare at it. Collins had the same coffee cup since he started on the force twenty years ago. The Niagara Falls logo wore off years ago. Just like Collins, the cup looked a little tired, with permanent stains on the inside and a chipped rim. The detective refilled the old relic with steaming hot coffee and leaned back in his chair to contemplate the case.
An hour later Detective Folk walked into the room. A man a few years older than Folk pinned a visitor’s identification badge on his lapel as he approached Collins’ desk. He was fit and tall with slightly receding blond hair worn a little longer than regulation.
Folk gestured towards the Edmonton detective. “Jim Collins, Albert Thorpe.”
The two detectives shook hands.
“Welcome to Toronto.” Collins waved to the chalkboard. “I’ve sketched out the details of the Houston homicide.”
Thorpe tapped his phone. “I’ve brought the compete file on the Provost case.”
Folk pointed his smartphone at Thorpe. “If it’s okay, you can transfer it and I can print out a hard copy for Jim. He’s allergic to tech.”
Thorpe and Folk pointed their phones at each other and the information was instantly relayed. The young detective walked to a room on the other side of the large office. He downloaded the information into a computer and pressed a button. The printer in the corner spit out eight pieces of paper.
Thorpe and Collins silently stared at the board.
Thorpe pointed to the note on the overriding of the security tape. “Electronic expertise for sure, but why such intricate plans?”
“A message.”
“Sorry?”
Collins refilled his stained coffee cup. He held the pot up, offering some to Thorpe.
Thorpe put his hand up. “Sorry, I don’t drink coffee.”
Collins poured in too much sugar and stirred it with a wooden stir stick. He walked back to the board. “The killer, or likely killers, are brash. They want to tell us they can’t be caught.”
“Brash bastards,” added Thorpe.
He doesn’t drink coffee, but at least he swears. I like him. “We’ll get them. They will slip up,” Collins predicted.
Folk returned and set the pile of paper on top of the rest of the paper cluttering Collins’ desk. Walking over to a fridge, Folk pulled out a bottle of orange juice. He glanced up at Thorpe and held up a bottle. Thorpe nodded. Folk tossed him one and grabbed another for himself. Collins shook his head and laughed. Thorpe shook his orange juice as he studied the board. Folk grabbed the small pile of pink phone messages on the corner of his desk. He cracked open the top of the juice bottle and took a long pull. As he set the juice on the desk he dropped into his chair.
“Damn.” Folk leaned forward and rubbed his back. “I think something bit me.”
As he rubbed the small of his back his hand scraped against the needle. He pulled his bleeding hand away and stared at it. His face went pale and he collapsed on his desk. Collins and Thorpe ran over. Collins grabbed his phone and called for medical assistance.
Collins gripped one of Folk’s arms. “Albert, help me lay him on the floor.”
The detectives carefully laid the young detective on the cold floor. The medical team was there quickly and found no pulse or respiration. They started CPR and loaded Folk on a gurney.
Collins walked up to the medics. “He complained of a bug bite just before he collapsed.”
“We’ll have them check for allergies.”
“Don’t bother.” Thorpe was leaning over Folk’s chair. “He was poisoned.”
Collins leaned down and Thorpe pointed to the needle sticking out from the back of the chair. The medic took a swab of the needle for a sample to use at the hospital.
“We’ll meet you at the hospital,” said Collins.
In the car on the way to the hospital both Collins and Thorpe were deep in thought.
“Jim, I have to tell you something that happened in Edmonton.”
“What’s that Albert?”
“When Provost was killed I had a partner in the investigation. Her name was Helen Bright…she died two days after the goalie, a fall while rock climbing. We presumed it was an accident. Now I’m not so sure. I’m going to call Edmonton and have them take a look closer at her death.”
“Agreed, it doesn’t smell right.”
Thorpe called Edmonton and spoke to his captain. The captain promised a prompt and thorough investigation of Bright’s death. The two detectives arrived at the hospital and paced outside to emergency room while the medical staff worked on Detective Folk. Twenty minutes later the doctor came out and told them Folk never regained consciousness. He was killed with a large dose of nalitium paritinder, a poison extracted from plants in tropical climates.
Collins dropped Thorpe off at his hotel, met with his captain and deliver the news to Folk’s family.
The next morning Thorpe received a call from Edmonton indicating there were some concerns regarding Detective Bright’s death. Her climbing partner was positive Bright bought brand new rope the week before the accident. The rope that snapped, sending Bright plunging to her d
eath, had been frayed. The presumption was the rope rubbed on the jagged rocks and become compromised. Upon further investigation it was clear that it was very improbable the rope would wear that quickly. The death was now officially a homicide.
Thorpe couldn’t stomach his breakfast. When Collins joined him in the hotel restaurant the Edmonton detective relayed the information. They returned to police headquarters and were immediately directed to the Chief’s office. Chief Dubois informed the detectives he had spoken to his counterpart in Edmonton and they agreed that, because of the links in the cases, the two detectives should work together. The detectives concurred and returned to Collins’ office.
Videotape and witnesses confirmed an unknown tall maintenance man had been in the police building. The man wore his hat down low and dark sunglasses, so no clear view was available.
Collins and Thorpe gathered the information collected at the gym and the police station and spent hours sifting through it. Collins advised Thorpe the bottle containing the poison was spiked at the gym, a vial containing residue of the poison was found in the garbage in the men’s change room. No prints or other leads were discovered on the vial. The locker room was covered with hundreds of prints.
“Shitty cleaning service for an expensive club.”
Thorpe filled Collins in on the details of the goalie’s murder. He pointed out that not only was there a full house for the game, but the warm spring weather forced them to leave ten doors open to improve air circulation in the old wooden arena. The goalie’s Megapower was kept stocked on a shelf at the end of the bench. “The trainer replaced the stock with a fresh bottle at the end of every period. Always fresh, always green. Superstitious athletes.”
Thorpe flipped to the interview of the trainer in the file. “He quickly straightened things on the bench then rushed to the locker room to help the players.”
Collins inspected the pictures showing the four-foot glass surrounding the bench. “Nobody could have leaned over and tamper with it without someone seeing. Is there someone on the bench at all times between periods?”
“No, they have a small volunteer training staff. The bench was empty for about ten minutes before the start of the next period. We interviewed the fans sitting in the first two rows behind the bench and several said they saw a man with a maintenance uniform working on the hinge of the gate.”
“Was the maintenance guy legit?”
“No, the trainer indicated the door worked fine. One of the people interviewed thought the man was tall.”
“Any video tape?”
“Afraid not. The game was too small to be televised and the few people we found with video cameras only had footage of the game, nothing with the bench between periods. This one shows Provost collapsing.”
Thorpe put the DVD in a player and they watched it, along with several other policemen. The tape showed the goaltender’s reaction slow as the second period went on and the opposing team scored two quick goals. About five minutes into the period the goalie collapsed in convulsions. Medical staff moved in and he was promptly taken to hospital. The young goalie, Jean Provost, lived with his family in Sherwood Park, a suburb of Edmonton.
* * *
As agreed, early the next morning Eric handled the first part of the next item on their agenda. He slipped into the old, quiet neighbourhood of their next target, disguised as a gas company employee. Wearing the perfect cover, coveralls and a gas mask, he knocked on several doors on the quiet street asking each resident if they had noticed any unusual odours. Each person did not hesitate to let him check the basement and gas fixtures in their houses. As he left each house he assured the people there was absolutely nothing to worry about.
The small corner house was Eric’s last stop. The attractive blond answered the door wearing the same startled look on her face as the others on the street.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Kirkpatrick. We are investigating the gas lines in the area. Have you smelled any unusual odours?”
“My word, no, I haven’t.”
“No reason to be alarmed, it’s probably nothing. May I check the gas fittings in your house?”
The woman grabbed the cat that had been rubbing her legs and stepped outside. “Of course.”
Eric glanced at a digital gas censor in his hand. “The readings here look fine. I’ll just do a quick check inside. Are there others in the residence?”
“No.”
“Very good. Won’t be a minute.”
Eric walked into the small house, moving the digital device from left to right. He glanced discreetly over his shoulder. The woman was outside, moving away from the door. After searching through likely cupboards in the kitchen Eric finally found what he was looking for, a half-full case of Megapower. One more glance over his shoulder. All was clear. Eric slid his jacket to one side and pulled out a hypodermic needle. He jabbed the hypodermic into the neck of each of the bottles and injected poison. He replaced the hypodermic and left.
Eric held a phone to his ear as he exited the front door and approached the woman. He returned the phone to his pocket as he came up to the young woman. “Everything is just fine. No need for concern. I just received a call from head office that it turned out to be a minor computer glitch on one of our sensors. Sorry to be a bother.”
“No bother. Thanks for checking the house.”
Eric waved goodbye and kept walking down the tree-lined street. The women moved into the house. Eric walked several blocks. He slipped into an empty public washroom in a nearby park and removed the remainder of his gas company clothes and changed into blue jeans and a tee shirt. Eric then walked seven blocks before disposing of the clothes and equipment in an industrial garbage container. His car was parked nearby and he drove home, taking a long zigzag route.
Thirty minutes later he arrived home, with takeout food for Ken and himself.
The brothers sat down and ate. Ken dug into a Caesar salad while Eric ate his usual double mushroom burger.
Ken glanced up from his salad. “Everything go okay?”
“Smooth, very smooth. We’re all set.”
Ken finished his meal and glanced at his watch. “Good, very good. I’d better get ready.” Ken slipped into bicycling clothes and a helmet. He pulled an expensive bicycle out of the large closet and slipped on leather riding gloves. Ken took the bike down the private elevator in the twelve-story building and hopped on. Before starting his ride he checked his watch again. It was 11 AM, he had plenty of time, but Ken headed straight to the park in the river valley. The winding streets moved left and right as he glided down the steep hill, and across the bridge, entering the massive green space. Turning south on a bike path Ken rode easily until he reached a jogging path that meandered along the south edge of the North Saskatchewan River. He pulled up to a picnic table a short distance from where the smaller path joined the one beside which he waited.
Another quick glance at his watch told Ken the time was near. His heart rate increased with anticipation. Five minutes later Donna Kirkpatrick, wearing a high-performance outfit, a MP3 player in one hand, and a fresh bottle of Megapower in the other, jogged towards the river on the narrower path. Ken patiently waited for Kirkpatrick to move past him. He had logged her routine for several weeks and knew she always jogged at the same time and the same distance. As she passed, he noted her shoes were expensive, a current model, and starting to wear. As Kirkpatrick moved away from him, Ken flipped his bike around and followed her at a distance. After ten minutes Ken noticed her flip open the top of the Megapower and take a drink. Ken picked up his pace and moved onto the grass, paralleling her still at a safe distance. Kirkpatrick started to waver and took another long drink. Ken moved slightly ahead of her and stopped his bike, he mimed talking on his phone. Kirkpatrick dropped the bottle and fell to the ground, her hands around her contracting throat. Her face contorted and she stopped breathing, the poison working quickly. Ken recorded her death on the video built into the phone, a
iming the camera through a remote screen he had designed to look like a speedometer on the bike. Ken glanced at the picture of Kirkpatrick sprawled on the ground. Others gathered around. An assortment of phones materialized, several contacting 911. Ken recorded twenty more seconds of video before moving on. The crowd was too thick to get a good shot.
After riding along the North Saskatchewan River for an hour Ken turned west and rode home, checking the reflection in large windows, making sure nobody followed him. The bike rested against the railing of the large penthouse balcony as Ken walked into the living room and peeled off his bike gear. “Eric, I stopped at an internet café and sent the video to the police. This one will shake them up. I smashed the phone and tossed it in the river.”
“Is taunting the police necessary, Ken? It just adds pressure.”
“I don’t give a shit! We have a message to send. Don’t worry, we’ve covered our tracks.”
Eric shook his head, went outside and lit up another joint.
The brothers had patiently waited to get back at the people who they felt had destroyed the family business. Their hatred and need for vengeance were exacerbated when the police ignored their pleas to investigate a trusted employee who they were sure stole trade secrets from Clelland Industries. Ken felt especially bad about the demise of the corporation. The chairman of the company, Ken Clelland Senior had groomed his namesake to take over the company. It wasn’t the loss of money that fueled the hatred felt by the twin brothers. The local community looked up to the Clelland family for their participation in charity work and the arts. The backbone of the family’s reputation was the successful sports drink business, a major industry in Edmonton for many years. Their former vice-president, Claude Gervais was treated as one of the family and knew the future expansion plans of the company. He had been paid extremely well for his work. It was a shock to Clelland Industries, and the Clelland family, when Gervais secretly opened a competing company on the opposite side of Edmonton and used the new formula Clelland Industries was one year away from launching. Gervais even went so far as to accuse Ken Clelland Senior of trying to steal his formula. The older Clelland received an additional blow when, the week after Gervais opened the rival factory, his wife was diagnosed with terminal cancer and died three months later. The once powerful man disintegrated into a shell of his former self and died in a car crash two months later after a night of heavy drinking. His car hit a mini-van carrying a mother and two children. One of the children was badly hurt. The family’s reputation never recovered.
Rough Business Page 3
