The police informed the Clelland children there wasn’t enough evidence to charge Gervais with theft. They suggested the boys try suing Gervais. They considered it, but decided that their grievances went beyond money. They wanted Gervais to suffer. Ken and Eric sold the remaining family holdings and moved to Europe for a year. Ken focused on seeking means of revenge. He researched and brainstormed ideas focussed on paying back both the Gervais family and the police for not helping. Eric, on the other hand, went to Spain and studied Spanish. While in Spain Eric fell into a daze. A daze augmented by a new drug habit. He went along with his twin brother’s plan, but didn’t share his drive.
Provost, the first target was the son of Bill Provost, the lawyer who Ken believed orchestrated Gervais’ betrayal, and cleared the way for the creation of Gervais Industries. Provost blocked every attempt by Clelland Sr. to stop his rival from using the new formula. Provost also invested in the stock offering by Gervais Industries, turning a huge profit after six months.
Peter Houston was the architect of the financing and stock sale that proved so profitable for all involved. Houston’s gains were through commissions and bonuses for tracking down money for the new enterprise. Ken was certain the company would never have enjoyed such great success nationwide without the large influx of investments. Gervais had money, but nowhere near enough to finance national distribution and marketing.
Ken patted his brother on the back. “We’re getting there, Eric. When that bastard Gervais learns Kirkpatrick is dead he won’t know what to do.”
“It was a sweet move.”
Ken and Eric had discovered Gervais had a mistress he kept with the fortune he had amassed. Ken had installed listening devices in both Gervais’s office and at the mistress’ house. The tapes and photos suggested Gervais was planning to leave his wife. Eric, who had learned to pick locks in Europe, had broken into a law office occupied by one of Gervais’s lawyers and found documents confirming he was serious about divorcing his wife. Kirkpatrick’s death was extra sweet because Gervais couldn’t tell the police about the ties without risking his wife finding out about the affair and possibly taking half of his financial holdings.
* * *
Police Chief Adam Talbot was in a meeting with the mayor when his secretary knocked on the door. Frustration showed on the mayor’s face, but the Chief felt nothing but concern. His secretary would never interrupt a meeting unless it was extremely important.
The Chief of Police stepped out of the office and spoke with her. The secretary showed him two pictures with a note indicating they were stills from a video of Kirkpatrick’s death. The Chief briskly walked back into his office. “Mr. Mayor, something urgent has come up. We’ll need to reschedule this meeting?”
The mayor agreed to reschedule and left Talbot’s office. Talbot took the pictures and went to the detective’s department.
“Captain McCoy, I have something to show you.”
“Of course. Let’s step into my office.”
The chief sat on the edge of McCoy’s desk and McCoy stood facing him. The Chief tossed the two photos on the desk. The captain picked them up and studied them.
“Captain, tell me that isn’t a bottle of Megapower lying beside her.”
“That’s exactly what it is, Chief. Now we have to discuss how we assign a team of detectives to this case with a history of ending in death for half the detectives assigned to it?”
“Harris and Davies are next team in line for an assignment, but frankly it is ties right into Thorpe’s case.”
“Perhaps we can assign the case and set a trap for the killers at the same time.”
“Let’s hear your idea.”
Chapter Four
Collins and Thorpe were sorting through the information on the two cases when Thorpe’s cellphone rang. Collins read the expression on Thorpe’s face and knew he wouldn’t like the news. Thorpe ended the conversation and leaned back on his chair.
“Jim, we have another case. This one’s in Edmonton.”
“Who’s the victim?”
“A young woman jogging in a park was poisoned…the tests aren’t in yet, but a Megapower bottle was found at the scene and the victim showed the same symptoms as Houston and Provost.”
“Christ, what’s our move?”
“My captain and the chief just got off the phone with your chief. They’ve agreed we’ll handle the cases…but…with a wrinkle.”
“The records at the Edmonton Police Department will indicate the case is assigned to two fictitious detectives. We keep our mouths shut for our own safety. They’ve got special ops setting up the bogus profiles and used two of our safe houses as their addresses. The houses will be monitored electronically from the department. If anybody goes near them, teams assigned to watch the houses will nab them.”
“Sounds good. I assume we’re on our way to Edmonton?”
“We’re booked on the next flight. Let’s grab our gear and get to the airport.”
A few hours later Collins and Thorpe were on a plane heading for the Alberta capital. Detective Thorpe had his car at the airport and drove Collins and himself to the coffee shop agreed to by Thorpe’s boss, Captain Adam McCoy.
“Briefing is at Claire’s, a great old coffee shop on the south side.”
“Sounds good,” replied Collins.
Thorpe paid for the parking and the two detectives joined the busy traffic on Highway 2 heading north into Edmonton. Claire’s Coffeehouse was at the end of a strip mall several miles south of the river
Valley Park where Fitzpatrick was killed.
The detectives sat at a booth that looked straight out of 1960.
Thorpe waved at a waitress. The middle-aged woman grinned and sauntered over.
“Hey, Albert.”
“Hi, Ellen.”
The waitress flipped over white cups with green stripes around the lips and poured strong black coffee. Collins smiled and took a sip from the steaming cup. Thorpe ripped open a sugar pouch and poured it in his.
Collins took a second sip. “Good coffee, very good.”
Ellen turned and greeted some new arrivals, a young couple slid into the adjoining booth. She dropped a stained menu in front of them. Ellen prepared to pour coffee for the man. He slipped his menu over the cup.
“None for us, bring us two decaf caramel lattes, please.”
Ellen glanced at Thorpe and they both laughed. Ellen moved the young man’s hand and poured until coffee filled the cup and ran into the saucer. She set the old coffee urn on the table and slipped a napkin between the cup and saucer. The napkin quickly sopped up the coffee. She filled the young lady’s cup, managing to stop just short of a spill.
Ellen dropped a handful of cream containers beside the freshly filled cups. “This is a coffee shop, refills are free, and tips are expected.” The waitress smiled and winked at the table full of policemen as she walked past them on her way to the long counter lined with customers.
Collins laughed and tossed a toonie on the table. “I think I like it here.”
Thorpe looked through the steam from his coffee and lifted a hand to Captain McCoy as he entered the café. After introductions, the captain sat beside Thorpe and reached into his briefcase, pulling out some papers. “This is the complete file on the Kirkpatrick case. The lab confirms it was the same poison, and it was in the Megapower.”
Collins sat silently and skimmed the files. Finally he looked up at the two Edmonton policemen. “The links to Megapower are clear. We have to talk to the owner of the company and find out who he thinks may be behind this.”
Thorpe, also skimming through a copy of the file noticed their crime scene team searched Kirkpatrick’s house and found a large number of bottles of the energy drink. “Agreed, but I’m also wondering how the killer, or killers, knew she would take the right bottle.”
Collins completed Thorpe’s thought. “Let’s go. The file indicates the box of sport drinks from Kirkpatrick’s house is in the evidence room at headquarters.�
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The detective left the coffee shop and went straight to HQ.
The evidence room was quiet as Thorpe signed them in and led them through the cage door. He glanced at his phone, confirming the case number, and wound his way through the maze of industrial shelving. He stopped at a stack of three boxes. Each detective slipped on latex gloves and carried the boxes to a small room with two large tables. They opened the boxes and glanced in.
“Got ‘em.” Thorpe lifted out a box containing seven bottles. He set them on the table. “We’ll get these to the lab right away and have them tested.”
Collins slipped on his glasses, leaned close to the box and inspected the bottles. “I think they’ve all been tampered with.”
Thorpe leaned over Collins and looked where the other detective pointed. There were the small needle holes beneath each lid. “Agreed. Now we know someone was in the house.”
Thorpe filled out a form and gave the box of bottles to an officer to take it to the lab.
The detectives started sorting through the other evidence in the box but found nothing else of interest.
Thorpe and Collins then drove to the victim’s old, established neighbourhood and located her house. They searched through and found nothing else to assist in the case. The house was nicely furnished. An expensive sports car parked in the garage. Several pictures of Kirkpatrick and an older man they presumed was her father were on the mantel.
The detectives separated and questioned the neighbours. Several told the same story of a gas company employee checking for leaks in the area. Three people described him as tall and wearing a gas mask. The link was complete.
* * *
Eric munched granola while Ken hacked into the Edmonton Police computer. Ken noted the names and home addresses of the two detectives assigned to the Kirkpatrick case. In Europe, Ken and Eric acquired criminal techniques ranging from forgery to high-tech surveillance. Both Ken and Eric had university degrees. Ken’s was in computer programming, while Eric studied linguistics and was fluent in several languages. They carefully covered their tracks in Europe, and since their temporary return to Canada by using false identities.
Ken and Eric didn’t care which of the two policeman they killed. Either Dennis Buchanan or Fred Shewchuk would pay for what they felt was the police department’s part in disgracing the Clelland family. The family supported many police charities and the twins felt betrayed when they would not press charges against the man who stole their ideas. Hiding behind the claim the matter was civil rather than criminal. The police didn’t listen when the brothers explained their father was dead and their reputation ruined. Ken logged onto a search engine and typed in the addresses listed for the two detectives. Ken laughed. He logged back into the police computer and searched for previous cases assigned to Buchanan or Shewchuk. None were listed.
Ken leaned back on his chair. “The bastards. They’re trying to set a trap for us.”
“How’s that?”
“They’ve created two fake detectives.” Ken checked the addresses listed for Buchanan and Shewchuk. “Here it is, these houses are owned by the city. Police safe houses. Eric, get out your chemistry set. Those houses aren’t as safe as they think. I’m going to prove it to them in a big way.”
Eric pulled out a briefcase from a secured cabinet. He carefully set it on the table and unlocked it. The case opened to reveal several squares of plastic explosives.
“How much do we need, Ken?”
“Just a small amount, Eric. Make it about the size of a roll of dimes. Tie the detonator to one of the prepaid cellphones and program another to speed-dial it. Prep it, put it a paper bag, and I’ll take them in twenty minutes. If it’s okay with you I’d like to handle this one myself.”
“Knock yourself out.” Eric was getting more and more weary of the hunt.
Eric busied himself with the explosive. Ken stuffed the paper with address in his pocket and sat at a mirror. Pulling out a makeup kit, Ken changed his hair colour from brown to blond, and added a beard and dark glasses. His refection in the mirror made him smile. The non-descript blue jeans, sneakers and blue shirt, the same as the clothes worn by half the people in Canada were topped by a baseball cap.
Eric handed him the package and the phone. Ken checked to make sure the battery was fully charged. Everything was set. He picked up the paper bag and headed for the door.
“I’ll bring back pizza to eat while watching the news tonight,” said Ken.
“No onions.”
Ken slammed the door and walked to the elevator. Nobody gave him a second look as he got on a bus and rode it to the end of Jasper Avenue and up 124th Street. He watched out both sides of the bus for a large grocery store. Five blocks up 124th Street he saw one. The location of the store was perfect, only six blocks from the house. The exit door on the bus slammed shut as Ken took a few steps toward the store. He headed to the flower department and picked up the first potted plant he saw. In the card area, he grabbed a card with more flowers that had “housewarming” spelled out in large red letters.
Ken smiled at the irony. This plant will defiantly warm up the house.
After going through the checkout and paying cash for the card and plant, Ken took the purchases outside and removed anything that led to the store or the specific grower. He wrote To Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan and added the house address to the front of the envelope. He slipped the blank card inside, and sealed the envelope. In a small park around the corner from the store Ken removed some of the soil from the bottom of the potted plant and replaced it with the explosive devise and the cellphone detonator. A smiled crossed his face as he tucked the card into the plant and headed down the street to the basketball court he spied from the bus.
Several pickup games were in progress. He sat on a bench where he could see all the games. Several players, laughing and talking left the courts together. Ken ignored them. At the far end of the courts a heavy-set young man picked up a backpack and left the park, heading towards downtown Edmonton. Ken also ignored him. Finally, Ken saw what he was waiting for. A tall young man high-fived his friends and walked out of the park. The youth’s clothes were older and his sneakers were dirty, and tired looking. Best of all, the young man was heading towards the address on the envelope.
Scooping up the flowers, Ken paralleled the young man, a grove of trees that divided the park stood between them. As they neared the end of the trees Ken picked up his pace and approached the teenager. The young man was about the same height as Ken and Eric.
“Excuse me,” Ken said softly.
The young man stopped, squinted into the sun, and said nothing.
Ken ignored the discourteous manners. “I was wondering if you could help me. I’m late for work downtown and my wife asked me to drop these flowers off at her parent’s new house. I’d be glad to pay you for your trouble if you could do that for me. I have an important meeting in twenty minutes and my boss will be furious if I’m late.” Ken showed the young man a twenty dollar bill.”
“Sure, no problem. I’m going right by there.”
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver. My boss is a real pain in the ass.” Ken handed the young man the flowers, envelope, and money.”
“No sweat.”
“Terrific, and thanks a lot.”
The young man walked away. Ken walked towards 124th Street until he was sure the young man could not see him then doubled back at a safe distance to watch the young man. The youth approached the street, Ken peered from behind some trees as the boy passed a dark sedan a block from the house where a man sat reading the paper, undoubtedly a policeman. Clelland anticipated there was likely another car at the other end street, so he dared not go closer. There was no concern. Once the time came, the phone in his hand would do the rest of the work. The man in the sedan was on his phone as soon as the young man walked by. A car two blocks down pulled out from the curb and parked again a little closer to the house. The man in the closer sedan quietly got out followed the young man at a disc
reet distance.
The teenager, oblivious to the policemen moving in on him, double-checked the address on the envelope and looked up at the small house with the veranda covered in vines. The boy walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. Ken watched from behind some trees at the end of the block as a large man answered the door and had an animated conversation with the teenager. By this time the men from the sedans were right behind them. The three men grabbed the teenager just as Ken pressed speed-dial on the phone in his hand. The veranda exploded, sending lumber and flowers in every direction. Ken was already heading back to 124th Street, walking down a residential side street parallel to Jasper Avenue on his way back to the apartment. Even from eight blocks away he heard the police and fire sirens as the emergency vehicles sped to the burning house.
The 911 lines were still ringing with word of the explosion and fire when Collins and Thorpe heard about the events at the imaginary Buchanan house. Four people were killed, including three policemen. The stare from the Chief of Police as he passed by them was enough to draw the detectives into his wake and enter the conference room.
Rough Business Page 4
