“Right then. It’s show time.” Eric turned off his phone and walked into the staircase.
Ken dialed the first number. An explosion at the opposite end of the hospital sent debris, smoke, and flames shooting out several windows.
The fire chief, standing in a parking lot, barked into his radio. “We’ve just had another explosion. We need a full evacuation of the hospital.”
A second explosion in another part of the hospital rocked the building again. Ten seconds later the southern face of the annex across from the main building crumbled to the ground. The parking lots and streets around the hospital filled with people escaping, and others helping to evacuate patients and casualties.
“Get us five more units down here, and call the gas company. Something is causing multiple explosions,” the fire chief roared.
Eric counted the explosions and walked up the stairs. He faked a little stagger and emerged from the doorway. Two firemen helped him towards a treatment area at the far end of the parking lot.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. There are others in there that need a lot more help than me.”
The firemen froze. The larger fireman turned to face Eric. “Where exactly.”
“On the bottom floor, near the morgue. Two people on the floor. I tried to help, but the smoke was too much. Please, please help them.”
The smaller fireman let go of Eric’s arms and took a step towards the hospital. “You sure you’re fine.”
“Hell, I’ve inhaled more smoke from a campfire. Go. Go.”
The firemen put on oxygen masks and ran to the hospital entrance. The taller man yelled into his radio. “We have a report of two people unconscious in the basement. Logan and I are going in.”
The crackling sound of the response on the radio was the last thing Eric heard as he crossed the street, weaving his way through the growing crowd of onlookers. He walked straight north, stopping several times to pretend he was looking into store windows. Each time he glanced back or used the reflection in a store window to make sure nobody was following. When he was certain he was clear, he removed the fake fingerprints and tossed them in the garbage along with the towel from the pharmacy. As he entered a rear lane behind some apartments he removed the identification badge and hospital clothes. He had blue jeans and a tee shirt on under the uniform. After walking another three blocks he threw the clothes in a garbage can. With the vial of drugs safely in his jacket pocket Eric headed to the restaurant to meet his brother.
Ken watched through the café window as the fire trucks and police cars crammed the streets around the hospital. Patients were wheeled out and moved to other buildings, blocks from the hospital. When the flames reached several stories Ken knew the police and fire departments would be fully occupied. He dropped a healthy tip on the table and walked down the street, stopping at his hotel to change clothes.
Fifteen minutes later he was at the pizza place and joined Eric at a booth at the far end. The pizza place was a regular stop for the twins when they were young. Their father would take them there after a hockey game or a movie. Ken’s heart sank as the memories flooded back. In Eric’s face, Ken briefly saw the happy young boy with his ball glove siting on the seat beside him, talking endlessly about the great play he made in the game. Now Eric looked worn out and nervous, his pale complexion a reflection of his mental state. Ken dropped into the other side of the booth and ordered a coffee. He pointed at the apple pie in the round glass case at the end of the counter.
“Shall we, in memory of Dad.”
“I forgot about the apple pie.” Eric waved the waitress over. The middle-aged woman wiped her hands on her stripped apron and pulled out the small green and white order pad. “Something else?”
“Two pieces of that apple pie.”
“With ice-cream?”
Ken looked at Eric and smiled. “No ice-cream. Cheese. We want it with cheese, that’s how Dad liked it.”
The tired waitress wrote down the order and walked away, completely disinterested in the nostalgic pie story.
“Well, we raised hell today,” said Eric.
“Sure did. Do you have it?”
“Right here, bro.” Eric tapped his pocket.
“Good, good.”
“Now we have to figure out how to get at Gervais. Those cops will be watching him like a hawk.”
“I’m way ahead of you, Eric. We just need another big distraction that will send the cops reeling while we make our move.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Chapter Eight
Thorpe and Collins were driving down 109th Street when they saw the smoke billowing into the sky and heard the radio relay details of the bombings.
“Jesus, they’re at it again,” said Thorpe.
Collins was driving as Thorpe browsed through Ken’s computer. “Well, there’s nothing in here to indicate they were planning an assault on a hospital.” The computer started to buzz.
“Shit.” Thorpes’ fingers flying over the keys. Numbers and letters raced down the screen then it went black. “Well, I can now see why he left the computer accessible rather than requiring a password. He must have had a program in here to clear the hard drive after a certain number of hours.”
“Is everything gone?”
“Pretty much. We can drop it off at the lab and see if they can dig anything out of the memory, but don’t hold your breath. Besides, it all looked like things they had already done.”
“I don’t see how we can trace them through the evidence we have. All we really know is that it’s Ken and Eric Clelland. We don’t have any idea what their next move is, or where they are.”
* * *
The Clelland brothers ate their pizza and worked on the next step in their plan.
“We have to find out where they’ve hidden Gervais before we can give him our surprise,” Ken said as he flipped open his phone and tapped on it with a stylus. “Gervais is an arrogant bastard who isn’t big on hiding out.” Ken handed the phone to Eric.” This is from the database at the Italian restaurant where Gervais orders his lunch every day. Yesterday, he ordered his usual three-cheese lasagna and a side salad with the house dressing. I think tomorrow’s lunch will have a special ingredient. He’s surrounded by police and private security guards, but the restaurant isn’t.”
* * *
The police station was swarming with policemen and detectives working on the cases ranging from the killing of the Deputy Chief to the bombings at the hospital. Thorpe and Collins were in constant demand.
Thorpe put in an emergency request for information on the twins’ passports. He was certain they would leave the country soon. The email from Ottawa with information on the Clelland’s movements arrived just after midnight. The report showed that the boys traveled extensively after the death of their father. Their base was London, England. Eric spent extended periods of time in Spain and France, while Ken visited Hong Kong and Thailand. Both brothers also spent time in Japan on several occasions. Their last recorded movement had them back in England.
“How did they get back into Canada without having it recorded at the border?” asked Thorpe.
“I’m guessing the trips to the far-east were more than vacations,” said Collins. “These days it’s easy to get forged passports, especially in places like Thailand and Hong Kong.”
Collins looked further back in the travel records. “The twins spent very little time in Canada in their teens and beyond. They could easily move around Edmonton with nobody recognizing them.”
Thorpe tapped the still shots from the video at the squash club. “That would explain the blond hair. Their passports show that they have brown hair.”
Thorpe’s cellphone rang. After a short conversation Thorpe hung up the phone and turned to Collins. “Well, I found the link between Houston and the Clellands.”
Collins sipped coffee and sat on the edge of his desk. “I’m guessing it had something to do with the money.”
“Exactly. That call was a dete
ctive working undercover on organized crime. He tells me Houston brokered the deal that financed Gervais’ business. The money came from organized crime. Turns out Gervais didn’t have enough equity to finance a big operation, so he went where the money was.”
“It worked too. Gervais Industries made a pile of money.”
“It all ties together. Problem is where are the Clelland boys?”
* * *
The Clellands were drinking coffee in an industrial parking lot between Edmonton and Sherwood Park. Ken’s watch showed 1 AM sharp. Across the street from the parking lot the cleaning staff at Forzani Pizza and Pasta were locking the back door.
Ken slipped the small bottle of white milky liquid into his pocket. Several hours earlier he crushed several talsitropomium bromide tablets into three ounces of water. In his other pocket were two syringes. Eric sat quietly beside his brother holding tightly onto his lock picking tools.
The cleaning crew drove away. Ken pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Five blocks away an explosion ripped a jewellery store. Ken dialed again and another explosion blew a window out of a bank on the other side of Sherwood Park. A third number ignited an explosion at an ATM machine at another bank. After the cleaning crew were out of sight Ken and Eric approached the back door of the pizza place. Ken kept watch while Eric opened the door. It only took moments before the brothers were searching the restaurant for the stock of house salad dressing. Two cases of dressing were in the stock room, one unopened, the other contained two sealed bottles of the dressing.
Ken pointed out the refrigerator with his thumb. “Eric, check in there for an open container.”
Eric ran and pulled open the thick refrigerator door. A draft of cold air gave Eric a start. Steam filtered the light from the bulb overhead as Eric methodically searched the cold metal shelving for a bottle of the salad dressing. On a lower shelf sat a box containing six pouches of salad dressing used for takeout orders. Alongside the dressing sat a wicker basket full of sets of plastic knives and forks. These items shared a large tray with another basket containing a selection of other salad dressings. Eric grabbed the container of house dressing and returned to his brother.
“Got it.”
“Good work.” Ken pulled out a syringe and the chemical. “I’ll deal with these. You go keep an eye out for police.”
Ken carefully injected fluid between the lips of all six plastic packets of house salad dressing, shook them, and returned them to the pail.
Ken handed the pail back to Eric. “It’s done. Return these to where you found them and we’re on our way.”
Eric picked up the pail and placed it back on the shelf of the industrial sized cooler. The brothers glanced outside the door, saw it was clear and started back to their car. Back in Edmonton, they pulled into a late-night fast food restaurant and picked up food at the drive-through window. They ate as they drove to a quiet residential area. There they pulled the car over and slept fitfully for several hours.
Thorpe and Collins, exhausted from working all night, studied the police reports about the rash of break-ins and attempted break-ins in Sherwood Park but were baffled. They couldn’t imagine the Clelland brothers needing money. The crimes only caused structural damage and no money was taken, presumably they were a diversion. But for what? Gervais was unharmed. The detectives kept the files on these crimes on a large pile of low priority leads on a desk, theoretically to get to later.
Thorpe’s telephone rang. It never stopped ringing. Thorpe hoped for a call from the Chief indicating a patrol car had pulled over and arrested the Clelland twins. The call turned out to be from the police lab. Thorpe thought he knew everyone in the lab, but the voice was new.
“Detective Thorpe, this is Brenda Gallivan. I have some important information for you. Could you please stop by the lab?”
The courtesy suggested to Thorpe that the lab technician was new. “Of course, Detective Collins and I will be right over.”
Thorpe nudged Collins who was leaning back in a chair reading a police report. “Let’s a walk over to the police lab. They indicate they have something interesting for us.”
As the detectives walked across the detective’s room they saw Chief of Police Talbot giving another of his seemingly endless string of news conference. Talbot looked tired, but put on a good front. He explained that they were closing in on the suspects. The school pictures of the two brothers were on a television screen behind him. “We need any leads from people who may have information on the two people on the screen. Their names are Eric and Ken Clelland. The pictures are a few years old, but we can tell you that they are quite tall and change their appearance regularly.”
A reporter stood up. “Chief Talbot, how did you track them to that apartment?”
“We tracked it down through the delivery of a piece of electronic equipment one of the suspects ordered from Japan.”
* * *
Ken, sitting in a van in a park between Edmonton and Sherwood Park, watched the news conference on his phone in disbelief. His brother slept calmly on a patch of shady grass outside the van unaware he was responsible for nearly getting them caught. Ken threw the remains of his sandwich onto the grass on the opposite side of the van. Crows descended on the food and picked at it. Ken’s gaze burned into his sleeping brother. After a few moments and a few deep breaths, an eerie smile crossed Ken’s face.
* * *
Claude Gervais sat at his oversized desk, watching the television coverage of the news conference. He glanced at the frosted-glass wall with the Gervais Industries logo that gave him an obscured view of what was happening outside his office. The large shadows of the two huge security guards sitting like statues on each side of his door gave him some comfort. Gervais turned his attention back to the television screen. He pressed a button on the newly installed security camera control panel in the top-right-hand drawer on his desk. The camera in the hallway leading to the outer office flashed on the screen. He pressed another button that showed the front entrance of the building. Three more armed security men checked everybody that approached the door.
In the top of the picture a blue compact car pulled up to the door. The guards never moved, they simply waved and ogled the young, attractive delivery girl who always brought Gervais his lunch.
Nina rode the elevator to the top floor of the office complex and crossed the plush carpet that led to his outer office.
The secretary smiled. “Hi, Nina.”
“Hi, Clara. I see you’re also having salad today.” Nina showed the secretary the usual paper bag containing lasagna and a chicken salad with house dressing for Gervais. Nina then set down the plain salad and house dressing for Clara.
“Yes, just treating myself today. Keep the change Nina. In you go.”
“Thanks.” Nina approached the two men watching Gervais’ office. Nina smiled as both men jumped up and looked in the paper bag. The guards shuffled the containers in the bag, saw the usual items, and opened the door to the palatial office. Nina went in and put the food in the usual spot on the marble coffee table in front of the leather loveseat.
Gervais was on the telephone with a distributor. He smiled at Nina and waved her over to his desk. Nina waved back and smiled. The bigger of the two gigantic guards leaning into the office to keep an eye on Nina, closed the door after Nina left. The noon food delivery was prompt as usual, five minutes before the company lunch break. The two guards pulled out sandwiches and soft drinks. Clara had her usual herbal tea and a homemade biscuit with the salad.
Gervais, on the other hand, always ate a full serving of lasagna and a chicken salad for lunch.
The salad was there to ease his conscience; his real passion was the piping hot lasagna. This day, just like all the rest, Gervais pulled the top off the lasagna first. The salad and dressing remained in the bag. Long strands of mozzarella cheese stretched from the lid to the top of the browned lasagna. Gervais rolled the cheese on his fork and devoured it. He insisted on getting his lasagna from Forzani�
��s because they only used real, high quality cheese. After eating one-third of the pasta Gervais reluctantly pulled the salad out of the bag. His wife made Claude promise to eat salad for lunch every day and he had a clear conscience when he told her he was keeping to his promise. The top of the container came off easily and the fresh lettuce and strips of hot chicken stared up at him. He ripped open the packet of dressing and poured it over the salad. Aiming his fork at the centre of the salad he scooped up a large forkful of salad dripping with dressing. He slipped the food into his mouth, a few drops of dressing falling back into the container.
In the outer office, just as Gervais dug into his salad, Clara dropped a teabag into the steaming water in the small teapot given to her by her husband. She set the tea down to steep and pulled the plastic lid open on her salad. After squeezing the dressing on the salad she set the paper napkin on her lap and placed the biscuit on the desk beside her tea. As she picked away slowly at her salad she heard a noise from Gervais’ office. She was used to him making phone calls during his lunch. Clara took a sip of her tea and reached for her biscuit and noticed that none of the phone lines were lit. She looked at the office with concern on her face.
“Everything okay, Clara?” asked the guard sitting closest to her.
“I don’t know.” Clara finished her mouthful of salad. “I hear Claude talking, but he’s not on a phone.”
“Maybe a cellphone?”
Clara pointed to her credenza. “No. His cellphone is right here charging. Could you please have a look?”
The guards put down their lunches and knocked on the door. There was no response so they knocked louder. A muted “help me” came through the door. The guards pushed open the door. It only opened halfway, Gervais’ foot was blocking it. The guards knelt down beside the convulsing body. A milky substance dripping out of his mouth and soaking into the plush carpet.
Rough Business Page 9
