He smiled. “I heard that. We’ll stop in Brockville. I’ll need to do some shopping, and they’ve got an outlet mall. I’ll be right over there.” He indicated the railing edging the canal.
“I’ve got my gun and my book, but leave the engine running.”
“You’ve got it. I won’t be long.”
Mike set the emergency brake, looked at her as if he wanted to say something else, but got out of the car.
There wasn’t another vehicle anywhere, and no one had been behind them the last thirty miles or so. She opened her book. Surely she could think of something other than the mess she was in for a few minutes. She would probably have enough to worry about after Mike’s call.
• • •
Mike turned up the collar on his jacket and walked over to one of the railings separating this parking area from the old canal. Pulling the burner phone out of his pocket, he turned it on and punched in Henri’s cell number. Hopefully, his partner would answer it. Leaving a voice mail message wasn’t what he had in mind.
“Allô? Thibodaux à l’appareil.”
“I should hope to hell it’s you,” Mike said. “Who else would answer your cell phone?”
“Christ, Mike. You’re dead!” Henri exclaimed. He lowered his voice, the surprised relief in it palpable. “I identified the ring myself. What the hell happened? The place burned down, but there was no mention of the woman.”
“Don’t worry about her. She’s with me. What ring?”
“Your wedding ring. If you weren’t wearing it, who was?” There was no way his partner could fake his astounded confusion.
“Are you saying they really did find a body in that cabin?” he asked, his breath catching in his throat.
“They claim they did. I didn’t see it, but I identified you based on the ring. Your funeral’s Monday morning. It’s going to be a nice one, too.”
Henri was agitated, and that wasn’t good for the man’s heart.
Instead of firing questions he desperately wanted to ask, Mike slowed his breathing. He hadn’t left a body in the chalet, especially not one wearing his wedding ring, which should be in his apartment, in the envelope they’d brought him at the hospital, the one that had contained his cell phone and the rest of the items he’d left behind when he’d gone undercover.
“I can assure you, Henri, I’m not dead nor am I some goddamn ghost. That ring was with the personal items Clancy brought me at the hospital. It’s possible someone removed it. I didn’t check too closely. I needed my keys, my phone, and my wallet. I just assumed everything else was in there. For the record, I did set fire to the chalet, but if they found a body there, I had nothing to do with it. Maybe you can get some DNA, and we can figure out who it is.”
“I would if I could, but they cremated you—I mean him—yesterday.” He paused. “I’m glad you aren’t dead, mon ami. So what’s the woman like?”
Mike looked over at the SUV. “Tall, scrawny blonde with a nasty disposition. You know the type. Born to be an old maid. I’ll bet you had teachers just like her when you were a kid.” If Alexa ever heard this description of her, he’d have to eat a truckload of humble pie, but disinformation might be the safest thing for them both.
Henri groaned. “Yeah, I remember a nun or two who fit that profile.”
“Nag, nag, nag. She bitches about this, that, and the other thing, and she’s royally pissed because I dragged her all over hell’s half acre in the miserable cold and snow. I guess saving her life wasn’t enough. You just can’t please some people. Listen, something’s rotten, and it’s in your neck of the woods.”
Quickly, he filled Henri in on what he’d discovered at the chalet without mentioning Andy, Colette, Richard Fields, or Alexa’s condition. The less his friend knew, the better. “I torched the place as I said, so we could buy more time to get away. Now I find out I’m dead. Did anything else happen there since I’ve been gone?”
“We had a break-in Sunday morning. They took the four sketches the captain had in his office.”
“Maudite merde. We needed those.” Henri didn’t need to know Alexa had replaced them.
“Doucet’s fit to be tied. He can’t seem to reach anyone on his super-secret taskforce.”
Mike frowned. Now that was interesting. Were they setting the chief inspector up as the patsy? They would sure as hell need a scapegoat if anything really bad happened, and it would have to be someone up high enough to supposedly wield the necessary power. There was some comfort in the fact he was considered dead. At least he couldn’t be blamed.
“I’ll bet. Listen, can you bring up the case file and see if there’s anything new in it? It might help me figure out my next move. I’ll hang on.”
Hopefully Andy had it wrong, and although the RCMP file was missing, the SQ one was still there.
“Just a minute. I’ll bring it up on the computer,” Henri answered.
Mike heard Henri place the phone on his desk, and then, shortly afterward, a string of French curses that would’ve made even the most jaded man blush.
“I don’t understand it. All of the files on any aspect of this case are gone. I looked under my name, your name, the captain’s name, the bloody file numbers, but there’s nothing here. It’s as if none of this ever happened. That information was there on Sunday. I didn’t imagine it. Sacristy! Since the record indicates you’re dead, your passwords don’t work and your shield’s retired. Look, I’ll tell Doucet that they’ve made a mistake and I spoke to you. At least I can stop the funeral—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted. “I’m probably safer dead, even though the people who reported it know damn well I wasn’t in that chalet.”
“Can I tell Mireille? She’s really broken up about this.”
“I’m sorry, Henri, but . . . ”
“What the hell’s going on? This isn’t what either one of us expected.”
“I know, and I don’t like it one damn bit. Watch your back. The only way those files vanished was if someone upstairs made them disappear. Isn’t Doucet’s personal assistant a woman?”
“She is, and since she’s been promoted, she’s changed. I knew Florence when she was with station five, a sweet girl then, but some people don’t handle success well.”
“Interesting. A woman interviewed Alexa, took her statement, and fed her some cock-and-bull story about testifying on camera. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I’m convinced the problem is in the chief inspector’s office.”
“You think Doucet is the mole? That’s crazy.”
“Crazy or not, he’s the one who started all of this.”
“Are you going to the farm as we mentioned? I can meet you there. I may not be as quick as I was, but I can still fire my weapon.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think we’ll steer clear of any place the brass and anyone else might expect us to go. We’ll head into the Eastern townships. Lots of places to hide among the skiers and other tourists. I’ll be in touch.”
“I don’t like it, but you know what’s best. Do you need anything from me right now?”
“No. I’ll call you if I do. Be safe.”
Mike ended the call. So, like Alexa, he’d been erased. While that might have some advantages, the idea of being a man without a country wasn’t something he relished. He was proud of his family and his heritage. For three hundred years, the Delormes had been an integral part of this province, this country. It wasn’t something he was ready to give up. And who the hell was the stiff wearing his wedding ring?
He returned to the car and opened the passenger door. He was going to have to tell Alexa what he’d learned, but something, some tiny bit of information that would pull everything together logically, was missing.
“Come on out for a bit. Some fresh air and stretching won’t hurt. When we get back, we can squeeze in another visit to the hot tub.”
She nodded and turned on the seat so he could lift her out. He carried her over to the railing and set her down on her feet.
/> “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, thanks. So what did Henri have to tell you?”
“He confirmed that the file on you is gone at the SQ level, too. And, apparently, they found a body in the rubble of the chalet. The man was wearing my wedding ring. It seems I was cremated yesterday and my ashes will be interred on Monday.”
Another man buried with Thea—that would be the first thing he would fix when this was over. For now, as they said, he would grin and bear it.
“I’m sorry, Mike.”
The sympathy on her face warmed him. “I know you didn’t bargain for any of this.” She stared down at the ice expanse beneath them.
“Neither one of us expected this. It looks like we’re Lucien and Laura Gravelle whether we like it or not.”
“And even those names are false.”
“Not false, borrowed. We’ll get through this.”
“Who do you think was in the chalet?” she asked, chewing on her lower lip again.
“I can’t be sure, but it could’ve been your Callaghan. He and another goon were probably going to the chalet after the storm to finish us both off. Think of how easy it would be. You knew him. You would’ve let him in.” He made a gun with his hand and pointed it at her. “Pow! We would both be dead.”
She started, her face as white as the snow around them.
He dropped the pretend weapon. “Sorry. I didn’t intend to scare you. When whoever was with him realized he’d screwed up, Callaghan would have paid the price for failure. Toss the body onto the pile, add some combustibles or an accelerant, and voilà! But I would sure like to know how he got my wedding ring.”
Below them, the frozen, snow-covered ice stretched all the way to the other side of the canal. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the cell phone he’d used and tossed it as far out onto the ice as he could.
“If someone’s looking for that phone, that’ll keep them busy.” He picked her up. “Let’s get out of here.”
The sooner they were nowhere near the device, the better.
“Do you think anything Callaghan told me about himself was true?” she asked. “Not that he said much. Hell, he didn’t even name his wife and son. I can’t believe I was such a fool. After Richard, I should’ve learned, damn it.”
“You’re not a fool. I see you as an optimist. Given the situation, you did what anyone would’ve done. You saw the best in Callaghan and trusted him to do right by you. As for Richard, that’s not on you. He deceived and manipulated you. Once you understood the situation, your sense of self-preservation kicked in, yet you were ready to testify if you could bring Zabat and the others to justice. When you reach for the roses and ignore the thorns, it’s a given you’ll get hurt.”
“You make me sound like Mother Teresa. I’m no saint.”
“I never said you were, but I’ll bet with all the empathy you have, you were a hell of a teacher. Maybe someday you can give me a crash course in the Hokey Pokey.” He winked.
She smiled. “I loved teaching. That’s probably why I stuck it out as long as I did. Once I left that classroom, I knew I’d never be able to go back again.”
Mike started the SUV and turned south, back the way they’d come. She closed her eyes, and he turned his attention to the road, replaying his conversation with Henri. They were less than half an hour from Brockville when he realized they were being followed. Turning off Highway 15, he took a side road that led through Augusta. The black van looked familiar. There’d been one parked on the outskirts of Perth, but that would mean someone had been waiting and watching for him. Since no one knew what he was driving, let alone where he was, he was probably overreacting, but he needed to be sure. He slowed down and pulled over.
“What is it?” Alexa asked, half asleep.
“Nothing.” He popped the hood. “I need to fill up the washer fluid.”
He waited for the vehicle to pass. As it did, he glanced at the woman in the passenger seat. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and her coat collar was turned up. She stared straight ahead. Mike frowned. When he passed a stopped car, he usually glanced at it. He shook his head. Maybe she was asleep. She could be blind for all he knew. He exhaled and got out of the car. Might as well fill up the washer fluid while he was at it. That way, he wouldn’t be lying to Alexa again.
“We’re good now,” he said, getting back behind the wheel.
He pulled back onto the highway. He had to stop jumping at shadows before he drove himself crazy.
• • •
Wide awake now, Alexa turned her face to the side window. If it weren’t for the injury to her back, she could slip away the next time they stopped and vanish the way she’d intended to when she’d left Toronto. How naïve she’d been. What had she thought she could do without money and connections? Accessing her mother’s bank account would’ve given her a few thousand dollars, but now that she was dead, that account would’ve reverted to her estate like everything else.
The cash they’d left at Andy’s could’ve bought her a future and anonymity, but even if she could’ve grabbed the duffel and made her getaway, would she have done it? Leaving Mike after everything he’d tried to do for her didn’t seem right. Besides, while she might have his spare gun, crippled the way she was—and she hated admitting that even to herself—she wasn’t in any shape to look after herself, whoever the hell she was now.
“Tell me about Richard,” Mike broke into her thoughts making her jump. “Relax, will you? I don’t want to know any more about your relationship, I want to know about his life, his career. We know he had ties to the mob and possibly Zabat through his wife. Andy’s checking with Interpol as to when their man was active. If Richard’s trips abroad coincide, it could explain how these two cases are connected, and I don’t know about you, but I could use something concrete to tie this together. You said that Richard’s politics center around who can help him get and stay richer. Would it matter to him if he helped the other side? If we could prove it was him, Interpol could follow it up, and, Lex, you would be free, really free.”
“That’s almost too much to hope for,” she answered, leaning against the car door. “As far as this side or that one, Richard only has one side. His.”
“When I contact Andy, I have to tell him about your other idea about new faces for criminals, basically a ‘get out of jail free’ card.”
“I really don’t know all that much—” She sat up straight. It was clear now that Richard had made a point of keeping her out of his business, ignorant of his past. “He’s a Canadian citizen now, but he came here from the States. He claimed he wanted a fresh start without the memories of his wife all around him, but he kept pictures of her at home and in his office. I think he used them to get sympathy. He’s an extremely proud and vain man who sees himself as the Michelangelo of cosmetic surgeons. That’s why he would publish the before and after pictures of his most mutilated patients. He wanted everyone praising his power.”
“What happened to his wife?”
“Cancer, I think. He wouldn’t talk about it. Camilla—her name was as beautiful as she was—died about fifteen years ago, maybe more.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You aren’t exactly Medusa, you know.”
“Beside Camilla, I’m the ugly step-sister to her Cinderella. There’s a slight resemblance—we do have similar bone structure—but that’s it. Where was I? We didn’t socialize with his friends and colleagues. He claimed he preferred keeping his private life just that. Richard had friends, of course, but they were lawyers, bankers, investment people, although as I recall some of them seemed a little rough around the edges. He had a lucrative cosmetic surgery practice in the city—you know, boob jobs, tummy tucks, rhinoplasties, but the only time he ever asked me to join him was at a news conference for one of his charity reconstructions. He handled those at a private clinic north of the city. He would fly to some war-torn country, invited there by his friends at Doctors Without Borders, and then come back with two or three disfigured
people. Sometimes, with children, he would be forced to do the work there.”
“That must’ve been dangerous. Did you ever see any of these disfigured individuals?”
“To me, having him gone, even for only a few days, was a godsend. I never saw any of his patients, although like I said, I saw the before and after photographs. When he got them back to Canada, he would do what he could for them, and then they would be repatriated somewhere safe, since going back to their homeland would’ve been a death sentence. I think it was that generous side of him that allowed me to overlook the rest.”
“Did you ever travel with him?” he asked.
“A few times. We were in Lucerne for our first Christmas. He was presenting at some conference there, and I spent my time on the bunny hill with a couple of wives whose husbands were attending the symposium. By the way, a bunny hill in the Alps is a black diamond run here. I did a little shopping, too. The next time he took me with him, we went to Amsterdam for March break. He hired a tour guide to keep me amused while he taught a seminar at the hospital.”
“Does that happen a lot? Foreign doctors going to teach or give lectures?”
“I don’t know about other doctors, but Richard accepted about a dozen invitations a year. It gave him an opportunity to showcase his skills. Why?”
“Because all those foreign visits would provide ideal cover for a little work under the table.”
“I suppose that’s true, and if he was supposed to be there doing one thing, it would be hard to prove he did something else.”
“Exactly. Some of those visits had to be legit, or the authorities would’ve grown suspicious.”
“As much as Richard’s a bastard, I can’t believe he’d go so far as to give monsters and terrorists new faces and a new lease on life.” But even as she said it, she realized that the Richard who attacked her had no such scruples.
“But it was okay to ruin your life, to physically attack you like he did,” Mike echoed her thoughts.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. It’s as if he was two different people.”
No Good Deed Page 23
