Ogrodnik

by Gary Coffin

  The only time he had ever met Rayce was at Sarah’s funeral. They talked briefly, and Rayce had ended the brief conversation saying that if there was ever anything Rayce could do, to let him know. It was time Elliot found out if Rayce’s offer was legitimate.

  “Hello, Mr. Carling?” said Rivka into the phone.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Rivka Goldstein. You may remember me as Officer Goldstein.”

  “Of course, of course, Officer Goldstein. How could I forget?” He stopped to gather his thoughts. “What can I do for you, Officer Goldstein?”

  “To start, I’m no longer Officer Goldstein. I left the force a couple of years ago. What I’d like to do is investigate your wife’s death on my own, Mr. Carling. The original case left a bad taste in my mouth, in everyone’s mouth really. So I’d like to take another stab at it.”

  “I see. I’m not sure how I feel about that. It’s been three years now, and I’d like to think I’ve moved on in my life. Did you come across any new evidence?”

  “No new evidence,” she lied. “Just a new perspective. There were some loose ends that we never had a chance to check out, and I’d like to pursue them.”

  “What do you need from me?” the voice on the other end of the phone said weakly.

  “Just some of your time, Mr. Carling. Today if possible.”

  “I guess it won’t hurt. I’ll be at the office all day. I’ll make time for you when you arrive.”

  Rivka did not waste time. She listened to a pop station on her way over to Eco-Sys. She didn’t really care for it but learned that because she didn’t like the music, it allowed her to think. The monotone ramblings of the rapper were like white noise to her. It covered up the street noise and allowed her mind to focus.

  She thought about her line of questions for Art Carling. She’d focus on the offsite employees that were never questioned in the initial interviews. Now that she had a good description of the Stungun Killer, her questioning could be precise. If the big man who had accosted her had ever been to Eco-Sys, it should be relatively easy to ascertain.

  Before she knew it, she was pulling up in front of the Eco-Sys main office.

  “Art Carling, please. He’s expecting me,” Rivka said to the receptionist.

  A forced “One moment please” came out her mouth as she buzzed the boss. She was obviously not pleased that she should be taken away from her book.

  ”Ms. Goldstein, so good to see you again.”

  “Likewise, and I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice.”

  “Mr. Carling, your time is valuable, so I don’t want to waste it. I’ve come across information on the physical characteristics of Stungun that may have been overlooked three years ago,” Rivka started, not wanting to tell the real story.

  “I’m listening,” said Carling as he sat forward in his seat.

  “I believe Stungun was an unusually large man. Probably more than six and a half feet tall and well over three hundred pounds.” Rivka watched him as she spoke, looking for a spark of recognition. She saw none.

  “A possible witness said he had an unusual voice. A voice like a little boy. And he spoke with a vocabulary and eloquence that you would never suspect just by seeing him.” She searched his face for a spark of recognition but saw none.

  Carling sensed her disappointment. “Ms. Goldstein, if you’re asking me if I know such a man, I’m afraid that I don’t.”

  “Perhaps you have an employee or a contractor who might fit that description? We never did interview the drivers out in the substations. Maybe one of those employees might fit the description?”

  “It is possible. To tell you the truth, I don’t know many of the drivers anymore. I suppose that reflects poorly on me as their employer, but I just don’t have time to meet with everyone. Muriel at reception would have a much better idea about the drivers.“ With that Carling rose from his chair and extended his hand.

  “Ms. Goldstein, talk to whomever you need to talk to, and do whatever you need to do if you think this will lead to closure on Rhonda’s killer. I’ll let Muriel know that you are to be given whatever you need from us.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carling,” said Rivka as they approached the office door.

  “Muriel, Ms. Goldstein has some questions regarding the nasty business with Rhonda a few years ago. Please give her whatever information she is looking for.”

  “Good luck, Ms. Goldstein,” said Art Carling as he passed her off to the receptionist.

  “Hello, Muriel. My name is Rivka Goldstein, and I’ve come across some new information related to the Stungun Killer. “

  “Well, certainly dear, what is it that you’d like to know?”

  Rivka asked the same questions to Muriel as she did to Art Carling, with much the same result.

  “Oh, there are plenty of large men in our business, but I’d remember that voice if I had heard it. Sorry.”

  “Do you mind if I look around outside?”

  “Not at all. You’ll find the garage and maintenance shed in the back. Just walk in, and tell them I said it’s OK. If they give you any flak, let me know, and I’ll straighten them out.”

  A quick tour of the facility revealed nothing, and Rivka returned to the receptionist.

  “Muriel, I remember in my original interviews that Rhonda took pride in her flower gardens, but I don’t see any on the grounds.”

  “Yes, Rhonda loved her gardens. We used to have a huge flower bed that wrapped around the entire front and side of the building, just beautiful. I think they reminded Art of Rhonda, so last year he had the entire garden sodded over.“

  “Who did the gardening work?”

  “That would be Hochelaga Landscaping. Now that I mention it, there was a large fellow who tended to the gardens, but I never heard him speak. My, but he had a way with flowers. Rhonda used to say he was gifted. I only spoke with Andre; he rode the mower and dealt with all the billing matters.” Muriel eyes glazed for a moment as she recalled something from the past.

  “You’ve jogged my memory now, yes, yes, yes. I’d often see Rhonda out there talking to the big fella, but then again, she talked to just about anyone who would listen and some who wouldn’t.”

  Rivka didn’t hear her. She was already looking up Hochelaga Landscaping on her phone.

  There’s no time like the present, Rivka thought as she headed over to Hochelaga Landscaping.

  She thought about the case and how Elliot had walked out on her. Now that the initial shock was over, I understand his reasoning. Maybe it wasn’t what he signed up for. He certainly didn’t want his son getting hurt in the process. He must know that I am not going to back off. As unlikely as it seems, the Stungun Killer was now back within my reach. She thought about calling some of her old team to tell them what was happening, but no, she wouldn’t reconcile with any of them. She’d do this on her own and prove herself. She envisioned herself handing Stungun over to the police. The attention she’d receive. She’d take the high road though. She’d downplay the attention she got and let the press spin their story. She imagined Amyot being interviewed by the press, news hungry hounds desperate for a new angle on the story.

  She shook her head back to the present. Time to focus. If Stungun was at Hochelaga, she’d have to be ready. He had already proved to the entire world how dangerous he was back during his spree.

  Rivka parked and walked around the closed gate, meant to keep out vehicles, not people. Once inside and past the shrubbery that guarded the entrance, she could see the whole yard. It was an immense, open area bounded by outbuildings. The first trailer on the left had a weathered wooden sign above the door indicating it was the office. There was a pickup truck parked off to the side. Rivka sidled up to it while keeping a watchful eye on the open yard. A hand on the truck hood indicated no residual engine heat. There was no sign of life on the compound, the only movement, a dust devil trying to gain momentum in the far corner. She slowly made her way around the yard, peering int
o a few windows without actually trying to enter any of the buildings.

  * * * * * * *

  The big man was alerted by the crunch of gravel from the parking car. The business was closed for the day. He peered out the trailer window and instantly felt his heart quicken when he saw Officer Goldstein exit the vehicle. The big man was aware that Elliot had shut down the investigation and was pleasantly surprised to see the ex-officer here at the yard. He watched through the blinds as she surveyed the yard, gun drawn and held down by her side. He had underestimated her, he thought. She moved cautiously toward his truck parked diagonally across from the trailer and placed her hand on the hood. She would detect no lingering engine heat since he’d been parked for hours. He continued to watch as she made a loop around the yard, peering into the grimy windows of the various outbuildings but never actually entering them. She disappeared from his sightlines when she approached the trailer beside his.

  He took this opportunity to move away from the window and positioned himself next to the door on the opening side. He considered this as his most probable method of taking advantage of her. He envisioned her flinging the door open and sweeping the trailer with gun extended. Ogrodnik was gambling that her gun arm would be within grabbing range.

  * * * * * * *

  Rivka was being careful. If this was Stungun’s workplace and if he was hiding in a building, he would already know she was here, probably watching her at this very moment. She could not afford to walk into a trap, but the office trailer door screamed at her to open and enter. Against every fiber of her common sense, she flattened herself close to the office trailer front wall and inched toward the door. Before she could rationalize what she was doing, she had one hand on the doorknob and the other holding her cocked weapon.

  * * * * * * *

  Ogrodnik strained to hear movement from outside. A tiny metallic sound of a metal ring on the doorknob echoed in his brain. He felt a pang of regret. He wanted desperately to engage her, but today was not the time. He had plans for the ex-officer, but they were not yet ready. He checked again to see if the stungun was charged; it was. He readied himself for her entrance.

  * * * * * * *

  Rivka turned the knob slowly and as silently as she was able. She knew that didn’t make sense, that if Stungun was in the trailer he was fully aware of her and likely waiting to spring a trap, but it was past the time for logical thought. Rivka was working on instinct and adrenalin.

  Her plan was simple. Once the door was unlatched, she would push it open and wait, gun at ready. She did not expect anything to happen when the door opened. He was too smart for that. He would wait inside for her to make the first move and enter the trailer. He would use the confined space of the door opening to his advantage. That’s what Rivka would do if their roles were reversed.

  The knob stopped turning short of releasing the latch. The door was locked. The spell that had gripped Rivka up to that point broke. She chastised herself for being so careless. She had no business trying to tackle Stungun on her own.

  Rivka retreated from the site back into her car. Once behind the wheel, she formulated the next steps.

  I need support, she thought. Should I phone Elliot? That’s the logical thing to do, but he seemed quite adamant that he was not going to pursue the case any longer. This isn’t really the same case as the one Elliot was abandoning, Rivka rationalized. I’m chasing the Stungun Killer, not Biovonix, Yilmaz, or Banik. Maybe I’ll call Eddie Lambert from the Stungun investigation team. We were always on the same page during the investigation. I definitely won’t phone Amyot. There’s no way that prick is getting an ounce of credit for whatever happens now.

  Rivka was quite pleased with herself for the headway she had made today. She felt that fate had handed her another shot at Stungun, and there was no way she was going to let him slip away this time. She got a vibe from her recent discoveries that felt right.

  She imagined what it would feel like when she phoned her sister Rachel to tell her that she had captured the Stungun Killer. That she had finally made good on her promise to catch Emily’s murderer and bring him to justice. How she would no longer feel self-conscious at family gatherings. She realized what a burden her failure had been on her over the past years.

  Ogrodnik stood beside the door for some time waiting to hear the crunching sound of gravel and tire when she left. He had heard the telltale sound of a car door closing but wasn’t taking any chances. He’d wait.

  His knees started protesting and finally heard her car pull out of the parking lot. That was too close, he thought. She would be back and would bring help with her next time. He would expedite his plans to leave the country and deal with Ms. Goldstein.

  Elliot looked up at the clock and saw it was 5:15 p.m. Time to get moving to Rayce’s. Rayce owned and operated the Rayce Bike Shop south of the city in the small rural area of Richelieu. He’d never been there before, but Google knew where he was and how to get there.

  He crossed the Champlain Bridge over to the south shore and continued south on the Number 10 until he reached the exit for Chambly. Google then told him to turn east, and head through the town. Chambly turned out to be an old historic town sitting on the banks of a river basin. He’d never been to this town before and was surprised at how picturesque it was. He followed the old main road through town, past an old stone Fortress in an area appropriately named Fort Chambly and continued on until he passed the waterfalls. One set of lights later, he was cruising along a rural road with widely spaced houses and came upon the ample gravel parking lot of Rayce’s Bike shop on the left.

  The bike shop itself consisted of a glassed in showroom about 30 feet wide on the left side of the structure and a couple of full-sized garage bay doors on the right of the building where the mechanics would do their work. Elliot could see that the bike shop had been added onto the front of an old stone house. That would be where Rayce lived.

  It was late in the day, and it was Sunday. There were no customers. Elliot pulled into a parking spot beside the shop and got out of his car. Rayce was already walking toward him from an unseen door on the side of the bike shop.

  Rayce was fascinating to look at. His face looked like it was fashioned from a block of clay with a machete and then put out to weather for a few decades. The angles of his face weren’t quite true, and Elliot concluded that the best efforts of a plastic surgeon weren’t quite good enough to hide a violent past. He had thick hair the color of lead that would have touched his collar if he wore one. He wasn’t a huge man, maybe a shade over six feet and 220, but was as broad at the shoulders as a much larger man. Rayce didn’t have the bulked-up muscle that you might see on someone who frequented the gym. His lean, ropey muscles hung off his oversized frame like Spanish moss from an oak tree. Elliot got the immediate impression that he was a man to be reckoned with, and yet the calm, measured manner in which Rayce crossed the parking lot also spoke about a man who was in complete control. The phrase “still waters run deep” popped into his mind as he watched Rayce approach.

  Elliot thought about what an old college roommate of his used to say about identifying dangerous people. The roommate was a doorman at a local watering hole. He himself was a large fellow with notable credentials hanging out of each sleeve, and his job was to keep the peace. He learned how to size up the clientele before they became opponents, and he always told Elliot that he watched for guys with thick wrists. It had something to do with physics and leverage. Rayce’s wrists were veined two by fours, and hanging from them was a pair of softball sized fists.

  Elliot extended his arm to shake hands. It brought back the memory of when he first shook Rayce’s hand at Sarah’s funeral. At six and a quarter feet tall, Elliot was not a small man by any means, but the way Rayce’s hand completely enveloped his own took him by surprise. Elliot understood that when men shake hands, there is an unintentional rivalry in the manner that the hand is shook.
Every man subconsciously wants his hand to be the dominant one in the exchange. It is something so instinctual and primal that it’s not even considered or thought about during or after the greeting.

  Not only did Rayce’s hand completely encompass Elliot’s, but the grip itself was so firmly stable that his hand fought to find even a small amount of purchase within the grasp. The little bit of grip Elliot’s fingers found on the bottom edge of Rayce’s hand reminded him of roughly sawn wood. If they had been adversaries, the psychological portion of the battle would already have been won.

  Rayce invited Elliot around to the back of the house where they sat at an old patio table that was canted slightly to one side and teetered on uneven legs when he rested his hand on it. The bricked patio extended about 15 feet from the house and was 20 feet wide. Past the patio, the yard gradually sloped down to the rushing river behind it. The roar of the rapids in the back offered a soothing blanket of white noise, and Elliot thought this would be a great place to find peace. Rayce already had two beers freshly opened on the table waiting.

  “Thanks for meeting me, Rayce. I know it must have been a shock to hear from me this morning.”

  Rayce put his hand up to stop the conversation niceties and get down to business. “Start at the beginning,” he said in a low, raspy voice that had a liquid quality to it not unlike surf washing over a rocky beach. Elliot speculated that the unique sound of his voice might have something to do with the vestiges of a long scar that ran from one ear down across his neck and then disappeared into his shirt.

  He started at the beginning. He talked about his father’s murder and what he thought about the investigation, the clues his father had left behind, his visits with Dr. Baldwin, Alex Banik, Enver Yilmaz and his security crew. He explained how he and Rivka had managed to find the vehicle and the owner. He spoke of Frank Girard, Rivka and the big man, who is probably also the Stungun Killer. He spoke of the visit with the police chief, the apparent suicide of the killer, and the subsequent cover-up. He described the break-in at JFK, the fire at his house, the photos on the table, the dead suckerfish, his decision to back off and drop the investigation and finally about the photos of Sarah on the subway deck standing beside two of Yilmaz’s heavies.