William offered a feeble smile. “I had a bit of an altercation out front with that young man.”
Chris turned from the cabinet with a first aid kit in hand. “What young man?”
“The young man I sketched for you,” William replied, “Rather accurately, I can now confirm.”
“Should I call the police?” asked Sandy.
“I don’t know if that will help,” said William. “I’m sure he’s gone. I heard a car racing away right after he left me.”
“Call Jonathan and fill him in,” Chris suggested. “He’ll take care of the rest. I’ll look after our friend here and we’ll join you before you know it.”
He turned his attention to William, first tending to the bloodied cheekbone.
“It doesn’t look serious,” he said after wiping it clean. “Dude must have been wearing a ring because it’s more of a scratch or gash, not like the skin split.”
“Will I need stitches?” William asked.
“I doubt it but you probably should see a doctor,” Chris replied, taping a square of gauze over the wound. “Are you bleeding anywhere else? Where did he hit you?”
“Mostly in the face,” William replied. “Three or four times. Then he kicked me a few times when I went down, once in my upper back and a couple of times here on my thigh. He ran off after that and I heard a car starting up and taking off.”
“Everything with your face seem okay?” asked Chris. “Your jaw? Loose teeth?”
“No, nothing that I can feel,” said William. “It’s tender to the touch where he hit me. I’m sure I’ll have a few bruises in the morning.”
“You’re bruising up as we speak,” said Chris. “Let’s look at your back and leg to make sure there’s no bleeding.”
He helped William out of his leather jacket then raised his sweater and examined his right upper back.
“You’ll have a decent bruise but the skin’s not broken. He didn’t get you in the ribs, spine or lower back?”
“No, only once, below my right shoulder,” William repeated.
“That’s where the bruise is,” Chris confirmed. “Do you want to check your thigh yourself?”
William smiled as he unbuckled his belt. “I’m wearing clean shorts and have nice legs.”
He lowered his trousers to expose two additional bruises in the making. “I believe I will be sore tomorrow.”
“It could have been worse,” said Chris. “How does your head feel? Any headache or pressure?”
“No,” William replied. “My face is throbbing some but that’s all.”
“Did you pass out when he hit you?” asked Chris. “Dizziness, anything like that?”
William shook his head. “And I’m not confused or nauseous either. I seriously doubt I have a concussion if that’s what you’re suggesting because he hit me in the face, not on the head.”
“You probably should still see a doctor,” Chris advised, “But I guess it’s safe for me to offer you a drink.”
“I won’t say no,” said William, “Though I do apologize for barging in on you again. I had nobody else to turn to and, I confess, I was concerned with the blood and had nothing clean up or disinfect and dress any cuts.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Chris replied. “Let’s go get you that drink and I’ll finish my dinner. I’m sure Jonathan and company will be joining us before too long.”
* * * *
Nuns’ Island, Montreal, Quebec, 8:03 p.m.
“Hey, guys,” said Sandy as the elevator door slid open. “They’re in the study.”
“Thanks, Sandy,” Jonathan replied before leading the way to the spacious den-like room where Chris, Dave and William chatted over a glass of port in the sitting area to one side.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Chris greeted the trio, gesturing to the open bottle and glasses on the centre table. “Serve yourself and have a seat while I make the introductions. Allan Ryerson, you already know Jonathan, of course. These other two fine gentlemen are Inspector Tim Harris and Detective Lieutenant Frank Bakes of the Montreal police.”
“Good to meet you, Allan,” said Tim as handshakes were exchanged.
“I wish it was under better circumstances,” added Frank, accepting a glass of port from Jonathan before settling into an overstuffed leather chair.
“I can’t disagree with you,” William replied. “I’m sorry you gentlemen had to take time out of your busy schedule on my account.”
“It’s part of the job so don’t worry about it,” said Tim. “In addition, we’re particularly interested in knowing what happened since you think your attacker was the same man you had seen here shortly before Jonathan was shot at.”
“I don’t think it was the same man,” William corrected. “I know it was and it seems my attack was related.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Frank.
“What he said to me,” William replied.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Tim suggested.
“Gladly,” William agreed. “After dinner, I decided to go for a walk, something I often do as part of my fitness regimen. I left at six-fifteen for an hour long stroll to further familiarize myself with the neighbourhood. When I got back, I had a couple of minutes remaining to complete my hour so I walked along the path which goes around the building. In retrospect, I wish I had simply come back in. Anyhow, as I reached the front parking lot, I sensed movement behind me and before I could turn around, I was shoved off the path and into that cluster of trees. I managed to regain my footing, turned around and recognized him immediately, just before his first punch connected.”
“Where did he hit you?” asked Frank.
William touched his jaw to the right. “Here. It was a solid blow but I remained on my feet and he swung again, hitting me right below the right eye. I started falling backward but he grabbed the front of my coat and pulled me upright. Still gripping my coat with one hand, he hit me two more times with his other hand, both in the face, before letting me fall. Then he crouched down next to me and said, ‘You best be careful who you’re making friends with, mister.’ He stood up and kicked me three times, once in the back and twice here on my right thigh before running off. I heard a car start up and take off seconds later.”
“He didn’t take anything from you?” Frank questioned. “Ask for your wallet, anything like that?”
“Nothing like that,” William replied. “I was conscious the whole time and still have my wallet and keys. This wasn’t a mugging, Detective. It was clearly a warning. He, or somebody, must have seen me with Jonathan and Chris at the fitness centre yesterday morning. That’s why I’m suggesting my attack must be related to Jonathan’s.”
“It does seem to add up,” said Dave. “I wish I had gotten a look at the guy who ran me off the road to see if he matched.”
“My goodness,” William exclaimed in shock. “You mentioned a car accident last evening but I wasn’t aware you had been run off the road.”
“Uh, that wasn’t information I meant to share,” Dave admitted, looking sheepish. “The police are investigating so please keep this to yourself.”
“Absolutely, not a word,” William vowed, “But I’m now intrigued. I sense you believe there’s a link between your incident, Dave, and Jonathan’s, and now mine, I might add. May I ask why?”
“Let me start by saying I’m sorry you ended up involved with this,” said Jonathan. “If I hadn’t asked you to join us for coffee at the gym, we probably wouldn’t be here right now so I feel somewhat responsible.”
William shrugged. “Such is life. If I hadn’t approached you and Chris at the gym, we likely wouldn’t be here either.”
“True,” Jonathan conceded. “In any case, since you are involved and since we have a sketch of the suspect, thanks to you, it’s only fair we give you some idea of what we think is going on but this remains between us.”
“I can’t see who I’d tell,” William replied, “But regardless, you have my word.”
Jona
than nodded. “The basic concept is fairly simple. Dave used to be with the Montreal police and now works with me for an anti-crime government agency. Following Dave's incident, we looked at some potential suspects, all folks Dave had sent to prison while he was a cop, but none of them seemed to fit the bill. In relation to my getting shot at, those people make even less sense because I had nothing to do with any of them. We believe both attempts are related so the theory is, we’ve annoyed someone in the past who is now looking to get even. Unfortunately, we have no clue who that might be.”
“Clearly, it must be someone you and Dave offended since you started working together,” William suggested as a matter of fact.
“A definite possibility which we’re looking into,” said Jonathan before turning his attention to Chris and Dave. “There’s also a bit of information Tim and Frank shared with me on our drive over. Ballistics matched with the shooting in Westmount.”
“Is that right?” Dave asked rhetorically.
“No doubt about it,” said Frank. “Same gun, same ammo.”
“Please forgive my asking,” said William. “But do I understand correctly that there was another shooting?”
“Yes, a week before Jonathan was shot at,” Tim confirmed.
“But, who was the victim?” asked William, looking confused. “Was it someone connected to Dave or Jonathan?”
“Actually, it wasn’t,” Tim replied, “Which makes finding a link that much harder.”
“However, you now know it was the same gun used to shoot at Jonathan,” said William.
“Uh, yes, that’s correct,” said Tim. “I’m sorry, Allan, and this is not your fault, but we really shouldn’t be getting into details with you about the investigation.”
“Of course not,” William agreed, seeming embarrassed. “I can be persistently nosy when intrigued and, as you may suspect, this is not the type of situation I am generally involved with. I do apologize for my questioning.”
“To be fair, we brought on the discussion, Allan,” said Jonathan, “And most people would be just as curious in the same situation so forget the apologies. However, it probably is in your best interest that your involvement in or knowledge of the case be kept to a minimum. Simply being seen with me seems to have been enough to bring you some grief.”
“You’re right, of course,” William admitted, “Although I’m disappointed I can’t be part of this somehow. Chasing down some violent criminal must surely be more exciting than the research projects I’m involved with.”
Jonathan smiled. “The excitement wears off pretty quickly and I doubt your research attracts too many attackers.”
“Point well taken,” William replied, gingerly rubbing his tender jaw before turning to Chris. “I do hope we can remain in contact socially. After all, I owe you a dinner and would also love to take up Sandy on her offer to visit her gallery.”
“I have every intention of collecting that gastronomic debt,” said Chris. He paused then asked, “Are you off tomorrow?”
“Off work, you mean?” said William. “Yes, I am. Why?”
“Sandy’s heading to Knowlton to oversee the hanging of an exhibit,” Chris explained. “It’s called Harvest so the artist felt a Thanksgiving Day opening was à propos. If it works for Sandy, it would give you a chance to see the gallery and get your mind onto something more pleasant than tonight’s events.”
“That would be nice,” William agreed, “But, once again, I don’t want to be a burden.”
“She won’t say yes just to please you,” Chris promised. “Give me a call tomorrow and I’ll let you know if it’s a go.”
“I’ll call you in the morning,” William replied before addressing the group. “Well, gentlemen, if you don’t have any further questions for me, I will bid you good night. I believe a soak in a cool tub will do this battered body some good.”
They wrapped up the conversation with William supplying the cops with his contact information. Following a round of handshakes, Chris escorted him out and returned to join the others a moment later.
“Seems like a nice old guy,” Tim was saying as Chris entered.
“What do you mean, old?” Jonathan growled. “He’s about my age. Seriously, he’s certainly interesting to chat with. Smart man and always very polite and proper.”
“You certainly won’t hear any slang coming out of his mouth,” Dave agreed. “It’s funny but he reminds me of someone though I can’t pin down who.”
“Is it Jonathan with the age thing?” Chris suggested.
“Bite me, punk,” Jonathan countered good-naturedly.
“I got the same impression,” said Frank. “Not about being old like Jonathan, about him reminding me of someone. Did anybody else get that feeling?”
While Tim and Jonathan shook their heads, Chris shrugged and said, “Not me. Someone you and Dave worked or dealt with in the past, maybe?”
“It could be,” Dave replied, “And, it’s not a question of physical resemblance. It’s more in his mannerisms and how he expresses himself, the whole polite and proper thing we mentioned and his refined speech.”
“Still no bells ringing for me,” said Chris.
“Jonathan mentioned he’s working on some university research,” Tim suggested, looking at Dave and Frank. “Maybe you guys saw him talk at a seminar somewhere. What field is he in?”
“He couldn’t say,” Jonathan replied. “Top secret stuff and confidentiality agreements.”
“Seems to me I’d remember him from a seminar,” said Frank.
“Unless he was really boring,” Dave countered, “But, yeah, I agree and, like I said, I don’t have the impression I’ve seen his face before.”
“He mentioned a plastic surgeon friend yesterday as the reason he got interested in the sketch app,” said Chris. “Maybe he got a good deal on a nip and tuck and doesn’t look like he did when he bored you at some seminar.”
Dave shrugged. “Whatever. It’ll either come back to me or it won’t. What we know for now is, he provided us with a sketch which may lead us somewhere and apparently got punched out for hanging out with us.”
“Well, we know where he lives so we’ll try to keep that from happening again,” said Chris. “As for the sketch, if it’s as accurate as he insists it is, we might get lucky and match it with someone’s mug.”
“We can hope,” said Jonathan. “Leslie’s working on it. She’s also compiling a cross-referenced file of potential candidates who might have a dislike for Dave, Frank and me.”
Chris nodded. “Yeah, I gave her a hand setting up the programming for the data extraction which is running as we speak. Barring any glitches, we should have a manageable list to work with sometime tomorrow.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing who pops up on that,” Jonathan replied. “Keep me posted. In the meantime, I’m going to go back to my wife because she’s heading to Knowlton in the morning to hang out with Sandy and Cathy for a while.”
Chapter 13 – Monday, October 12, 2015
Nuns’ Island, Montreal, Quebec, 8:47 a.m.
“Good morning, Allan,” Chris answered the phone.
“Good morning,” said William. “I trust I’m not calling too early?”
“Not a problem,” Chris replied. “How are the cuts and bruises this morning?”
“Better than I expected,” said William. “A cold bath, some ice-packs, peroxide and a fresh bandage did wonders. Even the bruising has diminished.”
“Good for you,” said Chris. “Does that mean you’ll be up for a gallery visit this afternoon? Sandy said she would be delighted to give you a premiere showing.”
“That’s wonderful news,” William exclaimed. “I presume you’ll be there as well?”
“No, I’ve been to my fair share of openings over the years,” Chris replied. “Cathy and Jonathan’s wife, Josée, will be there but us boys are staying in town to let Dave finish recuperating.”
“In that case, might I offer to drive the ladies to Knowlton?” Wil
liam suggested. “It’s the least I can do to repay all you’ve done for me.”
“They left earlier this morning,” said Chris. “Sandy had to be there by nine to receive the artist’s work and to supervise the hanging of the show. They’ll be done by two and Sandy was suggesting you get there around that time.”
“I shall be there,” William confirmed. “Thank you for proposing this.”
“My pleasure,” said Chris. “Do you need directions to get there?”
“No, I already looked it up earlier,” William replied with a chuckle. “I like to be prepared.”
“You’re a regular Boy Scout, Allan,” said Chris. “Have a great day and stay safe.”
* * * *
Taylor’s, Knowlton, Quebec, 2:32 p.m.
“… and this last one is called After the Harvest,” said Sandy, leading the others to a large oil on canvas landscape depicting a field picked clean with the setting sun beyond autumn-hued trees in the background.
“Marvelous,” William murmured as he gazed at the painting. “I wasn’t familiar with Dennis Duval’s work but he is incredible.”
“I love how he slightly exaggerates his hues,” Josée commented, “Just enough to subtly increase contrasts between light and dark. It makes everything more vivid.”
“But still very realistic,” Cathy added. “Sandy, you must be expecting this show will be a success?”
“Absolutely,” Sandy confirmed. “Over half of these pieces will sell at the opening this evening.”
William sighed. “I only wish I could paint a fraction as well as this.”
“I’m sure you’re much better than you pretend to be,” said Sandy. “You surely have photos of some of your work on your iPad you could show us?”
“Alas, I do not,” William replied with a grin. “Consider yourself lucky.”
“Oh, stop it,” Sandy retorted, giving him a friendly slap on the arm. “If you refuse to show us your work, you can at least tell us about it. You mentioned you did portrait painting. What else do you do?”
Getting Even Page 8
