METROCAFE

by Peter Parkin

  Jallen nodded. "There's more. A forensic audit was completed of the files at Ontario Life that Spence personally handled. Over the course of three years, over thirty million dollars in payments were made for twenty-five deaths. All applicant documentation was on file, identifications, etc. There were proper death certificates. However, all medicals at the time the applications were made were faked. And for twenty-three of the applicants, they had already been dead for several years."

  Mike couldn't believe what he was hearing—another embezzlement that went on for years, just like with Gerry at his own company. He suddenly remembered back to Colin's funeral, hearing Colin's wife, Karen, talking about security precautions Colin had taken...and then seeing Samson at the funeral. Beating the shit out of him in front of everyone, Jim trying to stop him. Samson had his hooks into Colin Spence too.

  "Earth to Mike—are you still with us?"

  Mike gave his head a shake and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I'm with you. I'm just a little shocked by all of this."

  "We're not finished. There is no evidence that Colin Spence enjoyed any personal financial gain from these twenty-five transactions. So, we're wondering...where did the money go?"

  Mike had the funny feeling that he was going to find out. Déjà vu.

  "We can't trace most of the money, but we did find a clear trail for the last two deaths—one check for $2,000,000 and the other for $500,000. Both were instantly transferred to a numbered bank account in Panama."

  Mike clenched his fists.

  "The last two people who are supposed to have died were your wife, Cindy Baxter—payment of two million to one Michael Baxter as beneficiary; and your daughter, Diana Baxter—payment of five hundred thousand to, again, one Michael Baxter, beneficiary."

  Chapter 38

  Mike could feel his stomach churning. A rush of acid suddenly rose from within causing him to choke and cough until he thought his throat had turned inside out.

  He could hear off in the distance somewhere, "Mr. Baxter, are you alright?" He felt a strong hand patting him on the back. He was vaguely aware of being grabbed from behind and yanked to his feet, two burly arms wrapping around his chest and squeezing hard, pumping in and out until he thought his ribs were going to break. Then relief.

  Mike could feel that his face was fire engine red, as he sucked in deep breaths. He saw the two detectives, blurry images in his watery eyes, their worried faces, Wilkinson holding him up by the waist. "Are you okay now?"

  Nodding agreement, Mike guzzled the glass of water that Jallen had shoved into his hand. Both of their faces were now looming large in his view, and the walls of the office seemed to be closing in, making him dizzy. He plunked down in his chair and held his forehead in his hands. There was a strong bitter aftertaste in his mouth, and his throat felt like it had swallowed flames.

  The detectives sat down as well, across from Mike's desk. "If you're okay now, we'd like to continue. Is that all right with you, Mike?" Jallen sounded concerned, but still very officious. They weren't finished with him yet, much to his chagrin.

  Mike cleared his throat. "Yes, go ahead. I'm fine now, thanks." Not really.

  Wilkinson leaned forward in his chair. "We used our consulate in Panama to find out about that numbered account. It's...in your name, and tens of millions of dollars have passed through that account over the last few years. It's empty right now, but still active. All the funds in that account were transferred systematically to an account in Beirut, Lebanon. That's where the trail ends."

  Mike came alive and slammed his fist on the desk. "I never opened an account in Panama—hell, I've never even been to that country. And I never worked with Colin Spence on a life insurance fraud scheme. I think I need a lawyer."

  "We're not charging you Mike—at least not yet. Let's just say we consider you a 'person of interest.'"

  Mike was starting to experience a feeling of absolute impotence. He was set up every which way he turned. That Samson bastard! "Okay, did you check into the information I gave to your office before you came over here? Samson's phone number and post office box number?"

  Wilkinson looked at him sadly. "Yes, we did. Both the phone number and post office box are inactive. But when they were active, they were registered in your name." Mike jumped to his feet. "That's fucking ridiculous! Can't you guys see I'm being set up by this prick? I mean, why would I give you two things to check that I knew were registered to me? Seriously, do you think I would be that stupid?"

  Jallen got up from his chair and walked around to where Mike was standing. He glared, unblinking. "We're used to seeing all sorts of deceptive behaviors, always designed to make the guilty look innocent. So, we can't discount what we've discovered until we investigate further. Not saying you haven't been set up, but not saying you have been either. Even you would agree that everything about your story is very suspicious, and all the facts pointing to you are incriminating as hell."

  Jallen walked back around the desk and motioned for Wilkinson. Mike decided that Jallen was really the one in charge here after all. They both headed for the door. Jallen turned around to face him one more time. "We're not going to ask for your passport just yet, Mr. Baxter, but please do us the courtesy of not leaving the country."

  *****

  Mike passed by his secretary Stephanie, in a daze. He vaguely saw her holding out some papers to him, but he just kept on going down the hall toward the elevators. She called after him. He ignored her.

  He took the elevator down to the parking garage and hopped into his BMW. He drove along in an almost hypnotic state, making his way down Front Street, hanging a right at Spadina, then down the alley where he had first bared his naked torso. A right, then another right, stopping at the little red clapboard house.

  It had been several weeks since Mike had seen Ali and Jonas. He felt the need to connect with them again right now; didn't know why, he just did.

  He walked up the front steps and knocked on the door. Ali opened up with surprise on her face, but Mike could see that she was clearly pleased to see him.

  "Mike, how nice to see you! Come in! Come in! Jonas will be so happy that you're here!"

  Almost as if on cue, Jonas bounded from the back of the house, and stood in front of him as if at attention. "Hi, Mike. How have you been? It's been a long time, and we've missed you." He uttered the words carefully and deliberately, with a huge smile on his face.

  Mike was shocked. Jonas was speaking so clearly, enunciating perfectly. And he could tell that Jonas was proud of himself too.

  Ali wrapped her arm around Mike's waist. "You can see that the speech therapy has paid off. The therapist said that Jonas is a very bright little boy— catches on so quickly. I'm so happy for him." Ali leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed Mike on the cheek. "I can't thank you enough for arranging for the therapist. It's only been a few weeks, but the results are amazing!"

  Mike kissed her back. He had decided weeks ago that the only way the little boy was going to have any chance at all was to pay for some private speech therapy sessions. If it were left for too much longer, he would have a permanent impediment. Ali had objected at first, but Mike's insistence wore her down. She felt guilty about not being able to afford to pay for the sessions herself, and promised Mike she would pay him back one day. He didn't care about seeing the money repaid. It was just so worthwhile seeing that it had paid off. Now there was one less reason for the other kids to make fun of him.

  Mike went over to Jonas, picked him up and whirled him around. He felt so comfortable with Jonas, just as if he were his own son. He could feel that he and the little guy had developed some real chemistry.

  Ali went into the kitchen to make some coffee for them, and Mike watched her go. She had a rhythm to her steps now, a confidence she didn't have the first time he met her. And she was stunning to look at—those hazel eyes that seemed to change color depending on the light in the room or brightness of the sun. Sometimes they were green, sometimes gray, but always reverting back to haz
el as the day unfolded. Her hair was long, sometimes left to hang down past her shoulder blades and sometimes tied up stylishly, particularly when she was in the kitchen cooking. But it was her expressions that always caused Mike to catch his breath—the little pouts she would make with her lips, the twinkle of mischief in her eyes, the way she shook her head when she talked or cocked her head on an angle when she listened to him. She was captivating, and warm, and affectionate. Jonas was lucky to have her as his mom, and Mike could tell that they adored each other. He had to admit he was reaching that point himself.

  They talked for a couple of hours, catching up on what had been going on in both of their lives. Ali knew all about the gym attack that had preceded the subway bombings. Mike's face had been in the newspapers again—it hadn't taken long for the press to make the connection between that and the Briefcase Braveheart incident. Mike didn't tell her any more than what she had read in the papers.

  "Mike, there's something I need to tell you." She paused and swallowed hard. "I think Wade died in that bombing."

  Mike noticed her eyes tearing up. "What makes you think that?"

  Ali wiped at her eyes. "I haven't heard from him since the attack. And that's unusual. He panhandled on the subway platforms quite a lot, and I'm thinking he was at one of those two stations that night, or even maybe in the train cars."

  "Have you asked the recovery teams about their search for victims?"

  She nodded. "Yes, they have a hotline and I phoned it. Then someone came by to pick up a sample of his hair from a brush that they could use for DNA testing. But they told me that many of the bodies may never be recovered—buried under tons of concrete."

  "Have you told Jonas yet?"

  "No, I haven't."

  "Would you like me to do it for you?"

  Ali nodded again. "Yes, I would. He might take it better coming from a man, and I think you would be able to handle it better than me. I would probably cry, making things worse for him."

  "No problem. I'll take him outside before I leave today, and tell him then." Ali tucked her face under Mike's chin and kissed him on the neck. "I hardly know you, yet I feel so comfortable with you. And you're so nice to us. I don't know why, but it's comforting, and we appreciate having you in our lives, Mike."

  Mike squeezed her tightly and he could feel her shiver ever so slightly. "You're a wonderful little family and I'm glad to help out however I can. And why I'm doing it, I don't really know myself to be perfectly honest—I'm just drawn to both of you, I guess. And one of these days I'll tell you why helping Jonas out has become a personal mission of mine—making up for something in my past. So, one of my reasons is selfish, if that makes you feel better." He hugged her tightly again and this time felt a tremble go through his own body. Mike didn't understand it, but for that brief moment he enjoyed it.

  They said their goodbyes, and Mike ducked out into the backyard with Jonas to throw the baseball around. They did this every time Mike visited and the little boy was getting very good. And he always proudly wore the Blue Jays cap that Mike had given him.

  When Jonas seemed to tire out a bit, Mike motioned for him to sit down beside him on the grass.

  Mike put his arm around his slender shoulders, and squeezed him gently. "Bud, your mom asked me to talk to you about some sad news. She was afraid she would cry and make you feel worse, so I agreed with her that maybe I should tell you."

  Jonas looked up at him, his eyes wide with worry. "What is it, Mike?" Mike took a deep breath. "Your mom's afraid that your dad may have died in the subway explosions."

  Jonas nodded.

  Mike continued slowly, choosing his words carefully. "The search crews have been working hard trying to find everybody, but they haven't found your dad yet. Your mom thinks that since he hasn't been around here for quite a while, that he may have been one of the victims."

  Jonas blinked a couple of times, then nodded again.

  "They may never find him."

  Jonas struggled free from Mike's arm, jumped to his feet and picked his baseball glove up off the grass. "Good."

  Mike looked up at him from his seat on the grass, shocked at what he had just heard. "You don't really mean that, Jonas. I know you're just trying to be a strong little man. You don't have to do that—you can cry if you want."

  "No, I meant it. I thought I loved him, but I was just s'posed to think that. He was mean. Then I met you. You're not mean. You're my father."

  Leaving Mike sitting in the yard at a total loss for words, Jonas ran back into the house without saying goodbye.

  *****

  Mike was driving north on University Avenue, not knowing why. He was thinking about little Jonas and what he had said about Mike being his father. The poor little guy—working so hard at being tough. That was his way of handling the shock, Mike supposed, but it also could be exactly how he felt.

  Jonas was looking for a father figure because his own had never been around, and when he was around he was violent. So he wanted Mike to be that father. That was his way of coping. Mike vowed to have another discussion with him on his next visit, to gently explain that he couldn't be his father, but could certainly be his friend. A friend to him and his mother. Jonas would have to understand that Mike had his own wife and family that he was committed to. He didn't want to break the little boy's heart, but he didn't want to lead him on either. He kept driving, continuing along as University changed to Avenue Road. He finally reached Bloor, and without hesitation continued through the lights two more blocks until he reached Lowther Avenue. Mike turned left and pulled over to the curb, put the BMW in Park and turned off the engine.

  Then he sat and stared at the third house from the left. A run-down old house that he guessed at one time had been a majestic structure. Almost every house on the block had a 'rooms for rent' sign in front. This particular house didn't have a sign but it looked like the others so he assumed it was a rooming house too.

  He had no idea why he was at this place, staring at this house. He had no idea what had brought him all the way from downtown along the route he had come. He had never been here before, never driven that route before. He was sure of it, at least part of him was sure of it. Once again, he was becoming aware that another part of his brain was at work. But not really his brain. He could feel it, the wheels turning, knowledge of something that was coming to the surface.

  That part of his brain seemed to know that he had been on this very street, and inside that very house. Something was drawing him to it—to make him want to watch it, stare at it.

  And something else was now telling him to move his car away from the line of sight of the house. Mike started the engine and pulled away from the curb, glancing furtively at the forbidding house as he passed by it. He drove to the end of the street, and parked on the opposite side of one perpendicular to it. Then he got out of the car, opened the trunk and took out a pair of powerful binoculars. Sitting back inside the car again, he trained the binoculars on that house, the sleazy rooming house—the third house from the left.

  He watched, and waited. For what he had no idea. Except that he knew he had been inside that house before. In another time.

  Chapter 39

  Mike had been dozing with his seat set in the recline position, binoculars on his lap, when he was suddenly awakened by the sound of a car door slamming shut. He punched the memory button and slowly rose back upright.

  Walking up the street toward the sinister house was someone familiar. The man had just exited a Mercedes CLK parked two cars up from Mike's BMW. Mike raised the binoculars, thanking himself at the same time that he had opted for the heavy tint on the windows when he had ordered his car. No one could see him, but he could easily see them.

  Viewing the man from behind, Mike couldn't be sure, but the well-dressed figure walking up the front steps of the house looked an awful lot like Howard Dixon, an executive with a major national bank. Mike had spent many evenings over the years with Howard, at Chamber of Commerce functions and othe
r business affairs. They both sat on a couple of non-profit boards together as well.

  Howard's walk was very distinctive, unforgettable. Almost like a slow hop—the feet moved as normal but the body seemed to raise itself up about four inches with each step. And this particular man was walking exactly the same way.

  Mike zoomed in with his binoculars and could see that the man was wearing a hat, which in itself would have been unusual for any man in Toronto. And he could see the frames of glasses around his ears—must have been sunglasses, because if it was Howard, he didn't wear glasses. Mike watched as the man raised his right hand up and pushed the doorbell—looked like two quick presses and then one long one. Within a few seconds the door opened and the man entered. It didn't appear as if anyone came to the door to open it—it just opened by itself.

  Mike decided to wait until the man came out again, to verify for sure if it was Howard. He reclined his chair again, turned on the stereo and closed his eyes. Why was he feeling so tired?

  Half an hour later he was awakened again by the beep of a car alarm being deactivated. Mike lurched up and looked towards the Mercedes. He didn't need the binoculars this time—it was clearly Howard Dixon opening the driver door of the Benz. On impulse, Mike opened his door and stepped out. "Howard?"

  The man jerked his head in Mike's direction. "Mike?"

  Mike walked towards him. "Long time no see, bud. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?" Mike could see that Howard looked fidgety, looking side to side, and not raising his eyes to meet his.

  "Uh...I was just...dropping off an envelope to a house over there." He pointed. "It was mailed to my home by mistake."

  "Oh, okay." Mike glanced quickly at his watch and realized it had been thirty minutes since he had seen Howard enter the house.

  "What are you doing here, Mike?" Howard was nervously flipping his keys around in his hand.