City of Crime

by Warren Court

  “Mr. Rogers, are you okay?” It’s Marco.

  “Yes, Detective. Just finishing up.” I see his shadow coming under the stall door.

  “Can we continue, please. Mr. Rogers?” he says in a sarcastic tone.

  Finally, my phone buzzes. Ricky Boy has viewed the video.

  “What is this?” he texts.

  “It’s a video of you scrolling through child porn at my computer,” I write back bluntly. I have no time to fool around. There’s a knock on the stall door.

  “Come on, pal. Let’s go,” Marco says.

  “One more second.”

  “What do you want?” Rick replies.

  “I’ll let you know.” I delete the texts and flush the toilet. As I open the door, Marco steps back, an annoyed and suspicious look on his face. I go and wash my hands, and he drops the bomb.

  “Mr. Rogers, I’m placing you under arrest.”

  “What?” I say as I dry my hands.

  “Just wanted to wait until you washed up. Come on, they’re dry. Let’s go.”

  “What’s the charge?”

  “Yeah, like you don’t know. The murder of Gillian Lent.”

  TWENTY SIX

  My processing takes an hour. I’m fingerprinted, read the Canadian version of my Miranda rights. After I’m searched and stripped of my clothing and everything is inventoried, I’m given an orange jumpsuit. I ask what is going to happen.

  “You’ll stay here for the night. We have more questions we want to ask you. In the morning, you’ll be transferred to Milton,” Marco says.

  “I want a lawyer,” I say.

  “No problem. We’ll provide you with the number of a free attorney and the use of a phone. Do you want to do that now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t want to answer any more of my questions?” We’re in a large room with desks and I’m handcuffed to his desk. There are other detectives around, going about their work, not paying me the slightest attention. Stacey is on the far side of the room chatting with a couple of uniformed cops.

  “No, I don’t want to answer any more questions. I want to phone that lawyer.”

  Marco uncuffs me and a constable is summoned. He leads me over to the phone and stands back, his arms crossed against his chest. I phone Rick.

  “Hello,” he says, unsure of who’s calling. I can hear apprehension in his voice. I’m glad he answered.

  “You got the video?” I say in hushed tones.

  “Stan?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” There’s a long pause. “Did you get the video? I trust you did. You’re able to see your own reflection in it and what you were watching?”

  “You’re fired, dude.”

  “No, dude, I’m not. I’m in jail, and if I tell them about that video, you’re going to be in jail right alongside me.”

  “Fat chance,” he says.

  “Okay, smart guy, call my bluff. Try explaining that video to your dad. To your wife.”

  “Hold on,” he says. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to hire me an attorney and get me the hell out of here.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m arrested, I told you. I’m in Halton Police Headquarters. I’m staying the night here and then they’re going to transfer me to the prison up in Milton. I want to be out on bail before that happens.”

  “What are you arrested for?”

  “Never mind. Just get a lawyer here quick. And he’d better be a good one. Take a crowbar and crack open your old man’s bank account and get me the best money will buy.”

  I can hear Rick breathing, holding back on letting me have it for insulting his dad. But he knows I have him by the balls.

  “And then what?” he says, defeated.

  “You mean and then what about that video? We’ll talk, but only if I’m out of here.” I hang up.

  They put me in a cell by myself. In the cell across from me is a drunk guy rolling around on the cement floor. I sit on the metal bench and run through my situation. I’ve been arrested for murder and I’m not even thirty yet. What does that matter? Will they take that into account? All I’ve had up until now is parking tickets, and one time I got pinched for open liquor when I was a teenager.

  I kick myself. I should have phoned the police immediately, said she attacked me. When the scratches were fresh and so was she. I wonder if she’s been buried yet. I wonder if she still has that look of surprise and satisfaction on her face, or if the mortician erased it.

  I have no watch, and there’s no clock I can see. There’s just a constant banging of metal doors and the occasional shout. The drunk wakes up and crawls over to the toilet and vomits into it.

  Finally, after a series of metallic bangs, a cop comes and opens the door to my cell and motions me out. He escorts me, with one hand firmly under my elbow, out into the hallway. There’s a man in a suit there. He looks at me angrily and then smiles and comes over.

  “Mr. Rogers, I’m Herbowitz, your lawyer. You’re being released.”

  “On bail?”

  “No, the charges are being dropped. Your clothes are in here you can get changed.” He hands me a plastic bag and I am ushered into a changeroom. The lawyer steps out and I quickly change and collect my things.

  Herbowitz is waiting for me when I emerge. Marco is there, too, talking with Stacey, the one who tried to entrap me, and they both try and stare me down as I’m led to the front desk. There’s paperwork to be signed. I acknowledge that I got everything back and that I was not abused in any way. I gratefully sign the forms. Sure, I wasn’t abused. Shook up a bit, but I’ve come out the victor. I have no idea why or how, but I assume my lawyer – no, Rick’s lawyer – is going to explain it to me.

  My car is out front but not in the visitors’ section. Herbowitz and I stop on the steps.

  “What happened?” I say.

  “No evidence, and a hell of a lot of evidence that the other guy, Waltz, did it. The guy who is missing. They didn’t even go to the press with your arrest. We agreed that the matter would be dropped and we would not mention it to anyone.”

  I turn and see Marco and Stacey watching me from the reception area. Marco has his hands on his hips. I nod at him and turn back to my lawyer.

  “They found the shirt in Waltz’s house, same type as the one in Lent’s closet?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. They wouldn’t go into their case for me, but when they told me what they had, which is just a bit of circumstantial from the people you work with, I got them to kick you loose. My guess is they were trying to frighten you into confessing. They thought that putting you in that cell might soften you up.”

  “It might have.”

  “This Marco guy isn’t exactly the brightest spark in the box. His father was chief of police; they promoted him to homicide out of respect to him. You should see his clearance record. It’s amazing they don’t fire him now that his dad has retired.”

  That makes me chuckle. I had the good fortune to run into Halton Police’s version of myself, a real underperformer.

  “Okay,” he says. “You’re free and clear.”

  “And the bill?”

  “Paid for by Henderson Moving. Rick Henderson called me personally. You must be a valued employee?”

  “I must be.” We shake and I head to my car.

  It’s ten o’clock and I’m hungry. They gave me a box meal to eat, a roast beef sandwich and an apple, but I barely touched it. Unfortunately, this is Burlington; almost everything will be closed down by now. However, I know someplace where I might be able to get something to satisfy me.

  There’s a light on in Laura’s living room. When she opens the door, I can tell instantly that she’s not happy to see me.

  “Can I come in?”

  “I guess.”

  I check my phone one more time. There’s a note from Rick but that can wait. No texts from Laura. There’s a glass of wine on the coffee table. The TV was muted when she came to the door. I se
e the cast of EastEnders mouthing silently at each other. She resumes her seat on the couch, folds her legs up under her. I sit in a chair.

  “What were you arrested for?”

  I’m floored.

  “Rick called me, needed me to approve the funds to hire the lawyer to bail you out.”

  “Why’d he tell you?”

  “Because I wasn’t going to go into the office otherwise. Had to be a good reason. He said you were arrested. What for?”

  “They think – correction, they thought I had something to do with that dead woman.”

  “Did you?”

  “How could you ask something—”

  “Gillian!” Laura screams, and her expression instantly changes to anger.

  “So I screamed it out in bed, in your bed, and that makes me a murderer?”

  “Mike is telling everyone how you screwed up the log in the book, that you booked that move the day after she was murdered.”

  “He’s mistaken.”

  “Is he? Iron Mike – he remembers every move we ever booked. I swear to god, go ask him who we moved on Labour Day two years ago and he’ll tell you.”

  “I should go.”

  Laura makes no move to stop me. “I’ll see you around.”

  She doesn’t show me out. I pause on her stoop and hear the deadbolt being thrown.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  The door to Rick’s office is open and I rap my knuckles on it before entering.

  “Bad time, Rick?” He’s looking at some papers and my appearance shocks him.

  “Sit down.”

  “I just want to thank you for arranging that lawyer. He did a great job. They released me, not even on bail. They dropped the charges. Seems they now believe that the other guy, the one who is missing, is the prime suspect. Maybe they’ll find him.”

  Rick just sits there and looks at me. “What now?” he finally says.

  “Now? Um, I guess I go back to my job booking moves for Henderson Moving. I have some corporate prospects. It might be a little too harsh to pursue Midi, but eventually I’ll contact them and speak to the new VP of human resources, although I think we should suspect that that business is going to dry up.”

  Rick nods and sits back in his chair. He flicks his pen around and moves his chair back and forth. “No, I mean what now?” He points at himself.

  “First off, I think you should pull that ad from the paper, unless of course you were going to hire a fourth moving consultant. On second thought, I think you might want to keep that ad, seeing as I’m going to be promoted.”

  “Hah. Promoted to what?”

  “Corporate sales moving consultant.”

  “You don’t have the background. You haven’t built up the business.”

  “No, but I can inherit it.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah – from Kevin. He’s done. Wants out. He told me so. Says all he wants now is to retire and go on and do something else. I figure a nice severance package from Henderson would go down nicely. Not six figures but at least mid-fives. What do you think?”

  Rick says nothing, then nods.

  “Great. And Laura. Get rid of her.”

  “What for?”

  “Just do it. Transfer her to Mississauga.”

  “She won’t stand for that. We’ll lose her.”

  “Exactly.” I stand to leave. “Nice doing business with you, Ricky, my boy. Oh, yeah, and Ida – get rid of her too. I don’t want to see that spying cunt around ever again. Package her out.”

  “She died.”

  “What?”

  “Yesterday. Brain tumour.”

  “That’s too bad.” I actually believe the words coming out of my mouth. “Thanks, Rick. Say hi to your dad for me.”

  I skip up the stairs. Kevin and John are preparing their briefcases for another day on the job. Kevin’s last. We exchange pleasantries and we discuss Ida a bit. “It’s so sad. Poor old gal.” All that sort of stuff.

  My phone rings just as I sit down at my desk.

  “Good morning, Stan Rogers speaking…”

  The End

  Hope you enjoy these novels, please let me know what you thought of it by leaving a review.

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  About the Author

  Born and raised in Hamilton, Ontario, Warren Court currently lives in Toronto with his wife and daughter. When not writing he spends his time cultivating cold hardy palm trees and working on old cars. He is the author of the John Temple Vigilante Justice series, the Armour Black Psychic Detective series and the Vincent Last Thriller series.

  Also By Warren Court

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  Dead Girl Found https://tinyurl.com/y8nj9skm