Emily Audley, Southbrook’s VP of Development, puts a huge cup—it’s almost a bowl—of cappuccino on the table and sits down opposite me. I stand and shake her extended hand. “It’s my pleasure Ms. Audley.”
She gives a big, room-lighting smile. “Now Cal, as I told you when we met yesterday, I want you to call me Em.” I don’t know whether it’s the accent or the playfulness in her voice or what, but I find myself again attracted to her.
“It’s my pleasure, Em.” I correct myself.
“Now that’s better, Cal.” She matches my tone and gives me a big grin, which I call and raise her a chuckle.
She takes a sip of the cappuccino and licks the foam from her upper lip. It’s not overtly sexy like Marly Summers licking the scotch from her lips but it’s sexy nonetheless. She is a very attractive woman. I usually go for women with long hair but seeing Em without her white hardhat shows her short hair off beautifully.
“You said on the phone I could help you with something. I’ve been trying to imagine what that might be,” I say.
Her face becomes serious. “I got a call this morning from the managing partner at Beloff and Plasker. He told me Dale Summers had been murdered. He didn’t really know the circumstances or any details.”
I nod but don’t tell her it was me who discovered the body.
“Well I was shocked,” she continues. “Dale and I have been working together for some months now and we have got to know each other quite well. He was a real gentleman and I truly got to trust his opinions.”
She pauses and in the gap in conversation, I wonder what the words ‘quite well’ might mean. Was she the one having an affair with him?
“Anyway, Cal, I would like your firm to pursue an investigation into his death on Southbrook’s behalf.”
I can’t cover my surprise. “Could I ask why?” I ask. “I’m sure the VPD are putting every effort into finding his murderer. Most murders in Vancouver are gang members killing each other off. I’m sure they’re giving Mr. Summers’ case high priority over others.”
She sits a little straighter and her demeanour changes. Suddenly she’s one hundred percent businesswoman. “Before I answer that, can I rely on you to keep this confidential?”
“Of course. It will just be between you and me and my partner, Nick Stammo.”
“Good. When we decided to open a store in Canada, we had to create a Canadian subsidiary company to own and manage the operations. The subsidiary is one hundred percent owned by Southbrook US but we needed two Canadian directors and wanted a lawyer and a CA. We asked Dale—partly, I will admit, because of the Summers name—and he accepted. My concern is that if his murder could, in some way, give rise to negative publicity for Southbrook, I would like to know in advance, so we can get out ahead of it. I talked to my head office people. They agreed with me and gave me authorization to hire you.”
The old need to follow through on the case clicks back in. It was thwarted this morning but it’s back, front and centre I don’t know what she expects I’ll be able to discover that the police can’t. Even I don’t have the hubris to believe I can solve this ahead of my former colleagues… well maybe a little.
She reads my thoughts as indecision. “Maybe this will help you decide.” She opens her purse, removes a slip of paper and hands it to me; it’s a money order for ten thousand dollars, US dollars at that, a thirty percent bonus. “That’s a week’s retainer. I expect you to handle this as a priority and report back to me on a daily basis.”
Stammo can’t object now. I can get him to do the research I want. It’s on!
“Thank you Em, we would be delighted to take the case on Southbrook’s behalf.”
“Well that’s good. It will be good to have you on our team.” She smiles, takes a sip of her cappuccino and relaxes back into her chair. “Now is there anything else you need from me?”
There is and it will effect the way I do the job. But I’m loath to bring it up and, if I’m honest with myself, I feel a little bit guilty about wanting to know personally. Well, here we go.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way Em, but were you and Dale… uh, well, more than just business associates?”
“Why, Mr. Rogan! You do ask some, shall we say, penetrating questions.” To my surprise she is not at all offended by my inquiry. In fact there is laughter in her southern drawl. “No, Dale and I were not involved in that way. Truth-to-tell I didn’t find him attractive. He was good-looking but just not my type.” It makes me wonder what is her type. She continues, dropping the volume of her voice a little, “Besides, Dale was married and I make it a rule never to date married men, especially those with jealous wives.”
I’m starting to think that Stammo and I might have been a bit blinded by Marly Summers. First Dale’s brother and now Emily Audley have cast some doubt about her; doubt I need to look into. But for now, I’m going to enjoy the bonus of this case: spending some time every day with Em.
16
Stammo
Cops have a natural suspicion of defence lawyers but Jim Garry is one I trust. Although he whooped my ass in court a couple of times, he did it fair and square which is a lot more than I can say for some of his colleagues. Still, I’m suspicious of why he’s here to see me right now.
We’re in the conference room because I don’t want Adry to overhear us. I trust her but I’m not ready to have her learn about what Cal and I have done.
“I’ll come straight to the point Nick. So far the police have no evidence to connect Cal to the assassinations of Carlos Santiago and Ed Perot but if they find anything, like the murder weapon, he will be in a lot of trouble.” He looks at me with a question on his face, a question I don’t want to answer. I know the murder weapon is under a hundred and fifty meters of water in the Strait of Georgia but if I tell him it makes me complicit in the assassinations. Maybe I need to find myself a lawyer of my own. I just shrug.
“However,” he continues, “there is all sorts of evidence that he did kill your son Matt.” He looks at me for a reaction but I was a cop too long to give away what’s churning my gut. “The forensic evidence supports his claim of self-defence but the thing that will make the difference is your evidence. I’d like to go over it with you again now, if that’s OK.”
“Sure,” I say… but I’m not sure.
“I understand Cal was on the island just to observe if the kidnapped girl Ariel Bradbury was there, is that right?” We both know it’s not but we have to play the game.
“Yeah.”
“And you and he were in radio contact?”
I nod.
“Did you speak to Matt on the radio?”
I just need to say yes. It’s true. Matt took the radio headset from Rogan and spoke to me. He was planning to kill Rogan right then. Rogan didn’t have a choice. A pain lances through me and I feel a tightening in my chest. I have to make a decision. I look at Garry and there is worry on his face. I failed my son in life but can I fail him in death? I’m as much to blame as Rogan for what happened; maybe we both need to pay for it.
Garry breaks into my thoughts. “In the affidavit you swore, which got the judge to approve Cal’s bail, you said Matt had taken control of Cal’s radio and that you feared for Cal’s life. Is that correct?”
“That’s what I said in the affidavit.”
“Are you prepared to swear to it in court?”
I’m on the edge and don’t know which way to go. I’ll take the Canadian way out: compromise.
“I’ll have to think about that.” I say with finality.
Garry strokes his grey beard and the usual twinkle has gone from his eye.
Garry has been gone for over an hour but I haven’t been able to do any work. For what feels like the tenth time, I open the bottom right desk drawer and stare at the bottle of Jim Beam Devil’s Cut. It would take the edge off just fine. This time, I don’t slam the drawer shut. I push my wheelchair back so I can reach down, pull out the bottle and a glass and pour myself a good shot
. I shouldn’t be doing this at eleven in the morning but what the fuck.
I look at the amber liquid and lick my lips in anticipation. Or is it in doubt?
I hear the front door open. “Hi Adry, can you deposit this when you get a minute?” Rogan sounds a hell of a lot more chipper than he did earlier this morning. He breezes into the main office and stops, eyeing the glass in front of me. It ratchets up my anger; I grab the glass and down it in one gulp, a hell of a way to treat six-year-old, ninety proof bourbon but I don’t give a damn.
“Are you OK, Nick?” he asks.
Stupid question.
I think about pouring a second shot but don’t.
“Yeah. I’m just aces,” I shoot back at him, angry at both of us. “What was that you were telling Adry to deposit?”
Glad of the question, he smiles. “A retainer of ten grand US,” he says.
I don’t know if it’s his answer, or the Jim Beam hitting my bloodstream on an empty stomach, but the emotions deflate with a sigh. “What for?”
“Emily Audley, the VP of Southbrook, gave it to me as a retainer,” he grins.
“What for?” I ask again.
“She wants us to look into the murder of Dale Summers.”
“What! Why? What’s the connection?”
He sits down at his desk and tells me about his meeting with her. “So how do we go about it?” I ask.
“I’ve been thinking about that. I want to go and talk to Marly Summers again. Both Dale’s brother and Em Audley have expressed reservations about her. The brother said he had checked her out but he wouldn’t say what he found and Emily said she thought Marly was the jealous type. I want to grill her about the fact that the year of her marriage was branded onto her husband’s stomach. I think you should do a detailed background check into her; find out if she’s the nice girl we both think she is. And have a word with whoever’s got the case at VPD; maybe they’ve checked her out.”
Sounds reasonable. “What if she won’t see you? You said she came on to you last night but that you walked out. Didn’t your Shakespeare say something about the fury of a scorned woman?”
He chuckles. “No, it was a different William. But you’ve got a point; she might well refuse to talk to me.”
Adry’s voice chimes out from the reception area. “Nick, call for you on line one.”
I pick up the phone.
And the caller settles it for us.
17
Sam
Now we have arrived here I feel kind of foolish. Are we really in danger from a drug gang or am I just being paranoid? Ellie is mad at me: one for taking her out of school, two for bringing her here, so far from all her friends and three for refusing to let her post about it on Instagram or text with Cal.
On the plus side, it is beautiful here. When I was a kid, Mom and Dad would bring me here most weekends in summer. There are only a handful of houses on the entire island, all connected by trails. There are no roads and no vehicles other than the odd tractor or two. We came here by car and ferry and finally on Dad’s Boston Whaler to our own dock. It’s a perfect spring day and after a late breakfast, El and I have been sunning ourselves in the garden. It has only slightly improved her mood. The lawn reaches down to the dock where the Whaler is moored. I look across the little bay and can just make out traffic on the mainland road less than three kilometres away. There are some fluffy white clouds in the sky and it’s warm and peaceful.
Best of all being here has given me time to think. I know I love Cal and there will never be anyone quite like him. But he’s high maintenance emotionally. I guess I can handle the fact that he’s an addict; he seems to have it under control, although there’s always the danger he’ll reuse. And his obsession with his work was always something which got between us. But this new thing is too much. I don’t think I can live with someone who has killed people and killed them in cold blood. For God’s sake he’s accused of killing a drug lord and a Federal MP. I don’t know the details but all I know is that I don’t think I can be with him anymore and I don’t think Ellie should be either. He has put us in danger too often and here we are hiding out on Hardy Island in case a vengeful drug gang decides to come after us. But where do we go from here? Toronto? The States? It would have to be the West Coast, I don’t think I could handle the winters east of the Rockies. But with my MS, I couldn’t get health insurance, so the US is probably out anyway. It just all feels so hopeless.
“I’m hungry Mommy.” Ellie brings me out of my thoughts. She looks so beautiful sitting in the deckchair with her book in her lap. My mood lightens.
“Me too. How about we go down to the beach. The tide’s low enough for us to get some oysters. I’ll fry them up for lunch.”
“What are oysters?”
“You’ll see. Come on.”
She jumps up and drops her book on the floor.
As she stoops to pick it up, our familiar Beatles song comes to mind. I’ll see how far I get this time before she stops me. “Eleanor Rogan, Picks up her book, Off the ground where she let it fall down, Oh what a clown—”
“Mommy!” she says and then, in a pretty good imitation of me, she adds, “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that.”
Giggling, we head toward the house to get a bucket and a screwdriver to pry the juicy delights off the rocks. Maybe we can spend the spring and summer here and see what happens. We’ll probably get bored from time to time but at least we’re safe from the outside world.
18
Cal
Bob Pridmore looks more like a linebacker than a lawyer. He’s a good six foot six, he must weigh two-fifty and it’s mostly muscle. He makes our conference room feel a lot smaller than it already is; it feels like the four of us are on the Skytrain in rush-hour. His face doesn’t fit either; he looks like a mean version of Robert Redford, who hardly ever played a lawyer.
He takes charge from the get-go. “We are here because Ms. Summers needs your assistance.” He says it like he doesn’t think much of Marly’s choice of Stammo Rogan Investigations Inc.
I look at Stammo, the obvious question in my mind. He looks back, he’s thinking the same thing as me. He shrugs. “Go on,” he says.
“First thing this morning, she had a visit from the VPD, a Sergeant Waters and his partner. They asked her some very pointed questions which indicated she’s a suspect in the murder of her husband.”
“What questions?” Stammo asks gently, looking at Marly.
“First, they asked her—”
“I’d like Ms. Summers to answer,” Stammo interrupts. Atta boy, Nick; this lawyer is getting on my nerves too.
Marly looks at her counsel as if asking permission. I can’t help feeling it’s what a guilty person would do. Pridmore gives her the smallest of nods. They have rehearsed this.
“They asked me a lot of questions about my relationship with Dale. They were very explicit.” She blushes.
“What did you tell them?” I ask.
She glances up at her lawyer again. “I told them what I told you. That I haven’t had any uh, intimate relationship with him. Not for a while, anyway.” She stops and purses her lips and her left index finger reaches up and rubs the front of her chin. She makes a decision. “I told them I’ve been having an affair for the last six months.”
“Is that true?” I ask. “You told me the opposite.” Right before you ran your fingers up the inside of my thigh. I think it but don’t say it.
She blushes. “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry I lied to you.”
Stammo jumps in, “We can only work for you if you tell us the truth.” His voice has lost its gentleness.
“Yes, I understand.”
“Who have you been having an affair with?” I ask realizing I have a touch of aggression in my voice. Is it jealousy?
Again with a glance at her lawyer, she says, “I would rather not say.”
“Listen, Marly, you have to tell us who it is,” says Stammo. “He could be a suspect in the murder of your
husband.”
She thinks for a moment, her eyes down, looking at her hands. She moves her head toward Bob Pridmore but then seems to think better of it. I wonder what’s going on behind that beautiful face. Finally she looks back up at Stammo. “Nevertheless, I won’t say. But I will say this: I can assure you my lover did not kill Dale.”
“You can’t know that, he—” Stammo starts to say.
“My client has nothing more to say on the subject,” Bob Pridmore reasserts his position of being in charge of the narrative. “Your job here is two-fold. One: find out who actually killed Dale Summers, thus exonerating my client, and two: investigate any evidence the police might have against her and report back to me.”
Stammo starts to speak but I interrupt. “Before we accept the assignment, my partner and I need to discuss this. Please excuse us for a moment.”
Marly’s lawyer looks at me and scowls. Stammo looks at me and smiles. He maneuvers his wheelchair deftly and pulls open the door for me, we head into the open area as far as possible from the conference room. “Adry, see if they want anything. Water or coffee,” I say.
“Don’t offer them my cookies,” Stammo growls.
Keeping my voice down, I ask the question we both had when we learned Marly wanted to hire us. “We just accepted a big fat cheque from Southbrook to do the same investigation. If we take the same assignment from Marly is it a conflict of interest?”
“Yeah, I wondered about that. I don’t think so. The only conflict would be if Marly turns out to be the killer but that wouldn’t be a conflict with Southbrook.” He chuckles. “It’d be a conflict for her. If she is her husband’s killer it’d be her own damn fault for hiring us.”
“You didn’t see the body. I can’t imagine Marly doing that.”
Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 4, 5 & 6 (Box Set) Page 6