“Not great,” Terry agreed. “I thought we might have struck gold in that strongbox from Urban’s floor. We wouldn’t have even found it if not for the kid helping.”
The comment reminded Andy of Joey’s other hint…the washer. What did he know, or think he knew? And, if so, why was nothing there?
Terry was halfway back to the detachment on the northside of town when she asked him, “How long was that warrant good for?”
“Forty-eight hours, why?”
“Turn around!”
“What!”
“We need to go back to Urban’s house. There’s something I need to check.”
~ * ~
Urban was away, but Ms. Pearl was there minding Joey who was still temporarily removed from school.
“There’s one last thing we need to check from our time here yesterday,” Andy explained. She went straight to the laundry room.
The washer was a top-loader. For the third time, she searched inside the drum, finding it empty, then a look in the rear where the two water hoses connected, but again, nothing.
She took a step back and studied the machine, remembering her own having to have a new timing mechanism installed. How had that been done?
“Arnold!” He was talking in the kitchen with Mrs. Pearl.
Terry appeared at the door. “Yeah.”
“The top of that thing flips up. Help me, will you?”
With the aid of a butter knife, he pried the top loose. Andy lifted it to find the drum exposed as well as other entrails of the device…wiring and controllers. It was dark inside, but something was lodged neatly along the washer’s side panel. She reached in and extracted a notebook-sized computer.
“I think I’ve said this before, Detective Terry.”
“What’s that?”
She spelled it out “B-I-N-G-O!”
~ * ~
Urban arrived home to notice Mrs. Pearl framed in the big picture window, probably fretting because he was a good half-hour late. He’d promised he’d be back by five. He walked in the door to find she already had her coat on in a rush to leave.
“I have your dinners warming in the oven, Mr. Urban. Joey is in his room happily occupied. He was good today.”
“Thank you. Can I pay you at the end of the week?” But when he turned, she was already rushing out the front door.
Her behavior seemed odd, but Urban needed to work on his presentation at Friday’s City Council meeting. It would be a public hearing of his waterfront proposal to the mayor and his ten council members.
Success in gaining approval was important on two fronts: He’d been talking up the idea to almost every business organization in town, the Kiwanis, the Elks, the Rotary. His reputation as a business leader in town was at stake, a reputation he needed as a cover for his real business.
More than that was his need for a large construction project, big enough to launder the cash he was beginning to accumulate. It was already getting out of hand. The Bitcoin was a great vehicle for transferring funds, but far too unstable a currency to trust in the long term.
He had engaged a graphics firm to help with the slides, embellishing and polishing his past presentations. He needed to work on his narration and change the order of some of the slides for the most dramatic effect. He hadn’t come this far to have his plans go south due to poor preparation.
Thirty-five
“There’s no doubt,” Terry announced, ending a call from the RCMP forensics lab. “The data on the printout from Urban’s hidey-hole matches that on Savos’ computer. That alone ties those two characters together.”
Nolan Roberts leaned on the spare desk in the detectives’ office. “But isn’t enough to put these guys away?”
“We need to somehow tie Urban to the drugs,” Andy said.
Terry held up a hand. “Wait, there’s more. That computer that Blake found hidden in Urban’s washer had a file the geeks say looks like it could be the key to whatever is on that printout.”
“I’m betting it’s an accounting of their deliveries and revenues,” Andy said. “They’d have to keep records, at least current accounting.”
Roberts stood to leave. “This is good work, people.” He paused at the door. “But it only tells us that two bad guys are doing business together; not that they’re the main source of fentanyl in the region, or how it’s coming in.” He disappeared down the hall.
“Well, that was a buzz-kill!” Terry said.
“He’s right, though.” Andy had her eyes screwed shut, concentrating on what new measures could be taken to locate what they knew had to exist if Urban and Savos were servicing such a large and growing demand.
A thorough search of both Savos’ and Urban’s properties had failed to turn up any opioids, much less the high-quality stuff they’d discovered at Charles Bell’s house.
As if he could read her mind, Terry said, “If he’s bringing drugs in, he has to have them somewhere he can control their access.”
Andy thought about that. He’d stated the obvious, but it was something they hadn’t pursued. “Arnold Terry, you are brilliant! Urban’s developing property all over town, right?”
“Mostly small strip malls. We can find where from property records.”
“I think that’s a better course of action than sitting here!” she said.
~ * ~
It was an easy task to access the ownership of properties at the Algoma Land Registry Office. To expedite the search, Andy and Terry decided to visit the LRO together. If Urban suspected how much they knew, he might be destroying evidence. For all Andy knew, he’d already discovered his missing computer.
In a matter of minutes upon arriving, they were able to identify five properties owned by Dale Urban other than his personal home. All were small shopping centers…strip malls, as Terry had said. Of the five, since being purchased, three had attained building permits.
“Let’s start with those,” Terry said. “If he’s going to hide something, he might want to customize a place for it.”
Andy agreed, thinking if they hurried, they might be able to secure the services of Heide the German Shepherd and search all three by the end of the day.
~ * ~
It seemed to Andy that none of the locations had a lot going for them. All were in lower value property areas. A typical tenant was a nail salon, convenience store, tax service, hair dresser, none of them particularly successful looking.
They had interviewed a combined twenty-two of the tenants. None had been recipients of the improvements, citing only general projects that Urban had been required to do for building codes.
There were two unoccupied spaces. One had been a barber shop, the other a butcher. Heidi hadn’t had so much as a whiff of marijuana in the search. Keys to the empty stores were obtained by certain shop owners whom Urban had designated to give access to utilities companies, etc. Searches were made in these spaces but to no avail. Heidi showed no interest. Their best bet was a locked refrigeration room in the butcher shop. The dog sniffed around the door jamb and threshold but showed no interest.
It was dark by the time they returned from the search. Andy was disappointed and tired. She went home.
~ * ~
The best thing about one of those flaps that lets a pet in and out of a house is—for a cat—the lack of a need for a litter box. The downside being that a good hunter like Throckmorton will occasionally bring prey inside to play with and/or devour. It was a half-eaten vole that greeted Andy upon entering the kitchen. There was Mort sitting next to it, proud as can be, showing off his prowess. To his chagrin, Andy found a paper towel and deposited the recently departed creature into the trash.
After feeding herself and her cat, it was too late to do anything but go to bed. Mort jumped up beside her, and both were asleep in minutes. A few hours passed and she found herself awake again. The cat had disappeared.
She lay awake, aware something had caused her to break her slumber. It was that butcher shop: Martinelli & Sons, a faded sig
n had read. There was something about the place that didn’t fit. It wasn’t the refrigerated room. That would be normal for a butcher.
The lock? No, not in itself…it was the type of lock. Andy had seen them in high security places: numbered pads. This one looked…new! She went back to sleep, but it was fitful, always waking with the keypad on her mind.
~ * ~
It was still dark when Andy threw off the covers, knowing she was too wide awake to sleep longer. She brewed coffee for the office, fed the cat, and was out the door headed for work by seven. By 7:45 she was at her desk, the keypad still on her mind.
Terry arrived at 8:30. They sat there, throwing ideas back and forth until Alice, the dayshift all-around indispensable, walked in with sheets of paper she’d stapled together.
“This just came in from RCMP labs.”
“Yes!” Terry jumped up to grab them, but Andy was closer.
The dated cover page read:
EVIDENCE TRANSLATION
OPP4.29.20
She folded it back to the first page. It was the decoded list of nonsense numbers they’d taken from the box behind Dale Urban’s desk. As with the original list, there were four columns of numbers. At the top of the first page there were comments added by the Mounties.
Column 1 may indicate customers (distributors?)
Column 2 is thought to contain unit of some kind; grams? Ounces?
Column 3 is likely a price per unit of an unknown denomination.
Column 4 is most likely revenues received, as some entries are zero.
Similar lists exist in both computers submitted for decryption. Expect a complete translation of all material on both computers today. Note: On the last page were six encrypted numbers. We have no suggestions as to their meaning.
“Look at column one, Andy said. “There are only a few different accounts, if that’s what they are. C1, C2, M1, M2, M3.”
“Five distributors,” Terry said.
“Eddie Hoyne said Savos had him going across the bridge to Michigan, collecting what he surmised was money.”
Terry said, “Canada one and two; Michigan one, two and three.”
“I’d bet the farm,” Andy said.
“What’s this?” Terry pointed to the six numbers, 548906.
“I have a hunch,” Andy said.
Terry waited for her to explain.
“It’s a longshot that we shouldn’t both waste our time on. A better use of it would be for you to confront Savos with this. Let me pursue my wild goose.”
Terry had to agree but said, “I’ve got a feeling you think those numbers will get you into that freezer. We could just bust into it, ya know.”
“But that wouldn’t tie Urban to owning it, would it? He could claim no knowledge of the contents.”
“Then take a constable with you.” He went for his jacket behind the door. “Meanwhile I pay Nicholas Savos a visit. Copy down those numbers. I’ll need that printout to show him.”
Thirty-six
Urban mounted the front steps of the Civic Centre and hurried, briefcase and laptop case in each hand, to the elevators. He’d spent the early morning going over the presentation one last time while Mrs. Pearl made breakfast for the kid.
The presentation was the most pressing of a lot that he was shouldering these days. Get over this hurdle, then deal with the police who think they’re on to something. Once handled, he could work on getting the kid into an institution somewhere. He needed things to settle down.
The elevator opened onto the third floor and the council room. People from the press and general public were already beginning to fill the chamber.
He was almost giddy with anticipation.
~ * ~
The same neighboring merchant afforded Andy and Nolan Roberts entry into the empty butcher’s shop. She had requested the back-up of a constable for her re-visit to the refrigeration room, but none was immediately available. “I’ll go!” Roberts had said. “I guess I count as a constable.”
Andy held the note she’d made of the six decrypted numbers. The padlock was shiny and new, in contrast to the time-scarred and stained door. Instead of a key slot or even numbered rollers, a ten-numbered keypad was on its face. “Here goes,” she said.
She entered the six numbers in the order written. No results. Then she repeated the group adding a zero, as she’d seen other combination codes require. Still nothing. Possibly something other than zero? She tried them all, having no luck.
It wasn’t until she reversed the order of the six and followed with a zero that they heard the healthy “click” and the lock fell open.
“Well, whadaya know?” Roberts said.
Not believing her fortune, Andy removed the lock, turned the door handle and pulled. The big door swung open easily. Light from the outside leaked inside the room just enough to illuminate the contents.
Roberts sounded disappointed. “Not much here,” he said.
“You’re wrong, boss. We’ve hit the mother lode.”
~ * ~
Eddie was on his way to the City Clerk’s office at the Civic Centre.
Life with Marly Quinn since that day of her mother’s visit had been surreal. It was a case of prolonged happiness. Work necessitated separations, which only enhanced their time together.
His view of Marly had changed from the hardened, cynical girl to this bright and wonderful woman who professed her love for him. How was he deserving of that? He wanted to buy her a ring, but a proper one cost money. It would have to wait. That he’d taken the step to get a marriage license would be almost as big a surprise for her. He hoped to hell she would accept it.
He'd been to the Civic Centre before but had not noticed it being so crowded as on this day. Getting the license went easily enough. He paid the $130 he’d saved up and asked the clerk, “Why the crowd?”
“Public hearing on the new waterfront project.”
Eddie had read about Joey Urban’s father. He was the developer of a plan to do a complete makeover of the mall there. He had some time before his shift and decided to take a look. The hearing was on the third floor. He took the elevator.
The Sault is a small enough city that it isn’t uncommon to see someone you know in town shopping or, perhaps, at a restaurant. It wasn’t a shock to see Dr. Campbell among the audience waiting for the presentation to begin.
Eddie called Campbell’s name.
“Eddie! How are you two faring?” Campbell inquired.
“Okay, Doc. What’s happening with Joey’s case?”
“Oh, well…Social Services is planning a hearing. Listen Eddie, I have to meet someone. Talk to you later, right?”
He watched Campbell disappear into the crowd.
There was new activity on the dais where council members were taking their seats. Soon the familiar face of Joey Urban’s father joined them. This oughta be interesting, Eddie thought.
~ * ~
Luck, good or bad, sometimes comes in bunches. It’s how Andy felt returning to the detachment with Nolan Roberts, ready to celebrate their discovery of fentanyl with a street value of over $2 million at a property owned by Dale Urban. They’d barely got their news out when Terry announced that the anticipated and detailed followup report from Vancouver PD on Urban’s past had arrived.
“You may want to take some time reading this,” he said to Andy.
She took the file to her desk and opened it to a three-page report of tax records, property information, driver’s license, marriage license, even birth certificate for Dale Urban and/or Daniel Champion. In addition was a summary of a hearing at the University of Alberta involving the theft of pharmaceuticals.
A pharmacy student, Daniel Champion, in his last year, was using his job in the hospital pharmacy to skim drugs for sale to an accomplice. The hearing was assembled by the university too late for the graduation ceremony, but in time to revoke his actual degree. Champion admitted selling the drugs but would not name his accomplice, thought to be an intern at the hospital. Sh
e read in disbelief the next sentence.
Dr. Kevin Campbell was a prime suspect.
The university decided Champion had been punished adequately by losing his degree and opted not to bring charges. Without Champion’s testimony, they had no hard evidence to charge the intern.
Andy stared at the report, trying to absorb what she’d read.
“Quite a bombshell, no?” she heard Terry say. “Simon says it was almost impossible to get the minutes of that meeting, because the university had them sealed for fear of bad publicity. It took some doing.”
She looked up at Terry’s grim face in disbelief. “Arnold, I—”
“It’s really just innuendo, Blake. Nothing’s been proved,” Terry said, but Andy felt the words lacked conviction.
Nolan Roberts burst into their bay. “I’ve organized an arrest party. Let’s get cracking.”
Andy had no time to dwell on Kevin Campbell. Roberts convened a meeting of the two detectives, himself and two constables to plan the arrest of Dale Urban, aka Daniel Champion. Social Services was contacted to be prepared to assure Urban’s child would be in good hands while he was being detained.
They’d learned that Urban was, at that moment, making a much-publicized pitch to the City Council for a big development, and Roberts did not want to make the arrest in such a public venue. “It’d be way too messy. We’ll wait for him at his home.”
~ * ~
From his position in front of the dais, Urban turned to the audience and pressed the last slide.
“…and the culmination of all the meticulous planning you have just witnessed comes down to this!”
The two large video screens on either side of the dais projected a three-dimensional rendering of the entire waterfront complex, slowly rotating, giving the viewers a spectacular concept of their new waterfront.
A burst of applause from the gallery filled the third-floor chamber of the city council. The presentation had gone even better than he’d expected. He’d made his pitch to other groups— Elks, Kiwanis—but tonight his real audience was the eleven people on the dais: the mayor and his ten councilors. Were they convinced? At once he was surrounded by admirers. Warm words of encouragement and congratulations accompanied by slaps on the back and handshakes.
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