by Ken Ogilvie
Sykes grunted. “I interrogated him yesterday. He came to Orillia, at my request. He brought along Clayton Metcalfe, a sleazy Toronto lawyer, who made sure he said nothing useful. And Freddie Stafford gave us a whole lot of drivel. It’s possible that McBride attacked Archie, and killed Herman. He has no alibis for either incident. But I doubt that he’d do it on his own. He’s too smart to expose himself in that way. It’s more likely he’s the link to Perez, who could have done the dirty work. There’s a small chance that Freddie attacked Archie, and he might even have killed Herman, but I don’t believe it for a minute. He couldn’t step on a spider without seizing up. So that’s it, the entire list of suspects.”
“What about the mayor?” Rebecca asked. “He’s involved in the land deal.”
“Disappeared without a trace. Like Perez. But I interviewed him when I arrived in Conroy. He had rock-solid alibis for both murders.” Sykes shrugged.
Rebecca looked at O’Reilly, who was lying with his head towards the window. He saw her reflection and rolled over. She gave him an encouraging nod.
He drew in a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
They all stared at him.
“What!” Cartwright spluttered. “What haven’t you told us? I knew you were holding something back last year.” His hands balled into fists.
O’Reilly’s voice was resigned. “Now you’ll get the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. You’ll be able to pack in my job.”
Cartwright folded his arms.
O’Reilly told them about the gold mine and land development deals. Rebecca noted with appreciation that he didn’t try to play down his own role.
Sykes nodded from time to time. Rebecca guessed that he’d already figured out O’Reilly’s connection to the affair. Rebecca had changed her opinion of Sykes. Her respect for the DI had grown rapidly during the brief time she had spent with him. He still set her on edge, but now she believed he was fundamentally a good man.
When O’Reilly finished, Sykes turned to Hound. “Has anything happened to change your thoughts about who killed Abigail and Herman?”
Hound regarded him in silence. Then he looked at Rebecca. An awkward silence settled over the group.
Sykes waved his hand in the air. “All right. The floor is all yours, DC Bradley.” He’d called her DC! Rebecca’s entire body tingled. Her coveted CIB job was getting nearer.
Cartwright stroked the scar on his cheek and frowned.
“Okay, here goes.” Rebecca went on to tell them what she had learned about Abigail, Kingsley and the gold mine.
“Kingsley hooked up with Jackie Caldwell many years ago when he found out she owned the rights to the mine. More recently, he brought in my father as a partner, which puzzles me. My father’s no fool. He knows more about goldmining than anyone. But I won’t talk to him without DI Sykes’s permission.” Rebecca glanced at Sykes, who said nothing. She was convinced that something bad was going on, or had gone on in the past between Sykes and her father. A definite enmity existed there, although she had no idea what could have caused it. Sykes seemed to freeze up whenever her father was mentioned, and he’d shown no interest at all in talking to him. She filed away that thought for now and moved on.
“I believe Kingsley ran out of money, so he approached Perez. Then he bribed Mayor Taylor and Constable O’Reilly to keep quiet and act as covers for the deals. They would have learned about them anyway so he had to bring them in. Finally, I believe Kingsley had Abigail and then Herman murdered, to stop them from revealing his plans. It’s possible he brought Perez on board for that purpose.”
Cartwright looked baffled. “If you’re right, it’s McBride we’re after. But what evidence can we use to indict him?”
Hound turned to Sykes. “I have an idea. If we can’t get at Kingsley directly, maybe we can make life miserable for him. Force him to make a mistake.”
“How?” Sykes asked.
“By asking George Bradley and the van Rijns to convince Kingsley that his deals are no longer viable. The van Rijns do business with my family. I could talk to Mr. van Rijn and let him know what’s happening. I’m sure he’ll help us if he believes Kingsley had something to do with Abigail’s murder. And there’s Constable O’Reilly. He can tell Kingsley he’ll testify that he took a bribe. And Freddie will testify too, so that only leaves Mayor Taylor. I don’t know if he’ll come clean, but we can try.”
“Forget it,” O’Reilly grunted. “Believe me, Charlie won’t say a word.”
“Okay. But we can still put pressure on Kingsley.”
Sykes added, “And on Perez — if we can find him.” His expression hardened. “I’ll take care of that.”
“Okay,” said Rebecca. “I’ll talk to my father, with DI Sykes’s permission.”
Sykes nodded. “It’s time for us to take the initiative.”
* * *
“Rebecca. Wonderful to hear from you.” Her father sounded pleased, and surprised. They didn’t often speak over the phone, and never during the day.
“Dad, I’m sorry to disturb you at work, but there’s something important I have to talk to you about. I’m conducting a homicide investigation in a small town in central Ontario. It’s called Conroy. You know it, I believe.” She heard a faint intake of breath.
After a moment, he said, “Yes, and I know you’ve met Archie MacDougall there. He called and told me about it.”
Very interesting. So Archie really is working for him.
“Have you heard what happened to Archie?”
“No. What? Tell me.”
He sounds very concerned. Doubly interesting. So Archie’s more than just another employee.
“His neck was slashed two nights ago, and he was slugged on the head. He’s in intensive care in the Orillia hospital, in a coma. His condition’s stable, but the doctors don’t know when, or if, he’ll wake up, although they sound quite positive.”
She heard him breathing hard. “That’s awful, Rebecca. I’ll call there right away. Who did it?”
“We don’t know, Dad. It’s under investigation.”
His tone stiffened. “Let me know when you find out.”
“Of course, Dad, I promise. But right now I need you to tell me about the abandoned gold mine north of Conroy. And Kingsley McBride, the man who’s planning to develop it. You’re his partner, I’ve heard. Is that true?”
There was a long silence.
“Dad? Please speak to me. This is important.”
His voice turned cold. “Are you investigating me?”
“Not specifically, Dad, but that mining deal may be central to the investigation. The police are keeping Kingsley McBride under observation. They may watch you too, eventually. Right now, I’m asking you to help us with Kingsley. It will go down well if you do.”
More silence.
“Dad?”
“Okay, Rebecca. What do you want from me?”
“We — I mean the police — need you to tell McBride that his mining deal stinks, and you’re pulling out.”
“Oh, that’s all, is it?” He sighed heavily. He went silent for a few seconds, and, to her surprise, capitulated. “All right, Rebecca, I’ll do it. For you. But only if you stop asking me questions about the mine. You don’t need to know anything about my business. If you recall, you passed on the opportunity to run it with me when you joined the OPP.”
She heard the familiar bitterness in his voice.
“Okay, Dad. Thanks. I’ll sign off now. Maybe we can talk about my job another time, when I’m in Prospect.”
“Don’t count on it.” The line went dead.
Chapter 36
What the hell was going on? Kingsley was worried. First George Bradley, then Nicholas van Rijn, had told him they were backing out of the mining and land deals. And that jerk, van Rijn, even had the cheek to ask for his money back. As far as Kingsley was concerned, it was a dowry, and he intended to keep it, despite Abigail having died. Anyway, he’d forked out a fair chunk of i
t to Bradley, who had refused to return it. Then O’Reilly called him and said he’d spill everything he knew to DI Sykes, adding he’d also get Charlie Taylor to talk. To top everything off, that loose-mouthed chimp, Freddie Stafford, was still at large.
Kingsley called Tony Albertini and told him what had happened.
“What should I do, Tony? Please help me.”
His half-brother laughed. “Time to clean up your house. And mine. Now here’s what I want you to do . . .”
Kingsley listened to the instructions and hung up, shocked. He was in really deep now.
He decided Charlie Taylor would be the first to go. He called Charlie’s home number, using a disposable cell phone that Tony had given him. “Charlie, we need to meet. I’ll explain later. I’ll pick you up in exactly one hour, outside of town. Wait in the bush at the south end of Main. Make sure no one sees you there, or sees you get into my car. And tell no one about it, not even your wife. Don’t ask questions. Just do it.”
* * *
Charlie paced back and forth in front of Kingsley, wringing his hands. “Kingsley, I can’t waste time on this. My son was killed yesterday. The police are climbing all over me. We shouldn’t be seen together. And why did we have to drive out here? Why couldn’t we talk in the car?”
“I’m sorry, Charlie, but it was necessary.”
“My son’s dead, Kingsley. My wife’s hysterical. I have important things to attend to.”
“I too have important things to do.” Kingsley glanced at a large tree behind the mayor. He raised his hand. “Regrets, Charlie, but we can’t take any chances.” Then he stepped aside.
Charlie swivelled round to see what Kingsley was looking at, just as Marco Perez stepped from behind the tree and aimed his Glock. He fired twice. Charlie staggered back, his hands pressed to his chest. Blood squirted between his fingers. He turned and stared at Kingsley, then dropped to the ground.
“One problem solved.” Perez’s face twisted into an evil grin.
Kingsley sighed. “Charlie was a friend.” He stared off into the woods.
“Leave no witnesses, that’s my policy.” Perez trained his gun on Kingsley, but before he could pull the trigger, a shot echoed through the woods. Perez fell to his knees, with a bullet in his back. His startled look up at Kingsley was almost beseeching. Then a second bullet slammed into his head, splattering blood and brain matter everywhere. He crashed to the ground and lay face down over Charlie’s corpse.
Kingsley edged forward to confirm that Perez was dead. He began to laugh hysterically. “Leave no witnesses, eh? I checked with your boss, asshole. It was time to let you go.” His grin matched that of Perez.
Jackie Caldwell emerged from the forest and leaned against a tree trunk, cradling her hunting rifle like a baby.
“Good girl.” Kingsley’s knees were shaking. He smiled faintly at her. “Your shooting skills are as good as ever.”
He was amazed at Jackie’s nonchalant pose. “You’ve just murdered a man. How can you be so calm?” He wiped sweat from his forehead.
“It was a pleasure.” She glanced sideways at him. “What would you have done without me?” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet you couldn’t have pulled the trigger.”
Too right, thought Kingsley. His hands were trembling, but Jackie appeared calm, almost serene. She seemed to relish the kill, maybe it had turned her on. He shuddered. Then he started to worry.
Jackie stalked over and nudged the body with her toe. “I never liked Perez and his bully boys. So what do we do now, Kingsley?”
“Perez’s associates will take care of the corpses. Nobody will find Charlie, or this scumbag.” He snorted derisively. “Anyway, it’s time to get back to town. Nice day for a drive in the country, don’t you think?” Kingsley was amazed at how little remorse he felt at having Charlie murdered. And as for Perez — good riddance.
Jackie took hold of his arm and gave him a sultry smile. They strolled to his car and drove south along the Trans-Canada. Kingsley stared fixedly at the road ahead. To his relief, Jackie ceased making amorous overtures. He could only hope.
Now that Charlie and Perez had been taken care of, Kingsley’s mood lightened. Archie MacDougall was dangerous, but Tony’s men would deal with him tonight. O’Reilly too. Lukas wasn’t a threat. All the loose ends would be tied up by tomorrow, except for Freddie, but Kingsley had a plan for him, and this time it would be permanent. The gold mine and land deals would have to be put on hold, maybe forever, but that Dutch shyster, van Rijn, wouldn’t get a penny of his money back. And Kingsley’s cozy relationship with Tony guaranteed him a bright future in Hamilton. At last, he would finally escape from Conroy, and Jackie.
A black Lincoln Continental zipped past them in the opposite direction.
“The clean-up team,” Kingsley declared, and he began to whistle. He wondered if there was anything Jackie wouldn’t do for him. Then he worried about the price he’d have to pay.
Jackie snuggled closer, and laid her head on his shoulder. Kingsley stiffened. She closed her eyes and hummed contentedly. Kingsley began to sweat. Sure enough, a short while later, she said, “Kingsley, take me to your house. I can’t wait any longer.”
His whistle withered on his lips. It dawned on him that he might be saddled with this python for life. Could he drum up the courage to kill her? Boy, did he ever want to. But then he’d have to give up the gold mine forever, and he wasn’t ready to do that — yet.
Maybe it wasn’t such a great day after all.
Chapter 37
When he heard the news about Lukas, Shorty blamed himself for chickening out of their spying escapade. He couldn’t bear to face Hound. So, with nothing better to do, he set off for Duffy’s.
On his way to the coffee shop, he saw Kingsley McBride drive past in his Crown Vic, heading north. Jackie Caldwell was sitting next to him in the passenger seat.
Shorty entered Duffy’s and eased himself into a window booth. Daisy brought him a soda and sat down opposite. “Can I do anything for you, Shorty?”
“No thanks, Daisy. I just want to be left alone.” He fought back tears.
“Okay, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.” She squeezed his hand and returned to the front counter.
He was still at Duffy’s an hour later, gazing forlornly out the window. He saw Kingsley go past the shop again, heading south, alone in his car. Minutes later, he rumbled by once more, going north. Someone was crouched low in the passenger seat, but it wasn’t Jackie. Shorty craned his neck but he couldn’t make out who it was. His curiosity piqued, he kept a watch on the street. After another hour, Kingsley passed the shop a fourth time, heading south. Jackie Caldwell was back, leaning against him.
Shorty left Duffy’s and hurried in the same direction, figuring Kingsley might be going to his house a few blocks away. Sure enough, the Crown Vic turned off Main and pulled into the driveway of Kingsley’s two-story Tudor-style house.
Shorty paused to consider what to do next. The simple answer was nothing. Go home and forget about Kingsley. Instead, he decided to wait and see what was going on. Hound might want to know what Jackie and Kingsley were doing together. Things seemed pretty cozy between them. And they had been hanging around each other a lot since Abigail’s death.
Kingsley’s house was surrounded on three sides by a thick hedge that blocked it from the neighbours’ prying eyes. Shorty pushed through a gap and snuck in back. Underneath a second-floor window, he stopped and listened. He heard grunts and moans, and then a woman’s voice cried out. Shorty was sure it was Jackie. A few minutes later he heard the sound of water running. He waited. The shower stopped, and Jackie’s shrill voice sliced through the air. “Again!”
“I can’t. I’m done for.” Kingsley sounded like he was begging.
“You’re getting weak, darling. Is it the stress?”
“I’m taking you home. Right now.” Shorty detected revulsion in Kingsley’s voice. “If the police come around, remember the story we agreed upon. Yo
u’re my alibi, and I’m yours. Got it?”
“Yes, dear. I so enjoyed today.” Jackie didn’t seem to be offended by Kingsley’s tone. Maybe she hadn’t noticed. “Wasn’t it thrilling, Kingsley? Much more fun than hunting lousy deer.”
“No, and keep your mouth shut. Don’t speak of it again, even to me. You’ll get us put away for life.”
“Yes, my love.”
Shorty backed out of the bushes and sprinted away. He had no idea what Kingsley and Jackie were talking about, but he had to tell the police. Not Sykes, who terrified him, but Rebecca. She’d know what to do. But — dammit, he didn’t have her cell number. Maggie’s would be the best place to check. He arrived at Maggie’s house to find the front door ajar, and the sound of voices coming from inside. There seemed to be an argument underway. He tiptoed down the hallway and heard Maggie in the parlour, shouting at someone. The target of her anger was trying to defend himself, but not doing a very good job. Shorty tiptoed forward.
“Tell me everything, Freddie. Just what have you been up to?”
“You don’t need to know, Maggie. And believe me, you don’t want to.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Archie was almost murdered, and in my own backyard. You know who did it, don’t you?”
“No! I swear I don’t.”
“It was you who cut his throat.”
“No, Maggie, never. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I couldn’t. Certainly not Archie. He’s my friend.”
“I heard them talking,” Maggie fired back. “Detective Sykes and that tracker, Bob. They said the attacker wore small shoes, like yours. You tried to kill my Archie!” Her voice rose. Shorty heard glass shattering, and someone running through the house.
He ducked into a closet, narrowly avoiding Freddie, who dashed into the hall and raced past him, with Maggie close behind. Freddie sped from the house. In a flood of tears, Maggie stumbled back along the hall and up the stairs.
Shorty guessed Rebecca wasn’t here.
The plot thickens, he mused. Had Freddie tried to kill Archie? He couldn’t believe it. He crept from the house and followed Freddie.