The Bear Mountain Secret

by Gayle Siebert

  “Oh, hello Carol,” Kathy says. Not for the first time, she thinks, this is no way to live.

  Twenty-two

  Heavyweight

  EVAN LEANS BACK in his chair and swivels side to side a couple of times, studying the young man lounging in the armchair across the desk from him. He thinks, goddamn, you don’t have to be gay to appreciate how handsome Reardon is. How did he ever sire an ugly little rat like Trent?

  Well, he’s not little; he’s taller than Evan by enough that he has to look up to him, and likely outweighs him by twenty kilos, all of it muscle. Maybe he wouldn’t be ugly if it wasn’t for that flattened nose and those messed-up eyebrows. The missing tooth doesn’t help, but then he doesn’t smile often so it’s not all that noticeable. Maybe he’s just had his face beaten in a few too many times.

  Coming to that conclusion, Evan turns his mind to the reason Trent is here, leans forward and says, “so, you got it done?”

  “Uh, uh, no. Gotta have a plan, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know, but you’ve had weeks. What’s the hold-up?”

  “Well, I’m just makin’ a plan.”

  “You know, I’m beginning to think you can’t do it. I should get someone else.”

  “Whaddaya mean? I spent lots of time surveillancing her—”

  “Lots of time for surveillancing when you weren’t busy sucking Arnie’s dick, was there?”

  “Sucking…? No!” Trent frowns. “I ain’t no cocksucker!”

  “It’s a figure of speech.”

  “Oh.” He leans slightly forward and looks Evan in the eye. “Well, you told me to make friends with the bikers. That’s what I done.” He slouches back again and picks his right nostril with his thumb before continuing. “Anyhow, I learnt her habits, what time she goes where and all that kinda shit. You gotta surveillance, learn their routine, you know. Otherwise you fuck up and get caught! You think I just grab her in the parkin’ lot or maybe outta her office? She’s always got people around. Like I said. I been waitin’ for a chance. When she’s alone. And anyway, you promised to renumerate me. I’m countin’ on that money.”

  “Dozens of guys can surveillance someone. It takes a heavyweight—”

  “I’m a heavyweight! I told you, I can do it,” Trent says. He looks around, and seeing no one near the glass surround of the office, leans forward. “I done it before.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. ’Member last spring, them two dudes who nobody seen after they got off a fish boat in Port Hardy?”

  “You did them, did you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot, you’re from Vancouver Island. So you offed those two guys? Hey, was it you did that dude in Nanaimo who ran that escort service?”

  “N-no-no. Um, well, not that trip anyway.” His eyes narrow and he squirms in his seat as he looks at the wall behind Evan’s shoulder.

  Evan notes the classic tell of a liar. It’s an eyeroll moment; he has to force himself not to smile as he watches Trent’s facial expressions change while he tries to figure out a way to claim responsibility for a third murder, one that didn’t happen. After a moment, Evan continues, “so, how did you manage to take out two guys? That couldn’t have been easy.”

  “Well, it wasn’t just me, it was me and my brother, Des. But it was my job.” Trent gives a sharp nod to punctuate his statement. “Them guys had their duffle bags stuffed with coke. Probably ten keys each. Pure, uncut, beautiful stuff.”

  “So you cut it and…”

  “Well, no, we just delivered it. It was a contract, see?”

  “So, what did you get paid for that job?”

  “Same as your job, ten large. We each got ten large.”

  “What do you think the street value of that much blow was?”

  “I, er, umm. Dunno, lots prob’ly,” he says with a shrug.

  “Yet you handed it all over for $20K.”

  “Suppose you think we shoulda kept it? Des says it’s a fuckin’ big deal, you know, cuttin’ it, baggin’ it, then you gotta have a way to distur…er, disturbute it. And you don’t fuck with them guys, neither. Mrs. Reardon didn’t raise no idiots! Better to each take our ten K and fuck off. Bought my car, drove up to Prince George, and then we partied for a week.” He grins, showing his missing eye tooth. “Fuck I hated to leave my ride in Dark River.”

  “You got paid for it.”

  “Not fuckin’ enough! It was a classic.”

  “That’s the car that didn’t start half the time, wasn’t it? You were lucky to get anything.”

  “It just needed a little work,” Trent shrugs and shakes his head, then says, “Anyhow. Point is, I done that dude. This little job of yours, this little twat, it’ll be a cake walk.”

  “So, how did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “The dudes.”

  “Oh, the dudes. Mo’fuckers was hitchhikin’. Me and Des, we got tipped off when to expect ‘em so we waited for ‘em and picked ‘em up. Should of heard ‘em laughin’, it was rainin’ so they was happy as pigs in shit to get a ride so quick! We stopped for a piss just before the Majestic Grove. That’s a park with fuckin’ big trees. ‘What’re we stoppin’ here for,’ one of ‘em said. ‘Have to piss,’ I told him. ‘There’s toilets at Majestic Grove,’ he said. Lots of tourists, too, you know? So NFG for us, for our plans. Couldn’t say that, a’course. So I called ‘em a couple a pansies, can’t piss in the bush, afraid of spiders maybe? And I told ‘em we’re stopping now and we ain’t gonna stop again til we get to Duncan which is where they wanted to go. So if they thought they wouldn’t have to piss for another five hours they could just wait in the car, I told ‘em. ‘Course if they had of, we would of had to of either did ‘em in the car and I don’t need that fuckin’ mess, or drag ‘em out and who knows how bad that might go what with cars passin’ by. But they saved us the trouble, got out and went into the bush with us like good little fuckers. Wouldn’t even leave their duffle bags in the car. Took ‘em with ‘em, as if that did ‘em any good! I went up behind one guy and Des went behind the other, and keeche!” He gestures a slash across his neck, then shakes his head and chuckles. “Des hadn’t done his guy yet, thought it would be fun to let him watch. Just had his arm wrenched up behind him and his big ol’ pig sticker on his throat. Shoulda seen the fucker’s eyes pop when he saw his friend’s head flop, blood gushin’ outta his neck, and figured out he was next!”

  “Messy.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s why you do it from behind, see? Anyhow, don’t worry, we washed ‘em up nice.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I told you the reason we was stoppin’ was to take a piss! I really did need to. We musta drank a dozen beers, waitin’ on them to come along,” he laughs louder this time. “By the time they got found, we was partyin’ in Dark River. Perfect crime.”

  He leans back in the chair and slings one leg over the arm, giving his genitals a tug as he does so, the expression on his face smug. “Don’t worry. The gash you want disappeared won’t be breathin’ this time tomorrow. I’ll get her on her way home from work tonight. But I need the money now. Got to put a deposit on a place today or they’re gonna rent it to someone else. Don’t wanna keep livin’ in a motel, cost of that mounts up, eh?”

  “You really think I’ll pay you before you do the job?”

  “Well, um, okay. If not all, at least two K.”

  “What did you do with the money you got for the motel job? And for your car, for that matter?”

  “Didn’t get much for the motel job. The big guy blamed me for it goin’ bad, which ain’t fair, but anyhow, he’s the boss. Hadda buy another ride. Hadda live somewhere once we got here too. Told you, a motel room ain’t cheap. Hadda borrow money from my ol’ man already.”

  Evan shrugs, “Okay. I’ll give you five hundred. Come back at five tomorrow and I’ll give you the rest. If the job’s done.”

  Trent scowls and lets out a low grunt, but nods.

  “Good
,” Evan says as he gets to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  He goes out the door and into the outer office. “I need the cash box,” he tells the secretary. She opens a desk drawer, pulls out the box and hands it to Evan. As he is counting out the bills, he glances up and notices Trent watching intently.

  “Find another place for this,” he says as he closes the box and puts it on the desk. “Maybe it should go in the safe overnight.”

  He returns to his office and when he doesn’t go back to his seat, Trent stands. Evan hands him the money. “Okay then. See you here tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow. Yeah.”

  “And Trent?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you’re thinking of coming back for the cash box, like after hours maybe, remember there’s an alarm system and cameras.”

  “Ffftt! I wouldn’t—”

  “Good. Then we won’t have a problem.”

  Trent glares at Evan for a moment, then gives the waistband of his jeans a hike before turning and striding through the outer office, past Tina’s station at the reception desk, and out the glass doors.

  There’s a guy who should never play poker, Evan thinks. He goes around his desk and sinks into his chair, rocks back and tents his fingers. Is it really necessary to eliminate Trent? With Max gone, he might be useful.

  The Children of Noah’s relationship with the bikers is uneasy even though they returned half of that money. Nick would never have made a deal for a fifty-fifty split, but once Nick was gone, the bikers swore that’s what the deal was. Maybe they wouldn’t have returned any of the money if not for another job coming along. That, and the promise of a continuing relationship. Still, trust hasn’t been restored and the Triumvirate would rest easier if they didn’t have to rely on the bikers for their security work.

  The bikers were useful getting Trent set up with a vehicle, though. It would have been difficult for him to buy one legitimately, with transfer papers, registration, insurance—his fake I.D. might hold up, but it’s better not to take a chance. Their auto salvage business comes in handy for more than just the crusher.

  But Trent is no Max. Max had always known how to keep his mouth shut and you never knew what he was thinking. Trent runs his mouth non-stop and everything he thinks is written on his face. No doubt he has bragged about those murders before. Will he be able to keep his mouth shut about another one?

  Besides, he’s sloppy. He left prints in the hotel room, triggering Canada-wide warrants for his parole violation, and now he brags about leaving urine on a murder victim. He’d better hope it rained enough before the bodies were found that they couldn’t get DNA out of it to I.D. him.

  Evan warned him against doing anything to draw attention to himself: no bar fights, no speeding, no illegal U-turns, not even a parking ticket. If he has a run-in the cops for any reason, he’ll be back in the slammer. The plates on the old Bronco the bikers pawned off on him came from who knows where, definitely not legit, the driver’s licence won’t stand close scrutiny and the scuzzy beard won’t fool anyone. But he seemed to take the warning lightly.

  Is that why Bearon wants Trent whacked? If he’s so unreliable, why does he have to be the one to take care of that Kathy woman? The job could have been given to a more professional local. If Trent doesn’t get it done by this time tomorrow, Evan will take him off the job.

  Maybe the whole idea she has to be whacked needs more than just Bearon’s say so. Trent, too. Decisions like that aren’t made at the branch level. He needs to discuss it with Carl.

  Twenty-Three

  Lawyer Games

  “HERE WE ARE.” The perfectly coiffed and manicured lawyer stops flipping the pages of the document and folds it back to mark his place. Finally he looks up over his half-frame glasses at Kathy, on the other side of his desk, and says, “Yes, Ms. Klein, your name is here.”

  “Oh,” Kathy utters a sigh. This destroys her last hope of not being related to the serial killers. Her shoulders slump.

  Rick asks, “Can we assume he left her something?”

  “Assume away, Mister Schoenfeld.”

  At the expression of malice on the lawyer’s face, Kathy retreats back into her chair. Rick, far from being intimidated, leans forward, eyes narrowing. “So, what did she inherit?”

  “Well, obviously I’m not going to tell you that until she can prove she is who she claims to be.”

  “Show Mister Robertson your I.D., Runty.”

  “It’s not quite that simple,” the lawyer says. He takes off his glasses and fusses with them as he frowns at Kathy. “Anybody could walk in here and claim to be Kathryn Klein.”

  Kathy straightens and leans forward. “But that’s ridiculous. You know who I am.”

  “Yes, I do. That’s the problem. Seems to me not that long ago you showed up out of nowhere and claimed to be another man’s daughter. The daughter no one had seen for twenty years. Surely I don’t need to remind you? And now here you are again, this time alleging you’re the daughter of Henry Hazen, conveniently just months before the time to make a claim on his estate expires. If memory serves, you didn’t claim to be the adopted daughter of Mr. Klein and your birth records showed him as your father. Obviously no one has two biological fathers.” He sits back with a smug look. “You see the difficulty?”

  “But all my life I thought Gerald Klein was my father. My biological father. I never had any reason to think otherwise. And then I got those letters—”

  “Ah, yes, the letters. Somehow years later, letters turn up. Letters no one but you saw, and that you say were stolen.”

  “But it wasn’t even us who found them. And they were stolen…”

  “So,” Rick intercedes, eyes narrowing, “I bet you have some hoops for us to jump through.”

  “I suppose you think I should tell you what you have to do to prove she’s his daughter?”

  “How about DNA?”

  “Normally that would be a good idea,” the lawyer agrees. He folds his reading glasses and carefully sets them on the marble base of his vintage pen set, then fiddles with the pens before looking up. “I would have suggested it, but since we don’t have Mr. Hazen’s DNA for comparison, Ms.Klein’s DNA won’t do any good.”

  “Astrid thinks there were other children. Kathy’s siblings. We could get DNA from them to compare.”

  “Ahh, yes, your friend Astrid Ingebritson.” He flips the pages over and stuffs the will back inside its folder. “If you can find these other children, and if they agree, that would be sufficient.”

  “But you know who they are.”

  “Yes, I do, and I can’t divulge their names any more than I could contact you about your inheritance. Mr. Hazen gave explicit instructions. He didn’t expect anyone to come forward and frankly, neither did I.” With a self-satisfied smirk, he continues: “so if that’s all…?” He stands and goes to the office door, opening it and standing aside. “I assume you can find your way out.”

  Kathy and Rick exchange a look, then get to their feet, push their chairs back and head for the door.

  Rick stops beside the lawyer. He moves close, nearly standing over him, causing the much smaller man to bump the door back against the wall, and says, “I assume we’ll hear from you once you’ve given the matter of what is acceptable proof your consideration, Mister Robertson.”

  He maintains eye contact with the lawyer for a second longer before following Kathy through the long hallway, passing a dozen other office doors and the reception desk until they are at the elevator.

  Once they’re out of the building and on the sidewalk in the late afternoon heat, Kathy says, “so, Mr. Big Balls hasn’t improved with age.”

  “Nope. Once an asshole, always an asshole. Kept us waitin’ half an hour and then rushes us out after ten minutes. Now it’s too late to get to the bank. And for what? No way he was busy with clients. It’s just a lawyer game, makin’ people wait. I should’ve known he’d still be pissed about Penny and Reese gettin’ the better of him. Thousan
d dollar suits and the teak-panelled corner office with a view of the lake and everyone should kiss his ass.” Rick grins and draws her in for quick hug. “He had you goin’ for a minute there, didn’t he?” He releases her and they continue down the sidewalk along the storefronts to the parkade.

  “You mean when he looked down his nose at us like we were a couple of worms?”

  “Yeah. His mouth was puckered up like he was sucking on a lemon. With those drooping jowls, I thought for a second I missed seein’ him turn around and drop his pants, I was so sure he was moonin’ us and I was lookin’ at his asshole.”

  Kathy giggles. “Did you see his face when you mentioned Astrid? That was a butt face if I ever saw one! And he puts me off for weeks and then acts like such a pompous ass!”

  “I thought he would’ve left Robertson, Robertson McKinley et al to the second Robertson years ago and would be spending his days on the golf course by now. Since he doesn’t seem to realize that he ought to be retired, someone needs to take him down a peg.”

  They turn into the parkade at the stairwell that leads to the third level, and climb the stairs single file.

  When they’re settled in the truck and driving out, Kathy says, “there’s something I’ve been wondering about. Why would Hazen have a lawyer in Regina? Why not closer to home?”

  “I’ve wondered that myself,” Rick says. He slows to let another vehicle back out of its parking spot and follows it down the exit ramp.

  “Those photos Den sent me. He recognized Briggs as the project manager for the rebuild of that lodge, and turns out we know him from when he was the bank manager in Pillerton. Before he replaced Donnie as the manager of Prairie Equity. And we know he was at the airport to meet Carl and Tina. Couldn’t make out who the other two guys were but they were all travellin’ together so odds are they’re from around here too. Why would they all go to Dark River? And how’d a guy with no experience in construction, a banker for chrissakes, wind up bein’ the project manager for a job that big? How’d Prairie Equity end up dolin’ out the insurance funds? How do money managers make a deal with an insurance company like that? And the contractors, and now the lawyer, all from around here? What’s the connection between Pillerton and Dark River?”