Shelter led Craig and Alistair into an interview room and closed the door. MacIsaac and Traverse would be watching the live video feed in a room down the hall. Shelter gestured to two seats on the near side of a steel table screwed into the floor. Alistair took the seat nearest the wall and set his briefcase on the table. When Craig was settled in the seat beside him, Shelter pulled a chair on wheels from the other side of the table and positioned it at the end. He was now facing Craig, with only a small space separating their knees. Shelter gestured to three paper coffee cups sitting on the table beside plastic water bottles.
“I got us some coffee,” he said. “Would you like a cup?”
“Sure. Why not?” Craig said with a smile.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” Alistair said, a note of annoyance in his high-pitched voice.
“Thanks for coming in today,” Shelter said as he passed a coffee to Craig and pointed to cream and sugar on the table. “Before we get started, I’d just like to let you know our conversation is being recorded on video.” He pointed to two cameras positioned in upper corners of the room. “Now, Bill, I’m going...”
Alistair interrupted him. “Mr. Craig.”
Shelter kept his eyes on Craig and said, “Bill, I’m going to go through your rights in this situation under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms.” Alistair let out a sigh of irritation. “Obviously, you’re not under arrest here today. You’re free to leave at any time, and you don’t have to answer any of my questions. We can stop at any time, and you can talk to Mr. Alistair or another lawyer in private. Do you understand that?”
“Yes. Of course.” Craig appeared calm, self-assured. His hand was steady as he pulled off the lid of his coffee and added milk and sugar. “You’re Tom Shelter’s boy, aren’t you? Insurance.”
“I’m his son, yes.”
“Great guy. We did quite a bit of business together over the years.”
It was a prepared gambit to put Shelter off his game. With a curt nod, he put it out of his mind.
“I’m a homicide detective, and we are investigating three cases. They are the deaths of Monica Spence, Crystal Rempel and Rory Sinclair. These cases have been in the news, so I guess you’ve heard about them?”
Craig didn’t respond. Alistair made a note on a yellow legal pad he’d brought out from his briefcase.
“Let’s start with Monica Spence. Monica was found dead in a culvert just inside the city limits, on June 17th. She had been strangled.” Shelter was careful to keep the description of a brutal murder as factual and neutral as possible.
“Crystal Lynn Rempel’s body was found on the banks of Omand’s Creek near Portage Avenue on July ninth.”
“Officer.” It was Alistair. The lawyer opened his briefcase and brought out a single sheet of paper. “Before you go on, my client would like to read from a prepared statement at this time,” he said. “But before he does, I would like to emphasize the importance of discretion in this matter. Mr. Craig has done a great deal for this city, and he wants to continue to contribute in ways big and small. His good reputation is obviously very important to him, and his ability to do his work. We are counting on you and your colleagues in the police service to be discreet.”
“We’ll be as discreet as we can be.”
Alistair nodded to Craig and handed him the paper. He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and began reading in a halting voice.
“On June 9th of this year, I met with a man named Charles Osborne in a room at the Bond Hotel to discuss a business arrangement. When we had successfully concluded our discussions, we had a drink to celebrate.” He stopped to take a sip of coffee and continued. “I was unaware of it at the time, but Mr. Osborne had taken it upon himself to invite two young women to the hotel room. They arrived in the company of a man. I became aware the women were prostitutes, and the man also produced a quantity of cocaine. I was very uncomfortable and considered leaving immediately. To my ever-lasting regret, I did not do so. While I did not ingest cocaine, I did accompany one of the women to an adjoining room and had sex with her. That woman was Monica Spence. The man was Rory Sinclair. I am aware both of these individuals are now dead, but I never saw either of them after that evening and have no knowledge of how they were killed or who killed them.”
Craig turned over the sheet and glanced at the blank reverse side. “And that’s it,” he said with a mournful half smile. “I’m sorry for what I did, but I really can’t help you with the deaths of these two women or Mr. Sinclair.”
“Thank you for that,” Shelter said. “I have a few questions.”
Before he could go on, Alistair cut in once again. “We’re here to cooperate with your investigation, but as Mr. Craig just mentioned, he doesn’t know anything about the deaths of these individuals.”
Shelter was about to argue the point when Craig raised his hand. His expression was mild as he looked from Shelter to his lawyer. “I guess I could field a few questions.”
Shelter opened a beige folder and glanced at his list of questions. His mind was racing, going over what Craig had just disclosed. He would have assumed he’d been caught on CCTV entering the Bond Hotel, along with Charlie, Rory, Monica and Pamela Daniel. But his statement had gone further than that. He’d admitted to cocaine being in the room. So he must know about the photo Pam Daniel had taken. How? Had he learned about it from Monica Spence? Had she contacted him, and that was what ended up getting her killed? And Crystal too when she followed the trail?
One by one, Shelter asked Craig about where he’d been and what he’d been doing on the dates Spence, Rempel and Sinclair had been murdered. The businessman was well-prepared. He’d been at his cottage, his golf club or at work, where he’d been seen by friends or employees. Each alibi would be carefully verified, but the specificity of Craig’s explanations told Shelter they would all check out. He took a drink of coffee and flipped the page on his notebook.
“What was this business arrangement you were discussing at the hotel?”
Craig again looked to Alistair. The lawyer nodded for him to answer.
“I’ve agreed to partner with the Lone Pine First Nation on the development of an urban reserve downtown. We see it as an important part of the mayor’s plan to bring the city’s core back to life and at the same time improve the lives of the Indigenous community.”
“What does it entail?”
“The details are private, but I can tell you we’re talking about an important project — several tens of millions of dollars with retail, residential and a multipurpose entertainment facility.”
“A casino.”
Craig smiled. “We’re very excited about the project, and so is the mayor.”
“Why would you meet in a hotel room rather than in your office or his office?”
“These were very confidential negotiations. We preferred a neutral location.”
“What is Agassiz Holdings?”
Craig blinked, and the corners of his mouth turned down for an instant. It was an almost imperceptible reaction before he arranged his face into a quizzical expression. He shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“Agassiz Holdings is a Bahamian-registered corporation. The identity of the shareholders is secret, but we believe it’s controlled by you, Bill. What’s its purpose?”
“No. You’re mistaken. I don’t know anything about it.”
Shelter looked at Alistair. “I understand setting up offshore entities is one of your specialties, Mr. Alistair.”
Alistair’s features pinched into a frown. “As Mr. Craig just told you, we don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.”
Shelter looked from Alistair to Craig. “Are you aware that a photo was taken in the hotel room?”
Craig crossed his arms and looked at Shelter steadily. “A photo taken in the hotel room? I don’t remember anyone taking pictures. May I see it?”
Shelter sensed he was lying. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Did Monica Spence ask you fo
r money in return for the photo?”
Alistair broke in. “Mr. Craig has just told you he has no knowledge of a photo and had no further contact with Ms. Spence after June 9th.”
Shelter nodded. “We believe there was another man in the hotel room with you. Who was that person?”
Craig gave another regretful shake of his head. “Again, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but there was no one else.” Shelter noticed his arms across his chest tightened ever so slightly.
“Two people who were in that room are already dead. You should think about that.”
“I can assure you we are being as cooperative as we can be,” Alistair said.
Shelter gave a quick nod before asking, “What was your relationship with Crystal Rempel?”
“There wasn’t any relationship. I didn’t know her.”
“She never contacted you?”
“I never spoke to her.” Shelter noted Craig hadn’t answered the question, but Alistair had begun to fidget and glance at his watch.
Craig volunteered, “Of course, she knew Charlie, and I know she’d talked to him a number of times about Monica Spence’s death. She was accusing him of having a hand in it.”
Shelter struggled to hide his surprise at this admission. He glanced at Alistair, who was looking at Craig. Shelter sensed he too was surprised.
“How do you know about these conversations?”
“Charlie told me. He was upset and was wondering what to do about her. Obviously, I couldn’t give him any advice. I told him to go to the police.”
Alistair snapped the catches on his briefcase and put a hand on his client’s shoulder. “Mr. Craig has another appointment.”
Shelter said, “What else can you tell me about these interactions between Crystal and Charlie Osborne?”
Craig looked down as if debating with himself, trying to make up his mind. Then he said, “To be perfectly honest with you, I’m concerned about the role Charlie has played in all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“On the day Crystal’s body was found, Charlie was supposed to be up on his reserve. That’s what he’d told me. But he wasn’t. I was surprised to see him downtown, crossing Hargrave Street.”
“You spoke to him?”
“No. I was in my car. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, and I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything, but I thought you should know.”
TWENTY-THREE
Shelter took his usual booth in the Peking Garden and ordered a large bowl of hot and sour soup from Arthur Yee. He’d missed lunch and needed some time alone after the interview. What was Bill Craig up to? His alibis for the three murders looked tight, so why would he turn on his partner in a multi-million-dollar construction deal? Shelter’s instincts told him Craig was doing it to protect someone else — the other man in the hotel room that night.
Shelter judged it unlikely Monica Spence or Crystal Rempel would have shown Pam Daniel’s picture to any of the men in the room that evening, so they wouldn’t have known who could be identified in it. A record of them together in a secret meeting would be enough to cause a scandal and sink their deal. Monica Spence may have thought she was blackmailing them over hookers and coke, but it could have been business that got her killed. And Crystal too, when she started asking questions.
As he ate his soup, he went through his email on his phone. A reply had come in from an RCMP constable on the Lone Pine reserve. Charlie Osborne had been spotted at the band office, and his truck was in front of his house. Shelter sent a return email, telling the officer he would be leaving for the reserve the next morning.
His phone signalled an incoming text. It was from Nicki. Hey, not working tonite. Something to tell u.
An image of Nicki came to his mind. He couldn’t deny he wanted to see her, and he’d be dropping off Kelsey at his mother’s place for the time he’d be at Lone Pine. He composed a text. Can meet you at nine.
Even as he sent the message, doubt crept into his mind. What the hell was he doing? He should be meeting her with Traverse if she had information. Agreeing to see her alone was contrary to procedure and doing it at night was exposing her to more danger from the killer. He visualized the scene in Market Square and thought of the bullet narrowly missing her head. He dropped the phone on the table and ate a couple of spoonfuls of soup. The phone signalled another text. Ok. Meet me at vimy ridge park at 9:30. He knew he should call off the meet but made no move to pick up his phone and send her another text.
Back at the office, Shelter had just tapped in his password to sign into his computer when Traverse approached his desk.
“Just had the Land Titles Office on the line. I had them run through large land purchases downtown in the last two years or so, and one stands out.”
Shelter stopped typing. His partner had his full attention.
“Someone has put together a full city block north of Ellice. It’s a frickin’ huge piece of land.” Traverse turned back to his desk and pointed to a Google map of downtown Winnipeg on his computer screen. “Right here.” Shelter stood up to take a closer look.
“These are all parking lots,” Traverse said, running his finger lightly across the screen, “except for a couple of rundown buildings here. The buyer got it for a song. It might have nothing to do with the urban reserve project, or someone might be getting ready to make a killing if they flip it.”
“Who bought it?”
“It’s a numbered company owned by someone named Thomas Walsh. He paid cash. Jennifer is checking him out right now. We’ll know more soon.”
“Okay. Keep on it,” Shelter said. “I’m heading up to Lone Pine tomorrow morning to talk to Charlie.”
He returned to his desk to make preparations for the three-hour drive north to the reserve. He called his mother and arranged for Kelsey to stay at her house while he was gone, telling her he hoped to be back late the next evening but might have to stay overnight. When he got off the phone, he found Jennifer Kane waiting a discreet distance away, tapping her foot with excitement.
“This Thomas Walsh is a real-estate broker with an office on Pembina Highway.” She flipped a page in her notebook and added with a smile, “Guess what? He took a fifteen-month disciplinary suspension of his licence back in 2011.”
Shelter stopped packing papers into his carry bag. “Go on.”
“A friend of his lent a lady ten thousand for the down payment on a house Walsh was selling. The lady was supposed to pay it back when the mortgage closed with the cash back she got from the bank. That’s totally illegal.”
Shelter nodded and returned Kane’s smile. “Not bad. Nice work. Small potatoes, but once a crook...”
“Always a crook. You think he’s fronting for someone?”
Shelter shrugged. “Could be. Let’s bring him in and find out why the sudden interest in downtown real estate and where the money came from.”
From the mugs in the sink and food containers left on the counter, Shelter saw that Kelsey hadn’t done anything all day except eat TV dinners and drink tea. He found her in the darkened basement, still in her pyjamas, with the cat on her lap, watching YouTube videos. He would have liked some downtime himself, but he forced himself to throw together broccoli and chicken pasta. At the dinner table, he broke the news to her that she’d be staying at her grandmother’s house for a day or so while he went out of town. She rolled her eyes and sighed but didn’t put up a fight. She enjoyed spending time with her grandmother. Roberta Shelter had the means to spoil her with lunches and shopping trips to the mall.
“Does she know what happened?” Kelsey asked.
“I told her but spared her the details,” Shelter said.
She took that in without replying, her eyes on her plate. Shelter resisted the urge to go over just how serious Kelsey’s actions had been. He was reluctant to drive the wedge between them any deeper. He couldn’t read what she was thinking. Could she just be waiting to take off again?
“I talked to Gordy Taylor t
his morning, and they’re looking for someone to walk Heidi. You interested?”
She raised her head and studied his face, obviously curious. “Like for money?”
“That’s the idea.”
“How much?”
“I have no idea. But he’s a generous guy, and it’s not as if you’re raking it in now. It would be a walk before lunch and then again in the late afternoon. Heidi’s getting old, and she needs to get out more often. I’m sure she’d enjoy your company too.”
“I’ll think about it.”
From the way she said it, Shelter knew she liked the idea.
After dinner, Shelter made a quick call to his mother while Kelsey was getting dressed and packing an overnight bag. After cleaning up the dinner dishes, he climbed to the second floor to see what progress Kelsey had made in getting ready. He found her kneeling by her bed with her head resting on her hands. A photo album was open on her bed. She must have come across it as she packed. Shelter took a step toward her. Her head came up at the sound of him in the room. She was crying, and Shelter could see over her shoulder she was looking at a picture of Christa holding her when she was a toddler. He felt a wave of tenderness. He took another step.
“Kel.” It was all he got out.
“Get out!”
“Kel. Let’s talk about it.”
“No. Leave me alone.” Her voice was choked, and she dragged the back of her hand across her eyes.
Shelter couldn’t go forward but didn’t want to retreat.
“I said get out.”
Shelter turned and left the room. He stood hurt and angry in the hallway. He held himself back from marching back into the room and telling her, “You’re not the only one who lost her.” Instead, he went downstairs and kicked open the screen door to the patio. Over the course of ten minutes, his brain slowed and he could breathe normally again. Nothing to do tonight except not make it worse, he thought.
Omand's Creek: A gripping crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense Page 17