Summer of the Gun

by Warren Court

  Temple elbowed Mendoza, and his partner pulled out his identification and told him they wanted to see Taylor.

  The fat guy led them to a trailer, not unlike the one Temple had been in the night before. The guy grabbed two hard hats from a pile on the steps and handed them to the detectives.

  “He’s in there.” He pointed at the tower and led them over.

  Temple saw that he had a walkie-talkie on him. “Give him a heads up we’re coming,” he said.

  The guy called up and gave Temple a nod, then left them at the elevator. There was a young man in there operating it, and up they went.

  Mendoza shrank back from the front of the cage as the floors whizzed by them. They passed dozens of workers; they could hear the sounds of hammers and riveters and see the spark of a welder here and there. A crane was lifting a cement mixer to the top of the tower; it swung past them on the way up.

  “We should have taken that. It’s faster,” Temple joked, and the kid manning the elevator laughed. Mendoza turned even greener. His cheeks puffed out.

  They got off at the 39th floor. Above, there were pockets of blue sky with workers framed in the openings, guiding in beams. The crane was just setting down its cargo of fresh cement. An arc welder blasted out a stream of sparks in a dark corner, lighting it up.

  Taylor was there, hands on his hips, looking all Howard Roark-ish. “I remember you. From outside that restaurant,” he said to Temple.

  “Your next big project.”

  “Not the next one, but right after that.”

  “You got a lot going on,” Temple said. It was hard to hear and he had to shout.

  Taylor didn’t seem to mind that the men in the vicinity might hear them. “What do you want?” he said.

  Temple liked his bluntness; there should be more of that in the world, he thought. “Where were you in 1975?” he asked, throwing the construction tycoon a curve ball, his usual move.

  Taylor blinked. He looked at Mendoza and back at Temple. “Excuse me?”

  “Just answer my question. Where were you in 1975? April, to be exact.”

  “Hamilton, McMaster University. What is this?”

  “Your wife. She Vietnamese?”

  “No, Chinese. Look—”

  “Where were you the night of the shooting at the Beautiful City restaurant?”

  “I don’t know. I’d have to look at my phone.” He made a move to take it out of his pocket and Temple tensed ever so slightly. Taylor saw that and slowed his actions down. The wind changed direction and gusted in through a gap in the building, blowing Temple’s jacket back and exposing the Glock on his hip.

  “That was five nights ago,” Taylor said, glancing at the Glock. “Oh yeah. My wife and I were at some friends’ place.”

  “I’ll need their names. Phone numbers.”

  “What is this all about? I’m on my job sites all day.”

  “Yeah, you’re a hands-on kind of guy.”

  “Listen, I’m friends with Chief—”

  “Stas Kumarin—you friends with him, too?”

  “No. Wait a minute—”

  “You’ve got connections to Russian crime. The Beautiful City massacre has Russian involvement. You want to tear that building down and put up one more tower.”

  “You think I had anything to do with what happened at that restaurant, you’re crazy.”

  “The business owners tried to stop you tearing their shops down.”

  “So I had them killed?”

  “Had who killed, exactly?” Temple said.

  “Now, look—”

  “Your alibis for the night of the shooting. We’ll need them.” Temple sized Taylor up. The man was tall and straight-backed, ramrod stiff like a Marine. His hair was cut close, a tight crew cut. Sideburns, short and crisp. He looked in shape and was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Temple wondered if he had any tattoos on there, like maybe the Marines’ bulldog mascot or the globe and anchor.

  “You ever serve in the US Marines?”

  “What? No.”

  “Ever served in the American military at all?”

  “No, Detective, I have not.”

  Temple studied his face as he answered. “Your connection to Stas Kumarin. Through Westgate properties.”

  “He’s a businessmen. I know him,” Taylor said. The wind had gone out of his sails but Temple expected it would come back. A man like this, who put up glass and steel towers for a living, was tough. He had to be.

  “He go in on this condo with you?”

  “No. I used them years ago for some financing. They have the connections.”

  “So do you. Nallartnam at City Hall.”

  “He has connections too. You can’t get anything built in this town without them.”

  Temple remembered the night at the Cactus Club, how high Nallartnam had appeared. “You supply him with drugs?”

  “I’m not answering that.”

  “Why? Because it might incriminate you?”

  “Because it’s insulting.”

  “You’re in bed with the Russian mob. You’re involved in corruption with a city councillor.”

  “I’m not the one pulling his strings.”

  “Who is?”

  “Look, Nallartnam is known to be friendly to developers. I was put on to him years ago. You just have to show him a good time.”

  “Bribe him? Get him high?”

  “You won’t catch get me saying that.”

  “Who put you on to him? Who told you he was friendly to developers?”

  “There are people in City Hall who know everything that goes on. For a couple of bucks here and there, there’s a guy that’ll put in a good word for you with guys like Nallartnam.”

  “They do that for Kumarin too?”

  “We were not partners. I went to him for money. They—”

  “He gives you a loan you can never fully pay back.”

  “Something like that.”

  “This guy down at City Hall. The fixer. What’s his name?”

  “You have anything else to ask me, see my lawyer.”

  “I want you to make yourself easier to find starting now. That’s a nice way of saying don’t leave town. We’re tired of running all over looking for you.”

  Temple went back to the elevator and Mendoza followed. The kid operating it had just stayed there on that floor. Mendoza got even greener when it started to descend.

  “Oh, knock it off,” Temple said. “Man up, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Get me everything you know on this Nallartnam character,” Temple said when they were back in the car. Mendoza looked a bit harried. “You all right?” Temple said.

  “That was intense up there.”

  “It’s the only way you can come at a guy like that. He’s tough. You have to come at him guns a-blazing or he’ll just overpower you every time.”

  “Sounds like Stas Kumarin has a hold on him. You still like him for the Beautiful City shooting?”

  “No. That building was going to be torn down regardless of any injunction filed by some small business owners. The hit on the restaurant was orchestrated by this ex-Marine. Maybe Taylor is lying about any military service down south, but probably not. He has pull with Kumarin somehow but bribing officials to get bids accepted and ordering a hit are two different things. We need to find out who else has pull with Kumarin, enough to get two of his shooters to do the restaurant.”

  Temple’s phone blipped; it was Munshin texting him. Get your ass over there.

  “Goddamn it. Not now,” Temple said. Munshin was probably getting calls from Concordia over the walk through at the cement factory.

  56

  Temple saw Wozniak’s work car in the parking lot of the cement factory, along with a half dozen unmarked car from the SIU. There were also two scout cars from Durham. It was still their crime scene.

  Temple got out and saw Wozniak talking to Wilson, one of the Durham homicide detectives. Damn it, he thought. What was his first name?

 
; Temple approached and the name came to him. “Peter.”

  Detective Peter Wilson said, “Hey John.” He shook Temple’s hand hard. “You two bastards got our boy. Thanks, I guess. I was just telling Tim here how bad we wanted this guy.”

  “It’s just how it worked out.”

  “Anyway, you saved the taxpayer a hell of a lot, and the next of kin the agony of a trial. I saw you at Claire’s funeral. You didn’t go out with us afterwards.”

  “I’m not into cop funeral piss-ups.”

  “I hear you. The Americans come up across our border, guns and all. All the way from down in Texas and Arkansas. Professional police funeral drunks. There was a punch-up in a bar.”

  “Yeah. Heard that,” Temple said.

  “Excuse me, detectives.” Concordia stepped out of the trailer. “These two men are subject officers,” he said to Wilson. “I don’t want you speaking with them during my investigation.”

  “Okay, Concordia. Relax,” Wilson said. He had twenty-five years on the job and didn’t give a damn about anything anymore. Temple realized he was more than halfway to that attitude himself. Wilson went back over to the other Durham cops, and Concordia and some SIU junior investigators surrounded Temple and Wozniak.

  “Okay, we’re going to take you in there one at a time and you’ll walk us through it. Detective Wozniak, you’re first.” Wozniak gave Temple a look and raised his eyebrows as he went back up the steps.

  Wozniak was in the trailer with Concordia and his men for thirty minutes. A female SIU investigator was left behind to keep an eye on Temple.

  “You been with SIU long?” Temple asked her.

  “Four years.”

  Temple grinned and nodded.

  “You like it?”

  “I’m not really supposed to talk to you.”

  “Hey, we’re just two colleagues joshing. You can nail my ass to the side of a barn later.”

  She laughed.

  “You heard of me?” Temple went on. “I’m not being arrogant. I just mean I’ve had my fair share of dealings with SIU.”

  “Everyone in SIU has heard of you. The infamous John Temple.”

  “‘Infamous’? Not ‘the amazingly-good-at-his-job John Temple’?”

  “There is a certain level of respect for you in our organization, sure.”

  “I bet it gets under Concordia’s skin. You know he wanted to be a cop? Couldn’t make it.”

  “Really?”

  “You should try to get on. You look fit.”

  She did, indeed. She was probably only twenty-five and had the firm, hard body of a regular runner. One of those beach runner girls you see downtown with wrap-around Ray-Bans on and ear buds in and focused looks on their faces, a fine sheen of sweat covering their limbs.

  “I like what I do. Maybe after some experience here…”

  Temple didn’t break it to her that no one from SIU would ever get past a police hiring board; he was just messing with her. She had sowed her oats with the cop fuckers, as they were known, and she would never be able to switch teams.

  “I could help. I know everyone on the TPS hiring board.”

  “Who says I want to get on with Toronto?”

  Temple laughed. “What are you going to do, apply to Durham? Look at that fatso over there.” Temple nodded at Wilson. “He’s a good cop, but how much action do you think he sees? In Toronto we go from call to call to call, and there’s tons of room to move up. Seriously, if you want to apply, let me know.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  The trailer door opened and Concordia and his men let Wozniak out.

  Wozniak went straight to the car; maybe he’d been instructed to do so. He got in but left the door open because of the heat. The SIU investigators surrounded Temple now, waiting to lead him inside. His new friend was pushed to the side.

  Concordia had a clipboard with him. He reviewed some notes silently then said, “All right, Detective, let’s get started.” He and his men led Temple to the stairs. “Okay, let’s stop here. What time did you get to these stairs?”

  “I don’t know. It was probably eleven thirty.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We left the bar at . It took us fifteen minutes to get up here.”

  “Fifteen? It’s at least a twenty-five-minute drive out here.”

  “I drive fast.” Temple shrugged and the girl who’d been guarding him giggled and then looked away. Concordia shot her a look and Temple continued. “We cruised past, turned around and set up on the plant and waited a minute or two. Then on foot, we made our way down the east side.” He pointed at the perimeter fence on the other side of the bulldozer. “Crawled under there, waited for the right time and made our way here. Wozniak took the back; I came around the front. I figured it was about eleven thirty. Eleven forty five at the latest.”

  Concordia showed no reaction, so Temple continued.

  “I mounted the steps. Tried the door handle; it was locked. Detective Wozniak and I had set an agreed time of five minutes and then we’d both go in. Neither of us had a radio. They would have been too loud anyway. I kicked in the door.”

  “Your gun was drawn at this point?”

  Temple had to exercise Herculean restraint to keep from rolling his eyes or rebutting Concordia’s comment. “My gun was drawn as soon as I came on the property and crawled under the fence.”

  “Go on.”

  “I take the door, come in, swivel around. Shout tactical commands.”

  Concordia gave him a look. “Okay, let’s go inside.”

  The door was open, its lock still busted from the forced entry. Concordia was wearing latex gloves and he handed a pair to Temple. Temple gloved up and led the investigation team into the trailer.

  The room looked different in light of day; everything was shabbier. There were rips in a couch he had not seen. Dust and dirt on the floors. A poster of an alluring girl in cut-off jeans, a bikini top and a hard hat was tacked onto a wall. These walk-throughs always amazed him, whether he was leading a suspect who was confessing through a crime scene or doing something like this with SIU. The little details you don’t see in the heat of the moment. SIU preyed on these inconsistencies, these little forgotten details. Not that a girly poster was going to play any part in a shooting inquest.

  “I came in, my firearm up, and I checked this part of the trailer. Wozniak had everything behind me.”

  “You were pretty trusting—your partner at your back and a large space between you.”

  “We had to improvise. At least we would cover off one half of this compartment.”

  “What happened next?” Concordia said.

  “It was completely dark. Neither of us had flashlights.”

  “Why not?”

  “I guess we forgot them. Anyway, I found the light switch, turned it on.” Temple feigned flipping the switch, his right hand still in front of him simulating holding his gun. “The lights came on and this dark form down there at the end of the second trailer pops up. I shout at him to drop it. There’s a shot, and I fire my entire clip in one burst. Wozniak must have fired beside me.”

  “You didn’t hear it? The shot?”

  “I felt something go past over my shoulder, but I couldn’t tell. There was a lot going on, you know. No, wait. You wouldn’t know,” Temple said, unable to resist the dig. Concordia curled his upper lip. His cronies looked away in embarrassment.

  “I dropped to a knee and reloaded. Called out to Wozniak. He covered me as I reloaded, then I covered him. With fresh mags, we made our way down the hall. That’s where we saw that we’d hit the guy. Saw the gun. Saw that he was in a bad way. Called it in.”

  “Immediately?”

  “Yes. We knew it was hopeless, but we called it in anyway.”

  Concordia said nothing more to Temple. He turned to his right-hand man and said something in SIU parlance that Temple didn’t understand.

  “So what? Am I free to go?”

  “For now,” Concordia said. Always f
or now. “We’ll need your firearm.”

  “No way. I’m working a case. I’ll need it.”

  “That’s not my problem. You can get a replacement from TPS.”

  Temple sighed and withdrew his gun fast. Several SIU flinched, startled, but Concordia just stood there with his hand extended. Temple ejected the mag and racked the gun to make sure it was empty, and then slammed the magazine home without re-cocking the weapon. He handed it over to Concordia. He now understood why Wozniak had had that look on his face when he’d exited the trailer. Stripped of his gun, he just wanted to go down and sit in his car.

  57

  Before Concordia let Temple leave the plant, he made him sign a statement. Someone must have been recording everything he’d said and then used a computer application to transcribe it and print it out. SIU sure did have the bucks, Temple thought moodily. While cops pinched pennies and always went without, the SIU seemed to have bottomless coffers.

  Temple took Highway 7 back into the city. It was a quieter drive, and it gave him time to collect his thoughts. And it also led him to Big Ed’s Diner, a favourite for cops and truck drivers. Wozniak’s car was already in the parking lot. They’d done up his statement while Temple was in the trailer with Concordia.

  They had not agreed to meet here, but instinctively Temple had known he’d find his partner here. Before he pulled in, he made sure he was not followed by the SIU. They would love to nail two cops corroborating their testimony, maybe discussing something they had not divulged to the investigators.

  Tim was in a booth in the far corner. Temple greeted the girls behind the counter. They hadn’t seen him in a while and he took thirty seconds to catch up with them on weddings, babies, all that civilian jazz he’d never gone in for.

  Wozniak was studying a menu. Temple plunked himself down across from him.

  “You hungry?” Wozniak said.

  “No. Coffee please,” Temple said to one of the girls who’d followed him over.

  “The same,” Wozniak said, and he put the menu down.

  When coffee had been delivered, creams and sugar added, the two cops talked about what they’d just gone through.

  “What do you think?” Temple said.