The Evil That Men Do

by Michael Blair

  “What about Marie-Claire?” Nina asked.

  “She got cold feet and took off. Maybe she’s had

  second thoughts and come back. I’ll find out when I get downtown.”

  My travel jacket was still damp when I took it out of the dryer, but at least Thomason’s blood had washed out of it and out of my shirt. I draped the jacket over the headrest of the passenger seat, and it was pretty much dry by the time I got to Coal Harbour, after a brief stopover at West Vancouver Police headquarters to amend and sign my statement. Dawn was breaking over the coastal mountains when I parked the car in the lot by Coal Harbour. I put on my jacket against the early morning chill and walked along the embankment to the Harbour Ferries Marina.

  I stepped aboard the Serendipity, every joint in my body creaking, and banged on the locked door of the deck cabin. It was a minute or two before Zach staggered up the companionway from below, wearing a T-shirt and boxers, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He fumbled to turn on the lamp over the navigation station, then trudged blinking to the door.

  “So,” he said, letting me in. “Did you find Brandt?”

  “I did. I wasn’t the only one. Any sign of Marie-Claire?”

  “No.”

  “Where’s my phone?”

  “Uh? Down below. I’ll get it.”

  “Not yet.” I handed over Zach’s phone. “What do you know about cellphones? Is there a way to determine if there are hidden programs on them?”

  “What kinds of programs? You mean, like, spyware?”

  “Something that will let someone eavesdrop on phone calls. Or nearby conversations.”

  “I don’t know,” Zach said. “My old phone had a program called a task manager that listed all the apps running on the phone. I don’t think iPhones have anything like that, but maybe something will show up in the settings. It lists all the apps on the phone. Why? Do you think someone has installed spyware on your phone?”

  “I’ll explain after we check the phone.”

  He went below and returned with the iPhone Gil Maxwell had lent me. Zach tapped and stroked the screen. “I don’t see anything unusual,” he said after a moment. “But maybe the app icon is disguised as something else.”

  “Turn it off,” I said.

  Zach pressed and held the tiny button at the top of the phone, then stroked the screen to turn the phone off.

  “Is there a way to take the battery out?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “What about the SIM card? Can you take out it out?”

  “Yeah, if we can find paper clip or piece of stiff wire.”

  We looked for a few minutes, but couldn’t find a paper clip or suitable length of wire anywhere on the boat.

  “The hell with it,” I said.

  Taking the phone from Zach, I dropped it on to the deck and stamped on it, but the crepe heels of my desert boots were too soft. I looked around.

  “Hand me the fire extinguisher,” I said, pointing to the small fire extinguisher clamped to the bulkhead by the helm.

  “You’re kidding,” Zach said, as he handed me the extinguisher.

  Mindful that I might be destroying evidence of Gil Maxwell’s involvement in Terry’s and Rebecca’s abduction, I smacked the end of the steel cylinder down on to the iPhone, once, twice, again, until the device was thoroughly wrecked. For good measure I twisted it apart. I tossed the fragments on to the chart table.

  “Radical but effective,” Zach said. “You want to tell me what it was all about?”

  “You’re sure that Thomason didn’t grab Marie-Claire after she took off?”

  “I can’t be absolutely certain, but like I said, the doorman told me he thought he saw her getting into a cab. Maybe she isn’t the fastest fish in the tank, but she’s bright enough to know that if he went after her once, he could again. She was pretty antsy on the way to the hotel, and when we got there, she insisted I buy her some clothes from the hotel boutique. She wanted a disguise, she said. I should’ve realized she was planning to leg it. Anyway, if Thomason was watching us, wouldn’t he have followed you?”

  “He might have tried,” I said. “All right, unless Marie-Claire told him, the only way Thomason could have known where Brandt was hiding out was by listening in on my call to you. The phone was a loaner from an old acquaintance of mine, and of Terry’s, named Gil Maxwell.”

  “I’ve heard that name,” Zach said.

  “His father was one of Brandt’s victims. Gil owns a software development company that specializes in applications for mobile phones and tablets. If anyone could plant an invisible eavesdropping program on a phone, he could. In fact, he took back the first phone he lent me and replaced it with that one.”

  “Okay,” Zach said. “Thomason turned up at the marina. What did you want to tell me that you didn’t want whoever might have bugged your phone to hear?”

  “Thomason is dead,” I said. I described what had happened on Addy Shay’s boat.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, when I’d finished. “A goddamned crossbow. Jesus.”

  “If Thomason and Maxwell were working together, I’d rather Maxwell didn’t know that Thomason is dead and Brandt is in police custody. We can forget about getting him back to Montreal anytime soon.”

  “So there goes Marie-Claire’s bargaining chip,” Zach said. “Just as well she took off. I hope she’s okay. But what about Terry and Rebecca? Where are they?”

  “I don’t know. I’m hoping Maxwell will be able to tell me. Pack up. Maybe there’s an early morning flight to Montreal.”

  “What about Marie-Claire?”

  “What about her? She made her choice. If Brandt is ever returned to Montreal to face charges, she may be able to renegotiate a deal to testify against him, but in the meantime, she’s on her own.”

  “So we just lock up the boat and walk away? It doesn’t seem right to just hang her out to dry like that.”

  “What else can we do?”

  Zach shrugged. “I dunno. Nothing, I guess. I’m going to leave her a note to call me if she comes back to the boat.”

  Zach went below to dress and write his note. When he returned, I was collecting the fragments of the ruined iPhone, depositing them in a freezer bag I’d found in the galley.

  “You know,” he said. “It occurred to me that we could’ve gotten rid of any eavesdropping software on that phone without destroying it by simply restoring the factory default settings.”

  “I’ll remember that for next time,” I said.

  Part IV

  Chapter 31

  Zach and I flew standby on a 7:30 a.m. flight out of Vancouver direct to Montreal. I slept for the entire flight, awakened on wheels-down groggy and disoriented and feeling worse than I had before I’d fallen asleep. Zach sprang for a limo downtown, and at a little past 4 p.m. Montreal time we walked into the offices of Roche-Desjardins. Nina wasn’t in her office, and no one knew where she was. I called her cellphone from her office line; the call went straight to voicemail.

  “Nina,” I said. “We’re back. Where are you? I’m going to have to get a new phone and will call you with the number as soon as I can. In the meantime, I’m going to my mother’s to grab a shower. You can reach me there if you have anything to report.”

  Zach and I brought Louise Desjardins up to speed. Nina had already told her that Thomason was dead, Brandt was in custody, and Marie-Claire Cloutier was in the wind, so there wasn’t much more we could add. Louise said it was time to get the police involved in the search for Terry and Rebecca. I kept my speculation about Gil Maxwell’s possible involvement to myself.

  I thanked Zach for his help and left for home. As I was about to flag down a cab, I saw a Rogers mobile phone dealer. I went inside. Half an hour later I emerged the proud owner of the cheapest pay-as-you-go phone I could buy and three months of airtime. I called Nina to g
ive her the number, but got her voicemail again. I left my new number, then took a cab to my mother’s house. A small, brown-skinned woman was in the kitchen, rinsing a pot of peeled potatoes under the tap. She smiled at me as she dried her hands with a dishtowel.

  “You are Mister Riley,” she said, dark eyes shining. I said I was, shaking her hand. “I am Lucinda. I look after Miss Gracie. Okay?”

  “Very okay, Lucinda. Where is Rocky? Miss Matthews?”

  “Miss Rocky is looking for new place to lib. You stay for dinner?”

  “No,” I said. “I wish I could.” I wished I could crawl into bed and sleep for a week. “Is my mother awake?”

  “I think so, si.”

  “I’m going to say hello to her then take a shower,” I said. “I have to go out.”

  “I make you a sandwich?” Lucinda said.

  “That’s very kind. Si, gracias.”

  I went upstairs and knocked softly on my mother’s door. She didn’t answer. I quietly opened the door and peered into the darkened room. My mother was lying on her back in the bed, snoring softly, her face pale in the light from the hall. She stirred, but did not awaken. I shut the door.

  Showered, shaved and wearing fresh clothes, but still feeling as though I might keel over at an unkind word, I went downstairs. Rocky was in the kitchen with Lucinda, who was arranging marinated pork chops in a roasting pan. Rocky was spooning mashed potatoes into a casserole dish. She was wearing a knee-length grey skirt and a pale pink blouse, buttoned to her throat. She smiled at me. “How was Vancouver?”

  “Memorable,” I said. A little too memorable. “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I have to go out. Will you be needing the car tonight?”

  “It’s all yours,” Rocky said. “Lucy made you a sandwich.” She took a plastic-wrapped plate out of the fridge, stripped off the wrap, and placed the plate on the table. “Do you want a beer?” she asked, placing a jar of Mrs. White’s horseradish beside the sandwich.

  “No, thanks,” I said, sitting down, hoping I could get up again. The sandwich was meatloaf on twelve-grain bread. I love meatloaf sandwiches, but I can take or leave twelve-grain bread. “Is there any milk?”

  “Sure,” Rocky said.

  She poured me a glass of milk as I slathered horseradish on my sandwich, then sat down across from me. Lucinda put the pan of pork chops into the oven and set the timer.

  “I check on Miss Gracie,” she said, and left the room.

  “Lucinda said you were out looking for a place to live,” I said. “You look more like you were looking for a job as a bookkeeper.”

  She smiled and unfastened the top buttons of her blouse, revealing a lacy pink bra. “I’m more the executive secretary type, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely. If you weren’t my aunt, I’d chase you around a desk anytime.”

  “I’m only your half aunt,” she said, batting her eyes.

  “That’s the half that counts, though.”

  “Are we friends again?” she said, as I finished the first half of the sandwich.

  “Always were, always will be,” I said. I drank some milk.

  “You were a little pissed with me,” she said.

  “I think the feeling was mutual. And where does it say friends can’t be pissed with each other from time to time?”

  She smiled. “Anyway, I’m sorry about giving you a hard time about selling the house and moving Gracie into a nursing home.”

  “And I’m sorry about being such a selfish insensitive jerk about it. You’ve lived here on and off since you were fifteen and for the last few years you’ve had to take care of Grace pretty much on your own. It couldn’t have been easy. You’ve done a great job, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “It means a lot to me to hear you say that. I can’t say I was happy to do it, but I didn’t hate it, either. I hate change, though. But hating change doesn’t stop it. Sure as shit won’t stop what’s happening to Gracie.” Her eyes glistened with tears.

  I placed my hands atop hers on the table. “Whatever happens,” I said, “we’re always good.”

  “Thanks, Ace.” She stood up, a bit abruptly, I thought. “Finish your sandwich. I’ve got to get out of these clothes.” She smiled down at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll put something else on.”

  “What, me worry?” I said.

  “Yuk yuk,” she said over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.

  I finished my sandwich, washed my dishes, and went upstairs to brush my teeth. My mother’s bedroom door was open. She was in her chair. Rocky was brushing her hair as Lucinda straightened the bed. I poked my head into the room. My mother smiled at me as though it was the first time she’d seen me in years.

  “Atticus! How nice. When did you get home?”

  She wasn’t referring to my recent trip to Vancouver. Rocky looked as though her heart were breaking. I knew how she felt.

  “A couple of days ago,” I said.

  “Really? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “Sorry, Mum,” I said. I went over and kissed her cheek. “I’ve got to go out now. I’ll come and see you went I get back.”

  “Promise me you will. And bring that nice Terry with you. I like her.”

  “I’ll try,” I said. I kissed her again, smiled at Rocky, and left the room. As I left, I heard my mother say, “Rocky, who is that woman fussing with my bed?”

  It was almost 7 p.m. when I pulled into the parking area in front of Gil Maxwell’s office. The traffic on the Décarie expressway had been horrendous, thanks to the idiots in the southbound lanes who’d engaged in a game of bumper cars and the loons in the northbound lanes who’d had to slow down to admire the damage the idiots had inflicted upon each other. I hadn’t expected anyone to be in the office, and, in fact, no one was. The front doors were locked and the reception desk was unoccupied. Through the inner office doors I could see a computer screen glowing at one of the workstations. I could have called ahead, but I hadn’t wanted to give Gil a heads-up I was on the way. Returning to the car, I tried Nina again, but once again got her voicemail. Where the hell was she? I left a brief message, then continued west on the Trans-Canada Highway, exited at Boulevard Saint-Jean, and headed south toward the lakeshore.

  Although I knew it was pointless, I thought about my forthcoming conversation with Gil Maxwell. We went back a lot of years, and although we hadn’t been especially close recently, I nevertheless felt a strong sense of betrayal. And it hurt. It was stupid, I knew, but Gil’s betrayal of our friendship made me feel like a twelve-year-old whose best buddy had abandoned him to play with the other kids. I realized, though, that Gil Maxwell wasn’t my “best buddy” and hadn’t been for some time. In my travels I had got to know a number of people I would call better friends than Gil Maxwell. Perhaps better than he had ever been. If I had a best friend, I thought with a warm feeling, it would have to be Nina. The feeling grew icy, however, at the thought that something might have happened to her.

  I pulled into Gil’s driveway, parked beside his shiny Audi A6. I took a few deep breaths before climbing out of the Volvo and walking to the front door. I rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately.

  “Riley,” Gil said. “What are you doing here? I was just on my way out.”

  “I came to give you your phone back.” I handed him the zipper bag containing the bits and pieces of the smashed iPhone.

  “Jesus,” he said. “What happened to it?”

  “I tried stomping on it,” I said. “But the soles of my shoes are too soft. I used a fire extinguisher instead.”

  He stared at me.

  I regretted destroying the phone. By doing so, I’d likely ruined any chance to prove that Gil had planted eavesdropping software on it. While the SIM card appeared to be intact, any eavesdropping software would have been installed in the main memory. I could have tried harder to
find a paper clip to remove the SIM card, which would have turned the phone into the equivalent of an iPod, but, as Gil himself had told me, just turning it off would have probably been enough.

  “Don’t you want to know why I did it?” I said.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll play along. Why did you destroy a five-hundred-dollar iPhone?”

  “C’mon, Gil. You don’t really need me to tell you, do you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, but it was pretty clear from the look in his eyes that he did.

  “Where are Terry and Rebecca?” I said, deciding to get straight to the point.

  “What do you mean? At home, I suppose. Where else would they be?”

  “Nice try,” I said. “You should’ve been an actor. You almost make me believe you don’t know where they are.”

  “If this is your idea of a joke, Riley, it isn’t funny.”

  “You’re right about that,” I said. “It isn’t funny at all. Have you heard from your buddy Lawrence lately?”

  “Who?”

  “Lawrence Thomason.”

  “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “Sure you do, Gil. He asked me to say hello the next time I saw you.”

  “Bullshit,” he said, calling my bluff. “He doesn’t know me. Any more than I know him.”

  “Look, Gil,” I said. “I’m sorry about your father. Believe me, I understand. I don’t blame you for trying to get some of the money back. Hell, if Brandt had stolen my mother’s money, I might’ve sent someone like Thomason after him myself. Trouble is, Thomason’s something of a loose cannon, isn’t he? Hard to control, if he’s controllable at all.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gil said. “I sure as hell don’t.”

  “Thing is, Gil, I do. And so do you. Have you asked yourself why you haven’t heard from him?”

  “For Chrissake, how many times to I have to tell you—?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t know him. I’ll tell you anyway. He’s dead. Chaz Brandt shot a crossbow bolt through his chest. Poor bastard drowned in his own blood.”