Wolfe in Shepherd's Clothing

by David Gane

  Charlie grins. “I meant the couple who found Paul Gulley, dumbass. Came down here for a little lovey-dovey, not expecting to find a body floating in the water. With all the caraganas and lilacs hanging in the water, he probably got stuck somewhere and was overlooked until late September.”

  “Wait. September? This was the first body?”

  He looks up at me. “Yeah. Why?”

  I step back, studying the scene. Not answering a direct question is something I’m used to Charlie doing, but I feel like I’m onto something. I just need a minute.

  I nod to the large docking posts sticking out of the concrete. “In the summer, there’s a ferry that runs between here and the island. But after the September long weekend, the ferry would be closed and no one would be coming down to the dock.”

  Charlie picks up my line of thinking. “Except for horny teens trying to find a place to get to second base—”

  “Exactly.”

  “But how many would actually be coming down here?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not a lot.”

  “Likely very few,” he agrees.

  I’m enjoying this back-and-forth rally. “It’d be easier to find a quiet place to make out in the trees—”

  “Much more romantic, what with all those fall colours—” Charlie says with a smirk.

  “And warmer,” I throw in, suppressing another shiver.

  “So,” Charlie says, “the killer stages his first victim here.”

  “But the body doesn’t get found right away.”

  “And it’s a giant pain in the ass. Cops patrol the area—”

  “You’ve got to drag the body up the path, down the stairs, and into the water—”

  “And even after all that, it floats away!”

  “Exactly!” I remark. “So he leaves his next victim on a running path near the RCMP training depot—”

  “Which still takes three days because no one finds it—”

  “So he leaves the last one in the most public place he can think of—”

  “The lake right in front of the Legislative Building where it’s sure to be found—”

  “With excellent access to location—” I gesture to the roadway that runs along the lakeshore.

  “And anchors it to make sure it doesn’t float away—”

  “Except we get an early winter and the body doesn’t show up until spring!”

  “Shit,” Charlie says, “this guy’s balls keep getting bigger.”

  “No, it’s worse than that,” I say, feeling another chill run down my back, this one unrelated to the weather. “This guy wants his work to be found.”

  chapter 46

  As we walk back toward the car, Charlie keeps looking at all the traffic and pedestrians in the park. “It would be great if one of these people had seen something.”

  “Charlie, the murders happened almost a half a year ago—the latest victim has literally just surfaced five months after the fact,” I wave across the lake to the taped-off landing in front of the Legislative Building where a diver is coming out of the water.

  “But if they’re regulars at the park—people from the government buildings, say, or runners, or folks walking their dog—I bet someone saw something.”

  “If they did,” I say, “they probably didn’t realize it.”

  “Hell, they likely don’t even remember it,” Charlie adds.

  I can tell he’s not done, though. “What’s up?” I ask, knowing the direct approach is sometimes the only way to get him to talk. Otherwise, he’ll stay stuck in his head.

  “I want to check one more thing,” he says.

  We walk back along the wide, curving concrete path that follows the shoreline toward the bridge.

  “Uh, Charlie?” I say, “I can’t help but notice we’re headed back toward the active crime scene.”

  He grins.

  “You’re not suggesting we go over there, are you?”

  “Nope, not today.” He’s moving fast now—not running, but going at a quick enough pace that I have to push myself a little to keep up. “I’m thinking that although this killer has some pretty messed up ideas, he’s not stupid, right?”

  “Okay …?” I say, not quite sure where he’s going—in either thought or direction.

  “He wants his work to be seen without giving himself away.”

  I’m starting to understand. “Meaning, he’s dumping bodies at night, not in the middle of the day when everyone’s around.”

  Charlie finger-guns me. “Right. So, if we’re looking for a boogeyman who lurks in the nighttime shadows, we need to find out who else might be lurking in them.”

  He cuts across the grass and down some stairs to a short tunnel that goes under the bridge and connects the park to a path that follows the creek from the lake to the city’s northwestern edge.

  There’s an inch of water on the passage floor from spring flooding, and I stop at the last stair.

  “What? You scared of wrecking your shoes?” Charlie asks, splashing through it. “You got to plan ahead and get a water-

  proof pair. Functional, stylish, and—” he gives the cement wall beside him a good kick, “steel-toed.”

  “You’ll never be normal, will you?” I ask.

  “Hope not.”

  I grab a seat on the steps while Charlie does his thing, grateful I don’t have to wade in too. Both sides of the underpass are filled with more graffiti, and he walks the full length, studying every inch.

  “The city always comes down here, pressure-washing it off, and in a week, the artists come back and start all over.”

  He reaches the end and turns back, pausing halfway to study one large creation. Colours flow in huge zigzags, spelling out the word STRAY.

  “That guy’s style looks like the one at the overlook,” I say.

  “Not guy. Gang.” Charlie’s on his way toward me, on his phone, tapping away.

  “Are they marking their territory?” I ask, staring at the wall.

  I turn and realize I’m talking to myself. He’s already out of the tunnel, walking across the grass back toward the car. Man, this guy!

  “Hey, Charlie! Yo!”

  He ignores me and I have to run.

  “Hey, it’s off season for me. At least give me some warning so I don’t have to chase after you!”

  “Pay attention and you won’t need any warning.”

  “All right, Buddha, thanks.”

  He pauses. “Ooh, spiritual guru. I like that. That’s what I’ll tell them at career counselling!” he snickers.

  His phone bings and he checks it.

  “Do we have time for a few more pit stops?” he asks.

  I check the time. Supper won’t be ready for a bit yet. “I guess. Where are we going?”

  “Downtown.”

  chapter 47

  Charlie guides me as we travel downtown.

  “So, where we going?” I ask.

  “Take the next one-way.”

  I take the turn, but I’m not done. “No. What are we doing ?”

  “I know who left that graffiti tag.”

  “And you’re hoping they were there last fall around the time of the murders?”

  He nods.

  “And they’re downtown?”

  “Nope. Left down this alley.”

  His vague answers piss me off. “Will there ever be a time it won’t be like pulling teeth for you to tell me what the hell’s going on?” I snap.

  “All right, Uptown Funk, gear down. The only way we’re going to get information is to trade some of our own. Now, squeeze through there.” He directs me into a brick breezeway that leads to what appears to be a dead end.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “The alley is not the destination, dude. It’s the journey. ”


  “You should teach self-help classes,” I say.

  Still, when Charlie hops out, I follow. He walks to a keypad I didn’t notice on the wall and punches in a number. Turns out the dead end is actually a heavy metal gate, covered in peeling green paint. It slides open to reveal a small covered parking area. In four of the six spots are very small, but very beautiful, luxury cars.

  He waves me into an open spot at the end. “Cram in there. Don’t scratch anyone’s paint.”

  As if I needed the warning. Dad’s car looks like a clunker compared to the others, and I can’t even imagine how much they cost.

  He points to a video camera up in a corner of the sheet metal ceiling. “There’s eyes everywhere.”

  I pull into the spot, but I’m pretty sure I don’t breathe until I’ve turned the car off. “What is this place?”

  “The most expensive parking lot in the city.”

  “Why here?” Although the cars around us are high end, the odd location and grungy exterior sure don’t make the lot seem worth whatever money it might cost.

  “First, the spots are auctioned off and it’s become a whole status thing, so the prices are outrageous. Second, security’s tight. From what I’ve heard, anyone who tries messing around here ends up broken the next day. Third, the best for the best. Whatever you ask for—booze, drugs, caviar from the Caspian Sea, doesn’t matter what—will end up in your car by the end of day. And last,” Charlie points at a door on the opposite wall, “that door leads all over downtown, including some pricey exclusive club high above the city.”

  “Really? What’s so special about it?”

  “No clue. All I’ve heard is that it’s the size of a small apartment but has a waitlist long into next year—unless you own one of these spots. Of course, I’ve never been closer to it than right here.”

  “And you know all this how?”

  “Lucas, the guy whose spot we’re parked in? He told me.”

  “Won’t Lucas want his spot?”

  “He’s out of town at the moment. We’re taking advantage of that.”

  “So we’re not here to meet him?”

  “Lucas? Nope, not this time. We’re here to see someone far less interesting.”

  chapter 48

  The gate closes behind us and we walk down the alley. Charlie’s back on the phone, but I only catch the tail end of what he’s saying.

  “Yes—brief. Should I remind you that— No? Okay, much appreciated. See you shortly.”

  Charlie guides us through a back loading bay door filled with workers rolling trolleys of filing boxes to a service elevator. He takes a side door that leads to a concrete and steel stairwell that opens to another door.

  Suddenly, we’re in the middle of a very new, very shiny glass building. An old security guard sits behind a fortress of a desk, seemingly preoccupied with his newspaper, but as we approach, I notice a bank of high-end monitors tracking our every movement.

  We step up to a turnstile with a swipe card-reader, but Charlie’s not fazed.

  He waves at the security guard. “Hey, John.”

  The security guard looks up. “Afternoon, Charlie. Keeping well?”

  “Always. Heading up to the twentieth floor.”

  “Sounds goods,” he says, buzzing us through.

  We cross to the elevators and Charlie hits the button.

  “You good friends with John?”

  “He had some problems over a gold pocket watch. I helped him out.”

  As usual, I don’t want to know. “So, what’s on the twentieth floor?”

  “AE and Associates.”

  “What’s that?”

  A glass elevator descends to our level and we shuffle in.

  “A property management firm that owns a sizable chunk of real estate in town. It used to be called Adam Everness and Associates, and its founder was known for handshake deals and keeping his word. That was a century and a half ago, and their standards have fallen considerably—now they should just be called Assholes and Egos.”

  Charlie snickers at his comment, but I just shake my head.

  “Seriously, Shepherd, who needs something like this?” He waves his hands at the chandeliers, the shining white marble floors, and the polished chrome accents of the lobby we’re rapidly being transported above. “You can do business from anywhere. This is just showboating for the public and clients, saying, ‘Don’t mess with us; we’re big and powerful,’ but in the end, all it means is a lot more rent. Or maybe they’re just compensating for really small—”

  Ping!

  The doors open and we’re on the twentieth floor. A long hall takes us to a receptionist behind a very modern front desk, the letters A and E in brushed metal behind her on the wall.

  Charlie doesn’t wait to be greeted. “I have an appointment—” he looks at his imaginary watch, “right now with Joseph Lock. Tell him Mr. Wolfe is here to see him.”

  The receptionist shows no emotion—not annoyance, not obligatory pleasantry, nothing. She merely presses a button on her phone and speaks into it. “Mr. Lock, there is someone,” she grits her teeth, giving first Charlie, then me, the once-over before continuing “—a Mr. Wolfe—here to see you.”

  As she waits for an answer, she stares through me. I smile, trying to get some kind of response, but there’s nothing.

  “Are you sure? You don’t want me to offer them a seat?” She sighs and against her better judgment, raises her hand to direct us where to go—but Charlie’s already walking down the hall.

  chapter 49

  The way Charlie navigates these offices, he’s definitely been here before. I’m right on his tail until we arrive at an impressive closed door. He walks straight in without even a knock.

  The office is a cliché of the corporate world. Big windows face south over the city. Dark leather furniture and expensive wood panelling contrast the thick white carpet. There’s a mini-bar beneath the large flat-screen on the wall behind us, shelves sparsely decorated with sculptures and masks, and a large tropical plant in the corner.

  Mr. Lock stands in front of an oversized mahogany desk, in the middle of a practice putt. He’s a well-groomed, good-looking man in his late thirties. Though he’s wearing a two-piece suit, he’s shoeless; his leather Oxfords have been set aside.

  “It’s real,” Lock says, before sinking the putt in the practice mat.

  At first I think he’s talking about his shot, but he’s nodding at the plant. He needs to validate it? That’s weird. Really weird.

  “Well done. Mr. Lock,” Charlie commends.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wolfe.”

  And then they shake hands. Visually, they’re complete opposites, but they’re behaving like business partners.

  “It’s been a while. I was getting worried. How’ve you been keeping?” Lock asks.

  “I’ve moved.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes. It seems like—” Charlie considers, “a good change for me.”

  “Well, don’t wander too far,” Lock cautions as he lines up another putt.

  Something about this guy makes me think he likes Charlie kept tight in the box he’s put him in.

  “Would you mind catching that door, sport?” Mr. Lock says.

  He’s talking to me, I realize, though he hasn’t looked at me once.

  I bite my tongue, say nothing, and swing the door shut.

  Charlie takes a seat in one of the plush leather chairs and waves a hand in my general direction. “This is Anthony Shepherd.”

  Lock extends his hand but doesn’t break concentration on his shot. I shake it but feel an incredible need for hand sanitizer after he lets go.

  “So, how goes your day?” Charlie asks.

  Huh? Suddenly we’ve got time to shoot the breeze?

  Lock sinks another shot, then t
akes a seat behind his desk. “Aw, you know. Livin’ the dream: shithole office, robot assistant, miserable dick of a boss. It’s a blast!”

  I wonder why he stays if he hates it so much, but strangely, Charlie’s sympathetic. “You’ve definitely got golden handcuffs, Joseph.”

  “Don’t you know it, Charles. Money’s too damn good to say goodbye.”

  How long’s Charlie been dealing with this guy?

  “What are you looking for this time?”

  “I need something to trade,” Charlie tells him.

  “What sort of thing?”

  “Material.”

  “Big or small?”

  “Hmm. Moderate,” Charlie says slyly.

  Joseph Lock shakes his head. “Talk about being chained to something—”

  Charlie tosses up his hands. “Hey, you’re the one who keeps asking for my help.”

  “True, true.”

  It’s surreal watching Charlie operate in this rich corporate office. Somehow he’s the one with all the power.

  “All right, all right,” Lock mutters. “I might have just the thing for you.” He clicks on his keyboard and scrolls around. He glances over, cold eyes drilling me. “Why don’t you take a load off, sport?”

  The sooner we’re out of here, the happier I’ll be. “I’m fine, thanks,” I say.

  “Suit yourself.” He leans in to study the screen, then waves Charlie over.

  “Here! Take a look at this. Should be good enough to piss off the old douchebag boss.”

  Charlie crosses to the other side of the desk to look at Lock’s monitor. “This is his?”

  “Yup.”

  “Nice. That’ll do just fine.” Charlie takes photos of the screen with his phone. “Reciprocity is a great thing in a relationship, isn’t it?”

  “Hey, don’t I still owe you for last time?” Lock asks, leaning back in his chair.

  “Nope, it’s just good business,” Charlie says.

  If there’s one thing I know about Charlie, it’s that he’s all about being fair. He hates the thought of being indebted to anyone.