Christ, this was going to be tedious. I wasn’t really a numbers person. I hoped Faulkner wouldn’t take too long to get to the part where dirty money from the two crooks had shown up in Sandhu’s bank account. If she could prove that, Bernstein was going to have a problem. Faulkner had already opened the door with the testimony about Sandhu’s call to the bureaucrat. Would he deny it?
As Faulkner continued to outline her case, I thought back to my conversation with Gail, and her vague comments about Luc Champagne. Did she mean anything more than that Champagne had dimed Sandhu to cover his own ass and kneecap a rival? That would be practically standard operating procedure.
I needed to talk to Gail again. If I was going to be stuck in court for weeks, I wanted to find out what was really going on, not just the competing exaggerations that the lawyers would spoon feed to the judge and the media. It was going to be a challenge with Bernstein’s legal team keeping a protective eye on their client and his wife. The smoking thing would get old in a hurry, too. I needed a new gambit.
I saw my chance about 15 minutes later. The Crown was nearing the conclusion of Carmichael’s testimony and a break would be coming up, but Gail was going to beat the rush. She walked up the aisle of the courtroom without acknowledging the curious spectators who were gawking at her from both sides. I gave her a short head start, then ducked out of the back of the room myself, just in time to see Gail heading into the washroom.
I followed, but by the time I entered, Gail was already in a stall. I washed my hands and reviewed my rudimentary attempt at makeup, then ran wet fingers through my short hair. My new look had the virtue of low maintenance.
I was rooting in my purse, watching the mirror for action behind me, when Gail emerged from the stall, rolled her eyes up and said, “You again. Are you stalking me?”
“Powdering my nose. I hope you aren’t put off by the Crown’s bluster. They try to make everyone sound like a mass murderer.”
“Yes, I’m aware. What do you want?”
I glanced around to make sure we were alone in the washroom, then said, “OK, let’s cut right to it. Last week, you implied that Luc Champagne was behind your husband’s troubles. Something more than what we heard this morning. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. I’ve looked into the guy enough to know he’s a snake. You want to nail Champagne, I’m the one to do it. I’m going to need a little more than vague insinuation though. You going to help me out or not?”
Gail smiled, showing perfect teeth, and plenty of them. I imagined that they were sharp.
“Interesting offer. I’m not so sure about the timing. We’ve got a lot to deal with right now.”
“Of course. No need for the story to appear until after the trial. I’m sure it will take me a while to get to the bottom of all this. It could be a real PR counterattack for you, though, if it pans out.”
“It will pan out.”
“So what do you think, can we get together to get into the specifics?”
Gail washed her hands, her bright red fingernails shining under the flow of the water. She gave her hands a shake, made sure the nail job was intact, then inserted her hands in the Dyson dryer. I wondered if I was being literally blown off.
Once her hands were dry, Gail snapped open her black leather Prada bag and fished out a business card. It identified her as senior vice-president of Rakic Construction and included cell and office numbers. “Call me on my cell,” she said. “I might pick up.”
With that, Gail visibly composed herself, squared her shoulders and went back out to face her public ordeal.
FOURTEEN
The courtroom lunch break didn’t come a minute too soon. It was the key to sanity when covering a long trial, a much needed chance to stop being constantly attentive to the droning of lawyers. The idea of occupying that little bit of time talking to Suzy Morin was extremely unappealing, but Colin had dispatched her to the courthouse for the turnover on the Mae Wang story. Saying no wasn’t really an option.
I could see her now, weaving her way through the tables of the little lower-level cafeteria that served the courthouse. Suzy Morin was a newspaper reporter with TV looks. Her blond hair was shoulder length and probably natural, if the blue eyes were a guide. Her nose was a little bit big, but other than that, Suzy’s face was flawless. She had to be about 35, but you’d never know it in her formfitting black dress.
Suzy and I probably wouldn’t have been BFFs at the best of times, but it didn’t help that we did different versions of the same job. Until I showed up, Suzy had owned the police beat. Now, I got to dip in and scoop up the juiciest stories for my column. Maybe Suzy getting a piece of the Mae Wang story was some kind of karmic payback.
When Suzy had texted me earlier, she had uncharacteristically offered to pay for lunch. She must be expensing it. Suzy seated herself at the Formica-topped table in a swish of perfume and handed me a sandwich overflowing with breaded chicken, cheese and mayonnaise, then delicately unfolded her own, cucumbers and lettuce on a petite whole wheat bun.
Suzy crossed her panty-hosed legs, gave me her insincere smile and said, “So, what can you tell me about this Chinese spy thing?”
“We don’t even know if she is one. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“OK, so let’s start at the beginning.”
What a logical idea. Would all of her interview questions be this astute?
“I’m really too busy with the Sandhu trial to take this on myself. Colin said you could do some of the leg work, get things rolling.”
Suzy sniffed in distaste at this, but settled for a noncommittal “Oh yes.”
“Here’s the thing. I think there is a hell of a story in this, but we’re only seeing the tip of the iceberg.” I immediately wished I could edit out the cliché, but I didn’t expect that it would bother Suzy.
Glancing at my watch, I said, “She called herself Mae Wang, but I think the name and identity are probably phoney. Whoever she was, we know she was young, attractive and an interpreter who often worked for the Chinese Embassy. We also suspect that she was seeing someone mysterious on a regular basis, Tuesday and Thursday nights. We believe she was thrown off the roof of my apartment building. We also know that people from the Chinese Embassy bullied their way into the morgue and made off with the body. As far as we can tell, the RCMP was aware of Mae and whatever she was up to.
“The interesting part is that now they want to cover it up. They are supposedly leading a joint investigation into the homicide, but there doesn’t appear to be any investigating going on. I think they have put this one on their national security shelf, filed somewhere between So What and Who Cares?”
Suzy nodded and said, “So, we find out who Mae Wang was screwing and I think we’ve got our story.”
“That would take us a long way towards it. Colin tells me you’ve got some pretty good contacts with the Mounties and in the intelligence agencies.”
Suzy shrugged her slim shoulders. “Some,” she said. I imagined that Suzy’s “some” was the equivalent of a poker player with a full-house saying he had “some” cards. Reporters with real contacts kept the names close to the vest. The ones who bragged about everyone they knew didn’t know much at all.
“Just so we’re straight up from the start,” Suzy said. “We work on this together, pool our resources, joint byline. Are we on the same page?”
“Sure.” I could afford to be generous, having held back the roommate, the Carleton professor and Reilly’s involvement. I wasn’t sure if Reilly was a no-go zone for Suzy, but I hoped so.
She took a small bite of her sandwich and then ran a manicured fingernail across her glossy red lips, looking for possible crumbs. “Look Kris, I know we are basically rivals and this is all a bit odd, working together. Let’s try to make it work out, OK? This sounds like a really good story. This Mae Wang, or whoever she was, deserves some justice.”
I struggled to keep my eyes from rolling up. Maybe Suzy still believed in justice, even after all her yea
rs on the police beat, but I would bet she would take a scoop over justice any day of the week.
“Yes, well, that would be something wouldn’t it?” I said. “Look, I’ve got to get back. The trial will be starting again in a few minutes.”
“Of course. I’ve got to run myself.”
Suzy wrapped up the half of her sandwich that she hadn’t consumed and tossed it in a waste receptacle. She got quickly to her feet, straightened her dress, flashed me a quick smile and headed back towards the main courthouse doors.
How did other women learn to roll their hips like that? I didn’t even understand the mechanics of it. Not that it would matter if I did. I had no ass at all.
Watching Suzy slide elegantly through the crowd, I had to admit that I was a little jealous of her. She couldn’t have sunk the hook so deeply into Reilly unless she had more than I gave her credit for. Suzy and Reilly had made it work for quite a while, too. I had never been able to sustain a long relationship with a man.
Maybe the problem was just that we were natural rivals, doing two different versions of the same job. When I had a competitor, I wanted to beat her. “Plays well with others” wasn’t a comment that teachers had ever marked on my report card.
Perhaps Colin had been smart to put the two of us together. We would both work furiously to get the bigger slice of the Mae Wang story. That didn’t mean I had to like it.
* * *
Suzy pushed open the heavy glass doors of the courthouse and stepped into the fresh spring air. What a relief to get away from that grotty food court and its greasy smells. She hoped it hadn’t stunk up her dress.
And Kris Redner. What a bitch. Suzy hoped that neither Kris nor her lovelorn admirer the editor seriously thought Suzy was going to do “leg work” and let Kris get all the glory. Suzy had owned the police beat for years before Kris came swanning in from Toronto with the new editor and had suddenly become the crime columnist, a job the paper had never even had before. If they needed a crime columnist, Suzy knew she was the best and most obvious choice. She just hadn’t had the foresight to screw the editor. Apparently that relationship had hit the rocks, but Kris was still treated like a queen. Who could forget that ridiculous puff piece Maclean’s wrote about her when she was still back in Toronto? Canada’s queen of crime. As if.
Still, the Mae Wang story was intriguing and a welcome relief from writing about drug gang shitheads who always seemed to be shooting at each other, but never connecting. That was really getting old.
If this Chinese girl was actually a spy of some sort, the story would go national, probably international. She could definitely look forward to a number of TV appearances. Suzy had great connections with all the key network producers. They knew she was always good for a clip or a whole interview. Kris might get top byline in the Citizen, but Suzy was sure she could still make the story her own. Why would anyone on television want to interview that gloomy string bean? Suzy had to admit that Kris looked a bit better now that she had finally done something with her hair, even if it was a garish red dye job. Suzy was proud of her own natural blond hair. So what if she did colour it slightly?
Suzy had kept her plan vague when talking to Kris, but she knew just who she was going to talk to first. Pierre Lacroix was her main guy at A Division. The Mountie had recently been promoted to assistant commissioner and always seemed to know everything that was happening over there. Pierre was 50 years old and married, but he was also a real hound. She could guarantee that he’d be up for drinks tonight. They’d exchange information for flirtation. It seemed like a good deal all around, especially because Pierre had never had the nerve to try to take it to the next level.
Then Suzy had an idea that was even better. What about Vanessa, her workout buddy from the gym? Vanessa was one of those cute, earnest, smart young women who flocked to the Hill to serve the great men who worked there. In Vanessa’s case, that meant being EA to someone in the PMO who Vanessa always said “knew everything about everybody.”
Suzy and Vanessa had met in pilates class and kind of hit it off, although Vanessa did like to go on and on about the world of politics, like it was the biggest thing in the universe. She loved to gossip, though. Who knew what she might be able to find out about something as juicy as a Chinese spy story? If there was really something to it, her boss would know. Suzy was pretty sure Vanessa was doing the guy, too, so her access would be even better.
Suzy smiled to herself. She felt confident that she could outdo the great Kris Redner on her own story and do it quick, too. This was going to be fun.
FIFTEEN
Sometimes it seemed like a trial would poke along forever, but things could change in a hurry. Faulkner had finished with the police inspector and Bernstein had been unexpectedly brief in his cross-examination. I expected he was saving his ammunition for the less credible witnesses, Gill and Fung.
Faulkner said, “Your honour, Mr. Gill has received some medical treatment and is here in the building and prepared to testify. I will call him as my next witness.”
“All right, Ms. Faulkner. Glad to hear that. Let’s hear what Mr. Gill has to say,” the judge said.
I wondered again if the whole Gill out, Gill in thing had been nothing more than a way to screw with Bernstein. As a columnist, I could suggest it, but it wouldn’t win me any points with the Crown. Maybe it was a little early in the trial for scorched earth. The bad news was, the column I had already worked out in my head was likely headed for the mental wastebasket. Whatever Gill had to say would almost certainly top the day’s news now.
The doors at the back of the court opened and I turned to watch Vikram Gill shuffle his way up the aisle toward the witness box. In contrast to the GQ approach taken by the RCMP inspector, Gill had chosen a gold-coloured polyester jacket that looked too large for him, as if he had been ill and lost weight. Maybe it had been on sale at Moore’s and 46 tall was the only size left. Gill’s brown pants were rumpled and his green tie was askew. He was dark skinned but it didn’t offer the sense of vitality projected by Sandhu. Gill’s eyes were baggy and his features slack. I made him as mid-50s. As he passed by my seat, I could smell some kind of hair oil that was meant to enhance Gill’s suspiciously dark comb-forward fringe.
One thing for sure, he didn’t look like the kind of guy to whom anyone would give $1.5 mil. Good thing they didn’t ask for a photo with those grant applications.
Gill took the stand and was sworn in. He had a thick, guttural accent that made his words difficult to understand. I began to wonder why the Crown was in such a hurry to get this joker on the stand. Or maybe Faulkner was just in a hurry to get him off.
“So, Mr. Gill,” she said, “let’s start by filling the court in on who you are. You have a background in engineering, correct?”
“Oh yes. Delhi Technological University.”
Bernstein was furiously scribbling notes. I guessed we would later discover that there was a difference between a background in engineering and actually being an engineer.
“And how do you earn your living, Mr. Gill?”
Defrauding the government would be the correct answer, I thought, but Gill said, “I am a property developer in the Brampton area.”
“And how long have you been in that business, sir.”
“Twenty years. Ever since I came from India.”
“So it would be fair to say that you are quite well-established, then?”
“Oh yes, very much so. I am a pillar of the Indo-Canadian community.”
It took some balls to say that, given the circumstances.
“Now, tell us about the particular development proposal that led you to make an application for the federal wind energy program.”
“I have, for many years, owned a fine piece of property on the edge of Brampton. Farm land today, but a wonderful subdivision tomorrow. In Ontario, with provincial rules, it is very, very difficult to get approvals for new housing. I had made a proposal to Brampton city council, asking for a focus on Indo-Canadian comm
unity. This is my target market.”
“And what happened with that proposal, sir?” Faulkner asked.
“They turned it down flat. That’s when Mr. Fung and I, we put our heads together, and came up with a new idea.”
“And that was the sustainable, wind-powered subdivision?” Faulkner asked, leading him along.
“Oh yes. A very clever idea. I hear from friends in the Conservative Party that there is a fine wind program to help make Canada greener. I see the opportunity to do something for the environment, while helping council to discover a good new reason for our project to go ahead.”
“So you looked into the program, and applied for it in the usual way?” Faulkner said.
“Yes, we did that. We even used consultant to help us fill in the paperwork. Very, very complex paperwork.”
“And what happened next?”
“Nothing. A month went by, we heard nothing.”
“A month, but that wasn’t really very long for a government grant approval was it?”
“Well, time is money in development. We had gone back to city council to talk about our new wind subdivision, see if they liked it. Another consultant, more money. Councillors are liking the idea but they say it will only be credible if we can get federal grant. If our project is not ready to go, they will approve one from competitor instead. For us, that would mean the window is closed.”
“So you needed a quick answer from the federal government?”
“We did, but you know government. Nothing quick.” Gill laughed at this remark and got a titter of laughter from the audience as well. Everyone in Ottawa knew the pace at which the feds worked.
“So what did you do next, Mr. Gill?”
“We turned to our MP, Mr. Sandhu.”
“And did you know Mr. Sandhu before seeking his assistance with the wind project?”
“Everyone in Brampton knows Sonny Sandhu. I myself met him on more than one occasion at Conservative Party events, and one time he came and spoke to us at the Indo-Canadian Chamber of Commerce.”
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