A Vicious Balance: A Mystery Thriller

by Jolyon Hallows

  “Dar.”

  “Dar, what can you tell me about him other than his work here?”

  “You mean friends, hobbies, that kind of stuff?”

  “That and his background. Where did he work before he came here? Where did he go to school?”

  “His background. Hugh hired him before I ever got to interview him, so I never saw his resume, but—” she hesitated. “Wait. I did. One day, he blew a sure sale, and I had to work many nights plus a long weekend to try to get it back on track. I made it too. They’re now one of our biggest customers. I shudder to think how close Tony came to blowing it for us. Anyway, after the dust settled, I asked Hugh where he found this idiot, and I wanted to see his resume. I may still have it.”

  She riffled through a filing cabinet. “Yes. Here it is. Tony Galina’s resume. I remember looking at it. On paper, he looks great, but given his performance, I began to doubt this was real. I was going to do some checking, but when his wife was killed and he left, there was no longer any point.”

  He studied it for a minute. University graduate, sales training, numerous sales positions. There was a lot of material here. This would take some work to track down. He asked, “Can you make me a copy?”

  “Take it. It’s just occupying space here. Hang on, you’ve piqued my curiosity.” She reached for the resume. “This says the last place he worked was Enablement Systems. Sharon Willoughby is the sales manager there.” She checked a file of business cards and dialed a number.

  “Sharon? Dar. How’re things?

  “Yeah, me too. Hey, the reason I’m calling is to check up on one of your former sales reps, a guy named Tony Galina.

  “Yeah, Galina. G-A-L-I-N-A. Tony.

  “You’re sure? You guys are on his resume as a former employer.

  “You never heard of him? Well, that’s a hoot.

  “Yeah, Tony Galina. Turkey Galina if he ever applies to you. Thanks for the info, Sharon. Hey, are you going to the association meeting next week?

  “Me too. See you there. Bye.”

  She turned to Travathan. “Enablement Systems has never heard of him. My guess is that you can call all the other companies on the list, and you’ll get the same result.”

  “Well, that is interesting. Tell me, Dar, did he have any friends or hobbies that you know of?”

  She shook her head. “We’re a pretty laid-back group here, but his constant grousing seemed to get on everyone’s nerves. We normally hit the bar on Friday evening. He never joined us. Hell, we didn’t even know he was getting married until he asked for a week off for his honeymoon.”

  “After his wife was killed, how did he react?”

  She frowned. “You know, that’s the odd thing. There was no sign of grief or bitterness. It was as if some chapter in his life had closed, and satisfactorily.”

  “Satisfactorily? Do you think he had anything to do with it?”

  She looked down at her desk. She didn’t deny his question. “I just had a feeling. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but his whole attitude seemed to change, to lighten up. Then he quit.” She paused. “No, I can’t see how he could have had anything to do with it. He was in a sales meeting with a loser from Cabelman Hotels when it happened, otherwise I probably would have suspected something.”

  “You said loser. Why?”

  “After he left, I called Cabelman to try to close the deal. This guy wouldn’t even return my messages. I finally got through by calling every hour until he answered, but all this jerk did was to tell me to shove off.” She shrugged. “Nothing would have come of it anyway. A couple of months later, Cabelman was bought out by Solstice Lodgings, and I heard this guy got dumped in the reorganization. It wouldn’t have helped us anyway. Solstice already used our software.”

  Travathan sat back. “If Galina was such a turkey and his resume didn’t even check out, how did he get hired?”

  “I think one of Hugh’s friends recommended the guy.”

  “But surely Hugh would have checked Galina’s background.”

  “Well, I would have thought so too. Normally, he’s pretty picky about who works here. We recently hired a junior programmer, someone most other companies would take no more than a day to pick. It took Hugh a month to settle on the guy we finally brought in. When he hired Galina, it bothered me why I never got to interview the guy. I’d have expected him to do more of a check. I’m not a gossip, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe there was something to the rumors after all.”

  “What rumors?”

  “Hugh is a great guy and a good boss, but he has a weakness for the ladies, the younger the better. The rumor was that he picked up a girl who was on the wrong side of the age of consent and got himself blackmailed. Just after that, he hired Galina.”

  “And you think the two are connected?”

  She shrugged. “It’s none of my business. But after Galina left, I made it clear to Hugh that from now on, hiring of sales staff was my department. He didn’t object too strongly.”

  “One more thing. I notice you have picture IDs here. Would you still have a picture of him? I do have a photo, but a second one could be useful.”

  She grimaced, the first dent he had seen in her exuberance. “A few years ago, somebody broke into our security system and deleted all the photo ID files. His was one of them.”

  “Broke into your security system? Sort of defeats the purpose doesn’t it?” She didn’t laugh. He added, “I take it this happened after Galina left?”

  “A couple of weeks later.” A startled look crossed her face. “You don’t think he had anything to do with it, do you?”

  “I don’t think anything. I’m just trying to the get the time line straight. Dar, thanks for the information. I appreciate it.”

  22

  He returned to his car and looked up the Grosswood Academy. It was no longer in business. Damn. One more lost lead. Then he took a closer look at the information. The school had closed five years earlier, two years before Sherry Galina had started working at the insurance company. Her educational background was proving to be just as fictitious as Tony Galina’s work history.

  He completed his notes from his conversations with Bannerman and Congee. Two companies with two employers who had become vulnerable to extortion just before they hired two people with resumes that were fiction. There was more to Sherry and Tony Galina than a couple who met by chance at a coffee shop.

  Almost four o’clock. The timing would be tight, but if he pushed it, he could check out one more lead. When he parked at Mason Warren Secondary, the timer read two minutes.

  The school was deserted of students, but several of the administration staff were still working. The principal, Alex Swain, escorted Travathan into his office. He seemed almost relieved when Travathan told him why he was there. No doubt, a homicide was more interesting than whatever he had been working on.

  “How may I help the police, Mr. Travathan?”

  Travathan didn’t correct Swain’s assumption. “I’m trying to reconstruct the past of a murder victim named Sherry Galina. According to my information, she attended this school although her name at the time was Sherry Trepanier.”

  “Trepanier. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but we have a few hundred graduates each year. I suppose I should be better at remembering their names, but—” He turned to his computer. “What year did she graduate?”

  “It would have been the mid-2000s.”

  Swain tapped the keyboard, frowned, fiddled with the mouse, frowned again, and said, “I don’t have a record of any student named Sherry Trepanier. The only Trepanier I have in the last ten years is named William. Sorry.”

  “I have a picture of her. Perhaps that would help.” Travathan handed Swain the picture he had gotten from Eddie Barrtels.

  Swain studied it. Travathan couldn’t tell if he was examining the picture or admiring it. He shook his head. “You know, she does look familiar, but I can’t tell if that’s because I actually knew her or because she looks like
so many other appearance-obsessed teens who pass through here.” He thought for a minute. “I might suggest our yearbooks. You may find her in one of those, but not under the name you have. It’s all I can offer. You can use one of the classrooms.”

  Travathan nodded. How long would it take to go through a few yearbooks?

  Half an hour later, he stood up and stretched. Swain had been right. Travathan hadn’t found anyone who looked enough like Galina to trigger any reaction. It seemed she had lied about having attended this school just as she had lied about the Grosswood Academy and her husband had lied about his employment history.

  Walking back to the office with the yearbooks, he noticed photos of groups of students on the wall. Past student councils, young faces, eager with youth and frozen with responsibility. A face jolted him. He stood on a chair, examining the photo up close. It was her. He looked at the name beneath the picture. Julia Dennison. How could he have missed her? He pulled out the yearbook for 2005 when a young woman named Julia Dennison was on the student council. Her picture was nowhere to be found. He flipped to the front of the yearbook to the student council group photo. She was in it.

  He hurried back to the office where Swain was getting ready to leave.

  “Mr. Swain, who is Julia Dennison?”

  Swain looked at him in surprise. “Of course. That’s who your picture reminded me of. How curious.”

  “Curious? What’s curious is that her picture is on the wall and in the yearbook as a member of the student council, but it’s not in the individual student profiles.”

  “Julia Dennison was, let’s just say, ripe. She exuded more raw sexuality than any other young woman I’ve seen in this school, and according to the rumors, she practiced what she presented. One day, and this is not a rumor, she seduced her English teacher. And not in any place private. They were in a classroom. This was after hours, so I suspect that some part of the teacher’s overheated brain convinced him they wouldn’t be seen. Well, they were, and the rest of the school knew before the next day was out. We had to fire the teacher, and when Dennison vowed that by the end of the year, every adult male in the school, me included, would be in the same position, we had no choice but to expel her.”

  “That seems harsh. What about counseling?”

  “We offered it, but she refused. You have to understand. Our teachers are mostly responsible, but an attitude like hers is disruptive and puts us all at risk. After all, it takes just one allegation, even if it’s unfounded, to ruin a teacher’s—or a principal’s—career. She never completed her academic year and never graduated, at least not from here. The student council photos were taken before this incident, but the rest of the yearbook was compiled well after it.”

  “Did you find out what happened to her?”

  “I heard she went to university. I suppose she finished her schooling somewhere else and passed her entrance exam. Other than that, I have no idea where she went or where she is now.”

  “Do you have any contact information for her family?”

  Swain turned to his computer. A minute later, a sheet of paper emerged from the printer. “Her father abandoned them at an early age. She was raised by her mother, Emily Dennison. A good, hard-working woman. Here’s her address.”

  Travathan thanked him and left. It was just after five.

  He parked near the place he’d arranged to meet Max. The timer read three minutes.

  23

  “Do you want to eat before we head out?”

  Kagan nodded. “Yeah, it’s rush hour. There’s a Greek place around the corner. As I recall, you like Greek. As I recall, you like anything.”

  The restaurant walls hid behind vines and posters showing clusters of houses bleached by the sun overlooking beaches scattered with umbrellas, sunbathers, and a few boats pulled onto the sand. The air was laden with the smell of spices and the tang of lemon. A waiter showed them to a table with a tablecloth and napkins folded into triangles. Even before they sat down, Kagan said, “A bottle of Agiorgitiko with pita and hummus to start.”

  Travathan said, “Agio what?”

  “Agiorgitiko. It’s one of the finest of the Greek reds.”

  “Showoff.”

  The food arrived, and wine glasses in hand and a plate of pitas glistening with a sheen of melted butter surrounding a bowl of hummus, they dug in.

  Travathan said, “There’s more to Sherry Galina than it seems. As far as I can determine, her name was Julia Dennison. She had just one job—a receptionist for an insurance company—before she got married.”

  “Okay. So what?”

  “It’s not her background that bothers me, it was how difficult it was to dig it out. Some people make themselves hard to find, but they have things to hide. Julia Dennison’s whole life defines normal. Lusty, but normal. She had friends, relatives. She went to high school. University. She had to have left information about herself somewhere. It’s hard to be anonymous these days, but if I hadn’t spotted her picture on the school wall—a sheer fluke—I wouldn’t have the slightest idea of her past before she joined the insurance company. It was as if she was trying to hide something, but nothing I’ve found out about her is worth hiding.”

  “Gord, you’re taking yourself too seriously. So she changed her name. That’s not uncommon. I don’t see anything other than a rebellious teen. Happens all the time. She ditched her family in the most basic way—by spurning its name—then went on to get a routine job and get married. Other than getting murdered, this story is told a million times a day.” Kagan scooped up a load of hummus onto a slice of pita as if he had to catch up.

  “Yeah, I know. But that’s not all. Take Tony Galina. He has a long resume, but so far, it’s fiction. Two people, both with hidden backgrounds? And I haven’t even mentioned there’s a suspicion both of them got their jobs because of some blackmail or bribery. All this and they find one another by chance? I don’t buy it. Everything I’ve been able to find out tells me there are connections here that go far beyond your million stories a day.”

  The meals arrived. The aromas and the savor of the flavors smothered any analysis of the case. They had almost finished when Kagan asked, “What’s your next move?”

  “When we get back, I’ll talk to Emily Dennison—she’s Julia Dennison’s mother. Maybe she can add something, but right now, unless I’m wrong about Tony Galina’s resume and he actually had real employers, this is my only lead.”

  Outside, the rush hour had subsided, the traffic was lighter, and the sun was sinking, painting the buildings with a peach glow. Travathan forced himself into the driver’s seat, Kagan into the passenger’s. Kagan studied his friend and said, “Did you call the rental company about getting another car?”

  “I forgot.”

  “Well, I did. They have one available, and they’re holding it now.”

  “Max, being proactive. I must be a good influence on you.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I just didn’t want to have to put up with your moaning.”

  Three hours later, Travathan pulled his full-sized SUV into a motel near the spot on the river where someone had tried to kill him and Kevin Winters.

  The next morning, they inched along the shoulder of the highway, four-way flashers blinking. Travathan drove while Kagan scanned the bush, looking for anything that might lead down to the river. Each time they saw something, they would clamber through brush. Sometimes, all they found was an opening that went for a few feet off the road and ended. Other times, they would get part way down the side of the hill before the bush closed in on them. Once, they reached an outcropping of rock that overlooked the river, but were unable to get down to the water itself.

  Then they found a trail. There were boot prints in the dirt, signs that it was frequented, probably by local fishermen. The trail led down the hillside to the bank of the river and followed a point of land that jutted into the water, forming a bay in its lee. Trees were scattered along the bank, but there were enough clearings to allow several peo
ple to fish in the shelter of the bay. The point of land ended in an embankment that pushed out into the flow of the river, a few wind-stunted trees clinging to the edge. Travathan and Kagan explored the tentacles of the trail, poking into the bush, peering over the bank. Kagan called out, “Over here.”

  In the bushes was a shell casing. They put it into an evidence bag, and sat down at the river’s edge, looking over the spot where someone had tried to commit murder.

  They were about to climb back to the road when Travathan grunted. Kagan knew that sound.

  “Something occur to you?”

  “Max, we’ve spent about half a day looking for this spot. We’ve followed dead ends and false leads, and there’s nothing on the highway to indicate this would be any different.”

  “So what?”

  “How did the gunman find it?”

  Kagan paused. “I see your point. Either he was local or—”

  “Or he hired a guide. And if a guide brought him here, he couldn’t just start shooting.”

  “He could have paid the guide off.”

  Travathan frowned. “Too risky. And remember, this guy was a killer. I think we need to check into this.”

  “You figure he’d have shot the guide and dumped the body in the bush?”

  Travathan shook his head. “More likely he’d have wanted it to look like an accident. If it were me, I’d have bashed the guide over the head and tossed him into the river. If he didn’t drown, he sure wouldn’t have survived Hell’s Gate. We need to find out if there have been any accidental deaths around here recently.”

  “Okay. We can check with the cops.”

  Travathan shook his head. “I don’t want to alert them. Let’s see if we can get a lead on a guide first.”

  “Okay. How?”

  “Max, if you were the shooter looking for a guide, assuming you’re not local, what would you do?”