Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 1, 2 & 3 (Box Set)

by Robert P. French

“No. No way. It’s not going to happen.” His anger is ratcheting up and I wonder why he doesn’t want to talk about George. “You could hold a gun to my head.”

  That is exactly what I am going to do.

  I draw the metaphorical gun: “Did I tell you that I confirmed what Sandi told me, Brad. You know, about Kevin conducting tests that killed his guinea pigs. It happened. I know the name of one of the victims and I even have a witness.”

  Brad pales but does not try to deny it.

  I chamber the round: “You knew all along, didn’t you? But you lied to me about that too.”

  “Listen, Cal—”

  I click off the safety: “So either you are going to tell me everything I want to know about friend George or I am going to contact the pharmaceutical branch at Health Canada and I’m going to tell them exactly what Kevin did.”

  He is on his feet and looks like he wants to go at me physically. I know he won’t dare, but he is apoplectic. “You can’t do that Cal, you idiot. It would financially ruin a bunch of people and put the folks who work at QX4 on the streets. They could never get jobs anywhere else after this.”

  It’s working. I shrug.

  “And what about Kevin’s reputation. Think what it would do to his parents.” He knows that carries a lot weight with me and I hope he doesn’t realize that it makes my threat as metaphorical as the gun.

  “Kevin’s dead, he is beyond being hurt by this. His father wants me to find out who killed him; he said no matter what, so that’s what I’m doing.” I stand up. “Either you talk to me about George or I’m talking to the Feds and, while I’m at it, I might as well talk to an old buddy of mine at the Globe and Mail.”

  He doesn’t respond so I turn towards the door; it is a calculated risk: if he calls my bluff I will lose this round.

  No reaction.

  At the door, I say, “Last chance, Brad.”

  Still nothing… until I start to open the door.

  “OK. OK. Come back and sit down,” he says through his teeth.

  Without turning, I ask, “You’ll tell me everything I want to know?”

  “Yes… Yes.”

  I close the door. I do not want him to see the relief on my face, so I head for the kitchen, grab two glasses and two bottles of Hop Head IPA from the fridge and go back to my chair.

  “Tell me about him.” I hand Brad a bottle and a glass.

  Brad pours too fast and the beer foams up. He puts the glass down with a sigh and starts. “George is the brightest businessman I’ve ever met. He’s a completely self-made millionaire. His father was a steel worker in Hamilton and his mother worked as a secretary. He started his first business when he was thirteen, buying and selling bikes. Then he graduated to cars. He bought them in bad condition, got a bunch of guys from shop class to fix them up and then sold them. He made enough to put himself through university and grad school in the US.”

  Despite the fact that he must be angry I coerced him, as he speaks, his old enthusiasm returns.

  “George has definitely got the Midas touch. Just about everything he invests in makes money. You saw the website for Walsh Investment Corporation. Just about all of the companies listed there, the ones that he has invested in, are stellar performers. He has even invested in a couple of airlines and made money. If you only knew how difficult it is to make money in the airline business. Not even Warren Buffet will do it… Anyway, he’s not much older than you and me and he’s worth millions. He’s a very positive guy. He really is the living proof of what you can do with a positive mental attitude.”

  “Yeah, sure Brad. If that worked we’d all be rich.” I have let my street-won cynicism get in the way. This remark has attacked the very core of Brad’s belief system.

  He lashes out. “Yeah, well, maybe if you took it seriously, you wouldn’t be a—” He cuts himself short. The flash paper of his anger burns itself out. He takes a deep breath and looks at me with something uncomfortably like pity. “I’m sorry Cal. I know you can’t kick heroin with just positive thinking. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He has shown himself to be a bigger man than me.

  Before I can apologize for my own insensitive remark, he says, “You know how you used to go to Kevin’s every Saturday to change. I want you to come here instead. I’ll give you a key so you can come any time you want.”

  I feel a rush of gratitude. Brad and I have been distant since the day I started using and the pain at the loss of his friendship has always been acute. I am about to tell him I don’t need a place to change since Arnold is renting a room for me but I cannot bring myself to spurn his offer.

  “That would be great, Brad. I really appreciate it.”

  He smiles, almost shyly. “Great. Come next Saturday, I’ll have a spare key cut for you tomorrow.”

  Now I know first hand why a cop is never allowed to interrogate someone he knows: the emotions, either good or bad, will always get in the way.

  “I’m sorry about what I said about positive thinking. It wouldn’t hurt me to think a little more positively sometimes,” I say, even though I cannot bring myself to believe in that positive mental attitude stuff.

  “No prob.”

  Now I need to get my interrogation back on track. I use the awkward silence. “How did you meet him?” I ask.

  “George wanted to take QX4 public and he was unhappy with the broker he was using. He happened to mention it to Sam and she suggested that he meet with me. We hit it off and he decided to give the business to my firm. The fact that I was close to Kevin was part of the reason, too. It was a huge feather in my cap at work. It was fantastic working with him. He has an amazing mind. He told me how he chooses companies to invest in; I learned a lot from him.

  “He owns distribution, high-tech and manufacturing companies and he’s a controlling investor in transportation companies and even some offshore agricultural enterprises: coffee plantations, sugar cane and so on.”

  “This guy sounds too good to be true. What does he do at night, go out and fight crime?” I say with a chuckle.

  My sarcasm doesn’t please him. “Cal, I’m trying to forget that you blackmailed me into talking about George’s businesses. You being sarcastic doesn’t help matters.”

  Now I am having to choose between my friendship with Brad and my need to get to the bottom of George’s involvement in QX4.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “He’s not perfect.” He sounds defensive now. “He told me that his formula didn’t seem to work with retail companies. Apparently he owns some convenience stores, a chain of dollar stores and even some foreign exchange outlets, but they hardly turn a profit. Just between you and me, I’m working on a proposal with our Mergers and Acquisitions department to sell off these companies for him. If he goes for it, my firm will pretty much have to make me a senior partner and then…”

  Although the friend should be, the cop is not interested in Brad’s ambitions; I need some more specifics but I let him finish before saying, “When Kevin died and the shares of QX4 dropped by, what was it, sixty percent, that must have dropped ten million off the value of his shares. How did George take that bit of news?”

  “He was great,” This is not what I expected to hear. “I thought he was going to blow a gasket, but he just said to me, ‘You know what, Brad? In business, shares fluctuate but if you’re focused on the long term, you don’t sweat the ups and downs along the way.’” Brad looks a little rueful. “I guess when you’ve got that much money, you can afford to be cavalier about a million or two here and there.”

  I’m not buying this. “Bullshit. It’s not a million or two. You’re telling me that he dropped ten million and just shrugged it off?”

  “Yeah.”

  I look hard at him but he shows none of the signs of lying: no dilated pupils, ticks or sweating. I don’t know a lot of rich people—come to think of it, I don’t know any—but I can’t imagine anyone taking a ten million dollar loss so stoically. But then again, maybe I’m looking at
this all wrong.

  “How did your firm take the fact that Kevin killed himself and put their client’s shares in the toilet.” I ask. I want to try out a theory that is forming in my mind.

  “Neutral. We made our money when we took them public and during the first year of trading.”

  “So Kevin’s death didn’t affect you financially?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He sighs.

  I am surprised by the depth of the sigh.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  He waits for a beat. “The deal was that I’d tell you everything I know about George, not about my own affairs.”

  Now I am caught between my need to know and my newly reforged friendship. I decide not to push it; I do not want to lose Brad again. Then the memory again comes unbidden into my mind: the memory of Kevin’s father. Find out who did this, Cal, no matter what the consequences. I cannot ignore his voice.

  “Sorry, Brad. I just changed the rules.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “I’m sorry. I really am but I owe it to Kevin’s dad to find out all I can.” I am not going to repeat my threat to go to the feds. It’s empty, anyway. I just shrug and wait while he conquers his anger.

  Finally he says, “OK. But you’ve got to keep this confidential.”

  “Sure.”

  “Give me your word, Cal.”

  I reach forward and offer him my hand. “You have my word. I promise,” I say and really mean it.

  He shakes my hand. “Thanks… You see, I’m personally in a really difficult position. I’ve done something that is technically illegal. If it came out, I would lose my job, maybe more.”

  “I swear, not a word.”

  He looks down at the carpet. “When we took QX4 public, I made a very healthy commission, over three hundred grand.” Wow, three hundred grand on one deal, no wonder Brad can live in a nice condo like this one. “Knowing George’s track record, I figured that QX4 shares would go through the roof, so, on the quiet, through a broker I know in Calgary, I spent all my commission on shares, which isn’t completely legal, because of my insider knowledge.

  “Of course, the shares did well and I got greedy. I started to borrow money to buy more shares, using the shares I already had as collateral. The shares went up and up and every few months I’d borrow more money and buy more shares. In the end, I had a seven hundred and fifty thousand dollar debt but it didn’t matter because as long I could cover the interest payments and as long as the shares were doing well, everything was great.

  “At one point I thought seriously about selling them. The shares were worth one point six million. If I’d have sold them then, I could have paid off the loan and still had eight hundred and fifty thousand. I would have almost trebled my original three hundred thousand.” His voice is laced with bitterness.

  The numbers boggle my mind. “You’d have had almost a million bucks. Why the hell didn’t you cash in?” I cannot imagine someone taking such a risk but then again maybe that’s why I never had a big condo in Kits. If I had, it would have gone on heroin anyway.

  “Greed, I guess. I was holding out for that million. George had told me that he thought the shares were going to double again in the next year…” He falls silent.

  “Then, Kevin died?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Kevin died on the Saturday. By the close of trading on Monday, my shares were worth six hundred and forty thousand. That’s one hundred and ten thousand less than the loan. The bank were on the phone by Wednesday morning, asking how I was going to pay back the loan.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I remortgaged the condo to the hilt, I got a hundred and seventy grand from that. The BMW was next, I sold that for fifty grand. That still left me with a loan of over half a mil. I couldn’t sell the shares on the open market because that would have depressed the share price even more, so I went to George and offered them to him at a discount.

  “He did an amazingly generous thing. He told me to keep my shares and then called my bank and told them he would personally guarantee my loan.”

  From what I have seen of George, I can’t imagine him doing this without some motive; it has given him a big hammer over Brad and I wonder what he may use it for.

  It is difficult for Brad to tell me this story. He is a not someone to make himself that vulnerable. However he’s given me the opening I was waiting for. “When do you think QX4 will get back on track?”

  “Not sure. If Kevin’s illegal drug testing ever comes to light then the company’s toast, no matter what. My shares will be worth nothing and I’ll still owe George half a million. But if Sandi can fill Kevin’s shoes and fix what’s wrong with Addi-Ban and if the Feds ever get round to giving approval for the human trials…” He shrugs. “Maybe the shares will bounce back then. I don’t know.”

  Brad’s story has changed my view. He probably hasn’t even thought about it, but he has cleared himself of any involvement in Kevin’s death. No matter what, Brad would never do anything to ruin himself financially. It’s just not in his positive thinker’s DNA.

  But far more interesting is the fact that George didn’t sweat the loss of ten million dollars precipitated by Kevin’s death. That I do not understand. But in the next forty-six hours, I am going to find out.

  32

  Sam

  The sound of the doorbell drags me out of the strange, dark places through which my mind has been wandering, wrestling with my thoughts of Cal and of George, so different in almost all ways, yet both so driven: George by his need to grow his business empire and Cal by his need to see justice done. Up until a week ago, I was so sure of my decision to marry George. I certainly love him and he provides the security and stability that Ellie so desperately needs as, in truth, do I. But when Cal came here for dinner and to talk to Ellie, my longing for the old Cal nearly made me throw everything away. If Cal hadn’t turned down Ellie’s suggestion of staying the night, I am not sure what might have happened. Could I really swap what I have now for the chaos of life with Cal? The answer seems so straightforward yet I just don’t know.

  But ultimately, I don’t believe that Cal will ever get straight, he will probably die on the streets and, regardless of what I may think and regardless of what yearnings may beset me, my first and only consideration is Ellie and her safety and well being. No matter what, she will be safer the further she is from him.

  It chimes again. Three o’clock. Who could it be? Not Cal, oh please, not Cal. It is exactly two days since he rang this bell wanting to see Ellie. My anger at that visit triggered another attack and has left me weaker than before. So why does the thought that it might be him make me feel like a giddy schoolgirl? I pull myself to my feet and make my way down the hall. My legs feel unsteady; the doctors tell me I’ll soon have to start using a cane.

  Through the peephole in the front door, I can see a figure in a brown coat with a black hat. It’s Roy. I can feel the adrenaline flooding my system. Cal said that he was a suspect in Kevin’s death. I feel suddenly vulnerable. George is out of town again and Ellie’s bodyguard is with her at school, preparing to bring her home. Why is Roy here? Oh my God, maybe something awful has happened to Cal.

  I have to know.

  I fix the security chain in place, open the door against it and give him my widest smile.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Rog— uh, Sam. It’s me, Roy. Y’know Cal’s friend, eh.” He gives me a crooked grin showing teeth like battlements. He looks harmless enough, more of an old rogue than a murderer really. But I can’t trust looks.

  “Is Cal OK?” I ask.

  His smile drops and his brow knits. “Physically, I guess he’s OK.” He is silent for a moment. He looks away and then back at me and his eyes hold a world of sadness.

  “Yer prob’ly gonna say that this here’s none of my goddamn business but I’m gonna say it anyways.” He looks away again, steeling himself to say what he came here to tell me. “What I wanted to say, was that, well, Roc—, Cal, he doe
sn’t…” His words peter out. Then, “I’ll just say it. Rocky loves that little girl more than anything or anyone. I know you gotcha reasons and all, but I’m asking if you can find it in yer heart to let him see her one more time. I dunno what it’ll do to him if you don’t. He says you’re taking the little one off to T’ron’o and he’s worried he’s never gonna see her again. He just wants to say a proper goodbye.”

  Damn it! Just when I’d forced myself to cut Cal out of our lives, Roy comes calling and sets my resolve crumbling. For some reason, I am hit by a wave of sympathy for this old man and I just can’t believe that he would be here to hurt Ellie or me. “Would you like to come in Roy?” I trust my intuition, slide off the chain and open the door.

  He starts to move forward but then checks himself, looks down at this clothes and his battered old boots. “I better not,” he says, blushing. “Last time yer husband wasn’t too keen on me being here.” Now it’s my turn to blush. George’s attack was completely unacceptable, especially as Ellie saw it, and just a couple of days after Cal had told her that violence was never a solution.

  I almost tell him that George is not here but think better of it. Just in case…

  “I promise nothing like that will happen again in this house,” I tell him. I reach out, take his arm and, keeping hold of it to avoid stumbling, I draw him down the hallway into the kitchen. I indicate one of the stools by the counter and he sits down. He is not altogether comfortable and I have a feeling that he does not like to be indoors. I suppose he’s homeless, sleeping on the streets. Poor old devil.

  “Would you like a tea or a coffee, Roy?”

  “You don’t have a beer, do you?” He licks his lips.

  I get him one from the fridge. “Roy, why do you care? Why would you come all the way over here to persuade me to let Cal see Ellie?”

  “Well, I known him a long while, eh. And like I told’ja before, I’m kinda responsible for him being an addict. An’ I like him, y’know?” He pauses, considering what to say next, I suppose. “I know what it’s like when a kid gets separated from a parent. An’ I don’t want that to happen to Rocky… or to the little one.” A small tear is forming at the corner of his eye.