“My God.” He thinks for a bit. “Do you think we should tell the VPD and the Coquitlam RCMP?”
“Already done.”
A look of annoyance passes across his face. “Nick, we need to discuss these things first before we just pass information on. It makes better financial sense for us to be able to keep ahead of the police investigation. It gives us an edge, right?”
“Bullshit, Rogan,” now I’m mad. “You just need to prove that you’re better than them. You’re just using the money angle to try and play me. We cannot keep material evidence from them. One, it’s against the law and two, we need to keep ’em on our side.”
He sighs. “Yeah, I suppose. But we’re a team now and—”
“I know and teammates listen to each other, don’t they?” Before he can answer, I barrel on, “I got something else. I’ve been studying up on some networking stuff recently and I was able to track down Justin’s IP address.” I can’t help grinning at the look on his face. Respect, I think they call it.
“What, you hacked Facebook?” he says.
“No. I’m not that good. But I did Messenger him, pretending to be a friend of Ariel’s. I used the name, Lucy. I kinda played him a bit and I got him to go to a website I set up telling him I had a naked picture posted there. I used the website to get his IP address. Bingo.”
“You’re the man Nick.” He reaches across the table and gives me a fist bump. “Do you have a physical location?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Before I can go on, he’s on his feet. “Well done, Nick.” He pumps his fist in the air. Such a simple thing and I should feel great at his reaction but all I can think is that I will never be able to jump to my feet again. I feel my hand tighten on the arm of my wheelchair.
He looks at me and he knows. Looking a bit sheepish, he sits down again.
“Don’t get too excited,” I say. “The bad news is that the IP address is for an internet cafe on Salt Spring Island. He must go there every afternoon at three-thirty. Just about the time the girls are coming out of school. I called ’em. No CCTV in the place. Girl who answered the phone was a bit of an airhead so I don’t think it’s gonna go anywhere.”
“That’s great Nick. You know what? I’m going to take the ferry over there and talk to the staff. Maybe there are some CCTV cameras nearby. We could—”
“No need.”
“What do you mean? It’s a great lea—”
“I already talked to a buddy of mine who’s at the RCMP detachment on the island. He’s gonna do it and let me know.”
“Nick…” His voice trails off. He doesn’t want to fight our second favourite battle all over again. “You said there were two things.”
Before I can tell him the really bad news, my phone rings.
“Nick Stammo.”
“It’s Eddie, Mr. Stammo.” My buddy from Beanie’s pub.
“Hi, Eddie. What’s up?”
“You said you were trying to find that kid who hangs out with the Bookman.”
“That’s right, Eddie.”
“Yeah, well a buddy of mine knows him eh.”
“That’s great Eddie, do you know where I can find him?”
“Yeah, I do. My buddy says every day, around midday, on Hastings outside the Backpackers. Him and the Bookman show up regular as clockwork, eh.”
The Backpackers is a flophouse known for drug dealing.
“Well done Eddie. Thanks, I owe ya one.”
A chuckle. “Yeah you do, Mr. Stammo.”
Rogan sees the big grin on my face as I hang up.
“Got a lead to Tyler?”
I tell him the details.
“Do you want me to go with you?” he asks.
I turn it over in my mind.
“To tell you the truth, Rogan, a big part of me wants you there. But I don’t want to spook Tyler with an unfamiliar face. He knows me and I can probably get him to talk to me just one-on-one.”
He nods. He’s relieved. He wants to get on with the Ariel case.
But now I’ve gotta tell him the really bad news about the Justin ‘kid’.
Rogan’s rushed off to see Rebecca Bradbury and I’ve told Steve all about Radcliffe and Traynor. He’s going to pick Radcliffe up for questioning.
It’s almost six back east and he picks up on the third ring. “Bob Wilcox.”
“Hi Bob, it’s Nick.”
A silence then one word, spoken cautiously. “News?”
“Yes. First thing, Tyler’s alive and well.” I hear the sigh of relief over two thousand seven hundred and thirty miles of telephone wire. “But he’s fallen in with a drug gang. I won’t mince words here Bob, these are pretty bad people.”
He groans. “Is there anything you can do Nick?”
“Possibly. I’m gonna try and see him tonight, see if I can get some time with him and talk some sense into him.”
“Thanks Nick. Fact is, I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when you get him back.”
“Nick, I could pay you y’know.”
“No way, Bob. I wouldn’t take yer money. We go too far back.” He’s silent so I add, “There is one thing you could maybe do for me.”
“Sure Nick, anything.”
I hesitate, unsure. Do I really want to know? I wobble on the edge, undecided. Then, “Nah, forget it. You’ve got enough on your mind worrying about Tyler.”
“Are you sure, Nick? I’d be happy to do anything.”
“No, it’s alright. I’ll call you again after I’ve spoken with Tyler.”
“OK, Nick. Thanks.”
We hang up. I chickened out. But I must remember to pay some money into the company account. I told Rogan this was a paying case.
17
Cal
This is not acceptable Mr. Rogan. When I hired you, I asked you to call me every evening to report back to me on your progress. You did not call me last night and suddenly here you are on my doorstep, uninvited, on Wednesday afternoon.”
Rebecca Bradbury is not a happy camper. But then again, nor am I.
“Mrs. Bradbury, I need to ask you some questions, especially about why you didn’t tell me of Ariel’s involvement in Canada’s Littlest Beauty. Unless you can be honest with me, you are wasting your money and my time, so, if you want me to continue this investigation, we need to talk. Now.” It’s a bluff. Even if she fired me right now, I couldn’t let go of this case.
She holds me in her stare for a while before opening the door enough to let me in.
Without a word, she leads me into a living room off the main lobby.
The house is both huge and beautiful. Typical Shaughnessy old money. Worth ten million at the very least.
“Please sit down.”
She picks up a telephone. It has no buttons or controls. “Tea for two in the sitting room please Edna.” She hangs up.
I hate tea.
Before she can sit down, I take the offensive. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ariel being a contestant in that show.”
“I didn’t see it as being relevant,” she says and I can tell she genuinely believes this.
“Then it will interest you to know that the producer of the show spent the early part of his career making kiddy-porn movies. Not only that, he had to fire one of the crew for allegedly touching some of the contestants inappropriately.”
Her face has gone pale. “I can’t believe th—”
“Whether you believe it or not is immaterial. It’s true. If you had told me about the show, I would be twenty-four hours ahead of where I am now.”
Her face is stricken.
“Oh my God, what have I done?” she whispers.
“Why ever did you put her on that show?” My voice is gentle now.
She is silent for a while. A long while. I match her silence, intuitively knowing that she is going to tell me something worth knowing.
“I wanted to give her something I never had.”
I look arou
nd the room and recall the words of Thomas Radcliffe the producer. She’s got more money than God. “What could that possibly be?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath.
“I don’t expect you to understand this but my entire life has been controlled by others… by men. My father decided what school I should go to, then what university and what I should study and whom I should marry. Before his death, Daddy transferred the bulk of his wealth—tens of millions of dollars I might add—into my husband’s merchant bank and, although I own this house and have a very generous trust fund, Ariel’s future will be very much controlled by her father.
“I wanted her to have a certain level of independence.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I wanted Ariel to be in a position where she could have her own money with the ability to earn more.”
“Did Canada’s Littlest Beauty pay her?”
“No, of course not.” She is irritated at my question. “Ariel is a bright girl but not at all academic. She was never going to excel intellectually. But she is beautiful and talented. I thought that if she could win the show’s talent competition she would be able to get an agent and start doing some movie or TV roles or perhaps some serious modelling She would be able to earn a great deal of her own money and make her own decisions.” A look of infinite sadness has descended onto her face. “I wanted her to be what she wanted to be, not what her father wanted.”
Or what you wanted her to be, I think. I manage to avoid volunteering that in my interview with Ashleigh, she told me about Ariel’s hatred of the show; instead I ask, “What would you have been, given the choice, Mrs. Bradbury?”
No hesitation. “A journalist.” Not what I would have expected.
“Ariel’s been missing for five days now. Are you sure you’ve not received any ransom demand?”
“No. I wish I had. At least I would be able to do something.”
I think she’s telling the truth.
“Any kidnapper would contact my husband. He controls the family fortune.” There’s bitterness in the words.
I get the feeling she is really trying to convince me.
“If you do receive a demand, call me immediately. Don’t try and go it alone. Taking the law into your own hands can only lead to bad things.”
She nods.
She gives me the names and contact information for Ariel’s dancing and singing teachers, both elderly women so I’m not holding my breath. I quiz her for a while about the show and the people in it but she has nothing of interest to offer and I can’t rid my mind of the thought of how poor this rich woman is.
18
Cal
Ellie’s sitting beside me looking out the car window. I mull over Stammo’s bombshell and how to deal with it. Well… I guess there’s no time like the present.
“Ell, Mommy said I could pick you up from school today because I need to talk to you about something.”
“OK.” She sounds unsure.
“I see you’re on Facebook now.”
“Yes?” The word is drawn out and there is a question in the tone.
“Does Mommy know about it?”
“Not really.” Now there is a small tone of defensiveness in her voice. I need to tread carefully, pre-teen rebellion is not what I want right now.
“It’s pretty cool. Did you set it up yourself?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Now she’s amused. “It’s not difficult you know. All my friends have one.”
“Would you show me how to do it,” I ask.
“Sure.” She laughs.
“Maybe we could do it this evening.”
“OK.”
Pause.
We stop for a traffic light.
“Ell, you know that I am working on the disappearance of Ariel Bradbury.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nod. “Well Mr. Stammo has been checking up on some stuff and he discovered that Ariel had a Facebook friend named Justin.”
“Oh yeah, I know. Justin’s nice.”
“The thing is Ell, when Mr. Stammo looked at Justin’s Facebook, he found a lot of posts between you and Justin.”
Pause.
“Did he show them to you?”
“Yes.”
Pause.
“I thought they were private.”
“Sweetie, nothing on the internet is private.”
“Oh.”
The lights change and I accelerate away.
“Does Mommy know?” she asks.
“No… Do you think I should tell her?”
Pause.
I glance at her and she shrugs.
“Sweetie, there’s something you need to know. Justin doesn’t exist.”
“Don’t be silly, Daddy. Of course he exists.”
“Ell, Mr. Stammo and I and the police, we all believe that Justin is not a boy. We think he’s a man pretending to be Justin. We think he kidnapped Ariel and another girl.”
“No, you’re wrong Daddy. He’s definitely a boy.”
“Ellie, he’s not—” I stop myself. Confrontation is not going to work here. “Sorry. Maybe I’m wrong. But I need to know why you’re so sure he’s really a boy?”
“His voice.”
“Have you met him face-to-face?”
“No, but…” she cuts herself off.
A chill slithers down my spine. I pull the Healey over to the side of the road and shut off the engine.
I turn in the seat toward her. “Sweetie, I think you need to tell me.”
“I spoke to him on the phone.” Her voice is quiet, her chin on her chest.
“When did you talk to him?”
“Yesterday.”
“When yesterday?”
“He called me in the afternoon.”
“On Mom’s phone?”
Tiny voice, “No.”
The chill slithers from my spine to my gut.
“Did he give you a phone, Ell?”
Almost a whisper. “Yes.”
Sam is not happy to be here. She has visited my apartment only once in the almost two years since I moved in. But it’s more than that. It’s the reason I asked her here. I gave her a brief synopsis over the phone.
We are sitting around my dining table. The phone that Ellie used to communicate with Justin is sitting in the middle. It feels more like a bomb than a phone.
“So Ell, you have to understand something about Justin,” I say gently. “I know you think he is who he says he is, but he isn’t.”
“But he is Daddy. I’ve spoken to him.”
“No sweetie, you spoke to a boy on the phone but he was only saying what an adult told him to say. He wasn’t Justin.”
“You’re wrong,” Ellie insists. “He was just talking normally. There was no one in the background telling him—”
“For heaven’s sake Ellie,” Sam breaks in, “listen to your father. You cannot have any further contact with this person. Do you understand?”
Sam’s tone washes a stubborn look onto Ellie’s face. Damn. I don’t want her on the defensive.
“Do you understand?” Sam has added a couple of decibels.
“Yes.” In contrast, it’s barely more than a whisper.
“We’re not mad at you, sweetie,” I intercede. “We’re just really worried.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sam deflate a little. “You see, just after Ariel started talking to Justin was when she disappeared. The police and I believe that the people controlling Justin were responsible for her disappearance.”
“You keep saying that but when I talked to him we just chatted. If someone was telling him what to say I would have heard them.”
“Listen, Ell, you just have to trust us on this. Do you promise to have no further contact with Justin?”
Her “OK” doesn’t sound very convincing.
Sam jumps in with, “Daddy’s going to give this phone to the police and I’m going to delete your Facebook history.”
“OK.” She says it casually; she doesn’t sound as angry as I would
have expected.
“What’s your password?” Sam asks.
“ellesbellsrogan,” she says with a shrug. Oh. A question springs to my lips but I bite it back.
“OK. I am going to delete it when I get home. For a start, you have to be thirteen to have a Facebook page. Did you know that?”
Again with the shrug.
“So you lied about your age when you signed up?”
Ellie emits a tiny, “Yes.”
Sam is in full swing now, it’s rare for her to be so angry. “There will definitely be consequences for you Ell—” she stops, frowning. “Don’t you have to have an email address to open a Facebook account?”
Ellie looks crestfallen. She nods.
Sam extracts her email address and password and is about to start another tirade but before she can get going I hold up my hand. I don’t want to pressure Ellie this much. I want her to know that she can always come and talk to us without pressure, so I deflect, “Why don’t we have dinner? It would be great if you could stay Sam.”
She looks hard at me but I can’t read her expression. She doesn’t respond for a beat and I realize I’m holding my breath for her answer. Then she says, “Thanks for the offer but I can’t. I’m going out tonight and I have to get ready. I need Ellie home by six-thirty at the latest. My neighbour Cora is going to babysit. Plus I need to get home and on my computer so I can remove Ellie’s digital footprint.”
“OK.” She catches the disappointment in my voice but she doesn’t relent; if anything it seems to make her more angry.
“And don’t forget that Friday is a Pro-D day at her school and you said that you would take her from noon on. I really need you to do that as I have an appointment I have to go to.” Her voice has taken on an edge of irritation.
She gives Ell a kiss and then leaves.
Now that Sam has gone, I can ask the question I wanted to ask earlier. “Ell, I’m going to make hamburgers now. Why don’t you come into the kitchen and sit with me while I cook.”
Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 1, 2 & 3 (Box Set) Page 71