Double Shot of Scotch

by Cleveland, Peter

  “Okay, David,” St. James said sternly. “What do you think my focus should be?”

  “I don’t know why we’re even doing this,” he said abruptly. “Cameron’s doing a great job. Revenues are up. Profit is up. Expenses are under constant review and kept to a minimum. The bank is happy. Shareholders are happy. What’s the point of all this?”

  “So, there’s no room for improvement?” St. James interjected.

  “I didn’t say that,” Blakie said defensively. “There’s always something to improve on.”

  “Okay … So if you had to pick three areas Cameron could improve on, what would you say?”

  “There might be one, but certainly not three.”

  St. James tried not to show his annoyance.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Communication,” Blakie replied authoritatively.

  St. James went no further. Communication was the answer everyone gave when they didn’t have an answer. A general answer to a specific question amounts to no answer at all.

  Andre Fox was more helpful. He led St. James through Anderson’s employment contract, page by page. The independent compensation review recommended greater weight on Anderson’s contribution to corporate profit, which Andre said had been unanimously accepted by the board.

  St. James considered the potential impact.

  Definitely motivation to improve profit, but was it enough to make him manipulate the bottom line?

  An avenue to pursue.

  St. James surprised himself by finishing all the interviews by 4:15; he thought for sure some would spill over into Tuesday. But common threads emerged more quickly than anticipated: concerns with the sharp profit turnaround during the last quarter of the fiscal year, and the close relationship between Anderson and Blakie.

  Clearly, no one understood the year-end inventory adjustment. Even though adjustments were made every year, this was the largest in company history. $95 million additional inventory included in net profit. Prior years’ adjustments had never exceeded $18 million. Huge discrepancy.

  On Tuesday morning St. James called Marcel Lapointe, CISI’s independent auditor, to explain his mandate. Marcel required CISI’s permission to speak with him, which he obtained by email from the CFO while on the phone with St. James.

  St. James purposely didn’t tell Marcel he was a Certified Public Accountant: Marcel would have assumed him financially literate and concluded there was no need to explain accounting details to a fully trained professional, details where relevant clues could be buried.

  That’s exactly what St. James didn’t want. He wanted inventory calculations explained step by step as if he were an untrained person off the street. Only then could he identify weak financial controls or places where manipulation might be hiding undetected.

  St. James wanted to know the local times that trawlers tied up at processing plants around the world on count day, and what made Marcel confident that the inventory counts were accurate, priced correctly, and totaled to the amounts reflected on CISI’s audited balance sheet.

  Marcel pulled CISI audit files and walked St. James through the inventory adjustment over the phone. 175 million pounds of various species sitting on trawlers around the world, waiting to be unloaded on count day.

  “Trawlers are counted late in the day,” Marcel explained. “If you calculate the full cost to process a pound of ground fish, for example, you start with landed cost per pound of whole fish, ‘round fish’ it’s called in the industry. Fish is cleaned, and waste, called offal, is converted into fish meal. What’s left is pure fish meat, fillets you buy in stores … ‘yield,’ it’s called.”

  Marcel took St. James through last year’s audit, taking care to explain inventory costing in detail, from raw fish landed to fillets delivered to grocery stores. He had found no errors in CISI calculations.

  Marcel continued. “175 million pounds on trawlers and boats consisted of multiple species, ranging from monkfish to lobster, low to high value. Yield cost per pound was applied to processed pounds, labour and overhead added bringing the total adjustment to $95 million.”

  “Do you ever insist on an adjustment at CISI?”

  “No, they adjust on their own. Model clients. Very conscientious about the quality of financial information. Wish all my clients were like them.”

  “Hmm.”

  St. James asked a few more technical questions, thanked Marcel for his time, and clicked off the call.

  The message light flashed: a voicemail from Dr. Singh saying his ribs were badly bruised but not broken. They would take a month to heal completely.

  St. James spent the rest of the day reading CISI’s strategic plan, Anderson’s employment contract and the independent remuneration study. The strategic plan was impressive.

  Aggressive, but achievable.

  He made notes of things to consider as he went. The plan called for revenue to double in seven years. But not all growth could be organic if CISI was to achieve that goal. The company would have to make acquisitions along the way. It would have to buy revenue in order to double in seven years.

  Only so many fish in the sea.

  St. James checked his watch.

  He hadn’t reported to Mary DeSilva as usual but had emailed to say more time was needed to study the Stevens code. Mary wouldn’t be happy with just that. She’d expect more.

  He tapped her number on his Samsung. First three tries, busy. She answered on the fourth. He explained in detail how sections of the code had been solved: transactions to an unknown person’s bank account in Grand Cayman, airline flights and times, and that everything seemed to be happening in fives. Much to St. James’s surprise, Mary was delighted.

  “Do you have a sense Stevens was part of a scheme, Hamilton?” she said anxiously.

  “Not at this point.”

  As with every other case the client hoped St. James would find the claim fraudulent or unsubstantiated, flawed in some way, enough to let Global off the hook for a $23-million payout. But there was no evidence to date one way or the other.

  Before they clicked off, Mary said, “By the way, Hamilton, we don’t know anyone on the list of shareholders for the 139 companies.”

  Another avenue closed.

  Around 3:30 Anna wandered into the study.

  “Hamilton, I’m feeling anxious. I don’t think I can stay much longer just reading. I think I’ll go home. Maybe do a short shift at the pub tomorrow.”

  St. James knew better than to argue.

  “Tomorrow’s Wednesday,” he said. “Stay tonight. If you don’t have a flashback, I’ll take you home tomorrow. No argument. One more day’s rest would make it five, about what I’d hoped for.”

  “Agreed,” she said with a smile.

  St. James found himself once again thinking that someone could kidnap Anna, use her for bait to flush him out. He concluded that now was the time to prepare for that eventuality.

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said in a more serious tone.

  Anna’s smile disappeared.

  Chapter 29

  St. James and Anna went into the living room and sat side by side on the black leather couch. Anna’s tension meter was off the chart, anticipating the worst. So St. James wanted this over with, and quickly.

  He took her hand. “The attempt to kill us last Friday night will not be the last.”

  “But those two guys are dead,” she said anxiously.

  St. James shook his head. “Just hired thugs, Anna. Dime a dozen. Whoever hired them will hire others.”

  A tear formed in each eye. “You’re scaring the hell out of me, Hamilton.”

  “I know, that’s why I waited until you felt better, until I thought you could handle it.”

  Anna became more distraught.

  “I don’t think I can handle this any time, feeling better or not.”

  “It’s something we have to discuss. I need to know you’re okay with engaging protection. It would give us peac
e of mind.”

  Anna wiped away tears.

  “What protection?” she asked after a few seconds of sniffling.

  “I have a friend, Erasmus White is his name, but he goes by the nickname Bulldozer. I just call him Dozer.”

  Anna’s eyes lit up, a look somewhere between curious and amused.

  Still sniffling, she said, “You’re joking, right?”

  St. James didn’t smile. “Not something to joke about. I met Dozer five years ago when I was working the Texas case. There were a number of threats against me. Bill Slate recommended him as the best to watch my back. So I hired him. We clicked, and I’ve used him a few times since … with great results.”

  “I’m scared to ask how he got his nickname.”

  “University years. The star of Toronto’s football team. He made more touchdowns than anyone three years in a row. Bulldozed everyone in his way. His teammates nicknamed him Bulldozer for that reason. The name stuck. He’s six-five, 275 pounds, with a black belt in karate. Shaved head. Gentle as a lamb, but scary as hell to look at. LL Cool J 3 point 0. He’s the only one I would trust with someone as precious as you.”

  Anna made a slight attempt to smile. “You’re a helluva salesman.”

  “You okay with this?”

  “I’m okay. If you trust this guy that much, I guess I do too.” She suddenly began to laugh.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “Listening to your description of Dozer I just had a visual of him and Louis standing together, side by side.”

  St. James smiled and shook his head.

  “Certainly a sight to behold, I can tell you that.”

  Erasmus “Bulldozer” White owned a mid-size detective, surveillance, and protection agency in Toronto. In fifteen years he’d built an operation from a one-man show to seventeen well-trained, highly effective operatives. Outstanding success branded it the firm for ethics and modern investigation and protection techniques. It focused mostly on commercial crime, leaving peephole business to lesser agencies.

  Dozer handpicked new recruits and put them through advanced psychological testing to determine if they had the right temperament to make rapid lifesaving decisions under pressure. No panic allowed: panic costs lives, and that was never good for business.

  If candidates survived the psychological testing, they went through an intense physical boot camp designed for Dozer by a friend in the US Marine Corps. Dozer demanded a sharp mind and a disciplined physical regime at all times. Those who didn’t follow the program consistently were severed immediately. White Investigations Inc.’s brand was not to be compromised, not even for a minute. That was Dozer’s promise to his clients, and himself. And a very firm promise it was. He constantly hammered it into his people: Strong brands take years to build and minutes to lose.

  Physically, Bulldozer looked like someone who’d start a fight with anyone, anywhere, anytime. But nothing was further from the truth. A Big Brothers volunteer, Dozer was a strong role model for wayward boys who could have chosen a much different path. But not on Dozer’s watch: he would see to that.

  St. James remembered Dozer chasing a guy who stole a beggar’s cash container in downtown Toronto. Chased the crook five blocks before tackling him, like the quarterback he once was. He wrestled the container back from the thug and returned it to the beggar, money intact, and including an extra fifty. The beggar didn’t know if the fifty was Dozer’s or a donation from the thief. St. James had no doubt it was the thief’s money. Penance for wrongdoing. It was Dozer’s way.

  Anna was becoming more relaxed with the idea of protection, so St. James called Dozer to check his availability. Turned out he’d just finished a huge case in Vancouver and had some time to spare. St. James explained the situation and his concern for Anna’s safety.

  “Okay, man,” Dozer said. “I’ll fly to Ottawa tomorrow morning. Should be at your place shortly after eleven. You’ll have the coffee pot on if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Great. Do you want me to arrange accommodation?”

  “No need. I have a brother living there. I’ll bunk with him.”

  “I didn’t know that,” St. James said curiously.

  “Thought I told you.”

  St. James wanted to work the CISI case on Thursday, so Dozer’s timing was perfect. He sent an email to Anderson asking for a meeting Thursday morning. Anderson was available at ten for an hour. St. James confirmed.

  He turned his attention back to Anna.

  “Since you’re anxious hanging around here, why don’t we do dinner and a movie?”

  Her face lit up.

  “Oh, Hamilton, can we? That would be wonderful.”

  Anna was silent for a minute, then said, “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That I pay. Lately you’ve been paying for everything. It’s making me feel bad, like a kept woman.”

  St. James smiled. “Done.”

  He tapped “answer” on his vibrating cell.

  Detective Spencer.

  “Hamilton, just to let you know, we identified the two guys in the Mercedes.”

  “And?” St. James said anxiously.

  “The driver was a Martin Clayton from Indiana. Passenger, Clint Wagner from South Dakota. Both small-time crooks. Obviously hired by a bigger gun.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “No. Car was too far gone for the lab boys to find anything useful.”

  “Thanks for letting me know, Mark.”

  “One more thing before you go,” Spencer said. “Your airbags and seatbelts were manually disconnected. These guys are serious.”

  Chapter 30

  Anna and St. James settled on Mel’s Steak House and the latest James Bond movie for their evening out. St. James thought the diversion might boost Anna’s spirits, or at least take her mind off her fears, if only for a couple of hours.

  They talked about Dozer as they savoured Caesar salad, grilled striploin, and a bottle of Conquista Mendoza. What Anna should expect, how Dozer would interact with her.

  “He’ll shadow you wherever you go. Sometimes you’ll see him, other times he’ll just blend in with his surroundings, and you won’t. Periodically he’ll approach to make sure you’re all right, to see if you’ve received any threatening texts, or phone messages, or emails. He watches for recurring faces in crowds, suspicious behaviour, that sort of thing. If he sees someone questionable, he’ll track them. He may or may not confront them, depending on his assessment of the risk.”

  “What am I to do?” Anna asked.

  “Nothing. Just go about your business as you always do. Forget Dozer is there.”

  Anna’s face clouded. “Easier said than done, Hamilton. I’m scared. I’ll show it. My face is an open book.”

  “Just do your best to act normal. Janice will teach Friday’s class, so I can be in Toronto Thursday and Friday. Dozer will text me how you’re doing. I don’t know, but I could be back in Washington next week. Possibly Cayman too. If I do, I’ll take you with me.”

  “That would be nice. What do I tell Sid?”

  “Tell him the truth. You’re in protection. He’ll certainly wonder who Dozer is when he shows up at the pub. Should be good for a laugh when you see the look on Sid’s face.”

  “Suppose you’re right. Truth is always the best.”

  “Always works for me. Don’t need a good memory to tell the truth,” he said. “If Sid gives you trouble, I’ll have a word with him.”

  “He might fire me.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Right now I just want to be sure you’re safe.”

  Anna kissed him on the cheek.

  “I’ll have more research work for you. You’ll be paid for that. So, for the moment you’re not to worry about money. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The movie was typical Bond, packed with action, beautiful women, and corny lines, and for two hours they forgot all about threats. It was 10:45 when St. James unlocked the
condo door.

  Feeling all the better from an excellent meal and an entertaining movie they sipped a small triple sec each and then turned in for the night.

  On Wednesday morning St. James went into the study to make calls. The first three were to Cameron’s previous employers with contact information Juanita had provided. He told the CEO of each reference company that he was auditing CISI’s service providers and wanted to know if the search firm who recommended Anderson had asked about his character. Each confirmed that they had and that Anderson’s character was above reproach.

  Then he called the CEOs of Craven Chemicals, Craig Automotive, and Dusten Pharmaceuticals, all companies on whose boards Graves currently served. What kind of board member was he? Did he attend all the meetings? What did they think of his participation? His advice?

  St. James lied, saying Graves was shortlisted for another board, and he wanted to check his performance with the boards he currently served on. All the responses were positive: no concerns.

  St. James looked at his watch and quickly calculated the time difference: 4:00 p.m. in London. Good time to call Patricia Havelock. She answered right away, and they spoke for twenty minutes concerning the property worth £400,000 that Graves had tried to hide in the 1970s. His bankruptcy was long before Patricia’s time, but she had obviously read the files thoroughly and was able to provide satisfactory answers to all St. James’s questions.

  Just as he disconnected from Patricia, the door buzzed.

  “It’s me,” said a deep, baritone voice.

  “Dozer?”

  “Hey man, you were expecting maybe Flip Wilson?”

  “Naw, he’s dead.”

  St. James opened the door and Dozer appeared, larger than life, the very moment Anna came down the hall.

  Anna froze instantly at the sight of Dozer.

  “Oh my God, Hamilton! You weren’t kidding!”

  “This beautiful lady must be Anna,” Dozer said, brushing past St. James to Anna. “Hamilton, you didn’t tell me she was gorgeous.”

  St. James smiled. “I wanted you to help because of our friendship, not because you’d be protecting a beautiful woman.”