Double Shot of Scotch

by Cleveland, Peter

  St. James could barely get words out he was laughing so hard. “At least now you can see I wasn’t exaggerating. I’m not laughing at you. I can’t get that picture of her beating a thug out of my head.”

  Anna made a weak smile and broke into a forced chuckle. “Was kinda funny, I admit.”

  Driving into 700’s parking garage, they agreed to put the day behind them. Although St. James was pretty sure Anna wouldn’t be shopping with Betty again anytime soon.

  Back in the condo Anna went to shower and St. James packed files he had compiled for the Stevens case, enough to fill four banker boxes. There was no sense putting them in storage. He’d soon be lugging them to the United States for a criminal trial.

  He phoned CISI competitors to ask who decides where trawlers go to process catch. One competitor said the COO, another said plant managers usually worked it out on their own. When St. James asked if the CFO ever made the call, one contact laughed.

  “Makes no sense,” he said. “Be like a trawler captain making a head office HR decision.”

  Telephone rang.

  Spencer.

  “Hamilton, I’ve been working closely with Detective St. Jacques in Montreal on this whole Sterling thing. Back and forth a number of times trying to plug holes. We know Sterling hired the guys in the Mercedes. We also know he hired Long to kidnap Anna as bait to reel you in. And we know he hired Clarkstone to kidnap Anna and Betty for the same reason. What we don’t know is who the two guys were who followed you to Wakefield.

  “St. Jacques questioned Sterling about the Wakefield guys on three separate occasions. Sterling insisted he didn’t know who they were. He admitted to hiring them, but through a third party here in Ottawa.”

  “Who?” St. James said.

  “St. Jacques couldn’t get that from Sterling until this morning, when he agreed to a plea bargain conditional on him providing all his underworld contacts. Basically, if he rats everyone out, his sentence gets reduced.”

  “Nothing like honour among thieves,” St. James said. “Who’s his contact here?”

  “Sidney Gunther.”

  “What?” St. James exclaimed in a loud voice. “Again?”

  “Jesus, Hamilton, you almost took my ear off,” Spencer squealed.

  St. James gathered himself. “I’m sorry, Mark, but this guy keeps complicating my life. He’s pissing me off.”

  “We put an APB out on him this morning based on the new information St. Jacques got from Sterling. We’ll get him, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried. Just anxious to take a swing at him,” St. James said.

  “Now, now. We can’t have you taking the law into your own hands.”

  “Never,” St. James said with a snort. “At least not without you present.”

  They disconnected.

  “Gunther,” St. James mumbled aloud. “Sonofabitch.”

  Just then Anna emerged from the bathroom. He told her about Gunther.

  “Sonofabitch,” she said.

  “That’s what I said.”

  Chapter 80

  Next morning St. James called Graves to ask about his lunches with Blakie.

  “Cameron told me you were having difficulties with Blakie. Thought I’d follow up,” St. James said quizzically.

  Graves was emphatic. “Difficulty is an understatement. Every positive initiative I suggest, he blocks. Cameron suggested we have lunch a couple of times. See if we could heal the rift.”

  “What did he block?”

  Graves explained, “I wanted an independent evaluation of the board’s performance. Normal for large public companies. Not like I wanted to gamble the balance sheet, which was how he reacted.”

  “Hmm. Anything else?”

  “I suggested a management retreat. It meant sending top-tier management to Harvard for a five-day strategy session. Blakie said it was a waste of time and money. Cameron runs a great operation. Not necessary, he said.”

  “A strategy retreat is not an unreasonable thing for a company CISI’s size,” St. James said thoughtfully. “Especially when you consider that strategy focuses on future challenges, not necessarily past performance.”

  Graves agreed. “That’s what I thought.”

  “How did he react to the strategic plan when it was brought forward?”

  “That, he was all for. It was created by Cameron so there couldn’t be anything wrong with it, in his mind anyway,” Graves said, his tone slightly sarcastic.

  “Did the lunches result in anything positive?”

  Graves sighed. “Not really. Civil enough, but his attitude hasn’t changed much.”

  “Anything about all this I should know?”

  “Spend a little time looking into their relationship, Cameron and David, I mean. It’s a little too cozy. I don’t know what evil they could get up to, but there’s enough bad behaviour coming from David to warrant a closer look.”

  St. James thanked Graves and disconnected.

  Next he punched in Blakie’s number.

  May as well get both sides while I’m at it.

  Blakie answered on the third ring.

  “I know you are not a fan of me being at CISI to do this review, but I am here, and I really need your help.”

  Blakie was silent for a long moment. “I know I haven’t been welcoming to you, but you are here, and we should get the most out of your work. So ask away.”

  Attitude change.

  “Thank you, David. If it turns out that I’m right, I believe you’ll find it worthwhile.

  “You don’t like Nelson, I get that. What I don’t get is why he thinks you block all his initiatives, good or bad.”

  “You know I own an HR consulting firm, right?”

  “I do.”

  Blakie explained. “One cannot do what I do without being a reasonably good judge of character. You could try, but success would not be sustainable. Luck is never a good strategy. I have been doing this for many years, so I must have some solid instincts, or I would have failed long ago.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, David. A lot of my investigations are based on character. Goes to the heart of just about everything.”

  “We agree on that, for sure,” Blakie conceded.

  “So tell me about you and Nelson.”

  “I have been watching Nelson now for some time. How he manipulates everyone around him, how he controls meetings, his highbrow manner. His lobbying board members to support his positions in advance of board debates, before we air pros and cons. And I have to tell you, there is a feeling I have that is not positive. His self-interest always seems to outweigh his responsibility to the company. I find myself believing his initiatives have some underlying motive, not necessarily in the best interest of stakeholders. That colours both my thinking and my behaviour toward him.”

  “I have to say that is the most mature self-analysis I have ever heard, David.”

  Blakie laughed for the first time since St. James met him. “You can’t be a good judge of another’s character if you’re blind to your own.”

  “You are so right. Thank you, David. You have been of enormous help.”

  St. James took time to reflect.

  Chapter 81

  Next morning St. James responded to emails while Anna sat in the living room reading a book. When the last email disappeared into cyberspace he shut down the computer and went into the living room to join her.

  “What do you want to do today?” he asked.

  “Don’t know, I feel lazy,” she replied with a smile. “I’m out of clean clothes, so I absolutely have to do a wash. And I need to swing by the apartment to pick up a few things, but that’s about it on the ‘must do’ list.”

  St. James expression suddenly changed. “That reminds me. I haven’t heard from Dozer since we wound up the Stevens case.”

  “No news is good news,” Anna said nonchalantly, in her usual soft voice. “You would’ve heard if something bad happened.”

  St. James pulled out his cell and punc
hed the single digit he had set up to speed-dial Dozer. Dozer answered right away.

  “Hey, man. I’m just leaving Anna’s now. No sign of anything. Nothing disturbed. Traps are exactly as I left them.”

  “Great,” St. James said. “Anna has to come over for a few things this afternoon. Any problem with that?”

  “You want me there?” Dozer offered.

  “Don’t think so.”

  Dozer paused for a long moment.

  “You still there?” St. James asked.

  “CISI’s still an active case, Hamilton . And we don’t know who shot you, or why. Killers and kidnappers are still out there. You don’t know what’s going to happen, or when,” Dozer cautioned.

  “I know why I was shot, but I don’t know who actually pulled the trigger. Not yet anyway.”

  “Who orchestrated it?” Dozer asked.

  “Can’t say.”

  Dozer chuckled. “You’re a piece of work, Hamilton. You want everyone to wait for the show.”

  St. James ignored the jab.

  “You and Cathy want to meet for a beer later?”

  “Sure. Where?”

  “Normally I’d say the Duck, but Anna doesn’t like to go there on days off.”

  “How about the Royal Oak on Bank at 4:00?” Dozer suggested.

  “Good enough. See you at four.”

  St. James spent the rest of the afternoon summarizing CISI. There were only a couple of holes, most of which could be filled by Spencer, if and when he tracked down the guy who shot him.

  When the clock struck 3:45 he and Anna headed to the parking garage, fired up the BMW, and motored to Guigues Street, where she climbed the stairs to gather the few items she needed for the week. St. James had Dozer’s okay the apartment was safe, so he waited in the car. Back in five minutes, Anna was carrying an overnight bag stuffed with the clothes she needed. Then they made their way to the Royal Oak to meet Dozer and Cathy.

  Cathy and Dozer were already seated in front, nursing beers and talking about a movie they’d like to see. St. James and Anna settled in chairs opposite and ordered the same beer Cathy and Dozer were drinking.

  The sun was glaring off Dozer’s shiny bald head directly into St. James’s eyes. Dozer noticed St. James adjusting his position and sported a devilish grin. “You afraid black brains might burn their way into that white head of yours?”

  “Nope. I’m afraid there aren’t any black brains to burn into anything,” St. James retorted, equally sarcastic.

  “Will you guys quit dumping on each other,” Cathy said like a teacher scolding kids.

  “It’s a man thing,” Dozer said defensively. “It’s fun.”

  “Well we’re not all men at this table,” Anna added.

  “Right,” said Cathy, nodding to emphasize her support for Anna.

  St. James thought it time to change the subject.

  He said to Dozer, “Thought we’d better connect. Haven’t seen you since we wrapped up Stevens.”

  “Been busy, man. I have other clients you know.”

  “Can’t be anyone more important than me.”

  Dozer rolled his eyes.

  “Am I all square with your invoices?”

  “Yeah. Office said your cheque came in this morning. Thank you.”

  “Good,” St. James said. “You can pay for the beer.”

  “Where is two-plaid Louis these days?” Dozer asked.

  “Two-plaid Louis?” Cathy said.

  Anna explained, “He’s the funny-looking little guy who ate at the Beach Club with us. You served him a couple of times. He always wears clashing plaids, hence the two-plaid Louis handle.”

  Cathy nodded. “Ah yes, I remember. Bizarre little fellow.”

  “Bizarre but brilliant,” Anna emphasized.

  “Louis is in Las Vegas for what he calls a computer show, but it’s really a geek convention,” St. James said with a grin.

  Anna noticed St. James fixating on something on the other side of the street.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked cautiously.

  “Look,” he said excitedly. “Across the street. It’s Gunther.”

  “What?” Dozer and Anna said at the same time, quickly turning to see a man standing on the opposite corner.

  “Who is Gunther?” Cathy asked innocently.

  No one answered.

  Dozer and St. James jumped and bolted out the pub door across Bank, running full speed toward Gunther. The traffic light turned green and Gunther was about to cross when he spotted St. James and Dozer running toward him.

  Instantly, Gunther wheeled around to run east on Maclaren, St. James and Dozer closing the gap. Gunther saw them gaining ground. Portly and out of shape, Gunther laboured hard to maintain the distance between them. A red Passat backed out a driveway ahead, forcing Gunther to veer around, costing precious seconds. The gap narrowed.

  On the next block, a dozen teenagers were walking toward Gunther, bunched up, spanning the sidewalk and not paying attention to anything other than themselves. Gunther crossed onto the same block, heading full steam toward them. Now he had a choice. Go around the teenagers, or through them. Going around was certainly preferable, either to the left or the right. To the left was a commercial building abutting the sidewalk, leaving no room to clear both the kids and the building. To the right, six or seven cars were clogging both lanes of the one-way street heading west.

  Going around to the right meant colliding with cars, no longer feasible. In spite of his physical condition and laboured breathing, Gunther managed to increase his speed, hoping the teenagers would move before he reached them. St. James and Dozer were now gaining more ground.

  A teenager in front looked up and saw Gunther coming straight at them. The kid yelled for the others to jump aside, to let the fat guy through. But it was too late. Gunther ploughed into the front of the pack, yelling, “Get the hell out of my way!” parting the kids like the Red Sea, driving two to the ground on either side.

  The kid in the rear was taller, heavier, more solid than his friends in front, and not so easy to knock down. Being in the back gave the boy extra seconds to think. In one motion he braced himself and folded his arms, like a football player waiting to be tackled. And there he stood. When the boy and Gunther collided, Gunther lost his balance and went down. The large kid instantly placed his size-twelve boot on Gunther’s chest, preventing him from rising to his feet.

  “You’d better quit being so aggressive, mister,” the kid said in a calm, deep voice.

  “Let me up,” Gunther yelled, trying to catch his breath.

  “Not until you apologize,” the kid said.

  St. James and Dozer caught up seconds later. Dozer grabbed Gunther by the neck and pulled him to his feet, and Gunther yelled out in pain.

  While Dozer secured Gunther, St. James explained to the kids why they were chasing Gunther and thanked them for helping to apprehend a suspect. Excitedly, they told each other how cool it was to help catch a criminal.

  St. James pulled out his cell to let Spencer know they had Gunther. Ten minutes later, Spencer and two uniforms arrived in a squad car, its lights flashing. A crowd of curious onlookers had already gathered. One policeman held back the small group while the second cuffed Gunther and pushed him into the back of the squad car.

  When they finished giving their statements to Spencer, St. James and Dozer walked back to the Royal Oak where they found the two women on their second pint and so deeply engrossed in fashion talk that they paid no attention to the men’s return.

  St. James looked at Dozer and Dozer looked at St. James, both shrugging at the same time.

  “Looks like clothes are more important than us,” said Dozer with a smirk.

  St. James shrugged again. “Right now a beer is more important than anything.”

  Chapter 82

  St. James and Anna were no sooner back in the condo than the phone rang.

  Jason Williamson.

  “Hamilton, are you sitting down?”
<
br />   “Not really. Anna and I just came through the door. What is it?”

  “My guys started interviewing Jensen this morning. Or, I should say interrogating. He’s a very belligerent man. What my father used to call ‘nasty.’”

  “Normal state,” St. James said matter-of-factly.

  “Hmm. Well, as our fellows pushed for answers, Jensen got redder. And more belligerent with every question. The detectives lost patience and pushed harder and threatened him with obstruction if he didn’t cooperate. He came out of his chair screaming like a banshee.”

  “Wow! Your guys had it worse than me.”

  “Anyway. A few minutes later he doubled over in pain and collapsed on the floor. When paramedics arrived, they weren’t sure if it was a stroke or a heart attack. It doesn’t matter now, because he died on the way to the hospital.”

  “Not surprised. Being overweight and a heavy smoker with an uncontrollable temper, I expected this to happen sooner or later. Better you than me to be there when it did.”

  Jason said earnestly, “I suppose we could look on the bright side. Big savings for the taxpayer. The cost of lawyers and court would have been huge.”

  “Hard to feel sorry for him. The most unsavoury man I’ve ever met. And I’ve met some pretty bad ones.”

  “Well, we still have Gyberson to prosecute.”

  With that they ended the call.

  Chapter 83

  Nine o’clock the next morning, Spencer called St. James.

  “We’re about to question Gunther. Would you like to be here?”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” St. James said without hesitation.

  He went into the kitchen where Anna was preparing scrambled eggs and toast for herself.

  “I’m off to interrogate Gunther,” he said cheerfully.

  “Give him a kick for me,” she said. “Glad to have him out of my life.”

  “Don’t think that would go over too well with Mark,” he said lightheartedly.

  She kissed him. “Have fun.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  At 9:25, St. James walked through the front door of police headquarters. The duty officer buzzed Spencer, who escorted him to a plain, scantly furnished interview room where Gunther sat behind a bare metal table, large hands tightly clutched together, looking both angry and scared at the same time. A tall uniformed policeman leaned against the far wall, arms folded, feet crossed, looking like he was waiting for a bus.