Spencer grabbed one of the two empty chairs, twirled it around one leg, straddled the seat, and leaned forward to face Gunther. St. James pulled a second chair close to the table and stared directly onto Gunther’s eyes, one of his favourite intimidation techniques.
“Okay, Sid,” Spencer began. “What can you tell us?”
Sid stared past Spencer, focused on the far wall, and said nothing.
“C’mon, Gunther. You know you have to talk. Why prolong the agony?”
Gunther said nothing.
St. James continued the intense stare.
“Tell me about your relationship with Vinner,” Spencer continued in a stern voice.
Gunther broke his silence.
“Never heard of him,” he said sharply, in a tone St. James had heard all too often at the pub.
“Not what our sources say,” Spencer taunted.
“Your sources are wrong,” he snapped.
Spencer raised his voice an octave. “The three slimeballs who tried to kill Hamilton and an FBI agent named Slate say otherwise. They say you’re Vinner’s snitch, that you were watching Hamilton and reporting every move to Vinner, so he and the others could plan the murder. Isn’t that true, Gunther?”
“Never heard of any of those guys,” Gunther insisted.
Spencer ignored him.
“We have you cold as an accomplice and accessory to the attempted murder of two people, one of whom is an FBI agent. Do you know what Americans do to people who murder FBI agents, Sid? They never get out. Ever. You become someone’s permanent girlfriend.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said disingenuously, staring at the dark tiled floor.
St. James broke his silence.
“Well, perhaps your memory would improve if we transferred you to the FBI. They’re not as gentle as Mark.”
Gunther looked at St. James.
“Detective, it’s bad enough I had to serve this arrogant asshole at the Duck, do I have to listen to him here too?”
St. James smiled.
Spencer said, “I’ll do even better. I’ll go for a coffee, lock the door behind me, and leave you alone with him. Not sure what he’ll do, but whatever it is I guarantee you won’t like it.”
Gunther shrugged, as if to dare Spencer.
Spencer pulled an official looking paper from his pocket and passed it to Gunther.
“Do you know what this is?” Spencer barked.
Gunther took the document and a few minutes to read it.
“You can’t do this. It’s against the Charter of Rights,” he said confidently.
St. James wondered what Spencer had handed him.
“Oh yes, we can,” Spencer said, snatching the paper from Gunther’s hands and handing it to St. James.
Spencer turned to St. James, pointing to Gunther at the same time. “You see, Hamilton, our friend here murdered a guy with his bare hands on the back streets of Berlin. In a rage over some woman. Intelligence said he gave Berlin police the slip a couple of hours later, escaped in the back of a van moving a family across Germany, made his way into Belgium and on to Brussels where he caught a plane, first to Heathrow and then to Montreal.”
“Well, Sid,” St. James said, scratching his head. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Gunther’s confident look suddenly faded. Not so sure of himself now, he stared down at the table.
Spencer continued, still looking at St. James. “The Germans asked our government to extradite him back to Germany, to stand trial for murder, most likely to spend the rest of his life in prison.”
Turning back to Gunther, Spencer said, “Here’s the deal. You cooperate with us right here, right now, and we won’t lobby the government to extradite you. If you don’t cooperate, we’ll have you sent back to Germany to a life in prison.”
Gunther continued to stare down, looking somewhat gloomy and appearing to weigh his options.
“What do I get in return if I cooperate?” he said sheepishly.
“Only our guarantee we won’t lobby for extradition. It doesn’t mean the government won’t extradite you on their own. It just means we won’t take part.”
“Not much of a deal,” Gunther mumbled.
“No, it’s not. But it’s all you’ve got or ever will have,” Spencer said sternly. “Before you answer, think about this. Germany is a close ally, and we have a strong relationship. Our government is anxious to maintain that relationship. And by extraditing you, we’d save Canadian taxpayers the cost of running you through our justice system, which is no small amount. All that is to say, it wouldn’t take much lobbying for you to be on a plane.”
“Not much of a deal,” Gunther mumbled a second time.
“Think of it this way, Sid,” St. James said. “You have the right to a hearing here, and then the right of an appeal if you don’t like the outcome. Germany’s a much tougher process, pretty well cut and dried, and the penalty is a lot more severe. Your choice.”
Gunther lowered his head, once again weighing his options.
Then in a low voice he said, “What do you want to know?”
Spencer wasted no time answering in case Gunther changed his mind.
“Who is Vinner?”
“Small time hit man.”
“Where is he?” St. James asked.
“Don’t know for sure. I think he’s hiding out in Los Angeles.”
“He hired you to keep track of Hamilton. What did you tell him?” Spencer asked.
“Just when St. James was travelling in and out of Toronto, Washington, and England.”
“How did you know this?” St. James asked sharply.
“Anna.”
St. James bristled at the thought of him using Anna to get information.
“What else did Vinner want to know?” St. James asked impatiently.
“Just about Anna, whether she was your girlfriend, where you kept your car. That sort of thing.”
Spencer looked at St. James once again, as if to say, ”Do you believe him?” St. James didn’t react. Instead he turned back to Gunther.
“Who did you hire for Sterling to follow me to Wakefield?”
Gunther paused, trying to decide what to say. Finally, he said, “The guy with the broken nose is Reg Walker, the other one is Jim Thatcher.”
“Who are they?” St. James asked.
“Just guys for hire. Incompetent ones at that, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting here,” he said sarcastically.
“Where can we find them?” Spencer asked.
“Don’t know. We only communicated by cell.”
Spencer pulled a phone from an evidence bag sitting on the floor beside him, taken from Gunther when he was arrested. Spencer scrolled through the call history.
“Which numbers belong to the two bozos?” he said.
Gunther leaned forward and pointed to two numbers.
“That one is Reg’s and this one is Jim’s.”
“Okay,” Spencer said, turning to the policeman leaning against the wall. “Take this to the boys. I want to know who the numbers belong to and where bills go.”
“Yes, sir,” the officer said obediently as he took the phone and left the room.
Spencer and St. James spent another thirty minutes or so grilling Gunther on his past discussions with Reg Walker and Jim Thatcher, as well as Vinner and Sterling.
They also asked about his knowledge of Nells’s gang. Gunther insisted he never met any of them except Vinner. He knew Vinner was working with them.
When they finished, an officer appeared to take Gunther to a holding cell, leaving Spencer and St. James alone in the interview room.
St. James’s mind was far off in the distance, trying to fit whatever pieces Gunther had just given them into the case.
Spencer sighed and looked at him, “Is there any connection between Sterling and Vinner, do you think?”
“Don’t think so,” St. James said cautiously. “I’m not aware they ever met. As far as I
know Gunther was Vinner’s man only.”
“What about the other three, do they have anything to do with Sterling?”
“No, those three, along with Nells, were old cases I worked years back, nothing to do with Sterling. They hold a grudge against Slate and me for putting them away. It’s just a coincidence they tried to kill us the same time as Sterling.”
Spencer nodded. “Who is Sterling working for, do you know?
“Yet to be confirmed.”
Chapter 84
It was late the next afternoon before St. James heard from Spencer again.
“My guys traced the numbers on Gunther’s cell to a house on Sheahan Crescent in the west end.
“I arranged for a SWAT team to storm the building this morning. They took Walker and Thatcher completely by surprise. They acted very sure of themselves, like they’d gotten away clean with shooting you.
“You were right about the small black SUV. It was a Honda CR-V. We found it in a garage next to the house.”
“Get anything out of them?”
“Just started. So far they’re cooperating, scared. I think they picked a vocation not well-suited to them, no backbone. Their account of events matches Gunther’s to the letter. They only dealt by phone and never met Sterling in person, just by email.”
“So, has Reg Walker actually admitted to shooting me?”
“Yes, and more. The bullet taken from you was sent to ballistics right away with a rush put on the report. They said on first pass it looked like a match with the gun we found under Walker’s bed. His nose had obviously been broken and had never set properly. Probably too scared to go to a hospital, afraid he’d be reported.
“Do you want to be here for the rest of the questioning?” Spencer asked.
“No, I have the missing piece I need,” St. James replied confidently. “Thank you, Mark.”
With all they’d been through, St. James and Spencer had become friends. St. James respected Spencer’s dedication and methods and thanked him for all his help the past couple of months. He said they’d get together for beers when CISI was finished. Spencer was down for that.
After St. James finished with Spencer he emailed Anderson and Graves to ask for a meeting with the directors, Jenkins, and Van Hoyt as soon as possible. Graves wrote back asking the purpose of the meeting and why St. James needed everyone there. St. James’s response was the same as every other time he was ready to unfold a case: “It’s a difficult story, important for everyone to hear, and I only want to tell it once.”
Graves grumbled about time away from busy schedules and the cost of bringing the board together for a special meeting, but he reluctantly gave in. Anderson thought the meeting was a good idea. Juanita Mendoza would get back to St. James with a date that worked for everyone.
It was Wednesday afternoon. Anna was doing a shift at the Dirty Duck, Dozer was checking her apartment, and Smythe was still in Las Vegas. Now that Walker, Thatcher, Gunther, and Sterling were all neutralized, St. James didn’t see a need for Dozer to continue checking Anna’s apartment. And, even though he didn’t think the Boston thugs had anything to do with Anna’s break-in, they were off the streets too, at least for the time being. No immediate threats from any direction. So he called Dozer, said he figured danger had passed, and thanked him for the peace of mind he provided. They’d connect soon.
“No problem,” Dozer said. “Anytime you need me just yell. I’ll come running.”
“When is Denzel off to the Warbridge School?” St. James said.
“Taking him to Austin this Friday. I’m still in shock over this, Hamilton. I’ll never forget it.”
“Only too glad to do it. Wish Denzel luck for me. Tell him I want a full report in six months.”
“Will do.” They disconnected.
While St. James was thinking about what to do next, the computer made its familiar pinging sound: a new message.
He opened Outlook to an email from Juanita Mendoza. It was difficult to arrange a meeting time acceptable to everyone, but a number of compromises were made to make this Friday at two possible. Would that work for him? St. James replied that it would.
Now St. James was in an awkward position. The CISI meeting presented a scheduling conflict. He wouldn’t be able to take Friday’s class after all. Janice would be pissed. A few extra dollars for her would be a legitimate out-of-pocket expense for CISI.
He shut down the computer and moved to the living room, where he opened the French doors and peered down onto Sussex Avenue, contemplating the unfolding of the CISI case.
Chapter 85
By the time everyone had gathered in CISI’s boardroom on Front Street in Toronto, it was 2:15 on Friday afternoon. Graves, Anderson, Jenkins, Van Hoyt, and all the directors were seated around the table.
Anderson looked relaxed. Harold Tewkesbury was googling something on his cell. Van Hoyt rested her elbows on the table. Jenkins was pale, as usual. Blakie was pacing back and forth, impatient for the meeting to begin. Others were staring off at nothing in particular.
When St. James entered the room, Dunlop smiled broadly. He knew St. James well. There’d be a curveball or two before the afternoon was out. He had no idea what that curveball would be, but he was looking forward to it anyway. It was always entertaining.
“Thank you all for coming this afternoon,” St. James said, his tone businesslike. “I know you had to make last-minute schedule adjustments, but I think you will find this to be a very intriguing meeting.”
Graves’s square face displayed a stern look. “Don’t see why we have to make such a big production out of this,” he objected. “Why didn’t you just report cost efficiencies to Cameron and irregularities to the board, as agreed?”
“Because everyone knows the cost efficiency review was a farce, just a reason to get Cameron to go along with the investigation.
“What you really wanted to know was whether Cameron was withholding anything from the board. Cost efficiency was irrelevant. Especially since CISI financially outperforms its competitors. An efficiency review is what competitors should be doing. It deserved to be ignored as far as CISI was concerned. So I did.”
“This is outrageous,” Graves blurted, his British accent stronger than ever. “I’m not used to being spoken to like this.”
“It’s going to get even more outrageous before this meeting’s over,” St. James retorted authoritatively.
Graves was shocked he had lost control of the meeting before it had even begun.
The directors were surprised by such an abrupt beginning to the meeting.
“Let’s hear Hamilton out, Nelson,” Anderson said calmly.
Others muttered agreement.
St. James continued. “When I accepted this case I spent considerable time researching the fishing industry. As I said, in all cases CISI financially outperformed its competitors. No other company comes close. It didn’t matter what measurement I used. Its performance is superb. The company already had excellent cost-reduction processes. David was correct. Cameron is an excellent CEO. Cost efficiencies were a feeble excuse to mask the real reason for my engagement.”
Blakie smiled for the first time.
“I like things out in the open. That’s why I wanted everyone here today, to bring things out in the open.”
St. James turned to Anderson. “At our meeting some weeks ago, you were abrupt with me. Not a good start. Then when we met one-on-one I saw something different. I saw a CEO concerned about inventory accuracy, a man who had delivered on his goals, a man frustrated by the lack of appreciation from his board.”
St. James looked at Blakie. “David, your negative approach with me was probably just the mirror image of Cameron’s feelings. They couldn’t be personal because we had never met. People usually have to know me before they dislike me,” he said with a slight smile.
David nodded.
St. James turned back to Anderson. “You didn’t conceal any information. You made sure the way was paved for me to obtain
everything I needed for a successful investigation. If you were keeping something from the board, it would have come out early in your behaviour with me. You wouldn’t have been so forthcoming.”
Anderson nodded.
St. James looked at Karen. “When I met with Cameron I learned two important things. First, your husband’s company was having financial difficulty. Second, brothers run the two largest CISI plants, which are not significantly far apart, geographically. They help each other despite being given bonuses only on their individual performance.
“Two managers helping each other presented opportunity and potential for collusion. This became even more interesting when I learned that fifty per cent of the year-end inventory write-up resulted from those two plants. They could have double-counted inventory to meet their financial goals, to ensure they received the maximum bonus. I had to visit the plants, if only to rule out the possibility of wrongdoing originating there. When I mentioned this to you, Karen, you tried to convince me not to go.”
“Didn’t see the need to incur the expense, that’s all,” said Van Hoyt defensively.
“I understood that. It’s a natural reaction for a good CFO to minimize expenses. Commendable, on the surface that is. But it occurred to me that a company with $19 billion in revenue, and people flying around the world every day, would not normally be so concerned with the cost of one consultant’s week in England. It would be immaterial, a rounding error in a company the size of CISI.”
Van Hoyt shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
“So, I went to England armed with inventory files and analysis Karen provided for me, met separately with Basil and William Hughes, and traced details of count sheets to plant inventory summaries, into head office inventory summaries, to arrive at total inventory worldwide. I found no errors.”
“Are we wasting time here?” Cheryl Tomkins said impatiently.
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