by Saul, Jonas
Soon after his rough teens, Clive moved to Moscow and got into the Moscow Institute of Finance, where he attained his Bachelor of Arts and Science. He took some of the inheritance money from his father and invested in nickel. By his mid-twenties, he was part owner of Siberian Nickel, a metals giant, where he flourished for eighteen years, keeping his urges under control, only murdering four male youths in the cold snowy darkness of the Siberian winter in all that time.
He sold his interests in nickel at forty-two years of age to pursue more lucrative ventures. He maintained a large stake in one of the wealthiest banks in Russia and had investments all over the world by his mid-forties. Now, at fifty-three, he still had stakes in steel giant Evraz and mining firm Highland Gold.
According to Forbes magazine, his net worth has been estimated at $12.7 billion, making him the eighth richest man in Russia and the sixty-fifth richest man in the world.
A few years ago he was asked to become the Deputy Prime Minister of the Economy for Russia, but he refused. He had never married and had no kids. To the outside world he was a philanderer, flying women in from all parts of the world to enjoy. Jessica Nockler, his personal assistant, was an ex-prostitute he decided to bring on full time after a brief six-month stint in Switzerland fifteen years ago.
No one knew about his fetish for young boys but Jessica. Only one man ever discovered that secret and he was executed instantly.
On the TV screen, the Toronto Sun had a small story about the bodies found at Casa Loma, but the police weren’t giving out too many details. They had another tweet about firefighters fighting a blaze at a strip club in Etobicoke, but again, he couldn’t find out what was happening and none of his phones were ringing.
At least it sounds like Jackson and Hugh got the fire going.
Jessica carried a glass of vodka, neat into his large office.
“I want you to call Jackson and Hugh’s cell phones,” he said. “Report to me the minute you reach either one.”
“Yes, sir,” Jessica said, and walked out the door.
He flipped the TV back to international news and let his mind wander as he sipped his beverage. The vodka reminded him of his beginnings. Since Russia was the birthplace of vodka and they were the largest spirits consumers in the world, it was a great country to sell vodka in.
Three years ago he had been determined to become the biggest importer of vodka to Russia. He even came up with his own brand: Absolutely Russian Vodka. He had a plan to out-seat Lars Olsson Smith, whose vodka became known as Absolut, and who had been named the King of Vodka. Clive’s famous claim is to have the clearest vodka on the planet, which is seen as purer and healthier.
His rival, Roust Incorporated, is currently one of the largest importers of premium spirits in Russia. In the new year, Clive would claim to have outdone Roust. He had recently purchased an American distillery of grain alcohol from where he imported all his Absolutely Russian Vodka grain alcohol base directly to Russia. Because it was one of his own companies, he raised the profits to large margins at his American facility.
Russian import duties on alcohol had increased to enormous amounts. Clive directed his small team of scientists to solve this problem, which they did.
The secret they came up with would make Clive the richest man in all of Russia, a secret so valuable that Clive could never have anyone discover what he was doing. Clive would kill for that secret, the one Frank and Gary Weeks discovered at the Toronto Island Airport after stealing one of Clive’s pieces of luggage. It was the secret that cost them their lives and everyone known to them whom they may have been in contact with in the short time they held his luggage.
For Clive, the cost of silence was always death. What did Clive care about a few dead Canadians? Disposing of one dead body randomly was something Clive had become an expert on. Killing dozens in Toronto needed the right kind of person or people.
The plan was ingenious. Everything was working perfectly. Until that brother showed up in Toronto.
And now Jackson and Hugh hadn’t reported in.
Clive’s secret had to be protected at all costs or he would be crucified, and not by the legal system alone, but by the common people.
He had to get more proactive. He needed someone on the case who would know what to do. He needed Nick Sturnam on board, even though Nick would charge exorbitant costs. It was time to make the call.
He set the remote control down on the table beside him as Jessica knocked lightly and entered. “Nothing from Jackson or Hugh. Also, I can’t find out if they’ve been arrested or anything about their current status, but I’ll keep checking.”
“Get Nick Sturnam on the line.”
“Nick?” She sounded surprised. “Are you sure?”
Clive looked her up and down and closed his eyes to remain calm. He wasn’t used to many people questioning him. “Of course I’m fucking sure. Don’t ever ask me that again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get Nick on the line. Do it now. Buzz it through to this phone. Don’t come in here again. Do not disturb me unless you hear from Jackson or Hugh.”
“Yes, sir,” Jessica said as she backed out the door, shutting it softly.
Chapter 15
Detective Folley could see the flames from six blocks back. Red lights of emergency vehicles flashed in front of the House of Lancaster as he drove up. He flipped his single dash light off and killed his siren. The area was already roped off with at least a hundred members of the public standing, watching.
The four lanes of The Queensway was backed up, officer directing cars getting through in one lane.
Folley parked as close as he could get, grabbed his cell phone and ran toward the burning building.
Aaron, what have you done now?
He knew the man had to be grieving, but this was no way to handle it. Folley would be forced to press charges if what dispatch heard from the waitress inside the club was true. With Aaron’s attempted murder charge over his head, he was about to be in a lot of trouble.
Folley showed his ID and got through the taped-off area. He headed for the back of the building where the fire was more under control. Inside the cordoned-off area, police officers talked to a group of people.
Two men sat in the back of two different police cruisers parked side by side. He knocked on the back window. After he got the man’s attention and confirmed it wasn’t Aaron, he knocked on the other cruiser’s window.
“Hey,” a cop shouted as he approached Folley. “Who are you?”
Folley lifted his ID. “Detective Folley. I’m here on behalf of Detective Angela Wheeler at Homicide. I’m sure she’ll be along shortly. And you are?”
“Officer Hanley. I’m in charge here until Homicide arrives. The coroner is already here.” Hanley pointed. “When homicide gets here, tell them we have a stiff in the DJ booth.”
“The DJ booth?”
“Yeah, it looks like these two guys,” he pointed at the men in the separate cruisers, “came in with MP5 machine guns and C-4 to raze the place. When we found that one,” he pointed at the cruiser on the left, “he still had another explosive on his person.” Hanley gestured toward a white van parked in the back corner. “It appears that’s their vehicle. It has enough weapons in the back to start a war with a small country. These two were on some kind of private mission or something. Maybe one of the dancers wouldn’t let them finger her.”
I’m sure it’s not that simple, asshole.
Folley tried to wrap his head around everything. He thought Aaron Stevens had been here. That’s what Angela had said the dispatcher recorded. How did that fit with what Officer Hanley just said?
“And you want to know what the best part is?” Hanley asked.
Folley nodded. He could tell Hanley was eager to tell.
“These guys come with no ID and their van is stolen. They have tats though. It looks like ex-military tats, but I’m not the expert. When we get them downtown we’re going to have a terrible time figuring out who they
are because they don’t have any fingerprints either and they’re not talking.”
“No fingerprints?” Folley asked, aghast. “How’s that? Did they burn them off?”
“Must’ve been some kind of acid. Who knows,” Hanley said, shaking his head in an exaggerated way, evidently very happy to have made the collar. As far as Hanley was concerned, he just made the arrest of his career.
“Those people there,” Folley pointed at the ten people gathered around three officers taking notes, “who are they?”
“Witnesses. They have some story about four guys coming into the club and saving everybody five minutes before these two showed up and started shooting.”
“Saving everybody?” What the fuck?
“Yeah. The one waitress said she saw the whole thing. She said she was the one who called us. At first the foursome looked like they were the aggressors, she said, knocking out the bouncers with some kind of high-flying kicks, but then the one guy, who she called Aaron, a brother of one of the dancers, got the DJ to have everyone exit the building. Then these two came in, took the waitress and three guys hostage while the other one opened fire on the DJ and this Aaron guy. I don’t know how the tables turned, but they did and these two were knocked unconscious. That’s how we found them. The bouncers were all knocked out too. We thought maybe they’d used gas on them or something, but they hadn’t. The waitress was fine.”
“Where’s the four guys who saved the day?”
Hanley shrugged. “No idea. We looked for them, but they’re gone.”
Folley figured the two men in the back of the cruisers were the same two who took Gary in a white van, and he guessed the van would have evidence to prove that. If these two were the same men who took Joanne Stevens, then the Casa Loma murders would be wrapped up pretty fast, which would go a long way to dispel public fear that a mass murderer or serial killer was on the loose. But how did Aaron fit into all this? If he really did save the day, then where was he? Why run?
“Who owns the remaining six vehicles in the lot?”
“No idea.”
“Run the plates. Find out if any of them belong to the four men who ordered everyone out of the club. While you’re doing that, I want to talk to those witnesses, especially the waitress. When Detective Wheeler gets here, she’ll be taking over the case. I’m pretty confident this is connected to the Casa Loma murders found earlier tonight. In the meantime, get me the names and addresses of the owners of these cars.”
“Got it.”
Folley walked over and asked the waitress to come talk to him.
Her eyes were bloodshot, the makeup streaked down her cheeks from crying. She stood beside him, fumbled with a half-smoked cigarette and lit the tip, her hand shaking as what she had just been through worked its way through her system.
“You doing okay?” Folley asked.
She looked at him sideways. “What do you care?”
“It had to be difficult having those guys point their weapons at you.”
She took two long puffs on her cigarette, blew the smoke out and then stomped on the butt, squishing it under her shoe. “I just can’t take anymore. I’m quitting this place. I tried to stop smoking two years ago, but working here got me smoking again. I’m fucking done. I want out.”
“That, I can understand,” Folley said, trying his best to sound consoling, a friend. “Can you tell me what happened here tonight?”
“I already told the cops what happened.”
“Yeah, but I need to hear it from you myself. Is right here, right now, good for you?” he asked in his most understanding voice. “Or would you rather go downtown to the station where I can take a formal statement?”
“You wanna know the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m pretty freakin’ scared.” She hunched her shoulders and lowered her head, about to cry. “Aaron, Joanne’s brother, came by earlier looking for his missing sister. I was wrong about him. He’s one of the good guys, but when he flipped the bouncer and twisted his finger almost off this morning, I though Aaron was the bad guy.”
Folley gestured for her to keep going.
“He came tonight and said he was gonna blow the place up, but then those two came back in and they had guns—”
“What do you mean, ‘came back in’?” Folley asked. “You know them?”
She glanced at the cruisers, then up at the night sky. “Yeah. But I’m not saying anything else.”
“Why not?” Folley asked.
“Because of them.”
“I don’t understand. Explain it to me.”
The waitress straightened her hair, pulled it back and then pushed it behind each ear. She scanned the ground, appearing to want her cigarette back, but it wasn’t coming back from its squished existence. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because of what happened here tonight.”
“You’re talking in circles.”
She looked him in the eye. “I will tell you what I saw here tonight. I won’t hide anything. But I can’t talk about nothing else that deals with them.”
“I’m still not following.”
She looked away and put her back to the cruisers with the two suspects. “You’re pretty stupid for a detective.”
He didn’t rise to her insult. He waited, knowing she wanted to tell him something, also knowing that he could take her to the station and sweat her for information.
“Those two men showed up here tonight to kill everybody,” she said.
“That part seems clear.”
“That means they came to kill me, too. Because of what happened three nights ago.” She stopped and fiddled with her hair, twisting it around a finger. “Which is something I won’t talk about.”
“Maybe by telling me what happened, I can help. If I know the whole story, I can make sure those two go away for a long time.”
“Trust me, it’s not that simple.”
“I hear you, but I don’t understand you. Have it make sense for me.”
“Something happened three nights ago. The bouncers and I were witnesses. Don’t you see? If I talk, I’m dead.”
“If they came to kill you tonight, you have to consider something. The people who hired them will send others.”
The waitress’s hair fell in front of her face, and she left it there. Some of the other witnesses were dispersing as the officers moved away. Things were calming down, the tension leaving the air. But for the waitress in front of him, the nightmare was still very real. She wiped at her eyes.
“I probably should’ve asked you first, but what’s your name?”
“Julie Kingsley. I’ve only been working here for two months and I quit. Don’t come here looking for me.”
“I’m going to need your phone number and address,” Folley said as he pulled out a small pad and pen.
Julie gave him her information and even her date of birth when he asked for it.
“Last question. Where is Aaron now?”
“No idea. How should I know?” Julie wiped her face and pushed her hair back over her ears.
“Did you see him leave?”
“I was so scared, I ran for the front of the building where the police were showing up. I think they went down the street that way,” Julie said, nodding at the road in the back of the club.
“They? You mean the foursome?”
“Yeah. The guys who saved our lives.”
“Detective Folley,” Hanley said as he came running up.
“Yeah, what is it, Hanley?”
“Detective Wheeler is entering the building at the front and wants to see you up there.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll head over. Can you take Julie here and place her in an empty cruiser?”
“What?” Julie snapped.
“I’m going to need to talk to you again,” he told her. “We’ll do it down at the station where those two can’t watch you talk. I need to
know everything about what happened three nights ago.”
“I’m not comfortable with this. I don’t even know if I’m ready to talk about it. It’s late. Can you let me think about it?”
“Whoever sent those two to raze this place and kill everyone in it, with as much weaponry as they had, won’t be waiting until tomorrow. Hanley, that goes with all the bouncers, too. Every one of them is to be taken into custody until we know more about what’s happening here.”