“Was there ever any tension between them?” said Ashton.
“No,” said Sophie. “Not that I saw. Ed never talked to me about anything like that.”
“Would he have?” asked Ashton.
“I think so,” said Sophie. “Ed didn’t keep a lot of secrets from me.”
Ashton took out her notebook. “What files was Ed working on?”
“You mean at work?”
Ashton nodded.
“Well, his colleagues could give you more detail than I could,” she said.
“Yes. I’ve talked to them about that, but I’m interested in knowing what files he talked about with you.”
“Well, natural resources files. Mining. Oil. I didn’t find it very interesting.”
“Oil?” said Ashton.
“Yes. A lot of oil sands projects. He would talk about those sometimes, mostly just to complain about how much work they were, or the way Environment and Natural Resources would be fighting.”
“What would they fight about?”
“The guys at the Environment Department – Ed called them ecofreaks – would be trying to slow down the approval process, complaining about water or wildlife or whatever, and Natural Resources would be pushing for projects to be fast-tracked. Ed would have to write briefing notes for the minister advising what course the government should take.”
“Were any of the fights particularly nasty?”
“Not really. Not that he said.”
Ashton got up off the couch and walked over and looked out the window, then leaned against the computer desk.
“You still have no idea what happened to Ed’s BlackBerry?” she asked.
“No,” said Sophie. “Jack says he can’t remember. Could it still be in the canal?”
Ashton ignored the question.
“Did Ed have a personal email account as well as his work account?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Sophie. “Gmail.”
“What was his email address?”
“[email protected].”
“Do you know his password?”
“No,” said Sophie. “Can you get it from Gmail?”
“Did he use this computer?”
“Yes, that’s where he would play games, or cruise the Internet.”
She got to her feet. “Excuse me for just a second. I have to use the bathroom.”
Ashton turned on the computer and waited for it to boot up. When it started up, it presented her with a password prompt.
Sophie looked surprised to see her fussing with the computer when she came back from the bathroom. “Excuse me. What are you doing with the computer?”
“Do you mind?” said Ashton, turning to look at Sophie. “There might be something on it that would help us figure out what happened to Ed.”
“No,” said Sophie. “I don’t really mind, but that’s Ed’s computer. I don’t have the password.”
6 – CRACKIE
JENNIFER, THE BARTENDER at Brixton’s, a Sparks Street pub, was happy to see Jack, a frequent customer, a casual friend and happy drunk. He walked up to the wooden bar and she beamed at him from behind the bar and leaned over to give him a kiss.
“You want a pint of Keiths Red?” she asked him, reaching for the glass.
“You bet,” he said. “And a shot of Jameson.”
“Oh,” she said. “Celebrating?”
Then she registered the sickly smile on his face.
“No,” he said. “Not really. Give me the whisky first.”
He knocked back the shot and chased it with about half a pint of beer, then looked up and grimaced.
“That’s better,” he said. “I just got fired, or at least I think I did. And to make matters worse, a lot worse …”
He stopped there and thought for a second.
“I want another Jameson, please,” he said and waited until he had it in his hand. “To make matters worse, they did the right thing. Suspending me, I mean.”
“Oh my God,” said Jennifer. “No.”
He winked and knocked back the second shot of Jameson. Then he drained the pint. “I’m going to need another pint of that stuff.”
“What happened?” asked Jennifer as she poured.
“Well,” he said, “I fucked up a really, really big story, and my paper’s getting sued, and I’ve been suspended. I expect they’ll fire me soon, or maybe offer me a job back in Newfoundland. And nobody here will want to hire me.”
“Well,” said Jennifer. “I think you should get drunk. Why don’t I buy you a drink?”
“That sounds like a good idea,” he said.
As soon as Jack had two fresh pints in front of him, Jennifer picked up her iPhone and sent a few emails to people who knew him. Before long Jim Godin showed up.
“Hey,” said Godin, slapping him on the back. “It’s the fuckhead of the hour.”
“Hey Jim,” said Jack. He shouted to Jennifer, “Jim’s gonna buy me a beer, and get him one of whatever he wants, too.”
Godin sat next to him. “So, what the fuck happened?”
Jack took a drink of beer. “I screwed up really bad. I didn’t check the story out.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Godin. “I had to write the boss’s statement apologizing, very sincerely, to Greg Fucking Mowat. Well, basically the lawyers talked and I wrote down what they said. I know you fucked up. I’m wondering why.”
Jack shrugged and stared at the line of bottles behind the bar. “I don’t know,” he said. “Guy gave me the police report. It looked legit. I wrote it up.”
Godin spoke very quietly. “Who gave it to you? Was it Donahoe’s people?”
Jack looked at him and laughed. He shook his head to stop himself from crying. “The terrible truth is I haven’t got a fucking clue.”
A couple of reporters arrived then, and came over to slap Jack on the back and buy him a beer. Jack was already a little drunk, and the free drinks pushed him quickly over the edge. Before long he wasn’t really capable of talking about his day. He sat there smiling drunkenly, not saying much. Eventually, he started proposing toasts. “To all the cocksuckers on the Hill,” he shouted, more than once, and lifted his shot glass. His colleagues drifted off after he started with that, and he ended up at the bar alone, unable to speak clearly.
The bar was full of Parliament Hill types by then, some of whom knew who he was. He ignored their looks and whispers and focused on getting more beer into his belly. Then he heard some young staffers talking at a nearby table. He thought he heard the phrase “Jack the Hack” and then they all laughed, and suddenly Jack was very angry.
He jumped to his feet and turned to the group, swaying. “Who said that?” he said, glaring at them. “Who the fuck said that?”
They looked at him with surprise. He balled his fists and stepped unsteadily toward them, teeth gritted, face red.
“One of you motherfuckers call me Jack the Hack?” he said. “Is that what I just heard?”
Jennifer rushed over and stepped between him and the guys at the table. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back. Then she put her arm around his shoulder and turned him. “Hey buddy,” she said. “Let’s go for a little walk.”
She walked him through the bar and right out the door.
“You kicking me out?” he said, once they were both on the sidewalk.
“You can look at it that way,” she said, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Or you can decide that you’ve had enough to drink and it’s time to go home and go to sleep.”
Jack stood there and thought about that for a minute.
He hugged her.
“You’re a good friend, Jennifer,” he said.
“I’m going to call you a cab.”
“I’m all right,” he said, and he staggered down the street.
It was bitterly cold outside. The wind whipping down Sparks Street was full of snow. Jack wanted another drink, and he wanted to find out who had set him up.
Ellen Simms was surprised when
Jack came into Hy’s, surprised and alarmed. She was seated at the bar with Balusi and Bouchard, and they had had a few drinks, but not nearly as many as Jack.
He staggered into the bar and stood there with a dark expression on his face, looking around.
“Oh my God,” said Ellen, and Balusi and Bouchard turned to look. “I hope he’s not looking for me.”
He was, though, and he started towards her.
“Hi,” he said. “How you doing, Ellen?”
He leaned against the bar and asked Wayne, the bartender, for a beer.
“How about a water?” said the bartender.
Jack smiled, as if he and Wayne were sharing a joke, took the water and turned to Ellen.
“What’s that smell?” said Balusi. “What’s that on your shoe?”
Jack looked down at his foot and forced a laugh, then he took a drink of water and looked at Ellen.
“Ellen, I was just wondering if you knew who set me up?” he said. “I mean with the story today. I fucked it up, but somebody fucking set me up. I don’t think it was you, but I wonder if you know who.”
Simms looked at him with real alarm. “I have no idea,” she said. “And I think you should go home.” She turned to Bouchard. “He’s scaring me.”
Balusi stepped between them.
“It’s time for you to go,” he said. “Ellen doesn’t want to talk to you.”
Jack could see Ellen watching him, to see how he’d react. Balusi stepped closer to him.
Jack took a step back.
“It’s puke,” he said to Balusi.
“What?”
“On my shoe. I puked on my shoe today when I saw my story, my story was shit. It’s puke.”
Balusi tried not to laugh. Ellen snorted. “This is pathetic.”
“Kid,” Bouchard said. “There’s times you gotta know you’re beat. Tomorrow’s another day. You should go home.”
Jack nodded and took another drink of water and walked out into the cold.
Sophie, he thought. I want to see Sophie. I don’t want to go home.
It took a long time to get to her place. He was walking slowly, and at one point he got lost and walked the wrong way for a while. When he finally reached her apartment building he waited until he saw someone leaving, and entered as they were on their way out. He rode the elevator up and knocked on her door.
“Sophie,” he said.
He heard her move around and then he could tell she was looking at him through the peephole. He was suddenly self-conscious.
“Can I come in?”
“Jack,” she said from behind the door. “I’m sorry. You can’t come in.”
He frowned. “Please let me in” he said. “Just for a minute. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”
“No,” she said. “You need to go.”
Jack heard the indistinct rumble of a male voice from behind the door.
“Jack,” she said. “I’m sorry. There’s somebody here.”
He frowned again. He opened his mouth and closed it without speaking.
“Okay,” he said.
He turned to walk away, then stopped.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said.
Jack was suddenly very hungry, so he walked to the McDonald’s on Elgin Street and ate a Big Mac with fries. He was a bit less drunk after he finished eating, but felt worse: depressed and tired. So he went outside and got in a taxi.
It was hard to dig the keys out of his pocket and hard to get them in the front door of his building. It was hard to walk up the stairs to his apartment and it was hard to open his apartment door.
“Fuck,” he said, when he pushed the door open at last.
He turned to switch on the living room light and suddenly he was falling down, convulsing in the darkness, all his muscles cramped, his teeth jammed shut and his heart pounding. He had no idea what had happened to him, but he was sure he was going to die. He was face down on the floor of his apartment. His muscles twitched.
Someone turned on the lights and he could see a pair of boots in front of his face. Someone else grabbed him and flipped him onto his back. He was looking up at Sergeant Michel Castonguay, who was holding a stun gun in his hand.
Castonguay was squatting down, next to Jack. He was wearing black pants, black turtleneck, a dark blue ski jacket and black leather gloves. He snapped his fingers in front of Jack’s eyes. Jack blinked.
His muscles had stopped twitching but he still couldn’t move.
“How we doing?” said Castonguay. “Bit tired? Bit drunk?”
Jack spluttered.
“Easy now,” said Castonguay. “It takes a minute.”
He held up the stun gun. “This is the Taser 3000. It’s designed to immobilize an attacker for several minutes.”
He looked behind Jack. “I told you it was stronger than the old ones,” he said.
“You’re right,” said another man. “You’re usually right.”
The second man came around and stood next to Castonguay. He was a bit younger, with dark brown hair and bushy brown moustache. He was dressed the same as Castonguay, except his ski jacket was black.
Castonguay said, “Are you sober enough to understand what I’m saying?”
Jack nodded.
“If you start screaming or moving or doing anything I don’t like, I’m going to hit you again with this.” He tapped the stun gun with one gloved finger. “Okay?” He peered at Jack intently, trying to see if he really understood.
Jack nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer them. Then we’re going to leave, and you are going to move to Newfoundland and never bother us again. Got it?”
Jack nodded.
Castonguay looked at his partner and then back at Jack. “Okay, question one. We are looking for something. Do you know what that is?”
Jack nodded.
“What?” said Castonguay.
Jack tried to speak. “BbbbbbBlackBerry,” he said.
“That’s right,” said Castonguay. “Whose BlackBerry?”
“Ed’s,” said Jack.
“Good. Now, do you know where it is?”
Jack nodded. “Taxi,” he said.
Castonguay narrowed his eyes. “It’s in a taxi? What taxi?”
“Chateau Laurier,” Jack said. “Taxi from Chateau Laurier. Blue Line. Two Four Five.”
Castonguay bit his lip. “You put Ed Sawatski’s BlackBerry in Taxi 245, outside the Chateau Laurier?”
Jack nodded. “Scared. I was scared. You were chasing me. I jammed my BlackBerry and his in the bbbbbumper.”
“Oh boy,” said Castonguay.
He got to his feet.
“Watch him,” he said to his partner, and he handed him the stun gun. Castonguay took out his cell phone and walked over to the corner of the room. He entered a number and held the phone to his ear.
Jack could hear him.
“Dupré reporting,” he said. He listened for a few seconds. “The kid says he put the target in the taxi with his own BlackBerry. Blue Line Taxi 245. At the Chateau. He put them both in the same cab.”
He listened. “That’s right. I know.” He paced and listened some more. “Yup. With the Taser. He is co-operating.” He listened again. “Yup,” he said. “I think so.”
Jack tried to flex his hands, and found that he could move them again. He twitched his legs and found that they were also coming back to life.
“Yeah,” said Castonguay. “Okay. Roger that.”
He put the cell phone in his pocket and came over and bent over Jack again.
“Don’t move,” he said to Jack, and opened Jack’s overcoat and suit coat.
He opened Jack’s BlackBerry holster, took out his Berry and walked over and sat down on the couch. He poked at it and then looked down at Jack. “Password?”
Castonguay’s partner tapped the stun gun.
“Crackie,” said Jack. “C R A C K I E.”
Castong
uay typed it in.
“Okay,” he said.
Jack looked up at Castonguay’s partner. “It’s what we call dogs in Newfoundland. Like mutts.”
“Shut up,” said Castonguay’s partner.
Castonguay dialled again.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m in.”
He listened for a few minutes, then wedged the phone between his ear and his shoulder and fiddled with Jack’s Berry for a few minutes.
“Sorry,” he said into the phone. “It’s taking longer than it should because of the gloves.”
He flicked through pages on the Berry.
“They are clean,” he said. “Nothing from our friend.”
He put the Berry down on the coffee table and held the phone to his ear. “Okay,” he said. “Got it. Yeah. Good idea. Okay. I’ll call you in a few.”
He walked into the kitchen, returned with a beer and squatted in front of Jack. “Have a beer. Go on. Sit up. You should be able to sit up now.”
Jack sat up. He was very confused. Castonguay handed him the beer. “Go ahead,” he said. “Open it.”
Jack unscrewed the cap.
“Go ahead,” Castonguay said. “Have a drink.”
“Why do you want me to drink a beer?”
Castonguay smiled. “Have a sip and then I’ll tell you.”
Jack took a swallow.
“Okay,” said Castonguay. “We’re going to give you some sleeping pills.”
He reached into the pocket of his coat and brought out a little stainless steel pill container and unscrewed the lid.
“These are not very strong,” he said. “So you have to take a few. You need the beer to wash them down. These particular pills may also make your memory a little hazy in the morning. So we’re going to give you a few extra, because we would be happy if you can’t really remember our little visit too well.”
He poured two pills into his hand. “Open up.”
Jack opened his mouth and Castonguay popped in the pills. He nodded at the beer. Jack took a slug. Castonguay shook two more pills out of the container. “One more time.”
Jack shook his head. “That’s enough. I’m already sleepy.”
Castonguay smiled and stood up. “Hit him,” he said to his partner.
This time Jack actually saw the blue spark from the stun gun. He made a small yelp and then he was convulsed again, all his muscles twisting and twitching. He spasmed on his back and passed out.
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