Deadline

by Maher, Stephen

  The other cops chuckled. Flanagan turned to his colleague and grinned. “Wayne, will you ask your wife to stop sending me these links,” he said. “At first it was funny, but now I’m starting to wonder what she’s trying to say.”

  Still, Flanagan decided it was time to see what kind of videos Ed made himself.

  He looked for a video file folder, and found one, but it had nothing in it but some vacation videos. He did a hard drive search for videos, to see if there was dedicated folder for web cam videos, but it came up blank. So he looked into the device driver, found the camera and double clicked. A recording program – Security Master – booted up. He selected the camera and turned it on and pressed record. Immediately, there was a video on the screen showing the camera’s feed – a picture of the squad room. Flanagan hit save. It saved the video in a subfolder inside Security Master’s directory, named for the date.

  He looked at all the subfolders in the directory. There were dozens, each one titled with the date of the recording, dating back six months.

  Someone had quite a little hobby, thought Flanagan.

  He decided to start with the most recent recordings, and clicked on the top folder.

  A password window came up.

  “Shit,” he said, aloud.

  After he finished researching the story of Rena Redcloud, Jack spent a while doing Internet searches, following leads that came up as he went along.

  He searched the newspaper web site for all the mentions of Sergeant Earl Gushue, and found he was often quoted as a spokesman for the local RCMP detachment, although he was also on the Major Crimes Unit, and was quoted as the lead investigator testifying in murder trials.

  He did a search on Redcloud, and found out that Mike, Rena’s brother, was a pretty good hockey player on the men’s senior league in Fort McMurray. He read a couple of features on Rena’s father, Dennis, who organized powwows and traditional hunts in Fort MacKay. He was once arrested for illegal moose hunting, a charge that was dropped when he showed up with a lawyer prepared to argue that he was exercising his Aboriginal rights. He was quoted in several stories complaining about the environmental impact of the oil sands developments, and had led several protests after a university study found a strange pattern of rare cancers in the residents of Fort MacKay, cancers that he and other Dene attributed to the air pollution from the refineries.

  He did a search on Ling Cho Wi, and found nothing beyond the murder stories and a few business stories from when he came to town to negotiate the project.

  SinoGaz, Jack learned, was one of the world’s biggest companies, a state-owned Chinese oil company that had a virtual monopoly on petroleum imports to China. It had been trying to buy a piece of the oil sands for years, and had finally started work on the $3-billion project, eighteen months after Wi’s death.

  SinoGaz had had to jump through several hoops before the project could go ahead. First they had to get cabinet approval of the buyout of PanPetroDev, the American company that owned the parcel of oil sands they wanted to develop. Then a federal-provincial environmental assessment panel had reviewed the project, and recommended against it, because of the massive amount of greenhouse gases that would be produced. The Stevens cabinet had quietly overturned that decision, along with several similar decisions, and given the project the go-ahead.

  When Jack finally couldn’t think of anything else to research, he transferred all his files to a memory stick and walked down to the coffee shop where Peggy worked.

  He found Fort McMurray depressing. There were some nice new buildings, but many of the older buildings downtown were shabby, built in some long-ago boom and never looked after properly. There were plenty of big trucks whizzing by, most of them covered in brown dust. The drivers were mostly young men, with ball caps and moustaches. There were few people on the sidewalks, and the ones who were looked worn down by life. In the parking lot outside the Happy Stop, the restaurant where Peggy worked, a gap-toothed old man in sweat pants, a torn parka and paint-stained work boots tried to stop him to ask him for change, but Jack brushed past him and got himself out of the cold.

  Happy Stop was bright and warm and cheerful. It was at the end of a busy mini-mall, with a couple of dozen old plastic booths, specials on a chalk board and a long counter by the kitchen with rotating stools.

  “There he is,” said Peggy when he arrived. “Have a seat. Have you had your lunch?”

  The lunch rush had ended but there were still a couple of tables full of customers that Peggy was looking after.

  “I wouldn’t mind a bite,” said Jack. He nodded his head at a TV in the corner that was showing a hockey game that nobody was watching. “Mind if I sit over there and switch the channel, catch up on the news?”

  “No, b’y,” she said. “You go ahead. Wait while I gets you a menu.”

  The menu was a typical greasy spoon, with hamburgers and chicken fingers and a lot of frozen fried items, but there was a Newfoundland special every day. Jiggs dinner on Sundays. Fish ’n’ brewis on Mondays.

  Peggy brought him a coffee.

  “Menu’s just like home,” said Jack.

  “That’s what they like,” said Peggy. “Half of them are Newfies here.”

  “How’s the chowder?” asked Jack.

  “Not bad, b’y,” she said. “Best in town, but not as good as you gets at home. Fish and chips is good.”

  “Gimme a two-piece then,” he said, closing the menu.

  “Dressing and gravy?” she asked.

  “Why not? I haven’t had fish and chips with dressing and gravy since I last ate at Ches’s.”

  She gave him the remote and he switched from TSN to NTV Newsnet. He watched the news until his fish and chips arrived. He was halfway through his greasy fish when Ellen Simms appeared on camera, standing in front of a community centre in Toronto holding a microphone. Jack scowled and turned up the volume.

  “Lorne,” she said to the anchor, “I’ve just come from an event with Justice Minister Jim Donahoe, where he opened the door to a run for the leadership of the Conservative Party.”

  The TV showed a clip of Donahoe saying, “I am getting calls asking me to run.” He was standing in front of a black girl in a wheelchair.

  “I am giving it serious thought,” he said. “I’m talking to my family, and to people across Canada, asking them what kind of country they want. I’m thinking about stories like Grace’s, about finding new ways to draw Canadians together, whatever their backgrounds. I’m thinking about Canadian citizenship, about what it means to be Canadian, about what kind of leadership we need now. Those are big questions, and you’ll forgive me if I haven’t come up with all the answers yet, but I’m thinking and I’m listening.”

  Then Jack could hear Simms shouting a question. “If you were prime minister, would you open the Constitution to recognize Quebec as a distinct society?”

  He tried to ignore her at first, but she shouted the question again and he had to respond.

  “Ellen,” he said. “This is an announcement about victims’ rights, about a program that will really change the lives of people affected by violent crime, so I don’t know if I want to distract from that with a discussion of hypotheticals.”

  Ellen shouted something else, which Jack couldn’t make out but which prompted Donahoe to say, “I have no plans to do anything like that.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Quebec’s unique place within Confederation should never be discussed casually, and Quebec’s traditional desire for formal recognition isn’t the kind of thing that we should discount out of hand. I have too much respect for Quebecers to stand here and say no, never anything like that, the Constitution can never be changed. I don’t want to present a closed hand to my friends in la belle province, but I think most people who have been through that process would say, certainly, that it is not easy and not the kind of thing for which there is an appetite now or any time soon.”

  The anchor’s handsome face appeared on the screen. “It sounds like he’s saying n
o there, doesn’t it, Ellen?”

  Simms nodded. “That’s right, Lorne. It sounded like a polite but firm no. But NTV News has learned that in a closed-door meeting with Quebec Tories last week, Donahoe delivered a very different message.”

  The screen showed a picture of Donahoe, with a quote superimposed in white letters while he spoke in French.

  “To mend this rift, they say, we need to make a new place for Quebec in the constitution, and formally recognize what is a fact of life, the distinct and rich cultural life of the province. Call it Meech II. I am with these people.”

  “That sounds a little different, Ellen,” said the anchor.

  “Well, Lorne,” said Ellen, “it is different. Behind closed doors, Donahoe said that he would consider reopening the constitution to provide special status for Quebec, if he had a majority government. The Conservatives met at the elite Champlain Club, in downtown Montreal.” The screen showed a shot of the elegant stone building. “Donahoe actually said that it would not be wise to discuss such a plan in a campaign, but if he were elected he would try to open the Constitution, trying to, in a nutshell, recreate the Meech Lake Accord, which led to the rise of the Bloc Quebecois. That alone would be controversial, but Donahoe’s answer today gives the impression that he is saying one thing in public and another in the back rooms. Lorne?”

  “Very interesting,” said the anchor. “Thank you Ellen. With reaction, now, we go to Ottawa, where Fred Murphy is standing by. Fred?”

  Murphy was in the lobby of the House of Commons.

  “Well Lorne, this revelation is sure to put the fox among the chickens,” he said in his gravelly baritone. “A lot of the current crop of Conservative MPs come from a Reform party background, which grew up, in part, in opposition to the Meech Lake accord. Now, Donahoe is a former Progressive Conservative, who served for one term as a backbencher in Brian Mulroney’s government, so this story could remind everyone of old divisions in the Conservative family at a time when the party is looking to find a new leader to take it into the future. It will be interesting to see what other Conservative MPs have to say as they arrive for Question Period.”

  Murphy looked away from the camera. “Here’s someone we don’t often see in the lobby, former Reform MP Ben Watson,” he said, stepping in front of a tall grey-haired man. “Mr. Watson, you came here with Preston Manning. What do you make of the idea of a Meech II?”

  Watson squared his shoulders and looked surprised. “Not much,” he said. “What’s the expression? Let sleeping dogs lie. I think we ought to let sleeping dogs lie on this one, and I think my constituents would agree.”

  Murphy stepped back. MPs were arriving in ones and twos, streaming behind Murphy into the House.

  “Ben Watson, one of the original Reform MPs, being clear there. Not interested in a Meech II. I see Public Safety Minister Greg Mowat approaching. Lorne, many people think Greg Mowat is considering a leadership run.”

  Murphy stepped in front of Mowat. “Mr. Mowat,” he said. “I want to get your reaction to the idea of a Meech II, somehow reviving a version of the Meech Lake Accord.”

  Mowat smiled into the camera. “Well, I spend a lot of time talking to people around the country, and nobody ever comes up to me and says, ‘You know what the government should do, you should open up the Constitution.’ I think that’s pretty far from the concerns most people have. I hear about taxes, crime, and especially the economy, and that’s the focus of this government, not constitutional adventures. But –” and he paused to smile “– I would say I’ve been fortunate enough to visit Meech Lake on occasion, just over the border from Ottawa, and I can tell you it is very beautiful. Every Canadian should make the trek to Ottawa at least once, and if you have time it is well worth the side trip.” He smiled again at Murphy and went into the House.

  “Do we see a division here, Fred?” asked the anchor.

  “Yes, Lorne,” said Murphy. “And a division along the old lines, east and west. Greg Mowat was pretty clear there, that he’s not interested in negotiating a new constitutional deal, and he looked confident in –” The anchor cut him off.

  “Fred, we’re going back to Ellen now, in Toronto, where Jim Donahoe spoke recently, and she has some fresh news,” he said.

  “Yes, Lorne,” she said. “I’ve received a statement from Jim Donahoe’s team, and they are saying that Donahoe is, in fact, not in favour of opening up constitutional talks to give Quebec special status. They say his comments in a speech to a backroom group of Quebec Tories have been taken out of context. His people are saying, quite firmly, that he at no point told anyone that he would reopen the Constitution.”

  “So somewhat of a new position, then, Ellen?” said the anchor.

  “It would seem so, Lorne,” she said. “In a recording obtained by NTV News of a meeting with Quebec Conservatives, just last week, he appeared to endorse the idea, although he said it was not the kind of thing that could be discussed during a campaign.”

  “Thank you, Ellen,” said the anchor. “We now go back to Ottawa, where Fred Murphy has Liberal Leader Evan Pinsent with a comment on this developing story.”

  “Mr. Pinsent,” said Murphy. “It appears there is a division between Conservatives here, with the public safety minister saying he is not interested in opening the Constitution to make a special deal for Quebec, and Justice Minister Jim Donahoe apparently reversing himself, floating the idea and now backing away. Your reaction?”

  Pinsent squared his shoulders. “What we have here,” he said, “is the Conservative government clearly showing disrespect for the traditional position of the Quebec provincial government. It’s another example of the way this government, this right-wing government, is out of step with the province of Quebec, and –” Murphy interrupted him.

  “I’m sorry, but are you saying that a Liberal government would open constitutional talks with the aim of creating a Meech II?”

  “No,” Pinsent said. “No. That’s not what I’m saying.” He blinked and said, “Uh.”

  “So a Liberal government wouldn’t be prepared to consider that?” said Murphy.

  “What I’m saying, Fred,” said Pinsent, “what I’m saying is that this government, two cabinet ministers of this government, are needlessly, uh, showing a lack of respect for Quebec.”

  Murphy turned to the camera. “So no clear answer there from Liberal Leader Evan Pinsent on whether a Liberal government would reopen the constitution for a Meech II type deal, Lorne.”

  The piece ended, and Peggy came over to sit down with a coffee, so Jack killed the volume..

  “Don’t you get enough of that?” she said.

  “Aunt Peg, it’s like crack,” he said. “Once you’re hooked, they got ya.”

  “My dear,” she said. “Don’t be joking about crack. There’s enough of it in this town.”

  “Yeah?” said Jack. “We got it in Ottawa, but I wouldn’t think you’d find it way up here.”

  “My dear, they call it Fort Crack, sure!” she said. “It’s rotten with it. These young fellas up here, away from their families, nothing to do, money burning a hole in their pockets, some of them get lost. Lost, me son. They fall in with these girls, these women comes up here looking to party all the time, find some stunned bayman to pay for it. It’s shockin’.”

  “That sounds like the story I’m working on,” said Jack. “This girl, Rena Redcloud. She was from Fort MacKay, seems like a good family, got mixed up with coke, turning tricks, ended up getting murdered by a john. Sad story.”

  Peggy arched an eyebrow at him. “Is she anything to that fellow Mike, that Vern works with?”

  “I think that’s her brother,” he said. “I want to ask Vern if I can talk to him.”

  “Sure, I’ll call him.” She got out her cell phone and called her husband. “Vern, I’m here with Jack,” she said. “Yes. He just had a two-piece with dressing and gravy. Yes. We’ll fatten him up, eh. Now, he tells me that he wants to talk to that fellow you work with, Mike. Yes.
Says it’s her brother. All right. Talk to you soon.”

  “He’s going to check,” she said to Jack. “See when Mike’s working. They goes all night up there.

  Ashton and Flanagan ventured down to the office of Sgt. David Gaston, the computer forensics guy, to sweet talk him into cracking the password right away, not in a week, which is what he’d promised on the phone.

  He was sitting in front of a wide-screen monitor, in a windowless room crowded with computers and parts of computers. Steel shelving units, loaded with hard drives and circuit boards, lined the walls. Many of them had evidence tags hanging from them. More partly dissembled computers – old and new – sat on several big wooden tables, a warren of cables, connectors and power bars strewn among them.

  “I don’t like to bug you, Dave,” said Flanagan. “But Zwicker is on us. It’s bad. He swore at us. In two meetings. You ever hear him swear? Told us to get the fuck out of his office. Somebody is shitting on his head, and he doesn’t know what else to do, except to sit down and have a big, stinky dump on our heads. On poor Mallorie’s head. Forget about my old head. Think of Mallorie. Do you want to see this nice head all covered in Zwicker’s shit? Because that’s what you’re saying here. You are saying you don’t give a fuck if Zwicker shits on Mallorie’s head. And I didn’t think you were that kind of guy. Don’t be that guy. Hook a brother up.”

  Gaston swivelled on his old computer chair and glared at Flanagan, then turned to look at Ashton, who was trying not to grin. “Is that true, Mallorie?” he asked. “Is Zwicker gonna dump shit on your head?” He lowered his glasses and looked at her.

  “I can’t have that,” he said. “I am very busy here. I would normally tell you both to go fuck yourselves, which is what I tell everyfuckingbody else, and get in line, but Flanagan here says Zwicker’s gonna shit on your head. Is that right?”