by Scott Mackay
“What?”
“Jemand wer nie bitteres geschmeckt hat weiss nicht was süss ist.”
Gilbert raised his eyebrows. “What on earth does that mean?” he asked.
“It’s an old Austrian proverb,” she said. “It means ‘He who has never tasted what is bitter does not know what is sweet.’ And you’re sweet, Barry. In every sense of the word.” A satellite drifted across the sky, a speck of grace against the filmy dross of the Milky Way. “I’m only sorry it took someone like Glen to make me realize that.”
Fourteen
When Gilbert got back to work on Monday, he couldn’t concentrate. He tried working on some cold cases, but kept thinking how Regina was taking Nina to Dominion Medical Laboratories that morning.
He glanced around the squad room. Detectives Jim Groves, Jay Birnbaum, and Lisa Hemmings worked at their desks. He glanced at Joe’s desk. Lombardo looked as if he hadn’t been in yet. Gordon Telford’s PC was on, his screen-saver rotating pictures of his wife and kids, but the man was nowhere in sight. Gilbert felt like talking to someone, but saw that the few detectives in the squad room were too busy to talk. He couldn’t work. He needed something to clear his mind.
He got up and headed for the cafeteria. Another coffee. That’s what he needed. And maybe a Danish. To hell with his diet. He needed a caffeine-sugar fix, something to boost his energy and sharpen his focus.
In the cafeteria, he sat by the window. College Park, an elegant shopping-condo complex where some of the justices had their offices, stood across the street. He couldn’t get his mind off Nina. She was bright, quick to laugh, and always eager to help people. She was creative, always making things. For instance: the soap carving of Cleopatra’s head, complete with Egyptian headdress, up at the cottage last week. His throat tightened. He didn’t want to believe that he might lose her. His eyes misted up.
Just as he was reaching for a napkin, Lombardo came over with a tray full of breakfast. Lombardo caught him with the napkin. Damn. He had to pull himself together.
“Joe…hi…how are you doing?”
Lombardo stared at him. “Are you all right?”
He shoved the napkin aside. “Fine,” he said. He gestured at the chair. “Sit down.”
Lombardo hesitated, then slid his tray onto the table.
“I’m glad I bumped into you up here,” he said. He sat down. “Where we can…you know…talk by ourselves. How was your vacation?”
“Good. We had a great time.”
He peered at Lombardo. His young partner’s brow was set. He was obviously troubled about something.
“What’s wrong?” asked Gilbert.
Lombardo unfolded his napkin and put it on his lap.
“Ling forced Nowak to hand the Boyd case over to the Crown Prosecutor’s Office last week while you were away,” he said.
Gilbert paused. Obviously the paperwork didn’t matter that much after all if Ling was going to force them to give the case half-baked to the Crown.
“Isn’t that a bit premature?” asked Gilbert.
“Nowak had no choice,” said Lombardo. “Ling wanted him to do it.”
“And who did he give it to?” asked Gilbert.
“Marie Barton,” said Lombardo.
Gilbert considered the choice. “She’s good,” he said. “She’s tough. But I hope she’ll have the good sense to hold off until you and Gord have a chance to iron out some of the wrinkles. Or at least until we catch Barcos.”
Lines formed at the corners of Lombardo’s mouth, and he looked more troubled than ever.
“That’s just the thing, Barry,” he said. “She’s not going to hold off. She’s going to go full-steam ahead. I was talking to Vicky Fountain about it…my old legal assistant friend from over there?”
“Vicky. I remember her. How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing good.”
“And what does she say about it?”
“Well…” Lombardo looked out the window and tapped the table a few times. “She says Marie’s trying to build a case against your wife.” Lombardo let that sit, reached for the salt, and sprinkled some on his scrambled eggs. “I told Vicky to tell Marie to hold off, but she’s the Crown, and she’s got all this evidence, and she thinks she can build a snug little ship against your wife.” Lombardo faced Gilbert. “I think Ling’s office has been in touch with the Crown.” Lombardo’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t look too surprised. I thought the news would flatten you.”
Gilbert’s lips tightened. “I had a chance to think about it up at the cottage,” he said. “I was afraid this was going to happen. Not that Marie has much of a chance in securing a conviction against Regina, but I sure hope we can stop it before it goes to trial. Regina and I can’t afford it, for one thing, not with Jennifer’s tuition fees. And for another…I want to spare Regina the upset. Boyd really hurt her. That whole Marseilles thing…we thrashed it through up at the cottage…and it was really hard on her.” Gilbert gave Lombardo an inquiring look. “Does Tim know about Marie’s plans?”
“Yes,” said Lombardo.
“And has he talked to Marie?”
“He’s talked to her.” Lombardo put the salt down and raised his palms in a gesture of helplessness. “And he’s asked her to hold off, but…I think Ling’s office is telling her to go ahead anyway.” Lombardo shook his head. “So Vicky says Marie is…you know…that she’s working on it. I don’t know how quickly it will result in a warrant or an indictment against your wife, but with the deputy chief’s office in the picture, I imagine it won’t take much more than a week. Two at the most.”
Gilbert took a deep breath and looked out the window. Below, a double-decker tour bus drove by, crowded with tourists. A few seagulls fought over an old pizza crust someone had dropped on the sidewalk.
“So in other words, we have a week to find Barcos,” he said.
“Or to nail Judy,” said Lombardo.
“Or to maybe even take another look at Phil. Whichever way we work it, we have to work it fast. We have to give Marie something she can…think about…something she can use to maybe start building a case against one of the other suspects. Because if she’s really going to go ahead with Regina…they’d have to drag up all that ancient bullshit…they’d have to go into Marseilles…and that would kill Regina.”
Lombardo lifted his fork, moved his eggs a centimeter or two, but didn’t immediately eat them.
“I know you’re not supposed to be working the case,” said Joe, “but I’m not going to tell anybody if you want to go ahead and…you know…develop something…independent from me and Gord. She’s your wife, Barry. I know you really want to do something. If I were in your shoes, I’d be the same way.”
A strained grin came to Gilbert’s face. “Thanks, Joe,” he said. “It feels funny not working with you.”
“Yeah…yeah, I know. Gord’s a good guy, though. He’s not Barry Gilbert, but he’s a good guy.”
“A great detective,” commented Gilbert. He took a deep breath, looked at his Danish, but now had no appetite for it. “Joe…you and Gord…you really got to…”
Lombardo raised his hands. “We’ll do everything we can, Barry,” he said. “We’re not going to let any of this touch Regina.”
Gilbert slipped out at eleven o’clock and walked to the University Avenue Courthouse, where Marie Barton had her office. She was one of several Crown attorneys who shared the same secretary. The secretary wasn’t there so Gilbert slipped past the reception area and walked down the corridor to Marie’s office. Her door was partially open. He stuck his face inside. She was sitting at her computer, going over some work.
She looked up. She was in her late thirties, wore glasses, had short dark hair and a cherubic face, a plump but energetic woman who was a dynamo in the courtroom.
“Uh-oh,” she said, her tone amiable but cautious.
“Marie, what’s going on?”
“What are you doing here, Barry? You really shouldn’t be here. You should stay awa
y from this. You’re just going to make matters worse.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” he said. “You’re building a case against my wife. I’m not going to sit by and do nothing.”
“Barry, I wish I could talk to you about it. But I can’t. This is a high-profile case. I’m sorry. I’m just doing my job.”
“You can’t possibly believe that Regina killed Boyd.”
“All I see is the evidence,” she said. “And the evidence doesn’t look good. The evidence is strong. The evidence is compelling. It’s my job to present it in the most convincing way I can. That’s what I do, Barry. I can’t do anything else.”
“Yes, but you should really hold off. Joe has several other leads he’s working on. And if you go ahead now, it will really hit Regina and me hard.”
Marie shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t hold off. I’ve been asked to fast-track this any way I can. Not only by your own trials division, but also by my boss. And I’m afraid that’s what I’ve got to do. My advice to you is to find an attorney that specializes in this kind of thing. And if it’s any consolation, I honestly hope I lose. I hope the court finds Regina innocent. But right now, she’s the best case I have, and I’ve been told to present it as soon as possible. That means the two of you should prepare yourselves as well as you can. I think it’s only a matter of time before the police arrest her.”
Carol Reid, the squad secretary, took messages for off-duty or vacationing detectives, nine to five, Monday through Friday. If the calls weren’t urgent, she immediately typed them up as e-mails and zinged them electronically to the recipient’s in-box.
Gilbert, when he got back from Marie Barton’s office, booted up Outlook and saw several such messages relayed by Carol. One was a phone message from Magda Barcos. Please call. The call had come in while he’d been down at the courthouse.
He glanced nervously around the squad room. Jim and Jay were gone, Lombardo was in the copy room faxing something, and Lisa Hemmings, still at her desk, phone to her ear, was giving the bad news to next-of-kin about a murdered loved one. He lifted his phone and called Magda. Three rings later, she answered.
“It’s Detective Gilbert,” he said. “You called.”
In the background, a large tropical bird squawked. “Tico, quiet!” she said. “Just a second. I have to go to the other room.” He heard her press the receiver to her palm and move to the other room. A few moments later, when she spoke again, the bird, still squawking, was a lot further away. “Thank you for returning my call,” she said.
Her voice was tremulous, and he could tell she was agitated.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I’ve been talking to my brother,” she said. Considering Marie Barton’s plans for his wife, this was just the news Gilbert wanted to hear. “He called early this morning. He wants to meet me tonight.” Her voice got choked up. “He misses me.” She paused. “And I want to do what is right by the law so he won’t get hurt.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Joe was still in the copy room. He wasn’t sure if he should tell Joe about this or not. Joe wasn’t going to tell anyone if he developed his own leads, but at the same time, Nowak had officially yanked Gilbert from the case, and to go ahead and work on it in the face of that would unquestionably be an act of insubordination. To tell Joe about Magda’s call would make Joe guilty of insubordination by association. He couldn’t tell Joe, at least not right now, not if he wanted to spare Joe any fallout.
“So you want me to…you know, like we discussed…you want me to be the one to take him into custody?”
“Yes. I know you won’t hurt him. If you come by yourself…and you explain things to him…” He heard her take a deep breath, as if she were trying to get control of her feelings. “You know how to put things so well. He will listen to you. He will understand that it is no good to fight. And then he will surrender to you and he won’t get hurt.”
He grabbed his FROM THE DESK OF BARRY GILBERT pad and a pencil.
“So when tonight?” he asked. “Did he…like…you know… give a specific time?
“Ten o’clock.”
“And he knows…that I’m coming?”
In the background he heard Mrs. Barcos trying to quiet the big bird in Spanish.
“No…not yet. But when I meet him…he will…I will talk to him, and he will…he has always listened to me. He knows that I am right most of the time. He will understand that he has to give himself up. I will explain to him that you won’t hurt him.”
Gilbert realized that Magda was still naïve as far as her brother was concerned.
“Are you sure it’s going to work?” he asked her.
She didn’t seem to understand that Barcos wouldn’t listen to reason. Barcos would run. Barcos was a live wire. Gilbert didn’t want to go it alone. But he couldn’t take Joe. He thought for a moment….
He would take Bob Bannatyne. That was perfect. Bannatyne had a reason to come. Bannatyne was hunting Barcos for the murders of Deranga and Munoz anyway. And if Bannatyne was in on the case, Gilbert would have a legitimate reason to call Mike Strutton in Patrol to get some backup units in place.
“I know that sometimes he is reckless,” said Magda, as if she felt she had to make a case for her brother. “But I know he will listen to me. When I talk to him, and tell him that you’re not going to hurt him…when I tell him how worried our mother is…I know he will do the sensible thing.”
Gilbert didn’t see the point in shattering Magda’s illusions just yet. He would let her brother do the job later.
“So…did he give a place?” he asked.
“Hillcrest Park,” she said. “Do you know that park?”
He sifted through his encyclopedic knowledge of Toronto. “I think so,” he said. “At Christie and Davenport. Up on the hill.”
“Yes,” she said. “You park on the street. I will sit on a bench and wait for him. He knows I will be sitting on the bench close to the wading pool. When he sees me he will come over and sit on the bench next to me. I will be so happy to see him. I will tell him how bad Mama’s nerves are, and how she is so worried about him. I know he will listen to me. When I have convinced him, I will wave you over. He will surrender to you. He will not fight you.” In a woeful tone she added, “You won’t even have to bring your gun.”
The innocent trust she had in her brother made him nervous. If what Al Valdez said was true, he was going to bag a lion tonight. A few sweet words from Magda weren’t going to make a difference.
“Then I’ll see you tonight,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, relieved. “I will see you tonight. And thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
She thought she had it all figured out. But she was living in a dream world.
It didn’t matter.
As long as she got Barcos within a hundred feet of himself and Bannatyne, they would do the rest.
He drove to Hillcrest Park that afternoon. He wanted to familiarize himself with the terrain.
The day was sunny, hot, and the lilac bushes around the tennis courts undulated prettily in the balmy breezes that buffeted the hill from the city below. Lawn sprinklers shot streams of water over the thirsty grass.
The park couldn’t have offered a better arrangement for tonight’s takedown. A rectangle, it was fenced in on three sides, with only the north end, along Hillcrest Avenue, fully open. They would block Barcos in from the north, then.
Gilbert walked south over a large flat grassy area. He finally came to the edge of the hill. It overlooked Davenport Road. He could see the whole city spread out below, the skyscrapers downtown rising in a jumble of ever higher monoliths to the landmark towers of the financial district four miles away. Down the hill, cars and trucks traveled east and west along Davenport Road. A chain-link fence, anchored in a stone embankment, blocked access to the street. Barcos would have to climb this challenging barrier if he decided to flee south. Even better, the hill itself was choked with knee-high weeds, and such a
tangle would slow Barcos down. Add to that the three-dozen spindly black locust trees shading the hill. Barcos faced a punishing obstacle course. In the dark, Barcos would likely run into one of those trees. Barcos had made a big mistake choosing Hillcrest Park to meet his sister.
Still, the two exits at Christie and Turner bothered Gilbert. A long series of steps led diagonally down to each exit at opposite corners. If Barcos managed to find his way to either exit, he might get away clean. And if he got away clean this time, there wouldn’t be a second chance. So Gilbert couldn’t let that happen. Barcos was going down tonight, no matter what. With Marie Barton building a case against his wife, the stakes were too high for any other outcome but a capture.
Back at headquarters, after finishing a few things in the office, he caught Bannatyne in the underground parking lot as he was going home and told him about the takedown.
“I thought I’d gift-wrap Barcos for you,” said Gilbert.
Bannatyne, red in the face from all the heat, smoothed his thinning gray hair over his damp brow.
“I’ll give you this,” said his sixty-year-old colleague, “you’re a persistent bugger.”
“So are you in?” asked Gilbert.
On one of the lower parking levels, someone was revving an engine again and again.
“Of course I’m in,” Bannatyne said gruffly. He gave Gilbert a wink. “It’s my case, isn’t it?”