Matanzas

by Garry Ryan

  “Merali for five and a baby.”

  Sam handed the menus to his female assistant and turned to Lane, saying, “Good to see you again.” Christine led the way with Indiana in the crook of one arm. Dan followed with a bag overflowing with baby necessities. They sat down under the sign explaining the history of Toto, the clown prince of Naples, ordered drinks and checked over the menu. Lane took Indiana for a look at the oven and the chefs making pizza. They could see the wood glowing orange and yellow at the back of the oven. The chef used a long-handed paddle to rotate pizzas, then remove them. Indiana pointed to the chef on the right, who wore a white jacket and hat. He sliced portions of dough and set them on the granite. Lane moved over to allow Indiana a closer look as the dough was flattened, then launched into the air and twirled by the chef’s fists.

  “How are you?”

  Lane looked to his right and saw a woman who looked to be about his age. She stood a head shorter than he. Her shoulder-length hair was black, her skin tanned. Her red blouse and black skirt looked to be tailor made. “Nina?”

  The woman smiled. “You remembered. And who is this?”

  Some women gather up beauty bit by bit as they get older, and you are one of them. “His name is Indiana. The son of my niece.” He lifted his chin to point at the table where his family was focused on conversation.

  “Nina!” Nina and Lane turned to see who had waved at her from the kitchen.

  Nina touched Lane’s arm and said, “My brother. You remember Fernando?”

  Lane blushed. Of course I remember him! I had a huge crush on him. He watched as Fernando shook his head, then disappeared behind the oven to reappear in the hallway leading to the washrooms. He was about twenty pounds heavier than when Lane had last seen him, his black hair was streaked with grey, but his chin still had that cleft in it. His brown eyes were black with rage, however. He waved for Nina to follow him. She touched Lane’s elbow and said, “Excuse me,” then went down the hallway.

  Lane turned and spotted Christine, who waved him over. Lane held Indiana close to him and sat down across from Christine. He saw a man in a suit and a woman in a white outfit sitting at the table next to his niece. He recognized the professional way they scanned the room and the patrons. The pair kept looking toward the couple sitting next to the wall on the other side of the restaurant. Christine held out her arms. He lifted Indiana and handed the boy across the table to his mother. Lane glanced over his shoulder and saw a woman with short brown hair sitting with her back to him, and a girl of twelve or thirteen with shoulder-length red hair. He turned back and saw the man in the suit and the woman in white studying him. He nodded. They made no acknowledgement. Lane took another quick look and realized it was the premier having dinner with her daughter. The pair at the next table were her bodyguards.

  The waitress arrived. She looked to be in her mid twenties, wore a black top and skirt, and appeared to be nine months pregnant. Christine asked, “Do you know what it is?”

  The waitress smiled, nodded and said, “Girl.” She tapped her belly. “Four weeks to go.”

  As she took their orders, Arthur asked, “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Really good. No morning sickness. Must have been because of all the times before when I drank too much.” She covered her mouth.

  Christine laughed. “Okay if I have the Romano?” The orders came quickly after that.

  “Won’t be long.” The waitress wrote down their orders and left.

  “Who was that woman who came up to you?” Arthur asked.

  Lane realized everyone at the table was interested in the answer. “Nina. I went to high school with her. We were friends. Her family used to own this place years ago when it was a pizza restaurant. I think her brother owns this place now, and she owns another one in Bridgeland.”

  Dan looked over Lane’s shoulder. He’s going to figure it out any second now.

  Matt looked in the other direction where four women in their twenties sat together. Each was long legged. Three were blonde. All wore clothing that was too expensive to have come off the rack from The Bay. And all were stunning. Then Matt looked left where two beautiful dark-haired women faced him. I wonder if he’ll be able to eat his dinner?

  A hand tapped Lane on the shoulder and he turned to see Nina, who looked at Arthur when she asked, “Would you mind if I borrowed him for a few minutes?” She offered her hand and Arthur took it.

  Arthur shook her hand. “It’s his birthday.”

  Nina looked at Lane. “Is it?”

  Christine said, “This is his favourite restaurant.”

  Nina turned to Lane. “Do you have a minute?”

  Lane nodded and got up. The spines of the premier’s security guards straightened. They watched Nina and Lane as he followed her back along the hallway to the bathroom and out the back door. She opened the door and held it for him as they stepped into the back alley where cars and garbage containers vied for limited space. A black Escalade sat in the middle of the alley. Fernando stood at the open passenger door. Lane spotted the driver, who appeared to be over six feet tall and to weigh more than two hundred and fifty pounds. What did they call it in high school? Was it pasta power? “What’s up?” Lane asked. Fernando reached out and shook the detective’s hand. Lane felt himself blushing and was glad the sun was low and the shadows were deepening.

  Fernando pointed at the back seat of the Escalade. Lane moved closer to the open passenger door, leaned in the cab and spotted the wide eyes of a man with duct tape over his mouth. Another strip of tape went around his forehead and held him to the rear headrest. The prisoner wore a black suit and blue tie, and his hands were wrapped with more duct tape. The shoulder belt held him where he sat. Lane turned to Fernando and Nina. “What’s going on?”

  Fernando said, “This guy has been ripping off some of the old people in our neighbourhood. He charms some lonely old lady, then tells her he works at her bank. That he needs her to transfer twenty-five thousand dollars to catch the thief who works there. He already ripped off Angelo’s mom. This afternoon he showed up at my mom’s place. I dropped by just after he arrived. I called Angelo and we tried to get his mother’s money back. But . . .” Fernando shrugged.

  “Why did you bring him here and not to the police?” Lane asked.

  “I wanted to ask my sister’s advice.” Fernando looked at the ground.

  Nina rolled her eyes. “I insisted that we ask you what to do next.”

  “You have a lawyer?” Lane asked.

  Nina nodded.

  “Any good?” Lane looked at Fernando, who looked sideways at Angelo.

  Nina said, “Yes, she’s our cousin.”

  Lane said, “Good. Call the lawyer and have her meet you at the downtown office on 6th Avenue. Wait for your lawyer, then take the suspect in and explain that you made a citizen’s arrest. That you have witnesses who will back up your story about the frauds. Explain how this suspect has been scamming seniors.”

  Nina asked, “Should we call the media?”

  Lane shook his head. “See how things go first. Media is a wild card.”

  Nina pulled out her phone, dialed and spoke. “Carla. We need your help right away. Can you meet Fernando at the downtown police station on sixth? Fernando will explain.” She handed the phone to her brother, took Lane’s elbow and led the way back to the door. “Thanks for the help. Fernando was pretty pissed. Since my dad died, Fernando has been more protective of Mom. He needed to cool down and think of other options.”

  His first option probably involved a shovel and a drive to the country. “No problem.” They went back inside, where Lane sat down and Nina went to talk with the waitress.

  “What was that about?” Arthur asked.

  “Some family business. They needed a little advice.” Lane saw a waiter approaching with pizzas in each hand. Christine’s came first, then Matt’s. Another waiter brought Arthur’s pizza piled high with fresh arugula and prosciutto. Lane’s arrived moments later. The mix of a
nchovies, mozzarella, tomato sauce and basil smelled heavenly. There wasn’t much talk for the next few minutes. Indiana drank a bottle of formula while he sat with Dan, who ate with his right hand while Christine cut his pizza into sections.

  Motion caught Lane’s eye. The bodyguards stood up. The detective looked right. The premier was standing and waiting for her daughter to follow. The premier turned and made eye contact with Lane. He saw an instant of surprise in her eyes before she nodded and said, “Detective.”

  How does she know me? he thought. Then he smiled when he recalled what had gone on in the back alley. The premier’s bodyguards had no idea. He watched their backs as they left the restaurant.

  FRIDAY, JUNE 28

  chapter 12

  Marvin died sometime in the early morning. Walter woke up a little after nine. The nurse had come in to change Marvin’s pain patch. Instead, she found a corpse. There was a flurry of people in and out. Walter saw that Marvin’s new patch had been left on the table between their beds. He looked at it for quite some time. They brought a gurney in, loaded up Marvin’s body and eased him out the door. Walter leaned over, gripped the package with his thumb and forefinger and stuffed it between the buttons of his pajama top.

  Lane and Nigel sat behind the forty-two-inch screen on Lane’s desk and made sure all the bits of the investigation were on the map. “What about this?” Nigel asked. He pointed at the green box with the name of the solicitor general.

  Lane leaned back in his chair and thought about the fact that the premier knew who he was and what it might mean. We’re trying to catch Mara before he kills again. If Rogerson can get us closer to that, then we need to see the solicitor general. “I’ll call Rogerson.”

  Lori looked up the number and called the solicitor general’s office. It took twenty minutes of being on hold and speaking with a trio of assistants before she transferred the call to Lane. “Detective Lane with the Calgary Police Service. I need to meet with Mr. Rogerson.”

  “Might I enquire about the nature of your business?”

  Business? Lane thought. “It regards a murder investigation.”

  “The solicitor general would like to help in any way possible, of course.”

  “But?”

  “You must understand he is very busy.”

  Up goes the stonewall. Let’s see how this does against the wall. “There have been allegations of organized crime involvement.”

  “As part of the murder investigation?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Could I have your contact information? I will get back to you within fifteen minutes.”

  Lane gave the information, hung up his phone and looked at the time. He set the stopwatch on his phone, then looked at Nigel and asked, “Can you find out where Rogerson is today? He’s a Calgary MLA.”

  Nigel nodded, got up and rolled his chair over to his computer.

  Lori said, “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Lane’s cell phone rang four minutes later. “Lane here.”

  “It’s Cam. Did you try to set up a meet with the solicitor general?”

  “Yes. I made the call four minutes ago.”

  “You alleged he was involved with organized crime?”

  “I was being stonewalled and mentioned allegations of organized crime. In no way did I suggest that Rogerson was or is connected with organized crime, although that is the allegation from a reliable source.” Lane looked at Nigel, who looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.

  “What made you decide to go after Rogerson?”

  “Went out for dinner last night. The premier was there. She recognized me.”

  “You’ve met her before?” Harper asked.

  “No.”

  It took Harper about fifteen seconds to process the new information. “Keep me in the loop and keep digging.”

  “Will do.”

  Harper hung up.

  Nigel said, “That was quick.”

  “Very. Apparently we are going to be under some very well-connected scrutiny for the remainder of this case.” Lane looked at the map on his screen and typed the date and time of the conversations with Rogerson’s representative and Harper.

  “Either they’re afraid of the whiff of a scandal, or there is a scandal and they’re afraid we’re going to sniff it out.” Nigel looked at his screen and frowned.

  Lori poked her head in the door. “Rogerson will be at Mewata Armoury in twenty minutes.”

  Lane stood up and looked at the stopwatch on his phone. They were up to twelve minutes. He looked at it again when it read twenty-seven minutes. Rogerson’s handler still hadn’t returned the call when Nigel parked the Chevy across the street from Mewata. The armoury was red brick and sandstone with a couple of turrets out front of the sloped red roof. A Sherman tank was parked to the left-hand side of the main door, which looked like a castle gate. “This has to be the oddest, most medieval-looking building in the city,” Nigel said as he removed the keys and got out of the car.

  Lane got out the other side and closed the door. “Built in 1917 and it looks older.” He looked around at the condominiums, LRT bridge, shops, office buildings and vehicle dealerships all within one hundred metres. It’s an anachronism. They walked to the crosswalk, then looked to see whether any traffic was approaching and crossed the street.

  “Sometimes you’re so prim and proper.” Nigel walked beside him.

  “You mean because I use the crosswalk?”

  “That and other things.” Nigel looked at Lane’s shoes and then his tie.

  Lane shrugged as they walked up to the front door of the armoury and inside to an open area with white walls and white stripes painted on the floor. In the corner he spotted a camera light, a TV crew and a knot of reservists. They wore green fatigues and flanked the solicitor general. His voice carried in the echo-chamber emptiness of the cavernous area, which often served as a parade ground. “In my role as solicitor general and minster of public security, it is an honour to be here today to recognize these Albertans and their service to our community.”

  He has a very convincing voice. And he is really good at playing to the audience.

  “Our reservists volunteer their time and effort to serve our country, some of them overseas.” Rogerson took a step forward while facing the cameras. “They are the pride of this province. Today we honour five outstanding members.”

  Nigel followed Lane as they walked in behind the cameras and into Rogerson’s line of sight. The solicitor general’s hair was cut high and tight. His face was round and his neck was a straight line from ears to shoulders. He wore a tailored white shirt and grey suit set off by a red tie and a Canadian flag pinned to his lapel. He glanced at the detectives, then away as he introduced the reservists and presented them with stars. “All five served overseas,” Rogerson began, then spoke for twenty more minutes about each reservist’s contributions. He shook the hand of each man, and then the camera lights turned off. “Thank you and goodbye,” he said, and his smile died.

  Lane waited with his hands at his sides. As the solicitor general began to move, Lane executed an angle to intercept. When he was within two metres, he said, “We need a moment, Mr. Rogerson.”

  Rogerson lifted his chin and smiled. “Follow me.”

  Lane walked alongside the politician. Nigel took the other side, and they walked out the front door to stop next to the Sherman tank. Someone had painted a white peace symbol on its grey turret.

  Lane held up his identification. Rogerson crossed his arms and looked at the detective. “What can I do for you?”

  “Do you know Brett Mara?” Lane asked.

  “I went to high school with a Brett Mara.” Rogerson turned on the smile.

  The smile means nothing. Get right to the point. “Did Mara or one of his associates ask you to initiate a private member’s bill to allow private companies like MCSC to operate seniors residences in the province?”

  “I brought in the bill because seniors in the provinc
e need safe and secure places to live out their twilight years.” Rogerson put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels.

  Nigel asked, “How much did MCSC contribute to your party?”

  Rogerson said, “You tell me. I think you already know the answer to that question.”

  Lane tapped the side of the tank. Get him looking this way so he feels like the questions are coming from all sides. “Do you know the current whereabouts of Brett Mara?”

  Rogerson shook his head. “No.”

  Lane said, “We’ll be in touch.”

  “In the meantime I want you to do something about this.” Rogerson pointed at the peace symbol on the tank.

  “We’ll get right on it,” Nigel said.

  Lane turned and walked to the crosswalk.

  Nigel stood next to him as a city bus rumbled by. “He was playing with us, wasn’t he?”

  Lane nodded. “That he was, the arrogant bastard.” They crossed the street. When they reached the other side Lane said, “It’s beginning to feel like we’re pawns in somebody’s game. I need to have a private conversation with Cam.”

  They met at the Lucky Elephant Restaurant in Chinatown. Lane wore his grey jacket and blue pants. Harper wore a blue golf shirt and black pants.

  The waiter wore a black short-sleeved shirt and pants. A gold elephant hung on a chain around his neck. There were dragon tattoos on both of his arms. “Can I take your order?”

  “Number forty, please?” Lane closed his menu and handed it to the waiter.

  “Thirty-five.” Harper handed his menu over and reached for his beer.

  “Uncle Tran here today?” Lane asked.

  The waiter smiled and shook his head. “He took the week off to go trail riding in the foothills.” He turned and walked through the swinging saloon doors and into the kitchen.

  Lane looked around. A couple sat at the other end of the restaurant. The supper rush had come and gone.