Matanzas
Page 17
“Mr. Rogerson has agreed to address some of the allegations. He is willing to discuss the murder of Mr. Kalyk.” Blair glanced at her client. She continued in the same arrogant, condescending tone. “He knows nothing about the murders of either Camille Mara or any of the patients under the care of Brett Mara.”
Lane turned to Rogerson and waited. Obviously they have prepared what he is about to say. Just wait and let him go ahead. After that, hit them with the ultimatum.
Rogerson looked into the camera and said, “I was there the night Kalyk was shot. Brett and Ben told me that they wanted to scare Kalyk after what he did to our friend.”
Lane held up a finger. “By Brett and Ben, you are referring to Brett Mara and Ben Bertoulli?”
Rogerson nodded. “That is correct. I pulled up beside Kalyk’s car. He looked over and Brett shot him in the face. I knew Brett had a sawed-off shotgun, but he told me that it wasn’t loaded.”
Lane waited. Let him finish his story.
“When I got into politics, Ben and Brett approached me with the MCSC deal and wanted me to be a part of it. I refused. Ben told me that they would leak the information about the shooting and my involvement as the driver if I didn’t go along with their plan.” Rogerson looked past Lane and stared at the door. “When I told them that if they did that, I would reveal their involvement in the shooting, Brett said he would go after my family.”
Lane nodded. “Did Bertoulli know about the plot for the Kalyk shooting?”
Rogerson nodded. “Yes.”
“You will testify Bertoulli conspired to commit the Kalyk murder?”
“Yes.” Rogerson looked at the camera.
“My client has lost his reputation and his career,” Blair said.
Lane kept his tone even when he said, “You will also provide the names of other investors in MCSC.”
Blair said, “That’s not part of the deal.”
Lane shrugged. “Then there’s no deal. Mr. Rogerson will be charged with conspiracy.”
Blair looked sideways at her client. “That’s flimsy at best.” Her tone had lost its arrogant certainty.
Lane watched Rogerson. He heard it in her voice as well. When her plan has a glitch, she folds.
Blair turned to Rogerson. “It’s your call.”
Lane watched Blair’s eyes. And she folds like a worn-out queen in a cheap deck of cards. Lane maintained a nondescript expression.
“Do you have a pad of paper and a pen?” Rogerson asked.
WEDNESDAY, JULY 3
chapter 17
Brett Mara, co-accused in the charges against Mr. Bertoulli and Mr. Rogerson, was found dead in police custody. Police are saying little at this time, but the RCMP and the Alberta Serious Incident Response Team are investigating the death.
Several Calgary families became suspicious when they discovered large withdrawals from their relatives’ accounts immediately prior to their deaths.
THURSDAY, JULY 4
chapter 18
Lane sat up, swallowed to get some moisture in his dry mouth and looked at the clock. He squinted. “Ten o’clock. What day is it?” He got up and seven minutes later was in the shower.
Arthur was in his office working on a client’s account as Lane went to the top of the stairs. He went into the office and put his cheek against Arthur’s.
“You think I’m that easy?” Arthur asked.
Lane shrugged. “This case —”
“I know. We’ve been watching it on the news and reading about it in the paper. The kids have about a million questions, so be prepared for the interrogation when you finally get home for dinner. I’ve been handling things while you’ve been busy. Be ready, there’ve been some major developments. And Lane?”
“Yes?”
“What kind of shit storm have you walked into?”
Lane looked at the shiny top of Arthur’s head.
“Do you really think these three guys were the only ones involved in the deal?”
Lane shook his head. “No.” Don’t tell him about the list just yet.
“Just watch your back.”
Major developments? The doorbell rang. Lane’s ride was waiting.
Lane set a cup of tea down on Lori’s desk. She mouthed a thank you, then continued with her phone conversation. He walked into his office and set a coffee on Nigel’s desk.
Nigel looked up, smiled and said, “I lost the bet. I’m supposed to be buying coffee. How did you know that Rogerson would deal first?”
Lane sat on the edge of his desk, set his moccaccino on the corner, then shrugged. “I just got the feeling he was tired of hiding and wanted to come clean. Bertoulli and Mara were using him and his position. They threatened to leak the information about the Kalyk shooting to pressure Rogerson into playing along. It looks like Bertoulli and Mara planned the killing and Rogerson was not in on the conspiracy. He gave the impression he was relieved when he told me about his role. Relieved the story was out and he didn’t have to cover it up anymore.”
Nigel sipped his coffee, then set it down. “Funny. I got the feeling Bertoulli could argue black was white and have me halfway convinced after five minutes. The guy is a compulsive liar. I figured he would be the first to spin some kind of yarn implicating everyone else.”
Lane laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“He’s kind of a caricature. One of those guys who is all hair and teeth and sells self-help advice.”
“The bullshit never really stops with Bertoulli. I think he convinces himself he’s telling the truth when he’s lying.”
Lane smiled. “Exactly.”
Nigel’s eyes opened wide. “I was supposed to remind you to phone someone in Havana.”
Lane tapped his forehead with his open palm. “Deylis. I need to call her and let her know what’s happened.” He sat behind his desk and picked up the phone. “Without her help, Brett would still be out there and the people behind MCSC might have been able to go ahead with their plans.”
“After you make that call, we need to head over to Phoenix Kitchens. I’ll let them know we’re coming.”
Forty minutes later they passed through Inglewood, past coffee shops, restaurants and funky boutiques. Nigel was driving. “What did Deylis have to say?”
Lane looked out the window at Spolumbo’s, known around the city for its sausages. “She was a bit shocked to find out how many deaths Brett was responsible for. And she seemed pleased to have played a role in the whole thing. She’s going to get back to us with the details on Sonja’s return.”
Nigel turned south onto Blackfoot and drove under the railway bridge along the narrow lanes on their way up the hill. The view of downtown and the Stampede Grounds kept Lane’s attention until Nigel turned left into Highfield Industrial Park. Nigel parked out front of Phoenix Kitchens next to the green metal garbage bin tagged with white graffiti. It took a minute to manoeuvre their way along the w
ooden planks leading to the temporary entrance, then upstairs. Heads turned from four desks set in four corners of the room. Samples of granite, cabinet doors and fixtures leaned against walls. Neville stood leaning against the door-frame of the private office. Aunt Rose stood beside him. Anita tucked hair behind her shoulders as she got up to greet the detectives. “You have news for us?”
Lane looked at Anita. “We came to thank you for the information that led to the arrest of the people responsible.” He looked at each face in return, their eyes locked on his. He waited while Neville quietly translated for Aunt Rose before continuing. “Brett Mara was arrested and he confessed.”
Aunt Rose kept her eyes on Lane and Nigel as she spoke to Neville, who asked, “My aunt asks why you refer to more than one person.”
Lane nodded. “May I ask for an assurance that none of you will talk of this outside this office?” He made eye contact with each person in the room.
Neville spoke. Lane looked at Nigel, who said, “It’s Mandarin. He’s telling them to keep their mouths shut.”
Neville said, “We promise.”
Lane asked, “You will not talk to the media? There will be court cases. One of the men responsible is very slippery. You don’t want him squirming out of prison.”
Neville translated.
Aunt Rose spoke in Mandarin. Nigel translated. “She says we promised, now get on with it.”
Lane said, “Brett worked with others who were planning to exploit seniors.”
Aunt Rose spoke. Neville smiled. Nigel said, “She called them pigs.”
Lane smiled at her. “The pigs will be facing various charges and it will be in the news.”
Anita asked, “How did Ayah die?”
Lane said, “He smothered her.”
Anita wiped at a tear as Neville translated. There was a howl of grief. Lane watched as Aunt Rose cursed, then pulled Neville closer. He said, “She thanks you and asks you to come with us.”
Lane asked, “Where?”
Neville wiped his eyes with fingertips. “Rose wants to take you to a restaurant we know. She wants you to be our guests.”
It took less than half an hour to reach the restaurant in Chinatown. It was nearly fifty metres from Centre Street and the Bow River. Lane walked alongside Aunt Rose up the long flight of stairs to the restaurant. He held the door for her. Inside, she took his elbow past the gold dragons guarding the entrance. They sat at a table in the corner of a room, which Lane estimated could seat over a hundred. Nigel was asked to sit on the other side of Rose. Anita was directed to order and by the time the first plate arrived, Lane was famished.
He was taking his second bite of garlic chicken when Nigel said, “Hey, Paul!”
Lane looked up. The room was half full. Nigel said, “Aunt Rose had them —” he pointed at Anita and Neville “— call everyone close to Ayah to come and celebrate her life.” Lane looked around the room where waiters swam between tables, children sat on laps or in booster chairs, families chatted with one another.
Aunt Rose spoke. Nigel translated, “She says she thought Ayah’s killer would never be caught because she’s Asian and the police wouldn’t look very hard.”
Lane shrugged, “That thought never occurred to me.”
Aunt Rose spoke; then Nigel said, “And that’s why she invited us here.” Nigel leaned back and pointed his chopsticks at Lane. “She says she wanted us to see this. Ayah touched so many lives.” He lifted his eyebrows, adding that shit-disturber smile. “We have more than twenty families to notify. Do you think every notification will be like this?”
Lane shook his head. A feeling of intense satisfaction followed by dread. Ever since his mother took a belt to his back he’d been haunted by joy. Killing Pierce had amplified the feeling that every gram of joy inevitably resulted in a kilogram of pain.
FRIDAY, JULY 5
chapter 19
Lane came into the kitchen wearing his blue suit and tie.
“Where are you going?” Christine aimed a spoonful of Pablum at Indiana’s mouth.
“A memorial service.” Lane popped a strawberry in his mouth. It was a tiny bomb of flavour. He closed his eyes to savour it.
Indiana took the spoonful of Pablum, then took his time to spit it slowly back out. Christine sat back, and hooked a bare toe over the rung of a nearby chair. “Dan’s grumpy.”
“How come?” Lane asked. He picked up another strawberry and popped it in his mouth.
“He and I want a place of our own.” She looked sideways at her uncle to gauge his reaction.
His hand stopped with another strawberry about halfway to his mouth. He looked at Indiana, then back at Christine. I don’t want you to go. He felt yesterday’s joy spilling out. He looked at Indiana’s light-brown hair, his green eyes and round cheeks, the Pablum oozing down his chin. A flashback struck with cruel intensity. He saw the back of Cori Pierce’s head and the Glock in his hand. His stocking feet were thawing as the Jeep’s heater fan blasted warm air onto the floor. Lane could feel the Glock in his hand as he stared at Cori’s head.
“What do you think?” Christine asked.
Lane blinked, then looked at his right hand holding the strawberry. He looked at Indiana, who put his lips together and blew. Pablum sprayed onto the front of Christine’s T-shirt and she cried, “Indy!” Lane watched her take a wipe from the blue package and rub it across the baby’s face. He turned his head from side to side.
Lane put the strawberry back in the bowl. Appetite had deserted him.
Morning sunlight filtered through the stained-glass window of the funeral home chapel and illuminated the podium in a rainbow of colours. Lane and Arthur sat next to each other. Arthur smelled of soap and aftershave. He wore a dark-grey suit, mauve shirt and light blue tie. Lane picked a piece of white lint off his blue jacket, then lifted the creases on the knees of his matching pants. Arthur put his left hand over Lane’s right. “You’ve been uptight all morning. We’re almost there.”
Corinne Bailey Rae’s “Butterfly” began to play as Gloria walked up to the front. She was followed by her brothers, a niece and a nephew. A young man pressed a button on a laptop and a slide show began. Lane leaned back and turned his head to the right, anticipating the images like a physical blow. The first picture was of a stone-faced family with Gloria’s smiling mother seated up front. Her children and husband stood behind her in the backyard. Gradually the pictures began to change. Gloria and her brothers grew into their teens and twenties. Their mother was relegated to one side or the other. More and more, as the years passed, the sons and daughter could be seen to smile. Gloria’s mother was increasingly absent from the photos. The final image was of Gloria flanked by a niece and a nephew; all were smiling.
Lane felt Arthur touch his arm. “Did you see it?”
Lane looked at Arthur. “See what?”
Gloria’s brother stepped up to the podium and said, “A tyrant can rule only as long as we let her. When we gather together and rebel, the tyrant’s power is gone. That is the lesson of our family and of Christine, my niece. We are here to celebrate the survival of a family and the life of a child who was the catalyst for our rebellion.”
The slide show began again from the beginning. Lane looked beyond the stone-faced group and to the top right of the frame. He focused on the window of his childhood bedroom. A shadowy, gaunt ghost child in a white shirt could be seen behind the glass. Arthur touched Lane’s arm and pointed. “There you are.”
At the end of the service, as Lane and Arthur tried to slip through the back doors, one of Gloria’s brothers stopped them. “Hang on. Don’t rush away. My brother and I wanted to say thank you.”
Lane turned and faced two men. Both wore black jackets and open-necked shirts. They reminded Lane of their father, an ox of a man. The older brother shook Lane’s hand, then said, “My sister needed this. She seems to be a little more at peace with what happened. Thank you.”
The other brother shook Lane’s hand, then turned to Arthur
and shook his hand. “Thank you both for coming and for what you did to make this happen for Gloria.”
Lane shrugged. “It’s my job.”
The lines on the older brother’s forehead deepened. “You look pale.”
“He saw his picture in the window,” Arthur said. “It brought back some memories.”
The youngest nodded. “‘The ghost.’ We used to call you that. We all worried about you because of the way your family mistreated you. But you’re not a ghost anymore.” He pointed at his brother. “We’re not ghosts anymore either. Our mother tried to take our power away, but we ended up taking it all back. It looks like you got yours back as well.”
“And more.” The older brother smiled and handed Arthur a card. “You ever need renovations, you call us.” Someone called out to the brothers, and they turned.
Arthur and Lane walked out into what remained of the morning. “Drop me off at the LRT station?” Lane asked.
When Arthur pulled into the parking lot of the Brentwood station, he said, “Before you go, we need to talk. Things have been happening at home while you’ve been consumed with this case.”
Lane released his seat belt then turned to face Arthur. “Christine already told me about the condo.”
“You need to know the whole story. It’s been pretty intense at home for the last few days.”
Lane took a deep breath. “What’s Lola up to now?”
Arthur reached over, turning up the air conditioning. “Actually it’s Dan and John who’ve been working things out. John came over to apologize for their leaving after the wedding in Cuba. Christine was blunt as only she can be. Then we all listened when John said he’d like to have a relationship with Dan, Indy and Christine. He explained how his daughter moved away because she and Lola butt heads. And he talked about how they haven’t seen Linda in more than a year. Then Matt jumped in and said Christine needs to be treated better by John and Lola.”