by Peter Kirby
Vanier left for Ottawa at 10:30. He was on the highway in minutes and settled in for one of Canada’s most mind-numbing drives. The first thirty minutes through identical suburbs you could only tell apart from the exit signs. At the edge of the urban blight, there was a stretch of identical factory homes in a treeless expanse, more parking lot than neighbourhood, a factory farm for humans, bought with twenty-five-year mortgages and two-hour commutes.
Eventually, the highway reached what passed for countryside, each field boasting seed-company placards announcing the variety being grown, so a motorist speeding by could judge the relative merits of P7213 versus 39V07. In the age of industrial agriculture, seeds are no longer named to appeal to the imagination. No more Caramel Crisp, Honey and Cream and Golden Bantam—they have all been ditched for names fit for chemicals.
Vanier was trying to watch the road while scrolling through the list of old calls on his phone. When he found what he was looking for, he clicked connect. Someone answered immediately.
“Minister Showers’s office.”
“Message for the Minister. Tell him that Vanier wants to speak to him. Tell him it’s important. And tell him if he doesn’t call me back, it will be the biggest mistake of his short career. Got that?”
“What?”
“Minister Showers needs to call Vanier as soon as possible. It’s urgent and it would be a grave mistake for him not to call me back.”
“Can I have the number?”
Vanier gave her the number. “Tell him I’m waiting for his call.”
The Minister called back ten minutes later.
“You must really be interested in early retirement.”
“I’m on leave of absence already. Didn’t you hear? I’ve decided to take a day trip to the nation’s capital. I’ll be there in an hour and a half. We need to meet.”
“Impossible. I’m fully booked all day.”
“Susskind is dead. He left a note.”
There was silence at the other end. “Call me back on my BlackBerry.” He gave Vanier the number. Vanier hung up and redialled.
“What does Susskind’s death have to do with me?”
“It has everything to do with you. You’re involved. Maybe not as deeply as the others, but you’re involved.”
Showers didn’t respond to the accusations. “You mentioned a note.”
“It’s a recording, actually. Where do you want to meet?”
Two hours later, Vanier was riding the elevator up to the Rideau Club, the private sanctuary of Ottawa’s elite. The club was on the fifteenth floor of a high-rise on Bank Street, and the only way in was a single, dedicated elevator with a discreet sign. Inside the elevator there were only two buttons, one for the lobby, the other for the club. The elite don’t like having to mingle with the working-class inhabitants of the building.
Vanier stepped out of the elevator. It looked like he’d stepped back in time, by a century at least. Up the hall to his right there was a greeting room with a black and white tiled floor and dark red wallpaper. A uniformed man sat at a desk reading the paper. He looked up as Vanier approached, his face going from Welcome to Are you sure you’re in the right place? Vanier looked like he should have been begging for coins in the street below. His shirt was speckled with blood, and he hadn’t shaved or slept in thirty hours.
“Can I help you?” There was a long pause before he added, “Sir?”
“Vanier.”
The doorman’s face showed a flash of recognition, and his demeanour softened.
“Oh yes. We’re expecting you. The Minister hasn’t arrived yet, but he asked that you be seated.” The doorman rose, leaning heavily on his arms. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”
Vanier followed him along the carpeted hallway into a small, windowless room. An antique sofa was against one wall, two straight-backed chairs against the opposite wall and a dark wooden coffee table cutting the room in two. It wasn’t the kind of conference room where people took notes; it was a place for eye-to-eye contact, where note-taking would be frowned upon. Just what Vanier was looking for.
“Somebody will be along with refreshments in a few moments, sir.” The doorman was backing towards the door.
“Could you bring me a sandwich? I’m starving.”
“Certainly, sir. I will send someone along. I will need a credit card to open an account.”
“The minister’s paying.”
The doorman hesitated a second. “Yes, sir. I will send someone along with a menu.”
Vanier was halfway through a roast beef sandwich when the minister arrived. Showers walked over to the sofa and sat down without a word, glaring at Vanier. A brush-cut kid in a suit closed the door and sat down next to his boss.
It was the first time Vanier had been this close to a cabinet minister, and he had to admit he looked good, like someone who was used to getting his photo taken, who was always ready. Everything about him was immaculate; there was nothing out of place. Not even the look of contempt in his eyes.
Vanier returned the minister’s glare, nodded at the kid. “Staff?”
“Yes. This is Vincent Katz, my chief of staff.”
The kid opened his notebook and started writing.
“Doesn’t matter to me, but you may not want him here. I have some bad news. You might want to digest it in private first.”
Showers turned to his chief of staff. “Vincent. Perhaps if you could wait outside. This shouldn’t take long.”
Vincent looked offended, but he was used to taking orders. “Yes, Minister. Call me when you need me.”
They both waited until he had closed the door behind him.
“What’s this about Susskind? I tried to reach him.”
“I told you. He’s dead. Suicide. He left a recorded message. It seems his conscience was finally beginning to trouble him. How is your conscience, Minister?”
“Absolutely fine. I don’t know what any of this has to do with me.”
“You will. I brought Susskind’s recording.” He held up the small recorder. “Want to hear it?”
“If that’s the only way to put an end to this nonsense, then I suppose I have to.”
Vanier took another bite of his sandwich. When he had finished chewing, he put the recorder on the small table and pushed play.
“My name is Richard Susskind.”
Vanier finished his sandwich and poured a coffee while the minister sat and listened. As Susskind went through his story, the colour drained from Showers’s face. At one point Vanier stopped the recording, reversed it for a few seconds and played it again.
“I’m reporting everything to Hastings. When he hears that the African’s after a Minister’s permit he does an about-face. Says maybe he can get the Minister of Immigration, the Showers guy. He says maybe he can convince Showers to issue one. Hastings must have been getting scared. Two days later he told me he gave Showers fifty thousand dollars in cash to issue a permit for the African. The bastard said that’s how much I owed him. Like ten million wasn’t enough. But he got the permit signed. I saw it. I couldn’t believe it. Are they all crooks in Ottawa?”
Showers looked up at Vanier. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. What are you looking for?”
Vanier switched the recorder off and leaned forward. “First, I want you to hear everything. There’s more. I want you to know who you were taking money from and what they were doing.”
Vanier made him listen to Susskind explaining why Camara was killed, and how he was responsible for Katya’s rape.
The Minister was looking at the carpet. “Play it again. Start to finish.”
Vanier played it through once more, but it was clear Showers wasn’t listening. He was thinking. Vanier sat back and gave him time to work through the options. There weren’t many.
Finally, Showers raised his head and looked at Vanier. The contemp
t in his eyes had disappeared. “What are you looking for?”
“I have a major problem. Susskind’s dead, so he’s not going to jail. But I’ve got at least three murders, a rape, and massive corruption. I would like to make sure you and scum like you are punished. But I also need something. So I’m ready to make a deal.”
Showers said nothing. He was still listening.
Vanier continued. “This is the only copy of the tape. I’ll give it to you. But I want two things in return. First, I want a Minister’s permit for the girl who was raped. You wrote one for Camara and he was killed, so that one was wasted. Call this one a replacement. I’ve written her details on Camara’s letter. Maybe you can ask your boy to get working on that now.” Vanier pulled the passport from his pocket. “Here’s her passport. I want it stamped to show she’s a landed immigrant as of today.”
“Those are the two things you want? The Minister’s permit and the stamp?”
“No. That’s two parts of the same thing.”
“What else?”
“Your resignation. Effective late this afternoon. Right after Katya Babyak becomes an official landed immigrant, after you’ve signed her permit.”
“That’s a non-starter.” Showers was looking at the door, like he was ready to bolt.
Vanier leaned over and handed him a note. “Here’s the text of what you will say to the press. Verbatim. You don’t say the words, you don’t get the tape.”
“I’m not doing it. I only had a minor role in all of this. My colleague asked me to intervene in the case of a failed refugee claim, and I thought there was merit in doing that.” It was as though he was rehearsing the excuse, wondering how it sounded out loud.
“You exercised your ministerial power for fifty thousand dollars. You were bought.”
“There’s no proof. All you have is the word of a dead man.”
“Maybe. But I have the recording. The press would love to get hold of this. The RCMP too.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Vanier didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. They sat for several moments in silence.
“Sign the permit and resign,” Vanier said. “You betrayed the government, your party, the people. Shit, you probably betrayed yourself for all I know. You can save your skin by doing the right thing. You resign and go get yourself a lawyer and a public-relations guru. Your lawyer will probably get you a deal if you cooperate and tell them what you know. If you do nothing, I will be executing search warrants in the morning and this tape will be playing on the news. Your choice.”
Showers sat motionless with his head down. He was still doing the calculations. Finally, he picked his phone off the table, punched a number on speed-dial. “Vincent, you can come in now.”
Showers looked over at Vanier, then reached for the passport.
The chief of staff came in. “Minister.”
“Vincent, two things. Both urgent. Take this—” Showers handed Katz the passport. “Draft a permit letter for me to sign this afternoon, and get this stamped so the holder is a landed immigrant as of today. And book a room here for a press conference at four o’clock.”
“It’s a bit late for a press conference, Minister. Not sure how many people I can get.”
“Make sure you get at least two,” said Vanier.
“Is everything all right, Minister?” Katz was used to seeing a minister who was in charge. He looked like he would gladly attack Vanier, if only his boss would ask.
“Everything is fine, Vincent,” the minister said. “Let’s get this done.”
“The press conference, is there a subject? Can I draft a statement?” Vincent asked.
“Important announcement, that’s all. I’ll look after the text.”
At three o’clock, the minister’s chief of staff was back in the Rideau Club. He handed a brown envelope to his boss. Showers barely looked at it, passed it to Vanier. “This what you’re looking for? What is she, your girlfriend? Your whore?”
Vanier took the envelope. “And you would know whores. Don’t push your luck.”
Vanier opened the passport and checked the stamp; Katya Babyak was now a permanent resident of Canada. The letter was folded in an unsealed ministerial envelope. He pulled it out and read it. “Here,” he said, sliding the letter across the table. “Sign.”
Showers took out a fat Montblanc fountain pen and scribbled his signature. He waited a moment for the ink to dry, and put the letter back in the official envelope. “Vincent? Are we set to go with the press conference?”
Vincent looked deflated. He sat down on the couch. “Yes, Minister. Four o’clock. But we’ve only got four people confirmed so far. It’s the middle of summer.”
“Four is plenty,” Showers said.
Katz left to finish the arrangements for the press conference.
Showers leaned over the table and started revising the text that Vanier had prepared. If he was going to make a statement, it was going to be his statement, one that showed him in a good a light as possible. After fifteen minutes he passed it across to Vanier. “This is what I’m going to say.”
Vanier read the text. “It’ll do. But don’t go off script. Word for word, nothing more.”
Showers took the paper back, folded it and put it in his inside jacket pocket. Then he picked up his cellphone. It didn’t take him long to set up a meeting with his lawyer. He wasn’t even going to have to leave the building, just ride the express elevator down to the ground floor and back up to the twelfth floor, with the ordinary people.
At four o’clock, they moved into the bar. A table had been cleared away at the far end of the room and a podium set up in its place. Five reporters had decided to show up and had pushed two tables together so they could sit as a group. They had convinced someone to open the bar early. The minister arrived and acknowledged their presence with a curt nod. Vanier held back, leaning against the wall next to the door.
Showers stepped up to the podium and started talking. He didn’t bother with the microphone, and the journalists had to scramble to clip their own microphones to the podium.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. In recent days, I have learned that I have been taken advantage of by people I trusted. I accepted the word of a Cabinet colleague and acted upon that word to make a decision that ought not to have been made. It has now become clear that Minister Hastings and officials of the Montreal-based company Essence have been engaged in criminal activities.”
Vanier moved forward, staring at Showers. He had already gone off script. Showers focused his attention on the press table, ignoring Vanier. The journalists were sitting up and taking notice. Vanier walked over to the bar.
“Mr. Susskind, the Vice President for Latin America of Essence, has confirmed that he has been involved in criminal activities, including kidnapping and murder, and I am sorry to say, the corruption of a member of the current government, Minister Hastings.”
“More particularly,” Showers reached into his pocket and pulled out the speaking notes. He cleared his throat and started reading out loud.
“I have information that leads me to believe that all of the contribution made by the government of Canada to the Chajul disaster compensation fund has been diverted. It appears the money that was supposed to provide compensation to the victims of that disaster was used instead to pay bribes to certain Guatemalan officials and, I regret to say, to my Cabinet colleague, Minister Hastings. Mr. Susskind was the principal architect of that bribery scheme. In order to cover up this crime, Mr. Susskind, and perhaps others at Essence, orchestrated a kidnapping and several murders in Montreal, and I call upon the Montreal police to investigate Mr. Susskind’s activities, and those of Essence Incorporated as quickly as possible.”
Katz was sitting with his head in his hands. Vanier went over and whispered to him. He got up and followed Vanier to the doorway.
“
I would not make these allegations without being convinced of their truth,” Showers went on. “And it saddens me deeply to have to bring this to the public’s attention. However, I am faced with no choice. As a result of the criminal activity undertaken by Essence, I was asked to exercise my ministerial authority in a particular way, and I did so, unaware of the underlying criminality that led to that request. I should have known better, and I regret my actions. While I have not engaged in any criminal activity myself, I am compelled to tender my resignation effective immediately as Minister of Citizenship and Immigration. It has been my distinct honour to serve the Prime Minister, this government, and the Canadian people. I have made a grave mistake and I accept the consequences of that mistake.
“I will not be taking questions. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”
Showers grabbed his notes, stepped down from the podium and made straight for the door. As he passed, Vanier slipped the recorder into his hand. Then Vanier and the chief of staff followed him through the doorway. Vanier pulled the door closed and gestured to the newly unemployed Katz to hold the door against the journalists.
“Don’t let them out until we’re both in the elevator. Your last official duty.”
Vanier caught up with the minister at the elevator and they both got in.
Showers stared at the numbers counting down without acknowledging Vanier’s presence. As the elevator slowed at the bottom of the shaft, Showers spun around to face Vanier.
“Pray that you’re never tested.”
“Fifty-thousand isn’t much of a test.” Vanier said.
“It wasn’t the money. He was a friend. We go all the way back to university. I don’t have many friends, Inspector, but Lindon was my friend, and he was desperate. So I helped him. The money is still in my office. I haven’t touched it.”
The doors opened and Vanier watched him leave.
On the way back to Montreal, Vanier called Saint Jacques.
She answered on the first ring. “Boss, where have you been?”
“I took the day off. Listen, the Minister of Immigration, Showers, has just resigned, and his statement, and what we already have, gives us more than enough to get a search warrant on Essence. With a bit of imagination, we can tie in GSC as well. I want you to get working on the search warrants so we can go in as soon as possible. You’ll get the minister’s statement off the wire service, but here are the highlights. This is verbatim.”