Getting Even

by Claude Bouchard

  “Hello again, you lying, little shit,” William replied with a sneer.

  Leslie smiled and said, “Chris showed remarkable restraint over the last few minutes. Me? I’m a bit more hot-headed when I get pissed off so keep that in mind. I won’t hesitate to hurt you if you annoy me and I’m very good at it.”

  “You’re a bit feistier than you led me to believe,” William replied, strain showing through his smiling façade.

  “All in a day’s work,” said Leslie as she powered the iPad and turned it toward him. “Have you ever seen this man?”

  William shrugged and replied, “Should I have?”

  Leslie’s eyes narrowed as she said, “I get pissed off quickly, Allan. First and last warning.”

  “Very well,” was William’s curt reply. “No, I have never seen him.”

  “His name is Allan Ryerson,” said Leslie. “He’s with Simon Fraser University and he lives in Tsawwassen, just like you.”

  William’s complexion paled slightly but he remained silent.

  “I’m betting if we looked at your driver’s permit,” Leslie continued, “We’d even find you have the same address as he does.”

  “It-it’s not what you think,” William blurted, panic starting to rise. “I-I needed temporary identification to get away from someone, someone trying to harm me. That’s why I came to Montreal, to get away from these people. I’ll be leaving the country soon to somewhere safe where I’ll be certain these people can’t find me. I’m sorry for doing this but I was desperate. I swear, this wasn’t identity fraud or anything like that. It was simply to get away.”

  “I see,” said Leslie, slowly nodding. “So, this pretending to be someone else was because your life was in danger?”

  “Yes,” William confirmed, “But I believe I’m okay now, that is, if we can simply let this go so I can move on.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not an option,” Chris replied.

  “Very well,” William replied. “In that case, as I requested earlier, and was rudely ignored, I want my lawyer.”

  Chris laughed and asked, “What do you think your lawyer can do for you?”

  “He will rip your story and suppositions to shreds,” William replied. “You certainly haven’t told me anything which proves I did anything wrong. I certainly didn’t kill any of you because you’re all here, alive and well.”

  “I don’t remember any of us accusing you of trying to kill us,” said Chris, “But go on.”

  William reddened but continued. “The point is, you have nothing on me to convince a court of any wrongdoing.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Leslie proposed. “I have a few more things to run by you and, once we clear them up, we can settle this. How’s that?”

  William sighed and said, “It’s not like I have much choice, do I?”

  “That’s true,” Leslie agreed, “But this won’t take long.”

  She scrolled to another image on the iPad and when she showed it to William, his face went grey.

  “Many people believe this is William Enright,” said Leslie, “An inmate in British Columbia who sadly turned into a human vegetable a few months ago. There are a few strange details relating to Enright, however, which need clarification. For one, the people involved in his transfer from Kent Institution in Agassiz to the Pacific Institution in Abbotsford all died suddenly shortly after. Craig Holt, Kent’s warden, committed suicide, Dr. Oscar Jansen, head of psychiatry at Pacific, drowned in his pool. The two attendants who had transported Enright died in a car accident. It’s weird but there’s something even weirder. You want to know what?”

  “What?” William croaked, staring at the floor.

  “This guy in the pic here,” said Leslie. “His fingerprints, blood, DNA, none of them match with Enright’s. However, yours do. How weird is that?”

  William remained silent for a minute or so while the others waited. Finally, he looked up at Leslie with fear, rage, contempt but, most of all, resignation in his eyes.

  “How could you possibly know that?” he asked, looking dazed.

  “That dumb, little crap Chris mentioned earlier sparked our curiosity,” Leslie replied. “Your prints on wine glasses and your blood when Chris cleaned you up told us who you were. After that, it was just a question of keeping tabs on you. We followed you everywhere, set up cameras and mikes in both your apartments, monitored your computer activity, tracked your car. We were on you twenty-four, seven. We have you on video getting your poisons and preparing the food which, in case you haven’t guessed, we switched last night while you were out with Chris. It’s almost sad how easy it was. And then there’s your gun.”

  “My gun?” William repeated slowly.

  “Yes, your rifle, the Henry US Survival AR-7,” Leslie confirmed. “I happened to find it in your downtown apartment along the way so I got another one just like it and switched them.” She grinned and added, “I also replaced your shells with duds to make sure you didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Wow, William,” said Jonathan. “Since we have your original rifle, we can match it to the shots fired at me and at the guy in Westmount. Think your lawyer can fix that?”

  “I should also mention the DNA match in BC,” said Leslie. “We figured chances were slim after three months but it was worth a shot. We had no luck at Jansen’s home because the place was cleaned, repainted and put up for sale after his death. In Holt’s case, however, his wife still owns the home and the garage hadn’t been touched since his alleged suicide. Want to guess what was found there, William? A couple of your hairs, that’s what. Your lawyer may have some trouble with that.”

  “My turn,” said Chris. “We did a bit of digging and came across some payments Jansen and Holt had received in some offshore accounts. We backtracked from there to eventually discover the sums had originated from the Enright Foundation. I think your lawyer would have a hell of a time with that one.”

  “Enough,” William rasped, statue-like in his posture and hue as he sat, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of the recliner. “Not another word.”

  “It’s over, William,” said Chris.

  William turned his head to Chris and gazed at him with tears in his eyes. “Yes, I know it is and do you know what the really sad part is? I actually liked you guys. I enjoyed the time we spent together, the camaraderie, the jokes and teasing, the intelligent conversations.” He looked over to Leslie then Joanne and added, “You ladies as well. I looked forward to our run-ins and was disappointed on the odd mornings when neither of you was around. To think it was never real to begin with yet, I’m still left with pleasant memories. Strange but true. Anyhow, what’s done is done. You people should go now.”

  “We can’t just leave you here, William,” said Jonathan.

  “I need to be alone,” William insisted, “At least for a little while. You can stay outside if you like but I want you to get out and let me think this through.”

  “Are there any guns in here, William?” asked Chris.

  “Not that I’m aware,” William replied with a weary shrug. “My gun is in that carryon but it’s apparently useless.”

  Chris looked at Leslie and Dave. “Check around and see if you find anything.”

  They fell silent as Dave rummaged through the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen while Leslie searched the bathroom and bedroom.

  “Nothing here,” Dave announced after a couple of minutes.

  “All clean,” said Leslie as she returned to the living area.

  “Okay,” said Chris, turning his attention back to William. “We’ll give you some time but don’t take too long, understand?”

  William nodded then raised his eyes at Chris. “Yes, thank you and, for what it’s worth, I apologize for what I’ve done.”

  The group headed to the front entrance and filed out onto the porch, closing the door behind them.

  “Dave and I will go watch the back,” said Leslie before hurrying off to the rear of the house with Dave on her heels.
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br />   “You two should go now,” Jonathan told Frank and Joanne.

  The two detectives left without a word and headed down the lane to where the group had parked the vehicles.

  Through the dining area window, Chris watched as William rose from the recliner and disappeared into the hallway leading to the bathroom and bedroom.

  “He’s headed out back,” he murmured for the benefit of the others.

  “He’s in the bedroom,” Leslie replied, “But I can’t see what he’s doing. Wait, he seems to be leaving the room now.”

  “Okay, he’s back now,” Chris announced, “And coming up to the dining table.”

  He fell silent as he watched William get busy inside, barely half a dozen feet away. Whether or not the man was aware he was being observed wasn’t clear nor did it seem to matter as he concentrated on the task at hand, working concisely and methodically. A few minutes was all the time required and he was ready. At the last moment, he turned to the window and gazed at Chris, his eyes dry and determined as he nodded.

  Chris nodded back and waited a moment before saying, “Okay, folks. It’s time to go.”

  * * * *

  Montreal, Quebec, 8:57 p.m.

  “Answer your goddamned phone,” Sean Wollam hissed, cutting the connection as his call once again went to voicemail.

  He set the mobile down on his mammoth desktop and stood, shoving his chair back into the aluminum vertical blinds in the process, ignoring their clattering as he set on yet another bout of frustrated pacing. Though he hadn’t left his vast office since getting that call just before five, he had clocked over twenty-five thousand steps on his Fitbit.

  The call in question had come from none other than Nick Sharp, RCMP Commanding Officer for the province of Quebec and the subject of discussion had been William Enright. The authorities had somehow discovered that the lawyer’s client had escaped from prison three months earlier via an intricate plan involving being replaced by a brain-dead lookalike. Wollam had been shocked to learn of the likely related suspicious deaths of corrections services personnel including the warden of the maximum security institution where Enright had been serving time and a high level psychiatrist.

  Was the lawyer aware of any details relating to his client’s disappearance? When had he last been in contact with him? Considering the gravity and urgency of the matter, when might Wollam be available to meet for further discussion?

  They had ended the conversation with Wollam agreeing to meet Sharp at his office the following morning at ten. Since, he had called Enright’s mobile numerous times, leaving messages when the calls went unanswered. His client had failed to respond to several text messages as well. Was he at the chalet near La Minerve? Too late, Wollam realized letting William use the place had been a ridiculous idea. In fact, participating in his client’s escape plan, no matter how well he had been paid to do so, was clearly the dumbest decision the lawyer had ever made. It was all unravelling at lightning speed and Wollam had atrocious visions of being carted off to prison himself in the near future.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was still here at this time.”

  Startled, Wollam looked up to see a cleaning woman standing in the doorway to his office, looking at him, smiling shyly.

  “Uh, yes, I’m working late tonight,” he replied, his troubles temporarily pushed aside – the woman was a knockout with perfect features, a dazzling smile and the shapeless uniform she wore did nothing to hide a dynamite figure underneath.

  “Oh,” she said, seeming uncertain. “I’m, uh, almost done. This is the only office I have left. Can I come in?”

  ‘What I would do to her,’ Wollam thought as he replied, “Sure, come on in.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, rewarding him with her killer smile before pulling in her cart of cleaning supplies.

  “I’ve never seen you before,” said Wollam, making conversation. “Are you new or have I simply been unlucky to date.”

  She grinned and said, “First time here. I fill in as a temp with the agency, making a few bucks anyway I can to finish my damned school and make some real money.”

  “Good for you,” Wollam approved. “What are you studying?”

  “Law, ironically enough,” she replied. “One semester to go. Should have started studying earlier instead of partying. I’d be finished by now but, hey, we’re never too old to start a career.”

  “You’re far from old,” said Wollam as he approached her. “You’re also very pretty, although I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

  “Yes,” she admitted, “But not from a successful, handsome attorney like you.”

  “You find me handsome?” Wollam playfully asked – he knew he was rather good-looking.

  “Very,” she murmured, stepping closer.

  “Is something going on here?” asked Wollam, not believing his luck in the midst of such a miserable day.

  “It can if you want it too,” she whispered, reaching her hands up and sliding them behind his neck.

  “Ouch!” Wollam yelped, slapping a hand to the back of his neck as Leslie pulled away. “What the hell was that?”

  “A little something to help you relax,” Leslie replied, pocketing the injector and stepping away until the powerful sedative kicked in.

  “Who thaa…” Wollam managed to mumble as his eyes glazed over and he dropped to his knees then toppled to the floor.

  Leslie moved to the doorway and said, “We’re good to go here.”

  Chris appeared, closing the door behind him, and asked, “No problems?”

  “I had him on his knees in no time,” Leslie replied with a wink.

  “Good stuff. Let’s get this place cleaned up,” he said, winking back.

  Together, they helped the unconscious lawyer into his suit jacket and, after ensuring he had his wallet and retrieving his keys, they tucked him into the cleaning supply cart and out of sight.

  “There we go,” said Leslie. “All clean in record time.”

  “Yeah, we’re good,” Chris replied, opening the office door and turning off the lights. “Let’s get our friend out of here. I think he’s worked late enough.”

  * * * *

  Near La Minerve, Quebec, 11:54 p.m.

  Sean Wollam’s confused state as he awoke didn’t lessen when he opened his eyes to find himself laying on the bed in his chalet up north.

  “What the hell?” he muttered aloud as he slowly moved his head to look around the room, dimly lit by the lamp on the nightstand.

  He was fully dressed, right down to his shoes, and sprawled on his back on the fitted sheet, the top sheet missing and the bedspread crumpled at the foot of the bed. The fog in his head was quickly dissipating but he had no recollection of why he was where he was or how he had gotten there. He carefully rose to a seated position and, sensing no dizziness, turned to the side of the bed and stood. Reassured he was steady on his feet, he moved out of the bedroom into the hallway.

  The bathroom was dark and empty but he could see a glow of light at the end of the short hallway, likely coming from the dining area. He stepped forward slowly, silently, having no idea who or what might be waiting for him. What he could see of the living area was deserted though someone could be hiding up against the wall on either side of the hallway exit. Leaning forward, he glanced first to his right toward the back of the living area then turned to his left and froze as sour bile rose to his throat.

  William Enright was there after all, though it was abundantly clear why he had not answered his phone or responded to any text messages. The missing bedsheet, which had been crafted into a knotted rope, was securely tied to a rafter above in the dining area while its other end was wrapped around his former client’s neck. His feet dangled a foot or so from the pinewood floor and a chair lay on its back a couple of feet away. The authorities would have nothing to worry about in regards to this serial killer who had escaped from the BC penitentiary three months earlier.

  Wollam, however, had no doubt he had ser
ious reasons to be concerned, the principle one being the two men and the gorgeous cleaning lady – yes he remembered her now – staring at him from the table beyond the hanging corpse.

  “Good of you to wake up,” the dark-haired, eldest man said, standing and stepping forward. “We were hoping we wouldn’t have to spend the night.”

  “W-who are you people?” Wollam demanded. “Are you with the police?”

  “Not quite,” Jonathan replied. “We’re the folks William here was trying to kill, well, some of them.”

  Wollam glanced at Enright and shuddered. “So you killed him instead?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “No, we didn’t have to. He did it himself though we did watch to make sure he succeeded. Have a seat on the recliner.”

  Wollam glanced briefly toward the back door. None of the three had guns out. He just might make it outside and into the woods.

  “I don’t suggest you try to run,” Jonathan said. “A colleague of ours is outside, just hoping to shoot you if you do. You see, William ran him off the road a month ago, scrapped his truck and nearly killed him so he’s a little annoyed. Have a seat.”

  With rubbery legs, the lawyer moved the few steps to the recliner and eased into it, his eyes never leaving his captors.

  “Smart man,” Jonathan approved, moving forward as the other two left the table and followed. The red-haired beauty, Wollam noticed, now had a small rifle in one hand.

  “What’s the gun for?” he asked fearfully. “I’m not armed.”

  “Of course, you’re not armed,” said Jonathan. “As for the gun, it’s William’s, or at least, it was. Did you know he tried to kill me with that gun? Grazed me in the forehead. Did you know that?”

  “N-no, I didn’t know that,” Wollam vowed. “I don’t know of anything he did since he escaped.”

  “But, you do know he escaped,” Jonathan stated.

  “I, uh, I received a call, just today, from the RCMP,” said Wollam, “And was informed of his escape.”

  Jonathan shook his head and said, “Sean, Sean, Sean, do you realize how stupid you sound, telling us a crock like that? You were William’s outside man who orchestrated the whole thing. You made the payments to Jansen and Holt, you made the arrangements for new identity papers and credit cards, you found William an apartment downtown, you even let him use this place. I should also point out he paid you a huge chunk of change for your efforts. Want to try again?”