‘That’s quite possible,’ Penner agreed. ‘I did leave a message for him to call me, but so far—nothing. I’ll try him again after breakfast.’
‘Do you know where his office is?’
‘Yeah, it’s down in Little Italy—on Preston.’
‘We can just go down and pay him a visit,’ Millar said. ‘Have you heard anything else from Faye?’
‘Nothing yet,’ answered Penner. ‘I thought I would have heard something by now. Guess her tests haven’t turned up anything new.’
‘I haven’t heard anything either,’ offered Kulcheski.
‘Alright. Let’s give her until this afternoon—then one of you can give her a call.’ Millar turned in his seat to Kulcheski. ‘Were you able to find out anything about the original fraud complaint? Do we know who the original investigating officer was?’
‘I did, and we do,’ Kulcheski said, putting down her coffee cup. ‘It wasn’t Inspector Wilson, but he was part of the fraud squad at the time. It was a Corporal Walsh, and he reported to a Staff Sergeant Duncan. Apparently Corporal Walsh is now with the musical ride, so I’m going to head down to the stables after this and see if I can talk to him.’
‘The stables?’ Grant said with interest. ‘Cool. Maybe I could tag along. Unless there’s anything else you want me to look into?’ he asked Millar.
‘Nothing I can think of,’ Millar said with a little smile. ‘What time is the art thing tonight?’
‘You mean the vernissage?’ said Penner, dragging out the word.’
‘Okay, Miss Hoity-Toity. What time is the vernissage?’
‘Seven-thirty. Are you guys coming? Chance to look at some art, dress up a bit, have some free wine.’
‘Free wine? I’m in,’ Kulcheski said.
‘Me too,’ said Grant.
‘Alright. We’ll all touch base at the gallery, then. If Beverly’s there, we can ask her if Mark had been feeling under the weather recently or if she knows of any reason why he might have been acting strangely,’ Millar said. ‘Now, when you said to dress up a bit…how dressed up are we supposed to be?’
‘Try not to wear anything with holes, and you should be alright,’ said Penner. ‘And maybe not that baby blue suit of yours,’ she said to Grant, whose cheeks coloured instantly.
‘I got rid of that a long time ago now,’ he said, glaring at Penner.
‘Ah, that’s too bad. You probably looked cute in it,’ Kulcheski teased. ‘Not a lot of grown men could pull off a baby blue suit.’
‘Trust me,’ said Millar, ‘he couldn’t.’
‘You all suck,’ grumbled Grant, trying to hide his glowing cheeks with his coffee cup.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
By the time they had finished breakfast, the clouds had moved back in and large flakes of snow had begun to fall. Visibility wasn’t great and Grant was trying to follow Kulcheski to the stables. He had a vague idea of where they were, but he’d never been to them before. He knew that the stables backed onto the Aviation Parkway, close to the Canadian Aviation and Space Museum and a small runway. In the summer, the runway was used by private pilots of small Cessnas and other prop planes. There was even a red, open-cockpit biplane that gave tours over the city.
Off the highway, Grant followed Kulcheski as she turned onto St. Laurent Boulevard and headed north past the shopping mall. Grant was surprised at the number of cars on the road at mid-morning. The store parking lots were already nearly full. As they drove along, the streetscape changed from big box retail stores to a more tree-lined residential area. Ahead, Grant saw Kulcheski’s indicator begin to flash, and she pulled into a parking lot on the right.
Grant pulled into an empty spot a few cars away from Kulcheski’s and got out. The heavy, wet snow made the parking lot slick under his black dress shoes. They walked together over to the entrance of the building and pulled open the large wooden doors, stepping inside.
‘Excuse me.’ Kulcheski addressed a young member who was sitting on a chair near the entrance, brushing the brim of his Stetson hat. He wore tall, brown riding boots, his blue pants with the golden stripe tucked in, flaring out at the thighs. His white t-shirt had the RCMP crest on the right side of his chest. ‘Do you know where I can find Corporal Walsh?’
‘He’s either cleaning out the stalls or in the riding circle. If you head through those doors there you should be able to find him.’
‘Thanks.’ Kulcheski and Grant opened the door the member had indicated and were hit with the strong scent of hay, leather and horse. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, but it wasn’t a combination of odours Grant associated with policing.
Down the centre of the room ran a long walkway with horse stalls on either side. Most of the wooden stalls housed tall, muscular black horses. Some eating. Some drinking. Some just standing, waiting to be groomed. Two members, dressed identically to the first, were sweeping the floor, while a third carried a large leather saddle through a door at the back of the room. Kulcheski asked the sweepers if they knew where to find Walsh.
‘He’s in the ring, ma’am,’ one responded, pointing to the end of the room.
‘Thanks,’ Kulcheski said. She started walking off but noticed that Grant wasn’t beside her. She turned and saw him petting a horse’s nose through the bars of a stall. A sign on the stall door said “Echo”.
‘I think he likes me,’ Grant said, grinning. ‘Pretty sweet gig, working here.’
‘It’s tough to get in,’ said Kulcheski, reaching up and petting Echo’s neck. ‘Lots of officers apply every year. Only fifteen or so get asked to attend tryouts and less than half of those make it to the actual tour. I applied this year but wasn’t accepted. I was close, though. Maybe I’ll try again next year.’
‘That sucks,’ said Grant. ‘Once you get accepted, is this what you do for the rest of your career?’ he asked, letting Echo sniff and then nibble at his fingers.
‘No. You work with the ride for three years, then you go back to your original posting. It’s not all riding. Dealing with horses is a lot of hard work. Plus, during the summer you’re on the road a lot, travelling around Canada and the States with the musical ride show. A few years ago, they went to Europe, too.’
‘So, you get to hang out with gentle giants like this and travel around? Sounds pretty good to me.’
‘Maybe you chose the wrong force to work with, then.’
‘Maybe,’ Grant said, scratching Echo behind his ear.
‘Come on. We’ve gotta find Walsh,’ said Kulcheski, walking towards the back of the corridor.
‘See ya, buddy,’ Grant said, giving Echo one last scratch. Echo raised his head and neighed.
To Grant, the riding ring looked like a large skating rink covered with dirt. Four horses and their riders were trotting around the perimeter of the arena while a man and a woman stood in the centre, watching their every move. Grant and Kulcheski stood off to the side, watching the horses go around in circles, the riders gracefully bouncing in their saddles in time with the horses’ canter. After a few minutes, the woman in the centre of the ring noticed Grant and Kulcheski standing against one of the walls and walked over to them, careful not to walk in the path of one of the horses.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Hi. We’re looking for Corporal Walsh, and we were told he was in here. I need to ask him some questions about a case he worked on a few years ago,’ Kulcheski said.
‘Sure. No problem, Corporal.’ The woman turned and watched two horses go by. As a third one was approaching, she waved the rider over, calling out ‘Walsh!’
The rider pulled back on the reigns slightly to slow the horse and walked over to where the three were standing, stopping a few feet back.
‘Walsh, the Corporal here has a couple of questions for you. Join back up when you’re done,’ the woman said. She walked back into the centre of the ring. ‘Keep your back straight!’ she yelled out as one of the riders passed in front of her.
Corporal Walsh dismounted his horse and took a f
ew steps towards Grant and Kulcheski, leading the large black horse with him. Between the horse’s eyes was a small white patch in the shape of a diamond.
‘Beautiful horse,’ Grant said. ‘What’s its name?’
‘This is Dave,’ Walsh said, patting the horse on its neck.
‘Dave? That’s a great name for a horse,’ Grant said. ‘Who comes up with the names?’
‘Each year we have a naming competition. Kids from across Canada can send in names for the year’s foals.’
‘Cool. May I?’ Grant asked, stepping closer to Dave.
‘Sure,’ Walsh said. Grant reached up and stroked the giant nose.
‘So, what can I do for you?’
‘I just have a few questions about a case you looked into a few years ago. It involved possible voter fraud during the federal election,’ Kulcheski said. She watched Grant petting the horse.
‘Voter fraud?’ Walsh said. ‘Sure. What would you like to know?’
‘What do you remember about the case?’
‘Well, it was during the last federal election, like you said. We got a call from Elections Canada regarding a complaint. One of the candidates alleged that his opponent won by illegal means.’
‘Illegal means?’
‘Yeah. He believed the winner must have bought votes.’
‘Bought votes how?’
‘Well, from what I remember, he thought the winner must have offered money to people to ensure they voted for him. The voter turnout in their riding was much higher than other ridings, and higher than any other year, so he felt people must have been given some incentive to vote,’ Walsh explained.
‘And you didn’t find any evidence of voter tampering of any sort?’
‘Nothing like that. Actually, what we found was that the complainant had alienated a large portion of voters late in the campaign and there was a bit of an uprising.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t remember exactly what he said, but during an interview he said something about cutting funding to the services that helped new immigrants and refugees. The interviewer mentioned that there was a large population of immigrants in his riding and he said he wasn’t worried because they weren’t the type of people to go out and vote.’
‘That’s pretty dumb,’ Kulcheski said.
‘It was. After that, there were campaigns on social media and in the community centres, trying to make sure everyone was registered and able to vote. And vote they did. They made sure their voices were heard and that he didn’t win.’
‘Did you work with an Investigator Wilson on the case at all?’ Kulcheski asked. Grant was still petting the horse.
‘Not that I remember. He was part of the general fraud team, but I worked on this particular case with my supervisor.’
‘And you didn’t get him involved?’
‘Honestly, I avoided him as much as possible. Not the type of person I wanted anything to do with.’
‘I can understand why,’ said Kulcheski. ‘Thanks, Corporal, I think that’s all for now.’
‘No problem. Come on, Dave,’ Walsh said, leading his horse back towards the centre of the ring where the other riders were standing with their horses.
‘Bye, Dave,’ Grant called out before turning to Kulcheski. ‘So, that didn’t seem too helpful.’
‘I’m surprised you caught any of that—you were pretty preoccupied with Dave,’ she teased. ‘Not super helpful, but at least now we know Wilson wasn’t involved with the original investigation. Unless a new complaint has been lodged, I don’t think whatever fraud he’s investigating has anything to do with the election.’
‘We can ask Penner later if Pattoria has made any new allegations recently. So, what’s your plan now?’ Grant asked as they made their way back through the stalls towards the main exit.
‘I’m going to head back to my HQ and see if my supervisor came in today or if he took another sick day. I had to send him home yesterday to get some rest. Then, I want to try to pursue some other angles—see if I can figure out what Wilson may be investigating. Someone must know something. I just have to find out who that someone is.’ They exited the building. More snow had covered the cars and asphalt of the parking area. ‘Those are some big flakes coming down. Have a safe drive,’ Kulcheski said.
‘Thanks for bringing me along,’ Grant said. ‘I think I’ll try and find Wilson. Maybe I can follow him around for a bit—see where he’s going. Not sure how I’ll find him, though. I have no idea what he drives or what building he works out of. Guess I’ll start at your main building in Vanier.’
‘That’ll be tough. You have to pass by security to get into the parking lot and I doubt they’ll let you in if you tell them you want to tail one of the inspectors,’ Kulcheski said. She thought for a second. ‘Maybe go to The Rusty Pickle on McArthur Avenue. It’s getting close to lunchtime and I know a lot of the senior members stop in there. It’s worth a shot.’
‘Perfect. I’ll give that a try,’ Grant said. ‘Hey, do you want to grab a drink or coffee or something before heading to the opening tonight?’
‘Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll give you a call later when I’m done for the day. You pick the place and I’ll meet you there. See you later, Neil,’ Kulcheski said, walking to her car.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Penner turned off Carling avenue onto Preston street. ‘Is the road blocked up there?’ she asked Millar. Parking in Little Italy was limited, so they had decided to drive over together.
‘Looks like they’re detouring traffic around.’
Bright orange barricades were set out across the street. Behind them, a construction crew was working frantically as a backhoe dug up the asphalt. A fountain of water gushed up from the ground, freezing the road in a sheet of ice.
‘Water main must have broken,’ Penner said, turning to follow the detour signs. ‘That’s what, the third one this winter?’
‘Think so. I guess everything in the city is around the same age, so once one starts going, it’s a sure sign more are going to have issues. It must be awful trying to fix that in this type of weather.’
‘Wonder if they’ve closed all the buildings on this stretch of road? Without water, not sure they would be keeping places open,’ said Penner, turning back onto Preston street after completing the detour.
‘Been a while since I’ve been down here,’ Millar said, staring out the window at all the restaurants and bars that lined the street. ‘I remember coming down here after Italy won the World Cup. That was quite the party in the streets. Felt a bit out of place—everyone seemed to be wearing a blue shirt except for me and my buddies. Managed to get a couple of free beers and food, though, so it was worth the walk over.’
Penner’s eyes travelled up and down both sides of the street. ‘Not as many cars down here as I expected. I wonder if they did close everything down.’ She pulled over to the side of the road and parked outside of Pattoria’s office building. ‘Got any change for the meter?’
‘Why not just take a chance? You think bylaw’s going to be coming down here with the construction going on? Besides, if you get a ticket, just turn it in to the finance guys. It’s a work-related expense.’
‘You’re unreal. I’m not going to risk getting a sixty-dollar ticket when I could just put a toonie in the machine.’ She opened the centre console and rooted around. ‘Success. Let’s go.’
Penner walked up to the machine, put in her two dollars and got a printed ticket which she returned to her dashboard. They walked up to the office building. An older man was shovelling snow off the steps.
‘Watch your step, it’s pretty slick,’ the man said, leaning on his shovel and letting Penner and Millar walk by.
Penner grabbed the black metal railing and carefully walked up the five steps. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Are you looking for someone? Most people have gone home where there’s no water. Not sure how many people are left.’
‘Yeah, we’re here to see Mr. Pa
ttoria. Do you know if he’s here or not?’ Penner asked.
‘Nino? I know I saw him come in earlier,’ the old man said, brushing some snow off his woolen tuque. ‘I don’t remember seeing him leave, so he may still be here. His office is up on the third floor.’
‘We’ll see if he’s there. Cheers.’ Penner opened the glass door and held it for Millar. The lobby was deserted, except for a single person who walked past them to the exit, wrapping his scarf around his face and neck.
‘Stairs or elevator?’ Millar asked.
‘Since when would you want to take the stairs?’ Penner asked. ‘Doesn’t sound much like you.’
‘It’s not. I was just giving you the option—hoping you chose the elevator.’
‘And what would you have done if I said the stairs?’
‘I would have taken the elevator and met you there.’
‘It’s only three flights—seems pretty lazy,’ Penner said, but she relented and pressed the call button for the elevator. The doors opened. It was empty.
‘I don’t see the point of doing extra physical activity in the winter. I need to have a little bit of chub for insulation,’ Millar said.
‘A little, or a lot?’ said Penner, patting his stomach.
‘Ouch,’ Millar said, feigning offense. ‘Come on. Let’s see if Pattoria’s still here,’ he said, stepping out of the elevator. A sign on the far wall listed all the occupants of the floor and their office numbers. ‘Nino Pattoria. He’s down this way.’
At the end of the hall they came to the right office, the door ajar. Millar knocked on the door frame and pushed the door opened slightly. ‘Hello?’
‘Yes? Come in,’ a voice called back.
Millar and Penner entered the small, very cluttered office. A desk sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by papers, and behind the desk sat a balding man with thick, black-rimmed glasses. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, standing up. He was very short and very round and wore a perfectly tailored suit.
The Art of Murder Page 12