‘I assume you did a thorough search of his person before coming here?’ the guard asked.
‘We did, and he’s clean. Nothing in any of his pockets or under his waistline or in his socks,’ Penner said.
‘Okay, he can go through. For you two, I’ll get you to go through the scanner here,’ the guard said. Penner emptied her pockets into a bin on a conveyor belt beside her. She slid off her shoes and put them in the bin, along with her belt. She stepped through the scanner. Her bin of items went through an x-ray scanner and came out the other side.
‘Okay, you can grab your stuff,’ a different guard said from behind a monitor.
‘Thanks,’ Penner said, sliding on her shoes and putting on her belt. Kulcheski followed the same procedure.
Penner helped Jeremy slide his feet into his boots, trying not to inhale too deeply.
‘You guys can follow me,’ the original guard said. They walked over to a counter at one of the gates. ‘I’ll leave you all here. Have a good flight.’
‘Thanks,’ Penner said.
‘Do you have your tickets and identification?’ a girl behind the counter asked.
‘I have all three tickets on my phone,’ Penner said. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and found the email that Millar had sent with the flight information. ‘Here you go.’
‘Thanks,’ the girl said.
‘Here’s my I.D.,’ Penner said, passing her licence. ‘And this is his.’
‘And here’s mine,’ Kulcheski said.
The girl verified all the information. ‘Alright, here you go,’ handing the phone and licences back, along with their boarding passes. ‘You guys can go ahead and find your seats. We’ll start boarding the rest of the passengers in around five minutes.’
‘Thanks,’ Penner said. They walked down the tunnel and were greeted by a flight attendant.
‘Welcome aboard. Do you have your boarding passes?’
‘Here you go.’ Penner passed her the passes.
‘Okay. We have you right at the back of the plane, that way you can be the last to disembark in Halifax. Row nineteen, seats A, C and D.’
‘Perfect,’ said Penner. They made their way down the length of the short plane. On each side of the centre aisle were two seats. On the right were seats A and C. On the Left, D and F. ‘You’re next to the window,’ she said to Jeremy. ‘I’ll sit next to him, you can sit on that side of the aisle.’
‘Works for me,’ Kulcheski said.
Jeremy sat down and Penner buckled his seat belt. She sat down in the seat beside him and buckled her own belt. She took out her phone and opened her text messages and typed a message to Millar.
‘Just boarded in Goose Bay. Should be in Ottawa in four and a half hours. Have someone pick us up, please. Later.’ She put her phone away and tried to relax.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
After they landed in Halifax, they waited until everyone else had gotten off before making their way down the length of the plane to the exit. Penner checked her watch. They had thirty-five minutes until they could board the next plane.
‘I need to piss,’ Jeremy said.
‘You’ll have to hold it,’ said Penner. She needed to go to the washroom herself.
‘Either I go now, or I go when I’m sitting next to you in the plane,’ Jeremy said.
‘Fine.’ She looked around the terminal and saw two policemen patrolling. ‘Watch him for a minute,’ she said to Kulcheski and walked off.
She pulled her badge out as she caught up with the two officers. ‘Excuse me. I’m Detective Penner, from Ottawa,’ she said, showing her badge. ‘I’m transporting a male prisoner back to Ottawa and he needs to use the washroom. I was wondering if one of you would mind keeping an eye on him for me.’
‘Sure, no problem,’ the shorter of the two officers said.
‘Thanks,’ Penner said, walking back to Jeremey and Kulcheski with the officers. ‘Just so you know, he is cuffed and has a cast on his right arm. Jeremy, follow this officer. And be quick.’
Jeremy and the officer walked towards the washrooms.
‘I’ve got to go, too,’ Penner said. ‘Too much coffee today. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Five minutes later they were all back in the terminal. Penner thanked the two officers and they made their way to the gate for their flight. They were in the back row of the plane again. This plane was slightly bigger, and they were in row 27. Again, there were two seats on either side of the aisle, and they kept the same seating arrangement as the first flight. Penner pulled out her phone again and sent the Captain a text.
An hour and forty-five minutes later, they touched down for the last time, much to Penner’s delight. ‘Let’s grab our bags and see if we can find Millar.’
They went down the escalator and headed to one of the baggage carousels. The bags for their flight hadn’t started coming out yet.
‘How were the flights?’
Penner turned and saw Millar. ‘Hey, Millar. Not bad but kind of cramped. I’m sure they’re making planes smaller than before. Or at least putting more seats in the same amount of space.’
‘That’s why I prefer to drive when I can. No problems with him?’
‘No, he behaved,’ Penner said, looking at Jeremy. ‘Did the Captain get in touch with you?’
‘He did. So, what? Jeremy was chatty on the plane?’
‘He was. Sang like a bird. I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or not, but we’ll see. Do you know if the Captain’s planning to talk to Beverly tonight or tomorrow?’ Penner asked.
‘He was trying to get her to come in tonight, so she can be there when you bring in Jeremy.’
‘Excellent. Let’s get our bags then we can head out.’
***
A short while later, Millar pulled into the parking lot at the Ottawa precinct and drove to a large gated door. He lowered his window and pushed a button on an intercom. ‘Detective Terry Millar, one to drop off.’
A buzzer sounded and the gate slowly rolled to the side. Millar pulled his car into the open garage area and put it in park. He got out and opened the rear door, unbuckled Jeremy’s seatbelt and helped him out. ‘Did you text the Captain?’ he asked Penner.
‘I did,’ she said, closing her door. ‘I’ll just grab my bag from your trunk later if that’s okay.’
‘No problem. You can leave yours there, too, if you want,’ Millar said to Kulcheski. ‘Alright, let’s sign him in and go see the Captain.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
‘Ah, Beverly. Thank you for coming down,’ the Captain said as Grant and Beverly walked into his office. ‘Thanks for picking her up,’ he said to Grant.
‘Sergeant Grant was saying you have some information on Mark’s death?’ Beverly said.
‘We do,’ the Captain said, getting up from behind his desk. ‘Why don’t we go to one of the rooms down the hall and I’ll fill you in.’
‘Oh, alright. Sure,’ Beverly said. She followed the Captain and Grant into the hallway.
They walked past a few doors and stopped outside of one of the interrogation rooms. As Grant opened the door, Millar, Penner, Kulcheski and Jeremy walked past and went into the room next door.
‘What’s Gabe doing here? I thought he was in Labrador,’ Beverly said, a hint of panic rising in her voice. ‘Is he in a cast? And handcuffs?’
‘Go in and have a seat,’ the Captain said. ‘We’ll have a little chat.’
The Captain walked in after Beverly and sat in one of the two chairs. Grant shut the door after him and waited in the hallway, looking through the window.
‘What’s going on?’ Beverly asked. Her voice cracked.
‘We’ve been doing some investigating into Gabe’s past,’ the Captain said. ‘We’ve found out that his name isn’t really Gabe Tootsie.’
‘What? I don’t understand,’ Beverly said, the colour draining from her face. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘His name is Jeremy Slice. He’s not from Labrador. He�
�s actually from right here in Ottawa. But I think you already knew that.’
‘I’m shocked,’ Beverly said. ‘I had no idea.’
‘I think you actually did know. We found an article from several years ago where you were one of the judges for a province-wide art competition that he won. I have to assume that you would have met the winner at some point in time.’
‘I’ve judged countless competitions over the years and met hundreds of artists. You can’t expect me to remember all of them, can you? Do you remember everyone you’ve met over the years?’
‘Well, according to Jeremy, you definitely remembered him, and it was your idea for him to become Gabe.’
‘So now you’re going to believe a criminal over your own friend? How long have we known each other, Captain? And this is how you’re going to treat me? Do you really think I would befriend a fraud? Especially one who claims to be an artist? With everything I would have to lose. I’m one of the most respected collectors in the country.’
‘Which would make it easy for you to introduce fake paintings.’
Beverly stood up suddenly. ‘I don’t have to listen to this.’
‘Sit down, Beverly. I don’t want to have to have you restrained, but I will. Right now we have enough to charge you, so you’re not leaving this room until I say you can.’
Beverly sat back in her chair. The Captain could tell she was thinking—desperately trying to figure out what she could say to convince him she wasn’t involved. Trying to come up with a lie that would set her free, but he knew he had her, as much as it pained him.
‘I’m telling you the truth. I honestly had no idea that Gabe was this Jeremy person. As far as I knew, he was a young painter who was related to one of my dad’s favourite artists. I wanted to help him out. It’s not my fault that he used me, lied to get me to help him out.’ Tears began to form in her eyes. ‘I’m the victim here.’
‘I’m not buying it, Beverly,’ said the Captain. ‘There are just way too many inconsistencies.’
‘Well, I don’t know what to tell you, then. You’ve obviously made your mind up already.’
‘Okay, fine. So, tell me again how you first met Jeremy.’
‘I met him two years ago. He had gotten in touch with me—sent me an email.’
‘How did he find your email address?’
‘Online, I guess.’
‘Do you have a website that it would be listed on?’
‘Well, no. But it was probably mentioned in an article in one of the art magazines or websites that I’ve contributed to.’
‘Do you often give your email address out to be published online?’
‘It’s not uncommon. In case anyone wants to get in touch with me to discuss art, or my father’s collection. I would rather people email me instead of phoning. My telephone number is too personal to give out to just anyone.’
‘Okay. So, he sent you an email. What did it say?’
‘Just the usual. He was a new artist starting out and was looking for pointers at breaking into the art scene. He was wondering if I could help him get some shows in Ottawa or Toronto.’
‘Did you respond right away?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I think he sent me two or three before I decided to get back to him.’
‘Why did you wait so long?’
‘Over the years, I had been contacted by several people looking for my help to launch their careers. It wasn’t until his third email when he said that he was Dante’s grandson that I made the connection. That’s when I responded to him.’
‘When did you finally meet him, then?’
‘Probably a few months later. He was visiting Ottawa, and I met him downtown.’
‘He was in Ottawa?’
‘Yes. I think he was visiting a friend or something.’
‘At the gala, he said it was his first time in town.’
‘Did he? Well—obviously he was mistaken. Or lying. He seems to have been lying a lot.’
‘Did you see his artwork at that point in time?’
‘No. Well, yes. He showed me some photos of his work on his phone.’
‘And you decided that they were good?’
‘I did. You could tell he was a good painter. He showed me one of his pieces, a large oil on board, that was stunning.’
‘And this was when he told you that he was Gabe Tootsie, Dante Tootsie’s grandson?’
‘It was.’
‘I thought you said he told you that before you met him?’
‘What? Well, yes. Sorry, you’re confusing me. He told me when he got in touch with me.’
‘And how did he find you?’
‘He phoned me. Not sure how he got my number.’
‘He phoned you? Are you sure?’
‘No. No, he emailed me. Right. He emailed me and told me who he was, so I phoned him.’
‘You said that you responded to him via email.’
‘Right. Right. After he emailed me, I emailed him back. Sorry, it was a while ago.’
‘So, you got an email from him and got back in touch with him right away.’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought he had to email you several times before you responded.’
‘That’s right. I don’t know why you are hounding me like this. I was fooled into thinking this person was someone he’s not. You should be questioning him, not me. I want to know who he really is as much as you do. I’m going to sue him for false representation. He obviously scammed me.’
‘Still sticking to that?’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘Fine. So, you rented out a studio space for him in Labrador.’
‘I did. I wanted to support him as much as possible. I wanted to be like my father—help out the up and coming artists as much as I could.’
‘And while he was at his studio in Labrador, he was painting his own pieces?’
‘Of course. He was getting ready for the shows I was planning for him in Ontario.’
‘Whose idea was it for him to paint pieces by other artists?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What other artists?’
‘I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.’
‘I’m telling you, I have no idea. I was just helping him out so he could do some paintings and launch his career.’
‘The first time you met him was when?’
‘When he was in town a few years ago. He came to visit me.’
‘I thought he was visiting friends?’
‘Oh, right. He was, but he also wanted to visit me, so he did both.’
‘And he brought some of his paintings with him?’
‘Yes, he had a few small pieces he brought in his suitcase.’
‘And he showed these to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure? You said he showed you his pictures on his phone.’
‘Well, yes, at first he did. But then he showed me the actual paintings.’
The Captain paused for a moment. ‘Beverly, we’ve known each other for a long time. It’s time to come clean and tell me what’s going on. Jeremy already told Penner everything when they were flying back from the east coast,’ he said. ‘If you’re honest with me, it could help you in the long run. Keep lying and I can’t help you.’
Beverly closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Fine. Fine. But I want a coffee.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The Captain looked at Grant through the window and nodded.
Grant walked down to the kitchen and grabbed three mugs out of the cupboard and filled them with coffee. He knew the Captain took his coffee black but wasn’t sure how Beverly took hers. He opened a few drawers and found two sugar packets and a stir stick. He looked in the fridge and found two small creamers. ‘Good enough,’ he said out loud.
‘Always talk to yourself?’ a voice behind him said, catching him off guard. He closed the fridge door and looked behind him.
‘Natasha. How’s it going?’ he asked, feeling himself s
mile larger than was really appropriate.
‘We just got back from the airport. Millar and Penner are talking with Jeremy and I just got a message to call my supervisor, so I came to find a quiet place. You?’
‘I’m just getting coffee for the Captain and Beverly. Are you sticking around?’
‘I have to,’ Kulcheski said. ‘I left my bag in Millar’s car.’
‘Well, don’t leave without saying goodbye,’ Grant said. ‘I’ve got to run. Great seeing you,’ he said. He started out of the kitchen.
‘Don’t forget the coffees,’ Kulcheski reminded him.
‘Right. Of course,’ Grant said, sheepishly. He hooked his fingers through the handles of the three mugs and carried the creamers and sugar packets in his other hand, trying not to spill or drop anything. Outside the interview room, he managed to put the mugs on the floor and opened the door. ‘Here you go,’ he said, picking up two of the mugs and putting them on the table. He put the creamers, sugar and stir-stick down in front of Beverly and left the room. He shut the door and picked up his mug from the floor.
‘Alright, where do you want me to start,’ Beverly said, stirring the cream into her coffee.
‘Start from the beginning, but this time, tell the truth. How did you end up meeting Jeremy?’ asked the Captain.
‘I first met him about five or six years ago. I was judging an art competition and he was one of the contestants,’ Beverly said. ‘I was blown away with his painting—it was like something done by a master. His brush strokes. His techniques. His use of colour and shade. Amazing. I could hardy believe that he was still in high school. After the competition, I got a chance to meet him. Since we both lived in Ottawa, we would get together once a month or so and just talk about art. We would visit museums and spend time looking at the paintings.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘I even had him over to our place and showed him some of the paintings that my father had collected. He took some photos of some of Dante’s paintings. The next week he showed up and gave me a painting. I could have sworn it was actually painted by Dante himself. It was so well done. I don’t think anyone would have known it wasn’t authentic.’
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