by Warren Court
“But they are brought down. The Villains are a memory. Coconis was the last hardcore full patch member, and he’s a cop.”
“The Villains were being groomed for bigger things before they imploded. We were trying to push Detective Graham into one of the international gangs. At some point we can try again, his cover is intact. Or we can use what we have on them now and bring at least some of them before a judge.”
“Someone is going around killing the remaining Villains and their associates. Dennis Wade—you must remember him, Graham. He’s dead. Throat cut. I just heard that Coconis’s girlfriend here, Zurawska—she’s dead, too.” Temple said. He saw a flash of guilt and sadness wash over Graham’s face, then it was gone. Temple knew the score: an undercover has to fake relationships with people, but after a time there’s a chance they might become real. Temple knew that Zurawska’s death would hurt the cop who had befriended her.
“We hadn’t heard that,” Wilkins said.
“Just happened. Before your two guys picked me up. And my partner,” Temple said. “He got shot.”
“How is that related?”
“I think the shooter is the same person going around killing everyone connected to this Nair thing. Somehow it all connects back to the mayor. Ask your detective here—he was handling the girls when the Nairs disappeared. He probably has some ideas on who was responsible. The big beefy guy you handled Sidduth with, the one you don’t remember. What’s his name?”
Graham shook his head. “No idea who you’re talking about.” Wilkins looked at his man strangely. Temple knew the score: if Graham was party to a murder, undercover or not, his nuts would be put in a vice. Temple was shocked at what the OPP didn’t know. Operation Carnivore was sounding less and less like a hungry beast and more like a confused and scared little rabbit. Or maybe the OPP did know who Coconis had handed off Sidduth Nair to and was holding that back from him. He eyed Coconis suspiciously.
“Remember the father? He was headed down to see you. To buy her back.”
Coconis said nothing.
“We’re not going to lay everything we know out for you, Temple,” Wilkins said.
“So far you haven’t given me anything. It’s a one-way street, just like I figured.”
Wilkins shrugged.
“Let me ask you one thing, Graham,” Temple went on. “If a guy was to buy his daughter back from the Villains, what would the going rate be?”
“Five thousand,” Graham said.
Temple thought about that. Nair had had four thousand on him. Pretty close to that five grand he needed. Maybe he was going to haggle. Temple doubted it.
Temple turned back to Wilkins. “I think there is something in the mayor’s past he is trying to hide. He’s killing anyone who might know what it is, even if they don’t realize it.”
Wilkins scoffed.
Temple continued. “Not him personally, but he has someone out there. I thought it might be your man here. Now I don’t know who it is. Has your investigation not revealed anything?”
“We can’t intervene. The targets of our investigation will shut things down if they find out about us. And what we’re going after is much bigger than just a dead whore or a couple of people in a trunk,” Wilkins said.
“So what do you want from me?” Temple said through gritted teeth. “I’m just a homicide cop.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing. If you find the one doing the killings, contact us. If you find out anything else, let us know that too.”
“So you can come in and get the pinch? What if I say no?”
“You can work for us voluntarily or I can go to the Solicitor General and get them to make you. Of course, that would leak to the TPS and you’d be finished. You do it my way you’re back on the job.”
“Guess I got no choice, huh?”
“Not really. Look, John, I think you’re just what we need to crack this thing wide open.”
“You mean I’m expendable.”
Wilkins finally cracked a smile. “Detectives Ferguson and Reynolds here will drive you back to your car. If you have anything we might find useful, you call the OPP main switchboard and ask to speak to Ferguson.”
“Okay boss.” Temple started to follow the cigarette cops back to their car but stopped half way and turned back to Wilkins. “Just one thing, I might be expendable sure. But those two girls, they definitely weren’t. I don’t care what big fish you want to fry, they’re going to get the justice they deserve. Temple got back in the car with Ferguson and his partner and they roared out of the ghost town.
36
Ferguson and Reynolds were quiet on the ride back. Within an hour they dropped Temple back at his car.
“We want updates. Call me if you find anything,” Ferguson said before Temple got out.
“That Wilkins, he’s a hard-ass, eh?”
“You bet he is. He’s a good man.”
“Sure he is,” Temple said, and he stepped out of the car. Ferguson lowered his window.
“You want a piece of advice, Temple?”
“Fire away.”
“You need to get on the right team. Because we ain’t going to lose. Sooner or later we’re going to get our man. And then you’ll either be with us or against us. I wouldn’t want to be against us.”
“Right,” Temple said. Always get their man, Temple said to himself as he climbed back into his Buick. Or woman. Temple had deliberately not mentioned Karen Kindness’s role in all this. He wasn’t sure of it himself, but he knew she was involved. If Wilkins couldn’t clear him from suspension, and he was pretty sure that he couldn’t, then that left Kindness. Even if Moonshine made a case to get Temple his gun and badge back, Karen would block it out of spite. He had to make her see his side of things.
Temple turned on a local radio station but there were no updates on the Zurawska killing. The hourly news reports had already bumped it from their lead-off story. A multiple vehicle pileup on the 401 had taken its place. The last news item was about the mayor’s annual St. Patrick’s Day charity event, which he held at his home. Apparently anyone was invited. Temple thought it high time for him to go and meet the man he’d voted for.
The mayor lived on Scarborough Golf Club road, just a short distance to the entrance to the golf course. Though he’d been down this road countless times, he never knew which house was the mayor’s. It was obvious now which one it was. Media trucks were parked out in front of a fairly large back-split. A gaggle of people, some sporting cheap green plastic bowlers, on the driveway waiting to get into the house confirmed he had the right place. There were several uniform cops there to keep order, and a private security firm was vetting everyone. He had to drive down past the golf course entrance until he found a spot and walk back up the hill. He showed his driver’s licence to the security guard, who wrote his name down. None of the cops paid him any mind; he didn’t know any of them. The event was open to the public.
“This necessary?” Temple said as another burly security guard gave him a pat-down.
“We don’t want any problems here,” the guard said.
Standing behind the security guards having a smoke was the mayor’s driver. He was a large man, with a close-trimmed beard and moustache. His eyes were covered over by wraparound mirror shades. Temple wondered if the spin team that had followed the driver to that motel on Kingston Road was out there on the street waiting to pick up the tail again. Temple knew now that the team must have been OPP. That was taboo—a surveillance team operating within the GTA and no customary call to the local cops to inform them. But of course, how could they call the local cops and tell them who they were following without blowing the whole operation? That was another card in Temple’s pocket that he could play.
Temple went in the house. There was the requisite Irish ditty coming from a set of speakers in the corner. The house was hot and filled with people all drinking, talking, and laughing. A couple of them turned as Temple entered the house, but he quickly slipped into the fold and headed to
wards a bartender standing behind a portable bar. He got a rum and Coke and surveyed the crowd.
“Hope you’re not drinking on the job, Detective,” Temple heard Karen Kindness say behind him. He turned around. God, she had a way of sidling up on him.
“Oh, right. You’re suspended,” she said. “How could I forget? I’m the one who made that happen. Still, you don’t want to get pulled over on a DUI, now, do you?”
“No, of course not, Karen. So nice to see you again,” Temple said, beaming at her.
She moved in closer so she could speak in hushed tones.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Like you said, I’m suspended. Just looking to fill the hours of the day.”
“I’m serious. What are you trying to pull?”
“Nothing. I wanted to talk to you, figured you’d be here sucking the mayor’s kneecaps. Maybe more.”
“Funny guy. We have nothing to talk about.”
“Yes, we do. I want back in. I want my badge and gun back.”
“Not up to me. Your case is with SIU. We’re going to follow their recommendation. And it isn’t going to go down good for you.”
“They’ve already made up their minds, huh? Doesn’t sound like due process to me.”
Karen shrugged. “Too bad, so sad.” She looked around and waved at someone across the room.
“Maybe I’ll tell them about us,” he said.
“There is no us,” she hissed without looking at him.
“Our little meeting in the bar at the Marriott. I think SIU or maybe the attorney general would be interested in that.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Kindness said. She still wasn’t looking at him.
“I’m just curious—do you really think you could get away with that bullshit? I mean, having me down there was perfect, right? Your man with the Villains moves in and takes out Mendoza while I’m out of the way. But why not kill both of us?” Temple said, and a thought flashed through his brain: Why was Mendoza more of a threat than he was? He, Temple, who was sticking his nose in everywhere and asking uncomfortable questions?
“What the fuck are you talking about?” she said, louder than she wanted to. She whipped her head around and glared at him hard. The partiers who were nearest to them stopped talking and stared. She gave them her warmest political smile.
“You set Mendoza up,” he said.
“That’s a dangerous allegation, Temple. You could find yourself in even bigger trouble than you’re already in.”
“So? At least I’ll help clean up the TPS by dragging you out with me.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“You just happened to be in the hotel. Able to meet me at a moment’s notice.”
“You’re a fool. You’re a crazy fool. I don’t care what the SIU recommendation is—I’m going to run you off the force.”
“Hey, there’s the mayor,” Temple said, as the portly, balding chief magistrate weaved his way through the throng to Kindness. He was smiling a politician’s smile, holding a plastic cup of a dark beer in his left hand and shaking hands and patting backs with the other.
“Maybe I’ll let him know what I think of his new deputy chief,” Temple said.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh yes, I would. Wanna call my bluff? Mr. Mayor!” Temple said as the man closed on them, and raised his hand in a friendly gesture. The mayor continued his progress toward them. He was only two people away and was clearly coming over to Kindness. She looked frightened now, and her eyes shifted fast between him and the mayor.
“Don’t worry, Karen. He won’t mind. He’s in on it, right? I know everything.”
Temple took a step toward the mayor, closing the distance. Karen put a hand on his arm.
“Shut up. I’m warning you,” she said.
The mayor came up to the pair of them.
“Mr. Mayor, I’d like to introduce Detective John Temple,” Kindness said. She was trying to control the narrative. Temple stood there with a huge grin on his face.
“Detective,” the mayor said, extending his pudgy hand. His fingers were like the breakfast sausages his company sold.
“Mr. Mayor, I not only voted for you, I also eat your pulled pork sandwich meats on a regular basis. All the guys in homicide do. Isn’t that right, Karen?” Temple said.
“Good, good to hear it. First time to my little party?” The man was out of breath and had large red splotches on his cheeks.
“It is. The deputy chief here invited me. She and I go way back—isn’t that right, Karen?”
“Detective Temple was just leaving but he wanted to say hi,” Kindness said.
“No, I can stick around for a bit,” Temple said. He rattled the ice in his empty plastic cocktail glass. “Going to take it slow, though,” he said.
“Good idea,” the mayor said. “I think drinking and driving is a scourge on this city we’ll never completely do away with. You’re with homicide?”
Out of the corner of his eye Temple saw Karen’s mouth open to answer that question, but Temple beat her to it. “Yeah. I’m currently working on that tragic discovery on the Danforth a couple of days ago, the father and daughter.”
“Oh my,” the mayor said. “Well, I don’t envy you your task. I’m sure you’re the best man for it. It was nice meeting you, Detective.” He turned to Kindness. “Karen.” He gave her a wink and moved away into the arms of another gaggle of half-sluiced guests.
Kindness gave him a funny look, like he didn’t have the balls.
“I want my badge and gun back, Karen. You do that and I’ll keep my mouth shut about our meeting.”
“Not in my control, Temple. And I don’t like being threatened.”
“That’s my offer. Let me know.” He put the cup down and left the house.
37
Temple got to his phone in his kitchen just before it went to voicemail.
“Yeah?”
“John.” It was Tim Wozniak. His voice sounded strained.
“Tim, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Sylvia.” Tim sighed. Temple had never heard that sound come out of him before.
“She’s dead,” he said. “She’s killed herself.”
“My god,” Temple said. The strength went out of his legs and he grabbed a chair.
“Just thought you would want to know.”
“Where are you?”
“At our house. I just found her. I called it in.” Wozniak cleared his throat and the veteran homicide detective took over. “They’re enroute.”
“How did she...?” Temple asked. He couldn’t finish the question.
“Pills, it looks like. She had a cabinet full of them.” Temple knew this was true; he had gone through their medicine cabinet one time when he was at the house. There were anti-depressants, sleeping pills, painkillers. All with “Sylvia Wozniak” printed on the bottles. He was mad to have gotten involved with somebody with so many problems, never mind the fact that it was his friend and colleague’s wife.
“Tim, I’m sorry,” Temple said. The words hung there on the telephone line. “You want me to come over?”
“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” The line went dead. Temple hung up the phone and stared at it for a while. The sun was going down and he stood there deep in thought as his kitchen darkened. He pulled a beer from the fridge and had a drink for his two friends whom he had helped destroy.
Temple woke in his bed still wearing his slacks. He had no shirt on. He rummaged around in his messy bed, put his hand under the pillow next to the one he’d slept on, and felt the cool sheets. He sat up and a freight train cannonball express roared into his brain, pounding out the arteries just above both ears. He fell back down and stared at the ceiling for a while until he heard snoring coming from somewhere else in the house. He rolled out of bed quickly and, despite the spinning room, went into his living room. Detective Bill Rush was passed out on his couch.
“Hey,” Te
mple said. “Bill, wake up.”
“Huh?” Rush opened his eyes and rubbed his face. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Almost eleven.” Temple surveyed the scene. Every can and bottle of beer he had in the house was empty or mostly empty and on his coffee table. At the centre of the congregation was an empty forty of Jack Daniels.
Temple said, “When did you get here?”
“About one. You called me, told me about Tim’s wife,” Rush said. “You don’t remember?”
“Vaguely.”
Rush sat up slowly. Temple went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of ice water. He handed one to Rush.
“You going to go to the funeral?” Rush said.
“No,” Temple said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Rush stared at his friend for a while then looked at the television set. Temple could see his face in it, distorted and angled.
“Did Tim know?” Rush asked.
Temple said nothing.
“How’d you hear about it?” Rush asked.
“He called me last night.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know.”
“He does. I think it was his way of…including me in it. I don’t know. It’s all fucked up.”
“I’ll say.”
“You drive over?”
“You really were wasted. Yes, I drove.”
“I’d offer you some breakfast but I gotta get going,” Temple said.
“John, you’re suspended. You know what will happen to you they find out you’re still working that case.”
“It’s important.”
“They’re all important and none of them are important.”
“That’s deep.”
“About as deep as I go the morning after.” Rush got up and straightened his clothes and grabbed his sport coat and holster off the back of a dining room chair.
“It’s been swell, kid. I hope you know what you’re doing. You use my password yet?”
“No,” Temple said. “But I will need to later. I have some checking to do.”
“On what?”
“Some old cases. The Villains girls, last year. Maybe earlier.”