The next day was Friday, always a busy day at police headquarters. Everyone tried to get caught up before the weekend. Deputy Police Chief Murray stood up behind his desk and stretched. He had come to work early to work on the massive backlog. Murray, a creature of habit, disliked the fact the police killings disrupted his schedule like nothing before had. This, on top of the loss of fellow officers, increased his stress level. Exercise was his outlet. He used it to cope when Murray was promoted to Deputy Chief. The administrative work took a mental toll, much different from the stresses of patrol. He grabbed his jacket from the tree behind his desk and slipped it on. His secretary was busy sending off the reports Murray worked on earlier.
“Jenny, I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
Jenny placed her hand on the pile of reports on the left side of her desk. “I’ll have these ready for you to review when you get back.”
“Just send them out. I know they’ll be correct.”
“Very well. Have a good game.”
“Thanks, Jenny.”
The confidence Murray showed in others was one of the things which made him almost universally popular in the department. Everyone waved or said hello to him as he walked down the hallway to the elevator. He rode alone to the parking garage below.
Murray climbed into his car and took a deep breath to help relax. Murray winced as the car left the dark parkade and entered the bright midday sunshine. The Deputy Chief waited for several cars to pass then turned right on 101st Street. Within five minutes he arrived at the Pickett Squash Club. He pulled in behind the building and parked in his usual spot. Reaching into the back seat he grabbed his squash bag. His large, lanky frame unfolded as he got out of the car and walked towards the red brick building. There was a jump in his step as he anticipated an invigorating game against Ian McDonough. If he could beat Ian he would move up to the top tier for his age bracket in the squash club rankings. He swiped his security card and a buzzing sound invited him to open the heavy door. Murray checked his watch as he walked down the corridor to the change room. He had just enough time to warm up before the match. Murray entered the change room and opened his locker, methodically changing into his squash gear. His military background trained him to neatly fold and stack his clothes, finishing the transition to athlete by setting his highly polished shoes in the bottom of his locker. When he checked in the mirror he saw everything was in order, grabbed a bottle of Megapower, slipped it into his squash bag and headed for the court. Murray was content and confident, usually a sign of a good game to come.
Murray pushed open the glass door leading to the courts. He noticed McDonough’s bag and spare racquet beside the door into their court. Through the Plexiglas rear walls of the court he saw Ian working on his backhand. It was McDonough’s weakness, and looked like it still needed some work on the follow-through.
The court across the aisle from theirs was occupied, two sport bags rested near the door. Murray rapped on the door to let Ian know that he was entering. After a few minutes to loosen up they began to play in earnest. The first game was close. Through power shots to McDonough’s backhand Murray won by two points. Both players toweled off the sweat from their faces and swigged their sports drinks.
McDonough had the first service in the next game and won easily. Murray was only able to score five points. He felt weak and nauseated. He knew Ian was taller, thinner, and had a better chance of winning a long game. They both wiped down again and drank again.
Murray came out aggressively on the first point of the next game. After a short rally of hard shots McDonough drove the ball off the centre of the wall and straight at Murray’s racquet. Murray’s eyes watered and his swing missed the ball by a foot.
Murray staggered around the centre of the court.
“Are you okay, Bob?”
“Just need a sec, Ian.”
McDonough was just able to grab one of Murray’s arms as the heavier man fell to the floor. Murray choked and curled up into the fetal position, his whole body quivering, his eyes fixed on the Megapower bottle behind the Plexiglas.
McDonough ran out to the lobby and called 911. Two doctors eating in the restaurant heard what happened and ran to help the Deputy Chief. McDonough and the doctors returned to the court where the physicians could not find a pulse and immediately started performing CPR. A crowd gathered around.
Across the aisle Ken and Eric picked up their sports bags and walked out of the building. As they walked down the 104th Avenue an ambulance raced past them. They didn’t have to see where it was going, or wonder if the patient would survive. They had tripled the amount of poison to make sure the powerfully built man didn’t survive.
* * *
Collins picked up the plastic bag containing the copy of the video the killer took of Kirkpatrick as she died. “Let’s see how careful these guys are. Albert, can we take these to the lab and see if they can find anything that might help?”
“Consider it done.” Thorpe scooped up the photos and a DVD with digital copies of the videos. “The Chief indicated this case is a priority. Besides, I have a close friend who works in the lab.”
Thorpe and Collins went to the building across the street from police headquarters and entered the police lab. Thorpe’s friend, Brenda White, was in fact in charge of the lab. She greeted the detectives and took the DVD to a workstation and slipped it into a DVD player.
White shook her head.
“Anything there that might help us identify this guy?” asked Collins.
“Not yet, but I’d like to take a closer look.” Dr. White transferred the video onto a large screen on the wall. She froze the video and used a digital arrow on a remote control to guide the detectives. “If you notice, on this picture there is a car parked behind the victim. I think I can blow up and enhance the reflection in the side window of the car.”
White typed on a keyboard and enlarged the still image of the car’s side window photo onto the big screen. The picture was grainy and distorted. “Now I can filter and enhance the image.”
White pressed more keys and the picture became a bit clearer and the image of the bike rider became clearer.
Collins moved in closer to the monitor and put on his glasses. The image showed a tall man straddling a bike and apparently talking on a phone. “Still can’t make out the face.”
“Nor will you. With the helmet and sunglasses it isn’t possible to see his face. But if my guess is right, at least one of your killers lived in Edmonton. I’ll be right back. I just have to check something.” White went into an adjoining office and picked up a telephone and started talking to someone. At the same time she keyed the computer in the office. Minutes later she returned with a smile on her face.
“Well, we can be sure of one thing, one of the killers likely lived in Edmonton. Have a look at the bike he’s riding. I just called my nephew who works at a bike shop. I sent him a copy of the picture and he immediately recognized the bike as a Hakimoto racing bike. The distinctive frame design gives it away. That bike is worth nearly five grand, but the model is about four years old. Even if the killer had tons of money it’s unlikely he would spend thousands of dollars on a bike to use once or twice. One, or both, of your killers likely lived in Edmonton a few years ago and already owned that expensive bike. My nephew said that model hasn’t been available for at least two years.”
Thorpe nodded and turned to Collins. “This helps confirm we’ve the right suspects in mind, lots of money and local ties. And the time frame works. They’ve been away for a few years.
Collins and Thorpe thanked Dr. White and crossed the street on their way back to police headquarters. The streets were jammed with cars and the sidewalks full of shoppers and business people.
The news of the death of Robert Murray reached Police Headquarters as Collins and Thorpe were in the lab. While the Chief of Police was informed first, unofficial sources from the hospital and the squash club contacted other people in the police department. The preliminary cause of death was a heart attack.
The detective’s department was abuzz with conversation and rumours about the death as Thorpe and Collins entered. Thorpe’s phone rang incessantly. As he fielded calls he sorted through a flood of emails with titles like, “heard about Robert?” or “is it true?” Thorpe was discussing Murray’s death with a detective from Vancouver when a new email message popped up on his screen. A sinking feeling came over Thorpe as he read the title.
“Kevin, I have to let you go. Something has come up.” Thorpe hung up the phone and waved over Collins who was in a scrum with several other detectives.
As Collins moved closer he saw Thorpe could not take his eyes off of the computer screen. With Thorpe leaning over his shoulder Thorpe opened the email titled “video of death on a court.”
Thorpe opened the email letter and the detectives read the brief note: “Happy Hunting.”
“Son of a bitch,” hissed Collins.
Thorpe opened the attachment. The video showed Deputy Chief Murray playing squash. Thorpe paused the video and grabbed Collins’ arm. He pulled Thorpe through the door leading to Captain McCoy’s office. They hadn’t knocked and McCoy was on the telephone. He scowled at the interruption. When he saw the shocked look on Thorpe’s face, he ended the conversation.
“What’s up, Albert?”
“Sir, I just received a video of Robert Murray playing squash. It’s titled “video of death on a court.”“
Captain McCoy got out of his chair and pointed to the conference room on the other side of the detective’s department. “Set it to play on the screen in there.”
Thorpe and Collins ran across to the conference room and Thorpe sat down and logged into his email from that terminal and prepared it to send it to the large screen.
McCoy grabbed his phone and called the office of the Chief of Police. “Donna, I need to speak to the Chief, immediately.”
“He’s extremely busy, Captain. Is it something that can’t wait?”
“It is vital, Donna.”
“Okay, just a moment.”
The silence only lasted moments.
“Chief Talbot. What is it, Captain?”
“Chief, Detective Thorpe just received a video of Bob playing squash.”
A moment’s silence. “I’ll be right there.”
* * *
Unbeknownst to the two detectives and the dozens of other policemen in the area, the two men they so desperately wanted to catch were walking out of an internet café on Jasper Avenue less than two blocks from the police station. The brothers had just transmitting the video of the agonizing death of the beloved Deputy Chief from their digital camera to a computer, and then to Detective Thorpe’s email account. They dropped their squash gear in a charity collection bin and walked several blocks down Jasper Avenue. They peeled off the false fingerprints and dumped them in a garbage can.
“Feel like sushi for lunch, Eric?”
“Whatever.”
“Eric, this is everything. We’re going to have the cops scurrying around like mice. Wait. Just wait. You’ll see.”
The brothers turned down 101st Street and entered a second floor Japanese restaurant across the street from police headquarters. Ken slipped the waiter at the door twenty dollars and pointed to the only table available overlooking the street. “That table.”
“Of course, sir.” The waiter pocketed the twenty and pulled out the chairs at the table. Ken sat down and smiled at the view of the large building. Eric looked around the room, pleased there didn’t seem to be anyone from the police department in the restaurant.
The waiter presented menus. “A drink to start?”
“Sake.” Ken responded.
“Right away.” The waiter rushed off.
The restaurant, usually teaming with police personnel had only five tables of customers. The brothers watched the large concrete building across the street. It was a bit early for the media to show up, so no television vehicles crammed the parking lot.
“Shall we move things along?” asked Eric, pulling himself out of a pout.
“That’s the spirit, Eric. Pull out your fancy toys and prepare for the show.”
Eric flipped open a cell and pressed a button that instantly sent a text message to all the major media outlets in Canada, as well as a few in the United States and Europe. The email message gave precise details of the killing and a link to a website with the video of the killing. “Okay, it’s done.”
Ken smirked. “That should give us some entertainment while we eat.”
“Or get us arrested,” added Eric.
The waiter brought the sake. He saw that the menus were unmoved and prepared to leave.
“Four Mirugi sashimi and four Hotate sushi to start, and more sake.” Eric ordered in Japanese and returned the menus.
The waiter thanked him in Japanese and left. Eric reached in his pocket and pulled out a very small video camera.
“You sure that thing works. You haven’t tested it.”
“You know I just got it. Besides, I haven’t had time to try it.”
He set the delicate camera on the table, pointed it at headquarters, and pressed record. The brothers enjoyed a leisurely lunch as over a dozen media vehicles descend on the police building.
After having their fill of sushi and sake the brothers returned to their apartment.
On their walk home Eric and Ken made one more stop at a different Internet café and downloaded the video of the media flooding the police headquarter.
Eric shook his head. “Is this necessary?”
“Of course it is. We want the cops to know we’re mocking them. That’s the whole point. They’ll sit at their desks and shake their heads. They don’t have any way of tracking us down. The videos will taunt them and they’ll lose focus on their other cases, especially Gervais. You know they look after their own first.”
Ken sent the video to Thorpe’s email address.
* * *
The phone system in the police department was modern and efficient. Despite this it collapsed under the weight of the calls from across Canada and around the world. The technicians managed to get the 911 lines operating. The impatient reporters started calling on those lines looking for interviews. Emergency calls were unable to get through for thirty minutes.
The Chief of Police was in a continuous series of interviews. The only way to deal with the deluge of inquiries was to turn it to their advantage as best they could. They used the media to put out requests for information on Eric and Ken Clelland. The department managed to find class photos of the boys from their English university.
Thorpe and Collins had as much help as they needed. The problem was they didn’t know where to start looking for the twins. The two detectives watched the video over again.
“Jim, perhaps there are in Edmonton who might have some idea where they are.”
“Possible, lets check that out.”
Thorpe sat at a computer searching for families related to Ken and Eric Clelland. “I show four uncles in the city. Two uncles were Clellands and two were the mother’s brother. Their last name was Lowe.”
They each took two names and called. None of the relatives had heard a thing from their nephews for years. They had more questions about them than information.
“We need a new angle and I think we should look into the video they just sent showing the media converge on headquarters,” said Collins.
“I agree, Jim. They’re getting to be a real pain in the ass.”
Collins and Thorpe studied the video and determined the location where the video was shot. They climbed the stairs of the Japanese restaurant and walked in. After showing the young man who met them at the door their badges they asked if they could look around.
The nervous waiter waved them in. “Of course, of course.”
The detectives walked over to the window and held up a still photo taken from the video. The video was taken from one of the two tables on the east side of the restaurant. Thorpe called over the two waiters.
“Someone took a video of the police headquarters from here just after noon. Were either of you working then?”
“I wasn’t working. I just got here,” responded the older waiter.
“How about you?” Thorpe turned to the younger man. “See anybody take a video?”
The waiter put his hand to his chin and thought.
“Ah, the Tokomi VC400.”
“Say again,” asked Thorpe.
“Two men, looked like police, very tall, very fit. They sat here with the camera at the far end of the table.”
“You’re sure it was a Tokomi VC400?”
“Yes, very nice camera. Not available here yet. I saw it in Tokyo last month. Very, very expensive.”
“Good. Tell us more about the men.” Thorpe took notes.
“Both had blond hair.” The waiter paused. “Maybe brothers. They looked alike.”
The two detectives walked out of the restaurant and prepared to walk across the street. Collins grabbed Thorpe’s arm. “Albert, this camera may be just the lead we’re looking for. If it’s as new as the waiter says, and only available from Japan, it had to be shipped somewhere.”
“Let’s get on it.”
* * *
Ken’s eyes darted between the news site on the computer screen and the television news. “Nonsense, Eric. We’re staying put. We promised ourselves we’d make Gervais and the police pay for destroying our family and we’re not leaving until we do. Christ, we trained for months for this. We can’t stop now.”
Eric rolled and started smoking another joint.
“So what’s the next move, oh great commander?”
Ken coughed. “First, can you stop smoking that crap?”
“Crap! Crap! This is the best. You can’t even get it in Canada.”
“Well, at least take it outside. I’m trying to tweak our plan and need a clear head. Besides, that stuff will make you a vegetable.”
Eric was already halfway outside, anticipating Ken’s demand. He continued to smoke, imagining life on a warm, peaceful beach.
Ken shook his head and turned off the news. As he scanned the notes they made on Gervais his gaze moved to his brother who was crushing out the thick marijuana roach on the railing and threw it into the garden below the condo.
Ken walked across the room, opened the French doors, and strolled up to his brother. He looked at Eric’s dilated pupils and smiled. “Eric, your filthy habit of pumping chemicals into your body is an inspiration.”
Eric turned to look at the river valley before them. “Glad I could help. Now what does that backhanded compliment mean?”
Ken knew that Eric was not as passionate about the violence, or the idea of revenge in general. Ken’s to the modified plan that would quickly bring things to a head. “I think we should do worse than kill Gervais. I think we should put him and his family in the poor-house, and then turn him into a bed-ridden invalid who has the rest of his life to think about what he did to our family.”
“Hell yea, we could send him an annual card to rub it in.”
“Okay Eric, let’s eat and formulate a plan.”
“Suddenly eating sounds like an excellent plan. Let’s do it.”
After a sandwich Ken browsed the medical and pharmaceutical websites looking for the product that would put Gervais in a bed for the rest of his life, but keep him aware. Aware and able to think about what led to his miserable lot in life. Ken found a surprising selection of chemicals that might do the job. He smiled at the irony of employing a drug used by medical professionals to heal in order to cause a lifetime of misery for Gervais. He settled talsitropomium bromide for the task. A search for local sources of the product showed retail pharmacies didn’t carry it. Later he came upon a link that dealt with stocks of medicine in major hospitals. The site required a password. Hacking in only took ten minutes and Ken quickly discovered the hospital he could see out the apartment window had ample stock.
“Well, well. How convenient. You’ve got to love the internet.”
“Eric, can you handle breaking into a medical cabinet?”
“You insult me, evil brother.”
Eric jumped up and walked over to a closet where he pulled out and held up a roll of canvas filled with a complete set of lock picking tools. “These will get us into any door in any building in the country.”
Eric reached onto the top shelf of the closet and pulled out a pry bar. “If the lock pick tools fail, this gets me into any chicken-shit cabinet in the country. Next question.”
Ken laughed and walked over to the window. He pointed at the large building below. “Eric, the possibly chicken-shit cabinet is in that hospital. We need at least two hundred cc’s of talsitropomium bromide.”
“No problem, if you can get me in there. What is that shit?”
“It’s a drug used for calming hyperactive patients. However, too large a dose…say one hundred cc’s causes paralysis.”
“I think we should use the diversionary plan we created last year. Here’s how we’ll use it in this situation.” Ken picked up a notepad and wrote down a list of items. “We build a remote detonated smoke bomb like we practiced in the Caribbean. You enter the building at about two in the afternoon and hide it in a room at the opposite end of the floor from the pharmacy. Then you hide near the pharmacy and ignite it with your cellphone. When the floor clears you walk into the pharmacy and help yourself.”
“Sounds like a plan. Any ideas on how I get in and out of the hospital?”
“Escape should be easy. I’ll set three fires in various parts of the hospital. The firebombs will be in place by the time you’re finished in the pharmacy. When you want to leave you dial three numbers and the firebombs will go off. All hell will break loose. You won’t have any problem escaping. You’ll be in hospital clothes. Hell, the police will help you get clear of the building. We just wind our way through the crowd and meet at our favourite pizza place on Jasper Avenue. It’s not a good idea to come straight here afterwards.”
The brothers sorted out the rest of the plan and headed out to put together disguises. The first stop was a popular coffee spot across the street from the hospital. The brothers mingled in the crowded café with double espressos in one hand and their cellphones in the other. As they passed hospital staff wearing identification badges they discreetly took pictures of them. On their way home they stopped at a uniform supply store and purchased several uniforms exactly like the ones worn at the hospital. The next stop was at a shoe store to pick up two pairs of white shoes. The clerk had to search in the back of the store for two pairs of size thirteens.
The clerk sat on his stool lacing the shoes on Eric’s feet and noticed the uniforms in the bag. “Are you a doctor?”
“Heavens no. We’re simply putting on a show this afternoon. Perhaps you’ll hear about it.”
Eric smiled at the puzzled look on the clerk’s face. Ken gave Eric an annoyed look and tried on a pair of shoes. They paid for the shoes with twenty-dollar bills.
Once home Eric dabbed small ink lines above the pockets of the uniforms and let them dry. He then ran the uniforms through the heavy wash cycle on the washing machine several times. After each wash cycle he put the uniforms in the dryer on the highest heat setting. In three hours the uniforms looked like they had been worn many times, including just visible ink stains over the pockets.
While Eric prepared the uniforms, Ken sat at the computer transferring the photos from the phones. He sorted through the photos of the hospital ID badges and selected one that was straight and clear. He transferred the image to a photo-editing program where he enhanced the colours so the background blue and the white lettering were crisp. Next he cropped the photos on the badges and inserted stock photos he had of Eric and himself in disguise. Briefly he set the photo editing program aside and hacked into the hospital website where he created identities and identification numbers for both of them. Ken returned to the photo-editing program and inserted the new identification numbers and names onto the badges.
Eric had gone out while Ken printed and laminated the fake identifications. Just as Ken finished laminating the second ID, Eric came in the door with two large bags. He pulled out four prepaid phones and stacked them on the table. He walked over to a locked cabinet and opened it. He removed the components for the bombs and set them down beside the cellphones.
Eric went onto the balcony and smoked another joint. Again he threw the extinguished butt into the garden below. “Ken, I think we need some bomb making music.”
The apartment was fully furnished. Everything was purchased under the name Lowe. Ken picked up the stereo remote control and selected a classical CD. “Explosives construction calls for calm music.”
The brothers built and packaged the smoke bomb and three small incendiary devices. Ken printed out simulated copies of labels of medical products that used the same size boxes as the bombs.
The brothers slept late the next morning. Ken was up one hour before his brother. His first task was double-checking the cellphones to ensure they were fully charged. The smoke bomb and the incendiary explosives were all on speed dial on Eric’s phone and the phone numbers to set off the bombs were listed on the phone. He packaged the bombs carefully, smiling at the irony that such destructive devices were packaged in boxes marked gauze and tongue depressors. He placed the devices in plain paper bags along with the identifications and uniforms.