FRIDAY, JUNE 28

chapter 12

Marvin died sometime in the early morning. Walter woke up a little after nine. The nurse had come in to change Marvin’s pain patch. Instead, she found a corpse. There was a flurry of people in and out. Walter saw that Marvin’s new patch had been left on the table between their beds. He looked at it for quite some time. They brought a gurney in, loaded up Marvin’s body and eased him out the door. Walter leaned over, gripped the package with his thumb and forefinger and stuffed it between the buttons of his pajama top.

Lane and Nigel sat behind the forty-two-inch screen on Lane’s desk and made sure all the bits of the investigation were on the map. “What about this?” Nigel asked. He pointed at the green box with the name of the solicitor general.

Lane leaned back in his chair and thought about the fact that the premier knew who he was and what it might mean. We’re trying to catch Mara before he kills again. If Rogerson can get us closer to that, then we need to see the solicitor general. “I’ll call Rogerson.”

Lori looked up the number and called the solicitor general’s office. It took twenty minutes of being on hold and speaking with a trio of assistants before she transferred the call to Lane. “Detective Lane with the Calgary Police Service. I need to meet with Mr. Rogerson.”

“Might I enquire about the nature of your business?”

Business? Lane thought. “It regards a murder investigation.”

“The solicitor general would like to help in any way possible, of course.”

“But?”

“You must understand he is very busy.”

Up goes the stonewall. Let’s see how this does against the wall. “There have been allegations of organized crime involvement.”

“As part of the murder investigation?”

“That is correct.”

“Could I have your contact information? I will get back to you within fifteen minutes.”

Lane gave the information, hung up his phone and looked at the time. He set the stopwatch on his phone, then looked at Nigel and asked, “Can you find out where Rogerson is today? He’s a Calgary MLA.”

Nigel nodded, got up and rolled his chair over to his computer.

Lori said, “I’ll see what I can find out.”

Lane’s cell phone rang four minutes later. “Lane here.”

“It’s Cam. Did you try to set up a meet with the solicitor general?”

“Yes. I made the call four minutes ago.”

“You alleged he was involved with organized crime?”

“I was being stonewalled and mentioned allegations of organized crime. In no way did I suggest that Rogerson was or is connected with organized crime, although that is the allegation from a reliable source.” Lane looked at Nigel, who looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.

“What made you decide to go after Rogerson?”

“Went out for dinner last night. The premier was there. She recognized me.”

“You’ve met her before?” Harper asked.

“No.”

It took Harper about fifteen seconds to process the new information. “Keep me in the loop and keep digging.”

“Will do.”

Harper hung up.

Nigel said, “That was quick.”

“Very. Apparently we are going to be under some very well-connected scrutiny for the remainder of this case.” Lane looked at the map on his screen and typed the date and time of the conversations with Rogerson’s representative and Harper.

“Either they’re afraid of the whiff of a scandal, or there is a scandal and they’re afraid we’re going to sniff it out.” Nigel looked at his screen and frowned.

Lori poked her head in the door. “Rogerson will be at Mewata Armoury in twenty minutes.”

Lane stood up and looked at the stopwatch on his phone. They were up to twelve minutes. He looked at it again when it read twenty-seven minutes. Rogerson’s handler still hadn’t returned the call when Nigel parked the Chevy across the street from Mewata. The armoury was red brick and sandstone with a couple of turrets out front of the sloped red roof. A Sherman tank was parked to the left-hand side of the main door, which looked like a castle gate. “This has to be the oddest, most medieval-looking building in the city,” Nigel said as he removed the keys and got out of the car.

Lane got out the other side and closed the door. “Built in 1917 and it looks older.” He looked around at the condominiums, LRT bridge, shops, office buildings and vehicle dealerships all within one hundred metres. It’s an anachronism. They walked to the crosswalk, then looked to see whether any traffic was approaching and crossed the street.

“Sometimes you’re so prim and proper.” Nigel walked beside him.

“You mean because I use the crosswalk?”

“That and other things.” Nigel looked at Lane’s shoes and then his tie.

Lane shrugged as they walked up to the front door of the armoury and inside to an open area with white walls and white stripes painted on the floor. In the corner he spotted a camera light, a TV crew and a knot of reservists. They wore green fatigues and flanked the solicitor general. His voice carried in the echo-chamber emptiness of the cavernous area, which often served as a parade ground. “In my role as solicitor general and minster of public security, it is an honour to be here today to recognize these Albertans and their service to our community.”

He has a very convincing voice. And he is really good at playing to the audience.

“Our reservists volunteer their time and effort to serve our country, some of them overseas.” Rogerson took a step forward while facing the cameras. “They are the pride of this province. Today we honour five outstanding members.”

Nigel followed Lane as they walked in behind the cameras and into Rogerson’s line of sight. The solicitor general’s hair was cut high and tight. His face was round and his neck was a straight line from ears to shoulders. He wore a tailored white shirt and grey suit set off by a red tie and a Canadian flag pinned to his lapel. He glanced at the detectives, then away as he introduced the reservists and presented them with stars. “All five served overseas,” Rogerson began, then spoke for twenty more minutes about each reservist’s contributions. He shook the hand of each man, and then the camera lights turned off. “Thank you and goodbye,” he said, and his smile died.

Lane waited with his hands at his sides. As the solicitor general began to move, Lane executed an angle to intercept. When he was within two metres, he said, “We need a moment, Mr. Rogerson.”

Rogerson lifted his chin and smiled. “Follow me.”

Lane walked alongside the politician. Nigel took the other side, and they walked out the front door to stop next to the Sherman tank. Someone had painted a white peace symbol on its grey turret.

Lane held up his identification. Rogerson crossed his arms and looked at the detective. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you know Brett Mara?” Lane asked.

“I went to high school with a Brett Mara.” Rogerson turned on the smile.

The smile means nothing. Get right to the point. “Did Mara or one of his associates ask you to initiate a private member’s bill to allow private companies like MCSC to operate seniors residences in the province?”

“I brought in the bill because seniors in the province need safe and secure places to live out their twilight years.” Rogerson put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels.

Nigel asked, “How much did MCSC contribute to your party?”

Rogerson said, “You tell me. I think you already know the answer to that question.”

Lane tapped the side of the tank. Get him looking this way so he feels like the questions are coming from all sides. “Do you know the current whereabouts of Brett Mara?”

Rogerson shook his head. “No.”

Lane said, “We’ll be in touch.”

“In the meantime I want you to do something about this.” Rogerson pointed at the peace symbol on the tank.

“We’ll get right on it,” Nigel said.

Lane turned and walked to the crosswalk.

Nigel stood next to him as a city bus rumbled by. “He was playing with us, wasn’t he?”

Lane nodded. “That he was, the arrogant bastard.” They crossed the street. When they reached the other side Lane said, “It’s beginning to feel like we’re pawns in somebody’s game. I need to have a private conversation with Cam.”

They met at the Lucky Elephant Restaurant in Chinatown. Lane wore his grey jacket and blue pants. Harper wore a blue golf shirt and black pants.

The waiter wore a black short-sleeved shirt and pants. A gold elephant hung on a chain around his neck. There were dragon tattoos on both of his arms. “Can I take your order?”

“Number forty, please?” Lane closed his menu and handed it to the waiter.

“Thirty-five.” Harper handed his menu over and reached for his beer.

“Uncle Tran here today?” Lane asked.

The waiter smiled and shook his head. “He took the week off to go trail riding in the foothills.” He turned and walked through the swinging saloon doors and into the kitchen.

Lane looked around. A couple sat at the other end of the restaurant. The supper rush had come and gone.

Harper put his beer down and looked at his watch. “What’s up?”

“It looks like there’s a leak. I ran into the premier at a restaurant the other day and she recognized me. We interviewed the solicitor general today and he was ready for us.” Lane took a sip of tea, then refilled his cup.

Harper nodded and looked at the ceiling. “There is something going on. But I haven’t got a handle on it yet. I mentioned our conversation to Simpson and no one else.”

“What about Rogerson?” Lane glanced at the jade elephant near the cash register and smiled as he recalled its secret.

Harper shook his head. “No idea. Unless of course he is in contact with Brett Mara and the other so-called investors who want to bring Mi Casa Su Casa into the province.”

“Nigel’s done some research and discovered that private companies like MCSC have been major contributors to the ruling party.”

“Doesn’t surprise me, and it’s probably all legal.”

Lane raised his eyebrows.

“I know, it stinks.” Harper leaned back as his bowl of noodles topped with chicken and egg rolls arrived. “But it’s legal.”

Lane’s satay beef noodle soup arrived and he inhaled the sharp sweet scents of satay, green onions, coconut milk and chili peppers. He grabbed his chopsticks and picked up a slice of beef and some noodles.

Harper picked at his food. “Lately, all the actions I should be taking seem to take a back seat to politics.”

Lane leaned on his elbows. “How are the kids?”

“Growing like crazy. When I get home, I’m just Dad.” Harper smiled. “How is your brood? I’ve been wondering what Indiana will call you.” He picked up a slice of chicken with his chopsticks and popped it in his mouth.

“He’ll come up with something.” Lane picked up the spoon and scooped up some broth.

“Maybe he’ll call you Lane as well.”

Lane shrugged as he savoured the spices in the broth. “He gives great hugs and he doesn’t throw up as much as he used to.”

“More fun is yet to come.” Harper pointed his chopsticks at his old partner. “I’ll find out what I can from my end. The leak has me worried. I’d really like to plug that first.”

Lane nodded. “Lori knows all of the secretaries. I’ll check with her and see what she can find out. They usually know more about what’s going on than anyone else.”

Walter pressed the button on the slot machine. He sat next to his daughter, who turned to smile at him. Her black hair was greying. Her brown eyes were bright. She nudged him with her elbow.

He turned back to his machine just in time to see the last bar fall into line. His arms shot up in the air and he almost fell off his stool. Linda’s hand was on his shoulder and it steadied him. “Cash out, Dad.”

Walter pressed another button and a piece of paper rolled out of an opening. “Five thousand. We won five thousand dollars!”

He opened his eyes and looked around the room. The empty bed beside him. The flat-screen TV in front. The pictures of Linda and his wife on the table next to the bed. He looked down at his hand and the permanent purple-bruised colour of its flesh. There was no slip of paper between his fingers. What was worse was remembering that Linda was gone — dead for more than a year.