The Dead List (12 page)

This was different from being a soldier. He was still hunting a man, but instead of using a gun and his brawn, he was piecing together information. Both relationships seemed a little off to him too. Elizabeth, the woman at the car lot, was concerned when Parker didn’t speak to her, and those certainly seemed like crocodile tears. This woman – he wasn’t sure. She didn’t move when Rochfort was touching her neck. That was a familiar touch. But like Ryberg had told him, everyone is guilty of something. It’s just figuring out what they’re guilty of.

A truck with a Trailco emblem on the side pulled up to the building, and two young men jumped out, one of them laughing and carrying a clipboard.

Drake nodded toward the men as they walked through the door that the officers had just left. “Good timing. Should we follow them when they leave and have a chat?”

“No, we’ll come back for that. For now we keep our other appointment with the only other man who might be able to help us.”

The hairdresser’s business was on the main strip, tucked between a bakery and a secondhand bookstore. The surprisingly modern interior had the latest music booming from an impressive sounding stereo system, and bright-colored fabrics draped down the walls. Oscillating fans blew air from each corner, and as the fans turned, the fabrics swelled away from the wall and billowed like the sails of a ship. A woman and a man sat on chairs at the entrance and briefly looked up when the officers entered before going back to their magazines. There were four workstations with sinks placed in the main area of the salon, each of them pointing away from the others, affording the patron some privacy.

The officers were scanning the room when they heard his voice. “Officers, do you like our décor? It’s new.”

Drake looked around, impressed. “I thought it would be cold with the fans blowing, but it’s warm in here.”

“Aha, that’s my secret. They’re heat fans; they push the heat around and move the fabrics. The moving colors help inspire the stylists, and the customers. We create some very fresh ideas around here, don’t we, Mavis?”

An elderly woman had her head lowered backward over a sink at one of the work stations. She raised one thumb in the air, agreeing.

The man held his hand out toward the two policemen. “Officers, I’m Trevor Middleton. Come on in to the back, and I’ll give you the estimate on cutting all of your policemen’s lovely hairs. We’ll make them all look wonderful.”

The man at the front lowered his magazine and looked at the woman beside him. They laughed and then went back to their magazines.

According to his file, Trevor Middleton was forty-seven years old. Mr. Middleton was doing everything he could to dispel this fact. His hair was dyed a dark brown color and he had a blond streak running over the top of his head. He was wearing a standard-issue Hope, British Columbia plaid logger’s shirt, but his faded blue jeans had stylishly woven patches braided over the knees. It wasn’t until they were sitting in a small lounge at the back of the salon that he began to show some emotion, and lowered his voice.

“I’m sorry. I know why you’re here, but the customers don’t need to know.”

His brashness dissipated and his face softened as he slouched in the chair.

“You know I haven’t seen Mike in a long time, but now that I know I’ll never see him again I miss him. Does that make sense?”

Ryberg answered. “Yes, that’s how it works. We always think we have time to make amends, but we never know when that opportunity will be taken from us.”

Trevor relaxed as he responded. “Oh, I don’t have any amends to make. My conscience is clear. I would just like to have seen him again; he was a good friend at one time.”

Ryberg began his questions. “Mr. Middleton, we’re trying to fill in details of Mike Robinson’s life. I know the two of you were friends, and then something happened at the bar, and you didn’t see each other again. Can you tell us what happened?”

Surprisingly, there was no hesitation. “I came out. They knew already, or I thought they did. And I didn’t think it would matter. But apparently it did, and they told me to find someone else to drink with.”

“All of them?” Drake jumped in.

“No, but yes, I suppose it was all of them. Mikey tried, but old Wilson and Parker and even Buttons, that’s…”

Drake cut in. “Yes, we know, Rochfort.”

Trevor nodded. “Yes, Rochfort, they all wanted me gone. They weren’t comfortable. Frank Wilson thought he’d catch gayness from me. He wouldn’t even put his hands on the table after I told them I was moving in with Gerry.” He pointed toward the front.

Ryberg asked, “The man at the front reading the magazine is your partner?”

Trevor answered, “Yes, we own this place together. My creative side came out after I came out. When we moved into the new century we redecorated.” He laughed. “You know, it’s ironic. They’re all businessmen of some sort and each of them had their struggles from time to time – still do I suppose – but our little salon in redneck Canada, run by two gay men, is flourishing. Business has never been better.”

Drake stopped writing and looked up from his notepad. “What business is Frank Wilson involved in? I thought he was retired.”

“Oh, he’s always up to something – running some kind of business or other out of his cabin.”

Drake caught a look from Ryberg and held his pen in the air, waiting for an answer. “Specifically what business is Frank Wilson involved in? Or, what was he involved in that you know of?”

Trevor tapped the tip of his nose and let out a sigh. “Ah, you’ll have to ask him that. I’m in enough trouble with him; I won’t shop him to you, I’m sorry.”

Ryberg, as usual, changed tack. “Mr. Middleton, what happened to Mike? Who do you think would want to hurt him?”

No reaction at all. “I thought he fell. I don’t know what you mean.”

Ryberg stared hard. They needed something and he pushed, never leaving the other man’s gaze. “Mike Robinson was poisoned, and then placed into a vehicle.” He paused; there was still no reaction from Trevor. “This is a murder investigation. Before the poison had fully killed him he was thrown from a vehicle onto the street where his head split open on the road. He was left to die, all alone.”

Trevor exhaled even more heavily and ran his hand through the blond part of his coif. “You’re asking the wrong person. I haven’t seen Mike Robinson in over two years. I thought he fell.”

Ryberg kept going. “We have reason to believe that Mike was in touch with you after you were excluded from their circle.”

A slight movement perhaps – just a small hesitation. “You’re wrong. If Mike saw me in the street, he would have walked the other way. He had to.”

“Why did he have to?”

A moment of silence while he stared at the two men. Everything stopped; then he put his hands firmly on his knees and sat up straight. “I don’t know why you’re here. I mean, why me? I haven’t seen Mike in ages.”

Ryberg leaned closer. “We’re exploring every avenue. All we want is to find out what happened to your friend.”

Something had shifted. It was like he suddenly made a decision. “Officers, you really are asking the wrong person. I’m very sorry about what happened to Mike,” he looked at them with a blank expression, giving away nothing, “whatever happened to him. But he wasn’t part of my life. He was no longer my friend.”

Drake began to speak, but it was too late. The mood of the room had changed. Trevor interrupted him. “I’m sorry, I have clients to attend to, and as this is such a serious investigation, and you’re here in my salon asking questions in that tone, I think I shall have to confer with my brother.”

Ryberg looked at Drake and then back to Trevor.

“My brother is a lawyer, gentlemen. Any further questions should be addressed through him.”

As they made their way back to the salon entrance Drake touched the fabric on the wall. “It’s a great effect.”

Trevor’s manner had changed now. His tone was dismissive as he answered. “Thank you, Officer Drake. Let me know if I can make an appointment for you.”

Two of the workstations were in use as Gerry, the man who had been reading the magazine, walked from one to the other, attending to two clients at the same time. When Trevor opened the door Ryberg asked one last question. “I’m sorry, but I need to ask. Your hairstyle, did…”

“That came later, after the group banished me from the pub.” His lips were tight and his face expressionless as he spoke, the booming voice from earlier long gone. “You’re right, old man Wilson would not have approved.” He quickly wished the officers a good day and closed the door behind them.

Ryberg shook his head as Drake pulled the car back onto the main road. “My brother’s a lawyer and my sister is a nun.”

For the first time in a while, Drake laughed, and looked inquiringly at the older man.

“It’s an old police expression. It takes on different connotations from time to time. Everybody knows somebody on the inside – somebody that’s going to help them.”

The town was buzzing with lunchtime activity as the men drove back to the station. Pausing at a light, they both turned as two well-dressed women walked out the front door of the bank, their heads down, moving quickly. They fell into the lineup outside a sandwich shop and huddled together, bracing themselves from the cold. The summer windbreakers that the locals wore with the names of hockey teams plastered on the backs were being replaced with fleece-lined jean jackets. There was a chill in the air. The branches on the trees that ran along the sides of the street were almost bare. It would snow soon, and Michael Robinson wouldn’t see it. His mother would spend a winter alone, and Drake still had no clue why her son had to die. The man who had barely lived had been dead for less than forty-eight hours. They’d interviewed all of his friends and knew very little about him. There was no motive or clear-cut suspect. Nothing made sense.

Myron worked the keys of the computer with the finesse and efficiency of a concert pianist performing a masterpiece. His right hand stopped and moved the mouse from time to time in conjunction with his lightning-fast typing. Drake knew how to access the RCMP’s main database, but there were areas on the site that he hadn’t even known existed. It wasn’t a matter of having clearance; it was knowing where and how to access the information. Myron ran his cursor over the different acronyms associated with various government agencies.

“This is where we find out if there are any other interests or queries. By other interests we mean CSIS…”

Drake was slowly becoming familiar with the names of different government organizations. “CSIS is the Canadian spy agency.”

“Yes, of course. But there’s nothing there.” Myron looked up quickly and then went back to his typing. “We also look at data collected by the income tax people, or whether the subject has been involved with family court.”

“So divorce or child support, you mean?”

“Yes, anything that varies from regular charges or fines will show up here. And if you find something that doesn’t look right you sometimes look further, but for that, it’s often better to make a call.” For the first time the young man smiled.

“There is a system within our system, Drake. We ask and we owe; it’s very simple. I’ll show you. Here’s what I found earlier.”

He clicked on a heading, then moved the cursor to the bottom of the page and clicked again. Instantly, there was a list of names and connections. He scrolled down the page until he found what he was looking for.

“Investigator Ryberg wanted me to do a background check on all the names from the list that Parker, the sales manager, gave you. So I ran them through the system. No flags came up, but when I punched in the retired logger, Frank Wilson, I couldn’t find the payout information for the insurance claim from his injury. It’s a minor thing, but it’s a gap, and I wanted to fill it. I can see the money; it’s quite a sizable amount – two hundred and eighty thousand dollars going into his account here.”

He showed the deposit entry on the screen. “The money comes from a holding company. That isn’t unusual with some insurance companies; it’s a third-party situation. In some US states and Canadian provinces it’s mandatory, and these international companies tend to abide by the same rules no matter where they’re doing business. That way they don’t make mistakes, and their internal rules are often far more stringent than what’s actually required. That part didn’t surprise me, but look at this.”

The time between when the check was deposited and cleared was almost two months. Drake pointed at the screen. “That’s a long time. You’d think he’d want the money sooner than that.”

“Fifty-eight days. You’re right, that is a long time. And I’m sure he wanted the funds right away. I know I would.”

“Did Wilson have poor credit? Were they holding the check to cover something else he owed?”

Myron smiled again, and Drake began to understand where the investigator’s talents lay. During the first briefing after breaking the news to Robinson’s mother, he’d been despondent and sullen. Today he was a different man. He was excited as he relayed his findings. “That’s where I went next. And no, he has fairly good credit, although at the time he had no real assets, and his house and cabin were both mortgaged to the hilt. In fact they were backwards.”

“He owed more on them than they were worth?”

“Exactly, and that’s common these days, but a few years ago, before the economy started tanking, it was unusual. He spends money. I can’t figure out what on, but the dollars going out are more than the funds coming in. All of that is interesting, and probably not pertinent, but...”

Drake finished for him. “But we still don’t know why the check was held for so long.”

“Right, and because the money was released from a holding company, we don’t know where the check came from. So in order to answer that question, we utilize our system within a system. And we use this old-fashioned device right here.” He pointed to the telephone.

Myron’s confident smile was glued to his face. He was enjoying showing Drake the process. He pulled a small, black book from his inside coat pocket. “I assisted on a fraud investigation last year, and our contact at the Bank of Canada was extremely helpful. I think he may have played policeman when he was a kid, but never took the plunge when he grew up.”