The Last Witness (60 page)

  Roman phoned Roubilliard with the destination. After a moment consulting a map, the closest chapter Roubilliard could see were the Lightning Bars based in Timmins, about fifty minutes bike-ride away. ‘I’ve done a bit of business with them before, but best thing is I phone and see if they’re up for it. The other option is a team I know well based in La Sarre, but it’s almost two hours away.’

  ‘Mmmm. Cutting it too fine to their plane landing,’ Roman mulled. ‘Let me know how you go with the Timmins guys.’

  They were close to meeting up with Mel Desmarais at Point aux Trembles airfield by the time Roubilliard called back with the news that he had a green light from the Lightning Bars. ‘Their head honcho, a guy called Jake Kirkham, says that he’ll go himself with two men. Sounded keen: don’t think they get too much excitement up there in Timmins. They’ll watch for the aircraft landing and follow from there. So maybe a couple of hours to get back to you with where they’ve gone.’   

  ‘Yeah, looks like it.’ Roman checked his watch. Their own flight would probably be about fifty minutes to an hour behind, so they’d learn the final destination halfway through. Forty minutes or so to check the lay of the land and prepare, then they’d move in. ‘Catch you later.’

With the quick-fire volley of calls back and forth, Roman’s adrenalin was racing. The feeling that he was in control, in the hot seat. His left hand tapped repeatedly on his thigh, beating out the rhythm of the mounting nervous tension in his body. As they swung into the Point aux Trembles airfield, a figure waved as the car headlamps fell on him. Trench coat with fur collar, wild wavy-red hair and beard, and a large silver crucifix dangling from one ear.   

  ‘All we need – the fucking Red Baron,’ Roman remarked, bringing a chuckle from the car to help ease the tension. The plane behind Desmarais looked hardly big enough to carry the five of them and the wind was still sharp, flurrying tree branches and Desmarais’ hair in its wake.

  There was only one thing left to make that control complete, Roman thought, looking at ‘Santa Dave’ ahead of him as they got in the small plane. There’d been too much else going on for them to exchange anything more than a few words – but now he needed to draw ‘Santa Dave’ out more, get him to open up. Like an undertaker measuring, try and weigh up whether or not he could get away with taking out ‘Santa Dave’ without at the same time making a coffin for himself courtesy of Giacomelli. There wasn’t much time left now for Roman to decide what to do.

Barry Crowley sent Sally to escort Lorena from Montreal. She had the best French in his department and he felt it was a task more suited to a woman’s touch.

  But apart from light, incidental conversation about what food or drinks Lorena wanted or the in-flight movie – Sally felt stuck for conversation.

  Normally with an abduction or missing person, she’d have been able to ask if they were looking forward to returning home. Although Crowley hadn’t gone into detail, he’d shared enough that she knew there was some problem with things at home. Crowley had a plan afoot to tackle it, which also involved sending a couple of officers to see Lorena’s sister at Durham University. It was a subject to be avoided.

  So all that was left was to ask a few tame questions about what she’d seen in Montreal and whether she liked the big brown bear in a Mountie’s uniform Sally had brought for her at the airport during the two-hour wait for the return flight.

  ‘Yes, he’s very nice. And very big – probably the biggest teddy bear I’ve ever had.’ Lorena looked down wistfully for a second. ‘Though I haven’t had one for a couple of years now.’

  ‘Right.’ Sally nodded and smiled. The measure of how much Crowley knew about ten-year old girl’s tastes: his own daughter was only seven and he probably thought the fluffy toy stage lasted until they were young teenagers. But he had made a strong point of her picking one up, and also to make sure that it was large.
‘Something that could have been given to her by the Canadian police rather than Mrs Waldren, and could sit taking pride of place in her bedroom.’
Bear in a Mountie’s uniform was ideal. Crowley was worried that if Ryall thought it was from Elena Waldren, he wouldn’t let Lorena keep it.

  Though while Sally had tip-toed around whether Lorena was looking forward to returning home, she suddenly realized that the mention of the bear was a reminder of what the girl had yet to face. Lorena was doing a good job of putting on a brave face, but as she looked ahead towards the movie screen, Sally could clearly see the shadows working beneath the surface. The girl was petrified.

  Sally didn’t know what else to say, so after a moment just reached across and gently clasped Lorena’s hand. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be okay.’

THIRTY-THREE

  ‘And she’s already left?’ Claude Donatiens asked.

  ‘Yes, just about forty minutes ago.’ Michel glanced through his office window to the squad room clock. Seventy percent of the staff had already left, but a faint hubbub rose from those remaining. He’d made so many calls in the past few hours that some of the activity had spilled over. ‘She’s staying overnight and returning tomorrow.’

  ‘And you’re sure that’s she’ll bring a message for us.’

  ‘Yes, sure. That was the deal made. Messages for both you and his fiancée.’ Michel had been more concerned with Georges’ fast-growing cold-turkey with Simone, but he’d extended it to cover his parents as well. In only a few months Georges could start to feel the same way about them. The ideal halfway house: Georges gets to meet his long-lost mother and gets messages to his loved-ones as well. Two birds with one stone, and who better for poignancy to pass on the messages. Michel dropped his voice a note. ‘There was just too much danger attached to either yourselves or Simone seeing Georges. This was the best compromise I felt we could make. I hope you understand our position.’

  ‘Yes, I… I understand. I just hope she keeps to what was agreed and brings the message.’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’ Listening to the strain in Claude Donatiens’ voice, Michel wondered how much he really did understand, or any parent could. After the note, nothing but wilderness. No contact at all. It was a pretty poor substitute: a single note to fill the space of the long years they’d never see him. Again Michel felt a twinge in his chest at what he’d done, but then what other option had there been? With Georges dead, that loss would have been more final and heart-rending. ‘I’ve already spoken to Georges about the message, and it’s very important to him. And I’ve also got one of my men there to remind him. I’m sure it won’t get forgotten.’

  There was a faint buzz and crackle on the line towards the end, and Claude said that he was sorry, ‘I didn’t quite catch that last part. We had a telephone engineer call a couple of days back about a fault, but it seems worse than ever.’

‘I said I’ve got one of my men there as well, so I’m sure the message won’t –’ Michel stopped mid-track, a lightning bolt running through him. ‘What was that you said? A telephone engineer?’ Michel’s voice was suddenly high and strained.

‘Yes…. uuh, called a couple of days back. Maybe three.’ Claude stumbled slightly with the fresh sharpness to Michel’s tone.

  ‘I thought I told you to let me know if anything unusual happened.
Anyone
called to your house out of the blue.’ Michel’s voice was raised; he was almost shouting. A couple of heads turned form the squad room.

  ‘Yes, but… but this happened
before
you told us. Before it had even been announced about Georges’ attempted abduction and him testifying.’

  ‘How long before?’

  ‘Well, uh, the day before… maybe two days.’

  The lightning bolt ran deeper through, hit the pit of his stomach. He felt physically sick, and his hands were shaking so hard that for a moment he feared he might drop the receiver. He should have realized! He’d marked the announcement of Georges testifying as the pivotal point, but Georges had already been missing two days and his stepparents’ home was a logical place for him to make contact. Michel slowly closed his eyes. There was still a chance he might be wrong.

  He answered, ‘I don’t know yet’ to Claude quizzing
‘What’s wrong?’
‘…I’ve got a few calls to make.’ He signed off hastily, looked up Bell Canada’s number, and dialled straight out, giving them the Beaconsfield address and approximate time to check their records for an engineer calling. They said it would take five minutes or so. They’d phone him straight back.

  Michel burst out of his office like a whirlwind. He spotted Maury in the corner and signalled him. ‘Grab a guy from Dauphin’s department who knows anything remotely about electronics and head out with him to this address in Beaconsfield.’ Michel hastily wrote down the Donatiens’ address. ‘And if he’s got anyone else spare, they should at the same time head here to check.’ Michel wrote down the
Montclaire
hotel address underneath and ripped the page from the notepad. ‘I’m looking for telephone bugs planted at each – like now!
Pronto!
So separate cars to each if Dauphine can spare anyone.’ 

  Maury grabbed his jacket from his chair-back as Michel whirled away. One of his office lines was ringing. Michel grabbed it on the third ring. It was Bell Canada. No, they had no record of a call made at that address or indeed in that street in the last week.

  ‘Last noted service call in that street was eighteen days ago, at number 1426.’

Michel’s stomach sank like an express elevator, and for a moment he felt dizzy, his legs unsteady. His own voice sounded distant as he said ‘Thanks’ and hung up. Maury was only halfway down the corridor, and already he knew most of the answer. But it was enough to alert S-18 to stop Elena Waldren before she got there, or get a message to the safe-house. By the time Maury got out to Beaconsfield to fully confirm a phone bug, it could already be too late.

But when he got hold of the S-18 control room operator, she advised him that she didn’t have any of that information on her computer, the only people who had that information or could authorise contact were Superintendent Mundy and Inspector Graydon.

‘Then put me through to one of them.’

‘They’re not available right now. Inspector Graydon’s on a week’s break, but I might be able to get a message to Superintendent Mundy later on tonight if it’s urgent.’

Michel ascertained what she meant by ‘later’, then asked her name. He eased a weary sigh. ‘Look Constable Fuller, or Melanie – whatever you’d prefer. In two hours it will be too late. It’s that simple. The mark that Mundy and your department have gone to so much trouble to protect will be dead!
Unless
you can somehow get a message to Mundy right now, or find some other way to contact the safe-house or the team heading out there now to warn them.’

She started stumbling under the pressure. ‘I… I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can with what I have. The operation is top security-coded, and there’s just no other information on screen.’

‘I know. I know.’ Michel backed off a step, clutching at his hair. He’d simply got the stone-wall protection he wanted, and there wasn’t a single frame of reference he could think of to guide her. Two S-18 men who apparently made up next month’s guard shift had flown up from Ottawa to pick Elena Waldren up from her hotel and escort her all the way. No idea where they were flying from and no names; nor were any exchanged in the few conversations he’d had with the safe house. That was the whole ethos of the operation.

Constable Fuller drew fresh breath. ‘All I can do is try and raise Mundy. He says that he’s not available – but I don’t whether that means he simply can’t be contacted, or just doesn’t want to be. If he starts shouting, I’ll blame you.’

‘Thanks. But quick, huh. Every second counts on this.’

‘I think I’ve got that clear. I’ll phone you back in ten minutes if I can’t raise him on his phone or bleeper – sooner if I can.’

  ‘So just the four jobs, huh?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Santagata shrugged. ‘And then this one now.’

  Roman’s mind was racing. Four contracts? Didn’t show much of an allegiance. But then if they were key contracts, ‘Santa Dave’ could be one of Giacomelli’s stars.

  ‘All pretty much the same as this?’

  ‘One the same, backing up. The other three hits.’

  They fell silent again. Roman kept his gaze straight ahead, watching wisps of mist drift past the plane’s window as they battled through the night sky. He’d asked the questions nonchalantly, as if it was only of passing interest; and he didn’t want to press too hard or ask too many questions. Santagata might latch on that he was angling at something. Guys like Santagata usually had natural antennae for warning signs: it’s what kept them alive. Roman could feel Santa Dave’s eyes on him for a moment before he looked back ahead again.