Torque (18 page)

“Since the computer is on, Asha,” said
Dieter. “Can you look something up for me?”

All three of them looked at the flashing
green light on the server.

“We can’t. Not right now. The server is
backing up. It might take hours.”

“Hours?” said Dieter.

“Hours,” said Asha, and she and Fenn nodded
in unison.

Dieter shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t
that important. Well, I just came to, ah, get something I left
behind.” And with that he went into his office and closed the door.
A second later the green light stopped flashing.

“Carmen has logged off,” whispered Asha.
Quickly she ejected the disc and gave it to Fenn who replaced it in
the jewel case. “Let’s go.”

Out in the parking lot, Fenn said, “Why did
Dieter show up?”

“He and Carole must have smoked all their
joints. He keeps most of his stash at the office, in the rafters.
Probably came by for refill.”

“Do they know that you know this?”

Asha shook her head and gave a devious smile.
She pulled her car key from a pocket.

“Try and have a quiet evening, Chas. I’ll let
you know if Carmen comes up with anything.” She stepped off the
curb.

“Asha.” She stopped and turned to look at him
full on. There were those gorgeous dark eyes, always willing to
lock onto his. He felt his emotions churn within but what he wanted
to say wouldn’t come out.

“So, um, thanks, eh. I really appreciate your
help.”

She held his gaze for one more second, as if
searching for something, then said, “Okay. Talk to you later,
Chas.”

== == ==

Stretched out on the floor of his living
room he fed Mogg bits of fried chicken from his supper and tried to
assimilate the facts into some sort of cohesive order.

His estranged father had sent him a disc
along with a little gold amulet, and then had not communicated
further.

The disc contained a chemical formula.

So far the amulet just seemed to be a
charm—Reis hadn’t shown any interest in it.

There were two factions interested in the
disc. One represented by a woman offering money, and the other
represented by ruthless thugs.

According to Kim, the thugs’ Grand Marquis
was registered to Harrowport and Dynes Funeral home.

Ron Jenner had left DriveCheck to work for
that funeral home.

The more Fenn thought back on the underground
garage incident, the more he was convinced that the driver of the
Grand Marquis had been Ron Jenner.

Jenner and his buddy had busted up the
apartment.

Jenner was also the reason the cops came to
visit Dieter, at the office.

Fenn rolled onto his back and stared at the
ceiling. The points swirled in his mind like a suspended mobile
until his eyelids closed of their own accord.

Then they flew open.

Burlington! The common denominator was
Burlington. He was in Burlington; the disc was in Burlington; the
number Reis had given him was a Burlington exchange; the thugs were
definitely in Burlington; and so was Harrowport and Dynes. To
extrapolate that further, it then stood to reason that Burlington
was also where his father was.

So why the big silence?

Fenn sat up. It didn’t make sense that his
father would appear out of the blue, drop a bombshell, and then
just disappear. Perhaps Stanislaw had been forced into hiding.
Still, with all that had happened over the past week surely he’d
have made some attempt at contact.

Unless that was physically impossible. Fenn
recalled the scene he and Muriel had passed at the motel.

“Mogg. I’ll be right back.” He left the
apartment and made his way down to the laundry room in the
building’s basement. The folding table always had a collection of
newspapers for those who would rather read than watch their socks
spin. The news was always a day old but that was exactly what Fenn
wanted.

He flipped through the Saturday edition of
the local rag until he came across the heading, POLICE CHECKING OUT
CLUES IN MOTEL MURDER. The report was brief, saying only that the
victim was a male in his late fifties, name withheld until next of
kin could be notified, and that circumstances appeared similar to
the recent homicide of Martin Durrell, a security guard contracted
by a pharmaceutical research facility.

Fenn read the last part again then slowly
folded the newspaper on the table.

A woman wearing an old football jersey and
trackpants pushed open the door and thumped a large hamper of
clothes onto the table. Fenn nodded and smiled, eased the paper
from beneath the basket, and took it upstairs. He opened a beer and
for the next half hour paced about the apartment, occasionally
reading the article over again. Mogg watched him placidly from the
couch.

Finally he sat down beside her.

“If I go to the police with this, they’ll
certainly take the disc, and that won’t get either Reis or the
thugs off my back. The cops will soon realize that I held back
information on the firebombing, and if the disc came from the
pharmaceutical facility where Durrell worked there’s little doubt
they’ll book me as an accessory to homicide, if not for the murder
itself.

“And, what if I’m the only suspect? I
wouldn’t be the first innocent guy to rot in jail for a crime he
didn’t commit.”

Fenn leaned forward, elbows on knees, and
rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I need to offload this damned disc. This
damned
gift
from my so called father!”

Bleary-eyed, he looked around at the patched
up state of his home. He’d been threatened. He’d been invaded. He’d
almost been killed, and so had Kim. He’d lost work and he was going
to lose his apartment. Out there, somewhere, somebody was trying
awfully hard to make him a victim. That was one role he’d never
played and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

“I need to get ahead of these bastards, Mogg.
Find out who they are and what they are up to. Once I’ve got some
answers, then I’ll go to the cops. Maybe.”

Deep in thought, Fenn sat on the sofa and
stroked the cat as the evening drew on. He re-examined the events
until the week in all its detail lay flat like a map. Then he began
to chart a course of action. The apartment grew dark and Mogg
wandered off, but Fenn stayed in the diffused glow of a streetlight
until he finally had a plan. It would start with a couple of
calls.

The first number dialed was written on the
desk blotter. He didn’t waste words.

“Reis,” he said. “It’s Fenn. We’ll meet
tomorrow night.”

CHAPTER
26

Monday, October
26th

To conceal the gauze patch on her calf, Kim
wore slacks to work rather than her customary skirts. The shotgun
pellet must have ricocheted off something and sliced through the
back of her leg. There’d be no lasting impediment though she might
be left with a narrow scar.

Harder to conceal was that her date with Fenn
hadn’t gone so well. Antonella wanted the dirt even before the
wickets were open for business.

“Hey, girlfriend. You’re looking a little
tired today. Must have had a good weekend!”

Kim kept her eyes on her console as she
logged in. “Tired, yes. Good, no.”

“Sometimes that happens,” Antonella said
diplomatically as she unlocked the door to let the first applicants
of the week come in. She was somewhat surprised at Kim’s response
but would wait until her friend was ready to share. Tales of dates
gone wrong were always juicier than the Cinderella stories. Though
both clerks were busy throughout the morning, Antonella did notice
that Kim was uncharacteristically dour. The girl definitely had
something on her mind.

Kim worked absently and wondered if she was
suffering from some sort of delayed reaction to the attack. It had
been so unreal. She had actually been enjoying the date. Chas was
exactly how she’d expected him to be and then, inexplicably, it was
like he was a two-bit drug mule with a price on his head.

How could she not have picked up on that? She
had always been good at reading people. Something else that
disturbed her was how she had felt in the motel parking lot. Naked
at first except for a sheet, and later surrounded by truckers,
paramedics and firemen she had found it erotic as well as
mortifying. None of the guys seemed to mind that she’d looked like
a wretch. She’d even flirted with a couple of them.

I am never going to drink again—ever.

She felt her cheeks flush and wondered if
Antonella had noticed. Probably. She’d been casting sidelong
glances all morning. The same way Kim had been glancing at the
door, ready to duck into the storeroom if Fenn showed up.
Appointments were booked in the student’s name. He could arrive
unexpectedly, anytime.

After getting home on Sunday morning she’d
taken a long bath and two painkillers, and then slept like the dead
until the sun went down. She made an omelette while listening to
Fenn’s pathetic apology on her answering machine and then called
her sister.

Growing up, Eileen and Kim had fought like
cats over anything that kids and young adults find important. Then,
when Eileen went to university, their separation and the need for
an ally against the problems of the real world began to foster a
mutual respect and appreciation for each other. The onset of
Eileen’s MS only served to strengthen that bond.

Kim held back a few details about her date,
like the licence plate number she’d researched for Fenn. Now she
wondered if he’d told the truth about why he wanted that. She’d
also glossed over the two hours preceding the attack but things of
that nature can be left unspoken between sisters.

Eileen must have stopped listening, anyway,
for she’d exclaimed, “You could have been killed!”

Yes. She could have been.

A few years ago their father had received an
anonymous death threat and they’d hired a bodyguard for a brief
period. Whereas nothing had come of that incident, the attack at
the motel had been so unexpected it was over almost before it had
time to register.

“I need you to keep this to yourself,
Eileen.” Meaning don’t tell Dad. Mom was in Singapore so no worries
there.

“Okay, but I want you to call me every night
this week. If you don’t, I’ll call you.”

Two more painkillers had knocked her out
until it was time to get up on Monday morning. Now Antonella was
leaning over to her and whispering.

“You’re awfully quiet, Sugar. Did that Fenn
do anything he shouldn’t have? Tell me if he did ‘cause I’ll find
him and kick his ass, and then I’ll get my Dwayne to kick
whatever’s left.”

“I’m fine. No need for Dwayne. It was just a
bit weird. I’ll fill you in as soon as I sort it out for
myself.”

Antonella tut-tutted and beckoned to the next
patron in line. Kim checked the door again and forced a weak smile
for the teen approaching with an application. It was not even
lunchtime and already she wanted her bed.

== == ==

Detective Lareault was out so Collier left a
voice mail.

“Evan, it’s Dennis. Toxicology leaves no
doubt that we are dealing with death by lethal injection. The exact
compound is still to be determined. Also, the lipstick found on
both victims is an identical match.”

According to the shade card on his desk, the
lipstick colour was
Razz-berry Rave
. Another lead for
Lareault’s street beat as they canvassed the local working
girls.

They had approximate height, weight, and
gender. Now a lipstick preference. Possibly wearing a wig. She
wouldn’t be the first hooker to eliminate every last hair. The
practice cut down on microbial hitchhikers, made for easier
cleanups, and the johns liked it. Natural baldness was another
possibility.

“Oh, and considering the, um, energetic
nature of the deaths I think it’s strange that the only hair we
found from the suspect was a single synthetic strand. I might have
a theory on that so, if you get a minute, give me call.”

He hung up then tapped his keyboard to bring
the computer out of sleep mode. Picking away at the letters he
typed ALOPECIA AREATA UNIVERSALIS. After a moment, a series of web
links to journals appeared. He selected one then began to read.

ALOPECIA AREATA UNIVERSALIS, commonly
known as hair loss disease. A medical condition that affects only
one person in a hundred thousand. ALOPECIA AREATA is an autoimmune
disorder that generally affects the scalp. UNIVERSALIS denotes hair
loss over the entire body including the pubic regions. Not known to
be fatal, there is no cure or definitive treatment. Victims often
present other conditions related to the immune system such as
allergies, asthma, or hypothyroidism
.

The phone rang. It was Lareault.

“We’ve just had a break in the case.
Durrell’s wife realized his security uniform is missing. Since he
and Svoljsak were about the same size, I had Frank Bloomfield talk
to the supervisor at his last scheduled assignment. The man
identified Svoljsak as the guy who showed up when Durrell didn’t.
That company is now doing an inventory to see if anything is
missing.”

“What’s the name of the company?”

“Simedyne, in Hamilton. It’s a pharmaceutical
research facility.”

Simedyne. That rang a bell. Fat guy. Brain
aneurysm. And a skinny bitch that looked like a mannequin in more
ways than one.

“Evan, I may just know who the killer is. Let
me touch base with Chedoke Hospital. I’ll get back to you within
the hour.”

He hit the disconnect button, hurriedly
flipped through his Rolodex, then dialed.

“Extension 223, please.” He now recalled
every word of the interview with the mannequin woman—Johannesburg,
my ass!

“Rose, it’s Dennis Collier. I need you to
pull a file and I need it, stat.”