Deadline (44 page)

“Whoa, la,” she said. “Let’s start with number one and take it from there.”

Ashton and Flanagan parked down the street from Dupré’s house.

By the time they had both made it to the station, Zwicker had researched the inspector and he quickly laid out what he learned about him for Ashton while they were waiting for Flanagan to arrive.

He was a twenty-year veteran of the force, a family man, by all accounts a by-the-book, no-nonsense Mountie on a typical career path, with a modest string of commendations. Then, after a career spent policing in small Canadian towns, while he was working in Edmonton, he and his boss there, Duncan Wheeler, both got big promotions and got moved to Ottawa. Within a year, he was divorced. His two kids lived with their mother in Gatineau. He lived in a townhouse in Old Ottawa South.

Ashton and Flanagan strolled up to his car, a black Buick, and peeked through the windows. In the backseat was a balaclava and a pair of skates. There was still a bit of ice on the blades.

“You see what I see?” said Flanagan. “He’s our guy.”

Ashton called Zwicker. “There’s a balaclava and black skates in his car. The skates still have ice on them. That’s evidence in plain view. I think we have enough to bring him in.”

“Okay,” said Zwicker. “Bring him in then. But handle this very carefully. I’m going to call Wheeler. Tell Dupré that. Tell him he can come in right now, ride in the back of the cruiser, but no cuffs, and we can all have a little meeting. Tell him if he doesn’t want to play it that way we’ll arrest him and formally charge him with aggravated assault on Wamala, put the cuffs on him.”

“All right,” said Ashton. “I think that’s about right.”

“Be careful,” said Zwicker. He paused, thinking. “Jesus, be really careful.”

Dupré was smiling when he opened the door. He was wearing jeans and a sweater.

“Hello,” he said. “What can I do for you folks?”

Ashton and Flanagan were unsmiling. She was in front, Flanagan behind her, his hand close to his revolver.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Mallorie Ashton, This is Detective Sergeant Devon Flanagan. We’re with the Ottawa Police Service. Are you Inspector Emil Dupré?”

“That’s right,” said Dupré, his eyes darting between them. “What’s this about?”

“We just want to ask you a few questions,” said Ashton. “Do you mind if we come in, have a look around?” She started to step forward but Dupré held his ground.

“Well I don’t know,” he said with confused-looking smile. “I’d like to help you but I’m kind of busy right now. It would be easier if I knew what this was about.”

Flanagan leaned forward. “Is that your car there?”

“Sure,” said Dupré.

“Can I have the keys?” he said. “Mind if we take a peek.”

Dupré looked perplexed. “I don’t know. What’s this about?”

“This is a police investigation,” said Ashton. “And we are seeking your assistance. Are you refusing to help us?”

“No,” said Dupré. “Oh boy. We are getting off on the wrong foot here. I don’t like the sound of this. I know it’s a little bumpy sometimes, eh, between our two forces, but I’ve never had anything but great experiences working with the Ottawa Police Service. So why don’t you tell me what case you’re working on, and I promise you I’ll do everything I can to help.”

Ashton didn’t budge. “Can we step inside, Inspector?”

Dupré laughed nervously. “This is really not the most convenient time. It’s a Sunday! We all have our little hobbies. Can this wait till Monday?”

Ashton stared at him coldly. Flanagan stood with his hands by his sides, his eyes on Dupré’s hands.

“Inspector Dupré,” Ashton said. “I’m prepared to charge you right now with aggravated assault in the shooting this afternoon of Miko Wamala. I have been instructed to do so by the director of investigations for the Ottawa Police Service, Inspector Wayne Zwicker, who, as we speak, is trying to make contact with Deputy Commissioner Duncan Wheeler, your superior.”

Dupré said nothing but his smile was gone.

“Inspector Zwicker is of the opinion that we may be able to sort this out in a friendly way,” Ashton continued. “He would prefer that you agree to come down so we can have a meeting, figure out if we have our wires crossed. We have a set of facts that led us to some tentative conclusions that we find confusing. You and Duncan Wheeler may be able to explain them in some way that we have not contemplated.”

Dupré smiled. He looked relieved. “Well, okay. I can see how you might be confused. I know what happens in investigations. Half the time you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground until you see the whole picture. I’ll tell you what. Give me an hour. No. Two hours. I’ll take care of a few things I’ve got to do and then I’ll drive myself down to the station and we’ll have our little meeting.”

He started to close the door. Flanagan stepped forward and jammed his foot in the door. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.

Dupré let go of the door and backed into the living room. Flanagan followed him, his teeth bared, hands by his sides.

“Hey,” said Dupré. “You do not have permission to enter my home. This is a forced entry. Come on guys, back off. Believe me, I know my rights.”

Ashton stepped up beside Flanagan. “You are going to walk out the front door right now and you are going to get in the back of the cruiser,” she said. “You are not going to take anything with you. You are not going to make any phone calls or send any emails until we get to the station.”

Flanagan and Dupré were staring at each other, ignoring Ashton. Both of them had their hands by their sides, their fingers flexed, eyes moving over each other.

“Inspector Dupré,” said Ashton. “This is your last chance. We don’t want to arrest you but that’s what’s going to happen.”

Suddenly Dupré relaxed. “Hey,” he said, turning up his palms. “I can make time. Sure. Why don’t I come with you and we’ll get this all sorted out right now? Let me just get my coat.”

He turned toward the closet and Ashton stepped in front of him.

“No,” said Ashton. “I’ll get it for you. You go straight out the door”

Dupré’s eyes were hard.

“Okay,” he said. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’ll go without a coat. You do not have permission to touch anything in my house or my car. You do not have probable cause for a search, or you would have done it already. If you attempt an unauthorized search I will have my lawyer so far up your ass he’ll be looking out your mouth, and you won’t be able to use anything.”

“Fine,” said Ashton. “No coat then. You may find it chilly.”

He stepped outside. “The cold doesn’t bother me.”

Jack and Sophie decided to skip number one and go directly to number three, having sex on a bumpy bed in a room that stank of stale cigarette smoke as soon as they arrived. They didn’t talk about it. They just started to kiss and then they were undressing each other, and then he was on top of her, holding himself above her, looking at her beautiful face as he pushed himself inside her, her wetness delicious against his bare skin. He watched as her cheeks flushed and she bit her lip, and he moved slowly until she urged him, with her hands, to go faster. And then they moved together quickly and she cried out, and it was over, and he collapsed on top of her and kissed her neck over and over, and told her how much he cared about her, and she kissed his forehead and listened to him.

Then they sat in the tangled sheets. He smoked a cigarette and she talked.

“God,” she said. “I’m such a slut.”

He laughed.

“Don’t laugh,” she said. “You’re my second man of the day. I was with Greg this morning.”

“Greg Mowat?” he said.

She smiled at his look of surprise. “Yes. Pastor Mowat.

“I know,” she said. “I’m bad, eh? I’ve been sleeping with him for two years. It started when I staffed him on a trip to Quebec City. His French is better now, but it was lousy then, and I was translating for him for the whole weekend, and I sort of fell for him.

“You have no idea what he’s like, what he’s really like. When we got on the plane I had been working for him for months, and I thought he was a boring old guy, a born-again Christian, a typical
tête carrée
, not a bad guy but dull. I spent two days translating for him while he talked to all these Quebec municipal politicians, and I couldn’t believe how sharp he was. He got these old warhorses eating of his hand. He charmed them, understood them, always acted with respect and intelligence. It was amazing.

“Then I had a little too much to drink at our dinner. It was a banquet for Quebec Tories, at the Chateau Frontenac, so I sat next to him to translate the speeches, and after a while I was full of wine and started to make jokes in English as I translated all the boring speeches, making fun of the pompous old fuckers. Everyone was watching him so he couldn’t laugh, no matter what I said. I got spicier and spicier. One mayor – this fat little bald guy with a big moustache – was making a very long, boring speech and I started to do a fake translation, pretending that he was coming out of the closet. Greg had to bend over to laugh under the table. Oh, I was bad.” She laughed at the memory.

“You have no idea what he is really like,” she said. “He comes across as Mr. Folksy, but he is very witty, very sharp.”

Jack couldn’t take his eyes off her as she spoke, sitting naked with the sheets around her waist.

“After dinner, we both went to bed, our own beds,” she said. “I must have been pretty drunk because after a few minutes, I got up, pulled on my dress again. Just my dress, hey, if you get me. I went up to his room, and knocked on the door. Poor man. He tried to say no but he really had no chance. I like to get what I want, and I wanted him.”

“Wow,” said Jack.

“Yes,” she said. “And I’ve been doing it every week, every couple of weeks since then.”

“It would destroy his career if it ever got out.”

“Oh, I know. It would end his marriage too. Poor Maude. She is such a lovely, lovely woman, and it would kill her if she knew.”

“Wow,” said Jack.

“I told you I’m a slut,” she said.

He crawled across the bed and pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

“I find you irresistible,” he said. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you, and I can barely believe we’re together now. I don’t care if you’re a slut.”

She kissed him back, then pushed him away. “I’ll never get through the story if I don’t keep going,” she said.

“Eventually I had to tell Ed,” she said. “He was going to figure it out, and I couldn’t lie to him. He knew I was seeing somebody, and had been before we started dating, but he didn’t know who. I was afraid of losing him, but I didn’t want to stop seeing Greg. So I got really drunk when we were at Tremblant one weekend. We had a nice place, with an outdoor hot tub, and we were wrecked on champagne, naked, with the snow falling in the tub and the bubbles all around us, and I told him then, and swore him to secrecy, and then we made love.”

“So he accepted it?” said Jack.

“Oui, oui, oui,” she said, nodding. “He knew, absolutely knew, that I loved him and he trusted me, and knew I would never leave him for Greg. And, uh, it was exciting for him. It’s kinky, but I would tell him about my adventures with Greg and it would turn him on. Oh boy. A lot.”

“Tabarnac,” said Jack.

“Exact,” said Sophie. “Tabarnac.”

“Then Ed had the idea we should do a threesome,” she said. “He really wanted it. And so did I. And I managed to persuade Greg, and he came over, twice, and we did it. In our bed. It was really fun. Weird, but fun.”

“Did you know there was a hidden camera?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “When the cops found it I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. I have to assume that Ed was recording us.”

“Do you think he recorded the threesomes?”

“I don’t know. But the cops have the computer, so if he did, the videos would be on there.”

“You think he tried to blackmail Mowat with the recording?”

“No. No. He wouldn’t do that. Ed wouldn’t do that.”

“Did you think he would be the kind of guy who would set up a secret web cam and record you having sex with him?”

“No,” she said, and she leaned over and smacked him on the top of the head. “Okay? No. I’m a stupid slut, okay?” She smacked him again. Jack put his arms up to protect himself and pulled her to him and they kissed, grinding against each other. She pulled away.