Final Act (30 page)

“Noble of you, Kate.  I’d like to leave you to squirm for a few weeks, you deserve it.  But compassion for Shirley has staid my hand.  Here’s what’s going to happen.”

She braced herself.

“The photographer’s wrote it off as some nutcase, has no idea he was attacked by a police officer.  He may spout off but no one will connect.
”

Her shoulders dropped a full notch.

“But
dropping the matter
comes with a cost. As far as I’m concerned, Shirley is not implicated in the matter and never will be.  You, however, are not getting off scot free.  You behaved in a manner unbecoming to an officer of the law; acted out of impulse, assaulted a civilian and almost ruined the career of an innocent colleague.”

“I
’ve been having a problem with my anger.  I’m not sure why but I know it has nothing to do with my job.  It’s personal.”

“I’m you’re superior officer, not your priest.  I don’t give a damn about what’s causing it.  I want it fixed.  I’ll give you six months to do what you have to do to get it under control.  One more screw up, however, and you’re gone.  Understood?”

“Yes.”

“
I’ll review your status in
six months
, now get back to work
.
”

She stood and
left the office. 

Chapter 16

Still suffering from the side effects of the beating,
Roger ran to the bathroom and heaved into the bowl.  He jumped into the shower
and let the
hot water
do its magic with his muscles.  Brisk
towelling brought
the
blood towards the surface of his skin
; vigorous
strokes of the toothbrush
chased with mouthwash
got rid of his vomit sour breath. 

He dressed in his chino’s, blue shirt, loafers and brown tweed jacket and called a cab.  He dreaded walking into the precinct for the first time since he was hospitalized.  All those well wishers, slapping him on the back and all the other crap.  People treating you like
you’re
someone back from the dead. 
His f
reezer and fridge
were packed to the brim
of good will food. 
He was getting tired of being treated like his mother’s little boy. 
   

His head was messed up; people’s kindness had never set him on edge before. 
Post traumatic stress
, his therapist said, it’s
normal, treatable
and won’t last forever.
He said the litany to himself every day but it didn’t stop the symptoms. 

On the cab ride to the station, he thought about seeing the bastards face-to-face.  Was he going to be able to identify them?   He took a deep breath and walked
into the precinct.
Withers waved
.  T
here was no one else in the foyer
.
He began to climb the stairs.
Big mistake, by the second floor he was gasping for breath.  Pride stopped him from getting out and taking the elevator up
, he pushed hard
.

After what seemed forever, he was standing on
the third floor landing
.  Seven minutes passed before he opened the door into the
incident room
.   H
e wave
d to the lifted heads
and walked briskly towards
the viewing room.
He didn’t make it to the hallway before he was surrounded by well wishers.
 

“You’re disappearing Roger.  Have you gotten on the scales lately?”

“
It’s all the
liquid medicine follow
ed by liquid food.  I’m down 15
”
, he said. 

Lots of more inane silly remarks
were exchanged on all
sides before he could break away.

Roger
walked into the room.  Gordon was by himself, the Assistant D.A. and defence lawyer hadn’t arrived. 
He
stood, shook his hand, offered coffee and got down to business. 
 

“These five degenerates are definitely in the lower level of the criminal gang food chain.  Barely weaned from their tattoos, they chose typical emblems
for their new status -
the five-pointed cross,
red
bandanas
, studded collars.  They started out by
call
ing
themselves
The Maniacs.
”

“
The name makes them sound like a comedy group”, Roger said.

“Yeah. Well, word has it they started with the typical street gang activity – small time drug trafficking, muscling and intimidation.  Stupid asses tried to break into the protection money racquet.  They were humbled pretty quickly by the big boys.  Funny thing though, it was shortly after that encounter
they changed their names.  Dubbed themselves
The Assassins
.
  By then, they had met the red-headed
, dark clad son of a
bitch, no doubt in my mind.”

Roger
nodded.
“
Do you think they’ll give
a name
?”

“
Who knows?  I don’t think they would be able to even if they wanted.  Can’t see
this killer
giving them name, phone number and vital statistics.  According t
o
one
of the local prostitutes
who was on the scene when we made the arrest, they’re not too bright, said they cut into her business by d
riving by and pointing gun fingers at potential clients. 
Being arrested probably saved them from the pimps.”

The door opened and Abir, ADA, and a young Legal Aid Attorney for the defence entered the room.  Introductions made, the assembled group peered through the two
way mirror at
the long line-up. 

“Ready
, Roger
”
,
Abir
asked.

Roger
nodded
and
looked at the group as
the
process of stepping forward, facing front, turning left, facing back, turning right; facing front, stepping back
,
began.  He had no problem identifying every last miserable one of them. 

He wanted to go through the two way mirror, kick, punch, bite, tear out their eyes.  His hand itched for a piece of pipe.  Just five minutes alone with them.  Rage had swallowed his fear.  He stood motionless, no sign of his inner turmoil on his face.  He turned
to Abir and said: 
“numbers 4, 6, 7, 9 and 12.”

Alone again, Roger asked Gordon if he could observe the interviews.

“You ready for that?”

“Yup.”

“Okay.  It should happen tomorrow sometime.  I’ll give you an hour’s notice.”

Roger grabbed a cab home.  He went into the kitchen and made a peanut butter sandwich.  Grabbing a coke from the fridge, he went into the den, selected
Pulp Fiction
from his DVD collection. 

He figured a
n afternoon
movie, a long nap, a curry take out,
an evening movie,
a huge night cap and a good night’s sleep were just what a good doctor would order to fix up his fidgets.

***

Shirley signalled to make a right hand turn at the next exit.  She hated these big industrial parks.  She looked at her watch
, damn, a half hour wasted going around blocks.  There were no unmarked cars available this morning and her old clunker was sputtering its protest at the workout. 
She pulled over, consulted the map, and swore.  King Street was tucked
between two side streets; s
he was only five minutes away.

She pulled up to one of the meters in front of the tall steel and glass structure. 
Donald Sutton
has the penthouse suite; no doubt, it certainly fits the image of a multi-million dollar business man in charge of one of the largest
manufacturing
conglomerates in the Atlantic Provinces.  

Checking the rear view mirror for any left-over crumbs on her lips
from the sandwich she picked up at the
drive through a few miles back, she grabbed her briefcase and passed through the front doors.
She checked in with the lobby receptionist who directed her to take the elevators to the penthouse suite
.

She stepped off the elevator into the waiting room that looked like so
mething out of a movie set. 
It was a
large rectangular shaped room filled with
the P
alm and Yucca plants
that were growing up towards the s
kylight.  

Seated behind a massive, black and white glass desk that was equipped with a computer, fax machine, printer, headphones and a switchboard the size of a small desk, sat a designer
clad
, beautiful young woman whose brilliant smile matched the cascading light beams.  Assuring her that Mr. Sutton would soon be with her, she
invited Shirley to be seated, offered coffee.  Offer declined, she busied herself at the computer.

Donald Sutton emerged from his inner sanctum, introduced himself, and invited her into his office. A tall distinguished looking
man
dressed in a zillion dollar suit and handcrafted
brogues;
she followed him into
another statement
room
, a
statement of wealth and prestige, knocked up a notch of course.
Once seated, the CEO wasted no time on small talk.

“I confess
Cst
. Proctor, I’ve been curious ever since your call.  Why would you want to interview me?  Surely you’re not on a fund raising
drive for the police?  Our PR department handles that sort of thing.
”

“No, I’m not.
  W
e’re investigating the murders of a couple of people you know through your ex-wife.  Jeffrey and Catherine Stone.”

“Yes, very sad news,
I was in Western Europe when the news broke. 
Eleanor called
to let
me
know.
I don’t understand how I could help you with your investigations.”

She opened her notebook. 

“I
understand
your company manufactures hydrogen
cyanide
.”

“Yes, that’s right.  What does that have to do with the murder investigations?”

“We suspect there is a direct connection.  Jeffrey Stone was poisoned by hydrogen cyanide.”

“How horrid.  The poor man, he must have suffered terribly.  Make no mistake, the hydrogen couldn’t have come from this facility.  We have strict security in place.”

“
Yes, Mr. Parsons filled me in on the details.  Strange he didn’t mention it to you.”

“
Not really,
I delegate and don’t expect to be informed of everything unless it is something that can’t be handled.  Obviously, you weren’t satisfied with the information you got but I can assure you our plant security is tight.  Potentially dangerous substances are kept i
n a locked room that is only accessed by the scientists involved in production and
research.”

“How many scientists do you employ?”

“Two.  I trust them implicitly.  They wouldn’t have had anything to do with Jeffrey’s death.  They hadn’t even met him.”

“
Is there anyone else who has access to this room?”

“I do, of course.
”

“Have you ever taken anyone in the room on tour, Mr. Sutton, your wife perhaps?”

“Maybe.  I think so, it was awhile ago now.”

“What about Mr. Parsons, does he bring tours through the building?”