Ogrodnik Interior 2.0c (34 page)

“Whoa. So Biovonix made a conscious decision to push this through knowing full well that their treatment would result in hundreds of thousands, or even millions, of ticking time bombs waiting to go off when the children of the treatment patients reached puberty?”

“Exactly; the investors would have long since taken their money and run.“

Rivka lay in her bed with a big grin on her face as she thought about the case and how it had unfolded.

Elliot checked to see if there was anyone coming and quietly closed the door.

“Riv, we should talk about Ogrodnik. This is your story to tell. What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to wait until I’m out of here, so I can research Ogrodnik. We don’t even know his real name. I’ll go through Hochelaga records and find out everything I can about him before I contact the force.”

“So you’ll go through the force and not directly to the press?”

“Yes, I’m still one of them at some level, and I feel I owe them that much. The force will want to manage the PR on something this big. There’s also the box of hair snippets at Amyot’s country house. Although I

want the force involved, I do not want that asshole to get one shred of credit for this. I’ll work out a deal with them before I tell them anything.”

“Your sister will be relieved.”

Rivka said nothing, but Elliot could clearly see the well of tears in her eyes.

Elliot’s phone chirped, so he stepped out into the hallway to answer.

“Elliot speaking.”

“Hey, stretch, Randy here.”

“Randolph, what’s up?”

“I heard a rumor that you were injured, so I thought I’d check in on you.”

“No rumor. I did get a little dinged up, but I’m fine now.“

“Glad to hear it. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have an ulterior motive for calling.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’m looking at the staffing sheet for next fall, and if you’re not coming back, I’d prefer to start the replacement process for a new criminology professor sooner rather than later.“

Elliot said nothing and let his thoughts wander back to the kid on the trigger side of the gun that killed his mother thirty years ago. He remembered the dice tattoo on his forearm, and he thought back to the previous week when he parked underneath the Ville Marie Expressway. In his mind’s eye, he saw the layers of graffiti on the cement stanchions. Every new generation of youth would overlay their own brand of graffiti laying claim to the asphalt plain under the expressway. He remembered looking at the vestiges of one of the old layers, now only partially visible and faded almost beyond recognition, but there was no mistaking the angular edge of a pair of dice. He thought about those corner store robbers from so long ago and how they represented two very different cultures of skateboarders, each from different sides of the track but meeting on common ground, and he wondered if the area under the expressway might be that common ground.

He thought about the uncanny similarity of the garnet ring with the gold border on the shooter and the burgundy color transcript with gold border on Banik's wall from the defunct Westmount Boys School and wondered if they were the same.

He thought about the cold case file of his mother’s death sitting in a storeroom somewhere and when the last time was when anyone looked at it.

“Elliot, you still there?”

“Sorry. Sorry, Randy, I zoned out for a minute.”

“Well, do you think you’ll be back next fall?”

“No. No, I don’t think so, Randy. I’ve got things to do.”

“Things to do? You’re leaving it at that? What, are you going to Nepal to find yourself? What do you have planned?”

“Justice for killers, Randy. Justice for Killers.”

“Elliot, I thought I’d give you a couple of days to heal before we talked.”

“I appreciate it. Come on in, Yves.”

“So how are you feeling?”

“All things considered, not too bad,” he said as he rotated his left shoulder gingerly.

“We have some unfinished business to discuss.”

“I’ve been expecting you. Did you get the report I sent you about how Biovonix covered up those failed tests and murdered at least three people while doing so?”

“I got it. It proved to be an interesting read, to say the least. The department has forwarded your Biovonix findings to Health Canada and the FDA. Suffice to say Isotin will not be getting approval anytime soon, and we’ve created a task force to investigate everyone still working there. I still have questions that weren’t addressed in your report, though.”

“Where do you want to start?”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“Much of the story you already know.“

“Okay. Why don’t you tell me about Eastern Security.”

“They were the security company that Biovonix used.”

“Four nights ago, their office compound was burned to the ground and with it, four bodies. Preliminary autopsy reports tell me that these men were murdered with extreme prejudice as the saying goes: definitely, a professional job.”

“And you think I did it?”

“No, I don’t think you did it, but I think you might know who did.”

“Yves, a man like Enver Yilmaz would have many enemies.”

“What about the Biovonix bunker? Eight bodies in the building and two more on the grounds. The four bodies on the roof indicate they were shot from above. We haven’t figured that out yet. We found the weapon, though—a Russian silenced AS Val sniper rifle, a very specialized piece of weaponry. We also found evidence of a stun grenade used in the data center. It has all the earmarks of a well-coordinated military operation. Do you know anything about that?”

“Do you think I did that too?”

“No, but again, I think you might know who did.”

“As I said, Yilmaz would have many enemies.”

“I guess I’m wasting my time to ask about the man in the woods who had his hand chopped off.”

“I guess so.”

“Elliot, you need to understand the gravity of the situation you’re in. The only reason you’re not in custody is because I’m vouching for you. The Brass are concerned there is a vigilante military unit at work here. Two officers, one the goddamn chief of police, AND an entire security company have been wiped out. This is not Fallujah or Beirut; this is Montreal! This type of thing does not happen in Canada. The force will not rest until they’ve uncovered every stone and have the truth. There are a dozen bodies that need explaining. If you know something, it’ll go better for you if you come clean now.”

Elliot said nothing for a moment while formulating his thoughts.

“Yves, let’s take a look at what we have,” Elliot said turning to face the detective directly.

“On one hand, we have, right here in our beautiful, safe city, a company who hired a squad of mercenaries to assassinate innocent civilians led by a known psychopath with a resume of wartime atrocities as long as my arm.”

“On the other side of the coin, we have the police, and we discover that the organization we appointed to protect us was, in fact, working for the other side. They manipulated murder investigations and may have even aided and abetted in those murders. My guess is that if you dig into the financials of Chief Doyle, Durocher, and Duval, you’ll find evidence of corruption and bribery. I’m sure that the force doesn’t want their dirty laundry aired in public.”

“I’m sure they don’t, but the police did not kill anyone from Eastern Security. There are people, powerful people, who are worried because these deaths have not been explained yet,” countered Yves.

“Let me offer my point of view. We all believe that Doyle and Durocher were killed by Yilmaz and his band of bad guys, so the question is: who killed Yilmaz and his mercenaries? The authorities are not worried that these mercenaries were killed; they’re worried because they don’t know who killed them. The mercenaries got what they deserved; the police should be grateful; a huge headache has been eliminated for them. They’re worried because they can’t explain all the bodies. They’re worried because they will look incompetent when this all comes out in the press. Yves, this is not a public safety problem; it’s a political ass covering exercise. It’s about incompetent executives who fucked up and now they’re afraid that the public will catch wind of the truth, and they’ll lose their jobs.”

Yves said nothing, but Elliot sensed his silent agreement.

“The force controls the PR on this, so if they are unable to put a positive spin on this story, then they deserve what they get in the court of public opinion.” Elliot let those thoughts sink in for a moment and considered how best to make the rest of his case without admitting to Renault that he actually knew anything.

“My gut feel is that whoever is responsible for killing Yilmaz and his crew is finished. We’re not dealing with a vigilante squad here, just concerned citizens who saw an injustice, who saw that the people whose job it was to protect us against that injustice were part of the problem, so they did what they needed to do. Not because they wanted to but because they had to. The corrupt police have been rooted out, and the bad guys have been dealt with. If the real story comes out, the whole story, the police will lose. Maybe it’s best that the force spin the story to protect their reputation and claim credit for eliminating a quasi-military operation that was operating in our city. There is no one left to refute the story except my partner, Duval, and me. I don’t think Duval will talk because he’d be incriminating himself, and I can guarantee you that neither my partner nor I will say anything.”

Renault looked at Elliot and mulled over what he had just heard. “I don’t like it that you’re holding back information from us. I know that you know who is responsible for all those bodies.”

“I’ve told you everything I’m prepared to tell. Take what you have, and make it work for you. If the force gets heavy with me, they’ll be dealing with my lawyer on one side and the press on the other. Then we all lose.”

“Merde,” hissed Renault as he looked to the ground deep in thought. “I’ll pass your thoughts onto the Brass,” he replied with a resigned tone.

Elliot interrupted Renault’s reflection.

“On another note, what happened to Banik and Duval?”

“Dr. Banik did not make it. He passed this morning.”

“And Duval?”

“To be determined. He’s on suspension with pay until he goes in front of a tribunal. I do not expect we’ll see him back on the force. Thanks for your time, Elliot.”

“Hello.”

“Elliot, Yves Renault here.”

“Do you have news from the Brass on our conversation yesterday?”

“Nothing yet. They weren’t happy about it, but I’m not sure that they have any options.”

“So why the call?”

“I have another question. I read a report this morning about a fire in a landscaping warehouse out in the east end. It happened the night of the Biovonix bunker fiasco. There didn’t seem to be a connection between the two, but when I read the report this morning, I saw something that tickled my memory. Your father’s murderer, Paul Kulas, had an affiliation with the company Hochelaga Landscaping. Do you know anything about that fire?”

“And was there a dead body found in this fire also?” Elliot asked already knowing the answer.

“No, no body, just a fire in an old storage shed.”

Elliot reeled like he was sucker punched.

“Are you still there?” probed the detective.

“Are you certain there was no body in that fire?”

“I’m certain; I read the report this morning. What is it?”

Elliot backed off for a moment as his head spun.

“Yves, there’s something you need to know about Rivka’s kidnapper, Ogrodnik. Meet me at the General in Rivka’s room, #1108 ASAP. It has to do with the Stungun Killer.”

“Stungun Killer? Elliot, you’re going to leave me hanging with that?“

“Yes, it’s Rivka’s story to tell. Bring your boss, and prepare to have a 24/7 armed guard for Rivka.”

“I need more than that!”

“I’m leaving now, Yves. See you there.” Elliot disconnected, leaving a bewildered Yves Renault holding his phone.

“Merde!” he muttered as he saddled the phone and went out to get the chief.

Near Gdansk, Poland

“Crude as it is, Mr. Krajnak, whoever inserted this tube into your throat saved your life.”

The veterinarian knew that his patient could not respond given the damage to the throat, but he always talked when he worked. He tended to supply the same manner of banter to his animals, so why wouldn’t he do it to a man?

Just do your job
, Konrad thought.
I put the tube in myself.

“We’ll get you fixed up, but you won’t be eating solid food for a couple of weeks. Ha-ha, not that you can’t survive a couple of weeks without solid food,” laughed the vet as he looked at the size of his patient.

“The throat I can fix. The nose is another matter. I’ll remove the cartilage altogether, so it doesn’t pose further problems, but I’m afraid it’ll still look like a bloated ginger root. No, sir, nothing I can do with that nasty looking thing.”

Get on with it,
Konrad thought as he waved his hand in irritation. He had already made arrangements to stay in a farmhouse up in the foothills and was looking forward to laying low and recovering. He’d send for the vet if he needed help. Konrad wondered
how he could have missed the tough guy. When did he and Forsman become allies? Why didn’t my sources see that and warn me?
That mistake almost cost him his life.
No matter,
he thought
. I’m back in familiar lands, and my first priority is to get healthy.
He closed his eyes while the vet worked on his disfigured face and dreamt about cultivating the wild meadow flowers he’d grown up with.

About the Author

Gary Coffin is a career IT guy who currently lives near Ottawa (Ontario, Canada) in the bedroom community of Rockland, Ontario with lovely wife, Kristina. He has three children, only one of whom is still roosting in the home nest. The Elliot Forsman books take place in Montreal, one of the great cities in this world and the city that Gary grew up knowing.