Blue Rubicon (4 page)

I took command of the call immediately, calling additional
units from all areas to assist as well as calling on local ambulance and fire
services. We had to close the highway down, not an easy task for a stretch that
sees over seventy thousand cars a day.

Deville and George were already on scene when I arrived.
Marc’s voice was calm, his body language unthreatening and he maintained his
distance. He was doing well.

“Look, Jason, you and I both know you don’t really want to
do this,” he said.

The man was sitting on the rail of the overpass, his back to
Marc as he stared down the highway at the oncoming traffic. We needed to get it
blocked.

“I’ve got nothing left to live for, I’ve ruined everything.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, I can see that you’re married.” I
had to take a very close look to see the gold band on the man’s left hand.
“Don’t you think your wife would miss you?”

He shook his head. This wasn’t going the way I was wanting
it to.

“She… she told me to get out.” He steadied himself on the
railing then reached his right hand over to his left and pulled the ring off.
“Give this to her,” he said, then threw the ring to Marc.

“Why did she say that?”

Keep him talking, the number one rule.

“I lost everything, all of our money. I made some bad
investments, risky ones, they’d paid off before. But I ended up losing
everything. Over a million dollars.” I looked down the road to the nearly brand
new Mercedes parked on the shoulder—must be his.

“Can’t you work through it?”

“Not now.” He was crying, his right hand at his face as his
body shuddered with the force of his tears.

I turned around and spoke quietly into my radio, “we need an
extra fire truck, once the road is closed have them come down from the east in
the center westbound lane and stop under the overpass.”

“Ten-four.”

“Tell them to prepare to pull forward, if they hear me yell
‘now’.”

I looked back toward the man, Jason, I’d heard Marc call
him. He had turned around now and was facing us, his face red and swollen from
crying so hard.

“There’s nothing left, they’re going to take the house, the
cars, everything. I took out loans, a second mortgage, trying to make the money
back. I lost it all. She’ll never forgive me.”

“I’m sure she will,” Marc said, his eyes not giving away
whether he believed himself or not. George was still behind him but I saw the
beginnings of tears in his eyes. He was looking down, eyes away from Jason,
like he couldn’t bear to see it.

It must have been Carter, one suicide was enough.

Marc kept Jason talking for another ten minutes, discussing
his job, family, kids, hobbies—anything to keep him focused on something other
than the thirty foot drop behind him.

The road was closed now, cruisers blocking the entrance to
the overpass and blocking the highway at the last exit—it was a detour no one
would want to take. I looked to the east and saw the fire truck approaching. I
moved to a spot on the overpass directly opposite Jason and waved for the truck
to come beneath me.

The driver stopped beneath the bridge and the firefighter
riding in the open part spoke to me.

“What do you want us to do?”

“If he sees you he’ll move, pull up as close as you can to
the other side without being visible and wait for my direction. If you hear me
yell “now” pull up and hopefully we can catch him.”

All he did was nod at me. Something more would have been
nice—was my plan a good one, or just plain crazy?

Five minutes later Marc had exhausted everything he could and
Jason was getting more and more agitated. Nothing worked to bring him down. He
kept looking backwards, looking at the drop behind him as he sat on the
railing.

I knew it was taking a turn for the worse when he took off
his watch and glasses and put them on the ledge beside him. Next he reached
into his back pocket and took out his wallet, placing it beside him as well. I
had moved to the other side of the bridge, the side he was on, and was ready to
act. Marc’s eyes met mine and he knew the time was coming.

“I’m an organ donor,” he said, pointing to his wallet then
he looked back once more.

“Now!” I screamed it at the top of my lungs and Marc and I
both lunged forward as the fire truck’s engine revved. Jason rolled backwards,
like a scuba diver leaving a boat, and started falling but he didn’t move fast
enough. Marc and I each took hold of a foot and held him there, upside-down
dangling above the asphalt. He was staring up at us, hatred in his eyes as he
yelled for us to let him go. With all the strength in his body he was kicking
and wriggling, trying to get us to drop him.

The truck was beneath us now, two firefighters standing with
outstretched arms just a few feet below Jason’s head. I looked at Marc and we
lowered him down as much as we could—with how hard he was fighting us there
would be no pulling him up. When he was as close to them as possible we let go.
He had been so intent on screaming at us that he’d never even seen the truck
beneath him. His freefall was broken an instant later as two sets of hands
grabbed hold of him and caught him safely.

It was over.

Marc got his cruiser and took the ramp down to where the
firefighters were waiting with Jason. He and another officer would be taking
him to Victoria Hospital in London for a mental health assessment.

“George?” I said as I walked toward him. “Are you all
right?”

He wiped his eyes free of tears and nodded. “I’m fine, it’s
just a lot to deal with right now.”

“Carter?”

“Yeah. He’d been on the unit for almost two years, since
shortly after I left homicide. I knew him well, he was a good guy. A happy
guy.”

I knew where he was going with that. “And if he could do
it…”

George nodded. “Makes you wonder.”

I could tell there was a lot being left unsaid, George had
never looked this awkward around me.

“What is it, George?”

“Nothing, just having a hard time dealing. Maybe I should
take the service up on that shrink they’re offering.” A grievance counselor,
ready for anyone who might need some help.

“Not a bad idea.”

He nodded. “Lincoln? Did you…” It was a question he couldn’t
ask, it was one he didn’t need to.

“Yeah. Between my marriage crumbling, shooting Saunders and
my father dying,” and finding out about killing my abductor as a child, “yeah,
I thought about it.”

A faint smile crossed his face, not one of happiness or joy
but of understanding, of gratefulness. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Lincoln.” He stared right at me, newfound
strength in his eyes. “Just dealing with some shit right now, but trust me,
I’ll be fine.”

“You know I’m here.”

“Yeah, thanks. I know.”

He turned and headed for his cruiser leaving me to wonder
just how all right he really was. One more thing to add to my list, a friend in
trouble. As if I needed anything further. But if George needed help, I’d make
sure he’d get it.

He would’ve done the same for me.

I APOLOGIZED TO KAT AND the kids as soon as I walked in the
door after work then locked myself in the office again. Carter’s cell phone was
hiding under the hanging files in the file drawer, fully charged now. I took it
out and crossed my fingers, hoping that he hadn’t changed the password.

Unlocked. Laura was right. Now to figure out how to get back
to the voice recorder. I hated these things. It took me long enough to figure
out my phone when I upgraded from one that only made phone calls to one that
did almost everything but cook my meals. I fumbled around for a few minutes
before getting to the recorded files.

There was only one. An hour long and dated the day Carter
was killed.

I hit play and waited.

“Jakob Carter, waiting here to meet an informant. Parked at
the end of Shiel Road. Informant says he’s a London Police officer, knew I was
looking into this. Says he has information I need. Shit. Car’s pulling up now.
5:27.”

I could hear the faint sound of another vehicle, then the
engine shut off and a door opened and closed.

“Looks like number three. Same car, no front plate.” Another
door opening, this one much louder, then movement as Carter stepped out of the
vehicle.

“It’s all right.” The other voice. “Look, here’s my badge.
It’s cold out. Let’s talk in your car.”

“Right. Finish your smoke first.”

“You guys don’t have dashcams or anything else, eh?”

“Nothing. We’re clear.”

No recording devices—except the one in your pocket, Carter.

More doors opening and closing, more shuffling. Carter or
his ‘informant’ would have had to move the duty bag before they could both sit
down.

It was silent for nearly a minute, neither of them spoke.

“Okay.” Carter. “You called me, what have you got?”

“What can you give me?”

“Seriously? What do you want? Cash?”

“Immunity. When all of this shit comes to light, my name
stays way the fuck out of it.”

Silence again. Carter didn’t like the idea. I knew because I
didn’t like the idea. If this guy was in on it, he had to go down too.

“Done. I don’t even know your name anyway.”

“That works, for now. How much have you got?”

“I know some of the players, and where the shipments are
going. There’s a lot more, but first tell me what you know.”

“You really think you can figure it all out?”

“I’ve got a lot of information, a lot of names. I just can’t
put it all together.”

This is what I had heard in the cruiser.

“But I’m close.”

A pause.

“It’s been going on for years.” The informant. “There’s
maybe a dozen involved—some of you guys, some of us, others. Shipments come in
about once a week.”

“Yeah, never the same truck.”

“Right. The product gets broken up and moved throughout the
province. Most of it stays around here or goes to Toronto.”

“And you’ve got criminals working for you.”

“No one else is putting their neck on the line. It’s easy to
pay some dumb fuck a few grand and get him to take a trip. If he gets caught,
the Crown or the judge drops the charges.”

“For a fee.”

“Of course.”

I went back.

“For a fee.”

Carter’s voice raised at the end, only the slightest bit. He
was fishing, asking a question, but his informant didn’t catch it. He thought
Carter already knew.

“Of course.”

“What about Davidson? He’s in on it, I know that much.”

“You have no idea how high it goes. Who have you told about
this?”

“No one.”

Shit, Jakob. That was your mistake.

“Look, I’ve got cell phone numbers for three of the guys
involved. I’ll give them to you, maybe you can get a trace or something. Figure
out what you need to. Just leave me the fuck out of it. I’m not kidding.”

“Don’t worry. This conversation never happened.”

“Yeah. Okay, look away for a second. I’ve got other shit on
here I don’t want you seeing. If I give you too much, they’ll know it was me
and I’ll wind up dead.”

“Right.”

Three seconds passed before the gunshot. I wasn’t prepared
for it and almost fell out of my seat. It seemed as loud on tape as it would
have in the car.

There was something missing.

I went back again, to just before the shot. Silence, nothing
save for a slight rustling. The gun wasn’t in a holster. But it had been
Carter’s gun in his lap, Kara confirmed it. The bullet hadn’t been tested yet
but I knew it would match. If his informant was a cop, he wouldn’t be that dumb
as to shoot Carter with another gun.

I hit play again and braced for the gunshot. It was quiet
for a moment after, then I heard the snaps of a holster and a gun being
removed. Two doors opened before something heavy hit the passenger seat—the
duty bag. The door closed again and a few seconds later the other car started
and sped off. The engine revving was loud and clear, the killer wasn’t wasting
any time.

I played it again and again. There was no other option.
Whoever the informant was, they came to the scene with Carter’s gun. They shot
him with it and put it in his hand. Then they took someone else’s gun out of
Carter’s holster and left with it.

It left me with one question: whose gun was in Carter’s
holster?

THE NEXT MORNING CAME FAST. I was up until nearly two listening
and relistening to the tape, trying to hear anything else that might help me
out. There was a curse stopping me, a curse I couldn’t break. I was terrible
with technology.

Three hours later I was awake again and on my way back into
the detachment, strolling once more into the near empty locker room. It
wouldn’t have been hard to get into Carter’s locker without being noticed. In
the middle of a shift, when everyone was out on the street, there wouldn’t be a
soul around.

Our lockers were secured with combination locks, locks
provided by the service with the combinations recorded by our quartermaster.
Anyone above Constable could have gotten a hold of the combination, and any
Constable with a stethoscope and a bit of time could have cracked the lock. It’s
not like they were high quality. Take Carter’s gun, switch it with your own and
wait for the killer to bring it back.

It had to be someone inside our service. If the informant
really was a London cop, it couldn’t have been his gun. They carried Glocks, we
carried Sig Sauers. One wouldn’t fit in the other’s holster.

And if they’d had the combination, then a Sergeant or higher
was involved.

“You have no idea how high it goes.”

The informant’s voice was pounding in my head. I had to
focus, act like it was just another day. Back to the parade room to face the
troops and the disapproving glare of Stanton. I didn’t like him. He was
arrogant, entitled and a hothead. But he seemed too dumb to be involved in
something like this.

“How’s everyone doing today?”

A few nods, a couple of ‘good’s, an okay.

“The CISM team is doing a debrief today at eleven.” Critical
Incident Stress Management. “Anyone who wants to go, shoot me an e-mail and
I’ll make sure you’re off the street by then. It’ll only be about a half hour,
they figure. They’ll have some information on coping strategies, grief
counseling, anything you might need.”

I had to lie again, keep my cover.

“There’s no shame in going. Everyone deals with things like
this differently. The last thing we need is someone dealing with it the wrong
way… like Carter did.”

“Deville is on the team, if you want to talk with someone
you know. Remember the briefing, anything else, it’s all confidential.”

I read out the beats and gave out the important information.
Possible gunshots heard the night before south of Tilsonburg, no evidence or
victims yet—probably just a farmer with a varmint rifle. Two break-ins in
Glencoe. Stolen plates from St. Thomas used in a gas drive-off along the 401.
With the price of gas these days, hard to blame people for trying to find a way
around paying.

Everyone cleared out when I was done and I stayed in the
station. Paperwork was a great excuse. The role of a Sergeant wasn’t always a
fun one, but today I was looking forward to camping out at a desk for a while.

Within minutes of sitting down there was a knock at the
door.

“Come in,” I said.

In walked Red, in all his mountainous glory.

“Munroe, shit. I’m sorry, man.”

“Not your fault.”

“I know. If I even thought for a second he’d… I would have
gone instead of sending you.”

Carter was one of his.

“How long had you worked with him?”

“Three years or so, back on the old unit and now on this
one. Good kid. Helped him through that shit with Stanton a couple of years ago.
It was a rough time for him.”

“Just found out about that. Sounds like I should be keeping
an eye on Stanton.”

“Yeah. He’s not a bad guy, just gets ahead of himself some
times. Not the sharpest.”

Red reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of gum,
slipping the thin red rectangle into his mouth. Let the mastication begin.

“Hell of a way to come back,” he said, saliva escaping as he
chewed. “After everything else that happened you have to see that?”

“I’m fine. It wasn’t easy, but I’ll be fine. I’m worried
about his wife and kid though.”

“Yeah, I went by yesterday. She doesn’t want a police
funeral. Just wants to keep it simple.”

I hadn’t even thought of the funeral. The funeral for a
police officer killed in the line of duty was a sight to behold. Officers from
all around the country, even some from other countries, congregating to send
off a brother or sister. Some drew thousands of people.

But to everyone out there it was a suicide and not something
to honour. Even still, would Laura want a police funeral for her husband if the
truth was known? Police were the reason he was dead.

“Understandable,” I said. “Are you going?”

“Yeah, it’s in two days. Details are in an e-mail.”

“Haven’t checked them yet.”

“Right, I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Thanks, Red. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded, his jaw moving in rhythm with his head, then
turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

I pretended to be busy for another forty-five minutes. There
was no one in the office to see me but if someone came in, I needed to have
something on the screen or the desk to account for my absence from the street.

Once I was satisfied all of my officers were on the street
and all of the night shift had gone home, I pulled up the locker files. Carter,
Jakob. Locker 027. 24-31-16.

I wrote the information down on a scrap of paper and logged
out of the computer. It was a short walk to the locker room and I found myself
trying to move stealthily, as if the James Bond theme was playing in my head.
The halls were empty though, as was the locker room.

I went straight to Carter’s locker, took hold of the lock
and started turning the dial. With mine, it was automatic. I didn’t need to
think about the combination or how to open it. Now I found myself questioning
whether it was left, right, left or vice versa. Not to mention when it was that
I had to turn the dial twice before the number.

It took a couple of tries and far too much thought but the
lock clicked and I opened the locker door.

Empty.

It had already been cleared out.

“What are you doing?”

Shit.

I spun around to see Red standing at the end of the row,
only a few strides away, sweaty workout clothes clinging to his body.

“I was hoping I could find a picture or something in here,
something to give Laura. I figured anything might help.”

“Kara had me clean out the locker yesterday, she’s got
everything in evidence now. Protocol, eh?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Not like you, to forget about protocol.”

I was at a loss, standing there trying to act natural.

“Look, Munroe.” Red was chewing faster than normal. “If
you’re having a rough go with this, talk to someone. I was just finishing up in
the gym, do you want to grab a coffee?”

“No, thanks,” I said. I closed the locker door and clicked
the lock back into place. “I’ll be fine. Go home, get some sleep, Red.”

“Right. Have a good one, Munroe.”

“You too.”

Red walked out of sight toward his locker and I slumped down
on the bench in the middle of the aisle, trying to catch my breath.

That was too close. Much too close.

* * *

The sun was setting behind the houses across the street when
I got home after an uneventful day, a red glow reflected off the windows of my
house. I was sitting in my car, engine running, music on, in the driveway
trying to forget. The thought was laughable. The last few days were etched in
my mind, like acid on steel. And now, all I could think about was Carter—murdered
for trying to do the right thing.

Self-pity seemed to be my choice of thoughts, ‘why me?’
drifting in and out. The universe was trying hard, wanting me to believe in
fate. I just wasn’t there yet. Chen would have his own view of things, one
steeped in Eastern philosophy, mindfulness and the idea that everything
happened for a reason.

Right now, I needed a friend. I needed someone I could trust
and who was far enough removed to not be put in danger.

I needed Chen.

“Hey, Link.”

Picked up before the second ring, typical of Chen.
Everything he did was done quickly and with purpose. If he lacked anything, it
was the ability to relax.

“How’d you know it was me?”My number was blocked.

“Taking a cue from my buddy, the psychic.”

Chen still hadn’t forgotten my prediction of rain, a
prediction taken from my dreams. Dreams of a body, a man I had killed almost
thirty years ago.

“Nice. Always a dick.”

“You know it. Anyway, I was actually about to call you.”

“Yeah?”

“Hoping to hook up soon. The Brass is sending me back to
OPC, a course on human decomp and entomology.”

The Ontario Police College. Where Chen and I had met.
Vincenzo “Chen-Chen” Chen, yet another fresh-faced OPP recruit.

“How long for?”

“Two weeks.”

“Lovely, two weeks of death, decay and bugs.”

“At least it’ll be interesting. What’d you call for?”

“When are you in town? Maybe it can wait ‘til then.”

“That depends. What’s your schedule like?”

“Days tomorrow, off for four.”

“Kids have a P.D. day on Friday?”

I’d been hearing about it for weeks. Good old professional
development days. A day off for the kids, a day on for the parents.

“Mine too. We were thinking about all coming down, grabbing
a hotel room for the weekend.”

“Bullshit. You were thinking about crashing at my house and
just wanted to make me feel guilty about you staying at a hotel.”

“So, can we?”

“Of course.”

“We’re going to drive down separately on
Friday,
then Julie and the kids will head home Sunday.”

“Done.” The kids would be excited about seeing Aidan and
Anya again. And talking with Chen in person would be better, but I still wanted
to get it off my chest now.

My phone.

What if it had been bugged already? Or my car. My phone
hadn’t left my side since I found Carter, but my car…

I was being paranoid. I knew it.

“Right,” Chen said. “So making me wait a couple days to find
out why you called?”

“Yeah. Now that I think about it, I can’t deal with you and
your ‘I told you so’s today.”

The universe just smacked a line drive at me. I wasn’t dodging
this one. Fate was starting to seem real.

“Ass. Fine, see you in two. We’ll be there around four.”

“See you then. Bye.”

“Bye.”

My phone beeped, the call ended. Fate. Maybe it was going to
make a believer out of me after all.

* * *

An hour later Kat, the kids and I collapsed on the couch,
stuffed from a dinner of Kat’s famous stroganoff.
Family Channel
was our
go-to for TV and tonight was no different as the kids snuggled in between us on
a couch made for two.

Happiness was absent from the room though, or at least from
me. Everything important in my world was on that couch and still, there was a
gaping hole.

Carter.

His son wouldn’t
have this opportunity.
Noah had no father, never got a chance to know him. The guilt was building,
making me feel I shouldn’t be enjoying time with my kids. I was supposed to be
hard at work cracking a password and solving a murder.

Kat had reacted to Chen and his family’s
impending visit as expected: panic. We both worked the next day and then
Friday, I was off with the kids while Kat attended teacher’s conferences. The
house needed to be cleaned, meals prepared, sheets for the guest bed and sofa
bed washed, and, of course, alcohol stocked. It wouldn’t be a visit with Chen
and Julie without tying a few on.

And the guilt came rushing back. Carter’s
funeral was also on Friday. Catching up with old friends for me and a funeral
for Laura.

I was going to have to let go, detach
somewhat if I ever planned on getting through this.

* * *

Once the kids were in bed I apologized to
Kat once more for my absence and went into the office. Scattered papers and the
laptop left open were obvious signs I wasn’t the last one in there. Panic
reigned once more—had someone broken in? I turned the laptop back on and was
relieved to see a dress-up game on the screen.

Kasia.

Link or Kat must have been on the other
computer while poor Kasia felt the need to dress up ‘paper’ dolls online. I
closed down the main page and the numerous pop-up windows that had opened from
Kasia clicking everything on the page, then looked at the papers on the desk.

She was a born multi-tasker—pictures were
drawn on all the blank pages I’d stacked neatly on the edge of the desk. And on
the page I’d been using to try to decipher the note Carter had left. The random
string of letters and numbers. Now it had a picturesque scene of the sun
shining on a forest with a variety of animals living there. I recognized a cat,
two dogs, a rabbit and a few other animals I was sure Kasia had made up on the
spot. The crayon obscured my writing, but didn’t fully cover it and now, thanks
to Kasia, it was upside-down.

Shit.

I peered through what looked like a yellow
unicorn-bear hybrid with five legs to the light pencil scratches I had made the
night before.

All numbers.

230997149. I flipped it back over.
6h1Lbb0EZ.

It was like I was back in school, spelling
things with my calculator upside down.

Smart, Carter. A simple letter for number
substitution but more than enough to throw me off.

I dug the thumbdrive out of the floor vent
and plugged it in. The password screen came up and, triumphantly, I keyed in
the sequence.