False Witness (3 page)

The print guys had a somewhat easier job of it – they just needed to follow the scrum with their digital recorders and then hightail it back to the newsroom for some phone interviews. Alex wondered if any of those calls would come to him. He was the star witness in the case, but he was also their competition. During the month-long trial itself, the
Herald
and the
Sun
had referred to him as “a Calgary writer and author of the bestseller,
The Devil’s Wristwatch.”
(The word “bestseller” always made Alex laugh. This was Canada; he had made just enough from the book to buy a five-year-old Volvo SUV that he didn’t particularly like, but thought was the kind of car a bestselling author might drive). Neither of them mentioned he was a reporter for the
Chronicle
, mainly because neither paper was willing to admit that any other news media existed in the city.

The
Chronicle
, of course, had been playing the story to the hilt, splashing nearly life-size photos of Rufus Hodge’s menacing scowl on the front page half a dozen times. Bob Shippobotham, the rumpled old managing editor, had fought to maintain some semblance of dignity for the paper, but he was constantly overruled by the
Chronicle’s
hyperactive young publisher, who wanted the term “hero reporter” used in headlines and subheads as often as possible. Sam Walsh had been covering the trial for the
Chronicle
. The two weren’t friends – Alex had graduated at the top of his class at Carleton, while Walsh had worked his way up from a community paper in some shitsplat town near the U.S. border – but they had a grudging respect for each other.

Chuck caught Alex’s eye and strolled over, looking happy to leave the media crew behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. As far as Alex was concerned, Chuck Palliser was the only person in this whole mess who deserved the title of hero. Without him, Alex probably would have taken a nosedive off the Calgary Tower into some poor sap’s nachos on one of Stephen Avenue’s trendy patios.

Chuck smiled and clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder. He was wearing a dark green suit that clashed with the blue spider-web tattoo that reached from Chuck’s wrist to the middle knuckle of his index finger, a remnant of his days undercover. Alex suddenly heard his mother’s voice in his head, admonishing him that “blue and green should never be seen,” and he had to fight to stifle a manic laugh.

“What a clusterfuck,” Chuck muttered, missing Alex’s expression. “Funny, eh? The only reporter who could do a decent job of covering this thing is the one guy who’s not allowed to.”

“Flattery will get you a beer later,” said Alex, trying to sound cooler than he felt. “Assuming Hodge doesn’t walk out of here a free man and look up my address. If that’s the case, I’m pretty sure I’m booked for a radical tonsillectomy via my rectum tonight.”

Chuck slapped a handful of knobby fingers off the back of Alex’s head. The look on Chuck’s face was one Alex had seen often during the trial and the weeks leading up to it – that look said Sgt. Charles MacRae Palliser was in hardass cop mode, and all bullshit was to be set aside immediately.

He pointed a finger at Alex’s nose. “What’d I say?”

Alex sighed. “That I’ve got nothing to worry about?”

“Don’t say it like that, like you don’t believe me. I told you, Hodge is going down. Period.”

“Look, Chuck, no disrespect, I owe you a lot, but it’s easy for you to say there’s nothing to worry about – you carry a gun. I carry a pen, and contrary to what a certain proverb might lead you to believe, it’s really not mightier than a sword. As a matter of fact, it’s pretty goddamn flimsy.”

Palliser opened his mouth to answer but Singer spoke first. “I agree with Charles,” she said distractedly. “The verdict is guilty. But now is not the time to be discussing the matter.” She extended a pudgy arm and gently moved Alex and Palliser back towards the wall as the crowd of reporters parted.

Singer had seen what the other two hadn’t: four heavily fortified guards were escorting Rufus Hodge to Courtroom One to learn what the Queen, via her servant Gregory Larocque, had up her dusty old sleeve for his future. Alex felt his pulse quicken and tasted the coppery tang of adrenaline in his mouth. This was the closest he’d ever been to the man who had executed Tom Ferbey right in front of him. Even now, months later, Alex would pitch upright in bed in the middle of the night, a silent scream hissing out of his dry throat, the image of Ferbey’s vaporized face etched indelibly into his mind’s eye.

Time slowed in Alex’s mind as Hodge and his entourage came within easy striking distance. He heard Chuck bark something about the guards being stupid motherfuckers, but it seemed as if the sound was traveling through water instead of air. The sense of time moving like molasses deepened as the guards pulled Hodge by his arms to the other side of the hallway.

Hodge swiveled his head to face Alex. He’d seen the killer’s face a hundred times before, but never this close; at this range, Alex could see the relief map of scar tissue on Hodge’s high forehead, the deep furrows under his eyes and on his cheeks, the pock marks and pits that whispered
“you should see the other guy.”
His shoulder-length rat-brown had been pulled back from his high forehead in a ponytail for the occasion.

Hodge locked his gaze with Alex for only a moment, but it was enough to slide a rusty blade of fear into his belly. Hodge’s eyes were the color of lead.
If the eyes are the windows of the soul
, Alex thought,
this guy’s got a nuclear winter blowing through the spot where his is supposed to be.
Hodge finally turned to face front again, but before he broke eye contact, Alex thought he might have seen something in that gray gaze – but what?

Before he could give it any more thought, Chuck was ushering him into the seating area of the courtroom while Singer shuffled over to the prosecutor’s table. Hodge was led to the prisoner’s dock, where he could watch the proceedings behind a wall of Plexiglass.

Chuck gave Alex a wink and chucked him lightly on the shoulder as they sat down.

“Look sharp,” he said with a grin. “It’s showtime.”

#

Bike gang leader gets life for murder

Hero reporter pleased with sentence for man who shot security guard in front of him

By Sam Walsh

Exclusive to The Chronicle

Alex Dunn will sleep easier tonight knowing that Rufus Hodge, the leader of Alberta’s largest motorcycle gang, will be behind bars for at least a quarter of a century.

Hodge, 38, leader of the Wild Roses and believed to be the largest organized crime kingpin in the province, was found guilty Tuesday of first-degree murder in the execution-style shooting of Calgary security guard Thomas Ferbey last October. Justice Gregory Larocque handed Hodge life in prison without possibility of parole for 25 years – the maximum punishment for such an offense – in an unusual same-day sentencing.

Dunn, the
Chronicle’s
long-time crime reporter and author of the bestseller
The Devil’s Wristwatch
, was an eye-witness to the slaying. He said the verdict and sentence were “justice served” and that he hopes it will bring some peace to Ferbey’s widow, Katherine, and their 14-year-old son, Josh.

“I’m just glad this is all over,” said Dunn. “I hope now we can all get some sleep, knowing that Rufus Hodge is off the streets for good.”

Katherine Ferbey was not available for comment. She did not attend any of the three-week trial and has not spoken to the media since her husband’s death.

Tom Ferbey was killed last Oct. 10 after uncovering a huge cache of methamphetamine in a warehouse at the Highland Storage Yard in the city’s southeast corridor. Ferbey, who worked as a security guard at the site, had called Dunn several times in the evenings leading up to Oct. 10, saying he had a hunch that one of the warehouses was being used for illicit purposes.

Dunn said he initially thought Ferbey was overreacting, but decided to investigate after the guard called to say someone had entered the compound without authorization and was skulking around a particular warehouse. Shortly after arriving at Highland, Dunn watched in horror as Rufus Hodge shot Ferbey at point-blank range, killing him instantly.

Dunn described the event in his testimony last month as “something no one should ever have to see. That single moment will be with me for the rest of my life.”

The chaos didn’t end there, however. Within moments of Ferbey’s death, the warehouse containing the drugs was destroyed by what forensic investigators determined to be C4 military-grade plastic explosives. The resulting blaze caused more than $2 million damage to the Highland compound before firefighters got it under control four hours later.

RCMP Sgt. Charles Palliser testified that the storage unit had been rented by a shell corporation owned by the Alberta-based Wild Roses, believed to be the most powerful outlaw motorcycle gang west of Quebec. Palliser, who spent many years working undercover for the Quebec Provincial Police before joining the interjurisdictional Western Canadian Organized Crime task force two years ago, told the court that the explosion had destroyed any evidence, but he believes the building likely housed as much as a ton of methamphetamine. The drug, commonly known as meth, crystal or crank, was cooked in Wild Roses labs located deep in the extensive bush country between Edmonton and Grand Prairie.

“The explosives were a fail-safe,” Palliser testified. “It’s a lot easier to cook more meth than it is to serve a prison sentence. So when Hodge realized that Mr. Ferbey was on to what was being stored in the unit, he killed him. When he realized that Mr. Dunn had witnessed the event, he blew the warehouse. The only reason Hodge didn’t kill him, too, is that Mr. Dunn was smart enough to call 911, and there happened to be police close by. If it weren’t for that, I have no doubt that Mr. Dunn would not be here today.”

Hodge was acquitted on charges of possession and use of illegal materials dangerous to the public. Justice Larocque said the prosecution failed to prove Hodge had actually planted or detonated the explosives himself. That conviction could have added another 10 years to Hodge’s sentence.

Hodge’s defense case was dealt a serious blow when the man who had provided his alibi for Oct. 10 suddenly recanted his testimony in a deal with Crown prosecutor Leslie Singer. Richard “Dum Dum” Duff had originally told the court that Hodge had been at his home in the Bowness neighborhood on the night of the murder, discussing whether to make Duff a full member of the Wild Roses. Duff reportedly had a change of heart, however, and changed his testimony on the condition that he not be charged with perjury for lying on the stand. In his second testimony, Duff said Hodge had offered him five thousand dollars and full member status in the Wild Roses to lie in court, and that Hodge had never been to his home.

The prosecution also entered evidence in the form of a photograph from Dunn’s camera that, according to Singer, showed Hodge standing behind Ferbey after the murder weapon was fired.

Singer, who was seconded out of semi-retirement to act as prosecutor for the trial, said she was “ecstatic” over the judge’s ruling and believes the sentence will send a strong message to organized criminals in Alberta.

“This verdict will echo through the halls of justice in this province,” Singer told the
Chronicle
in an exclusive interview. “Criminals have been told in no uncertain terms that frontier justice is alive and well in Alberta, and that they should beware.”

Diane Manning, Hodge’s defense lawyer, said her client would appeal the conviction immediately.

“We believe the prosecution’s case was built on pillars of sand,” Manning said yesterday. “A shaky eye-witness account, a grainy photograph, and the testimony of a small-time criminal who switched sides when it suited his own purposes, are hardly the basis for a murder conviction. There isn’t a shred of hard evidence linking Mr. Hodge to the crime scene.”

Asked whether Duff should fear reprisal from the Wild Roses, Manning said the group is simply a “social group of motorcycle enthusiasts,” and that Duff would have “to live with his decision to misrepresent a man who has shown him nothing but kindness.”

Hodge was transported to the maximum-security Badlands Institute for Men outside Drumheller immediately after the verdict, and will be remanded there until any appeals are exhausted.

Dunn said he looks forward to returning to his work with the
Chronicle
, and that he is considering writing a book about Ferbey’s murder, the trial, and organized crime in Western Canada.

“I think the Canadian public will be very interested in what I have to say.”

See
Verdict applauded
, Page 3, and
Justice system finally gets one right
, Opinion, Page 16.

#

Leslie Singer’s office was in direct contrast to the rest of Calgary’s downtown courthouse. While the building itself was the epitome of functional modernism, all glass and concrete, Singer’s corner was a study in Old World charm, which wasn’t surprising. She’d been born and raised in Montreal and was as much of a liberal as Justice Gregory Larocque, at least on election day. Her desk was burnished mahogany with a gleaming top surface and ornately carved claw legs. The desk lamps were old school, with flat bases and wide fluorescents under simple shades, the thick carpet hunter green.

The old lady motioned for Alex and Palliser to sit as she pulled a crystal decanter from the matching mahogany wardrobe on the wall next to the desk. She poured two fingers of amber liquid into each of three crystal tumblers, handed one to each of her guests, then raised her own glass.

“Gentlemen, I can think of no more eloquent toast than this: To justice.”