Part 42 (1/2)
”Why?”
”Because I f.u.c.king love it.”
He looked at Stacy. ”You love it too, Crean?”
”I have enjoyed being part of it, Captain.”
”Your boss send you down here again?”
”I have his blessing.”
”Keeps throwing you at me, like I'm supposed to do something about it.” He turned to Adele. ”All right, let's hear it, and keep the F-bombs to a minimum, if you please.”
”Certainly, sir. Paulie's off the hook for the Nimchuk murder.”
”Okay, I don't hate that part. How'd you pull that off?”
”It wasn't his gun.”
”You can prove that?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Lay it on me.”
”We've got tapes you need to hear, things to look at, we've got statements, interviews.” She nodded in Stacy's direction. ”We're building a case.”
”A case against anybody in particular?”
”This is the part you might hate a little.”
”Because . . .”
”Because we think that a former detective with this squad, who is now running real hard for a vacant federal seat, is responsible for three, make that four, deaths.”
”Oh f.u.c.k,” said Rosebart.
Rosebart wasn't a man easy to convince. Their case was built mostly on hearsay and speculation and riddled with holes, and while he had to admit they told a great story, it was his job to point out exactly how flimsy it was.
”You're not rousting some pickpocket here, Detective. You'd be dragging in a very high profile local politician about ten days away from getting himself elected to Parliament. He's polling about forty-seven percent, which is pretty d.a.m.n high. The next candidate is at nineteen.”
”What's the big deal? Dilly's always dropping in here. He showed up at Paulie's wake. He was here last week nosing around. He still thinks he's got privileges.”
”That's a five-minute drop-by. You're going to want his b.u.t.t in a chair a bit longer than that. He brings his campaign manager who let's say turns out to be a hotshot lawyer and Dylan says I'm outta here, what are you planning on holding him with?”
”We've got Sergei. He'll testify that he brokered a meeting between Dylan and Viktor.”
”Was he at the meeting? No. Is he credible? Let's see, he's been arrested twice in the past week, he's an illegal immigrant, he's been hiding out in this country for thirty years doing who knows what. This guy is your big weapon?”
”Dylan's wife is in possession of a sapphire that was previously in the possession of a murder victim.”
”What we have is a ten-year-old picture of her wearing what could be a sapphire, that maybe was once in the possession of some Russian woman thirty years ago, although we only have your loony dancer lady's word for that.”
”I don't think she's loony, Captain,” said Stacy.
”Given her past history, any defence lawyer makes her look like a raving lunatic inside ten minutes. Anyway, she wasn't in Montreal when it happened. And the two other men allegedly involved are both conveniently dead.”
”Both of them can be connected to Dylan,” said Adele.
”Says who? The dancer who wasn't there? The illegal Russian who's trying to stay in the country? The dead p.a.w.nbroker? His drunken son?”
”You're not buying any of this?”
He looked at them both, one to the other, smiled. ”I'm buying it, Detective Moen, Detective Crean, I'm buying it. But. I'm buying it on the installment plan. You haven't got enough. Not yet. Go back to work.”
Stacy munched toast and honey. Adele wasn't hungry. She was sitting in front of a perfectly respectable BLT with mayo, on whole grain toast (Stacy's suggestion), and had yet to take a bite. The diner was on Queen Street, east of Yonge, the sketchier part, not far from the Sally Ann and within sight of the Sherbourne intersection where men with nothing to do but wait waited.
”We f.u.c.k this up, that's where I'll be next week: busting a.s.sholes on that corner.”
”The murder weapon's still out there,” Stacy said.
”Who knows? Maybe Dylan 'liberated' his old service piece. He was always 'visiting,' showing up, slapping hands. Dropping in on Paulie at his desk. Being extra smooth to me, like he wanted us to be real good pals.” She picked up half the sandwich and examined it carefully.
Stacy stuck with it. ”It's somewhere to start. Check storage to see if any weapons are missing, check on what happened to Dylan's piece after he retired.”
”That oughta be a load of laughs.” Adele dropped the sandwich, still intact. ”What's the difference? The slug's so f.u.c.ked up we couldn't get a match anyway.” She pushed the BLT away from her. ”I'm cool with that. We got Paulie off the hook.”
”Your blood sugar's low. Eat the sandwich before you curl up and die on me.” Stacy's cellphone began buzzing. ”That's probably the Chief letting me know Mounties just showed up and it's time to come home. h.e.l.lo?”
The voice on the other end was familiar. ”Detective Crean. I think you are in the city, yes?” She sounded pleased with herself. ”You spent the night as well, did you?”
”Anya? Where are you?”
”I am following a politician on his daily campaign rounds. Right now he is kissing babies and shaking hands and having his picture taken as many times as he can.”
”Where?”
”Many places. I have his itinerary right here. I believe next we are going to plant a tree. A bit early in the year, no?”
”Plant a tree where?”
”You should pick up a copy of his schedule at his campaign office. He has a full afternoon and evening planned.”
”What are you doing?”
”I am smiling every time he looks in my direction, I am adding my voice to the general cheers, I am waving from the crowd when he makes his little speech. Now and then I ask a question but so far he has not acknowledged my presence.”
”What sort of questions?”
”When we stopped at the deli, I asked him how the pastrami compared to Montreal smoked meat. By the library steps, I asked him if his broken toe hurt him on chilly mornings. I know my toes hurt when it is cold.”