Then his phone went off.
The red cell.
The ringing sound made his heart flutter, made his stomach clench and his throat dry up. It brought him back an immediate sickness that only the red phone could bring. He put the cell to his ear and heard the nurse’s voice. It was full of regret and concern.
‘It’s time,’ she said.
He listened with fear creeping over him.
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes,’ he said again, almost a whisper.
To his left, Molly looked straight ahead as she drove, refusing to so much as glance in his direction.
When he finally hung up the phone, his face was slack and his skin looked not only pale but bloodless. There was a haunted look in his eyes, a hollow, gaping darkness he could not hide. He began to shake. Shake as if his fever was finally reaching unlivable temperatures.
Molly took notice. ‘Is everything okay?’
He said nothing.
She reached over and touched his arm.
‘It’s time,’ he said softly. ‘He’s dying.’
One Hundred and Ten
It was twelve noon by the time Striker and Felicia finished reading the PSS files at Internal. The time spent had been worthwhile – it had brought them more leads, and, with it, a dozen more questions. Most troubling to Striker was the notion that the police-involved shooting of Chipotle could wrongly be viewed as a police execution.
It gave them a possible motive for the bombers.
Files in hand, they grabbed a coffee from the next-door café and returned to the car.
Once seated in the passenger seat, Striker spoke his thoughts aloud: ‘The Chipotle shooting connects Chad Koda and Mike Rothschild because they were involved in the call. And it connects Osaka because he was running the internal investigation on the file. But it still leaves out Harry and the two women.’
Felicia thought it over. ‘That car bomb was remotely armed,’ she said. ‘The bombers could pick and choose when to detonate. With Koda in the car, he was the obvious target. But with Harry also so close, they might have been trying for both of them. God knows they came in shooting at Harry afterwards.’
Striker thought it over, said nothing, and Felicia continued.
‘As for Dr Sharise Owens, she was Koda’s common-law wife at one point.’
‘So what?’ Striker replied. ‘I don’t see them blowing up Pearl Osaka or going after the Williams children, do you?’ When Felicia said nothing, Striker continued. ‘Some of this just doesn’t make any sense. Think about it. If someone was going after cops for revenge, why wait ten damn years to do it? There’s only two reasons I can think of – either they were in jail, or they were in an institution somewhere.’
‘Well, lots of Prowlers have been in and out of jail over the last decade. They could have been biding their time.’
‘I don’t buy it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ Striker explained, ‘the Prowlers usually contract out their killings. Or they use their underlings to do it. That’s how Sleeves got into the gang in the first place. Which blows the whole jail-time theory right out the window. Why wait ten years when they can order one of the prospects to do it whenever they want?’
Striker took a long sip of his coffee. He tasted bitterness, and wished he’d added some cream and sugar. ‘Let’s look at some other angles. Bring up this breacher who got shot – Archer Davies.’
Felicia ran the name. ‘There’s nothing in PRIME.’
‘Not even the report for when he was shot?’
She scanned the various reports they already had. ‘Maybe they lumped it in with the Chipotle shooting.’
Striker shook his head. ‘They shouldn’t have. Every victim requires his own file. Given the cross-border issues, there’ll probably be some overlap.’
Felicia groaned. As always, jurisdictional issues and separate databases made for the creation of extra work. At times it felt mind-boggling. ‘Why a federal report for the Davies shooting? He was a Vancouver cop.’
‘That’s precisely why. The investigation had to be impartial. That required an outside agency.’
‘Right, right.’ Felicia scanned through the reports, both paper and electronic. After a moment, she looked up. ‘We got all the reports here except for the shooting of Archer Davies. It registers nothing on the screen.’
Striker was unsurprised. ‘It’ll be a Fed file and likely paper.’
‘Which means more red tape.’
Striker felt her pain, and he had reached his fill of the bureaucracy. He relented, took out his cell phone, and began dialling the one number he wanted to avoid.
‘You calling the Burnaby detachment?’ Felicia asked.
Striker shook his head. ‘Deputy Chief.’
‘Laroche?’
Striker just nodded reluctantly and forced out a weak grin.
‘Why does it feel like I’m selling my soul?’
One Hundred and Eleven
Improper procedure or not, the moment Acting Deputy Chief Laroche got on the phone with one of his RCMP counterparts, the federal red tape was cut. Within minutes, the two reports – Carlos Chipotle: Homicide and Archer Davies: Attempted Murder – were pulled from federal archives. Because they were both in paper form and there was no electronic copy to send, the reports had to be sent by fax to Laroche’s office.
Striker and Felicia drove there to pick them up.
Striker was relieved to be getting them so fast, but miffed as well. He looked at Felicia as they walked up to the main foyer elevator. ‘Why is it the moment the brass needs information, the report is expedited? Yet whenever I – the actual investigator – need something, there’s walls of red tape to climb?’
Felicia smiled. ‘Karma?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe you’re right. God knows I’ve pissed off someone up there.’ He pushed the button for the third floor. ‘We’ll hit Personnel first. See if they have a folder on Archer Davies.’
Felicia agreed.
Moments later, they stood in the Human Resources archives reading through the file. The bundle was thin, consisting of a record of employment with the City of Vancouver, a list of mandatory courses the man had passed to be exempt from Block 3 of the Academy, a statement from his Field Training Officer, advising that Davies was fully competent, and a Deputy Chief release, ending his probationary period early by six months.
‘That’s unusual,’ Felicia remarked.
Striker agreed. It was unusual, but not unheard of with interdepartmental transfers – especially for employees who brought with them a needed skill set.
Like being able to use C4 explosives to breach barricaded entranceways.
They left Human Resources and headed for the Deputy Chief’s office. Laroche’s secretary gave them the reports that the RCMP had faxed over – the shooting of Archer Davies and the police-involved shooting of Carlos Chipotle.
Striker felt the thickness of the bundle and nodded approvingly. These were the full reports, and he and Felicia wasted no time. They took the paperwork into the hall, found a corner, and began reading.
The first thing Striker noticed was the call code. The file was marked not as a Homicide, but as an Attempted Murder. It told him one very important fact – that Archer Davies had indeed survived his wounds.
‘We need to talk to this man,’ he said.
Felicia nodded eagerly. ‘One more avenue to follow.’
Striker continued reading. The report was long and included photographic evidence of the crime scene, a detailed map of the house where the shooting took place, and dozens of printed-out PDF files, which were mostly civilian witness statements. Once done, Striker handed Felicia the last page and waited for her to finish reading.