“Can we come in?”
“Inspector, I’m not set up for visitors,” he said, backing away from the door as they walked through. He sat down on the edge of the bed and they stood over him. There wasn’t room to stand anywhere else. The window was covered by a thick brown blanket that was nailed into place, and the room was dark as a cave. Vanier pulled the chain on a bedside lamp and filled the room with a yellowish glow. It did little to dispel the gloom but illuminated the overflowing ashtray on the table and the empty screw-top wine bottle on the floor next to the bed. The air was close and heavy with the smell of stale tobacco mixed with the disturbingly unpleasant aroma of Degrange. Vanier knew that if he looked around, he would probably find a full jug of last night’s urine.
“It isn’t much, I know.” He tried to regain some humanity. “So, Inspector, what can I do for you?”
“You didn’t call me.”
“I was meaning to. But I didn’t want to disturb your holidays.” He gave Vanier an ingratiating smile.
“So what do you have on Audet?”
“Audet. Yeah, Marcel Audet. I have an address, Inspector. It’s here,” he said, reaching for his pants on the floor next to the bed. He dragged scraps of paper out of the pocket and handed one to Vanier, who checked it to make sure that it was legible.
“Anything else?”
“No. He’s not working with anyone that I know. Maybe he’s gone clean. It happens, Inspector.”
“You’re right. How much?”
“You said fifty.”
“And I gave you twenty. So here’s thirty. We’ll close the door on the way out.”
The address was downtown in one of those big anonymous towers that caters to people passing through on their way to somewhere else; twenty identical apartments on each of thirty identical floors. There was no answer when they knocked on the door to his apartment. They tried the neighbouring apartments, and nobody knew anything. The building lobby was as busy as a railway station with strangers passing strangers. The building allowed people to live alone, really alone.
As they were driving back to headquarters, Vanier got a text message to call Peterson when he got a chance. He had a chance half an hour later.
“Ian, it’s Luc.”
“Luc, where the fuck do you find these people? It’s time you started moving in better circles.”
Vanier smiled, “Nobody else will have me. Blackrock?”
“Yes, and their wonderful officers Markov and Romanenko.”
“So you lads on horses know them?”
“Know them? We’d be galloping up Chabanel on the fucking horses if we could get something on them. Grab a pen, Mr. V.”
Vanier began to take notes.
“Markov came to Montreal from St. Petersburg, that’s in Russia.”
“How do you spell it?”
“Russia or St. Petersburg?”
“Fuck off.”
“He came to Canada 12 years ago as an immigrant investor. Basically that’s an $800,000 ticket to Canada, but you get to keep the money. You just have to invest it in a Canadian business. We’ve been watching him ever since. Romanenko came a year later. And let me say for the record, Detective Inspector-”
“In case anyone is listening,” said Vanier.
“-for the record, they have never been accused of the slightest wrongdoing. Upstanding citizens, both of them.”
“But?”
“Ah, but, that’s the thing, there are suspicions. And some would say, though I’m not saying it, that those suspicions are very well founded.”
“And what are those unfounded suspicions?”
“That the gentlemen specialize in corruption. No job too small or too large. Let’s say that you’re a businessman and you want to show your appreciation to someone for giving you some business, or permits. There are a lot of people who would frown on that sort of thing, in fact it’s illegal just about everywhere. Well, Blackrock can put together a plan for you, and they take a small commission.”
“And then they have the goods on the donor and the crooked politician.”
“So you’re following me. It’s a growth business. Every transaction pays off in money and in influence for the future. The more they do, the more people they have in their pocket. That allows them to pursue their other interests, like property development, much more efficiently.”
“Are they are serious players?”
“Luc, they are as serious as it gets. Make no mistake, these are very dangerous people to mess with. They have connections you can’t even imagine, and they have muscle they’re not afraid to use.”
“Muscle?”
“They have three guys on retainer that we know of, all Russian, and we think they have just picked up a local asset, Marcel Audet.”
“I know him.”
“Thought you might. The three Russians are the same type, very violent. Luc, I advise you to be extremely careful. Do not underestimate these people.”
Vanier knew that it was too late for that. “Thanks for the heads up, Ian. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Please do.”
Before Vanier could get lost in paperwork, the phone rang.
“Vanier.”
“Good afternoon, Luc, or should I call you Inspector.”
“Anjili. Hello will do fine. How are you?”
“I’ve got news.”
“I need good news.”
“It’s not all good.”
“Well, give me the good news first.”
“The body in the truck — M. Latulippe — there was no trace of poison. So we’re putting it down as natural causes. His blood alcohol level was through the roof. He probably passed out in the snow and that was it. It’s likely he was dead before he went into the snow blower.”
“That’s the good news?”
“Everything’s relative, Luc.”
“So what’s the bad news?”
“The body from the fire is not John Collins. We don’t know who it is yet, but it’s not Collins.”
“Sure?”
“Yes. Mme. Collins was in this morning to identify the body.”
“That can’t have been pleasant.”
“It wasn’t. She took one long look at the body and said that it wasn’t her son. I was half-expecting her to say that. The body’s in awful shape, and any mother would want to deny it’s her son. But she insisted. She was very calm. When we were arranging the visit, I had asked her to bring down any medical records she had of him. The blood type is different. She even stopped by her dentist to get John’s file, and the teeth are different. The clincher is the broken arm.”
“His arm was broken?”
“No, that’s the point. She says that he broke his left arm when he was ten, and it didn’t set properly. Our victim shows no sign of a healed fracture. Based on all of that, we’re certain the fire victim is not John Collins.”
“Shit.”
“So we have an unidentified corpse, and your suspect is still wandering the streets.”
“Anjili, can you fax me a preliminary report?”
“It’s on its way, Luc.”
“I need to talk to Mme. Collins. When did she leave?” he said, trying to calculate how long it would be before
