had been the heart of the plan. So where had it gone wrong?
Eight
From Afar
The first forty-eight was long gone. In fact, this was day six, which meant they were halfway through their third forty-eight. Not good. Leith sat with the core team in the smaller case room, gathered about the conference table and working over the game plan. Doug Paley was present, Cal Dion, Jimmy Torr, Sean Urbanski, and JD Temple.
Paley and Torr looked hungover — much like Leith felt — from last night at Rainey’s. Only Dion had shown up clean and sharp as a fresh-pressed suit, and brimming with elaborations to his thoughts at last night’s debrief. “So going with our theory that there were two people there,” he was saying, speaking of the Liu murder scene on Mahon Avenue, the death of Cheryl and Rosalie, “I’m saying the same person who hid Joey in the cabinet took the baby’s shoe — for proof if it came to blackmail, or insurance if it came to threats. It’s time to get ’em to do another press release, include the missing shoe this time. And post a reward for any information that leads to an arrest. Because that second person is on the edge of her seat, and that might tip her our way. And it should have an immunity package attached, if we want her talking. Maybe she’ll stick with her blackmail gamble, but probably not. Probably she’ll go for the reward and some guarantee of protection. It’s more reliable, and it’s got the added bonus for her that the guy will be thrown in jail. Because she’s afraid of him, right? Flash that ad and I bet we’ll get a call the same day. She’d be putting herself in trouble with him, but it’s better than what she’s already facing. The money’s going to catch her attention, and the immunity will pull her in. Unless, like I say, she was under duress and she only grabbed the evidence as insurance. But the results could be the same, she’ll come forward to get herself out of a hole.”
A lot of ifs and buts. Leith rested chin on knuckles and tried to look one step ahead of all this instead of two steps behind.
Paley, too, seemed to be lagging, but he wasn’t shy about saying so. “So unlike the rest of us, Mighty Mouse, you’ve got it all worked out.”
“Unless it’s retribution,” Dion said. “In which case it’ll be coming our way, anyhow.”
Leith didn’t understand the last remark at all. He jotted down the word so he could mull it over. Retribution. Torr scowled at Dion across the table. “You’re still saying ‘she’ like it’s a fact. Who says it’s a ‘she’?”
“Nine to one she is,” Dion told him shortly, not so crisp as Leith first thought. Feverish-looking, like he was fuelled by uppers.
“And I said, says who it’s a she?” Torr repeated.
But Dion had run out of words and sat staring across at Torr in blank silence.
Leith used the opportunity to air his own objections to posting a press release or Crime Stoppers spot about the missing bootie. “For one thing, it’s holdback info. For another, if there was a second person, I doubt he or she would put themselves in peril at any price, and I’m sure as hell not willing to offer immunity up front. Rosalie was still alive when those two — if there were two of them — left the scene. I’m damned if whoever could have saved that child but didn’t cuts a deal and walks.”
“It’s lousy holdback,” Dion said. “We’ve got better. And sure it’s iffy, but say it works, it’s better than the alternative.”
“The alternative is …?” Torr said.
“She keeps quiet and stays with the killer, and he gets her next.”
Earlier this morning, Bosko had pulled Leith aside for a mysterious chat. “I’m sure you get the drift that I’ve got a bit of an informal investigation underway,” Bosko had said. He spoke with more gravity than Leith was accustomed to, which made him sit up and listen. “But it’s purely at this level right now.” Bosko pointed at his own temple as he said it, making clear the level he meant. “So not a concern for you right now. A’right?”
“Sure,” Leith said, though he wasn’t sure at all. “Yes, sir.”
But Bosko wasn’t done. “I’m actually glad we’re talking about this. Because everything aside, you know, I’m worried about his welfare, and he doesn’t seem to have much of a support system. In the most general sense, I’d like you to keep an eye on him for me, would you?”
Leith had walked away from the meeting with one eye shut. He was being locked out, and then invited in, no names named. Odd.
“Right?” Dion was saying to Paley, still on the track Leith had somewhat lost. “A lot better than she puts her life on the line in a blackmail plot that’s going to end up getting her killed.”
Torr said something about men with crystal balls. Paley said, “I’ll put it to Bosko, see what he thinks.”
He did, and later that morning Leith learned that Bosko, in consultation with other arms of the law, thought the offer of immunity wasn’t a great plan, but true, time was of the essence, and right now dangling carrots was their best bet at catching the man behind the horrific killings. Go for it.
* * *
Dion made lists till his head ached. So far no evidence collected from the Liu home or Lance Liu’s truck had jumped out as being useful. Sigmund Blatt had been researched hard, interviewed again, and all but disqualified as a person of interest. Blatt had nothing to gain from the deaths. He had no apparent grievance with his partner. They were good friends, in fact. Had met at work in Alberta as novices and remained pals ever since. Blatt had a minor criminal record, but stupidity-related, nothing violent, and nothing to do with Liu or the partnership.
During the investigation, Blatt left the province. Following his second interview he had called in and talked to Torr, letting him know he was shutting down the L&S business, now that the L was gone, and moving back to Alberta. Torr had asked him why. Blatt admitted that he was spooked. Maybe whoever had killed Lance would be after him, too. Torr asked him how he figured that might happen. Blatt said he didn’t know and didn’t want to stick around to find out. So he went, with strict orders to remain reachable.
Dion was paired up with Jimmy Torr on this case, and it was hardly the ideal working relationship, but together they chipped away at the personal lives of Lance and Cheryl. They talked at some length to Lance’s extended family members, often by teleconference with the States. They contacted the couple’s friends and relations in B.C. and Alberta, and previous employers, and even talked to Joey’s preschool teachers, in case there was some bizarre connection with the surviving child. No connection was made. They went through computers, bank records, phone data. They used documents found in the truck to backtrack through Lance Liu’s last living day, from invoices written to receipts for a Tim Hortons lunch, speaking to the two clients he’d dealt with, and looking at video footage from the gas station where he’d filled up for the last time in his life. By the end they had a patchy timeline and a better sense of who he was, but not much else.
They dug deep into the business itself, L&S Electric. Traced it back to its inception, checking for conflict along the way: displaced competitors, disgruntled clients. Finally they googled any keywords they could think of, hoping it would spit out some snippet of news or a blog bit or whatever else might be floating out there that might give some insight into what had happened.
Nothing emerged. The Liu marriage seemed solid enough, with no jealous lovers in the wings. L&S seemed ethically
