Flight across waters, p.2
Flight Across Waters, page 2
His father met him in the grand foyer, a two-story entrance hall that always made Mark feel like a lost child. “Let’s join your mother in the drawing-room,” he said by way of greeting, walking ahead.
Mark kissed his mother’s cheek and sat down in a velvet-covered armchair.
“So, what is it this time?” His father took a seat on the matching sofa beside his wife.
Mark despised being spoken to as if he were nothing more than a troublesome adolescent. However, he managed to keep his sombre look. “I’m embarrassed to have to tell you this,” he said. “Yesterday, I crashed into another car after I’d been drinking. The driver insisted on cash compensation. He threatened to call the police if I didn’t pay up.”
Mark threw his hands up in a gesture of desperation. “What could I do? There was a passenger in the other car as a witness. Now I have to pay this guy for damages, and for my car to be fixed. I told him I’d take care of it. He agreed not to call the police, and kept my Rolex as collateral…”
He hadn’t gotten any reaction beyond his father’s impassive business mask, usually only reserved for board meetings and troublesome clients. Mark pressed on. “I’d really appreciate if you’d lend me fifty thousand. This guy wants cash … and that would be best for me, too.”
“Why?” his father said.
Mark hung his head. “I’m broke. If you give me a check, I have to pay taxes on it, about fifteen thousand dollars, and then I’ll be in the hole again. Please.” He looked up at his father with sad eyes. “If you lend me the money, I can start over. I’m shaken up by this accident. I’ll finish my law degree, make some good money, and pay you back, I prom—”
“More lies,” his father interrupted. “Just like with your last car.”
“My last car?” Mark’s father had bought him a sleek, black Lexus SC convertible on his twenty-third birthday as he entered his first year in law school. “That was stolen.”
“Stolen? Ha! You sold it. Didn’t you get enough for it?”
“How can you say that?” Mark used mock outrage to hide his surprise. How had his father known about that? The buyer had paid cash, then driven it down to Mexico.
His father waved a dismissive hand. “I have proof. I had a private investigator look into what you were doing with all your time not attending class. And while he was at it, he saw you in a known gambling den. Is that why you need this money? To pay for this latest disgraceful habit?”
“I need a Valium.” Mark’s mother reached for a small bottle on the side table, shook a tablet out, and washed it down with coffee.
“I’m not involved in illegal gambling,” Mark said. “How can you believe that?”
His father gave him a long, cold stare. “Don’t push me, Mark. I have evidence. All I have to do is turn it over to the police and my problems with you will disappear.”
Mark’s mother put her hand on his father’s arm. “Dear, may I speak to you in private?” His parents went into the study and closed the door.
Mark went over and listened. He gritted his teeth when he heard his mother say, “I don’t think Mark deserves anything from us either, but dear, how would it look to our friends and associates if we dumped him on the street with no place to stay? At least let him keep the condo.”
Holding his breath, Mark waited for his father’s response.
“All right,” his father said. “For your sake. I’ll give him the money; but this is the last time. If he keeps this up, I’m going to change my will.”
Mark heard them move and bounded for the kitchen. Seconds later, the door to the study swung open.
“I was thirsty.” Mark held up a glass of water to his father’s suspicious look.
His father shook his head, although whether to dismiss the excuse or Mark himself, he couldn’t tell. “Despite having the best of everything,” his father said, “you’ve turned morally corrupt and tarnished this family’s reputation. I want you to leave now and come back tomorrow, after I’ve had time to calm down.”
“Be here for breakfast at ten,” Mark’s mother said. “Your father and I are flying to Victoria for the weekend; we take off at eleven fifty-five, so don’t be late.”
* * *
Mark barely remembered driving back to his penthouse condo in downtown Vancouver. All he could think of was his father’s comment about the will. What had prompted his father to hire a PI? He must find that report and get rid of it. He’d been given one more chance.
He’d go and have breakfast with his parents in the morning. His father had better come up with the cash then, because his gambling boss expected to have it in the morning, or there would be hell to pay. He’d then go back to the house and look for the PI report as soon as his parents left for their private airstrip.
But it was a big house. What if he couldn’t find the report before they got back? He needed them to stay away longer than the weekend; even an extra day should do it.
He thought about how his father had used puffers for years to keep his asthma under control. He’d take Excedrin and cough syrup with codeine when the coughing got bad. That made him sleepy, so he’d gulp coffee to stay awake. Then the coffee always gave him the runs…
Mark had an idea. He went online to do some research.
Three
Amy missed the dock on their return from the accident site. I can’t believe this… She backed out and tried again. This time, she came in too fast and had to reverse to avoid crashing into the dock. What am I doing? She banged on the steering wheel: the boat had ended up too far to the side. On the third try, she finally made it. She barely waited for Ben to secure the mooring line before jumping out and stalking off the dock.
“Wait,” Ben called as he hurried up the ramp to catch up to Amy. He put his arm around her shoulders. “Hey.”
“I can’t believe I screwed up docking on calm water.”
“It’s been a hell of an afternoon. I’ll get a fire going and you can relax while I start preparing the lamb for dinner. How’s that?”
Amy slowed down, feeling sheepish. “Sorry…”
“It’s okay.” Ben gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “I mean it. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Annoyed with herself for having behaved like a spoiled kid, Amy tried to come up with something nice she could do for Ben. He liked to barbecue. His favourite was fish, yet he’d suggested lamb because he knew she preferred red meat. What had she done to deserve this man? She loved him so much it hurt.
One good thing about lamb was Amy had a special recipe for a rub that Ben loved. She decided to surprise him with it. She got her chance when he went out to chop firewood later that afternoon. She glanced at the food magazine sitting out on the picnic table but decided she didn’t need it. She knew the recipe by heart.
As she prepared the rub, she thought about how she had reacted when Ben swam out to get the man in the water. She’d almost lost it. She’d even imagined Ben and the man sinking into the deep, for Pete’s sake. She felt embarrassed just thinking about it.
Ben came back with an armload of firewood. He eyed the bowl on the counter. “What are you making?” He dumped the wood into a box beside the stove.
“Your favourite rub: the garlic rosemary.” Amy went over to him and kissed him softly. “I’m going to lie down for a bit.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. A bit shell-shocked, I guess.”
* * *
Amy woke up an hour later feeling rested. She tried not to think about what had happened that morning. It was their honeymoon, and she wanted to make it a happy, joyous time. She smiled at the sound of a crackling fire and the smell of lamb cooking. She left the bedroom and went to find Ben.
He looked up from his book and smiled. “Feeling better?”
“Much.” She sat down on his lap and leaned back into his arms. “Something smells amazing.”
“It’s the rub you made. It really adds something extra.” Ben kissed the top of her head. “I slathered it all over the lamb. It’s almost ready.”
“Good.” Amy got up. “I’ll roast some veggies and set the table.”
Ben went out on the deck to tend to the lamb. “They called from Victoria General while you were asleep,” he called out, transferring the lamb to a plate and taking it to the kitchen. “Unfortunately, the man we pulled out of the water was DOA.”
Amy flinched as she remembered desperately clutching the man’s arm, and a flashback of clawing her way out of a watery ditch, her body battered and broken, hit her. She slumped over the counter, her heart pounding furiously. This must stop before it kills me.
“Baby, I’m sorry.” Ben pulled her close. “I didn’t think about how the crash would affect you.”
Hanging on to him, Amy forced herself to breathe normally. “I’m fine… Really. I’m fine. I didn’t expect it either.” When her heart slowed down, she looked up to see Ben’s worried face, and tried a smile. “I’m fine.”
Ben kissed her head. “That’s good.”
Amy prepared the vegetables, trying to hide her frustration about the flashbacks. After jumping from the car, she thought she’d escaped her abductors. Then one of them had come back, and she’d shot him. Although that had saved Ben’s life, nightmares and flashbacks kept reminding her that she’d killed another human being.
She glanced at Ben, busy carving the lamb. His love had helped her fight her demons. She rarely had a flashback nowadays and was determined not to let them back into her life. She picked up plates and cutlery and went to set the table.
As they sat down to eat, Amy glanced across the water, toward the crash site. “The rescue boats are still out there.”
Ben nodded. “Making sure there are no other victims.” He took a bite and smiled. “This is good: the meat, the sauce, the veggies, I love it.” He cut another piece of meat, then glanced at Amy. “Hey … you’re not eating.”
Amy stood up and moved her chair, plate, and cutlery so she could sit with her back to the window. “I wanted to sit closer to you.”
Ben gave her a grin that told her he didn’t believe a word of it. “Try not to think about what’s going on out there.” He cut a piece of his meat and held it out to her. “Open up. You need to taste this.”
Amy took the bite and let out a soft “Mm” as she chewed. “Thanks, babe.” She started in on her own piece of meat, chewing in silence. “I don’t like to be fragile,” she finally said.
“Fragile?” Ben put his cutlery down. “Amy, whatever makes you think you’re fragile? You were doing a hell of a job assisting me today. That was light-years from fragile.”
“Well, it affected me just the same. And I tried to hide it, so that I wouldn’t worry you, but that screws me up.”
“I see. Yes, I have to remember that sometimes: you handle it so well, but you’re not a cop. I’m used to violent scenarios and should have known better than try to fix your reaction with a good steak. That was insensitive.”
“You meant well. I love you for it, but you’re right. All that was a bit scary to me. I haven’t had a plane crash in my backyard before … haven’t seen people die like that. And then that was it; it was over. Everything just stopped in chaos. I felt lost.”
Ben thought about it and nodded. “I get it. I really do. I should have known… I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts and didn’t realize I’d left you hanging. I’m sorry, baby. Would it help you to know what else is happening, behind the scenes? I mean, you’ve asked me about procedures about this and that in the past. Please, ask me anything you need to have clarified. I love your curiosity; you’re my favourite sounding board.”
Amy smiled. “Thanks.” She pushed her food around on her plate for a bit, then looked at Ben. “I think it would help to know what happens next. Like, what’s happening with the man—the body—we pulled from the water. Make it real, you know?”
“Right.” Ben took a bite and thought for a moment. “So, about the dead body. Well, first a coroner will examine it. If he or she suspects foul play, a forensic pathologist will take over. And if he needs to, he’ll consult a forensic toxicologist…” Ben suddenly stopped talking and gazed past Amy with a surprised look on his face. “Hah!”
“What?”
“I remember where I saw that man before.”
“Where?”
“It’s been a few years, but I’m quite sure it was Eugene Sokalsky, the founder of Sokalsky Architects and Engineers in Vancouver. How sad is that?” Ben looked around for his Nokia and spotted it on the kitchen counter. “I should let Koskinen know. I’ll be quick.”
He picked up his phone and pushed a number.
Koskinen? Amy listened as Ben identified the Sokalskys, then ended the call on his way back to the table.
“Who is Koskinen?” she asked as he sat down to finish his meal. “I thought you worked for Inspector Harrison.”
“I do, but he’s off on a holiday in South Africa. Seppo Koskinen, Inspector of the Organized Crime Section, is standing in for him.”
“I see. So, what did Koskinen say when you told him who it was?”
“He’d been informed already, but it hadn’t been fully confirmed yet.”
“So how do you know Mr. Sokalsky?”
“He’d been a contributor to the Vancouver Police Crime Prevention Society for years. I attended a garden ceremony at the family mansion in Vancouver’s Southlands area a few years ago.”
“Nice area.” Amy knew such nice areas—her family lived in one. Considering their serious subject matter, she thought she deserved a distraction. “Tell me about the mansion.”
“Old money. Each side of the double gates were adorned with a large replica of the family crest, and it went on and on from there. The mansion itself was impressive—the outside, at least. We were never allowed inside.”
“What was the occasion?”
“Our police department acknowledging him for his continuous contributions.”
“At his place?”
“Yes, I know. It’s a bit unusual, but Mr. Sokalsky had asked to have the ceremony staged at his estate. He was a gracious host and made it most enjoyable for all of us. I remember him specifically for one reason. He told me his son, Mark, had been accepted into law school. I asked if his son aimed for prosecution or defence. His face turned almost hostile. ‘Defence of course,’ he grunted and walked off as if I’d said something to offend him. I remember being perplexed about that.”
Four
Saturday morning came, and Mark was getting ready for his second visit to his parents’ mansion, trying not to think of what might happen if his father didn’t give him the money. His gambling boss was ruthless … he might lose more than his job.
A few months earlier, a friend had invited him to a Vancouver ‘establishment,’ which turned out to be an illegal gambling operation. Mark had been blown away by the staggering amount of money running through the place. It was the perfect opportunity for him to prove his business worth, rather that whiling away his hours in a droning classroom. He wanted to get involved and asked his friend how he could be a part of it. Eventually, a meeting with one of the owners, Luigi Alzaperi, was arranged.
Mark cringed at the memory of their first meeting. He’d walked into Luigi’s office, brimming with confidence and ready to impress the man with his schooling and social credentials.
Luigi, a heavyset man with fiery eyes and a thick horseshoe moustache, had looked at Mark like he was a cockroach floating in his coffee. Off-guard, Mark suddenly started to sweat. He’d never encountered anyone like Luigi before.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Luigi growled.
Mark introduced himself and offered his hand to shake.
Luigi leaned closer. “Put your hand down! What the hell do you want?”
Mark didn’t know what to say. He tried to tell Luigi about what he could do for the business, like bringing in some wealthy friends who liked to gamble, and perhaps enticing a few of his lady friends to help.
Luigi brusquely shut him down, saying he knew all about that. Then he told Mark to get out, saying he’d think it over.
A few days later, Luigi called him back. They had checked him out.
“If you want to work here, you need to learn how we do things,” Luigi told him. “We’ve decided to put you on money-counting and security, three nights a week.”
Mark would be partnered with a mid-level guy who would show him the ropes. Luigi told him to check in at ten the next night.
Mark figured they liked his idea of pulling in wealthy friends. He would have to make sure his friends knew that under no circumstances could Mark’s parents learn of his involvement in the gambling business. After that, Mark used his landline every time he called his parents, the law school, and other “legitimate places.” He bought a burner phone for the gambling business and advised his friends to do the same.
He thrived in his new environment. The extra money allowed him to lease expensive cars, wear designer clothes, and move in local celebrity circles. He was finally living the lifestyle he deserved.
And that’s when he made his first mistake.
While running the gaming room, he’d extended a line of credit to a man who turned out to be a cop. Mark had checked his ID but got the wrong information. The cop had somehow accessed the system and fudged his ID. At the end of the game, Mark told him to pay for his losses.
The guy flashed a badge and said, “You pay.”
Mark leaned in close, face-to-face. “Pay up or make it home in a wheelchair.”
“Threatening a police officer? Let me talk to your manager.”
With that, Mark knew he had lost. He couldn’t let his boss know he’d approved credit for a cop. And now the dick was blackmailing him. If Luigi didn’t get his money the instant he expected it, he’d come after Mark. Luigi wouldn’t listen to excuses; nor would he hesitate to throw Mark off the Lions Gate Bridge if he thought Mark had cheated him.
