The Vanishing Track (37 page)

“You're not being interrogated, Mr. Livingstone. I assure you, if you were, you'd know it. I am trying to establish what I can about the patterns in your son's life. He has quite a record, doesn't he?”

“Surely you can't blame that on me. My wife and I have done everything we can for Sean. It's not our fault that he's a rebel. Without a cause, I might add,” he said, shaking his head.

“I'm not blaming you, Mr. Livingstone. Lord knows children develop their own propensities, regardless of our parenting. Did you know he committed assault in September? He broke the nose of a classmate right in front of his whole class, and then walked out and was never seen by the school again.”

Livingstone leaned forward. “Nothing about Sean surprises me, Sergeant. Now, if you wouldn't mind cutting to the chase, it's getting on in the day, and I really should be heading home. My wife is not well.”

“What troubles her?”

“That's a private matter, Sergeant.”

Lane nodded. “Sean isn't at your home now, is he?”

“I've already told you, I haven't seen him in a year! Just exactly what is this all about?”

“Mr. Livingstone, your son is wanted in connection with the murder of five people, and the kidnapping and attempted murder of two more.”

The blood drained from Livingstone's face.

“About thirty minutes ago our officers found three people tied up in a fallout shelter under an address in the east end of the city. One of the men was dead, the other two are now in critical condition at Vancouver General. For at least one of them, the next couple of hours will be the deciding moments in his life. Sean also assaulted a well-known community activist who confronted him before our tactical team arrived, and your son is currently the subject of a city-wide manhunt. If you should hear from your son, we'd like to know about it immediately. If you see him, consider him extremely dangerous and call 911 immediately. Do you understand, sir?”

Livingstone simply nodded, his blue eyes inscrutable.

“FRANK, IT'S CHARLES.”

“How are you today, Charles?”

“Fine. You?”

“I'm doing okay, all things considered.”

“Backlash?”

“Some. To be expected.”

“Listen, Frank. I feel I haven't served you very well in this matter. I had a meeting with the partners this morning, and we agreed that I should recuse myself from this file. The other partners have agreed that if you still want the firm to represent you, one of them will step forward. We also want to give you the opportunity to back out of your contract with us all together.”

“Let me think about that a little.”

“We wouldn't blame you if you wanted to seek counsel elsewhere, Frank.”

“Well, it may be a necessity, but if I do, it's not because you haven't served me. We stepped into this mess together, Charles. We both thought this was what was best. I still do, by the way. I'm still planning on moving ahead with much of what our little Manifesto stated.”

“Well, I think that's probably the right thing to do, Frank. But I'd suggest laying low on some of the more controversial stuff for a while. Let the Lucky Strike sit for a time. Hell, Woodwards sat for fifteen years. I don't see any reason to rush into things at this point. If the people of this city think it's so terrible for a businessman to do what the law entitles him to do, then let them live with the alternative: a cesspool of crime and disease and filth full of people who live like animals.”

“Okay, Charles, I get what you're telling me. Like I said, I've got to think this over.”

“What is the Board of Trade saying?”

“It's ironic that I've got to present to them this coming week, don't you think?”

“Did they ask you to not talk to them?”

“They would never do that to me, Charles. I
own
the Board of Trade. I did get a call from the chairman today. He asked me to avoid the subject. Let it all blow over. There will be more than the normal level of media interest this coming week. He suggested talking about the West End projects.”

“Fucking cowards. You should talk about the projects just to spit in their eye.”

“Are you okay, Charles? You sound like you're taking all of this personally. It's just the cost of doing business in Lotusland. Can't help but piss off the bleeding hearts.”

“Yeah, I'm okay . . . It's just a family thing.”

“Is Martha okay?”

“Well, not really, but it's not that, it's just . . .”

“What?”

“It's nothing. Anyway, I'm sorry this has turned out so badly.”

“It's not so bad, Charles.”

“We don't know that yet.”

“Have you heard from
him
?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

“If there are any threats, call the police, Frank.”

“I'm okay. I'm fine. He might control the east side of the city, Charles. But I control the west. And I'm not entirely without recourse to the tools that he employs.”

“Frank, if there are any threats, just call the police.”

“Okay, Charles, okay. You sound like my mother.”

“I'm sure she was a smart woman. You'll get back to me about the representation, right?”

“Next week. We'll have lunch. Let's just see how this plays out.”

“Okay. Listen, I'm just heading into the car park, where the signal . . . spotting . . . lose you, we'll . . .”

“You're breaking up a little, Charles. I'll talk with you next week.”

THE CELL PHONE
lay on the concrete next to the tire of his black Jaguar. The tiny voice could still be heard coming from the earpiece.

“Charles? Okay, well I guess you've cut out.” Then the line went dead.

Charles Livingstone's hand was still curled, the fingers grasping at air. He lay prone between his car and a
BMW
, his dark suit rumpled.

“Hi, Dad. It's good to see you,” said his son, his left hand curled around a tire iron.

“I'VE GOT TO WRAP SOME
things up at my office. Why don't you head over to my place, have a bath, and make yourself at home?” Cole fished into his pocket for his keys and handed them to Nancy. They were sitting in the boardroom of Priority Legal.

“You think Juliet is going to be okay?”

“She's fine. Denman will take her to his place tonight.”

“I doubt she'll ever go back to
her
place again.”

“Hard to blame her after what that freak did.”

“What did you think of what that shrink from
UBC
said?” Nancy asked, looking intently at Cole.

“Hargrove? Well, it makes sense. Sean is a psychopath.”

“I'm glad Denman called him to talk with us. What Hargrove said, about these people being able to burrow into your life, it's pretty scary. I really feel for Juliet. She must be feeling horrible right now,” Nancy said, shaking her head, her raven black hair floating across her shoulders. “I mean, how are we to know? How is anybody to know? The guy knew all the right things to say. Knew exactly how to get into her life. It was like he could read her mind, knew all the weaknesses there. And then just played her like a fiddle.”

“I found it particularly interesting what he said about the music. That people like Sean know all the words but not the music.”

“Yeah, I found that interesting too.”

“I mean, I met the guy. I'm a good judge of people, I think. I didn't see anything wrong with him, except that he seemed, well, flat, was all.”

“I'm glad that Denman brought him in,” said Nancy again. “I think it will help Juliet.”

Cole stood up. “So I'll see you at my place?”

“Don't be long,” said Nancy. She stood and touched his hand. “You're taking a cab, right?”

“You call me when you're at my place.”

“Cole?”

He turned to her at the door. “Yeah?”

“I, well . . .”

“I know, Nancy. I'll be home soon.”

Cole walked toward the back of the law offices. Before he turned into Denman's tiny cubicle office, he knocked. “Can I come in?” he asked.

“Come on in, buddy,” said Denman.

“How are you guys doing?”

Juliet sat in the only chair in his crowded office, while Denman leaned on the edge of his desk. His left foot was in a cast; a pair of crutches leaned against the wall.

“We're okay,” said Juliet.

“Thanks to you,” said Denman. “You showed up just in the nick of time.”

“Juliet, how are you feeling?” asked Cole.

“Sick,” she said, looking down at her hands.

“He hoodwinked you, girl. Denman, too, and everybody else who came and went in his life.”

“I should have seen it. I'm a health-care professional.”

“Most doctors can't diagnose psychopathy,” said Cole. “You heard what the professor said.”

“I see mental illness every day.”

“This is different.”

“Maybe . . .” Juliet's voice trailed off. “It's just that I can't get those people out of my head. Peaches, George. They were all good people.”

“Is George going to be okay?”

“I don't know about okay. He'll live.”

“Any word from Marcia Lane about Sean?” Cole asked, looking at Denman.

“I just talked to her. She talked to Charles Livingstone an hour ago. Officers are staking out the family home, as well as all of our places, in case he decides to surface. She thinks if he doesn't show in the next twenty-four hours, he's likely given them the slip. She says she's got two hundred officers mobilized, checking traffic on the highways, the airport, the bus terminal, the train depot, and the ferries.”

“Impressive. Too bad she didn't have two hundred officers on the case when people were getting whacked.” Cole saw the look on Juliet's face and said, “Sorry, I'm just pissed.”

“Me too.”

“Me three,” said Denman, “but Lane is on our side.”

“So you say.”

“Well, she's not on Andrews' side. I'm pretty sure she is Nancy's source.”

“Did Nancy tell you that?”

“No, she never would, would she? But I've got a hunch.”

“What about Beatta?” asked Juliet.

“Nothing new. Her car was found this morning in Stanley Park, and that's all we know. The search and rescue team has been combing the park all day. It's really not that big a place. If she's there, they'll find her.”

“What are you thinking, Cole?” asked Juliet.

“Bad thoughts,” said Cole.

“You don't think . . . I mean, you don't believe that Beatta was, well—”

“Killed? I don't know, but her name is all over the story about the Lucky Strike Manifesto,” said Cole. “Nancy got her to talk. The other conspirators can't be too happy. At least one of those guys had a couple of thugs outside Nancy's place last night, and maybe even had those two dudes jump me in the Pender alley.”

Juliet shook her head.

“Cole, where you heading?” asked Denman.

“My office. I've got to deal with about a month's worth of messages from paying clients before I can call it quits. Why?”

“I'm going to take Juliet to my place.”

“Alright.”

“You going to the Cambie after?” said Denman, looking at his watch.

Cole grinned. “You know, I think I might let Dusty and Martin enjoy each other's company tonight. I've got a much better offer.”

COLE STEPPED ONTO
East Hastings. He looked up and down the street for a cab, then decided to walk. It wasn't more than twenty-five minutes to his office, and after this day, a brisk walk in the cool night air would provide just the break his mind needed to unwind. He needed to try make sense of the insanity that had been visited on him, his friends, and his city in the last twenty-four hours.

He hadn't been walking for more than five minutes when his cell phone chimed. He expected it to be Nancy telling him she was home.

“Mr. Blackwater, it's Marcia Lane.”

“Long day for you, Sergeant.”

“Indeed. You too.”

“What's up?”

“Some bad news.”

“Nancy . . . ?” He felt his heart jump.

“No. No. It's Charles Livingstone. He didn't get home from work tonight.”

“Jesus Christ.” Cole gave up on not swearing for the day.

“My sentiments exactly.”

“Where was he last seen?”

“His office. I was actually at his desk at about four this afternoon. His secretary said he left shortly after. His wife just called and said he hasn't come home yet. No answer on his cell. Normally we wouldn't worry, you know, out for a drink with the boys . . .”

“I understand. Why are you telling me, Sergeant?”

“We've got some smart people on the force, but there are some smart people on the outside. You and your friend Mr. Scott got the fix on Sean before we did. I just thought I'd put this out there, in case something clicks.”

“So Sean didn't show up at the old man's place?”

“We've got four units in the area watching the house. If he was there, we'd know.”

“What about the car? Livingstone's?”

“In the parking garage. We have a forensics team on site.”

“Stolen vehicles in the garage, in the area?”

“Nothing reported.”

“The pier?”

“Our cleanup teams are still there. They've been alerted.”

“Okay, well, that's all I've got,” said Cole.

“Call me if you think of anything.”

“I will.” Cole hung up. Doctor Hargrove had told them that psychopaths often operate without any motive whatsoever except self-satisfaction. They act on whims, on impulse. He also said psychopaths were capable of holding grudges that could color their actions for a very long time. He had offered it as a warning to all four of them to not let their guards down until Sean was safely behind bars.