James Carol: The Quiet Man

Anderton opened the trunk and heaved his case inside. It was a battered old Samsonite that he’d had forever and his whole life was in there. Since quitting the FBI, he’d been a person of no fixed abode. Home was whatever hotel suite he found himself booked into. Anderton slammed the trunk shut and got into the driver’s seat. Winter climbed into the passenger side and buckled up. He checked his phone again. Still no sign of that text.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go talk to Nicholas Sobek. Since he’s our client, it would be good to touch base. Plus there’s the added bonus that he witnessed the first murder. Two birds, one stone.’

‘I’ve got to warn you, he’s a bit strange.’

‘Define strange.’

Anderton looked as though she was going to answer, then shook her head slowly. ‘It’s probably best if you judge that one for yourself.’

Nicholas Sobek still lived in the house where his wife had been murdered, which could definitely be classed as strange. As far as Winter was concerned things didn’t work that way. If the person you love is brutally murdered in the place you call home, you’re going to get straight on the phone to a realtor. You’re not going to spend another day there. You’re not going to want to spend another minute there. So far, Sobek had spent one thousand and ninety-five days there, and counting. That added up to more than a million and a half minutes.

Strange thing number two: Sobek had only left his house twice during the past three years, both times to visit his wife’s grave. On the anniversary of her death, he’d driven himself to Mountain View cemetery, arriving as the sun came up and leaving as it set.

The house was on Balsam Place, a tidy, spacious cul-de-sac in Kerrisdale. The neighbourhood was to the south-west of downtown Vancouver, prosperous and shiny, with wide streets and plenty of green. The homes weren’t Hollywood A-lister massive, but nor were they shacks. Each one sat on its own large plot of land. The garages were large enough to accommodate two cars and the yards were kept tidy by groundkeeping companies.

Anderton stopped in front of the large gate and waited for it to roll open. It was made from solid steel and looked relatively new. The ten-foot wall surrounding the property was topped with sharp pieces of metal and glass, and looked new too. Beyond the wall was a line of tall Douglas firs. All you could see of the house was the occasional glimpse of the roofline. The overall impression was that this was a fortress rather than a home.

Anderton drove onto the driveway and parked directly in front of the garage doors. The move was smoothly executed, like she’d done this a hundred times before. There was no hesitation. She just drove up to the garage like she owned the place. Then there was the way the gates had opened for her. Usually there would be a conversation with whoever was watching the security camera, a quick back and forth to establish whether you were friend or foe. Winter looked up at the house, then looked back at Anderton.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘I’m just wondering how this works, that’s all. Three years ago you were convinced this guy was the killer. Two years ago you were still trying to find a way to make the facts fit that scenario. Fast forward to now and you’re best friends.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘You know what I mean.’

For a moment Anderton just sat staring up at the house. It was an impressive property. Five bedrooms at a guess, and a similar number of bathrooms. There would be a study for sure, and probably a gym, maybe even a home cinema. The architect had gone for an Art Deco look, bright white walls and elegant curves. There was no way this was built in the thirties, though. Or the twenties. Or the forties. Sometime during the nineties was a safer bet. If you wanted the world to know that you’d done good, this was the sort of place you would buy.

‘Nicholas Sobek is as keen as I am to see his wife’s murderer brought to justice,’ she said.

Winter kept quiet and waited for her to fill the silence. There were things he knew about her and plenty he didn’t know. He knew that since she retired she’d been working as a private investigator. And he knew that she only had the one client. He also knew that most retired cops had unfinished business, a case that haunted them to the grave.

‘I don’t like leaving a job half done,’ she said eventually. ‘The fact that the murderer is out there walking free kills me. But what gets me even more is the fact that in a little over twenty-four hours he’s going to kill someone else. I’d do anything to stop that happening. Anything. Working for Sobek means that I get to stay in the game. I get to keep chasing him.’ She nodded to the house. ‘Sobek’s got the means and he’s definitely got the motivation. I’ve got the skill set he needs to pursue his goal. Like I said, we’re both after the same thing here.’

‘So, you’re using him.’

‘Only as much as he’s using me.’

He waited for her to say something else. When it became clear that she was done, he said, ‘Anything else I should know?’

She answered with a smile that hinted at a whole treasure trove of secrets. Maybe she was keeping something back, maybe she was just screwing with him. Not that it mattered. They got out of the car and followed the path around to the front door. The grass in the front yard had been cut recently. Bright flowers filled the planters that lined the path. Winter checked his cell while they walked. Still no sign of that text. He became aware of Anderton looking at him over her shoulder.

‘A watched cell phone never seems to beep,’ he said.

‘If you say so.’

There were two security scanners attached to the wall of the porch. Anderton pressed her eye against the top one, and her thumb against the bottom. Ten seconds passed, then the door clicked open and a disembodied voice said, ‘I’m in the gym.’ It took a second to locate the speaker. It was hidden in the roof of the porch. Whatever Sobek was doing, it sounded like hard work. Winter hated gyms. He worked on the theory that you were as fit as you needed to be for the lifestyle you were leading.

The entrance hall was two storeys high with exposed beams and an ornate chandelier that sparkled and threw off shards of light. The floor was pine, the staircase wide. Modern paintings hung in brushed metal frames on the walls. Anderton led the way to a corridor that took them behind the staircase. The door hidden in the shadows opened on to the basement stairs. There were two more scanners fixed to the wall here. Anderton went through the same song and dance she’d gone through at the front door. Eye against the top scanner, thumb against the bottom one. There was a quiet click as the lock released.

‘How does Sobek know that I’m not forcing you to take me to him at gunpoint? Maybe I’m not even who I say I am.’

She answered with a look.

‘I’m only half joking, by the way,’ he added. ‘I’m figuring that the security precautions don’t end at the gate and the walls. Am I right?’

‘Okay, you passed through a metal detector when you walked into the house, so unless your gun is made from polymer and doesn’t contain any bullets, then we’re good to go there. Also, your photograph was taken on the porch, and checked using facial-recognition software. That’s why the door didn’t open straight away. The photograph it was checked against came from me. I found an old one from your FBI days on the internet. You looked so young back then, almost wholesome. What happened?’

Winter smiled at that. ‘I take it all these security measures weren’t in place three years ago.’

‘Correct. The Sobeks had a burglar alarm, but forgot to turn it on as often as they remembered. The wall and gate weren’t here either. Back then, Sobek wanted everyone driving up this street to see the house. Image was very important to him. Take a look in the garage and you’ll see what I mean. There’s an Aston Martin Vantage and an S-Class Mercedes in there, both cars just gathering dust. He’s also got a Cessna 206 that he hasn’t flown since the murder. There’s an airfield at Boundary Bay, twenty miles south of the city. That’s where he keeps it. The maintenance is all up to date, but it never flies anywhere.’