John Matthews - The Last Witness

His father had become increasingly morose and maudlin in his fading months, contemplating that a ‘Sins of the Father’ retribution had been visited on Pascal due to his own dark past. Jean-Paul couldn’t help reflecting on the messy chain of events with Leduc, now bouncing back solidly in their laps with Tony Savard’s murder.

Jean-Paul took a deep breath and looked up to where two pigeons tried to nestle into the roof gables. An early morning winter mist hung low, obscuring half of the green copper Versailles roof, vapoured body heat and breath rising up from the stables towards it. How much of this grand edifice had been built on spilled blood and shattered lives over the years? The room where Raphael had been born, or where they’d celebrated Simone’s Holy Communion and clinked glasses over numerous birthdays, weddings and anniversaries? Or the rooms where his father or Stephanie had been laid to rest, or Raphael’s bedroom, covered with pop and roller-blading posters like any other normal fifteen-year old’s? Or this room now where counsel had been held on lives to be spared or lost?

Perhaps his father had been right: however hard they tried, they never would be able to escape the past. And maybe they simply didn’t deserve to ever be able to.

‘So how would you read it, Georges?’ Jean-Paul asked.

They were sat at one end of the long dining table, Georges with Jon Larsen either side of Jean-Paul at the head, and the mood was tense.

‘I would go more or less with Jon’s view,’ Georges said.

‘More or less?’ Jean-Paul raised one hand as if whisking air. ‘Have we missed something? How might you differ?’

They’d spent the first twenty minutes of the meeting discussing business — his round trip to Mexico and Cuba, building schedules there, shares and investment portfolio performance, last quarter’s figures for the clubs and casinos — before turning to the subject of Tony Savard’s murder.

Georges chose his words carefully. The Lacaille family’s past battles with the Cacchione’s had made this a brittle subject. ‘I agree with Jon that most likely the Cacchione’s are behind it. But we shouldn’t overlook the possibility of a rising group of independents or bikers trying to play us and the Cacchione’s off against each other. Not only do they divert attention, meanwhile they take advantage of the resulting vacuum.’

Jean Paul nodded sagely for a second, then shrugged. ‘But we’re no longer involved in crime. We don’t pose a threat.’

‘No. But since the incident with Leduc, the police for one believe that we’re still heavily involved. And if that’s a clear advantage for the Cacchione’s, then it’s an advantage for others too.’

‘Except for one thing,’ Jon Larsen offered. ‘Gianni Cacchione would have to lay off blame in any case because of his situation with Medeiros. And this whole drama with the RCMP probably came about as a by-product of that. A happy accident.’

Around in circles. They’d tossed this same subject around probably more than any other at this table the past few years. Just when they were making good progress with their new direction, it would rise up again to drag them back.

The most likely scenario they’d hit upon was that Gianni Cacchione had put Leduc in the frame to divert suspicion from his own continued drugs dealing. With the Lacailles pulling back from drugs dealing and crime in general, Cacchione had eagerly filled the void. But fourteen months later he had a run-in with his supplier Carlos Medeiros, head of Colombia’s leading drugs cartel. Medeiros accused Cacchione of shafting him out of $11 million over the last seven shipments, and promptly cut off supplies. Cacchione tried other suppliers in Colombia, but Medeiros had either co-territorial or distribution arrangements with them, and word had already spread: Cacchione was widely blackballed. He found a supplier in Mexico for a few months, until Medeiros sent a message by killing two of his key men. After that, nobody would touch Cacchione.

A number of independents sprung up, some of them no doubt legitimate; but Medeiros began to suspect that Cacchione was still behind the biggest new player, and supplies were threatened again. At that point, magically, Eric Leduc — a Lacaille family Lieutenant who helped Roman out with security for their local clubs and casinos — came into the frame as linked with this rising lead drugs network. Worse still, they heard on the grapevine that Leduc had become the subject of an RCMP investigation. The police believed that the Lacaille’s new ‘legitimate business only’ direction was just a front; that secretly they were still heavily involved in crime and running drugs. With Leduc now as the link to prove that theory.

Jean-Paul was horrified. He was certain that Cacchione was behind setting up Leduc primarily to throw Medeiros off the scent; but now it had also resulted in putting the Lacailles under the spotlight with the RCMP. Cacchione must have been laughing up his sleeve.

They decided to get to Leduc’s bank accounts before the RCMP. The accounts’ movements were complex, and so purely through necessity — their original set-in-stone ground rules were that Georges would never be involved in anything linked to their past criminal activity — Georges was called on to quiz Leduc. Roman rode shotgun purely to provide psychological pressure with the silent threat of muscle should Leduc decide not to be co-operative, and Leduc was allowed to nominate one batsman of his own: he chose Tony Savard. The only other person present that fateful night was the driver, Steve Tremblay, a doorman from one of their downtown clubs, who was outside the car smoking and swapping stories with Tony Savard when Leduc was shot. The police saw Leduc’s death as confirmation of their involvement in drugs, that it was a result of their desperation to bury the traces. Now with Savard, further confirmation: the spotlight would be on them stronger.

‘We’ve invested so much time thinking Gianni Cacchione is behind it all,’ Georges commented. ‘And while that’s still the most likely option, we shouldn’t shut out all other options. We could find ourselves blindsided if something else suddenly comes up.’

‘I know. I know.’ Jean-Paul rubbed his forehead. ‘Truth to tell, I should never have sent you along to confront Leduc in the first place.’ Their ten month cat and mouse game to finally get Georges aboard had been mainly laying strong re-assurance that he’d only be involved in ‘clean’ business. Georges even stipulated that he would never get involved in any laundering; ‘The money has to be cleaned before I get to it. If I’m meant to be a clean trader, then let’s start how we mean to continue.’ Yet despite all their determination that Georges should never get roped into the past crime side of their business, by default it had now become the topic du jour at every other meeting.

‘You weren’t to know it would end so badly,’ Georges said. ‘And besides, who else could you have trusted to pick through Leduc’s accounts?’

‘I suppose so.’ Jean-Paul smiled tightly. The re-assurance offered little consolation. Hearing Georges even talk about it was a sour reminder of just how far they’d been dragged off course. Dragged back to the past. Jean-Paul turned to Jon Larsen. ‘What are the police saying?’

‘Three shots, the final one to the head. Professional hit, probably connected with Savard’s criminal activities. And that he was under investigation — no doubt part of their purge against us, though that part I’m assuming.’ Larsen glanced at the notepad before him. ‘Oh, and they’re looking for a black van — a Chevy Venture that they suspect might be connected. Apart from that, nothing. I’ll do some digging, but we might not get much more than that.’