The Aronson Case

            

This is the second story in the Virgin Detective series        

 ~ Prelude ~

B&H Investigations was formed five months before the B, Inspector Gino Botticelli, was due to retire from the Metropolitan Toronto Police Force and be able to claim his full pension. Not that that mattered all that much because B&H was flush with cash, as the result of a caper that had almost gotten the H, Emil Haven IV, measured for a coffin. 

Haven was a mystery writer and he wasn’t half bad at it. In fact, his most recent book, The Virgin Detective, The Irish Connection, had made him a boatload of money, both in terms of foreign and domestic sales, but also through the sale of the film rights, to a company in New York, who were planning to serialize it for video, and were also in the process of taking a closer look other books in Haven’s 13 book catalogue which starred a fictional police detective named Phil Rosetti.

But mostly Haven was a trust fund kid, thanks to his grandfather who made billions in the mining business when it was socially acceptable to be in that business. Haven’s father, Emil the Third, carried on the Haven business, and despite all his pleading, could not get his son to even consider joining.

~ 1 ~

It was a sunny day in early June when Gino Botticelli walked out of the 23rd Precinct with a gold watch and a big giant ‘Have a Great Retirement’ card signed by every living soul in the place. He was a well-liked Detective with a stellar conviction record. But he had put in his time and was also taking out his full pension and a couple of medals along with the watch and the card.

His first stop, at about four that afternoon, was the Pilot Tavern, where his new partner was waiting for him. They drank a beer and then adjourned to a restaurant called Sansano’s on the Danforth, which was one of the main east-west thoroughfares in the city. Gino didn’t drive because he was planning to kiss off his cop career with a lot of booze, and he left his car at home. So his friend and soon to be partner, Emil Haven IV, agreed to be the designated driver.

The two men originally met years ago, downtown at the courthouse where Haven would sit in the gallery and learn about courtroom procedure. One day, when Gino had been called to testify, he ended up sitting beside Haven who was taking copious notes. They struck up a conversation. Haven was a fledgling crime fiction writer and Gino, a newly minted Detective Inspector. As the saying goes, they hit it off with each other and became good friends. Over the years, Gino and Haven used each other to talk speculatively about hypothetical crimes. After a few years, Haven gained Gino’s confidence and Gino would talk over his actual cases with him. Haven was intellectually gifted with a Masters in English from the University of Toronto. He was also on the long and winding road to literary success with a planned series of detective novels featuring a sleuth called Phil Rosetti, which he modelled on a hybrid of himself and his good cop friend Gino.

The restaurant, Sansano’s, was a favoured hangout for wiseguys of every shape and kind. On any given evening, there were drug dealers, weapons sellers, smugglers, counterfeiters, shakedown artists, even a few suspected hitmen in the crowd of diners. Gino knew them all, and had even gotten a couple thrown into jail. But as much animosity as there was seeing Gino slide in for dinner, Sansano’s was neutral ground, because it was far and away the best Italian restaurant in the city.

Carmine Sansano, the owner, a short blunt dago who brought his restaurant from Italy thirty years before, welcomed Gino like a long-lost brother. Then he turned to the crowd of diners and said. “This is a very good day for all you putas, because today Inspector Gino Botticelli, who has probably been a thorn in a lot of your sides, is officially retired.”

With that a round of very loud applause erupted. Gino lifted up his hands and quieted everybody down. “I may be off the job, but you guys need to keep your business on your side of the street, and we’ll all get along just fine.”

There was some more applause and a couple of cat calls, and, just like that, it was back to business as usual. Carmine sat them down and gave them menu. “It’s all on the house tonight, Gino. I owe you a lot more but this will have to do for now.”

“You’re a good man Carm. We’ll have a bottle of Valpolicella to start.”

With that, Carmine left the table and talked to one of the waiters. In a few minutes, they were sitting behind two glasses of the rich red Italian wine.

Haven raised his glass, “Here’s to your retirement and the success of our joint venture.”

“Salut.” Gino said and they clinked their glasses.

They studied the menu for a bit and then gave the waiter their orders. 

Gino poured a second glass of wine for himself. 

“So here we are, pal, right smack in the middle of the private sector.” Gino said.

“And I have a retirement present for you.” Haven said. “You’ll be pleased to know that three weeks ago, I closed the deal on my entire building.” 

Haven lived in a duplex, right on the boardwalk in an east end area called Balmy Beach. A few months earlier, his landlord told him that he was putting the building on the market and offered him first choice. The asking price was a little under three million.” 

“What if I paid cash, you know real cash?” Haven asked.

“Well, that would make a lot of difference, say about five hundred grand.” 

So for two point four million in cash, Haven now owned the whole house he was living in. The best part was that he didn’t have to dip into his trust fund money to do the deal. In the caper that damn near got him killed several months earlier, there was a five million American dollar financial transaction involved, and through a horseshoe up his ass, Haven was able to both stay alive and hold onto the money. Anyone else who knew about it was either dead or convinced that the cops had it and weren’t about to bring it up, even in a casual conversation. So Haven figured it was his six point seven million Canadian dollars to do with as he pleased.

And what he pleased was buying the house that he lived in and giving his friend and partner the first floor flat to live in, renting some office space on Queens Street, which was pretty much a ten-minute walk from his house, and buying a beautiful diamond engagement ring for the new love of his life, Angela Pesco, formerly Angela Tucci, widow of one of the people who got killed in the same caper where Haven ended up with all that cash.

“The first floor and half the basement are yours. Just pay for your own utilities and half the property taxes about $6400 a year. I’m sure a retired cop can easily scrape that together every month.”

Gino smiled. Moving out of the west side apartment where he currently lived had always been a dream of his. And he had to admit he really liked the area where Haven lived. Lots of women wandering around. A couple of good bars and restaurants on Queen Street, the whole nine yards.

“So when can I move in?”

“When can you rent a truck to haul all your shit over?”

“You mean it’s empty?”

 Yep, just had it cleaned and repainted a couple days ago. It’s Gino ready.” Haven said as he lifted his glass.

One week later Gino was moved in, sorted out, hooked up and loaded for bear.

~2~

B & H Investigations had been Haven’s idea, and now that he was an on-the-charts author, and closet millionaire, who no longer needed his coal-stained trust fund money, he found a second floor office right at Queen Street & Lee Avenue which was pretty much dead centre of the Beaches. The floor had a reception area and five offices. Haven took one of the front facing spaces and left the other one for Gino. The rest of the space was used for a meeting room, a spare office, a full kitchen, with an adjacent bar, for parties. and a small room that housed the copier and the office supplies. Haven didn’t hire a secretary/receptionist because he wanted Gino in on the decision. 

In the four months that Haven had to wait for Gino’s retirement, he got to work, blocking out a series of stories for the Virgin Detective novels. He was contracted for five years, producing one book a year, with an option for extension depending on sales. It was always about sales.

Haven hoped that by the end of his contract period, he would be well so-versed in the private detection trade, even have his licence, that he would get to stop writing novels and concentrate exclusively on solving real cases. 

The blocking out was the toughest part of the job for any writer of detective stories. His preferred style was more on the character side. He abhorred the proliferation of action-packed ‘thrillers’ that clogged up the marketplace these days catering to the severely shortened attention spans that so many people seemed to possess. 

No, he believed in a slow burn, steadily building, character-driven style, which, of course, was why his audience skewed toward the older generations.

By the time Gino walked into the office for his official first time, Haven had his five stories blocked out and would write them at his leisure, one a year.

Gino stood in the reception area and scanned around the space. Then he looked over at Haven, smiled and shook his head. “You really know how to pick’em, pal.” He said. 

Haven showed him to his own office, which was furnished with a beautiful teak deck, a high-backed office chair and two smaller chairs opposite the desk. Behind the desk was a credenza for his files. On top of the desk was a brand new Apple MacBook Pro with a password hand-written on a Post-It note. It was sitting beside a box of business cards with his name and number on it.

“He looked at the sample card taped to the top and said, “Hey, that’s not my number.”

Haven ignored the comment “If you don’t like any of this stuff, we’ll have it returned and you can pick your own.” Haven said.

Gino flopped down into the big desk chair and leaned back. He looked out the window at the Queen Street people and vehicle traffic. Then he turned to Haven and smiled. “This is way more than I expected.” 

“So you like it?”

“What’s not to like? Let’s face it Haven, you are a man of great taste. Must be that Bridle Path upbringing.”

“Must be.” Haven said as he sat down in one of the chairs. “Open the middle drawer.”

Gino did and pulled out a brand new Iphone and a set of ear buds. “You thought of everything.” he said.

“Just transfer your phone book from your antique cop phone and you’re in business.”

~3~

A few hours later, Haven and Gino walked down the street to the Stone Lion pub and perched themselves on bar stools while the TV showed the local news. They ordered beers and roast beef sandwiches.

Gino raised his bottle and clinked it to Haven’s. “Well here we are in free agencyland.” he said.

“Guess it will feel a bit weird for a while.” Haven said.

“For a while. But hey, it’s not like we’re scramblin’ for work. I’ve got a full pension, low overhead and a dandy place to hang my hat. I could live like that for at least a couple weeks before I was climbin’ the walls, looking for work.”

“I’ve sent a notification to every criminal law firm in the city. So it’s not like they don’t know about us.’ Haven said. “Sooner or later something will pop.”

“It happens when it happens. It’s the nature of the beast, Haven.”

They returned to the office after lunch and at 2:00 pm three ladies showed up to be interviewed for the receptionist/secretary/gatekeeper job that Haven had advertised for in Now Magazine.

They all had about the same skill sets but a girl named Bridget Shaughnessy had far and away the best personality. Bridget was a no-nonsense Irish lady of about thirty-five, with a dozen years of law firm experience. She had red hair and a gorgeous face with a body to match. The only reason she considered applying was that her firm had grown from hungry and ambitious to blue chip and boring as batshit, as she put it. 

Bridge, as she preferred to be called, had already given her notice at her firm and was confident of finding work quickly. So Haven and Gino simply told her she could start whenever she liked, and they would figure out the rest once she was settled in.

They shook hands on a generous salary, and she left, promising to be on the job the following week. Haven gave her a key and told her that he and Gino didn’t usually start until about eleven in the morning, but they would be happy if she wanted to work nine to five or even ten to six. She said she would think about it and see them next week.

“Well, that was easy.” Gino said. “And a redhead to boot.”

Haven walked back to his office and stared at his block-out board for a while. About an hour later his phone rang.

“B & H Investigations,”  Haven said.

“I see you don’t have a receptionist yet.” said Haven’s dad, who was up to speed on his son’s new project. 

“As a matter of fact, we do. Just hired her.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

After a bit of small talk Haven said. “So dad, I know you’re a busy titan of industry, why don’t you tell me why you called.”

“Okay.  A friend of mine, another titan of industry, is being blackmailed. It seems an indiscretion of his was filmed, and, well you’ve written enough crime novels to know the rest.”

“I don’t suppose he would want to go to the police.”

“You don’t suppose correctly. That would ruin both his marriage and to some extent his business as he would automatically lose half his assets.”

Haven Senior gave his son all the necessary information. Haven told him he would talk it over with Gino and see what, if anything they could do. 

“Most appreciated, son.”

“Anytime, dad.”

Over the past few months, Haven had done his best to mend fences with his father. It helped a great deal when he told his dad that he was on the home stretch of his writing career, and going into business with Gino. Haven Senior had met Gino a couple of times and had, in his own weird way, determined that he was both an honest man and a good detective. After Haven’s potential career change announcement, a certain amount of civility was restored. And now, with that phone call, a certain amount of trust and respect was also in evidence.

~4~

The meeting was set for one o'clock the next day at the top of the trail at a place called Edwards Garden. The man they were meeting was called Jason Furlong and he was the owner and founder of one of Toronto’s largest construction firms. Furlong Construction specialized in industrial buildings and had crews operating all over southern Ontario. 

Furlong was a fairly tall man with the kind of sinewy body that told Haven and Gino that he had worked his way into his position of power via the blood sweat and tears route. He was dressed in jeans, a collarless pinstriped shirt and a light linen sports coat. He was definitely a comfort over style type. His hair was short and light brown and he wore a baseball cap and sunglasses.

Introductions were made and they began to walk along the trail that led down to Wilket Creek.

“Your dad says good things about, you, Emil. He also says good things about your partner here, to which Gino just nodded and grunted something. Then he cleared his throat. “Suppose you lay it all out for us, Mr. Furlong,” Gino said, “And remember, we’re only gonna be as effective as the information you give us. If you lie to us or leave out something important, it’s only gonna slow the process down.”

“I understand, Mr Botticelli.”

“So start at the beginning.” Gino said.

Furlong took a deep breath. “Well, I guess it all started about ten years ago when I married the wrong woman, and was too dumb to have a prenuptial agreement made. I was already fairly wealthy at the time.”

“How wealthy is that?” Have asked.

“I was worth a couple hundred million. It’s more like three-quarters of a billion now. The good part of the marriage lasted about a year and then it started to go south. She wasn’t cheating on me. But she was spending my money at a fairly rapid pace. And, of course, the romance died. I didn’t say anything at first. I really loved her, and managed to convince myself that this would pass.”

“But it’s ten years later, and we’re living almost totally separate lives. If I were to divorce her. I would lose half of everything I busted my ass to build, and it would take years to deal with that. I was looking at an early retirement. This could add another ten years to that at least.”

“OK so that explains your situation. But I’m pretty sure that’s not why we’re here.” Gino said,

“No. About a year ago I started a relationship with the office manager in my company. A beautiful woman named Cheri Dawson. We, uh, we fit together pretty well, but I wasn’t willing to lose half my worth by divorcing my wife, Elizabeth. And Cheri never put any real pressure on me. Then about a week ago. I got an email with a snippet of a video of Cheri and I making love. It came with a blackmail note demanding ten million dollars or the video would be sent to my wife which would give her grounds for a divorce and major settlement, maybe even more than half my assets. My problem is that a lot of my money is tied up in investments, equipment and storage. It would take me at least a month to free up that much money, and they’re demanding it in ten days.”

Gino’s detective brain was churning. So was Haven’s but with significantly less horsepower.

“And you’re sure that your girlfriend isn’t in on it?” Gino asked.

“I’m as sure as I can be, short of actually asking her.”

Gino pulled out a notebook and a pen. He handed it to Furlong. “Write down her address. We’ll go have a look at her place. You could be right, but we’ll find out one way or another.”

Furlong took a deep breath. “You know I feel a little better having told someone about this.”

“Yeah, well that will happen.” Gino said. “But let me ask you a couple things. One is who else knew about this relationship?”

Furlong shook his head. “As far as I know, no one. I certainly hadn’t told anyone. I’m not sure about Cheri. But she’s a pretty sensible girl.”

“OK, then second question. Who, in your business world or your personal life, is pissed off at you? And I mean pissed off enough to do something like this?”

Furlong laughed. “This is a tough business. I’ve had to do more than my share of clawing and scraping. But I can’t think of  anyone who would go to all that trouble.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to imagine, but it happens every day, sir. One last question.” Gino said. “Is this Cheri, is she the only affair you have ever had?” 

“Yeah, while I was married. Before then I had relationships with several women.”

“OK” said Haven, catching on. “We’re gonna need those names as well plus any information you might have on them.” He handed Furlong a card. “Just email it to us ASAP and we’ll start checking things out.”

Furlong then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small memory key. “The email with the video clip is on there. It came from a Gmail address I didn’t recognize. I sent a reply to it, but it had just disappeared.”

“Let’s hope they call you next time. If they do, make sure you record the call, then let us know.”

The three men walked back to the parking lot. Furlong got into a big shiny GMC pickup and left Gino and Haven standing beside Haven’s Beamer.

“Well, it looks like we’re in business, Haven.”

When they got back to the office, they played the email video that Furlong had given them. It was only a few seconds but it told the whole story.

“It’s pretty grainy,” Gino said. “They probably shot it with a phone of some kind and it looks like it’s shot by hand through a window. There’s too much jiggling for it to be a set-up camera. So what does that tell us?”

Well” said Haven, “A couple of things. First, the blackmailers knew where Cheri Dawson lived. They also knew she was having an affair with Furlong.”

“Yeah. So who would have that kind of knowledge?”

“A friend. Someone at her work, a neighbour, a relative?”

“But Furlong said she was pretty discreet, so maybe we can rule out anyone at her work.” Gino said. “Let’s take a ride over and scope out her house and her neighbourhood.”

“Don’t we want to interview her?” Haven asked.

“Last resort. I’d like to figure how it was done and if we can pick up any clues, and go from there.”

~5~

Cheri Dawson lived on a quiet little street on the east side of the city in an area called Leaside. The house she lived in was a bungalow. Gino and Haven walked up the driveway and into the backyard. It was the middle of a weekday so they were pretty sure she would not be home. When they got to the rear of the house, they saw that there was a nice deck about ten feet deep that ran across the entire rear end of the house.

They climbed the three steps to the deck and walked to the far end where there was a large window. There were curtains on the window but they were open. They looked in and saw a large bed, a dresser and two night tables both with lamps on them.

“This is the place,” Gino said. And immediately, he started looking around. “Whoever shot this video, just had to quietly climb up on this deck and fire away. Nobody’s gonna see him or her, because of all those evergreens running down the property line. You couldn’t ask for a better setup.”

Gino climbed down off the deck and moved up the side of the house scanning the ground for anything the shooter might have left behind. But he came up empty.

The two men walked down the driveway and stared at the front of the house for a moment. Then behind them from across the street, they heard a woman’s voice. “If you’re looking for Cheri, she’s at work.”

They turned around to see an older woman sitting on her front steps smoking a cigarette. They walked across the street to talk to her.

“You.” she said, pointing at Gino. “You look like a cop.” Then she looked at Haven. “You I can’t figure.”

“We’re private investigators, ma’am” Haven said. “We were just checking something out for Miz Dawson.”

“She’s a sweetie, she is. Nicest kid you’d ever want to meet. She can’t be in any kinda trouble now can she?”

“No ma’am.” Gino said. “You sit out here a lot, do you?”

“My old man won’t let me smoke in the house. So yeah, I guess I do.”

“Evenings too?”

“Sure.” 

“Ever see anything strange, you know last few nights?”

“You mean the kid on the scooter?”

“Yeah.” Gino said, barely able to believe their luck.

“Sunday night, it was. I remember because we just finished watching Yellowstone, so it would have been around eleven. I came out for my puff. Some kid rides by the house, real slow. He’s on one of those scooters that you kinda sit on.”

“Like a Vespa.”

“Yeah. Not like a motorcycle. Anyway, he parks up the street and then walks back down and up the driveway. I thought he was some kinda delivery guy but he wasn’t carrying anything. Cheri was entertaining her gentleman friend. The kid was up the driveway for about ten minutes then he walked back down and got himself on his little scooter and took off.”

“Did you get a look at him?”

“Naa, he was wearin’ a helmet, the kind with the dark glass over the eyes. Had on a denim jacket and jeans and white sneakers. I made him to be no more than twenty, just from the way he moved. He didn’t see me. But old people, you know, these days were fuckin’ invisible.”

“That’s really helpful ma’am.”

“Helga. Helga Peterson.”

“Well thank you for that information, Miz Peterson.” Haven said. “Do us a favour though, don’t mention this to Miss Dawson. We’ll figure it out and hopefully without upsetting her unnecessarily.” Gino said. 

He handed her a card, which she stared at for a few seconds.”

“Private eyes, eh. Well, you’ve got yourself a bit of a mystery here then don’t ya?”

“If you see any more weird stuff, please let us know.” Haven said.

“Will do.”

And thanks again for your help.” Gino said.

They walked back to the car. “Looks like we caught a break.” Gino said.

“Looks that way.” Haven replied. But he knew from writing umpteen mystery novels that it could just as easily be a dead end.

~6~

Wiley Dupree was a world-class hacker whom Haven had met four years earlier, while he was writing his tenth novel, in the Phil Rosetti series, a cybercrime story. Wiley was referred to Gino by Haven, who had, over the last few years, used him on a number of cases involving computer fraud. 

Wiley was an American from New Orleans, who had left the USA under rather unpleasant circumstances, with a large bank account assembled from substantial chunks of withdrawals from the accounts of about a dozen of the richest crooks in the state of Louisiana. 

Though Wiley was confident he had left no trail of bread crumbs for anyone to follow, he had convinced himself that hanging around was a rather high risk proposition. So he simply packed up and headed north. When he hit Toronto, he rented a duplex in the Beaches, which just happened to be two doors down from Haven’s residence. The two men met at a restaurant called The Garden Gate or as it was more commonly known, the Goof, standing in line waiting for their takeout orders. They struck up a conversation and decided to grab a booth and eat there. 

Wiley was very forthcoming about his former occupation. He also told Haven that he was thinking that he might be able to put his formidable skills to work for the Metro Toronto Police Force, which, of course, was he how he ended up meeting Gino.

Even though Wiley was an illegal immigrant, Gino jumped at the chance to have a hacker of Wiley’s skill in his back pocket and convinced the department to petition the government to grant Wiley special immigration status. So a deal was struck. Wiley became the department’s cyber-crimes consultant, a semi-frequent dinner partner for Haven. 

Wiley showed up at Haven’s apartment at about 7 PM that night. He carried an extremely powerful Daewoo laptop computer in a hand-tooled leather case.

Gino, Haven and Wiley sat around the table in Haven’s dining room. Gino gave him the Gmail address and Wiley went to work. Haven got out three bottles of Grolsch beer to keep them all lubricated while Wiley worked his way through the maze of back-tracing the email server that the Gmail account was created on.

About ten minutes later Wiley announced his findings. “This account seems to belong to someone named Grace Aronson. No website to speak of but she does have a Facebook page.” He turned the laptop around and slowly scrolled down the images on the Facebook page. 

Grace Aronson was a good-looking woman who looked to be in her early forties She had long blonde hair and the light complexion of someone who might have come from Scandinavia. About a dozen pictures down, they came to a shot of Grace and a young man, who was definitely her son. Same blonde hair, same facial features. His name was Jonas. 

Wiley then did a search and came up with another Facebook page for Jonas Aronson. The banner image was one of Jonas sitting on his scooter. The only information on Jonas’ site was that he was in his third year at Glendon College, which was the Liberal Arts wing of York University. It was located on Bayview Avenue, very close to where both Haven’s father and Jason Furlong lived.

“Can you email us the URLs for both pages?” Gino asked. 

“Sure thing.” And Wiley went to work. A few seconds later Gino’s phone pinged. Then so did Haven’s.

“Wiley, you are a magician.”

“Who me? Naa, in this end of things I’m probably just a high-ranking amateur.”

They shot the shit for a while longer and then Wiley packed up his laptop and headed home.

“We need to go see Mr. Furlong, first thing tomorrow.” Gino said. “We need to see how all these pieces fit together.”

The next morning Gino and Haven arranged to meet Jason Furlong at the Boardwalk Cafe at the far west end of the Beaches. There they would get coffees and find a quiet bench to sit at while they talked.

Furlong was there when they arrived. He was sitting at a table about thirty yards from the restaurant. Haven went in and got coffees for himself and Gino. When they were all seated, Gino took a sip of his coffee and asked, “Does the name Grace Aronson mean anything to you?”

Furlong was taken a bit aback. He said nothing for a good long time. It felt to Haven like he didn’t know how to respond.

Finally he said. “Yes. I know Grace. We were very close at one time. But that was more than twenty years ago.”

“Would it surprise you to know that she has a son named Jonas who goes to Glendon College?” Gino asked.

Again Furlong was again silent for a time. “Nothing would surprise me about Grace.” he said finally.

“So here’s how it goes according to what we think at the moment.” Gino said. “Twenty years ago Miz Aronson got pregnant. Presumably by you. But you didn’t know. So she had a son, and she raised him on her own, because for whatever reason she didn’t want to tell you. Then she finally tells her son who his father is and for some reason we have yet to figure out, he starts stalking you with the aim of blackmailing you. Now he’s not any kind of professional extortionist and so it was relatively easy for us to figure out who he was.”

Furlong sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Grace was a gorgeous woman. Blonde and blue-eyed, movie star beautiful. And I will never actually know what it was that made her decide to break it off. I was all set to ask her to marry me.” There was a real sadness in his voice.

Nobody said anything for a while. Then Gino said. “Maybe you should meet up with Jonas. Ask him why he’s doing this. I’d say, all things considered, that would be your best option.”

Furlong took a deep breath. The strain of this conversation was starting to show on his face. “Perhaps you’re right.”

~7~

The Glendon Campus was small and cozy. It was a Liberal Arts college and so there were a lot of places for people to sit around and discuss stuff. Gino and Haven decided that Haven would make the trip and talk with Jonas. Gino believed that he was still too much of a cop and that that might spook him. But Haven, with his great wardrobe and his writer’s reputation, would probably make him feel more comfortable.

Haven drove into the campus and down a hill to the parking area. It was June so the campus was sparsely populated, mostly by adults and summer school students. He then climbed back up and walked around through the halls and around the grounds until he spotted Jonas, sitting with a couple of other kids his own age. They were having a heated discussion about something. Finally, the two other kids got up and walked back toward the dorms.

Jonas was gathering up his stuff, when Haven approached. “Jonas Aronson?” he asked.

Jonas looked up at Haven. There was a hint of recognition in his eyes. “Yeah. I’m Jonas.”

“Emil Haven.” Haven said and extended his hand, which Jonas shook.

“The Virgin Detective.” Jonas said. “I loved that book. Read it in practically one night.”

Haven sat down on the bench beside him. “Well thanks. It’s nice to know I have a fan.”

Jonas laughed. “I would kill for your fan base.” he said, and he sounded pretty serious about it.

“So you’re a writer too?” Have asked.

“On my way. Or at least I hope so.”

“OK, well, you’re probably wondering how I knew who you were?”

“Yeah. I was.”

Haven took a deep breath. “Well here’s the thing. I also own private investigation firm, and we know exactly what you’ve been up to. Jason Furlong is our client.”

Jonas said nothing. 

“We assume that your mother told you who your father was and now you’re essentially blackmailing him for ten million dollars. I hope she also told you that he knew nothing about you. The only thing we don’t know is why you are doing this. You’re not a criminal, so there must be a good reason. Now Mr. Furlong has no desire to see you arrested or have the recording you made go public. All he really would like to know is how he can help.”

Jonas didn’t say anything for a long time, but his mind was racing a mile a minute. Haven knew the feeling and could easily spot it in other people.

Finally he took a deep breath and said. “My mother is sick. Cervical cancer. She needs a treatment that’s only available in Mexico. We need the money to go there and live there and pay for the treatments and the drugs she will need afterward. The ten million was just a number I pulled out of the air. I have no real idea of how much this will all cost. But I’m figuring it out. My mother is a good person, and she’s all I have.”

Now it was Haven’s turn to take a deep breath. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Jonas. I really am. I’ve lost good friends to cancer. I know exactly how you feel. So listen. Why don’t we all get together and figure out how your mother can be helped? I’m sure Mr. Furlong would be more than willing to take care of any of your expenses.”

“Do you really believe that? I mean I caught him having an affair with another women. How trustworthy do you really think he is?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Haven said. He handed Jonas a card. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, I’ll arrange a meeting at this address. Call me tonight and I’ll give you the time.”

Jonas took the card and nodded.

~8~

Every corporation of any size has a guy like Rick Seymour. These are the guys that handle all the nasty shit that nobody in the executive suite wants to get involved with. 

Rick Seymour was that guy for Furlong Construction. He was the creator of sabotage against any competitor who needed to be set back a distance to allow Furlong Construction to win a close bidding war. He was the guy who made deals with all the suppliers, mostly at Furlong’s advantage. He was also the guy who made sure that any of Furlong's executives who fucked up were told in no uncertain terms that one fuckup is all you get. His portfolio of skills was quite broad. And his knack for innovation quite effective. 

So when Edward Furlong mentioned the situation involving one of his old girlfriends, that was all Rick needed to know. 

Unfortunately for Rick, he wasn’t given the whole picture, mainly because it wasn’t known at the time, and so when he confronted Miz Aronson, that Saturday morning, while her son was swimming in the Glendon pool, he was met by a woman with a bit of a temper. After he explained who he was and what he knew of the situation, he found himself in the uncomfortable position of having to defend himself against a knife wielding early forty-something blonde in full vengeful bitch mode. The resulting conflagration, in which no attack actually took place, unfortunately left Ms Aronson dead from what appeared to be a heart attack. Despite Rick’s desperate attempts to revive her, she had bottomed out and was no longer of this life. 

Rick stood in the empty east-end house and thought it through with all the calmness of the true psychopath he was. He then sprang into action, moving her into her bedroom and laying her on her bed, doing his best to make it look like what had actually happened was only in the bedroom. He then methodically went through the house and erased any evidence that he had ever been there. He quickly searched for any evidence of a tape or computer file that would have revealed his boss’ indiscretion but found nothing. He left by the rear door, hopped over the back fence and walked down the alleyway to the street where his car was parked. As clean a getaway as he could have imagined.

As Rick was driving back to the office, he thought up several fake stories to tell his boss. But in the end opted to just tell him the truth. The woman was quite mad, and judging from the plethora of medication on her bedside table, who could really blame her.

Furlong took the news without batting an eye. “I don’t suppose you found anything on the kid’s computer, or a digital camera laying around anywhere.”

“No, sir. The place was clean. I figure he just has the video on his phone.”

“Well, I’m on my way over to meet with him, now. Hopefully he doesn’t know that his mother is…gone. If this doesn’t work out, we may also have to deal with him too, Rick.”

“Yeah, well let's hope for the best, sir.”

~7~

The meeting was that afternoon at the Queen Street office of B&H Investigations, which seemed to make the most sense since it needed to be quite private. The four of them sat in the small board room with coffees in front of them. Jonas had come directly from Glendon.

“You inherited your mother’s good looks, Jonas.” Furlong said. “I don’t suppose she told you that she never informed me that she was pregnant.”

“And what would you have done if you knew?” Jonas asked.

“That’s impossible for me to answer. I might have asked your mother to marry me, and we would probably have lasted a few years. But she was the one who ended our relationship.”

“Would you have insisted on an abortion?” Jonas asked.

Furlong shook his head. “No Jonas. I would never have suggested that. I would have accepted the responsibility, and even if we weren’t together I would have provided for you both. I was more than capable of doing that, even back then.”

“My mother has cancer. There is no treatment available here. So we would have to go to Mexico and live there for at least a year.”

“And that’s what you wanted the money for?”

“Yes.”

“You seem to have gone to a lot of trouble. You could have just called me and explained the situation.”

Jonas chuckled. “Yeah right. And by the time I got through your firewall of corporate minions, it would have been too late. I chose the more expedient route.”

“And it never occurred to you that I would hire some people like Mr Botticelli and Mr Haven here.”

“I was willing to take my chances.”

“Well, here we are. Tell me what you need.”

Jonas opened his laptop and then opened a spreadsheet. He then turned the screen toward Furlong, who stared at it for quite some time.

“I just compiled this last night. So it’s not ten million. It’s just a shade over three and a half million?”

“And if I give this to you, what happens to the recording you made?”

“You can have it.”

Furlong rested his head in his hands. “And what happens to you, if this doesn’t work and your mother passes away?”

“I really haven’t thought it through that far, sir.”

“Would you consider coming to work for my company? Learning the construction business?”

Jonah stared at Furlong for quite a while. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.” Furlong said. “Maybe an attempt to make up for lost time.”

“I’d have to think about it. I’ve never had a father, so I don’t really know what kind of a son I would be to you.”

“Well, if you inherited anything at all from me, you might find you’re quite comfortable.” 

“It’s a generous offer sir. But like I said I would like to think about it. But for now, if you’re willing to finance our time in Mexico, we would both be very grateful.”

Furlong was struck by Jonas’ sincerity. In the back of his mind, he was starting to feel genuinely guilty about what was about to happen to this young man. How his life would be turned upside down, and how disorienting that could end up being for him, losing everything.

“I’ll need a few days to make the money available to you. In the meantime, please, don’t do anything with that recording. I implore you. It will do much more damage than you can imagine.”

Jonas got to his feet. “I’ll call you in three days and we can arrange for the exchange. And I will think seriously about your offer.”

Jonas left the room after nodding to Gino and Haven.

“Well, gentlemen.” Furlong said. “You seem to have pulled this off in record time. Please send me a bill for your services. I’ll make certain it gets paid immediately.”

They all got to their feet and shook hands. Furlong left Gino and Haven standing in their reception area. Gino had a look on his face that Haven had seen before. “What?” Haven asked.

“This ain’t over. Nothing goes this smoothly.”

“Take the win Gino. It’s a good omen.”

“Maybe.” Gino said and walked back to his spanking new office.

~8~

When Jonas Aronson returned home later that day, he looked around for his mother. He knew that she would not go out on her own. Finally, after searching the whole house he found her in her bedroom, on her bed, looking very peaceful but quite dead.

He stood there in shock for a good five minutes. Then he called the police. The first people who arrived were a uniformed couple, male and female officers, who walked through the house looking for anything out of the ordinary but could find nothing. Jonas told them about her mother’s condition and that she had been on a leave of absence from her work for the past six weeks, since she had become too weak to manage the stresses of her job. Jonas had no idea what do to. The officers told him they would call a detective who would come and investigate the scene, but in their opinion, his mother had simply laid down on her bed and died.

Jonas went out onto the back porch of his house and sat down. He cried for a good half hour. Then he took out his phone and dialled Emil’s number at H&B Investigations.

“This is Haven.” Haven said as he answered the call. He was sitting on his balcony drinking a beer with Gino.

“Mr Haven this is Jonas Aronson.”

“Jonas. Is something wrong?”

“Mr Haven, my mother is dead.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry to hear that, Jonas. Do you know what happened?”

“No. I just got home a while ago and found her lying on her bed. She looked like she was taking a nap. But she didn’t wake up. When I touched her arm I knew she was dead.”

“Jesus. Is there someone you can call? A relative or anyone?” 

“No sir. There’s just her and me.”

Haven’s heart went out to the young man. “Listen, they will probably send a detective to check things out. I’ll come over and hang out with you and we can figure out what to do.”

“I’d really appreciate that, sir.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Haven disconnected and walked into Gino’s office.

“You’re not gonna believe this but Jonas Aronson’s mother is dead.”

Gino looked up at him and shook his head slightly. “God damn. I told you this wasn’t over.”

Haven took a deep breath. And then he said. “I volunteered to go over there and help the kid deal with all of this. Maybe you’d like to have a look around yourself.”

Gino got to his feet. “I would indeed.” 

~9~

When they got to the Aronson house, there were three vehicles parked nearby. A Metro patrol car, a dark sedan and an ambulance. Jonas Aronson was sitting on the front porch with a detective who was standing over him with a notepad in his hand. Jonas was answering questions. He looked to be in pretty rough shape.

When Gino and Haven approached, the detective turned to Gino and smiled. 

I heard you were retired, Gino.” He said. His name was Jake Ross and he and Gino had come up through the ranks together. Gino shook Ross’ hand. 

“This is my new partner, Emil Haven.” Gino said. Then he turned to Haven. “Haven, this is my old patrol partner, Jake Ross.”

The two men shook hands.

“What brings you two here?” Ross asked.

“Jonas here is our client.” Gino said. “We’ve been helping him find out who his real father is.”

Then Gino turned to look down at Jonas, who looked exhausted. “Sorry to hear about your mom, Jonas. Maybe Inspector Ross here can fill us in on what happened.”

Ross and Gino walked down the driveway together. “Not much to tell Gino.” Ross said. “Looks like she just laid down and popped off. No signs of a struggle or foul play of any kind. The uniforms are canvassing the neighbourhood, but there was hardly anybody around. The kid said his mom had pancreatic cancer. Maybe the stress of it all was too much for her. Coroner says it looks like a heart attack. But right now, it looks pretty much like death by natural causes. So unless you know something that might change it, that’s probably how it’s gonna go in the books.”

Gino shook his head.

“Anything you want to tell me, Gino?”

“Naa…just, you know a little leftover homicide cop is all.”

“I get it, but this looks pretty much cut and dry, and you know I’d be on it like Jack the Bear if I suspected something hinky.”

“Okay. Just go easy on the kid. He’s a good kid and he’s got nobody left right now.

“Well, according to some of the documents we found in the mom’s desk, he’s gonna be two million richer, insurance, plus whatever this house is worth, probably another million. So that should tide him over.”

“Two million, eh?”

“Yeah. 

By the way, did you ever find the father?”

“Not yet. But it’s early days.”

They turned to walk back up the driveway. So how are you likin’ the private sector?”

“Can’t complain. My partner is pretty wealthy. Bought a whole duplex and literally gave me the bottom floor. to live in. Plus we’ve got some pretty nice office space down in the Beaches. I might even end up with a tan.”

Ross laughed. “Now that would be something to see.”

They walked back to the front steps where Haven was sitting with Jonas.

“OK, son.” Ross said. “If I have any more questions, I’ll let you know. Sorry for your loss.” Ross climbed the steps and entered the house.

“So what happened here?” Haven asked Jonas. 

Jonas shook his head and took a deep breath. “After our meeting, I went back to school, hung out a bit then picked up some books I’d forgotten. Then I picked up some dinner for us, like I always do on Saturdays. When I got home, about five, there she was, just lyin’ on her bed like she was taking a nap. I tried to wake her up….”

Haven put his arm around Jonas’ shoulder. 

Just then one of the ambulance drivers came out of the front door. 

He looked at Jonas. “We’re gonna take your mom to the morgue, son. When you have made funeral arrangements, they’ll release the body.”

Jonas just nodded. He got to his feet. It was almost like he had accepted the reality. “Thank you. It might take a few days. I’ve never done this kind of thing before.”

Haven got up. “Don’t worry Jonas. I’ll help you out with all of this. We’ll get through it and get you all sorted out.”

They moved down onto the front lawn as the body was taken out of the house and wheeled down to the ambulance.

“Why don’t you get some stuff together and you can come and stay with me for a couple days. We’ll get your life in order.”

Jonas just said OK, and went into the house. A few minutes later he came out with a bag and his computer.” He locked the house and they all got into Haven’s car.

~10~

It took about a week to get Jonas’ affairs straightened out. They included a visit to the family lawyer to read the will. His mother’s funeral, which was sparsely attended. Her will specified cremation. At the end of the week the insurance money was deposited into his Royal Bank Savings account. 

Once Jonas had resigned himself to the fact that his mother was gone he slowly came back to being himself. which was a sharp, ambitious, resourceful young man. Since Haven was cut from pretty much the same cloth, they quickly became good friends, and Haven did his best to advise Jonas on what to do with his life. 

Jonas decided to keep the house because it was small and easy to take care of. He also decided to finish his final year at Glendon and get his BA in English and then apply to teacher’s college, because that was one of the two things you could do with a degree in English. Two weeks later Jonas, Haven and Gino had a goodbye dinner at the Red Lion, at which point he turned over the recording he had made of Edward Furlong and Cheri Dawson.

Haven and Jonas agreed to stay in touch and Haven made it very clear that if he had any issues he couldn't figure out, he should not hesitate to call.

After Jonas left, Gino ordered two more beers.

“You know,” Gino said. “The way you handled this whole thing was really quite masterful.”

“I guess I can relate to growing up with just one parent.” Haven said.

Just then Gino’s phone rang he answered it. Haven watched as his brow furrowed. “Really… So are you guys following up on that, or just writing it off to coincidence?…OK good. Keep me posted.” Gino disconnected and put his phone down.

“Apparently a witness has come forward who saw someone walking down the alley behind Miz Aronson’s house about the same time as the coroner's estimated time of death.”

“Are they gonna follow it up?”

“They don’t have much to go on. Guy was tall, walked with some authority and didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Only thing is the witness had never seen him before.”

”So the witness got a good look at him.”

“Not really, he caught sight of him walking away.” Gino said. Then he took a slug of his beer. “I told you this wasn’t over.”

Haven leaned back in his chair and let his mystery writer’s mind go to work. He sat quietly for a good minute, until Gino reminded him that he was still on planet earth.

“I was just thinkin’ about who would stand to benefit if Miz Aronson was no longer alive.”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ the same thing.”

“I think we should go have a chat with Mr. Furlong. Gotta return this recording anyway.”

“Wait a minute.” Gino said. “That recording is the only thing that connects Furlong to any of this. Maybe we should hold onto it. We can just tell him the kid destroyed it. But it’s a back pocket thing if we ever need it.”

“Well, you’re the ex-cop. I defer to your judgment on that.” Haven said.

They met at Furlong’s office which was in its own building on Don Mills Road up by the Trans Canada Highway, which was never called that but the 401.

They met in a good-sized boardroom with a nice view of the Don Valley some fifty feet below. Furlong’s secretary, an older lady, named Diane Royce, whom Haven found out had been with Furlong since he started his business led them from the reception area to the boardroom. She pointed to the coffee that was sitting in a carafe on a side cabinet. They both poured themselves a cup and sat down. A few minutes later Furlong walked in with another man, a little taller than Furlong and a whole lot harder looking. 

“Gentlemen. This is my second in command here, Rick Seymour.” Hands were shaken and everybody sat down.

“I understand that Miz Aronson has passed away. I was sorry to hear that.” Furlong said. “Have you been in touch with young Jonas?”

“Yeah. He’s spent the last five days with us, while we helped him get sorted out.” Haven said.

‘He didn’t happen to mention if he was interested in my offer at all?”

“No. He, ummm, well he had a lot of other things to deal with.”

“And the recording?” Furlong asked.

“It’s in a safe place. We’re holding onto it until the investigation is completed.” Haven said.

“But the news reported that she had passed away from a heart attack. Surely the police can't be suspecting foul play.” Furlong said.

“Evidently, someone was seen in the alleyway behind the Aronson house. Someone came forward once they had found out about Miz Aronson.”

Both Seymour and Furlong froze for just long enough for both Gino and Haven to notice.

“The police,” Gino said, “Like to have all their ducks in a row before they close a case.”

Furlong leaned back in his chair. “But this has nothing to do with me, so I don’t understand why you are holding onto the recording.”

“Like I said, the case is still open.” Gino said, watching the body language of the two men carefully. He could definitely feel a bit of tension in the room. “But you can rest assured that the video will be destroyed when  the case is closed.”

Rick Seymour leaned forward in his seat. “You seem to know a lot about this case,” he said to Gino. “Is there anything that could cause that recording to become public?”

“Not at the moment.” Gino said. “But I did this stuff for more than twenty years. Sometimes…well something just explodes for no reason. We’re hoping that’s not the case here. But whether you like it or not, Mr Furlong, you are connected to this case. We’ll just have to see how it plays out. In the meantime, you can consider our job here done.”

“Of course.” Furlong said.

“Just so you know,” Haven said, “We haven’t brought your name up in this case. I can’t speak for young Jonas though. But after my last conversation, I’m almost certain that he will just carry on. His mother was well insured, and either way he still gets the benefit and he will be OK.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do.” Furlong said. 

Haven and Gino got to their feet. “We’ll let you know how things shake out.” Gino said. “We can see ourselves out.”

When they got back down to the car, Gino looked over at Haven. “That motherfucker, Rick Seymour.” Gino said. “I know what he is and I know what he does for this company. Maybe he didn’t kill Jonas’ mother. But I’ll bet he scared the shit out of her and got her frightened enough to have a heart attack.”

“They both looked a little bit weird when I said I was keeping the recording.” Haven said.

“Yeah, they did. And wouldn’t it be just dandy if they decided to come after it.”

“You think that will happen?”

“You’re the writer Haven, how would you play it out?”

Haven started the car. “I’m starting to feel like a piece of bread in a shit sandwich.”

“Good. It’ll keep you on your toes.” Gino said. “Let’s get out of here. The suburbs give me the willies.”

On the way back to the Beaches, Gino called Jake Ross. “Hey Jake. Have you closed down the Aronson case yet…Yeah…It's kinda sketchy. But something might be coming together out here. So keep an open mind. I might just call you again real soon. Thanks, pal.

Haven chuckled.

“What?” Gino asked.

“You can take the cop out of the force, but…you know the rest.”

“Yeah, I guess it do. This private sector shit’s gonna require some getting used to.”

~11~

Late that afternoon, Angela Tucci arrived at Haven’s flat. She let herself in with a key he had given her a few months ago. She and Haven had met when her husband was killed by a man named Richard Kane, who was sent to start a gang war in Toronto for a New York family that had their eye on the greater Toronto area market. 

Angela unpacked all the groceries she was carrying and went to work preparing dinner for Haven and Gino.

At about six PM, the two men walked through the door and entered the kitchen. Haven got the first kiss, which was pretty substantial. Gino got an affectionate caress and a kiss on the cheek.

“The veal needs a few more minutes.” Angela said. So they all sat down at the dining room table and poured some red wine. 

“So how are things with B&H Investigations?” Angela asked.

“Comin’ along we got our first client three days ago and wrapped it up rather quickly.” Haven said.

“Yeah, only it’s not quite over yet.” Gino said.

“What do you mean?” Angela asked.

“Well, Gino’s got this theory somebody involved in the case didn’t exactly die of natural causes. That maybe she was helped out, and maybe we met the actual guy who helped her.” Haven said.

“So are you gonna tell the cops?”

“Tell them I’ve got a theory about something they consider pretty cut and dry?” Gino said. “Not yet. We have no evidence and if we do this and I’m wrong, well, I lose a lot of credibility, which I’m not prepared to do.

“But you’re gonna stick with it, right?” Angela asked. “I mean, that poor kid of hers is all on his own.”

That poor kid’s not so poor.” Haven said. “His mom had a two million dollar life insurance policy and her work had her insured for another five hundred thousand. Plus he has a house on the east side that’s worth about another million. I think he’ll be OK.”

“But if someone did help her along. I mean that’s gotta be some kind of crime, right? Angela said.

“All depends.” Gino said. “The guy we’re looking at for this, he’s a pro. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some evidence somewhere.”

Just then the oven bell dinged and Angela jumped up. The two men also got up. Haven tossed the Caesar salad, and Gino set the table. Then they all sat down and talked about more pleasant things, like when Angela and Haven were gonna make it official. Angela told them that she had already put her house on the market and that it would probably be sold within a couple of weeks. Then she could start redecorating the flat that she and Haven would inhabit. Mostly Angela was interested how Gino was adjusting to civilian life. They went way back, almost got married themselves.

“You know, it’s interesting.” Gino said. “I thought it would be a piece of cake. But it turns out that thinking like a cop is a real advantage in our business. So I guess I have to learn to turn it off in the evenings and on the weekends.”

“We’ve got to get you a woman, Gino.” Angela said. “That’s all there is to it. That’s gonna be my next project.”

“Wait a minute Angela.” Gino protested. “I don't think I need any help in that area.”

Angela just laughed. “Gino I love you, but if there was ever anyone on this planet who needed a total makeover, it’s you. This area is filled with beautiful women, a lot of whom are looking for a successful guy for fun and games. But this Columbo schtick, it’s gotta go.”

Gino looked over at Haven who held up both of his hands. “I’ve been telling you that for years. Maybe it is time. New neighbourhood, new image.” he said.

Gino took a deep breath. He didn't say a thing. He just smiled at Angela and that all knew right then and there that she was gonna remake him.

“Tomorrow. You and me, Gino. We go up to Yorkdale and get you a new wardrobe. I’m sure that B&H would consider it a useful expense.” Angela said.”

“No complaint from me.” Haven said. “To be honest, I totally agree with you.”

And with that settled, Haven poured some more wine and they all toasted Gino’s new image, whatever the hell that would be.

~12~

It was another job for Wiley Dupree. This time, it was to hack into the computer systems of Furlong Construction, specifically the computer of one Rick Seymour.

Early the next week, at a little after nine in the evening. Riley sat in the spare office at B&H Investigations, and connected himself to a server in Hamburg Germany, by way of Buenos Aires and Johannesburg, South Africa.

“OK, I’m in,” Wiley said. What am I looking for?”

Gino was sitting opposite him. “Well if I were Mr Seymour and I was in charge of security for the company, I might be tempted to record…maybe all the conversations I have with my boss. I would use that as my Get Out Of Jail Free card if the shit should ever hit the fan and I needed to make a deal with, you know, the Mounties or the Feds.”

“Okay.” Wiley said as he was scanning through Rick Seymour’s files. There appears to be small remote drive connected to his computer.”

“Take a peek in there. Or is it password protected?” Gino asked.

“Actually it is, but this idiot listed all his passwords on a fucking Post-It Note on his hard drive.” Wiley looked up at Gino. “People never cease to amaze me. Here it is.”

Wiley hit a bunch of keys and opened up the external hard drive. “Okay, you were right Gino. It’s a bunch of MP3 files. Fifty-three to be exact.”

“Alright. Can you copy them off onto your computer. I’ll get a memory key. How much space do they take up? 

“No more than 500 megs, Gino.” 

While Wiley copied the files, Gino went into his office and brought back a small black memory key.

The files only took about 30 seconds to download because of the speed of Wiley’s processor. Copying them over to Gino’s key took about ten minutes.

“So what’s the story with this dude, Gino?” Wiley asked.

“Not sure yet. But he’s definitely some kind of bad guy who did some harm to a lady who was already very ill. At least that’s what we suspect.”

After a few minutes of baseball banter, Wiley popped the memory key out of his drive and handed it to Gino.”

“Another five hundred?” Gino asked.

“Works for me.”

Gino went into Haven’s office and opened up a small steel box in one of his desk drawer. He pulled out five one hundred dollar bills and brought them back to Wiley who was just zipping up his computer case. He handed Wiley the bills.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Gino. I keep wanting to call you Inspector.” Wiley said.

“Yeah, we all have some shit to get used to. Thanks for your help, as usual Wiley.

“No problemo.” Wiley said. “Hope he’s the bad guy and I hope you nail his ass. By the way, I like your new look.”

“Yeah, you can thank Angela for that?”

“Haven’s Angela?

“That’s the one.”

“Well, she really nailed that look for you, man.”

With that, the two men shook hands and Wiley was out of the office and down the stairs. A few minutes later, Gino left himself.

~13~

The next morning Gino was sitting in Haven’s office with his laptop open.

Fortunately for Gino, Rick Seymour had gone to the trouble of using dates to label each of the recordings he made. So Gino only had to actually listen to about half a dozen recordings until he found the two he was looking for. They were, of course, on the day before and the day of Grace Aronson’s death.

The conversations clearly implicated both Furlong and Rick Seymour.

The first conversation: 

Furlong: Her name is Grace Aronson. I’ve written down the address. She’s been off work for a couple of weeks now. I need you to go over there and confirm her condition for me. I’m not gonna give this little pissant a dime unless I know this is for real.

Seymour: And what happens if I find out she’s just fakin’ it to shake you down.

Furlong: I’ll leave that up to you. But if she is, you need to make sure you leave there with any incriminating evidence she may have.

The Second conversation, the next day:

Seymour: “Some bad news. I went to see Miz Aronson. Was just starting to ask her some questions when she went ape-shit on me. Grabbed a knife and tried to attack me. She was pretty easy to subdue, but while that was happening, she just collapsed. Out like a light. I checked her pulse. There was nothing.

Furlong: “I don’t suppose you found anything on the kid’s computer, or a digital camera laying around anywhere.”

Seymour: “No, sir. The place was clean. I figure he just has the video on his phone.”

Furlong: “Well, I’m on my way over to meet with him, now. Hopefully he doesn’t know that his mother is…gone. If this doesn’t work out, we may also have to deal with him too, Rick.”

Seymour: “Yeah, well let's hope for the best, sir.”

Haven took a deep breath and shook his head. He was thinking hard about what to do with this illegally acquired evidence. But he sure as hell didn’t want to end up in jail by going straight to the police. He also knew that Gino was thinking the exact same thing.

“We could copy this off and send it anonymously to your pal Jake Ross.” Haven said.

“Yeah, but the circle of people who knew anything about this death is pretty fuckin’ small. That could come around and bite us in the ass.” Gino said. “The only way we can actually finger these guys is if we get them to admit to us what they did. Legally, it’s involuntary manslaughter at best, and with the kind of lawyer that Furlong can afford to hire, it’ll get knocked down and both him and Ross will never end up doing any serious time.”

Haven knew enough about murder and manslaughter to know that Gino was right. So there they were with a ton of evidence they couldn’t use. 

“We do have one thing.” Haven said. “We have Jonas’ original recording. Maybe we should think about how to use that.”

Just then the office door opened and Bridget Shaunnessy entered with a file box with a bunch of pictures and other stuff in it. Haven and Gino walked over to the reception area and greeted her. 

“I like the ten till six option. Lots of seats on the streetcar.” she said.

“How far do you have to travel?” Gino asked.

“Actually not all that far, I live near Queen and Dufferin?”

“No kidding,” Gino said. “I used to live around there myself.”

They spent the next half hour or so talking to Bridget about her duties. Haven sat her down in front of his massive corkboard where all his outlines were tacked up with different colour push pins, and told her he needed each of the five outlines transcribed into separate Pages files, so he could start writing the stories. Bridget just nodded and said “Sure thing, Mr. Haven.”

“Just Haven, will do, Bridget.”

“OK, Haven.”

While they were sitting in Haven’s office, Gino came in and took the other chair.

“OK, so, you know that this business is half Haven’s writing career and the other half doing private investigation work for our clients. Now you come from the legal profession so I don’t have to talk to you about confidentiality.”

“No, I understand totally.”

“Good. Now we have just finished up a case so I will send you the details. So just check out our site and make your own email address and send it to both of us and we’ll be in business.” Haven handed her a card.

Bridget just smiled and got to her feet. She was about five foot three and beaming. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here and not where I was.”

“That’s good.” Haven said. We’re also thinking about adding another person.” He turned to Gino. “Apparently Wiley really loves this office. He said he’ll bring his own server because our Internet service is, in his opinion, the pits.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who is Wiley?” Bridget said.

“Wiley Dupree. He is a computer magician. Very nice fellow.” Gino said.

“Oh, a hacker, eh?” Bridget said.

“Sometimes, yeah. But he mostly works on the right side of the law.” Gino said.

“Well, that’s good then. The more the merrier.” Bridget said as she waltzed out of Haven’s office.

Gino just looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “She’s gonna be a lot of fun to have around.” he said.

“Yeah, I think so.” Haven said. “I also think I might have a way through this Aronson thing.”

~13~

At Furlong Construction, a dweeby-looking kid in his early twenties named Dwayne Chisholm was sitting in Rick Seymour’s office. Seymour was sitting behind his desk.  Chisholm was sitting on the window ledge. 

“It was about ten thirty last night. The mainframe was hacked and they made a beeline right for your computer.” Chisholm had a small iPad in his hand. They entered the computer at 10:28, hit your hard drive at 10:32, copied fifty-three small MP3 files and were gone by 10:41. I tried to trace the source but it just led me on a merry chase around the globe. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were looking for and had their shit completely together. They were pros, and high-level ones at that.”

Seymour sat quietly taking it all in. He was sort of listening to Chisholm but most he was thinking about who could have done this and why. He knew exactly what they were looking for but he also knew that it could not be used in evidence against him because it was obtained without any kind of search warrant. Still in all, they could be fed anonymously to the police and that would definitely cause them to focus on him. Or maybe they would contact him and demand a ransom. 

He nodded to Chisholm. “Thanks for the heads up, Dwayne. Let’s just keep this between us for now.”

“Most assuredly, Mr. Seymour. I’ll keep looking to see if I can figure out where this hack originated, but it’s real uphill work. Like I said, these guys are super pro.” Chisholm said as he got up to leave.

Seymour got up out of his chair and headed down the hall to Furlong’s office. Furlong was on the phone but waved him in. After Furlong hung up, he folded his hands in front of him. “What’s up Rick?”

“I was just thinking about the Aronson kid. I think it might be a good gesture for you to arrange to visit him. I mean he is your kid after all. Maybe you could even renew your offer about coming to work here.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing myself.” Furlong said rubbing his forehead. “I suppose you would like me to find out how much he actually knows about what happened to his mother.”

“That would be useful, sir.”

“Are you worried about this coming back to bite us?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But to my way of thinking, the only way that could happen is through the kid.”

“Has something happened that I don’t know about, Rick?”

“No sir. You pay me to be cautious. I’m being cautious.”

“Alright. I will drive over there today.”

Seymour got to his feet. “That would be helpful, I think.” 

Whenever Haven needed to figure something out, he went for a run. He had a couple miles of boardwalk that ran right past his house, so he headed home, got changed and headed west out to the spit. He had a place on a pile of rocks where he could just stare out at Lake Ontario and feel like he was right in the middle of it. It always managed to clear his head. 

This case was his first and he had never really had to wrestle with a moral dilemma before. All the dilemmas he’d had to deal with up to this point were ones of his own creation and he could resolve them pretty much any way he needed to in order to keep the story going. 

But this was a real-life dilemma, and a kid he had come to like had gotten hurt badly as a result of the actions of the very people who had hired himself and Gino to resolve the situation. It pissed him off, and he knew enough about himself to never make big decisions when you were in that state.

Could it be that Furlong just didn’t want to help Grace Aronson? Or could it be that he just wanted the problem out of his life in the most permanent way possible. Well, it was in his life now, and it could go either way. Gino, of course, would be all for resolving the situation and getting some justice for Grace Aronson and her son. And as he sat there on that rock, staring out at the wide expanse of lake in front of him, he decided that he did too.

~14~

Jonas Aronson was surprised when he answered the door and Edward Furlong was standing there on his steps. 

“Mr Furlong.” Jonas said. “Please, come in.”

Furlong entered the house. He looked around at the modest furnishings and thought about Grace raising a son on her own.

They sat down at the dining room table. “Can I get you anything some coffee or whatever?” Jonas asked.

“No that’s fine Jonas. I just came by to see how you are doing. And to offer my sincere condolences.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

“I also want you to know that if there is anything, anything at all that you need…”

“No I’m fine. My mother owned the house outright. I own my car and there’s was a very substantial insurance payout.”

“That’s good. I just wanted you to know that I was prepared to help you and your mother in in way possible.”

“Thank you.”

“But there’s one thing that’s been on my mind since the outset. And that is why your mother never contacted me when she discovered she was pregnant.”

“I wish I knew the answer to that. But honestly, it never came up. When I asked her, I was maybe twelve or thirteen, she said, it was just one of those things, and she was happy just to raise me on her own.”

“And how did you find out about me in the first place?”

“After she got diagnosed, several months ago. I sort of took over the family finances. One day. I found a letter she had written to you, but never mailed. I didn’t tell her about finding it-. I tried contacting you directly several times, but you have very protective people working for you. So one day I decided to follow you. That led me to the house where I made the video. And that led to all the rest of it.”

Furlong said nothing for quite a while. “And so, what happened to the video? Did you destroy it?”

No, I gave it to Mr Haven and his partner. They told me they would try and resolve everything for me.”

Furlong got to his feet. “Well, I’m very sorry about what has happened. And at the risk of sounding like a broken record, please, contact me if you need anything at all.” He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “This is my direct private line.”

Jonas took the card. The two men shook hands and Furlong left. He looked very calm on the outside. But inside he was seething. When he got into his car, he pulled out his phone and called Rick Seymour.

“Rick. It’s Haven and Botticelli. They’ve got the recording and it’s more than likely they’re the ones who did the hack last night.”

“You knew about the hack?”

“Rick, it’s my company. I know about everything that goes on in it. I suggest you figure out a way to deal with this and soon.” Furlong said and disconnected.

~15~

Gino and Haven were sitting on Haven’s balcony, while the sun was setting somewhere to their far right. They both had cold bottles of Grolsch in their hands and both had their feet up on the rail.

“I’ve been thinking about what to do with this Furlong guy and his minion.” Gino said. “Cause sooner or later, they’re gonna come after us.”

“Yeah, well that’s the plan.” Haven said. “We let them. We get them in a room to arrange the exchange and we record the whole fucking thing. Easy peasy.” Haven said with a confidence that surprised even him.

Gino just chuckled. “Said the crime fiction writer who controlled the narrative because it came out of his own head. In the real world, things don’t quite work that way.”

“Oh, and how do they work in the real world?”

“Well, first of all, this is not gonna be some tidy little meeting. Furlong will send his guy after us and with explicit orders to bring back the recording or die trying.”

“Now who’s sounding like a fiction writer.”

“That’s what I’d do if I were him. Just remember, Grace Aronson may not be around but there is still Furlong’s wife and half of his net worth on the line. Guys like him will do whatever it takes to hold onto that?”

“So you’re saying my little plan’s not really worth a shit.”

“Pretty much.” Gino said and took a long slug of his beer. “What we have to do is watch and wait. Seymour will show up sooner or later, looking to take the recording from us by force. That’s when we get him talking. And if we get lucky, we get him to incriminate himself. And if we get real lucky, we don’t get shot and or killed.”

“Not crazy about the shot and or killed part. Never have been.”

“I think we’ll be OK, because we’re gonna give him exactly what he’s looking for. And he’s gonna do the same for us. I hope.”

~16~

Rick Seymour carried a Smith & Wesson 45 semi-automatic with a suppressor that he purchased from an underground gun dealer in the city of Oshawa about 20 miles east of Toronto. The gun was unregistered and had its serial number expertly burned off. It cost him about $1200 which he expensed to Furlong Construction with a fake invoice for repairs to his company car.

It was close to 11 PM and the usual crowds on Queen Street were starting to thin down as the restaurants were closing. Seymour looked up at the second-floor office of B&H Investigations and saw that there were lights on in one of the front offices. 

Quietly and skillfully he picked the lock on the ground floor and walked up the stairs. He entered the office and walked past the reception area towards Haven’s office. Haven was sitting at his desk. Seymour looked around. The rest of the floor was dark. He entered Haven’s office. and took a seat opposite his desk.

“I suppose you have come for the video.” Haven said.

“You’re very perceptive.” Seymour said and drew his pistol and laid it on Haven's desk.

“I know you didn’t actually kill Grace Aronson, Seymour.” Haven said.

“Oh yeah. And how do you know that?”

“I’m not sure if you have taken a good look at yourself in a mirror lately, but you are pretty fuckin’ scary looking. And I don’t mean that in a Herman Munster kind of way. You just have this intensity about you. So I can see how a lady like Grace Aronson, who was pretty ill to begin with, could have indeed suffered a heart attack, without you having to do very much at all.

“You don’t know shit about that, Mr. Haven.”

“Well suppose you fill me in on the details.”

“Do you think I’m some kind of idiot? You’re probably recording this entire conversation.”

“Confession is good for the soul, Mr Seymour.” Haven said.

“The only good thing that’s gonna happen here is that you’re gonna give me that video, and I will be on my merry way.” Seymour said. He picked up the gun and cocked it. “Now I would appreciate it if you hand it all over, along with the audio recordings you hacked from my computer.”

“You know what happened between you and Miz Aronson is gonna come out one day.”

Seymour just pointed the gun at Haven. “The recordings, if you please.”

“What are you gonna do, shoot me? I have footage of you picking my lock downstairs and coming into my office brandishing a weapon. You’re fucked six ways from Sunday, Mr Seymour.”

“Then I really have nothing to lose by putting a hole in your head.”

“Is that a threat?” Haven asked.

“Nope, it’s a promise, now give me the fucking recordings!”

Gino entered the doorway to Haven's office. He was holding a stun gun levelled at Seymour.

“That sounds like a death threat to me.” Gino said. 

Seymour swivelled his chair to face Gino. He brought his gun up and pointed it at Gino. But Gino was expecting that so he fired the stun gun into Seymour’s chest. He dropped the gun and then quickly slipped out of his chair and onto the floor, Gino deactivated the current, then rolled the semi-conscious Seymour over and strapped his hands together with a thick zip tie.

“Now we call the cops, Haven.” he said. 

Gino took a look at the stun gun in his hand. “This is a handy little thing, isn’t it?”

 ~ Epilogue ~

Based on the incident at Haven’s office, Jake Ross obtained a warrant for Rick Seymour’s computer. Edward Furlong was also taken into custody as an accomplice. The charge was third-degree murder and it stuck. Both men were sentenced to ten years in the Kingston Penitentiary. Seymour drew an additional eight years for possession of an unregistered hand gun and silencer, and the threats he uttered to Haven.

Haven sent the recording that Jonas had made to Edward Furlong’s wife, which she used to gain control of half of the company and sell it to a large construction company which made the incarcerated Furlong a bargain basement offer for the other half of the business.

Jonas Aronson graduated from Glendon with a BA in English, Over the summer Haven found him a good investment agent who put his money to work for him in the market. Jonas then enrolled in Teacher’s College. Two years later he was teaching grade nine and ten English at a high school just a few blocks from his house.

B&H Investigations was paid in full for their work and got the cheque into the bank before the company went to hell.

Gino had, at Haven’s urging, taken up running and the two of them would start their days, weather permitting with a three-mile run on the boardwalk.

Three months later, Haven took and passed his Investigator’s exam and the company was officially in business. They celebrated with dinner at Hy's Steakhouse downtown. Haven with Angela and Gino with his girlfriend, Trudy Jacobs. She was a manager at the Royal Bank at Queen and Lee, which oddly enough was right next door to H&R Investigations.

Then one day, about a week later, a lawyer named Frederick Atwater called B&H and arranged a meeting. 

To be continued.