Chapter Ten
The Precinct …
"And who the hell had the bright idea of using the Mounties for this operation?" Agent Ford held the phone away from his ear as he listened to his superior officer ragged him out. The irate bureaucrat droned on about Ford's bad decisions and how his career was flowing down the toilet.
"Yes, Sir, I understand, Sir." Ford heard the sound of the dial tone in his ear half way though. He hung up the cellular phone, slamming his fists against Lieutenant Welsh's desk.
"What's the matter, Agent Ford?" Welsh asked, already knowing the answer. He wouldn't have used the Mounties but Ford had insisted. Now his decision had come back to bite him in the ass.
"We have Canary Sunday and the buyers for the art. The only thing left is the Carmack gold nugget. Steele, from the Canadian Antiquities Bureau, is calling my superiors." Ford growled, his beady eyes blazing.
"I'm sure Constable Fraser and the Inspector will put forth every effort to retrieve the gold." Welsh assured him, standing up, his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, and I'll never live it down." Ford thought to himself. He just narrowed his eyes.
"Fraser is fine, by the way." Welsh rubbed in as he opened the door.
Later, At The Consulate …
Turnbull had hot tea and fresh blueberry muffins ready when Meg and Fraser arrived at the consulate. Fraser had changed into his red serge, his left arm in a sling.
"I hope you didn't go to any trouble, Constable Turnbull." Inspector Thatcher greeted him as he brought the tea and muffins into her office.
"Oh, no trouble, Inspector, I used my grandmother's recipe, I hope you'll enjoy them." The junior Mountie smiled like a school boy, hoping for his favorite teacher's approval.
"Constable Fraser, how do you take your tea?" Turnbull asked, fussing with the sugar.
"I can do it myself, Turnbull, thank you kindly." Fraser waved him off with his good hand.
"If you're certain, Constable." Turnbull asked, hesitating, concerned.
"I'm fine, Turnbull, thank you." Fraser insisted, wishing the phone would ring or someone would come through the front entrance. Turnbull nodded and went back to the consulate kitchen. Meg fixed her own tea, taking a muffin to her desk. Fraser took a few minutes, but managed his own tea. Silence lay between them.
"Constable Fraser, I, ah, when we were in Ms. Sunday's pawn shop, when the criminal identified us, you put yourself in harms way deliberately." Meg tried to sound as professional as possible.
"Sir, I acted as I thought best in the situation." Fraser set his tea down and stared at her innocently. Putting himself between Meg and the gunman had come as naturally to him as breathing.
"Yes, I know you did, but as your superior officer, I was the one in charge of the situation, stepping in the way you did undermined my authority." Thatcher's tone was clear but not as cold as usual.
"Will this go in my record, Sir?" Fraser asked straightforward, his green eyes searching her face.
"No, a verbal reprimand should be enough. Next time I will have to put it in writing and take whatever course of action is necessary." Meg put on her 'Inspector' persona.
"Understood, Sir." Fraser nodded. He finished his tea and the remainder of his muffin.
"Constable Fraser," Meg said as he rose to leave.
"Yes, Inspector?" He turned on his heel to meet her gaze. She seemed nervous, anxious.
"I also wanted to thank you, for considering my safety." Meg released her held breath slowly. Fraser nodded, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
"No thanks are necessary, Inspector." Fraser spoke low.
Meg wondered if he shielded her out of duty or something else.
"Has Steele called about the Carmack nugget, Sir?" Fraser changed the subject, walking back toward her desk.
"Yes, I have to call him back this afternoon." Meg pursed her red lips, annoyed.
"Best of luck, Sir." Fraser wished her. He saw a wry smile pulling at her lips.
"Yes, Constable, I think I'll need it." Meg watched him walk out the office door.
The Wrong Side of Chicago …
Andrew avoided his apartment, instead finding a room at a low rent flop house on one of the seedier streets in the Windy City. He ditched his truck in his brother's neighborhood and took a bus. He called Carlos, warning him that the Mounties had caught on to Canary Sunday and the plot to sell the stolen art.
"What are you going to do, Andrew, those Mounties won't give up." Carlos sounded worried over the phone.
"I've got to think first." Andrew racked his brain, trying to figure out the best way to use the video tape of the Mounties to his advantage. It was a gamble that they wouldn't take the consequences and hunt him down anyway. Still, Andrew had to try.
"Think fast, Andrew, my neck is on the line here too." Carlos whined, his mildly accented voice rising with anger.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it." Andrew hung up the payphone abruptly, tried of the younger man's complaints. People hurried down the streets around him, on foot and in nice, warm vehicles. They all had cares and concerns, but the wanted thief felt the weight of the world sitting on his shoulders. How would he get the tape to the Mounties without getting caught himself? Home wasn't an option, his family's help was out of the question, and he couldn't very well walk into the Canadian Consulate himself. Walking down the broken cement sidewalk, busy citizens surrounding him, Andrew's mind spun like a tornado. His initial plan had gone so wrong.
"Coming through!" A bike messenger shouted as he peddled his way through the crowd. At first Andrew didn't hear him, his thoughts distracting him.
"Hey, dude, watch it!" The young man shouted louder, unable to stop. He slammed into Andrew, knocking both of them to the ground, the bike skating on down the sidewalk ahead of them. The former high school football player had taken some bone jarring tackles in his day but the bike messenger threw him for a loop unawares.
"What the hell, kid, have you got a death wish or something?" Andrew pulled himself together, his lip split and his knee aching from the impact with unforgiving cement.
"Sorry, I shouted but you had your head in the clouds, are you okay, Mister?" The messenger asked, repositioning the bag across his back, 'Windy City Messenger Service', emblazoned in red and bright green on the front flap.
"Yeah, I'm okay." Andrew glared at him a minute, still pissed. Then an idea struck him almost as hard as the young biker had just moments before.
"How much do you charge for a delivery?"
The young man shrugged, adjusting his helmet. "Fifteen dollars a run, within a two mile radius of the office, why?"
"Oh, no reason, just thinking." Andrew helped the young man back on his bike and sent him on his way.
"I'll get the kid to deliver a copy of the tape and a note." The broad shouldered security guard smiled devilishly as he began planning his next move to get away with the money they'd already gotten from the art stolen. The only hitch was, getting the necessary elements of his plan. None of it worried him.
Two Weeks Later … The Consulate …
"Constable Fraser, has there been any progress on finding the shooter from the pawn shop?" Inspector Thatcher asked after knocking on his cramped office's door. She seemed lethargic, less fussy than usual. Fraser stood up quickly, knocking his desk chair over backward in the process.
"No, Sir, I'm afraid not, the FBI and Detective Vecchio are still following up on leads." Fraser answered. He stooped down and set his chair up. Diefenbaker walked up to Meg, his nose sniffing her hand. He circled her, still sniffing.
"What is his problem?" Meg stepped back, away from the nosy wolf. He sat down at her side.
"I don't know, Sir, he hasn't given any indication of having a problem today." Fraser answered.
"Then why is he sniffing me?" Meg said as she edged away from the fur ball. Dief just edged closer.
"Perhaps it's something you've eaten today or a new fabric softener." Fraser suggested with a shrug.
"I haven't eaten in hours and I haven't changed anything." Meg fussed, still edging toward the door.
"Then I'm afraid I don't know, I'm certain the reason will come apparent eventually." The Inspector looked unconvinced.
"I hope so." Meg turned on her heel and left. Dief trotted after her.
"Dief, come back, the Inspector is busy." Fraser popped his head out the door. Dief kept going. The Mountie caught up to him. "Diefenbaker, the Inspector is busy, she doesn't want you in her office." Fraser stepped through the door after Meg did. The wolf plopped his furry hind quarters on the carpet beside Meg's desk and turned his head away, ignoring Fraser.
"Leave him alone, Fraser, you're more annoying at the moment than the wolf." Meg waved the Mountie away.
"Understood, Sir." Fraser turned and left the room, casting a glance over his shoulder at her. Meg shook her head, a smile curling her lips.
Diefenbaker sat down on the carpet beside her desk and made himself comfortable. He wasn't talking to Fraser just yet, his nose hadn't told him the whole story yet.
The Next Morning …
Meg woke up at four o'clock, far earlier than her alarm was to go off. Her stomach had decided to turn itself up side down. The lady Mountie rolled out of her nice, big bed and headed for the bathroom down the hallway. She barely made it to the toilet in time.
A few minutes later Meg had emptied her stomach and moved to the sink. The woman she saw in the mirror was unrecognizable. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes looked weak.
"I shouldn't have had the shrimp cocktail last night." Meg groaned as she washed her face in warm water.
When she didn't look any better, or feel any better by seven o'clock, she decided to call in and take a sick day, the first one she's taken in four years.
"Constable Turnbull, I won't be in to the consulate today." Meg called, still nauseous.
"Yes, Inspector, I'll tell Constable Fraser." Turnbull volunteered.
"Thank you, Turnbull." Meg said in her most dry tone, wishing it weren't necessary for Fraser to be told.
"I hope you feel better, Inspector Thatcher."
Meg rolled her eyes, the man was so corny. "I will, Turnbull, thank you." She hung up, the need for the facilities striking her suddenly. It was going to be a long day.
Ray's Desk the Next Day …
Three weeks after the museum robbery the FBI, Chicago PD and Constable Fraser had a time line of events. They also had two suspects in custody and one on the loose. Carlos Ramirez had been arrested after the FBI took Canary Sunday into custody. Like her name sake, she sang like a bird, spilling the names of the black market buyers and the thieves. Most of the stolen items had been recovered, all but the Carmack gold nugget. No one held out much hope that the nugget would be found intact.
Andrew Whitt had ran from the pawn shop and disappeared into the city. His truck was picked up three days later. He hadn't contacted his family, friends, nor his boss at the docks.
Ray held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he studied the computer screen, looking at the records of the museum's current employees.
The blonde detective hadn't had his second cup of coffee yet but he had his plate full of things to do.
"No, I don't want to hold, I've been on hold for the last ten minutes you …" Ray groused as the lady at the museum put him on hold, again.
"You Ray Vecchio?" A tall, skinny kid with a bicycle helmet asked, striding easily up to the desk.
"Yeah, what's it to ya?" Ray snapped before he looked up from the computer.
"I got a package for you here." The kid tossed a manilla envelope on the desk with a thunk.
"Oh, sorry, it's been that kind of mornin', kid." Ray leaned his roller chair back, the swivel grumbling beneath him.
"Sign here, please." The kid handed him a clip board and a pen.
"Who's this from?" The detective asked, scribbling his pseudonym across the bottom of the slip.
"I don't know, I just figure out where they're going, not where they've been." The kid answered, tightening his gloves before taking off towards the door.
Ray hung up the phone just as the curator, Mr. Schieffelin, answered. He pulled out an ink pen and slit the large envelope. A video cassette and a letter fell out.
"Okay, what have we here?" The detective read the hand written letter.
'Drop the case or I'll drop copies of this off at every newspaper and television station in Chicago. Do it if you want your Mountie friend to keep on being a Mountie.'
Ray looked around the bull pen, wondering who was watching. Quickly, he took the tape and found the first empty interrogation room. He shoved a straight back chair beneath the door handle and pulled the television nearer to the table in the center. Ray put the video in the cassette player and pushed play. What he saw next surprised him. It was Inspector Thatcher and Fraser doing things that Ray didn't know either of them knew how to do. The tape had started in the middle of the action. Five seconds in, Ray turned the television off and took the tape out.
"Yeah, I'm gonna have that permanently scarred on my retinas for the rest of my life." He wiped his blue eyes as he shoved the television back into the corner and opened the door. "I gotta tell Benny about this, he's gonna be sideways." Ray quickened his pace, grabbing his car keys, the envelope and his jacket.
Twenty minutes later, the GTO came to a feather light halt in front of the consulate. Overhead the clouds looked ominous and a cold wind kicked up. The weather forecast had called for freezing rain. Ray didn't doubt it was on the way.
Turnbull spotted the lanky detective first. He greeted him with his usual exuberance.
"I gotta find Fraser, is he in?" Ray asked, looking down the hall to the closet Fraser called an office.
"Yes, I believe he is, would you like me to get him for you, Detective?" Turnbull offered politely.
"Is Thatcher in her office today?" Ray asked, ignoring Turnbull's offer.
"Yes, she is, but now isn't a good time to disturb her." Turnbull followed Ray as he began walking toward the Inspector's office.
"She in a meetin' er somethin'?" Ray stopped short.
"Ah, no, she's not feeling like herself this morning, that's all." Turnbull answered, putting his hand on the door knob to stop Ray.
"I'll go get Fraser, you tell Inspector Thatcher she'll want to see what I got on the museum case." Ray suggested, peeling off down the hall.
"Now isn't a good time, Detective, as I said earlier, she isn't feeling like herself." Turnbull reiterated.
"Take my word for it, she's gonna want to see this." Ray held up the cassette in the envelope. Turnbull took a deep breath and knocked on the Inspector's door.
Down the hall, Ray tapped on Fraser's door before walking in. The Mountie was busily typing away at his own report, only much faster and more accurately than Ray.
"Hey, Frase, I got this by messenger a little while ago, you're gonna want to see it." Ray handed him the envelope before the Mountie could say a word. Fraser pulled the letter and tape out, reading the letter. His eyes widened and he went a shade paler, if possible.
"Have you watched the tape, Ray?" He stood up out of his desk chair, re-reading the letter.
"Yep, a minute or two anyway." Ray leaned on the desk, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Does it contain the footage I think it does, Ray?" Worry pulled the Mountie's brows lower over his green eyes.
"Yep, sure does, Fraser." The detective nodded emphatically, his own look of concern matching Fraser's.
"Have you told the Inspector yet?"
"Nope, figured we'd tell her together." Ray stood up. He wasn't looking forward to having to tell the Ice Princess she had a sex tape flapping out in the breeze.
"Thank you, Ray." Fraser slid the letter back into the envelope and began his trek down the hall, to his doom, he felt.
Meg had taken a deep breath to stem her nausea. She'd felt better yesterday afternoon but the sickness had returned bright and early this morning. She heard Fraser's knock and knew it was something bad.
"Enter!" Meg said, slipping her glasses into her top desk drawer. She seemed a bit paler and more reserved than usual, but Fraser kept his observation to himself.
"Inspector Thatcher, Ray just received this half an hour ago." Benton handed her the envelope without explaining what it contained. With a frown, Meg dumped the contents onto her desk. She had a similar reaction to Fraser's. Dief raised his head off his paws, sensing that something was going on.
"Have you watched this?" She asked her subordinate officer and the American detective standing quietly in front of her desk.
"Just enough to get the gist of what's on it, yeah. I didn't see anything though, promise." Ray tried unsuccessfully to make the Boy Scout's hand sign. Meg swallowed hard.
"I haven't viewed it, Sir." Fraser answered. "Should I retrieve the television, Sir?" He asked, studying her reaction.
"Ah, no, that won't be necessary, Fraser." Meg put her hand over her mouth, her stomach churning, the new source of stress not helping matters. "Please excuse me." Meg shot up out of her chair and darted down the hall, past Fraser's office, to the bathroom.
"I didn't think she's react like that." Ray commented, picking up the letter.
"It does seem rather out of character for the Inspector." Fraser said, walking to the door and peering down the hall after her.
"I guess I'd be sick too though if someone had something like this on me." Ray shrugged, wishing he could get his friend out of this jam.
"Yes, I suppose so, Ray." Fraser stepped back in the office, his mind racing. "This could very well be the coup de grace of mine and the Inspector's careers. There will undoubtedly be repercussions for lying about our whereabouts during the robbery. The defense attorneys for Carlos Ramirez and Canary Sunday won't let this go." Fraser began running his tongue over his eyetooth thoughtfully.
"Yea, even though it wasn't your fault, you were slipped that wacky love drug." Ray agreed, his jaw working in anger. It wasn't fair, but it would be almost impossible to win a case like this in court. Fraser and Inspector Thatcher would both be disgraced and the bad guys would get away with robbery.
Meg returned to her office, closing the door behind her and locking it. She felt a little better but her stomach still felt wrung out.
"Constable Fraser, Detective, we have to find Andrew Whitt, he has the original, if we find him and destroy it this will all be his word against ours." Meg began pacing the space in front of her desk as her mind worked over time.
"Sir, Ms. Sunday, Carlos Ramirez and Andrew Whitt will all three testify, under oath, to seeing the contents of the video." Fraser pointed out.
"Yes, but they lack credibility, they're thieves. Whitt and Ramirez were fired from the museum for stealing and Sunday is a prostitute." Meg pointed out, stopping in front of him. Their gazes locked for a moment. Fraser raised his brows, he would follow her lead.
"We had better find Andrew Whitt before the FBI, if they get hold of the tape both of you can kiss the consulate good-bye, and the Mounties." Ray commented, running his thumb along his jaw.
"I agree. Constable Fraser, you and the Detective find out who delivered the envelope, where he got this copied, everything." Meg began forming a plan to capture Andrew Whitt and keep his mouth shut.
"And what are you going to do?" Ray piped up, deviling her just because he could.
"I have official business to attend to, Detective." Meg answered coldly, her dark eyes boring into him. If looks could kill, Ray would have been shredded.
"Understood, Sir." Fraser drew her attention back to the matter at hand. Turning, he called to Dief, who'd been watching the exchange at their feet. The wolf laid down on the carpet beside Meg and rolled onto his side. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Diefenbaker, I said let's go." Fraser tried again. Dief rolled onto his back, refusing to budge.
"Oh, suit yourself, at least when they send up back to the territories you'll finally be broke from your junk food habit." Fraser began walking out the office door. Dief got to his paws and shot out the doors ahead of him.
"Okay, okay, have it your way." Dief groaned at him.
"I thought you'd see it my way." The Mountie sounded so smug as he went to retrieve his Stetson and coat from his office.
Alone again at her desk, Meg let the tears she'd been hiding fall. This was too much. She hadn't been feeling well and now someone else knew her shame. It was bad enough that the American detective knew, now there was the possibility that all of Chicago, and with one phone call, her superiors, would find out. It would mean loss of the rank she'd fought tooth and nail for since she was a young woman. All the catty remarks, innuendos from male superiors, and down right rude statements about women in authority had made her tough. This would bring that wall down and make it that much harder for women to gain the recognition they deserved for their accomplishments in the Force. Meg felt like a traitor. She didn't want to go back to Ottawa disgraced. Fraser would be disgraced as well she knew, but not nearly as severely as she would. The double standard might as well have been a double edged sword thrust into her gut.
Meg buzzed Turnbull's desk and told him not to disturb her until further notice. Then she dialed her mother's number. It had been too long since she'd had a situation she needed her mother's advice for. This was too big for Meg to deal with alone.
"Hello, Mom, it's Meg, have you got a minute?" The lady Mountie sounded young and very scared over the phone.
"Of course, Baby, what's going on?" It would take longer than a minute to explain this predicament.