“Which brings us back to my first question,” said Lombardo. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to nail him.”
“What about Webb? What about the message Jane got about the car?”
“We leave it. Alvin will be that much more likely to bolt if we start asking Webb questions. We’ll worry about Webb later.”
“So we’re going to nail Matchett,” said Lombardo. “How exactly are we going to do that? As far as Marsh is concerned, the case is closed. No more man-hours, no more resources. We’re back in rotation tomorrow.”
“No,” said Gilbert, “we’re not. Between the Kedamine and the gun, we’ve easily got enough for a search warrant. First thing in the morning I go to the Park.”
“Alvin’ll run if we search his place. He has a quarter million dollars waiting for him in the Bahamas.”
“We’ll search it when he’s not there.”
“He’ll still know. He’s a cop. He’ll leave a hair on the top of the door. He’ll use any one of those old tricks. He’ll come back, he’ll see we’ve been there. Maybe we should go straight for the arrest warrant.”
“I don’t think we have enough for the arrest warrant yet. We’ve got to at least connect him to the Cabbagetown Animal Clinic. Then we can hold him on both a burglary and a drug charge. But first we’ve got to find Kedamine in his apartment.”
“Yeah, but what do we do between the time of the search and the time of the arrest? Tell him not to go anywhere? He’ll run for sure.”
Gilbert gazed at the foam on the top of his beer. “I guess it’s stakeout time, then,” he said.
Lombardo’s eyes widened. “Are you crazy? After the search, you’ll be writing the arrest warrant and I’ll be twisting arms at the lab to get priority for whatever we find. Who’s going to watch him? You think Marsh won’t be checking our every move?”
“Halycz and Groves will look after Marsh,” said Gilbert. “We’ll put Telford on Alvin. Gord’s always been good at that kind of thing.”
Lombardo glanced at one of the big-bosomed waitresses, but he seemed to derive no enjoyment from it. “So all five of us are going to take a fall over this.”
“I’m detective-sergeant, aren’t I?”
“I know, but I—”
“Don’t worry, Joe.” Gilbert now nearly felt happy about all the resistance he faced. “The only one who’s going to take a fall over this is Marsh.”
Jane Ireland cooperated fully, even though she was resentful about her continued detainment; she gave Gilbert and Lombardo her copy of the key to Matchett’s apartment.
At ten o’clock Friday morning, March 6, the snow had stopped and the skies were clearing and all the slush was starting to freeze. Gilbert and Lombardo were parked down the street, on the corner of Sackville and Winchester. The radio cackled. Telford sent a message via dispatch that the suspect had just entered his place of work, the Parliament Buildings.
Gilbert and Lombardo got out of the car and walked to Matchett’s.
They climbed the stairs to the third floor.
As they opened the door, a small piece of paper toppled out from between the jamb and the latch. The two detectives looked at each other. Then they proceeded with their search. They did the search themselves. They had to. They were working behind Marsh’s back.
Gilbert checked the medicine cabinet; he swept the entire contents into an evidence bag, even though there was nothing in there that looked like Kedamine.
“Hey, look at this,” called Lombardo from the other room. “He’s got another gun.”
Gilbert came out of the bathroom to the dining room. An old Smith and Wesson .38 caliber revolver sat on the table in an open briefcase next to some cleaning equipment and ammunition.
“Should we take it?” said Lombardo.
Gilbert shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s not in the warrant. I’d hate to bugger things up on a technicality. But if you find the Heckler and Koch, it’s ours. I’ve got it listed.”
They searched until nearly eleven. The Kedamine was nowhere to be found. Neither was the Heckler and Koch. They found some tools—a crowbar, a hammer, a screwdriver—implements that might have been used in the burglary, and which, when tested, might show a chemical match to the animal clinic’s exterior paint or other construction materials. But they both realized they were grasping now. Gilbert stood in the hall while Lombardo went through the kitchen one last time. He stared. Thinking. Wondering what else they could do. He stared, but stared without looking. But then he began to look. And he was looking at the partially open hall closet, something they had already checked through twice. Nothing but coats in there. Pockets already checked. Nothing incriminating. But then he realized that he recognized one of the coats. A parka with a deep hood.
“Joe,” he said, “look at this.”
Lombardo came out of the kitchen and looked at the coat. And his eyes narrowed. He glanced at Gilbert. “Isn’t that from…”
“It’s from the Glenarden video.”
He stared at the coat as his mind ran through the possibilities. Not only had they placed Matchett at the Glenarden on the night of the eighteenth, but chemical analysis of the pocket linings might reveal trace amounts of Kedamine.
He looked more closely. Grease stains. From where? Maybe from the laundry room window.
“We’ve got him,” he said.
By noon they were back at College Street with the vouchered evidence. They radioed Telford to let him know. By twelve-thirty the evidence was in the lab. Because the technicians knew they were looking for Kedamine, Gilbert and Lombardo thought they might get an identification soon. Meanwhile Gilbert worked frantically on the arrest warrant, including the drug and burglary angle, risking the murder aspect on a separate sheet. Telford car-phoned him a little after one.
“He’s leaving the Parliament Buildings,” he said.
And later: “He’s getting into his car and driving east on Wellesley.”
And still later. “He’s turned left on Winchester,” said Telford. “He’s going home.”
Marsh stared at Gilbert suspiciously from across the room. “Stick with him,” said Gilbert. “Don’t let him out of your sight. The minute I have this thing signed I want you to go in and arrest him.”
For the next half hour Marsh hovered nearby and Gilbert was forced to work on a new case, a murder-suicide out in Scarborough. But Marsh finally tired, and walked in the direction of the atrium. Gilbert continued working on his warrant.
Shortly before two, Lombardo came back from the lab. “It’s going to be a while,” he said. “I thought I’d run down to Gord Danby’s office and play him the tape. Do you got it?”
Gilbert opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a mini-cassette. Lunch at the Raj-Shala, Alvin’s voice, something they hoped Gord Danby would recognize from the bogus travel agent call. Lombardo took the tape and slid it in his pocket.
“The lab has your number,” said Lombardo. “They’re going to call you as soon they have anything. Everything’s under a new file name now, in case Marsh tries to call the lab.”
Lombardo wrote down the file name and gave it to Gilbert.
“He’s going to bolt,” said Gilbert. “Telford’s there right now. He’s going to bolt no matter how fast we get this down. He’s making plans right now. His parka’s gone, his tools are gone, everything in his medicine cabinet is gone. If it weren’t for Marsh, I’d have the place surrounded with radio cars right now. But we haven’t even got an outstanding warrant on Alvin. There’s nothing we can do to stop him.”
“The minute Lembeck signs that,” said Lombardo, “we go. I think Telford should have backup. I’m going to take my gun. You should too. We know Matchett has at least the one weapon.”
Gilbert finished the arrest warrant a half hour later. All he had to do was wait for the lab so he could fill in the details.
Just before three the lab called him. Trace amounts of Kedamine had been found in the pocket linings of Matchett’s parka. Microscopic paint samples from the crowbar matched the samples taken from the receiving door at the Cabbagetown Animal Clinic. As far as Gilbert was concerned that was enough for the duty judge at College Park.
He was just putting on his coat and hat when Lombardo called.
“Gord Danby positively identified Matchett’s voice,” said Joe.
Gilbert filled in the last detail on the arrest warrant and hurried across the street. But not without first grabbing his gun.
When Gilbert explained the pressing nature of the situation to Judge Lembeck, the judge scribbled his signature along the bottom of the document without hesitation.
“Thanks, Dave,” said Gilbert.
“I’ll risk a burglary and narcotics for you, Barry,” said the judge. “I’m holding off on this murder thing for now. You still have enough to hold him. But for Christ’s sake, Barry, be careful. This guy sounds dangerous.”
Lombardo picked up Gilbert in front of College Park just as the afternoon rush hour began to thicken.
“I was just talking to Telford,” said Gilbert. “Alvin’s still there. He didn’t return to work after lunch. I don’t like this.”
Lombardo pulled out into traffic and eased across Yonge Street. Maple Leaf Gardens loomed to the left.
“I thought you said the only way in and out of his place was through the front door,” said Lombardo.
“Forget what I said,” replied Gilbert. “We’re dealing with Alvin. And Alvin is good.”
They turned north on Parliament and drove to Winchester. They found Telford waiting in his unmarked car a half block down. All three detectives got out of their respective cars and conferred by the curb.
“It’s been quiet,” said Telford, a red-faced man of about forty. “No one’s come in or out. I’ve seen no movement in the windows. He pulled that blind down on the third floor shortly after he got home.”
Gilbert stared up at the old Edwardian house, a squat red brick dwelling with a steep slate roof and ornate trim around each dormer, a typical middle-class dwelling of ninety years ago now divided into three modern renovated apartments. Matchett’s white Ford Tempo was parked out front. Gilbert took a deep breath as a garbage truck rumbled by. The wind was building and he could feel his nose turning red.
“All right,” he said at last. “Do you have your gun, Gord?” he asked Telford.
“I’ve got a shotgun in the trunk.”
“You might as well get it,” said Gilbert. “Try not to shoot unless you absolutely have to. We know he has a revolver. That doesn’t mean he won’t have something else.”
Telford went around to the trunk and pulled out a Remington Model 870 shotgun, and checked the seven-round magazine to make sure it was full. The three detectives walked across the street. Telford concealed, as best he could, the shotgun under his coat. Gilbert took out the key Jane Ireland had given him. They climbed the steps and pushed their way into the vestibule. And Gilbert immediately knew Matchett was gone. The door to the first-floor apartment had been broken open. But he pulled out his gun just in case. The other detectives did the same.
He gazed down the hall of the first-floor apartment. He saw a kitchen at the back, and sliding glass doors leading out to a deck. A Persian cat peeked around the living room door, stared at them, then licked its pug nose a few times.
“Shit,” he said. “Joe, you go in there and check it out. Gord and I will go upstairs.”
Lombardo, keeping his gun aimed at the ceiling, his elbow sharply bent, proceeded into the first-floor apartment. Gilbert and Telford climbed the stairs. He hated enclosed stairwells like this; there was nowhere to hide. They climbed slowly, weapons ready, placing each footstep carefully to minimize noise. Up to the second-floor landing, past the umbrella stand the second-floor tenant had outside the door, pausing at the foot of the third-floor stairs and listening. Nothing from upstairs. He looked back at Telford and nodded. The two detectives climbed the third-floor stairs and stopped outside Matchett’s door. Silence. Gilbert put his ear to the door, then slid the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open in one quick motion.
He swung toward the kitchen and the bedroom, gun clasped in both hands, arms outstretched, while Telford turned left, covering the living room. Gilbert quickly proceeded into the kitchen, where evidence of a quick lunch—a half-finished bagel and an apple with a bite out of it—sat on the table. He moved down the hall past the bathroom and finally into the bedroom. Dresser drawers were open. A half full suitcase sat on the unmade bed. The closet was open and some shirts were on the floor.
“Clear!” called Telford.
Gilbert checked the bedside table drawer. The Smith and Wesson was gone, and in and among some gun magazines he saw some loose ammunition.
“Clear,” he called.
Telford appeared at the bedroom door, walked around the bed, and over to the window.
“Look at this,” he said.
Gilbert glanced out the window. He saw a backyard. There was a gate leading to an alley. The alley led all the way up to Wellesley Street. Gilbert shook his head to himself.
“Marsh pisses me off,” he said.
Telford shrugged. “There’s a bunch of hair on the floor in the bathroom.”
The two men left the bedroom and checked the bathroom. Not only was there hair on the floor, but there was a bit in the toilet and some in the sink. Alvin was good. He was going to use all the fugitive tricks.
“Everything clear?” Lombardo called from down the stairs.
“Yeah, we’re clear,” called Gilbert.
A moment later, Lombardo appeared at the bathroom door. He slid his .38 into his shoulder holster.
“He gave himself a make-over?” he asked.
Gilbert nodded. “He figured things out,” he said. “He knows how we’re moving.”
“Where would he go?” asked Telford.
“He’s got a quarter million dollars stashed in the Bahamas,” said Lombardo.
“He’s probably halfway to the airport by now,” said Gilbert. “If this were SOP I’d be calling all cars. But we’ve got Marsh standing in our way.” Gilbert left the bathroom and marched to the kitchen phone, his trench coat flapping with sudden speed. The other detectives followed. “So we have to do this one ourselves.” He lifted the receiver. “I wonder if Alvin knows this one? You see this handset? It’s got a redial button. It automatically redials the last number called. I wonder if he was smart enough to decoy an anonymous number into the phone before he left.” Gilbert pressed the redial button and put the receiver to his ear. “Maybe he left us a whopping big clue.”