Shatter Page 4

  “The bed in the spare room was like a cloud. It sure beats the hell out of the thin cots I’ve been accustomed to,” he chuckles.

  “What are you going to do today?” I ask.

  “First order of business, check in with my parole officer and then go straight to the barbers’ for a haircut and shave. What about you?”

  “I start my new job today. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home, so I’ll leave you the spare key to get back in. And, Dad, don’t take offense to this, but you can’t do drugs or drink while you’re staying with me. I couldn’t deal with that.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been clean since the day they slammed the prison doors behind me. I’ve got no desire to get high.”

  We’ve been apart for so many years, and I’ve never known him as anything but an addict. Though, there’s a seriousness in his tone that makes me want to believe him. I guess I have no choice but to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  After I’m dressed, I give my dad some money and head to my new job on South Granville.

  * * *

  When I arrive at the office, I step off the elevator and immediately feel nervous. Thoughts of self-doubt fill my head. What if I suck at being a private investigator? Ed will fire me and then I won’t have a job. I’ll be broke and I’ll have to pound the pavement looking for work.

  By the time I reach the end of the hall, my hands are sweaty and there’s a lump in my throat. I open the door and see Ed, sitting at his desk and talking on the phone. He looks up and motions to me to sit down. I wait for a few minutes before he finishes his call and hangs up.

  “I trust you got unpacked and settled ok at the apartment?”

  “I did, thank you.”

  “Well, today is a busy one. A new case just came in, and I’ve got meetings downtown.”

  “New case?” I ask.

  “Yes, a missing teen. I just got off the phone with his parents. The police have a file on him already but the kid’s mother and father don’t think enough is being done to find their son, so they called us. This will be your first solo case.”

  “Do you think I can handle it by myself?”

  “From what Jason tells me, you’ve got a good brain and common sense, so you should be fine. I’ll give you their address. Go and meet the client and get as much info on the kid as you can—Where does he hang out? Who are his friends? Does he have any bad habits? That sort of thing,” he says, writing on a piece of paper and handing it to me. If you have any questions, give me a call, and I’ll walk you through it. Now get going; they’re expecting you.” He gives me an encouraging wink and picks up his phone. Feeling overwhelmed, I walk out and close the door behind me.

  * * *

  I drive down Cornwall Avenue and turn right onto Point Grey Road. The street is lined with some of Vancouver’s most palatial homes that sit on expensive waterfront properties. Every house I drive past has tall iron fences, intercom boxes, and video cameras. I find the clients’ address and pull up to a high wrought iron gate. Just as I’m about to get out of the truck to use the intercom, the gate slides open. When I drive into the compound, I park between a Ferrari and a Land Rover. Reaching into the glove compartment, I grab a note pad and pen. I walk up stone steps that lead to tall wooden doors. After I ring the doorbell, a dark suited, portly man with a receding hairline opens the door and invites me in. He tells me to wait in the foyer and then disappears down a side hallway. On the walls are beautiful paintings. I can only imagine what they’re worth. On either side of me are marble podiums with stone lion figures sitting on top. It feels like I’m in a gallery and not someone’s home.

  The butler re-enters, followed by a dark-haired woman in her forties. She’s wearing a white velvet track suit and a matching neck scarf. “You must be Jules,” she says, shaking my hand. “I’m Amanda Caulfield. Please follow me.” I follow her to a sitting room off the main hallway. She sits on a red leather sectional and asks the butler to prepare tea, then motions for me to take a seat.

  “It’s a lovely home you have,” I say, looking around the room at the decor.

  “Thank you,” she says, crossing her legs. “I appreciate you coming. My husband and I believe that our son is in grave danger. Allen went missing ten days ago. He’s nineteen and in his first year of Criminology at UBC. He left for school in the morning, as he always did, then didn’t come home after his classes. I called the university and spoke with the Dean. He told me that there’s nothing he could do except notify his professors. After waiting twenty-four hours, I called the police. They instructed us to come downtown and file a missing person report, which we did. Since then, we’ve not heard from them; that was ten days ago. I don’t know if it’s because the police are short on manpower or what the problem is, but I just don’t feel that my son’s case is getting enough attention. That’s why I called you. We are desperately worried for Allen and feel that he may have been taken against his will.”

  “Really? As in abducted?”

  “I think it’s a possibility, yes. My Allen has never been one to stay away from home, especially without contacting me. A mother knows her child, and I know that this is far more than a case of him just wandering off,” she says, her eyes welling up. I lean over and pluck a few tissues out of a small box on the table.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” I say, handing her the tissues.

  Just then, a short stocky man wearing a pair of jeans and a blazer walks in. He looks detached and stern. Whatever warmth was in the room quickly vanishes. Amanda wipes her eyes and sits up straight, “This is my husband, Frank.”

  “Hi,” I say, “I’m Jules.”

  He barely looks at me before he sits down.

  “I was just telling Jules how we believe that Allen may have been taken against his will,” says Amanda.

  Frank grumbles inaudibly.

  “I just need to ask a few more questions about your son,” I say.

  I ask them what Allen’s pass times are, who his friends are, and what his class schedule is this term. Only Amanda answers.

  When I have a page full of notes, I thank them for their time and stand to leave. Amanda asks me to wait and then runs out of the room. As soon as she’s out of ear shot, Frank says, “So, how much is this going to cost me?”

  I can’t believe this cold prick. The first thing he says during our meeting is about money? Suddenly, I feel very sorry for Amanda and start to wonder if Allen, his son, had his own reasons for disappearing.

  “I’m not sure, you’ll have to take that up with Ed, my boss.”

  Amanda comes back into the room carrying a photo, “This is a recent picture that was taken of Allen and me a month ago,” she says, handing it to me. Suddenly, Frank stands and says that they have plans and they must go. Amanda thanks me for coming and the butler walks me to the door.

  * * *

  Once I’m back in the truck, I take a closer look at the photo. In the picture is a blond guy about nineteen. He is standing with his arms around his mother, Amanda, and both are smiling. When I start the truck, the gate opens.

  It’s still early in the day, so I decide to take a trip up to UBC and have a look around. Maybe I’ll get lucky and run into someone who knows Allen.

  * * *

  Arriving at the university grounds, the first thing I notice is how clean and tailored everything is, the uniformly cut grass, swept sidewalks and pristine buildings. It must cost a fortune for tuition up here. I drive around the campus to familiarize myself with the area. Near one of the buildings is a parkade. A group of ten or fifteen students are standing off to the side of a parking lot. I decide to park then walk up and ask if any of them know Allen. With the picture in my hand I approach the small mob. “Hi, guys. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions?” The majority of them look at me like I smell of rancid meat. After waiting for a reply and not getting one, I ask, “Do any of you know Allen Caulfield?”

  Nobody answers, instead, they turn
their backs and resume talking to each other. What a rude bunch of punks. I decide to give it one more shot, “Hey, I realize you’re probably discussing issues a lot more important than mine,” I say sarcastically, “But if any of you can quickly look at this picture and tell me if you recognize this student, I’ll quit bothering you and be on my way.”

  Then, a guy wearing a blue hoodie and expensive matching runners walks quickly towards me and stops only inches from my face. “Why are you up here asking questions? We don’t even know who the hell you are. By the look of you, you’re probably a private investigator snooping around. Nobody here is going to tell you shit, got that?”

  What an aggressive little bastard. I feel like telling him that just because he’s attending a prestigious university, doesn’t give him the right to speak to people so disrespectfully. Instead, I turn back and walk toward the truck. I know I’ll need to come back here to do more investigating so the last thing I want to do is create a scene. When I unlock the door and am just about to get in, I hear a female’s voice call out. I turn to see the mob dispersing and a red-haired girl walking toward me. “Hey, wait,” she says.

  I shut the truck door. She’s about twenty and is dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, leggings and expensive looking boots. If she’s trying to look hippy-poor, she should rethink the posh footwear.

  “What’s up?” I say, hoping that she isn’t likeminded to her mob buddy and wanting to unleash more verbal venom on me.

  “Can I see that photo?” she asks, holding out her hand.

  If she grabs it and rips it up, I swear I’m going to tackle her. “Sure,” I say, handing her the picture. It only takes a moment before she hands it back. She takes a quick look over each shoulder and then steps closer to me, “I know Allen, most of the skids do. The cops were already by asking all kinds of questions. I don’t think they found out much,” she says.

  “So, do you have some information that might be able to help me?”

  “I don’t know a lot. All I know is he drives around in a white car with some other guys.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “I think it’s a Mercedes.”

  Of course, it is.

  “Does the car have any discernable markings on it?”

  “No, not really, but the license plate says high life, spelled H.I.L.I.F.E”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. I’m only telling you this because I felt bad about the way that guy treated you back there when you were being so nice, so I wanted to help,” she says.

  “Thanks.”

  * * *

  On my way back to the office, my cell rings. I pick it up and look at the screen. It’s Katie. A wave of excitement comes over me, and I pull over to the side of the road.

  “Hi,” I say, trying my hardest to sound composed and not overly excited.

  “Hi. I just wanted to call and see how your first day at work is going.”

  This girl is unbelievably cool.

  “It’s alright, definitely different.”

  “How so?”

  “Let’s just say that I’ve had a bird’s eye view of how the overly rich live, and I don’t feel so envious anymore.”

  She laughs.

  “So, I thought maybe you were calling to ask me out for dinner? Oh, you were? Wait, let me check my schedule…yep, I’m free.” I tease.

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she giggles. “As a matter of fact, I’d love to have dinner with you. Unfortunately, I have my parents coming over this evening, but the rest of the week, I’m free.”

  “Sounds great. Just give me a shout when your company leaves,” I say.

  “So, you don’t want me to phone you before that? I was kind of thinking I’d call you every day, unless you find that too stalker-ish?”

  “No. I mean…yes…stalk me!” I quickly respond.

  She laughs, then tells me that her boss just walked in and she has to go.

  I pull back into traffic and head to the office. After speaking with Katie, I’m pretty sure no matter what happens today, I’ll feel good.

  * * *

  When I get back to the office, Ed is in his usual spot behind the desk. He asks me how my interview went. After giving him a quick recap of my meeting, he tells me that it’s my job to find Allen Caulfield, no matter what it takes. He suggests that I go home and come up with a strategy that will get results.

  As soon as I walk through the door, the most incredible smell hits me. My father’s back is to me as I enter the kitchen. “Hi, Dad.”

  When he turns around, I see two oven mitts on his hands. I look up at his face and gasp, “You got a haircut and a shave?”

  He smiles, revealing small dimples in his cheeks. His cleaner look takes me back to when I was a child. No matter how poor we were, my father never left the house without shaving his face and combing his hair. He used to always say, “Just because we’re poor, doesn’t mean we have to look it.”

  “You look…better,” I say.

  “I thought I’d make an attempt to look more respectable for our celebration.”

  “What celebration, you getting out of jail?”

  “No, silly. Your first day on the job as a private investigator.”

  A warm feeling comes over me.

  “So, what are you cooking?” I ask, smiling.

  “None of your business. Go find something to do and stay out of the damn kitchen,” he says half-jokingly.

  I grab some paper and sit on the sofa. I’ve got to create a plan of attack to find Allen. As Dad clanks pans and rustles around in the kitchen, I write down what I know so far, Allen’s age, his home address, where he goes to school and the word abduction, with a question mark behind it.

  The only course of action that comes to mind is for me to go back to UBC and wait to see if the white Mercedes shows up. If I can talk to whomever is driving, maybe they’ll be able to give me some clues to help find Allen. It’s not much of a lead…but it’s a start.

  “Ok. Come and get it,” says Dad.

  On the counter are two bowls of chili and a plate of fresh buns.

  “There’s no way you made all of this from scratch,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Of course, I made it from scratch. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I used to cook when you were really little. Who do you think taught your mom how to make all those great meals?”

  The mention of her stops me in my tracks immediately changing the vibe. My father notices my expression. “I’m sorry, Jules. I didn’t mean to…”

  “Never mind,” I say. “Let’s just eat.”

  At dinner, we talk about my first day on the job before he tells me about his. He says that he checked in with his parole officer before going to Job Wave and writing down some potential employment opportunities. I’m not really surprised at how quickly he’s trying to get his life back. When I was young, I remember him as someone who could never sit still. I always recall him being ambitious. Unfortunately, his motivation wasn’t always in pursuit of good things.

  After dinner, we tidy up the dishes, sit and watch TV for a while then call it a night.

  In the morning my alarm buzzes. I lie in bed for a few minutes, anxious and eager to start work so I can prove myself to my new boss. Now that I’ve quit my job at the garage, I have no choice but to make this work.

  * * *

  This time, I don’t drive to where the mob converged yesterday. Instead, I park on the other side of campus and walk around. I stop random students and ask them if they know Allen and then show them his picture. So far, no luck. I sit on a bench in front of The Student Union Building where I can watch vehicles pull up and park—so many white cars and none are the one I’m looking for. Finally, after listening to students talk to each other as they stride past, I go back to the truck to drive around.

  I decide to take a drive past the parkade I was at yesterday. Considering the cold response, I received from the mob yesterday, I’ll just d
o a quick drive-by and see if I can spot the Mercedes. I pull around the side of the parkade when I see the same clan. Just as I’m about to drive passed them, a white car pulls up. I stop and wait. One of the benefits of being a car person, is having the knowledge to spot a make and model immediately, and the car I’m looking at is a Mercedes A-class sedan. The tinted passenger window rolls down and a guy with short dark hair pokes his head out. One of the people in the crowd walks over and hands bills to the guy. He takes it then passes the student a small package. Drugs. I had a hunch. Whoever is in the car must be dealers. No wonder when I questioned them yesterday about Allen, they acted so stand-offish.

  All of a sudden, a car pulls up behind me and honks at me to move. Just then, the group of students look over and notices my truck. Shit! Then, the asshole who mouthed me off yesterday, points me out to the guys in the car. I hear the Mercedes engine rev as it quickly spins around and whizzes past me. I pull into the parkade just enough, so I can back out and follow the car. By the time I’m turned around, the Mercedes is already turning the corner up ahead. I speed up, trying not to lose them. The car is fast and I can tell that the driver is familiar with this area. He barely brakes going around corners and down small streets.

  Finally, I’m in luck when at a main intersection, the light turns red. I roll up behind the Mercedes. Finally, I’m close enough to read the license plate that says, HI-LIFE, what a fitting name for a drug dealer. When the light turns green and we start moving, I gently tap on the horn and point for the driver to pull over. The next thing I see is a middle finger out the driver’s open window. I guess that means he won’t be pulling over. I guess I’ll just have to irritate the shit out of him by tailing him. As the Mercedes turns a sharp corner in front of me, I catch a glimpse of the guy driving. He looks like a front man for a boy band. He’s got spikey bleached out hair and a tattoo on the side of his neck. He also looks older than the average student.