A Life Betrayed (Montreal #2)

Chapter Sixteen

R ayan stood by the chessboard in the corner of the living room and rolled the white knight between his thumb and forefinger. He gripped his phone in the other hand, but it remained silent, the screen dark. For the second time in two days, he’d called, and Mathias hadn’t picked up. He tried to be careful about his expectations. Between Mathias’s family commitments and the growing urgency of the situation with the Feds, it was understandable that his visits would become more sporadic. But after two days with no word, Rayan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. While he knew Mathias’s other number by heart—filed away since those early days, a number that had always sent a flutter of anticipation in his stomach when he’d seen it appear on the screen—there was no way he would take the risk of calling it, especially with things as they were.

He thought of how the inspector had confronted him in Toronto and all the ways in which Mathias might find himself similarly ambushed. That first night after arriving in Montreal, when Mathias had come to find him at the boarding house, he’d given Rayan a brief rundown of the investigation and the tip-off that had launched it. But Rayan had worked with the man long enough to know Mathias was deliberately withholding certain details. While Mathias’s unwillingness to confide in him pained Rayan, he understood his reticence. Rayan hadn’t exactly been acting like he had things together.

Rayan deliberated at length before making his move, vaulting over Mathias’s bishop to capture one of his pawns. He placed the black piece in the box and flipped the coin on the table so that it once again sat with the Queen’s profile face up. Then, as though his play on the chessboard was merely a proxy for the real move he’d been considering, he strode to the dining table and pulled out his notebook and pen. He began to scribble, the numbers spilling from his mind—reluctant, hazy after having been buried so long. The last two he struck through and flipped. Only when they were out on paper could he be sure of the order.

He stared down at the number and scanned his brain for confirmation. It was as close as he was going to get. He picked up his phone, dialed, and held the receiver to his ear before realizing it was a Sunday afternoon.

That didn’t seem to matter to the man who answered. “ Oui? ”

It was impossible to tell from his greeting whether he was who Rayan hoped he would be. “Dubois?”

“That’s me,” Grayson Dubois rumbled. “Who’s this?”

Rayan knew he had to be cautious. Here he was, in a city where he was no longer supposed to exist. “I need your assistance,” he said, dodging the question. “Am I right to assume you still have an agreement with Mathias Beauvais?”

There was a pause. “That would depend on who’s asking.”

“Someone looking out for his interests,” Rayan hedged. “If the arrangement no longer stands, I’ll facilitate one of my own. Name your price.”

What did Mathias say about getting creative? Rayan would use every last cent if he had to. Through the earpiece, Rayan heard the rustle of fabric and then the sound of a door closing.

“The arrangement stands,” Dubois said.

“I need to know if he’s been detained and, if so, how to get him out.”

“Easy enough. Give me a few hours. Not everyone’s so cooperative over the weekend. I’ll find out what I can and call you back on this number,” Dubois said. “But I’ll need a name and half up front. I’m not a fan of the whole anonymous thing. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

A name , Rayan thought. Easier said than done.

After he hung up, Rayan wired the lawyer the agreed amount and waited, the hours dragging by as he paced the safe house, unable to think of anything else.

Dubois called him back that evening, as promised. “He’s being held at the station downtown. They picked him up Friday.”

Friday? Rayan ground his teeth in frustration. He’s been there since Friday?

“I can’t do anything until they schedule his bail hearing, and that won’t be until tomorrow at the earliest. The judges don’t work weekends.”

“They can’t hold him that long without a hearing,” Rayan protested, trying not to imagine how Mathias had spent the past few days.

“I suspect that’s why they timed it the way they did. This has got the Feds written all over it—the paperwork is a mess, deliberately complex to drag out the process. Has Beauvais got some heat on him?”

“The RCMP have an investigation open.”

Dubois sucked his teeth. “Well, there you have it. The charges themselves aren’t overly concerning, but they’re bucking procedure—that’s for sure. Wanting to send a message. I’ll bet the bail’s set high too. Might be hard to meet.”

“I’ll meet it,” Rayan said.

“All right, then. I’ll head in first thing in the morning and see what I can do.”

Rayan stood and raked his eyes across the darkened apartment. He felt powerless stuck within the confines of its four walls. No longer able to do anything to help Mathias, he could only sit tight and wait.

Mathias spent the first night in the holding room before being moved to a small single cell the following morning. Only then were the handcuffs removed. His wrists stung where the metal had cut into his skin over the course of a long sleepless night. Still, he was not permitted a phone call. Twice a day, a metal tray of food was pushed in through a slot in the door, which he barely touched. While his hunger had all but dissipated, he was desperate for a cigarette. The need gnawed at him with a ferocity that made his fingers itch.

After two more nights, Mathias was once again cuffed and escorted by an unnamed officer to one of the station’s interrogation rooms. He had a crick in his neck from sleeping upright against the wall. There was no way he was getting near the discolored mattress that lay across the rusted bed frame in the corner of the cell.

He wanted nothing more than a hot shower to wash the filth off him. It hung in the air and covered every surface, a feculence that permeated every pore. The room was bare except for a table and two chairs. He was led to a chair and instructed to sit.

Several moments later, Allen appeared at the door, her mouth pulling into a smirk when she saw him. “Comfy?”

The woman’s face conjured a word in Mathias’s head, as though there existed a flashcard with her image on one side and the letters CUNT on the other. “The kind of hospitality I’d expect from your kind,” he retorted.

“Now it’s my turn to be intimidating,” she said, sitting down across from him and reaching over to activate the switch on the recording device in the center of the table.

“That’ll be hard for you to pull off.”

“I thought a couple nights in the cells would’ve taken the wind out of your sails.”

“Then you don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Well, then, tell me, Mathias. What are you all about?”

He gave a short laugh. It was ridiculous, like some surreal job interview. He stared back at her, silent.

Allen continued, unfazed. “We’re going to take someone down, whether it’s you or Bianchi or one of your other friends on the council. My advice? Keep an eye out for yourself. There are some very generous deals on the table, provided you cooperate.”

“You really haven’t done your homework,” he said scornfully. “You think I’ll roll over for a plea? I’d sooner chew through my tongue.”

“That kind of blind loyalty won’t save you from prison.”

The thought of returning to that filthy cell brought back the crushing darkness of the past few days. Mathias had been forced to use every trick in his arsenal to stop himself from being pushed to the brink. “I want my phone call.”

“So you can contact some smarmy lawyer and try to wiggle your way out of this?”

“I’m well within my rights to do so.”

“Rights?” she jeered. “Did you think about rights when you decided to break the law?”

“Did you?” he said, raising his shackled wrists, which were an angry red from having been rubbed raw. “I’ve seen the arrest warrant, and there’s not a concrete thing on there. But this, on the other hand, is pretty compelling evidence.”

The woman’s smug look disappeared.

“You’re not fooling anyone with your schoolgirl French,” Mathias said, mimicking the lilt of her accent on the last word, like an American on holiday. “If you were from here, you’d know Quebec has a soft spot for the less enfranchised—the squatter over the landlord, the accused over the prosecutor. You think taking a hard line will get results? That may have worked on your other cases—and I’ve done my reading. I know all about your other cases. But here, it will get you nowhere.”

The door opened, and a rush of sound flooded the tiny room. Grayson Dubois strode in with two flustered-looking cops following at his heels.

“What’s this?” Allen snapped, furious.

“We tried to stop him,” one of the officers offered meekly.

“Stop me from what?” Dubois announced. “Seeing my client, whom you have denied legal representation? Refused access to adequate facilities and…” He tutted, taking in the state of Mathias’s wrists. “Subjected to physical intimidation?”

Allen’s face darkened. “This is a federal case under my jurisdiction. We deemed it more important to—”

“We’re not in Ottawa, sweetheart.”

The inspector flushed at the lawyer’s condescending tone.

“And if you’re conducting police business in Quebec, you follow provincial laws. Or I start proceedings for a human rights violation.”

“Come on,” she scoffed.

“Why is my client still handcuffed?”

“He’s a safety risk.”

“Is he? But you have him in for…” Dubois raised the piece of paper in his hand and held it up to his face. “‘Holding shares in a company allegedly benefitting from the proceeds of criminal activity.’ Doesn’t sound like a violent offense, now, does it, Inspector? And by the looks of the treatment he’s received under your care, it seems my client is the one who should be concerned about his safety.”

Allen clicked her tongue and gestured to one of the uniformed policemen. “Uncuff him.”

“You can do more than that,” Dubois said snarkily. “I’ve spoken with the magistrate, and he’s dismissed the charge without conditions.” He opened his briefcase and placed a stack of paperwork down on the table as the officer removed the restraints from Mathias’s wrists.

“The bail hearing’s not until noon,” Allen countered.

“He approved my request for expedition, considering that my client has been unlawfully detained for the past sixty-five hours,” Dubois said. “Mr. Beauvais’s shares are held in a purely custodial role, and he has no connection to the management or activities of the company in question. Not to mention, as a silent shareholder, he’s legally exempt from prosecution.”

Allen picked up the first document in the stack and began to flip through it, a deep line forming across her forehead.

“Don’t worry—I’ll be sure to have my secretary send additional copies through, along with a civil claim for wrongful arrest and detainment without sufficient evidence.”

It was Mathias’s turn to smirk when he saw Allen’s reaction.

“Now, if you don’t mind, Inspector, I’d like to speak with my client in private,” Dubois said, pointing at the recording device sitting on the table. “With that turned off.”

After the cops had retreated from the room, Dubois tossed his briefcase and plopped down on the chair Allen had vacated. “Hell, I’m never up this early.”

“You’re not getting extra for that, Dubois.”

“Even locked up, you drive a hard bargain,” the lawyer quipped with a shake of his head.

They went back years now, yet the number of times he’d had to engage Dubois’s services could be counted on one hand. “First time I’m happy to see your gold-plated ass,” Mathias remarked, masking his relief.

“Worth every penny.” Dubois chuckled. “A little birdie told me you might be in trouble with the law. I see you still have loyal friends, Mathias.”

Mathias blinked. He scanned his memory but couldn’t think of anyone at the office who might have sounded the alarm, what with Tony gone and Jacques not the sharpest tack in the drawer.

“It was tricky to find you. They pulled you up on a federal charge, had an Ontario judge approve the warrant, and buried the case in paperwork. You could tell it was weak because they kept it quiet, didn’t make a big splash in the papers. Thought they’d take advantage of the weekend lull to hold you as long as possible. No doubt, they’re trying to scare you.” Dubois reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and raised it to take pictures of the marks around Mathias’s wrists. “Against protocol—it all helps. If we can show mistreatment in a white-collar case like this, it doesn’t matter what the fuck you did.”

Mathias knew why they’d kept him in cuffs. It was how they liked to see him—the infamous mafia captain shackled like the criminal he was.

“Anything else? Broken bones, missing teeth?”

“I’m fine,” Mathias said flatly. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

In the back of Dubois’s car, as his driver peeled out of the parking lot beneath the station building, Mathias absently rubbed his wrists, the feel of the restraints lingering. He looked down at his watch and took a strange comfort in seeing it returned to its rightful place. The farther they got from the station, the less his chest ached. Mathias stared out the window and found himself drinking it in—the skyline, the people, the freedom.

“Who called you?” he asked, turning to Dubois, who sat beside him in the back seat, tapping away at his phone.

“Said his name was Angelo Caravella, though he didn’t sound Italian.”

Mathias snorted, shaking his head in astonishment.

“Where should I drop you off?” Dubois asked.

“Here,” Mathias said suddenly. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the car and on his feet and disappear into the crowd of commuters converging on the street. The driver pulled the car over to the side of the road. “What do I owe you?”

Dubois shook his head. “Already taken care of.” Then he gave Mathias a serious look. “I have a feeling this won’t be the last of it. Do you know what they’re after?”

My complete and utter destruction. “Allen wants to take me down.”

Dubois made an ominous sound in the back of his throat. “It starts getting tricky when the RCMP get their teeth in.”

At least now Mathias knew without a doubt that Truman was behind it—not just the tip-off but this latest leak to the Feds as well. It was no coincidence that the charges they’d arrested him on were directly related to their joint venture, the particulars of which Truman was very well acquainted with.

“Keep me informed of any developments,” Dubois said.

Mathias pulled open the door and stepped out of the car into the frigid air. It stung his throat and made his eyes water—a welcome jolt of clarity. He stood and lit a cigarette from the confiscated pack the officers had returned to him, the first lungful of nicotine planing down the jitters as he watched Dubois’s car disappear into the distance. His building wasn’t far from here—a few blocks’ walk through the bustling downtown center. He imagined the emptiness awaiting him back at the penthouse, the cold gray walls not unlike the cell he’d just escaped. Mathias longed for a shower. He wanted to lie down and close his eyes, but the thought of the eerie quiet of his home unnerved him. He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long pull. Then he turned in the opposite direction of his apartment and began to walk.