Then I forced myself to read the story from beginning to end.
Marlon was at the center of all this. What had started out as harmless gambling had grown into an addiction beyond his control. He’d started a dog-fighting ring as a way to get other gamblers to pony up their money. The brutality of the fighting made my stomach churn. I’dknownsome of those dogs, walked them, cheered when they went off to “homes.” I wanted to puke.
Then he’d turned to drug dealing as a way to bring in more money. At that point he’d gotten Giancarlo addicted. And yes, he’d sold the bad drugs to David—so the boy’s death could be laid at his feet as well.
Then the total shit needed a place to launder the drug money—so he used the restaurant. And the dog fighting took place behind Tully’s after hours with Debra’s help. And yes, Meyer and Selah were involved in faking paperwork and disappearing the dogs.
Jesus.
Finally, Ulysses analyzed the fires.
Turned out, all the buildings were insured by the same company. That company was raking in money—and suddenly all Chief Gerard’s money woes, including delinquent mortgage payments, were all neatly paid off. Marlon ran up the debt, and his daddy found a way to pay it all off.
Half a dozen photographs. The fighting ring behind the restaurant. A drug dealer selling to kids. Kids I fucking knew.
My head ached and I rubbed my eyes. This was all just too damn much to absorb. Improbable. Impossible. And yet clearly laid out in meticulous detail. Including an interview with the top RCMP officer in Mission City. Sergeant Gregory Wilder said they’d been close to making arrests, but now most of the arrests were in progress and the perpetrators were in jail.
Yeah, but if he’d gone public before the perpetrators get arrested, wouldn’t they run?
That thought churned in my gut. That Marlon, Gerard, Selah, Meyer, Debra, and everyone else involved might actually get away with all this. But Gregory said arrests had been made. Was it too soon for Ulysses to list them?
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
And where did that leave me? I’d told investigators what I remembered about the fire. But I hadn’t told them about Marlon’s wave.Did I imagine it? Or did he really leave me to die?I’d never had a sense of the time between him walking out of the building with the victim, and Miriam coming to rescue me.
The neurologist who examined me said I might never get those memories back. That basically I’d been knocked in the head and she was surprised I remembered as much as I did.
I hadn’t mentioned the wave—just that I had a clear memory of the beam falling and Marlon leaving with the woman. He’d been hailed a hero. If what Ulysses had just revealed was true—and I had no reason to doubt it—that hero’s cap was coming off damn fast.
My phone rang.
Mom.
“Hi, Mom. How—”
“Finnegan O’Sullivan, my hard-headed child, what the actual fuck?”
I sighed. “I can explain. Uh, where are you?”
“I just got off the cruise ship in Vancouver Harbor. And I saw an article in the Vancouver Sun, written by your boyfriend, about all these shenanigans in Mission City, and when I check that out, I see you were injured by falling debris in a fire—and were in the hospital for several days—and I didn’t know anything about it. Did you break your fucking fingers as well?”
“Huh?” I rubbed my temple. Valerie O’Sullivan didnotuse the f-word.
Ever.
“I assume you broke all your fingers and that’s why you were unable to call me. Is that correct?”
“No?”
“Finnegan.”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Was that a question or a statement?”
“Uh…both?”
“Finnegan.” Laced with disappointment.
