Going Under_ A Bill Roberts Thriller - Silas Payton Page 0,16

he caught his flight.

He had a quick stop at his hotel room, to secure his case and rest up before the show started.

Chapter 16

Bill Roberts

Bill was sitting at his desk when Cliff walked in with a bag of Chinese food from Lou's. Lou Harvey ran a Chinese restaurant across the street from the Police Headquarters. He was as Caucasian as could be, and didn't know a word of any of the Chinese languages, but he cooked the best Chinese food in the city. It had long become practice for them to bring in food from Lou's for their late night meetings. Many cases had been solved while chowing on Lou's Chow Mien -- so many it had become almost superstitious. They had joked with Lou that he had become one of the police force's greatest assets.

"What's in the bag tonight?" Bill asked.

"Chicken balls, Chow Mien, Veggie fried rice and Egg Fu Yung. Lou's pick tonight," he said. "Evans here yet?"

As if on queue, Evans appeared in the doorway. "I'm just in time, I see," he said.

"Gentlemen, let's move to the conference room," Bill said.

Passing her desk, Bill asked, "Would you like to join us, Cathy?" knowing she loved to be involved in the excitement. In fact, Bill preferred she join them for a fresh perspective. He had been trying to persuade her to take the police training, but she said for now, she liked being able to say "no", if she didn't feel comfortable about a situation. She smiled and nodded at him, happy to be included. She had told Bill before, she couldn't imagine a better job. "How many thirty-five year old women become police officers?" she had recently asked him, although he knew she loved the rush when she got to be involved.

Maybe someday.

Once in the conference room Cliff started spreading the food out and passing paper plates. Evans pulled over the easel with the flip-pad of paper and cleared the dry-erase board which spread almost the distance of one of the longer walls. It was one of the first things Bill had installed when he took the job five years ago. He was visual. He needed to see the case laid out in front of him. Over the years, they had all grown accustomed to it and as a plus, they liked having the chance to sit down and eat a real meal -- a luxury in police work.

Evans started listing headings: Sarah Elliott (shooter/wife), James Elliott (victim, Terminal Manager of the ports). "What was the name of the dock worker killed two months ago?" he asked.

"His name was Pierre Garneau," Cathy said. "Age 33, people described him as somewhat of a drifter, french speaking, from the Montreal area, had been working at the docks for six months prior to being found stabbed to death at the pier."

As Evans scrambled to get it all down, Cliff looked at her with his eyebrows up in surprise. "Impressive!" he said.

"I just finished reviewing his file," she said, obviously glad someone had noticed. "He was also thought to have ties to the Darksiders, a motorcycle gang based here in Toronto, believed to be a puppet gang to the Devil's Warriors in Montreal."

"That reminds me," Bill said, "I have to follow up with my brother-in-law. He has a connection at the docks he's looking into for me. Evans, write down Call Jim in the corner of the board for me, would you?"

"Shit!" Bill said, shaking his head. "I forgot to get back to the Sergeant in Lansdowne. Cliff, what did you find out about the Livingston guy -- what was his name again? I assume you would have called if he turned up."

"Andrew Livingston, is the suspected jumper, and the Sergeant's name is Frank Wilcock," said Cathy, as she checked her notes and wrote his number out for the Inspector.

"No. He wasn't there," Cliff reported. "And, his wife had been expecting him home. She didn't know of any reason why his car should be there."

Bill dialed the number.

"Wilcock here," said the voice on the other end.

It sounded like he was in the middle of organizing a boat race. There were boat engines in the background taking off into the distance, and people shouting commands over the noise.

"It's Bill Roberts from the Toronto Police Homicide Division."

"Hello, Inspector. Any luck locating Mr. Livingston on your end?" he asked.

"He hasn't turned up here, and his wife is quite worried. You got anything there?" Bill asked.

"No luck yet," he said.

Sergeant Wilcock gave Bill a quick