Art and Murder by Don Easton Page B

they came to. Another man he had seen in the park was a short distance away staring at a display case in a nearby store window.
    Roche silently cursed himself for having been fooled by Kerin, then entered the café and took a seat.
    * * *
    Kerin entered the public washroom and a peek under the stalls told him he was alone. This time he made his call direct to dispatch and quickly explained the problem. He tapped his foot nervously as he waited while dispatch placed an urgent call to Interpol.
    The feel of cold metal behind his ear told him he was no longer alone. He froze as a Latex-gloved hand reached for his phone. He released his grip on the phone and slowly turned around, facing the muzzle of a pistol.
    The sound of police radios and voices from dispatch could be heard over the phone, then a dispatcher said, “We’ve connected with Interpol in Canada. They want to speak to you directly.”
    For a brief moment Kerin clung to the hope that he was only being robbed, but that hope evaporated when his eyes shifted from the pistol to a watch with a gold-and-silver band being dangled in front of him.
    Kerin knew he was going to die as he stared at the smiling face taunting him from behind the watch.
    â€œAre you there?” came the dispatcher’s voice over the phone.
    â€œ You’re the Ringmaster!” Kerin yelled. “It’s —”
    He was interrupted by the gunshot. Several urgent requests from the dispatcher for him to respond went unanswered.
    * * *
    In the café across from the park, Roche watched the couple who had entered shortly before he did. The woman flicked her long hair out of the way and placed her hand over her ear. She appeared to be listening intently. Her face registered panic, and a comment she made to her companion sent them both running from the café. Two men who’ d been outside on the sidewalk joined them as they raced to the park.
    Roche waited a moment, then went to the doorway to look. At the park near the washrooms he heard a woman’s screams. Another couple who had been walking a dog stood staring at the commotion. Other people bolted from parked cars and ran toward the washrooms.
    Roche apologized to the waitress and told her to cancel the tea he’d ordered. Then he left.

Chapter Ten
    Constable Jane Martin, on duty at the Interpol office in Ottawa, tried to calm the panic rising in her throat when she received the information from Paris that an undercover police officer in Canada was about to be murdered. Given the time of the call, she deduced that British Columbia was the most likely location. Her line to the dispatch office in Paris was still open, but she was already typing two names into the Canadian Police Information Computer as she waited to be connected with the officer who’d made the original report.
    The name Anton Roche on CPIC did not yield a response, but Clive Dempsey popped up as being of interest to Corporal Jack Taggart in the Intelligence Unit in Vancouver. “Listen,” Jane said, “I’ve got a lead on the name Dempsey. Does your officer know if —”
    â€œWe think someone shot our agent!” screamed the French dispatcher in heavily accented English. She then yelled in French to someone in the background. “I don’t know … I don’t know! I heard the shot. He’s not answering. He yelled, the Ringmaster! Then I heard … yes, it sounded like a shot. I’m certain it was. The line is dead now.”
    Seconds later Constable Martin called the telecommunications centre in Vancouver. They were unaware of any undercover operation taking place, but had her wait while they called Corporal Jack Taggart, first on the air and then at home.
    Jane’s heart sank when the dispatcher said, “His wife was reluctant to say much, but she did say he was called out to work about 1:30 a.m. I tried his cell but it went to voice mail. I’m calling his boss, Staff-Sergeant Rose