ladies, cause I’m going to sleep.
12:18 p.m.
From: Ed Sawatski
To: Sophie Fortin
Subject: Going to Quatre Jeudi
You should come! We can parlez vous.
12:32 p.m.:
De: Sophie Fortin
A: Ed Sawatski
Sujet: No way!
I have an early morning tomorrow.
And so do you!
Have fun.
Bisous!
2:20 a.m.:
From: Ed Sawatski
To: Sophie Fortin
Subject: Viva le Quebec Libre
If Quebec separates, we totally are keeping poutine.
Mmmm. Poutine.
3:12 a.m.:
From: Ed Sawatski
To: Sophie Fortin
Subject: Pigale
Nonne of these bitches is hot like you.
But I’m going to get a lap dancce with this trashy little biler chick.
But don’t worry. I’ll get Jack to hold my bb.
Love you.
:*
4:48 a.m. Security video from Chateau Laurier shows two men walking from Parliament Hill to the Rideau Canal locks.
5:25 a.m. Sawatski discovered in canal by Isabelle Galarneau.
When it was finished, Flanagan emailed a copy to his partner and printed one for himself. Then he took a deep breath. He had already called his son to let him know that he might not be able to take him to the game. Jason had sounded quiet and sad, so he told him he was chasing some real bad guys, but he’d try to finish up in time.
While he was on the phone, he got a call from reception. It had to be Macdonald. He told Jason he loved him and headed down the stairs to fetch the reporter.
The kid looked like shit. He had a wine stain on his lapel. His face was pale and his hair was messy. They shook hands in the hallway, and Flanagan led him upstairs. He had already decided to talk to the reporter in one of the interview rooms, which had a window out into the squad room, not one of the shitty little concrete interrogation rooms. Play it nice.
He sat down with his notebook, a digital recorder and the time line. Macdonald pulled out his own notebook and digital recorder and switched on the recorder.
Flanagan looked at him over his glasses. “You recording this, too?” he said.
“I don’t need a lawyer, do I?” said Jack, looking around the room with unease. “I want to help you. But this makes me nervous.”
“You are entitled to a lawyer if you feel you would benefit from one,” said Flanagan. “But we don’t even know if there’s been a crime. That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” He switched on his recorder. “What time did you meet Fortin and Sawatski?”
“About 6:30. Me and Sophie were there first, then Ed arrived.”
“And you stayed at Darcy’s for how long?”
“Well, Sophie left around 8:30. She had work to do, she said, so Ed and I were on our own. We had a few more drinks, tried to hit on some girls.”
Flanagan looked down at his notes. “These were Inuit girls?” he asked. “Is that right?”
Jack was surprised he knew that. “Yeah,” he said. “We chatted them up for a while, had a few more drinks, but D’Arcy’s was getting dead, so we decided to go to Quatre Jeudis.”
“In Hull.”
“That’s right. It was hopping. So we had a few more beers. We got pretty loaded.”
“And then you had poutine?”
“Yes, at that greasy little place on Portage, a pizza joint.”
“Then you went to Pigale?”
“It was Ed’s idea,” said Jack. “But he didn’t have to talk me into it really. We were pretty loaded.”
“And what happened there?”
“We ordered some beers. It was last call, so Ed got us each two beers and we sat down to watch the girls.”
“Did either of you get a lap dance?”
“Ed did,” said Jack. “He wanted me to get one, too, but I was too hammered. So he went off on his own, left me at the table.”
“Did you get into any disputes while you were there? Any hassles with bouncers or other customers?”
“No, we’re not those kinds of drunks. We were having fun, but low-key.”
“Did Sawatski express fear at any time?” asked Flanagan. “Did he say he was worried about someone harming him?”
“No, but to be honest with you my memory of the last part of the evening isn’t too
12:18 p.m.
From: Ed Sawatski
To: Sophie Fortin
Subject: Going to Quatre Jeudi
You should come! We can parlez vous.
12:32 p.m.:
De: Sophie Fortin
A: Ed Sawatski
Sujet: No way!
I have an early morning tomorrow.
And so do you!
Have fun.
Bisous!
2:20 a.m.:
From: Ed Sawatski
To: Sophie Fortin
Subject: Viva le Quebec Libre
If Quebec separates, we totally are keeping poutine.
Mmmm. Poutine.
3:12 a.m.:
From: Ed Sawatski
To: Sophie Fortin
Subject: Pigale
Nonne of these bitches is hot like you.
But I’m going to get a lap dancce with this trashy little biler chick.
But don’t worry. I’ll get Jack to hold my bb.
Love you.
:*
4:48 a.m. Security video from Chateau Laurier shows two men walking from Parliament Hill to the Rideau Canal locks.
5:25 a.m. Sawatski discovered in canal by Isabelle Galarneau.
When it was finished, Flanagan emailed a copy to his partner and printed one for himself. Then he took a deep breath. He had already called his son to let him know that he might not be able to take him to the game. Jason had sounded quiet and sad, so he told him he was chasing some real bad guys, but he’d try to finish up in time.
While he was on the phone, he got a call from reception. It had to be Macdonald. He told Jason he loved him and headed down the stairs to fetch the reporter.
The kid looked like shit. He had a wine stain on his lapel. His face was pale and his hair was messy. They shook hands in the hallway, and Flanagan led him upstairs. He had already decided to talk to the reporter in one of the interview rooms, which had a window out into the squad room, not one of the shitty little concrete interrogation rooms. Play it nice.
He sat down with his notebook, a digital recorder and the time line. Macdonald pulled out his own notebook and digital recorder and switched on the recorder.
Flanagan looked at him over his glasses. “You recording this, too?” he said.
“I don’t need a lawyer, do I?” said Jack, looking around the room with unease. “I want to help you. But this makes me nervous.”
“You are entitled to a lawyer if you feel you would benefit from one,” said Flanagan. “But we don’t even know if there’s been a crime. That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” He switched on his recorder. “What time did you meet Fortin and Sawatski?”
“About 6:30. Me and Sophie were there first, then Ed arrived.”
“And you stayed at Darcy’s for how long?”
“Well, Sophie left around 8:30. She had work to do, she said, so Ed and I were on our own. We had a few more drinks, tried to hit on some girls.”
Flanagan looked down at his notes. “These were Inuit girls?” he asked. “Is that right?”
Jack was surprised he knew that. “Yeah,” he said. “We chatted them up for a while, had a few more drinks, but D’Arcy’s was getting dead, so we decided to go to Quatre Jeudis.”
“In Hull.”
“That’s right. It was hopping. So we had a few more beers. We got pretty loaded.”
“And then you had poutine?”
“Yes, at that greasy little place on Portage, a pizza joint.”
“Then you went to Pigale?”
“It was Ed’s idea,” said Jack. “But he didn’t have to talk me into it really. We were pretty loaded.”
“And what happened there?”
“We ordered some beers. It was last call, so Ed got us each two beers and we sat down to watch the girls.”
“Did either of you get a lap dance?”
“Ed did,” said Jack. “He wanted me to get one, too, but I was too hammered. So he went off on his own, left me at the table.”
“Did you get into any disputes while you were there? Any hassles with bouncers or other customers?”
“No, we’re not those kinds of drunks. We were having fun, but low-key.”
“Did Sawatski express fear at any time?” asked Flanagan. “Did he say he was worried about someone harming him?”
“No, but to be honest with you my memory of the last part of the evening isn’t too
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