Unaudited: Cynthia Webber, #3

By Michelle Cornish

When it's your job to look out for the public's best interest, you do what it takes . . . Especially if your husband's already died trying.

 

When Cynthia Webber investigates a potential fraud perpetrated by Calgary's CLEAR Wind Energy Corp., she discovers a secret that causes her whole world to come crashing down. And with the secret comes a dangerous enemy who will stop at nothing to get what they want—not even murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SolVin Creative
• Release date: Jun 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781777094539

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

I’m a lucky author with a lot of wonderful people who support me and my books. My beta readers are a huge part of my support team, so when more than one of them suggested I add a glossary to explain words from both the biker and Mafia worlds, I was happy to oblige. I’ve added some of my own terms here too. All definitions that aren’t acronyms have been paraphrased from Google.

capo - a high-ranking Mafia member who usually runs his own crew. Also referred to as a Mafia lieutenant. Fun fact: short for caporegime or capodecina. Capodecina translates to head of ten.

CLEAR - Clean Light Energy and Reclamation. Matt Moore’s wind energy company.

cut - a biker’s leather vest. Fun fact: it’s called a cut because years ago they were made by cutting off the sleeves of denim jackets.

MC - Motorcycle Club

patch - a crest or logo belonging to a motorcycle club sewn on the back of a cut. 

prospect - a biker who wants to be a member of a club but hasn’t earned his patch. A prospect is usually sponsored by a full member and must prove they’re worthy of full membership before it’s granted.

racketeering - organized criminal acts that form a substantial part of business.

SSMC - Steel Stallions Motorcycle Club (a product of my imagination).

swag - Mafia slang for stolen goods.

1

Cynthia Webber felt a finger jab in her back as a tattooed arm the size of her leg snaked around her neck.

Give me your purse, he said, his voice gruff.

Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. Body odour hung in the air while her thoughts raced. What was she supposed to do again? She could slam her head backwards, but she was at a height disadvantage and this would likely have no consequence.

Come on, lady. I’m not messing around. The arm around her throat tightened. Come on, Cynthia, think. Dizziness crept in and the body odour grew stronger.

She lifted her knee. Breathing deep, she mustered all her strength to slam her foot down as hard as she could on top of his, but at the last minute, she eased up, barely grazing his toe. The arm around her throat dropped.

I’m sorry, she said. I just can’t do it. I know you’re not going to hurt me. She turned to face her attacker and saw his mouth open.

Cyn, what the hell? Linda said, rising from her seat on the sideline with the other students. She marched towards Cynthia and Nick, who were now facing each other. Just pretend he’s that asshole, Paul. A gasp rang through the gym and other students now stood as well.

I can’t. I know it’s not him.

It’s not like you’re going to hurt Nick. He’s the friggin’ Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, Linda said, waving her arms around and back-handing Nick in his amply padded gut.

Cynthia couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. Nick did look like Stay Puft with all his padding on.

Linda grabbed Cynthia’s shoulder, a little harder than Cynthia would have liked. It’s not funny. I don’t understand what’s wrong with you. You need to work this out.

Nothing’s wrong with me, Cynthia replied.

I don’t believe you. He could have killed you. How can you be so calm? Did she mean Nick or Paul? Why was she overreacting?

Ladies, Nick said, stepping between Cynthia and Linda. "Everyone deals with these things in their own way, at their own speed. It’s normal to not want to hurt your instructor, but eventually, you need to see me as a threat to your safety. The more you practice, the more automatic it will be if you are attacked again."

See, Cyn, you gotta work this shit out, Linda said again, red-faced while crossing her arms over her chest.

I know, Cynthia said, not wanting to argue anymore with her best friend. She wanted to emphasize what Nick said about her own way and her own time. She wanted to tell Linda she’d been seeing the police psychologist at work, but she knew how Linda felt about all that head shrinking. Plus, it would have been a lie.

Okay, Ms. Reeves, let’s see what you got, Nick said to Linda, pointing to the X on the mat where the roleplay victims were to stand. Cynthia took her place on the sidelines with the other students. She worried about Linda. She’d been attacked by Paul too and was handling it in the way she handled everything—take no prisoners. But Cynthia knew it was a tough facade. The middle-aged woman next to Cynthia patted her knee once she’d sat down.

Don’t worry about it. I was the same way when I first started coming to these classes. It gets easier.

Thanks. Cynthia smiled at her classmate, then turned her attention to the mat.

Nick put his muscular arm around Linda’s neck the same way he had with Cynthia. He pushed his finger into Linda’s back, but before he could get his words out, Linda started screaming and kicking like a wild animal.

A few inches taller than Cynthia, Linda was able to smash her head backwards into Nick’s padded chin, throwing him off guard. Then, in one smooth movement, she flung her arms up and ducked down out of the hold he had her in.

Good, said Nick. Now run for help.

As if she hadn’t heard him, Linda stomped towards Nick and kicked him in his padded groin.

All right. You made your point, Nick said, throwing his arms up in surrender. But you need to run for help at the earliest possible moment. Trying to fight your assailant is a bad idea. You have no idea who you might be dealing with.

Linda didn’t seem to care. She’d left the mat and was busy high-fiving some of the other more aggressive students. Clearly Linda could handle herself, but Paul’s attack had affected her too. The tough girl act didn’t fool Cynthia. She’d known Linda far too long for that.

* * *

Trace Anderson sat in the passenger seat of the Steel Stallions motorcycle club’s black cube van, while his club sponsor, Rogen McGrath, drove. From the highway, they followed an off-ramp into the Northeast part of Calgary. They drove several kilometres, then took a right onto an unpaved road.

Ahead of them, on the side of the road, was a freightliner. Trace turned to Rogen.

Is that it? he asked.

This is it, Rogen said, slowing the van and pulling to the side of the road several yards behind the Mack truck. He turned off the lights. Prez said the driver should be long gone, but best we ease our way up to it, and check it out first. Could be a set up.

Trace nodded, pulled out his Beretta and attached the silencer. As an undercover cop, he was more worried about a rival MC member hiding in the cab than a law enforcement set up, but he played along as he’d been doing for the last few months. Rogen flipped an overhead switch in the van, ensuring the interior light wouldn’t turn on and alert anyone waiting in the freightliner to their presence. Both men climbed out of the van, neither closing their door and risking discovery. Trace aimed his weapon straight ahead and snuck along the passenger side of the Mack, eyeing the ditch as he went. It was dark but not pitch black.

Rogen took the driver’s side. As Trace placed his foot on the passenger-side step, he held his gun close to his body, his other hand on the door handle. He pulled the handle. The door flung open as he pressed his back tight against the cab of the truck. He moved his gun to his other hand and peered into the cab of the truck, gun first. All he saw was Rogen on the other side of the cab. Rogen’s hand was hidden under the driver’s seat. When he pulled it out, he held a set of keys.

These should get you on the road, he said, tossing the keys at Trace. Trace grabbed them mid-air, then hopped down out of the truck and hustled around to the driver’s side.

Rogen was already halfway back to the van. Meet you at the warehouse? he asked.

You showin’ me the way? Trace asked, even though he knew the way. He’d staked out the CLEAR warehouse many times but couldn’t let Rogen know he’d been studying the MC and their relationship to CLEAR Wind Energy Corp for years. He was thankful for this big break. The club’s usual big-rig driver had busted his shifting arm. The fact Trace knew how to handle a rig worked in his favour when he’d started prospecting the club.

You know it, came Rogen’s reply.

As he watched the rig’s side-view mirror for Rogen to pull out onto the road, Trace took a deep breath. He was finally going to see what was hiding inside the CLEAR warehouse.

2

The next morning, Cynthia dropped Luke at Mom and Dad’s so she could stop by the police station and check-in with Warren. Although Warren wasn’t technically her boss, he’d stepped in when Detective Randy Bain, the man who’d been acting as her boss, was part of an accidental shooting involving her boyfriend Ben. She shook her head at the memory, not wanting to start the day in such a melancholy way. Not wanting to remember.

While Cynthia had several years of audit experience with a public accounting firm, Louise Geller had taught Cynthia everything she knew about fraud investigations and building a case that would stand up in court. Louise was also fluent in German, which is why she’d been on loan to Toronto Police Services for a couple months now. They had some German financials that needed deciphering.

Since Warren had told Cynthia to stay away from the station, she opted to stop by Louise’s office first. It was empty. Really empty. The kind of empty where your voice echoes back to you when you talk. Weird. She took a deep breath, mustered some courage and marched down the hall to Warren’s office.

Cynthia? he said, looking up from his laptop. Cynthia took a seat in one of the chairs across from Warren’s desk. I thought I told you it was best for your safety if you extended your bereavement leave.

You did, but—

Then get out of here. He flung his hand up in the air motioning at the door.

As Cynthia was dealing with Ben’s death, Warren had brought her new information regarding her husband Jason. I don’t get it, Cynthia said. I know you said the Mafia may have had something to do with Jason’s death, but I just don’t see it. It was an accident.

Warren started to say something, but Cynthia wasn't finished.

Besides, it was over two years ago. If the Mafia were watching me, wouldn't we already know that? Wouldn’t I be dead instead of talking to you?

Not necessarily. Warren shrugged. The mob doesn't just go around killing people for the fun of it. They usually have a good reason. If they were watching you when Jason died, they probably decided you weren't a threat and moved on to bigger fish.

Cynthia raised her eyebrows and nodded in understanding. So, you think I'm in danger now because CPA is investigating CLEAR? The federal Chartered Professional Accountants’ Organization suspected CLEAR Wind Energy Corp was a front for Mafia activity.

Yes. Technically, you’ll be investigating CLEAR. I’ve requested the accident report and any other related documentation we have from archives. I’ll know more after I see it, said Warren. CPA has passed the case on to us now that it’s a possible criminal offence.

Right, said Cynthia. They must suspect—

Louise’s favourite f-word, Warren cut her off.

Cynthia smirked then nodded.

Doesn’t surprise me, continued Warren. "They were one of your old boss’s clients." Warren had wasted no time getting himself up to speed on Detective Bain’s files.

Ah, yes. David Jerew, Cynthia said, remembering the man she’d helped put behind bars for murder months ago.

Plus, the mob connection has everyone jacked up.

So, what did CPA’s lawyer say? What did the auditors find that makes them think it’s the mob? Cynthia asked.

There was a large sum of cash deposited in CLEAR’s account that couldn’t be explained.

Cynthia nodded while Warren continued.

There were also some notes in Jerew’s old audit file about inventory. Some items that didn’t seem to be part of CLEAR’s regular business activity.

Did CPA say what CLEAR had to say about all of this?

They contacted Matt Moore, CLEAR’s major shareholder. He answered their questions, but they weren’t satisfied which is why they’ve passed this on to us, said Warren.

You think it’s the Germans again? asked Cynthia.

Warren looked at her with a frown on his face. You got something against Germans?

Sorry, that didn’t sound right. Cynthia’s complexion deepened a shade. Jason’s family is German.

Webber is a German name, isn’t it? Warren asked. Cynthia nodded.

I thought the Toronto case Louise is working on involved the German Mafia.

You’re right, Warren said, standing as if he had somewhere to go. And . . . Warren hesitated. Louise has decided to stay in Toronto. You’ll have to take the lead on this case.

Of course she would. It was just her and Louise in the forensic accounting department. At least they seem agreeable to working with us, Cynthia said.

The controller at CLEAR is Fred, or Flynn. Warren shuffled through papers on his desk as if looking for his notes. It starts with an ‘F’ anyway.

It’s probably on their website, Cynthia said, standing to walk with Warren as he approached the chair where she’d sat.

I’m bending the rules here, Cynthia. This is a conflict.

But—

Think about it. Not only are you Jason’s widow, but you used to work for the accountant CPA’s investigating. Sounds like a conflict to me.

Cynthia had stopped listening after the word ‘widow’. She hated that word. Widow. More like ‘black widow’ now that Ben was gone too. Even though she never married Ben, she still felt cursed when it came to love.

Cynthia? Warren waved his hand in front of her face. You all right?

She must have gapped out. Uh . . . Sorry, Warren. She shook herself out of her trance.

Wouldn’t you agree that it’s a conflict of interest for you to take this case?

You’ve got a point. But if Louise is staying in Toronto, I’m all you’ve got.

Warren’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped. Hadn’t he realized how short staffed they were?

Unless HR’s hired someone to replace Louise, Cynthia added.

Not as far as I know.

Warren, Cynthia said, a sudden seriousness about her demeanour. You tell me my husband may have been murdered, and you expect me to not be involved. Warren shrugged in response. Are you telling me if this was you, you wouldn’t do everything you could to figure out what happened to your wife?

Warren froze and turned his gaze to meet Cynthia’s. Had she said something wrong? Warren had been married once, but she never heard what happened to his wife.

I understand what you’re going through. I really do, said Warren. He lifted his arm