Whipped: An Arthur Beauchamp Novel(87)

“This photo shows a black Lincoln Navigator parked out front.”

“I’ve been instructed that is indeed a Lincoln Navigator.”

“Have you ever seen that vehicle yourself?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“The driver is a well-built man, black hair, moustache. With him is a tall young brunette. In this next picture she is ascending the outer staircase to the apartment above Ms. Glinka’s.”

Farquist examined the photographs, shrugged.

“Do you recognize this woman and man?”

“I have never met them.”

“But you know who they are, yes? You’ve been informed.”

Farquist hesitated, then looked at Cowper, who said, “For the record, they are Ulrich Wentz and Jasmine L’Heureux, employees of the Puhl Detective Agency in Ottawa.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur, hoping he’d found a breach in their defences. He studied a calendar his junior had annotated. June 2, the WWF event, when Margaret blurted out the words taped by Christie Montieth. Only two days later, Puhl’s agents had packed out boxes of electronics from Glinka’s flat. That was three weeks before the Freak Out recording went viral.

“And what were Mr. Wentz and Ms. L’Heureux doing there on the seventh of July, Mr. Farquist?”

“I imagine they were making inquiries in the neighbourhood as to the whereabouts of the Glinka woman.”

She had bolted for France exactly a month earlier. The likely reason that the private eyes came snooping around that day was they hoped to grill Sabatino, maybe offer him hush money.

“Do you know who occupied that upper suite?”

“Not of my own knowledge.”

“But you have been told, have you not, that one Lou Sabatino was living there?”

“Yes, under the guise of Robert O’Brien.”

“And who told you that?”

Again Cowper interrupted. “Don’t answer that. Solicitor privilege.”

“Had you encountered him in his capacity as a journalist?”

“At the occasional press conference. He seemed to have a penchant for asking inane questions. I chewed him out once. I’m not on his favourites list.”

“And what role do you see Mr. Sabatino playing in this case?”

“A co-conspirator with Svetlana, I assume.”

Cowper spoke sharply. “Please don’t speculate, Emil.”

Arthur found this exchange interesting. The whisky Farquist downed had finally made its way to the tongue, and his legal team’s strategy was as open as a raw wound. They planned to argue that Margaret had maliciously connived with Sabatino to embarrass her sworn enemy, or, alternatively, Lou and Svetlana had set her up with a phony story about a salacious video.

On Monday, at her own discovery, Margaret would testify she’d seen a copy pirated by Lou Sabatino. Cowper would accuse her of lying, but as a backup might argue that the images had been doctored by her techno-savvy co-conspirator, who’d gone on the run under a pseudonym.

“Mr. Farquist, getting back to the Puhl Agency and its two employees, Mr. Wentz and Ms. L’Heureux — July seventh was not their first visit to Ms. Glinka’s address. They showed up a month earlier in a white van and proceeded to empty her suite of all electronic apparatus. You know this because I have a statement from one of her clients to such effect — Mr. Harvey Plouffe. You have seen it. It is in our documents.”

Cowper interjected again.“He wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Please let him answer.”

Farquist plowed ahead. “All I can say is that they were probably looking for evidence of Svetlana’s . . . Ms. Glinka’s extortion plan. A plot to make me look like a sicko.”

“They first searched her flat on June fourth. Did they have permission from the tenant?”

“You’ll have to ask them, Mr. Beauchamp.”

“They had a key, Mr. Farquist.”

“Again, I know nothing about it.”

So Cowper had shielded him from the Puhl Agency’s doings. Arthur had not seen their reports. He had objected to disclosing Francisco Sierra’s material, claiming privilege, and Cowper had responded in kind. That now seemed an unwise trade-off.

“Tuesday, June fourth, that was the date.”

“If you say so.”

“Three weeks before the defendant’s words were broadcast across the internet. Why would your detectives have been interested in Svetlana on June fourth? Just two days after the impugned words were picked up by a live microphone?”

Farquist looked at Cowper, as if seeking permission. “He has a right to know,” the lawyer said.

“Very well,” said Farquist, with an elaborate shrug. “Christie Montieth, who I know well — she’s one of my favourite bloggers — played the recording for me in my office on June third. I believe that was a Monday. I declined to comment on record, but I did warn her that it would be dangerous to report or repeat such a calumny. I may have mentioned legal action. I then consulted counsel, and I assume they instructed the Puhl Agency —”

“Don’t assume,” Cowper admonished him. “Objection. Solicitor privilege.”

Arthur was caught short by Farquist’s explanation and took a moment to recover his balance. “And you claim not to know how they happened to have a key to Ms. Glinka’s premises?”