Koda looked back at him with no expression. ‘Cloudy.’

‘I bet. How many stitches?’

‘Sixty-three.’

‘Ouch.’

Striker finished gassing up the car and placed the nozzle back into its cradle. He then walked up to Harry’s Crown Vic and leaned down on the open windowsill.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Me and Feleesh have been doing some investigating here, and we got some stuff we need to run by you two. Some questions that need to be asked.’ He glanced down at his watch. ‘It’s almost ten-thirty and I need some coffee. Why don’t we hit Four Chefs?’

Koda’s face tightened. ‘I got important stuff to do.’

‘More important than finding out who’s trying to kill you?’

Koda stared back and said nothing.

Striker splayed his hands.

‘Listen, Chad, I know you and I got off on the wrong foot, and I’m sorry about that – I had no idea you were a cop the first time I met you. But someone blew up your house and killed a woman in the process. We need to do this, and we need to do it now. I’ve given you a break up till this point because you’re a former member.’

‘Retired,’ he corrected.

‘Sorry, retired. Point is I can only extend that leniency so far’ – Striker played his wild card – ‘I got Acting Deputy Chief Laroche on my back nonstop and he wants to get involved in the file. I’m trying to ward him off as best I can, but you know how he can be. He wants to use this as his bid to get back to DC again.’

The mere mention of Acting Deputy Chief Laroche made both Harry and Koda take notice; everyone knew of Laroche’s anal attention to regulations and procedures. It was best for all of them to avoid his involvement. And Striker knew that.

‘It will just take a few minutes,’ Felicia pressed.

Koda finally relented. ‘Right, right. Okay.’

Striker smiled at them. ‘Four Chefs then.’

‘Four Chefs,’ Harry said.

Striker and Felicia climbed back into their own car and left the yards. They drove around Strathcona Park and headed for Clarke Street. As they went, Felicia looked behind them.

‘They coming?’ Striker asked.

‘They’re having a conversation,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘Working on a story, no doubt.’

Striker grinned.

‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘I like fiction.’

Sixty-One

Four Chefs was a small coffee shop tucked away on a dead-end road beneath the Georgia Street overpass. The woman who owned the business had been serving cops for twenty-five years. She was friendly, unobtrusive, and most importantly, gave everyone a police discount.

Striker and Felicia took a seat in the far back, away from the windows, and waited. Five minutes later, the front door opened and Harry and Koda walked in. Felicia waved them over and the two men grabbed coffee before sitting down.

Striker assessed them both.

Koda looked somewhat dazed. It was hard to believe this was the man they had woken up twenty-four hours ago. That man – tanned and rested – had emitted an aura of arrogance and condescension. This man before them now was a shadow of his former self. He gave off an anxious vibe, and seemed constantly on edge – his eyes darting to every exit of the coffee shop. He reminded Striker of a nervous prairie dog.

‘So how are you coping?’ Striker asked him.

Koda fought to take his eyes off the exit. ‘Head’s splitting in two.’ He popped a couple more T3s and slurped them back with his coffee. ‘I’m half deaf and I can’t remember anything about the last two days.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Jack shit.’

Striker nodded. ‘Well, it’s not really all that surprising, is it? You’re just lucky you lived. We’re in the waiting process right now for forensics, but in the meantime, Felicia and I have been going through some of the files and we’ve found something . . . well, interesting.’ He turned to Felicia, saw that she was ready for their little charade, and said, ‘Show them.’

She blinked. ‘Show them?’

‘Where’s the laptop?’

‘In the car.’

Striker forced a grin. ‘We can’t read it from there.’

Felicia’s cheeks reddened. She gave him a cross look, then stood up from the table and headed for the front door without a word. Striker watched her go, then jabbed a thumb her way and grinned at Harry and Koda. ‘I hate to see her leave, but I love to watch her go.’

Harry looked at Striker. ‘Rumour is you’ve already been there. That true?’

‘I’ve heard the same rumour ’bout you and Koda.’

‘Funny guy,’ Harry said.

As the sunlight flooded through the windows, it lit up Koda’s face and made him squint against the brightness. The light highlighted his sickened condition. The golden-copper tone of his skin was still there, but it looked almost spray-painted on now, with a sicker gauntness lurking beneath. He pounded back two more T3s.

‘Those ain’t Tic-Tacs, man,’ Striker said. ‘You’d better slow down a little.’ When Koda said nothing, Striker forced a small chuckle and continued the conversation. ‘Like I was saying, Chad, yesterday you and I got off on the wrong foot. But I got to admit, your Kardashian joke was a good one – I’ll be stealing that from you.’

Koda grinned for the first time. ‘It was a good one,’ he said.

‘Chris Rock level.’

Koda grinned, almost smugly.

Striker took another long sip of his coffee to give himself a moment to think. One moment Koda could remember nothing of the previous few days, the next he recalled the joke he had made to them in the alcove of his home.

Striker pulled out his notebook and went over things.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Since my partner seems to be taking a sabbatical, we might as well get started without her . . . This whole case is really strange; anyone can see that. Starts off with a victim down by the river – a woman who we now know was your ex-wife Sharise Owens.’

‘Common law,’ Koda stressed.

‘Granted, but still your ex. Next thing you know, a bomb goes off in your place and not only are you almost killed by the blast, but Owens is actually there with you. She dies in the process.’ He looked directly into Koda’s eyes. ‘Hell, if I didn’t know better, given the bad history you two share, I would have guessed it to be a murder-suicide.’

Koda blinked a couple of times, as if he had only now considered the optics of the situation. ‘I remember a little bit,’ he finally said.

Striker smiled. ‘Do tell.’

‘I came home and Sharise was already there. In my kitchen. Tied to a fuckin’ chair. I started walking towards her and . . . and then . . . well, nothing else is there. It’s all just one big blank.’

‘Concussion,’ Striker said. ‘Maybe it will come back to you later. But let’s forget about the actual explosion for now. Do you have any idea why someone would want to blow up your house in the first place?’

Koda’s expression went from one of weariness to that of tension. He wiped away some of the perspiration covering his brow. Cleared his throat. Drank some more coffee and then some water. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and sounded faraway.

‘I’ve been over that a million times today. And the answer is not a clue. I’ve had some pretty big real estate deals with some Hong Kong people over the last few years, and a couple of bad law suits as well. But nothing that should warrant this.’

‘Any of these business associates ever threaten you?’

Koda laughed. ‘The angry ones? All of them.’

‘With physical violence?’

Koda just shrugged. ‘Indirect shit.’

Striker wrote this information down in his notebook. ‘Forward me the names of the people in these law suits. I’ll need them.’ He flipped through the book. ‘What about Owens? Could this be somehow related more to her than to you?’