Page 41 of A Life Betrayed

“I can’t do anything until they schedule his bail hearing, and that won’t be until tomorrow at the earliest. The judges don’t work weekends.”

“They can’t hold him that long without a hearing,” Rayan protested, trying not to imagine how Mathias had spent the past few days.

“I suspect that’s why they timed it the way they did. This has got the Feds written all over it—the paperwork is a mess, deliberately complex to drag out the process. Has Beauvais got some heat on him?”

“The RCMP have an investigation open.”

Dubois sucked his teeth. “Well, there you have it. The charges themselves aren’t overly concerning, but they’re bucking procedure—that’s for sure. Wanting to send a message. I’ll bet the bail’s set high too. Might be hard to meet.”

“I’ll meet it,” Rayan said.

“All right, then. I’ll head in first thing in the morning and see what I can do.”

Rayan stood and raked his eyes across the darkened apartment. He felt powerless stuck within the confines of its fourwalls. No longer able to do anything to help Mathias, he could only sit tight and wait.

Mathias spent the first night in the holding room before being moved to a small single cell the following morning. Only then were the handcuffs removed. His wrists stung where the metal had cut into his skin over the course of a long sleepless night. Still, he was not permitted a phone call. Twice a day, a metal tray of food was pushed in through a slot in the door, which he barely touched. While his hunger had all but dissipated, he was desperate for a cigarette. The need gnawed at him with a ferocity that made his fingers itch.

After two more nights, Mathias was once again cuffed and escorted by an unnamed officer to one of the station’s interrogation rooms. He had a crick in his neck from sleeping upright against the wall. There was no way he was getting near the discolored mattress that lay across the rusted bed frame in the corner of the cell.

He wanted nothing more than a hot shower to wash the filth off him. It hung in the air and covered every surface, a feculence that permeated every pore. The room was bare except for a table and two chairs. He was led to a chair and instructed to sit.

Several moments later, Allen appeared at the door, her mouth pulling into a smirk when she saw him. “Comfy?”

The woman’s face conjured a word in Mathias’s head, as though there existed a flashcard with her image on one side and the letters CUNT on the other. “The kind of hospitality I’d expect from your kind,” he retorted.

“Now it’s my turn to be intimidating,” she said, sitting down across from him and reaching over to activate the switch on the recording device in the center of the table.

“That’ll be hard for you to pull off.”

“I thought a couple nights in the cells would’ve taken the wind out of your sails.”

“Then you don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Well, then, tell me, Mathias. What are you all about?”

He gave a short laugh. It was ridiculous, like some surreal job interview. He stared back at her, silent.

Allen continued, unfazed. “We’re going to take someone down, whether it’s you or Bianchi or one of your other friends on the council. My advice? Keep an eye out for yourself. There are some very generous deals on the table, provided you cooperate.”

“You really haven’t done your homework,” he said scornfully. “You think I’ll roll over for a plea? I’d sooner chew through my tongue.”

“That kind of blind loyalty won’t save you from prison.”

The thought of returning to that filthy cell brought back the crushing darkness of the past few days. Mathias had been forced to use every trick in his arsenal to stop himself from being pushed to the brink. “I want my phone call.”

“So you can contact some smarmy lawyer and try to wiggle your way out of this?”

“I’m well within my rights to do so.”

“Rights?” she jeered. “Did you think about rights when you decided to break the law?”

“Did you?” he said, raising his shackled wrists, which were an angry red from having been rubbed raw. “I’ve seen the arrest warrant, and there’s not a concrete thing on there. But this, on the other hand, is pretty compelling evidence.”

The woman’s smug look disappeared.

“You’re not fooling anyone with your schoolgirl French,” Mathias said, mimicking the lilt of her accent on the last word, like an American on holiday. “If you were from here, you’d knowQuebec has a soft spot for the less enfranchised—the squatter over the landlord, the accused over the prosecutor. You think taking a hard line will get results? That may have worked on your other cases—and I’ve done my reading. I know all about your other cases. But here, it will get you nowhere.”

The door opened, and a rush of sound flooded the tiny room. Grayson Dubois strode in with two flustered-looking cops following at his heels.

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