by Don Easton
At the conclusion to the service, Jack, Natasha, and the O’Reillys walked down the street toward their cars. Jack’s cellphone vibrated and he answered.
“Oh, I say, ol’ chap, who have I reached here?”
“Jack Taggart.”
“Dreadfully sorry, I think I have the wrong number.”
Jack hung up and saw Holly approaching. She was pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair and Jenny was walking beside her. She gestured for Jack to wait.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. “I appreciated seeing at least one face in the crowd that I recognized.”
Jack introduced Holly and Jenny to Natasha, Danny, and Susan.
Holly looked at the elderly woman and said, “This is Jack’s mom. Mom, this is...” She stopped, not knowing what to say.
Jack was taken aback for a moment as the realization sunk in, then he stuck out his hand and said, “You’re Jack Taggart’s mother...”
She politely took his hand and tearfully said, “George couldn’t be here today. He’s too sick, you know. I must get back to him.”
“I understand,” said Jack.
“I think we should go,” said Holly. “Thanks again for coming. Thanks to all of you.”
As Holly wheeled Mrs. Taggart away, Jack heard her ask, “Who was that, dearie? You didn’t tell me his name.”
Jack felt a flood of emotion at Holly’s response. It made him feel better but also caused him to bite the end of his tongue to keep from crying.
“A friend of the family, Mom. Just a friend.” Natasha kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “Guess you were right, coming here.”
Jack’s cellphone vibrated again.
“Sorry, have I dialled the same wrong number again?”
“You have,” replied Jack, and hung up. He then walked Natasha over to her car so that she could drive to work.
“Jack!” Susan yelled. “Why don’t you come to our place now? I’ll make sandwiches for lunch and you can stay for dinner. We’re having a roast with Yorkshire pudding. There will be lots.”
Jack’s reply was interrupted by a car horn. He saw that the driver had protested his annoyance at being cut off when a green van with tinted windows pulled out from the curb in front of him. A fist, with the middle finger pointing upward, briefly extended out the van window.
Jack accepted Susan’s invitation before kissing Natasha goodbye and walking back to his own car.
Albert Dawson stood beside the bed and brushed the hair back from his wife’s face. At eighty-six years of age, Esther was two years younger than her husband. She couldn’t ignore the pain in her hip any longer and reluctantly decided to follow the doctor’s advice and stay off it for a few days. It was almost noon and the warm sun coming through the window added to her dismay.
Albert saw the frustration in her face. “Won’t be long, Essie, and you’ll be up and about. I’ll make you some soup and tea when I come back. Then I’ll read to you.”
“Take your time. I’ll entertain the mailman while you’re gone,” she replied, sounding gruff.
Albert gave his wife a look of loving devotion brought on by sixty-seven years of marriage.
Esther stared back. She was legally blind and could not see his face, but she remembered the look well and sensed it. She imagined it more as his warm hand squeezed her shoulder and in the gentle kiss that followed. Albert then stood upright, using his cane to steady his balance.
In 1944, Albert had been a rear gunner in a Lancaster flying over Germany. He was smaller and thinner than most men, which suited his cramped quarters in the Lancaster just fine. Unfortunately his position also caused him to receive a fist-sized piece of shrapnel to his knee. Pain was something he had long learned to live with.
“Mailman, aye! If he’s here when I get back I’ll kick his ass.”
Essie chuckled as Albert left the room.
Moments later, Albert carefully locked the door to the house and headed down the street.
The mall was only two blocks from their house, but Albert was the sociable type. What would have been a quick stop at an ATM and a drug store for most people took him considerably longer. It was an hour before he returned home and stepped inside.
“Essie! What’s this mail bag doing in the living room?” he yelled.
“Quick, my husband’s home! Hide under the bed!” came her staged whisper from the bedroom.
Albert’s eyes twinkled as he was about to reply, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was a man with a knife.
chapter nine
Jack was glad that Natasha was off for the weekend. They spent it together, trying out a few new recipes that they paired with an appropriate wine. It gave them a chance to talk and unwind a little. For a brief period of time, Jack’s brain overruled his heart and told him that the funeral was linked to him in name only.
By Monday morning, Jack was feeling somewhat refreshed and was waiting when Louie arrived at work.
“You’re early,” commented Louie, hanging up his jacket on a hook behind the door. “How did the funeral go on Friday?”
“It went,” Jack replied, then paused and asked, “Molen ... is it set?”
“Told you I would look after it. I did. He’ll get the fake report this morning. Anti-Corruption is handling the investigation. How do you feel about the meeting with Isaac last Thursday?”
“It was okay. I agree with the game plan for Molen, but we need to tread carefully.”
Louie looked at Jack and quietly replied, “I think you need to tread very carefully.”
Connie Crane didn’t arrive at work until almost noon. She had worked all weekend. The murder of an elderly war veteran had enraged her. She knew she might as well work because she was too angry to sleep.
The media clamoured for every ugly detail they could learn. Connie was generous with what she gave them. The details would sicken the public. Anyone with a shred of humanity who knew anything should call. She was right. One tipster was not satisfied to talk to someone handling the tip line. She wanted to talk to the investigator in charge.
Connie took the call and listened to the woman. She sounded like she smoked six packs a day.
“Listen, I’m just an addict,” she said. “I know nobody will believe me, but...”
Connie rolled her eyes. Crack whore! You’re right. I’m busy; let’s get to the point. She interrupted and said, “How much money are you looking to be paid? I don’t work drugs. Not sure what a rock sells for these days.”
“Listen, bitch! I don’t want no money for this! Just because I’m a fuckin’ addict don’t mean I don’t have a conscience! I’m also dying of fucking throat cancer so I really don’t need this extra crap. If you ain’t interested in me telling you who did it, then I’ll hang up!”
“Don’t do that,” said Connie. “Please. I’m sorry. You’re right. I haven’t slept all weekend and I’m feeling grumpy. What do you have to tell me?”
Connie hastily scribbled notes as the tipster talked. Is this some hooker with a grudge against her pimp — or someone else? She took the details and handed them to a colleague to check out. Wasn’t much to go on. Just a nickname: Spider. The tipster said he hung out at a skid-row bar on East Hastings called the Black Water. A long way from where Essie fell out of bed, crawled over to her husband, and felt his gurgling windpipe. Then heard a man laugh and felt him rip the pendant off her neck...
Connie saw a sealed envelope addressed to her at the office. She opened it and read the typed letter. It was about another murder. Details of how Holly’s husband was murdered, including hold-back information that had never been revealed to the media. It talked about Jack Taggart and how people associated with him would soon be dying, along with acquaintances of other organized crime investigators. She carefully placed the letter down on her desk and reached for her phone.
The meeting was held in the boardroom and included Isaac, Louie, Jack, Danny, Connie, and several I-HIT investigators, including Randy Otto.
&
nbsp; Jack heard what Connie had to say and briefly closed his eyes as a corner of his brain said I told you so! Holly’s husband ... Charlie ... because of you.
“Sir,” said Louie. “If Jack is transferred, this threat will only perpetuate. We’re dealing with a terrorist. It will only get worse if we capitulate.”
Isaac didn’t respond.
“The note warns anyone working in Intelligence,” said Jack. He paused to take a deep breath, then continued, “With the number of people in our office, there’s no way we could protect everyone, let alone their families and friends. Even if we did, it would effectively shut down our office. We have to continue working the way we are.”
“I agree,” said Isaac, “but I want you in particular to keep an extremely low profile until we solve this matter.”
Jack knew he would not be able to convince Isaac otherwise so said, “Yes, sir. I agree that would be prudent. The note indicates that the victim was killed simply for having my name. That doesn’t make sense. We’re dealing with someone whose ego is so big that they simply won’t admit it was a mistake.”
“I agree,” said Isaac, “and someone with an ego like that will likely try to carry through with his threat in order to authenticate this letter.”
“Sir, it goes without saying,” said Randy, “that I have every person in my office working on this.”
“Good. Don’t worry about the overtime. Consider it approved.”
Jack thought for a moment and then glanced at Danny and said, “Maybe I should go solo for a while.”
Danny shook his head and said, “I don’t scare that easy. Besides, as you said, the note threatens our whole office. We would have to either shut the whole office down or stay inside and play solitaire — exactly what this person wants.”
“Who do you suspect is behind this?” asked Isaac.
“Not Satans Wrath,” said Jack, wondering if he had blurted that out too soon.
“What other crime families have you been actively pursuing?” asked Randy.
“I’ve been working entirely on Satans Wrath.”
“If you believe they are not involved with this ... threat,” said Isaac, “who do you propose as an alternate suspect, then?”
Jack grimaced. His answer was not something that Isaac would like to hear. “I don’t know, sir.”
When the meeting was over, Jack and Danny returned to their office.
“Forget the low profile,” said Jack. “Holly’s husband was definitely murdered because of me. This just made it personal! Not to mention, we’ve got two shiploads of cocaine due any day. This isn’t the time for low profile!” Jack grabbed his jacket.
“Where we going?” asked Danny.
Jack shook his head. “I’m going alone to see Holly. Let her know that I am to blame. I’ll be back after lunch.”
Staff Sergeant Legg called Isaac’s secretary, who transferred his call.
“Hello, Harry. What’s up?”
“Just heard from my people, sir. Constable Molen is in a coffee shop right now with Lawrence Leitch’s secretary. He just handed her an envelope.”
“It would appear that Corporal Taggart was correct in his assumption,” replied Isaac. “Frankly, I’m a little surprised.”
“Why is that, sir?”
“I was in a meeting with him this morning. He was almost protective of Satans Wrath. Tried to assure me they had nothing to do with a threat the office has received. I really would like to find out what Taggart is all about.”
“The photos have been passed on to our liaison officer in Mexico City, sir. We should have an answer fairly soon.”
“Excellent. Let me know as soon as you hear from the LO.”
“Yes, sir. As for now, I’ll have my people follow the envelope that Molen handed over. I’ll notify you as soon as anything develops in that area as well.”
“Holly doesn’t live here anymore,” said the landlord. “Who are you?”
Jack showed the man his police identification and was relieved that he didn’t notice his name.
“She couldn’t hack staying here after what happened. Can’t say I blame her. Didn’t mind that she didn’t give me thirty days’ notice. Feel bad about keeping her damage deposit, but the damage to the carpet wasn’t my fault.”
Jack obtained Holly’s new address and then asked, “How much was her deposit?”
“Half a month’s rent. Four-seventy-five.”
After stopping at a bank, Jack met with Holly, who was living in a one-bedroom apartment just two blocks from her previous address.
Jack was invited inside. He saw Jenny sitting on the sofa watching television with her thumb in her mouth. Holly pulled it out as she walked past and then sat at the kitchen table with Jack. Jenny immediately put her thumb back in.
“She quit doing that two years ago,” said Holly. “Just started again after...” Her voice trailed off and she looked around the apartment and said, “I know it’s not much, but it’s close to Jenny’s daycare and I can still walk to work.”
Jack leaned across the table and squeezed the top of her hand and said, “It’s only been a week. Don’t you think you should take some more time off?”
Holly pulled her hand away. “I can’t afford to. Sitting around doesn’t help. Keeping busy seems to. Between driving back and forth to visit Charlie, looking after Jenny, and going to work, I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself.”
Jack swallowed, and then said, “Our office received an anonymous letter this morning. It looks like your husband was murdered by mistake. It should have been me.” Jack knew his voice sounded shaky. He put his palms down on the kitchen table in an effort to stop himself from trembling.
Holly just looked at him and didn’t speak.
“Did you hear me?” asked Jack.
“Yes,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. “It wasn’t something I didn’t know. My husband was a good man. It wasn’t a robbery. It had to be you. I’m glad that you know it too. Maybe now you’ll find out who did it.”
Jack paused and glanced at Jenny for a moment before turning his attention back to Holly. “I think I knew it the first night I met you. I could see you were decent people, but it ... it was ... I didn’t want to admit that I was responsible.”
Holly stared at him as she asked, “What did the letter say? Why would someone commit murder and then write to the police? Are they thinking of confessing?”
“No. They indicated that if our office keeps doing our job, then other police officers or people they love or know will be murdered. I work on an intelligence unit for organized crime. There are lots of potential groups of suspects.”
“You mean to say that the people who murdered my husband are also threatening the police?”
“Exactly.”
“They must be insane! How do they expect to get away with that?”
“If I have anything to do with it, they won’t.”
“Quite a few people in your office?”
“Quite a few.”
“All with different names, I suppose. Like Smith, Adams, Jones, or whatever.”
“Not exactly but ... what are you getting at?”
“That enough people in Vancouver share names with people you work with that it would be ludicrous to try and protect them all. You’re not to blame for what happened to my family. Do you know that there are at least a half-dozen J. Taggarts listed in the phone book in the lower mainland? Except for you, mine might have been the only Jack.”
“I’m not listed in the phone book.”
Holly paused and then said, “That figures. But you see what I mean. Taggart isn’t even that common of a name.”
“Maybe that was the problem.”
“Maybe.” Holly reached across the table and patted Jack’s hand. “I admit that a few days ago I felt like smashing you in the face. Especially when I found out about Charlie. I know it was really mean of me to call you to the hospital that day.”
“It’s okay. I wanted to know.”
>
“But the way I told you ... that must have been awful.”
“Don’t worry about me. I understand your anger.”
“It wasn’t just you. I have moments where I feel angry at the whole world. That day you just happened to be a convenient target to lash out at. In my heart I know it’s not your fault.”
Funny, in my heart I think it is my fault...
“What I guess I’m trying to say is that I’m not blaming you. I just want you to catch them.”
Jack felt like some of his sorrow had been lifted, but it didn’t ease his stress — nor his own anger. He put his other hand on top of hers and said, “Thank you. I promise ... I will get them.”
Jack left the apartment after promising Holly he would keep her informed as best he could. She assured him that she would call if she needed help and thanked him for delivering the envelope from her previous landlord.
“Something to do with it being covered by insurance,” said Jack.
“Hey, Connie, that name you asked me to check — Spider — got something on him.”
Connie took the report and saw that it was an Intelligence report submitted last year by Jack Taggart. It described an individual he identified only as Spider who was a low-level speed dealer in the Black Water Hotel. Jesus Christ! Did Taggart know the war vet?
Jack had just arrived back at his office when Connie entered.
“You hear the news about the war vet murdered on Friday?” asked Connie.
“Heard about it on the news.”
“Albert Dawson. His wife’s name is Essie. Do you know them?”
“No. Why?”
“I’ll tell you why. We’re approaching close to a hundred murders a year in the lower mainland. Do you know how many murders last year took place at the front door when the victim had just arrived home?”
“No.”
“None. Last week, in a period of five days, we’ve had two.”
“What’s it got to do with me?”
“You’re connected to both murders!”