by Easton, Don
“Bet he used that to try and keep dry,” said Connie. “When the rest of the team gets here we’ll bring that in and print it for —”
The mournful cry of an animal in distress erupted briefly and went quiet.
“What the hell was that?” questioned Connie.
“That could be Winston,” said Natasha. “Melvin had a cat named Winston.”
“It sounded like it came from around here,” said Connie, walking over and gingerly lifting a corner of the sleeping bag. The sound erupted again. Louder and in more pain.
Jack, Natasha, and Connie bent down to look as Connie shone her flashlight inside the bag. Winston lay inside, his eyes blinking at the light. His head twisted and turned as he tried to get away, but his legs didn’t move.
“I’ll get him to a vet,” said Jack.
“His back and spinal cord are broken,” said Natasha. “He needs to be put down.”
“It’s only 4:30,” said Connie. “You won’t get a vet much before nine.”
Winston uttered another long low mournful sound, ending only when he sneezed and coughed up more blood.
“We think the victim was beaten with a bat,” said Connie. “Must have been when he was in his bag. Bet the cat got in the way.”
“Oh, God,” cried Natasha, standing up and returning to their car where she sat inside, holding her head in her hands and crying.
“Shit,” muttered Connie. “Tell her I’m sorry, will you? I thought as a doctor it wouldn’t affect her like this.”
“Melvin was sort of a special patient,” sighed Jack. “You’ll be here for a while. I’m going to take her home. We’ll fill you in on the details later.”
Connie watched as Jack got in the car and spoke with Natasha. Seconds later, he returned.
“Winston is in critical pain,” said Jack. “He needs to be put down. The sooner the better.”
“He howls all the more when I move him,” replied Connie.
“I know. I think you should shoot him now.”
“Me? Forget that! I’m not doing it. Besides, someone will hear the noise and call nine-one-one.”
Jack looked back at Natasha and took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I’ll do it,” he muttered.
“This is a crime scene! You can’t just go and shoot —”
“Explain that to Natasha. Besides, you’ll want Winston’s body for DNA. Maybe find his fur on the killer. Don’t worry, I won’t screw anything up.”
Connie watched as Jack retrieved a piece of cardboard and an empty plastic litre pop bottle from the dumpster. Moments later he eased Winston out of the sleeping bag and onto the cardboard and carefully dragged him over beside the wooden hydro pole.
He stood silently and looked at Natasha. She stared back for a moment before nodding.
Jack looked down at Winston and said, “I’m sorry, little guy. I really am.” He took out his 9 mm and shoved the barrel into the empty bottle and knelt down, lining up Winston’s head and using the wooden hydro pole as a backdrop.
Winston sniffed the bottom of the plastic bottle and looked at Jack. Oh, don’t do that … It’s as if you trust me, like you think I am going to help you. Goddamn it …
The bottle muffled the sound of the explosion, but it was still loud enough to cause Natasha to jerk and once more cover her face with her hands.
“I’ll take it from here,” said Connie, quietly. Jack didn’t reply and she saw him close his eyes briefly.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No, I’m not okay. I feel sick about what I just did.”
“It was the right thing.”
“What happened to Melvin and what happened to Winston was not the right thing,” replied Jack, before going back to his car.
Neither Jack nor Natasha spoke until they returned to their apartment and parked the car.
“Somebody is going to pay for this,” said Jack. His voice was almost a whisper, but his intention was clear.
It was 10:30 when Rose arrived at work. Her jaw was still frozen from an early-morning dental appointment and she was taking off her jacket as Jack entered her office.
“There was a homicide last night. An indigent person by the name of Melvin Montgomery. He was kidnapped from downtown Vancouver, tied in duct tape, and murdered in a park out in Coquitlam. I’d like to poke my nose into it a little bit.”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Sorry. Good morning. I got your message that you would be late. How’re your teeth?”
“The ache is gone. Turns out I’ll need a root canal. So, you were saying an indigent person was kidnapped and murdered. Odd. What group do you think is behind it and why?”
“Well … to be perfectly honest, I —”
“I suggest you always be perfectly honest with me. Why are you interested in it?”
Jack paused, and said, “The victim was known to my wife. She’s a doctor and had been treating him. They found a prescription on the body. Corporal Connie Crane is the lead investigator. She called Natasha at 3:30 this morning.” Jack told her what had transpired.
“Why kidnap a homeless person and drive him all the way out there to kill him?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Melvin even had a garbage bag over his head. Connie said the weapon was a cheap Saturday night special they found at the scene. Nothing makes much sense at the moment. Maybe the victim was in line to inherit some money. So far, it doesn’t look like it.”
“Doesn’t sound like it would fit our mandate.”
“It likely doesn’t.”
“But you would like to stick your nose into it regardless? More of a favour to your wife?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Rose was quiet for a moment before asking, “Have they traced the gun?”
“I called a few minutes ago and spoke to another investigator by the name of Dallas. He said it was made in the U.S. and owned by an elderly man in Georgia. He died of old age four years ago and his property was turned over to his son. The son said he found a second handgun purchased by his dad, but not the first one. It was never reported stolen and the family has a solid reputation in the community.”
“So, how did it end up in Canada?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I-HIT sent it to the lab to see if it has been involved in any other cases. It will take a week or two before we find out. Longer yet for the U.S.”
Rose nodded and said, “After all the other cases you have been involved with, this seems rather mundane.”
Jack shrugged. “Yesterday you told me if I ever needed a break, to let you know. Maybe this is it.”
“Do you think I-HIT would mind having you poke around?”
Jack sighed and said, “Connie might not like it. CC is good, but our paths have crossed before and she never seemed overly appreciative of the methods I used.”
“Isaac spoke to me about those cases. Perhaps Corporal Crane would have been more appreciative if you had left her someone to take to court, rather than someone hauled off in a body bag.”
“That —”
“I know. Was a coincidence.”
“Exactly,” said Jack, feeling uneasy.
“Does the victim have any personal relationship with anyone you know, other than being treated by your wife on a professional basis?”
“No. My wife took it hard … losing a patient. She felt sorry for him, but that’s it.”
“Well, as you obviously know, gun smuggling into Canada is a top concern. The seizure of the weapons that you and Laura were responsible for over the weekend illustrates the need for our involvement. Would you be content to limit your field of investigation to the gun for the moment and let I-HIT handle everything else? Until such time, of course, that circumstances or information indicates otherwise?”
“Definitely,” said Jack, with a smile. “Do you think you can convince the powers that be that a Saturday night special falls in our mandate?”
“Leave that to me. Do you know Connie Cra
ne’s boss? What is he or she like?”
“It’s Staff Sergeant Randy Otto. In a nutshell, I’ll tell you what I know. He’s a good guy. Very experienced policeman. Cares about his people … but is also the type to see the big picture. The only bad thing I can say about him is he prefers Scotch over martinis and demands that the Scotch not be pedophilic.”
“Pedophilic Scotch?”
“Has to be well-aged,” replied Jack with a grin.
“Sounds like you know him well.”
“Got to know him over the murder of a Vietnamese girl. I really respect him.”
“I’ll give him a call first, then mention it to the brass after. It would also be helpful if you could find out the proper description of the pistol. I doubt that the brass would know the difference between an Uzi and a wobbly Webley, but describing it as a ‘Saturday night special’ won’t exactly impress them.”
“I already asked. It’s a 9 mm six-shot semi-automatic made by Bryco Arms in the U.S. Bryco used to be well known for making the most Saturday night specials used by criminals. They sold for under fifty bucks. A lawsuit in 2003 finally put them out of business.”
“Good. That sounds better. So we’ve got a weapon from a notorious gun manufacturer in the U.S. catering to criminals, and now has been used to commit a murder in Canada. Don’t worry, I won’t have any trouble pitching it. You get any flack, direct it my way.”
“Thanks, Rose. I appreciate this.”
“No problem.”
Jack was leaving when Rose said, “Jack!” She waited until he turned to face her before lowering her voice and saying, “If you solve it, I’d appreciate it if the bad guy makes it to trial.”
Jack nodded quietly and left.
Two hours later, Jack and Laura received a visit to their office from Connie Crane.
“Okay, Jack! What the hell gives?” she shouted as she strode in.
“Hi, CC. Haven’t you gone to bed yet?” replied Jack.
“Don’t give me that shit! I talked to Dallas. Why are you sticking your face into my homicide?”
“Because I told him to,” said Rose, walking in behind her.
Jack quickly made introductions and CC cast a suspicious glance at Jack before turning to Rose and saying, “Why? What business is it of yours?”
“International gun smuggling,” replied Rose.
“International gun smuggling!” replied CC. “Jesus, this is just kids! Not organized crime!”
“Kids?” asked Jack.
“Yeah, we found a footprint made by the perp. Not clear enough to match to a shoe, but from the size of it, we think it was a young teenager. We’ve already got the school liaison officers checking out the youth gangs.”
“The gun was left at the scene,” said Jack.
“So what?” replied CC.
“Most kids would value a handgun. Dropping it at the scene is something a pro would do.”
“A pro? That’s a laugh. Sounds like you need some sleep. This is just some kids who used a cheap pistol to whack a wino. A thrill kill, that’s all.”
“A thrill kill?” replied Jack. “Why drive him all the way out there for that? Except for the victim, the hit matches a lot of organized crime type hits.”
“Organized crime! Get off it! This isn’t The Sopranos! I don’t see what business it —”
“Cool the attitude,” said Rose quietly. “We are all on the same team. Gun smuggling from the U.S. into Canada is a major concern. Perhaps you aren’t aware of it, but our office was instrumental in seizing several automatic weapons last weekend.”
CC paused and said, “Sorry. And yes, I’m aware of that case. Randy and I talked to Mad Dog about it after he was arrested.” She glanced at Jack and Laura and added, “Good going, by the way.” She turned to Rose and said, “But this is different. No Mac-10s and Uzis here.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Rose. “But if it is a juvenile gang, let’s put a stop to them before they do become The Sopranos. I really don’t see what the problem is.”
CC eyed Jack suspiciously. With you, there is always a problem.
“Our office will concentrate on following the trail of the gun and your office can handle everything else,” continued Rose.
“Okay,” sighed CC. “You work on the gun. Good luck. I think you’ll find it to be a dead end, but if you do discover something, I expect to be notified immediately.”
“Naturally,” replied Jack. “By the way, Dallas told me Melvin had a clear garbage bag over his head and upper torso. Kind of unusual.”
CC pulled up a chair to sit in while Rose perched on the corner of Jack’s desk.
“Kids watch a lot of CSI these days,” replied CC. “Maybe they thought it would stop us from finding any DNA in their van.”
“Van?” asked Rose.
“No witnesses to anything, or tire tracks. We’re guessing he was hauled out of a van by the way his heels were dragged in the parking lot.”
“Why would anyone kill Melvin?” asked Laura.
“Kids … no conscience,” replied CC. “Probably their way of getting an adrenaline rush.”
“You seem certain that it was kids,” said Jack.
“We’re checking into the possibility that it was someone who knew him, but it doesn’t look like it. The cheap pistol found at the scene was sold to some guy in the States who didn’t have a record and has since died of old age. I meant it when I said good luck on finding anything out about it.”
“We’ll give the gun a shot,” replied Jack.
“I’m so tired, I actually think that is funny,” said CC. “But I’m sure we’ll discover the murder is connected with a youth gang. Kids won’t keep it a secret for long. Eventually somebody will talk.”
“Yes, or eventually someone else will be murdered,” suggested Jack.
“Yeah, well, there is always that possibility,” said CC, getting up to leave. “Nice to have met you, Rose. Sorry if I sounded off before. I haven’t had much sleep.”
Jack followed her into the hallway and said, “Listen, CC. I don’t have any intention of looking over your shoulder. I only want to help out a bit.”
“Help out a bit? Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Can you blame me for being a little paranoid? Last night I find Natasha’s name on the victim. An hour later I watch you kill a cat at the crime scene. Speaking of which, that really shook you up, didn’t it?”
“It bothered me,” admitted Jack.
“I know. You were shaking afterwards.” Connie shook her head and said, “You’re a hard guy to figure out sometimes. Which is why I’m not exactly ecstatic that you’ll be part of the investigation. I’ve been down this street before and it wasn’t pretty.”
“This is different. All I want to do is lend a hand. If I can trace the gun it might help.”
“So you don’t know Melvin Montgomery? Never met him?”
“No. He was only a friend of my wife.”
“A friend?”
“I mean, patient,” Jack hastened to say.
CC gave Jack a hard look. Oh, fuck.
10
The next week drifted past with Jack and Laura getting bits and pieces of the information they sought through the police in Georgia in an attempt to track the pistol. There wasn’t much. They learned that the gun was bought new eleven years ago by a man who lived in Savannah Beach, Georgia. The man had no criminal record and was sixty-four years old when he bought the gun. Records showed he bought a second handgun two years later — a Smith & Wesson revolver.
The revolver was now owned by the man’s son and he was interviewed by the police. The police learned his mother died of ovarian cancer when his father was sixty-seven. Four years ago his father died of a heart attack and the son inherited all of his father’s belongings. The son said he only found the Smith & Wesson in his dad’s belongings and had no idea what happened to the other pistol. The police said the family was respected in the community and they believed the son was telling the truth.
; “What do you think?” asked Jack when Laura finished reading the report they had received from Georgia.
“Doesn’t look good,” replied Laura. “I wonder what prompted him to wait until he was sixty-four to buy a gun? Bet his house was broken into,” she added.
Jack shook his head. “No, I checked. He lived there all of his life. No reported break-ins before or after his gun purchases.”
“Joined a gun club?” suggested Laura.
“Not that, either. I do have another theory.”
“Which is?”
“He bought it shortly before turning sixty-five. What do a lot of people do when they turn sixty-five?”
“Retire, buy the biggest car they can find, and drive it slowly up and down the street in busy traffic.”
“Exactly!” replied Jack.
“You mean I’m right? What’s that got to do with it?”
“They retire and travel. They’re Americans. Think about it. Remember that motto from an old TV Western? ‘Have gun, will travel’!”
“Guess I’m not that old, but I get your point. And when he was sixty-six he bought a second gun because —”
“He lost his first one or it was stolen. But why didn’t he report it?”
“Because he brought it someplace where he wasn’t allowed to bring it?”
“That’s my guess. I’m going to call the son myself.”
“Today’s the fourth of July. American Independence Day. He might be home.”
Laura listened as Jack dialed and then spoke.
“Yes, sir. That’s right. A Mountie from Canada.… Yes, I know the police spoke with you … no, actually I’ve never ridden a horse … yes, I’m a real Mountie. … Thank you, I like to think my English is pretty good, too. It is mostly only one province, what you would call a state, that speaks French.… Um, about seventy Fahrenheit right now … no, I’m not spoofing you …”
Laura watched as the conversation continued and listened to Jack when he asked the questions he wanted answered.
“A motor home, did they? To Niagara Falls, Canada, in early September … ten years ago.” Jack smiled and gave Laura the thumbs-up sign. “I see, well, that is unfortunate. I hope it didn’t ruin the rest of their holiday.”