by Easton, Don
Jack waited another hour before driving through the parking lot as Laura used a tape recorder to obtain the license plates of half a dozen vehicles still left in the lot. Partway through the lot, Jack tossed an empty beer bottle out the car window. If anyone was watching, they would think they were partiers looking for action. As it turned out, none of the registrations gave any clue as to which one, if any, were being used by Varrick.
Surveillance over the weekend and the following few days did not yield any sign of Varrick. On Friday morning, Connie called Jack to tell him that she had a meeting with Public Prosecution Service of Canada and hoped to have a wiretap signed and running by the following day.
“What about phone tolls?” asked Jack. “Who has he been calling?”
“His parents and a few others that all look legit … like fast food takeout places. The only ones who have a criminal record are his parents, and that was ten years ago for drug trafficking.”
“I was afraid of that,” sighed Jack.
“So I’m doing all this work to get a wire on the phone for nothing.”
“The phone, yes, but if we can put him to a car we might be able to wire it or some other location where they might chat. Like I said, it is going to take time.”
Early Friday afternoon Jack and Laura were slouched in their car watching Headstones and eating submarine sandwiches when Jack stopped chewing to answer his BlackBerry. It was the grief counsellor from the hospital calling to give him the news he dreaded to hear.
“Do you know anything about neuroblastoma?” asked Phyllis.
“No, but it doesn’t sound good,” replied Jack. He repeated the word in his mind. Neuroblastoma … He felt like he had been whacked on the side of his head with a plank. He listened, guts churning, as Phyllis continued to talk. Why didn’t I keep track of the bastards? Faith has cancer. If only I —
“You still there?” asked Phyllis.
“Yes. Sorry. What do you know about it?”
“It is a cancer of the nerve cells and can occur anywhere in the body. In Faith’s case, it is in her nerve tissue alongside her spinal cord in her neck. There are no clear indications of what causes it.”
“There are in this case,” said Jack, harshly, then lowered his window for air. “What’s her prognosis?”
“Don’t know yet. A lot more tests will need to be done. Likely chemo.”
“The rest … what about Noah and Gabriel. The other kids …”
“Things look good for them so far. They’ll have to be retested every six months for the next few years. Jack, I’m sorry. Wish it was better news.”
“I better go see Gabriel,” said Jack.
“Uh, now is not the time.”
Probably hates my guts … and so she should …
“She’s still in denial … doing a lot of praying. For you to see her … well, from what you told me, it could evoke a lot of unwarranted anger. It wouldn’t help either of you. Leave her to me. Don’t worry, I’ll be in touch.”
“Jack!” interjected Laura. “It’s Varrick. Heading to a black pickup truck,” she said, without taking her eyes from the binoculars.
Chapter Six
Connie Crane skipped her lunch break to go to the Public Prosecution Service of Canada and meet with Bob, the prosecutor who had reviewed her application under Part VI of the Criminal Code for a wiretap intercept on Herman Varrick.
Connie made herself comfortable in a chair across from Bob’s desk, and after the usual niceties were exchanged, Connie gestured to her application on Bob’s desk and said, “Well?”
Bob grimanced and replied, “It’s pretty weak, I—”
“Come on, Bob,” interrupted Connie. “He was running a meth lab in the basement where the vic was found. Then he cleaned it out and took off.”
“I know,” replied Bob. “I did read it. Carefully, I might add.”
“Sorry,” sighed Connie. “I know it’s not you. What are the issues you’re worried about?”
“To start with, your affidavit says it wasn’t Varrick who rented it. That it was someone else using a fake identity. You also say that Varrick was frequently in the company of yet a third unidentified person.”
“These other two are who we want to identify,” persisted Connie.
“And you say the only hair you found doesn’t appear to match Varrick. There is nothing specific to indicate he had any involvement in the murder.”
“He was running a meth lab for Pete’s sake.”
“Your Part VI is for a homicide, not drugs.”
“You think I should rewrite it as a drug investigation?”
“No. There is no evidence to indicate he is still involved in the manufacture of drugs.”
“So what are you saying? I don’t have enough to get a wire?”
Bob paused for a moment and flipped through a couple of pages in the affidavit. He looked up and said, “Isn’t there anything else you could give me?”
Connie shook her head and replied, “Nothing yet. We’re doing surveillance, but so far it has been fruitless. We’re hoping to get more evidence once we identify the other two guys. Which I am hoping a wire will do. There is also the other problem. Varrick is scheduled to appear in court for his meth lab trial in April. If he gets slam-dunked then, we’ll really be left in the cold.”
Bob slowly nodded and replied, “Well … I said your affidavit was weak … but maybe not impossible.” He grinned and added, “Your victim was a priest. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a Catholic judge.”
“I’d appreciate you trying. Otherwise we’ve got nothing.”
“If we do get this signed, you better pray that you do get something within the next sixty days because I guarantee you won’t get an extension otherwise.” He looked sharply at Connie and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to wait and see what else you might dig up?”
Connie glanced at her cellphone and saw an incoming call from Jack. “Give me a sec,” she said apologetically to Bob.
“We’re on him,” said Jack. “Westbound on 99 in a black pickup.”
Connie smiled and turned to Bob and said, “No, I don’t want to wait. I want this son of a bitch!”
Connie got her wiretap order signed that afternoon. She immediately called Jack who told her that Varrick simply went to a bottle recycling depot and dropped off several dozen cases of empties, along with a few boxes of liquor bottles before going to a liquor store and restocking the booze supply at Headstones.
“If they’ve got him doing menial chores at Headstones when he is a cook for a meth lab, it is costing them money,” noted Jack. “They’re worried and are laying low.”
“How long do you think they’ll keep him on ice?”
“I’m surprised he isn’t back to work already,” replied Jack. “Although trained lab rats are valuable, they’re not club members and are still expendable. My guess is they’ll wait a week or two to make sure there is no heat before putting him back to work. Maybe they’re looking to rent a new place for a lab.”
“Hope so. The clock is running,” added Connie ruefully.
“Did you hear the news on Faith?”
“Who?”
“Gabriel’s kid … cancer.”
Connie paused to let out a sigh before asking, “How bad?”
The pause gave Jack time to feel the rage simmer through his veins — his tendons and muscles going taut. For a brief second he allowed himself to fantasize that his hands were around Varrick’s neck, choking the information out of him.
“Did you hear me?” asked Connie.
“I heard you,” sighed Jack. “It’s bad. Could be terminal but they don’t know yet.”
“I really, really want to nail these guys.”
“Trust me, we will catch them. Justice will be served,” he said coldly.
Connie’s emotions were in turmoil when she hung up. She was saddened over the news about Faith, but at the same time, knowing Jack’s reputation, she believed the culprits would somehow be identifi
ed. Identified, perhaps. But with what evidence? And Jack’s definition of justice … hope to God it is not Jack whom I have to testify against.
The next month dragged by without any progress. Varrick continued to do menial chores around Headstones. Occasionally other men helped him and Jack and Laura photographed any of them who were new faces. Connie showed the photos to Gabriel and Noah, but none were recognized.
Sixteen days after Faith’s cancer had been identified, she underwent surgery. Phyllis called Jack to let him know that the surgery was partially successful.
“Partially?” asked Jack.
“They got most of it, but some wrapped around her spinal cord had to be left. The doctors are optimistic that radiation will get what they missed.”
“Think it would be okay if I paid Gabriel and her children a visit?” asked Jack.
“Give her a little more time,” said Phyllis. “She put her house on the market last week and it has already been sold. There’s a quick possession date. She has a lot on her plate right now. Don’t worry, I think she is starting to accept and even forgive the men responsible.”
“Forgive!” stammered Jack.
“It’s her belief in the Bible. She’s not as angry as she was. It’s a good thing.”
After Jack hung up, he thought about what Phyllis had said. Forgive? I’ll never forgive! His knuckles, still sore, made him realize he had unconsciously clenched his fists at even the suggestion of forgiveness.
Chapter Seven
Another couple of weeks rolled by without identifying Varrick’s accomplices. Connie called for a meeting with Jack and Laura at their office. She got right to the point as soon as she walked through the door.
“Okay, Jack. What’s going on? The wire expires on April third! That’s in two weeks! After that, Varrick goes to trial for the meth lab. You said the bikers would have him back in business soon. You call this soon?”
“Sorry, Connie. In the past they would have.”
“Yeah? So what’s changed?” asked Connie, violently shaking a chair to straighten the rollers before shoving it closer to Jack’s desk and sitting down.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out, as well. To take this long … the bikers are afraid of something. Maybe they’re protecting someone. Someone a lot more valuable than Varrick.”
“So what are you telling me?”
Jack shrugged and said, “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Maybe the bikers are protecting that dirty narc you told me about,” suggested Connie.
“Don’t think so,” replied Jack. “Two years ago we had a good informant in Satans Wrath who warned us we had the dirty narc. The bikers didn’t slow down after the last arrests. I think they’re protecting someone else.”
“Your informant didn’t know the narc’s name?” asked Connie.
“No. The narc was recruited by a biker in the club who goes by the name of Pussy Paul. Runs lots of hookers and strip joints. We’re looking for someone new. Someone who connected with Satans Wrath within the last two years.”
“Speaking of the earlier labs,” said Laura, “we tried to locate the lab rats from the other six labs that were busted. One is an unsolved homicide in Vancouver. He was found tortured and dropped in an alley.”
“Who would do that to a guy connected with Satans Wrath?” asked Connie.
“Satans Wrath would,” replied Jack. “Maybe they thought he was an informant, or perhaps got caught with his fingers in the till.”
“What about the other lab rats?” asked Connie.
“They’ve disappeared, as well,” replied Laura.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’re likely running labs someplace else,” said Jack. “Makes you wonder how many other innocent people are breathing in fumes from something they aren’t even aware of.”
“Then how can you be so damned calm?” asked Connie, as she glared at Jack. “Think about Gabriel’s kid —”
“You don’t have to remind me about Faith,” said Jack, quietly. “I think about her every day. If I hadn’t busted Varrick, she wouldn’t be sitting in a hospital with her hair falling out.”
Connie looked at Jack and caught the sombre reflection in his tone. I was wrong to think he is calm — cold and calculating is more like it …
“Don’t you have any other leads except Varrick?” interjected Laura. “Seems like we are putting all of our eggs in one basket.”
Connie sighed as she picked up a pen and unconsciously started slapping the edge of the desk. Staring blankly down at the pen, she didn’t look up to reply. “Nope. I’ve tried to get a description from anyone in the neighbourhood about what these other two look like. Nobody had anything of value. Talked to neighbours, delivery people … nothing.”
“What about the winos?” asked Laura. “If they were hanging around they might have seen people coming and going.”
“Already tried,” replied Connie. “I identified seventeen and we located all but three so far.”
“Pretty good, considering most of them are homeless,” noted Laura.
“Tell me about it,” continued Connie. “I found one who was asked to leave by Father Brown. He said Father Brown was a nice guy and wasn’t mean about it. I think the wino, as much as his soggy, drunken brain would allow, did his best to help. Unfortunately, he couldn’t even remember what day or even what week he had been there. He only knew it was Father Brown in the photo because of the small birthmark on his forehead. He never saw anyone else connected to the house except when a kid came out and threw some garbage in the can.”
“Probably Noah,” said Jack.
“You used to have an informant in the Satans Wrath,” said Connie, as she looked up and tossed the pen down. “Can’t you get another one? Or maybe talk to whoever used to help you?”
“That person repaid the debt owed to me. His loyalties are back with the club. All we would be doing is exposing our interest in Varrick. As far as getting an informant goes, it is rare to get one in the club. Our chances of getting one in The Brotherhood would be good, providing we can find someone connected with Varrick that could help us.”
“So we keep doing what we’re doing?” asked Connie. “I feel like we’re spinning our wheels and going nowhere.”
“If the bikers were going to cut Varrick loose, they would have already done so. They plan on using him, but are being unusually cautious.”
“Hope you’re right.”
The morning of April 1 arrived and Jack and Laura were on surveillance at Headstones. When Varrick left in the usual black pickup, he started driving aimlessly around some of the side streets in White Rock.
“He’s doing heat checks!” said Laura.
“Something’s up,” replied Jack. “See if anyone is around to help us. No use following him around in the residential area, we’ll only get burned. If he doesn’t come out, we can start a search later to see where he’s parked. Let’s set up on 152nd Street. That’s the usual route for him to take if he’s heading out. See if anyone is available to give us a hand. Get them to set up on 148th and 16th Avenue, as well.”
Laura grabbed the police radio and a marked police unit pretended to work radar while watching for Varrick’s truck.
Twenty minutes later, Jack and Laura saw Varrick driving northbound on 152nd Street and they followed. Minutes later, a couple more cars from Drug Section answered the call for assistance and joined in on the surveillance. They weren’t needed. Varrick believed he had cleansed himself of any possible police surveillance and drove directly to a small strip mall in Port Coquitlam. He parked his truck and got in the passenger side of a white van. The surveillance team followed the van as it left the mall.
Jack radioed in the licence plate and the registered owner turned out to be a young woman who did not have a criminal record and lived in a house in Abbotsford.
“Anyone get a look at the driver?” asked Jack, as he drove several cars behind in traffic.
“Ten-four,” replie
d a female voice. “Late twenties, bull-dog neck, bald, and wearing a gold fertility horn around his neck. Thought those things went out in the seventies,” she muttered.
Jack smiled and said, “Is that you, Tina?”
“Ten-four.”
“I owe you one. You just turned a cold investigation into a hot one.”
“Hey, they don’t call me the Asian Heat for nothing,” replied Tina.
Jack chuckled. Tina was an undercover operative who was good at her job. She didn’t look like a cop and was someone who could walk right past a target without them getting suspicious.
“He sounds like the one in Gabriel’s basement who called himself John,” said Laura.
Jack nodded and smiled with satisfaction. “Get the camera ready.”
The van was followed to a small, older-style home and Jack got his first glimpse of the driver as both men walked up to the front door.
“Know him?” asked Laura.
Jack shook his head and said, “He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him yet.”
An elderly woman answered the door and the van driver introduced her to Varrick. She handed a key to the driver and closed the door. Both men walked around to the rear of the house.
“Another basement suite,” noted Laura.
“There’s an alley in the back … limited parking, want us to risk it?” radioed Tina.
“Negative,” replied Jack. “Don’t want to heat them up. Everyone keep their distance. There is a third guy that we still need to identify so keep your heads up.”
Seconds later, both targets returned to the van while Laura discreetly stood between two houses across the street and snapped pictures. The van returned to the strip mall and Varrick went back to his truck.
The surveillance team followed the van to an apartment building where it pulled into a secure underground parking lot. It was not known which suite he went to and there were no names posted on the intercom system at the front door.