Dead Ends

by Don Easton

  “Feelers?” asked Connie.

  “Ambassadors, if you will,” replied Jack.

  “A bit like a corporate takeover,” said Connie.

  “Exactly,” replied Jack. “The Brotherhood is penny ante in comparison to Satans Wrath. Extremely violent and stupid, but penny ante. Lots of young kids who lack conscience and think they’re invincible. Also naive and stupid enough to think that using a gun will give them status as a real gangster. In reality, they’re only cannon fodder for the real gangsters who are smart enough not to take stupid risks.”

  “In some aspects, that makes The Brotherhood more dangerous than Satans Wrath,” added Laura. “Getting stoned and spraying bullets around isn’t the bikers’ style.”

  “If The Brotherhood is comprised of morons, how come Satans Wrath hasn’t already taken over or kicked them out?” asked Connie.

  “Satans Wrath aren’t stupid. They’ve been learning the ropes for the last sixty years. They don’t want to risk openly associating with The Brotherhood during all these shootings. Too much police attention combined with a lack of discipline on the part of The Brotherhood. The bikers will sit back and go with the winning side once the wars are settled.”

  “More like control the winning side,” added Laura.

  “Definitely,” said Jack. “In the meantime, although the war is bad for business, it gives Satans Wrath a chance to appraise who they’ll want working for them in the future. They could easily take out the bosses of The Brotherhood, but as I said, they’re a cash cow. The Brotherhood has a lot of kids working for them. Kids dealing dope in schools, arcades, playgrounds, and everywhere else kids hang out. The Brotherhood is a good conduit for the bikers to control in order to make money. Let them take the risk while the bikers rake in the cash. Varrick was under the control of Satans Wrath and likely still is, but he could have been assigned to work with The Brotherhood. There has been a definite amalgamation with how they make meth. We have to presume that they are working together.”

  “Christ,” said Connie. “Nothing is ever simple. Why couldn’t I just once get a case where the wife comes home and shoots her husband for screwin’ around on him … then calls us to say she did it.” She waved her arms in the air and added, “All this shit with gangs, juveniles, The Brotherhood, Satans Wrath —”

  “Ah, come on, Connie,” said Jack, with a grin. “Don’t tell me you don’t like a challenge. I know you better than that.”

  “I really want to solve this,” replied Connie, sounding exasperated.

  “Us, too,” replied Jack, his voice becoming sombre. “If you saw the look on Gabriel’s face after the doctors told her what they were testing for … holding Faith in her lap …” Jack concentrated on taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling in an unsuccessful attempt to block the memory before continuing. “Believe me,” he said determinedly, “we will solve it.”

  “Well, you caught Varrick before,” said Connie. “Let’s catch him again. Any suggestions?”

  “We need to find him and identify who was with him. With the evidence you have so far, you know there is no chance you could convict. If you haul him in for questioning he won’t talk and all it would do is let him know we’re on to him. Once we find him, maybe you could get a wiretap. We’ll work together. Laura and I will liaison with Drug Section and the Biker Unit if the need arises. We still have some more reading to do. With The Brotherhood, it is going to take time to figure out who all the players are.”

  “I’ll keep a surveillance team on the house,” said Connie. “Maybe he’ll show up. Let’s see what another day brings.”

  It was ten o’clock at night when Jack arrived home and pulled into his parking space in the underground parking lot. He was glad to see that Natasha’s parking spot was still empty, but knew she would be home from work soon.

  Jack went to their apartment and returned a few minutes later with a toilet plunger. He was successful in that the plunger sucked the ding out of his car door, but as he walked back to the elevator, Natasha arrived.

  She got out of the car and kissed him, before gesturing to the toilet plunger. “I always thought your expression of you don’t catch sewer rats with church mice was what you said about your informants. I had no idea that you really were after sewer rats.”

  Jack sighed and said, “I used it take a dent out of the car door.”

  “Accident?” asked Natasha.

  “I punched it,” admitted Jack.

  “Did it help?”

  “No. Made me feel stupid.”

  “Bad day at the office, or did the door take a swing at you first?”

  “Hasn’t been a good day,” replied Jack.

  “Involving that family you brought to BCCH?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re after the sewer rats who lived in her basement.”

  Jack nodded.

  “Sounds like tonight we should have a glass of wine and unwind a little.”

  “Make it a bottle.”

  Natasha eyed Jack’s hand and said, “Break any bones?”

  “No, I haven’t caught them yet.”

  “I mean your hand, not —” She stopped when she saw Jack smile at her. “Do I need to worry?” she asked, convinced that Jack’s smile was not genuine.

  “I think I cracked a knuckle, but as far as the bad guys go, you don’t need to worry.”

  Natasha stared at him silently.

  “Hey, I’m smiling, aren’t I?” added Jack.

  “Yeah, and your upper lip looks a bit like a Frankfurter. It always does when you’re trying to pull one over on me.”

  Jack’s chuckle was genuine. “I love you, you know.”

  “I love you, too.” She eyed Jack’s hand again. Punching a car door was not his style. She gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and said, “Let’s go find that corkscrew … then we’ll talk … and don’t try to bullshit me or I’ll use that plunger on you.”

  “I could think of a nicer way to get a hickey,” replied Jack.

  “Hickey? Wasn’t what I had in mind. You would need a proctologist when I was done.”

  * * *

  It was seven o’clock Friday morning when Jack arrived back at Gabriel’s house with cleaning supplies. The blood was sprayed high enough up the back of the house that he needed to borrow a ladder from a neighbour. As he scrubbed the streams of dried blood off the aluminium siding he reflected on the violent, uncontrollable rage of the person who did the murder. This is one animal I will find …

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Connie returned to Jack and Laura’s office. Any optimism she had disappeared when they both gave her the thumbs-down signal.

  “How about you?” asked Jack.

  “Not a thing on the Varrick house. The parents went grocery shopping and to the liquor store and that was it.”

  “How about the crime scene?” asked Laura.

  Connie shook her head and said, “We canvassed the neighbourhood and there was nothing of interest.” She eyed Jack curiously and said, “I heard you were there this morning, making like a janitor.”

  Jack shrugged in response.

  “You should have asked me,” said Laura. “I would have helped.”

  “It was no big deal,” replied Jack. “I was awake early.” More like I hardly slept from grinding my teeth all night …

  “It was good of you,” said Connie. “Anyway, I’ve even taking to interviewing winos. I’ve talked to four of them so far. There’s a liquor store about a block away from Gabriel’s. I’m posting a member there every day for the next week. Also got Forensics collecting prints from empty wine bottles we’ve found in a vacant lot down the alley to identify others.”

  “Interviewing winos,” mused Jack. “I heard recruitment for your section was down, but I hadn’t realized how desperate you had become.”

  “Smartass,” replied Connie. “No, from what we’ve been told, there were at least a dozen different winos who used Gabriel’s yard to get out of the rain. I’
m going on a possible theory, with the way Father Brown was dressed, that he might have gone outside to chase some winos away and saw something he shouldn’t have. Then again, he might have seen one of the dopers doing something and went out to investigate.”

  “So you’re hoping to come up with a drunk as a witness,” said Jack. “Bet the courts will love that.”

  “Christ,” replied Connie. “The reason I’m telling you is to show how desperate I am. We need to find Varrick!”

  “If you’re that desperate, want me to try a quick UC call to his parents?” asked Jack.

  “If you could think of something that wouldn’t heat him up, go for it,” replied Connie.

  “I’ll think of something,” replied Jack. “Wait in the hall and close the door and make sure nobody walks in during the call.”

  Jack waited until Connie left and closed the office door before glancing at Laura and saying, “I thought it better that Connie not hear. Don’t want her to have to tell a judge and have the case thrown out by saying it put justice into disrepute.”

  “The lawyer act?” smiled Laura.

  Jack nodded as he thumbed through a file. “I have Varrick’s parents’ number … need to find out what lawyer is representing him on his drug charge.”

  “It’s Basil Westmount from the law firm of Manhattan, Westmount, and Wilson,” said Laura.

  Seconds later, Jack punched in a phone number on his cellphone. “Good afternoon, may I speak to Mister Herman Varrick please … oh, I see, you’re his mother,” he said. “Yes, I’m calling from Manhattan, Westmount, and Wilson.… Yes it is about his upcoming trial.… No, I’m sorry, his trial is still going ahead and it is imperative that we locate your son immediately.… I would call him, but the phone number we have is no longer in service.… Thank you, I would appreciate that …” Jack quickly jotted down a number and asked, “That is a cell number, is it?… We don’t need to talk to your son as much as we need to courier him some documentation. Could you confirm his current address?.… It’s called Headstones? Yes, I’ve heard of the place. I believe we have the address on file from a previous client. Thank you very much.… It is a transcript from his preliminary hearing.… He already has that? Then I am extremely sorry for having bothered you. Our secretary should have made a notation on the file. We won’t need to contact your son, then.”

  Jack hung up and winked at Laura before calling for Connie to come back in. When she did, he said, “It worked. I’ve got his cell number and address.”

  “Fantastic,” said Connie. “How did you do it?”

  “Pretended to be a friend looking for him,” said Jack

  “Man,” said Connie. “I never thought these guys would fall for that old line. This is great, I’ll find out who he’s been talking with.”

  I didn’t think they would fall for that either, thought Jack. He looked at Connie and said, “I wouldn’t get your hopes up on getting much in the way of phone tolls. He gave this number to his mother, so it’s his permanent number. He’ll be using disposable phones for the stuff we’re interested in. Cellphones that he’ll toss out every week or so.”

  Connie frowned and said, “Hope you’re wrong. What about his address?”

  “Familiar with a place out in White Rock the bikers have nicknamed Headstones?”

  “Nope,” replied Connie. “Must not have had any murders there.”

  “None reported,” replied Jack. “Headstones is a three-storey older house a couple of blocks back from the beach. It used to be a bed and breakfast place before it was bought by a close associate to Satans Wrath.”

  “More of a silent partnership,” added Laura.

  “It’s a party place for people they don’t necessarily trust enough to bring to their real clubhouse,” continued Jack. “Also a crash pad for some. The bikers nicknamed it Headstones.”

  “Odd name,” said Connie. “Sounds like a place where we should excavate the yard.”

  “You want another pig farm?” asked Jack.

  “Hell, no,” replied Connie, thinking of the killing ground of one of B.C.’s more notorious serial killers.

  “Relax, I don’t think the bikers are that stupid,” continued Jack. “It got its name from a couple of large rocks on each side of the entrance to the driveway. A lot of prospective club members or associates live there and run the place. It has about eight bedrooms and Varrick is staying in one of them.”

  “The place isn’t easy to watch,” cautioned Laura. “They’ve got people coming and going all the time and some are the type who pay attention to anything that looks like it could be surveillance. On top of that, the prospects often do a walk-about checking for heat. There is a place Jack and I found where you can watch if you use binoculars, but if you get any closer you’re liable to get burned.”

  “Suggestions?” asked Connie.

  “How about you apply for a wiretap on Varrick while Laura and I try to identify what he’s driving and who he is meeting,” replied Jack. “If you get a wire, maybe we’ll get lucky with a room or vehicle bug.”

  “He might be meeting his partners in Headstones,” said Connie.

  “Laura and I will photograph any new faces,” replied Jack. “We’ll pass the photos on to you and you can show Gabriel.”

  “And Noah,” added Laura.

  “Why don’t you show her?” asked Connie. “You know them better than I do.”

  “I was the one who busted Varrick last time, which caused him to move into her place. I don’t think she would appreciate me coming around.”

  “Don’t tell her that.”

  “I already did.”

  Connie stared at Jack without speaking.

  “It was the honest thing to do,” he shrugged.

  “You’re a hard guy to figure out sometimes,” muttered Connie. “But even if we get lucky and they pick out a photo, we’ll still need to put a real name to the face or faces. I agree it is the way to go, but I still think we will have more luck with a wire.”

  “A wire might help,” said Jack, “but we’re in this for the long haul. The good news is that he will continue. Getting arrested didn’t stop him last time.”

  “Last time he didn’t take part in murdering a priest,” said Connie. “It might cause him to change careers. If he goes straight, we may never figure out who his accomplices are.”

  “These guys don’t give a damn about who they kill,” replied Jack. “They may lay low for a few days to see if the heat is on, but as soon as the bikers think he’s cool, he’ll be put back to work. His expertise as a lab rat won’t be wasted for long. Too much money involved. When he starts up again we’ll find out who his running mates are.”

  “I’ve only got sixty days to run a wire,” warned Connie. “If we don’t get something substantial by then, I won’t be able to get a renewal.”

  “I’m aware of that,” replied Jack.

  “I don’t see any other options,” added Laura.

  Connie nodded in agreement.

  Connie and Laura looked silently at Jack.

  “Let’s get to work,” he said.

  * * *

  Jack and Laura found a place where they could park their car and use binoculars to watch the parking lot at Headstones. Several rooms on the second and third levels had lights going off and on during the evening. At three in the morning the last of the lights went out.

  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.