by Don Easton
Natasha winced and briefly closed her eyes.
“It gets worse. One of the killers used a broom to leave a message in blood on the wall for me.”
Natasha gasped. “For you!”
“It said, ‘For you JT’ with the number 4 and letter U used instead of the words.”
“Why? Why would someone do that?”
“I’d set it up to make the brother look like my informant. I expected him to be killed, but not like that. Satans Wrath has a new national president by the name of Purvis Evans. Turns out he’s more vindictive and evil than I knew.”
“So you’re feeling responsible,” Natasha said.
“There’s more. At noon I received a call from Basil Westmount. He’s the club lawyer and told me he discovered it was Damien who gave me the info about a boatload of cocaine that ended up being seized in France last night. I called Damien to try to warn him and … and …” In exasperation he made a fist.
“And what?”
“Purvis Evans answered. He was waiting for my call. There’s no doubt Damien is dead.” Jack paused as he reflected on the situation. “Damn it, I meant to call I-HIT to see if they could trace Damien’s phone … but I guess that can wait.”
“How did they find out Damien was working for you?”
“His wife, Vicki. She did it.”
Natasha shook her head in disgust. As a doctor, she’d seen more than her share of people seeking treatment over domestic fights.
“And I fell for it,” Jack said bitterly. “It was me who put the final nail in his coffin.”
Natasha hugged him. “You always do what you feel is morally justified.” Her voice was soft and loving. “You’re a good person.”
“That’s another thing,” Jack said dismally. “Speaking of good people … Laura is thinking about asking for a transfer.”
Natasha maintained her hug, but looked up at him. Her face was grim. “But not you?”
“I can’t. I’ve got unfinished business.”
“That message on the wall?”
“Yes. There needs to be a reply.”
Jack saw the strain on Natasha’s face, then she released her grip and walked away. She’s worried about what I’ll do and the possible repercussions. He stared after her. I can’t let him get away with this. Natasha, I’m sorry.
Chapter Seven
An hour out of Vancouver, Corporal George Hobbs turned off the Trans-Canada Highway onto a road leading to a cellphone tower near the top of Sumas Mountain. Constable Dan Philips, a new arrival to I-HIT, sat beside him. Following in another vehicle was an officer with the canine unit.
The location they were headed to was where Damien’s cellphone had been answered by Pure E earlier in the day. Since then, the phone had been shut off and its current location was unknown.
As they approached the summit, Philips pointed to a road sign. “Isn’t that the name of the member who called you?”
Hobbs glanced at the sign. Taggart Road. Is this another message for Jack? “Yeah, same name.”
“What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a coincidence … or maybe it isn’t.”
“Hope this isn’t a wild goose chase,” Philips said, sounding disgruntled.
“You heard about the message someone left for Taggart at that triple murder this morning?”
Philips wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I heard.”
“Then I think we should take it seriously.”
“How well do you know this Taggart fellow? If it’s as serious as he said, you’d think he’d tag along.”
“He was called in to meet with the brass. From what I’ve heard, the guy has a good rep for clearing cases. Connie Crane has worked with him on and off.”
“But you’ve never worked with him?”
“No.” Hobbs was quiet for a moment. “Rumours are that a lot of the suspects he identifies never live long enough to go to court.”
Philips looked sharply at Hobbs. “What’re you saying?”
Hobbs shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably shouldn’t have said that. Taggart works undercover. A lot of real badasses have tried to kill him over the years. Most of ’em end up dead. It’s always justified, though.” At least on paper.
“I heard he and Connie arrested a murder suspect in Victoria last night. The scoop is the suspect pulled a gun and was going to shoot Taggart. Connie was hiding behind the guy and yelled for him to drop it. I guess he didn’t and she was about to double-tap two in his back when Taggart tackled him and saved the guy’s life.”
“Yeah, I heard that, too,” Hobbs said.
“Goes to show you shouldn’t listen to rumours.”
“You’re right.” Hobbs gestured ahead. “End of the road. We’re here,” he said, coming to a stop.
For a moment, both men gazed up at the cellphone tower, which loomed above the trees. “So now what?” Philips asked.
Hobbs glanced at his watch. “It’s twenty to five. Gonna be dark soon. Especially in the woods. We’ll let the dog handler do his thing.”
“If there’s a body in there the mutt should find it,” Philips said.
“Taggart says we got a body … and I tend to believe him. The big question is where.”
Two hours passed and it was dark when the dog handler called off his search. “No bodies today, gentlemen,” he reported. “Picked up some scent — people have been up here recently, but we didn’t find anything.”
“I appreciate the effort.” Hobbs glanced at the German shepherd and added, “From both of you.”
His phone rang and he answered it. Seconds later, he gave Philips a thumbs-up sign before jotting down an address in his notebook. Upon ending the call, he turned to Philips and said, “Damien’s phone has been reactivated. We’ve got an address.”
“Meaning Damien is still alive?” Philips asked.
“Or someone found it … or some other biker’s got it.” Hobbs punched a number into his phone. “I’m calling Taggart. I’m told he knows these guys inside out.”
Jack was about to push himself away from the supper table when his phone vibrated. “I-HIT,” he said by way of explanation to Natasha, before answering.
“Jack, it’s George Hobbs. I’m calling about that cellphone you sent us out on.”
“Any luck?”
“Maybe. The call you made at noon to Damien took us to up Sumas Mountain to a cellphone tower.”
“Did you find anything? Being that close to a cellphone tower makes it hard to triangulate and pinpoint the exact spot.”
“We had the canine unit take a look, but came up negative. Incidentally the road leading into the tower is called Taggart Road … if that means anything.”
Pure E, you bastard! Enough already. “It wouldn’t be the first message I received today,” he said tersely.
“I’ve some interesting news, though,” Hobbs said. “A couple of minutes ago the phone was turned on.”
“Bet they tossed it and someone found it,” Jack replied.
“Sort of what I was thinking, but I’ve got an address and I’m wondering if you know who lives there. If it’s Damien who’s got the phone, all this is for nothing. If he’s dead, then I want to know who has his phone and how they got it.”
“I’ve got a list of addresses in my notebook — hang on a sec.” Jack pulled his notebook from his hip pocket. As he did, he glanced at his two sons. Ten-year-old Mike was clearing dishes from the table. His brother, Steve, a year younger, rudely shoved his empty plate toward Mike for him to take away. Jack smiled to himself. Next month it was Steve’s turn to do dishes, and he knew Mike would get even. “Okay, what’s the address?”
When Hobbs spoke, Jack didn’t need to check his notebook. The terror he felt was intense.
“Any idea who lives there?” Hobbs asked.
Jack turned to Natasha. “Take the boys and go down to the basement!” he yelled. “Don’t turn the lights on and keep away from the windows!”
Natasha’s face was white with fear, but she knew this was not the time for questions. “Mike, Steve, let’s go!” she commanded.
Both Mike and Steve hurried down the basement steps. Natasha gave one quick look at Jack over her shoulder, then followed them down.
“What’s going on?” Hobbs asked.
“The address you gave is mine,” Jack said.
“What? How’d you end up with the cellphone?”
“Good question.”
“Maybe you should call the number and listen for it to ring.”
“Cellphones can be used to detonate bombs,” Jack said abruptly while running to his bedroom to retrieve his Smith & Wesson 9mm pistol.
“Oh, Christ!”
“Stay on the line. I’m going to take a look around. There was a van on the street when I came home. Hadn’t seen it before.”
“Can you describe it?”
“It was white with a sign on the door saying Abe’s Furnace Repair.” Jack grabbed his pistol and peered out a window. “It’s gone. I’m going to take a look outside.”
“Maybe you should call the bomb squad,” Hobbs suggested.
“Got my family in the basement. I want to make sure there isn’t a package in a window well or something. If you hear a blast, call 9-1-1 for me.”
“Christ,” Hobbs said again.
Jack grabbed a flashlight, went into his garage, and slipped out the side door. A quick search around the basement foundation didn’t turn up anything. It was when he circled the house and arrived at the front door that he noticed the lid on the mailbox was up. He cautiously approached and looked inside. The cellphone was there. At first he felt relief that it wasn’t attached to a bomb — then anger set in and he grabbed it. “You fucking bastard!”
“Me?” Hobbs said.
“No, Purvis Evans. I’ve got the phone. It was left in my mailbox. There’s no bomb.”
“What a relief. I was shitting bricks here. Do you … want us to come over?” Hobbs asked.
“No, I’m sure whoever left it is gone — so’s the van. I’ll bring it in tomorrow. I better get back to my family. They’ll be scared.”
“Can’t blame them. So was I.”
On ending the call, Jack entered his house. “False alarm!” he yelled. “Everything’s okay. You can come up.”
As his family headed back up the stairs, Jack examined Damien’s phone. Hey … it’s not even password encrypted. Then he saw three pictures: Natasha gardening, Mike and Steve arriving home from school, and him embracing Natasha. Pure E, you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.
“What’s going on?” Natasha’s face was sombre as she returned to the kitchen, followed by Mike and Steve.
Jack took Natasha into the living room, leaving the boys in the kitchen, and told her what had transpired and showed her the pictures. He expected her to be scared. She wasn’t. “I’m fed up with this bullshit,” she said, jabbing a finger in his chest. “You deal with it and you deal with it now!”
Jack’s voice was deadly serious. “You know I will. Pure E is only doing this to scare us, but believe me, I’ll take care of it.” He glanced toward the kitchen and then his gaze met Natasha’s. “I think I should let them know what happened.”
Natasha, her demeanor calm now, nodded.
“We need to talk,” Jack said as he and Natasha returned to the kitchen and sat down.
“Do you and Mom need privacy?” Mike asked.
His question sounded so mature. Normally Jack might’ve smiled to himself, but the situation was too serious. “No, it’s better if you and Steve know what happened so you don’t start imagining things or worrying.”
“So we don’t need to be afraid?” Steve asked, sitting down.
“No. What happened was that I asked people I work with to help look for a phone that belonged to an informant of mine.”
“How did he lose it?” Mike asked.
“I believe my informant was murdered this morning,” Jack replied. “He was also a bad guy.”
“Did other bad guys find out he was your informant?” Steve asked.
Jack nodded. “His wife was angry with him and told the other bad guys.”
“So she’s a bad guy, too,” Steve said.
“Yes, she certainly is,” Jack replied.
“And the phone showed up here,” Natasha said matter-of-factly.
“Yes.” Jack nodded. “Someone left it in our mailbox.”
“You think it was bad guys who put it there?” Mike asked.
“Bad guys did put it there.”
“Because they were too afraid to knock on the door and give it to you?” Steve questioned.
“Partly,” Jack replied. “They also took pictures of us all.”
“Can we see?” both boys said at once.
Jack showed them the photos and saw the concerned looks on their faces. Natasha stared back at him and her face was very still. He looked at her. “I promise, I’ll deal with it,” he said quietly.
“There was a van on the street when we came home,” Mike offered. “I never saw it before.”
“I saw it, too,” Jack replied.
“Why’d they take our pictures?” Steve asked.
“They want to scare Dad so he won’t try to put them in jail,” Mike stated.
“Exactly,” Jack replied.
“Are you scared, Dad?” Steve asked.
“If they really wanted to hurt us, they wouldn’t have done what they did.”
“So you’re not scared?” Steve persisted.
“No, I’m not scared. I’m angry.”
Mike looked at his brother. “They’re in a lot of trouble,” he said seriously.
You got that right.
Chapter Eight
It was 7:30 a.m. when Jack picked Laura up in front of her house. As she fastened her seat belt she said, “Amazing what twelve hours of sleep can do for a person.”
“Glad you’re feeling better.” Jack pulled away from the curb. “Have you given more thought about asking for a transfer?”
“Wow, you don’t waste any time.”
“Sorry … good morning. Are you putting in for a transfer?”
Laura hesitated, then said, “Jack, I’m sorry.”
Shit. I’m going to miss you something awful. “Don’t be sorry. You have to do what’s right for you. Besides, we’ll always be friends.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile but realized she knew how he felt.
“‘Friends’ isn’t the right word. You’re like family to me, but this thing with Pure E leaving that message on the wall … I think I should stay until —”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jack said, trying to sound casual. “Like I said yesterday, there’s always something.”
“I know, but how about I stay until January? That’s three months away. By then I’ll have a pretty good idea about how you plan on getting Pure E.”
Jack gave her a sideways glance. “You thinking you’ll be able to keep me out of trouble?”
“Someone has to.”
“You sure? I don’t mind if you want to leave before then.”
“I’m sure. Besides, I’m really embarrassed about the meltdown yesterday. It’s not how I want you to remember me. Three months might give me time to redeem myself.”
“You don’t need to redeem yourself. Not after all you and I’ve been through. There’d be something wrong with us if we didn’t have the occasional meltdown.” He paused, then went on, “In our line of work there comes a time when you need to extricate yourself from the stress and be smart enough to realize it. It takes more than hiding out in the women’s washroom and a night’s sleep to fix that.
I think a transfer is the right decision.”
“And you?”
“Actually, hiding out in the women’s washroom seems to work for me.”
“Funny man.” Laura paused, then said, “Look at me a sec.”
Jack glanced at her. “What?”
“You look worse than you did when you dropped me off yesterday.”
“It was a long night,” Jack replied. “I doubt I got more than a few hours’ sleep.”
“You upset because of me?”
“No, that wasn’t it.”
“Oh … you told Natasha about the farmhouse. I bet she was upset.”
Jack shook his head. “I better update you on what happened after I dropped you off yesterday. It’s one of those good news, bad news things. The good news is I spoke with John Adams. One of the file boxes he took pertains to Lance Morgan and Whiskey Jake. I’ll know more details within a week or so.”
“Fantastic! That’s great news. You turned Lance once before — think you can do it again?”
“Hope so. If there are enough details to link him with money laundering, we could threaten him with extradition. He’d serve big time in the States.”
Laura’s voice became grave. “What’s the bad news?”
“Pure E thinks he has a sense of humour … other than what he showed at the farmhouse.”
Laura’s voice became edgy. “How? What’s going on?”
“I-HIT called me at suppertime, telling me that Damien’s phone had been turned back on. They got an address to where it was.”
“Where? Did you go out? You should’ve called me.”
“No, I stayed home. It was my address. Someone dropped the phone in my mailbox.”
“Jack!” Laura was obviously shocked.
“There were photos on it. You can see for yourself.” He dug the phone out of his pocket and passed it to her.
Laura flipped through the photos. “Oh, man. Jack … your kids … you and Natasha.”
“Like I said, Pure E has a real sense of humour. Natasha isn’t amused, though.”
“She must be terrified,” Laura replied.
“Not terrified — angry. Told me she was fed up with the bullshit.” Jack paused, then added, “I said I’d deal with it.”