Subverting Justice

by Don Easton

  “Don’t worry, I can.” Jack reached for binoculars. “Maybe their comparing videos is a good sign,” he suggested. “It might indicate they’re close to their destination.”

  “I’m surprised it’s in an urban area,” Laura said. “I figured they’d lead us to a farm or some acreage.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I wonder if Vicki’s dead yet.”

  Jack was silent for a moment. “Me, too.”

  The next several minutes passed in silence, with Jack peering through binoculars, then he said, “We’ve got action. A white Honda Civic has arrived … double-parked … and the driver’s leaning out and talking to Bazzoli and Crowe. Long hair … beard … can’t see the face well enough for an ID and the plate is too dirty to see. Honda’s moving … okay, whoever it is has now parked facing northbound behind Bazzoli. Crowe’s hurrying back to his car … he’s mobile … no, only turning it around to face north, too.”

  “Want me to go back to my wheels?” Laura asked.

  “No, I don’t want to chance them seeing your car again.”

  Laura nodded. “What do you think they’re up to? More heat checks?”

  “I’d say they’re waiting for something.” He lowered the binoculars and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. A vehicle stopping for the red light at the intersection caused his pulse to quicken. He jammed the binoculars back to his eye sockets.

  “There’s a white Cadillac Escalade waiting for the eastbound light on Hillcrest,” Laura announced excitedly.

  “I see it.” Jack adjusted the dial on the binoculars. “It’s Vicki.”

  “She alone?”

  “Appears to be.” Jack tossed the binoculars to Laura, then drove to the lot exit, half a block north of the intersection. They were in time to see Vicki continuing eastbound on Hillcrest through the intersection. Bazzoli and Crowe pulled out to follow while the third biker waited at the light with his indicator on to head west.

  “Our friend was right,” Jack said. “They had a surveillance team on Vicki independent from the three-three.”

  “And the three-three have now taken over.” Laura breathed out noisily. “Oh, man.”

  Jack remained at the exit, watching the Honda Civic and the traffic lights at the intersection. Every second counted, if he was to succeed in catching up to Bazzoli, Crowe, and Vicki. “Duck down. My appearance has changed but no use letting the guy in the Civic see you.”

  Laura did as instructed while Jack drove out onto the street toward the intersection. He was able to time his arrival to proceed through an amber light and head east seconds after the Civic had gone west.

  “You’re clear,” Jack said, stepping on the gas. Laura sat upright as the SUV sprang to life. Moments later they spotted their three target vehicles and Jack tapped the brake to slow down.

  “They’re driving slow,” Laura noted and grabbed the map. “I wonder if Vicki is doing heat checks or simply doesn’t know the area.”

  Jack nodded. The woman definitely doesn’t know what she’s getting into.

  Seconds later Vicki turned right down a residential street. Neither Crowe nor Bazzoli followed, opting instead to go left into a mall parking lot across the street.

  “Vicki turned down Tulip Crescent,” Laura noted. “Now what?”

  “We can’t follow her.”

  Jack opted for the same mall lot. There were few vehicles to provide him cover from being seen, but Crowe and Bazzoli had turned right after entering the lot, then parked side by side so they could talk, apparently. Jack drove in the opposite direction and parked far enough away that Laura needed binoculars to see clearly.

  Five minutes later both Crowe and Bazzoli drove out of the lot, crossed Hillcrest and headed down Tulip Crescent.

  Laura lowered the binoculars and looked at Jack.

  “We wait,” he said tersely.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Vicki studied the house as she parked in the driveway. Buck had described it as a basic three-bedroom bungalow with an attached garage. A far cry from the mansion he grew up in, but you gotta start somewhere. She glanced at her watch: 2:00 p.m. on the dot.

  She felt anxious as she went to the front door. Her last face-to-face meeting with her son a month ago hadn’t gone well. When he’d found out she was responsible for setting up his father to be murdered, their conversation had disintegrated rapidly. He’d sworn at her and she’d slapped his face.

  She had feared that she’d never see him again, but this morning’s unexpected and apologetic phone call from him said otherwise. He had said he was thinking of leaving the club. That brought new hope. It was what she’d wanted all along.

  Buck opened the door before she rang the buzzer.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad you called,” Vicki said tearfully.

  “Mom,” Buck uttered. “I …”

  Vicki hugged him. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, patting him affectionately on the back. “So we had a fight. Who doesn’t? The important thing is that we’re talking.”

  He swallowed, then gently broke free of her embrace.

  “So is it true? Are you really thinking about leaving the club?”

  “We’ll talk about it. I’ve got coffee on,” he replied, closing the door.

  She kicked off her shoes and he hung up her coat. She followed him through the living room. “So you bought a house,” she said, glancing around. “It looks nice. The next thing I know you’ll be making a grandmother out of me.” She smiled at the thought as they arrived in the kitchen.

  Buck turned and faced her. His expression was grim.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He gave a slight nod, but it was directed beyond her. She turned and gasped when she saw two men. She knew they belonged to the three-three.

  Buck’s voice seethed with anger. “You bitch! You really thought you’d get away with ratting on us?”

  Vicki opened her mouth to scream, but one man drove his fist into her stomach. She emitted a gurgling sound and doubled over. It was easy for him to grab her by the hair and deliver another blow to the base of her skull, rendering her momentarily unconscious.

  Seconds later she found herself sprawled on her back. Her attacker sat on her chest, using his knees to pin her arms to the floor while holding her by the throat. Her body convulsed as her lungs demanded air.

  “Hurry up,” he said. “She’s coming around.”

  She gasped and arched her head back and saw Buck rooting through her purse. She managed to choke out his name, but he ignored her as he found her keys and walked away.

  Vicki tried to call again to Buck, but the other man was covering her face in plastic wrap and she could only mouth his name. Her vision blurred and she frantically twisted and turned her head. It didn’t help, and the man continued to wind the plastic wrap around her head.

  She fought for air while writhing and kicking out, but the plastic stuck to her lips. Every time she tried to inhale, a small concave piece of plastic would pass her lips into her mouth. Her head jerked as she fought in vain to bite it. Eventually her body stilled.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jack and Laura had continued watching the intersection of the street Vicki had driven down. They sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Twenty minutes passed, then Vicki’s vehicle exited Tulip Crescent and moved west on Hillcrest.

  “It’s not Vicki driving,” Laura said gravely. “It’s Buck.”

  Jack felt his hand give an involuntary twitch. It was as if his body was pushing away his thoughts. Buck had murdered his father, but being involved in the murder of his own mother seemed worse.

  “What do you think they’re up to?” Laura asked.

  “I think Buck sucked his mother into coming out and is driving her car back to Vancouver.”

  Laura’s face was grim. “That’s what I figured. Nic
e son to have.”

  Neither spoke for fifteen minutes, then the red Camaro driven by Hackman exited Tulip Crescent and went westbound on Hillcrest. Trapp followed in the white van, Crowe in the blue Ford Fusion sedan, and Bazzoli in the pickup truck.

  Jack waited until the procession passed, then pulled out to follow.

  “Vicki’s probably in the van,” Laura stated.

  Probably stuffed in a garbage bag. He glanced at Laura. “Yeah, probably. Bet the Camaro is being used to scout ahead.”

  Minutes later the procession arrived at the entrance to the Trans-Canada Highway, where all of their four targets headed east. Trapp, Hackman, and Crowe drove at a speed consistent with the traffic, but Bazzoli drove more slowly and Jack was forced to lag behind.

  “Damn it!”

  “What do we do?” Laura asked. “Pass Bazzoli and risk that he’s still collecting plate numbers, or hang back and risk losing the other three?”

  “I’ll maintain my speed and pass Bazzoli … once,” Jack replied.

  Laura ducked down in the seat until Jack had passed. When he caught up to Trapp, Hackman, and Crowe, he eased off the gas and followed from a distance.

  On nearing Exit 95 leading to Sumas Mountain, the procession slowed considerably. Jack glanced in his side mirror. “We’ve got Bazzoli coming up fast. After passing him once, if he spots me going slow at this point he’ll burn us for sure.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  Jack sped up. “We’ll take Exit 95 to Sumas Mountain ahead of them. Let’s hope they do the same.”

  “Lot of wilderness up there,” Laura said. “As someone in I-HIT told me when they were looking for Damien’s body, it was like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack.”

  A few minutes later Jack took the exit, then swore aloud when the procession continued east on the Trans-Canada. He waited a moment for them to gain some distance and once more pulled out to follow.

  “At least we know they’re not disposing of bodies on Sumas Mountain,” Laura offered lamely.

  “Use the binos. If Bazzoli pulls over again I’ll have to do likewise and hope he’s far enough ahead not to see us.”

  Laura did as instructed. Using binoculars in a moving vehicle was not easy. “Okay, I’ve got an eye on Bazzoli’s pickup. He’s driving slow. I’d say he’s doing about twenty under the limit.”

  Jack adjusted his speed accordingly. “See any of the others?”

  “Possibly Crowe, but no sign of the van or Camaro.”

  “Shit.”

  “Ditto,” Laura replied.

  Twenty minutes later Laura reported, “Okay, Bazzoli has sped up and is taking the Vedder Road exit into Chilliwack. I think Crowe’s in front of him.”

  “Let’s chance they don’t stop. I’m going to follow.”

  Not long afterward Laura said, “They’re signalling to go north on the overpass. Visual contact broken.”

  Jack took the exit and their eyes frantically searched for their targets. Then Jack let out another anguished curse and punched the dash. Bazzoli and Crowe had simply crossed over the overpass and were now on the westbound ramp heading back toward Vancouver. No sign of Trapp or Hackman.

  “It’s over … we lost.” Laura’s words were bitter. “Trapp and Hackman could’ve turned off anywhere.” She gestured with her thumb toward the westbound lane of the Trans-Canada Highway. “You still going to try and follow them?”

  “No point,” Jack replied. “We need to find out where Trapp and Hackman went.”

  “Maybe they’re on their way back, too.”

  “Maybe.”

  “They could’ve dumped Vicki down a well,” Laura said. “It wouldn’t take long.”

  “Yeah, but the smell might give it away. I’m thinking they bury their bodies. Someplace deep where they’ll never be found. That would take longer.”

  “So what do you want to do?”

  “Two choices. One is to feed them another victim and start our surveillance from where we lost them this time. Maybe give them the guy who delivered the coke from Montreal.”

  Laura made a face. “What’s your second choice?”

  “There are four main exits leading off the Trans-Canada between here and where we first lost sight of Trapp and Hackman. The closest one this side of Sumas Mountain is the Number 3 Road, followed by Yale, Lickman, and Evans. How about I whip you back to grab your car, then we can space out and watch to see if we spot them returning to the Trans-Canada?”

  “That’d narrow it down, but there’s still a lot of ground to cover even if we do see which exit they appear on.”

  “I know, but most is rural or industrial. We could check with land titles to find out who owns what.”

  “Or rents what.”

  “Might take us a month or two. So,” he glanced at her, “choice number one might be faster.”

  Laura eyed Jack. “I still vote for choice number two.”

  “Thought you would. My guess is the spot we’re looking for is closer to the middle. You take the Yale Road exit and I’ll watch from Lickman.”

  Three hours later it was dark. Four times during that period Jack had felt his pulse quicken when a white van appeared on the overpass he was monitoring, but each time his hopes were dashed. He heard his stomach growl and decided to call Laura. “You hungry?” he asked.

  “I’m okay. How long do you want to stay out? Oh, hang on. Got another white van.” The seconds ticked past. “Nope, wrong model.”

  “I think we’re flogging a dead horse and it’s been a long day. Want to pack it in?”

  “Okay, but I don’t like the idea of making another human sacrifice.”

  “I know. I’m tired and more than a little frustrated. Maybe another opportunity will arise without us encouraging it.”

  “I’d prefer that,” she said.

  “Do you want to stop by my house for a drink?”

  “Thanks, but no. I don’t drink when I’m feeling depressed.”

  Jack sighed. “I hear you.”

  “What time do you want to start work tomorrow?”

  Jack didn’t answer, just grabbed his binoculars. Bingo! “Guess who’s taking the westbound exit off the Lickman Road exit onto the TC right at this moment.”

  He heard Laura gasp.

  “I’ll give you a hint,” he said. “One’s driving a red Camaro and the other a white van.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jack and Laura were following Trapp and Hackman back toward Vancouver when Lance called Jack. “I heard from Hackman. He said that loose end had been dealt with and that they were all going for drinks. They plan to see how Buck’s doing after he’s got a few drinks in ’im.”

  “Will you be able to get some details as to how it went down?”

  “Yeah. Hackman will pop by my place about 6:00 a.m. tomorrow to talk about how Buck handled it. I’ll get more details then.”

  “Do you know where they’re going for drinks?” Jack asked.

  “Crowe’s place in Burnaby. Why?”

  “They used a rented van.”

  “You followed them?”

  “No. We spotted it at the park. I’d like to get a look in it.”

  “It’ll be clean. Like I told you, these guys are pros.”

  “You’re probably right, but I still want to check. Call me as soon as you meet with Hackman.”

  Jack and Laura drove past Crowe’s house several minutes after Hackman and Trapp had arrived. Jack parked a block to the north and shut off the ignition so that the exhaust from the SUV’s engine wouldn’t give him away. Then he slouched in his seat and used binoculars to watch. Laura, parked one block to the south, did the same. They knew they were in for a long night. After what their targets had done, there would be a lot of drinking.

  At 5:30 a.m. the next morning Trapp
, Hackman, Bazzoli, and Buck left the house. Buck was staggering.

  Jack phoned Laura. “Looks like they succeeded in getting him drunk,” he said.

  “I see that,” Laura replied. “I wonder how his assessment went.”

  “Must not have gone too bad. He’s still alive.”

  Buck then got in Bazzoli’s truck and the two men left together. Jack saw Trapp kneel near a tire on the van, then rise and leave in the Camaro with Hackman.

  “You see that?” Laura asked.

  “Yes … and the lights went off in the house. My guess is he left the keys on the tire for some prospect to come by tonight sometime and return it without waking Crowe. This’ll be easy if I don’t need to pick the lock.”

  “Easy, providing the prospect doesn’t show up while we’re in it.”

  “Guess there’s that. I’ll give Crowe a few minutes to fall asleep. Stay where you are and call if you see anyone coming.”

  Half an hour later, Jack had finished his search of the van — his guess that the keys had been left on the tire had proven correct. Lance’s assumption that Jack wouldn’t find anything was also correct. He returned to the SUV and started the engine.

  “Your offer for a drink still open?” Laura asked. “I could use a beer and then talk about what we’re going to do next.” She paused. “If you’re not up to it, then —”

  “Not up to it?” He pretended puzzlement. “Let me see, I’ve got two voices talking to me in my head. One is telling me to have a beer.”

  “And the other —”

  “Is saying, ‘Weren’t you listening? Do what he says, have a beer!’”

  At 6:45 a.m. Jack slid a glass of beer across his kitchen table to Laura and sat down. They clinked glasses in silence and each took a swallow. Jack would’ve found the taste more pleasant if Laura’s eyes hadn’t remained on him … waiting. “Okay, it was still a pretty good day,” he said.