by Don Easton
Ray spoke to someone in the background. “He’s safe. Sitting at home in Canada, if you can believe it. Left Ferg high and dry all on his own.”
“What the hell happened?” Jack asked.
“What happened?” Ray repeated. Then he screamed into the phone. “What happened is Ferg is dead!”
No … oh, no. Please no.
“He got run over, then shot in the face … no thanks to you!”
No. Please tell me this is all a stupid joke. Put Ferg on the phone.
“Christ, Ray, give me that,” a voice in the background said. The man identified himself as Special Agent Wayne Dawson. He was polite, but the gravity of the situation had reduced his voice to a robotic-sounding monotone. He explained that they had found Ferg and Graves lying on a side street in Ferndale, about a twenty-five-minute drive south of the border.
Jack felt numb, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. Wishing he’d wake up and discover it was all a dream. His stomach sloshed bile up his throat like whitecaps hitting a beach. He swallowed repeatedly to get rid of the acid, only to be hit by another wave.
For Jack, Wayne’s narration never seemed to end, outlining grisly details that he wished weren’t true — but wishing didn’t change the truth.
“Honey? What is it?” Natasha asked with concern.
“Ferg was murdered,” he whispered. He saw the shock register on her face and wished he could say more to comfort her. Instead, he gestured with his finger to his lips for her to be quiet so he could listen to Wayne. As he did, he took slow and moderate breaths, hoping to calm his nerves and his stomach.
“We believe whoever ran him down was parked across an intersection from the main drag on the same side street Ferg was on,” Wayne continued. “We found Ferg’s weapon lying on the street. It hasn’t been discharged, so it wasn’t him who killed Graves.”
“Any witnesses?” Jack heard himself ask. My voice sounds like that of a stranger.
“Nope.” Wayne paused. “There’s bits of windshield glass embedded in the back of his head. Our theory is that whoever did it came barrellin’ through the intersection and nailed him from behind when he was trying to make an arrest.”
Less than twenty-five minutes from the border … I should have been there. Not sitting at home.
“We’re presuming he was still conscious after,” Wayne continued. “That’d explain why they shot him in the face afterward.”
Jack’s brain replayed an image of Ferg’s jovial face and big smile. Then the image was replaced by something much more horrific.
“We have roadblocks up everywhere,” Wayne advised. “Graves’s truck is still here. Maybe they clued in that there’s a tracker on it.”
“I put the tracker inside his tool box. It’s inside a rolled-up black plastic pouch which has pockets for tools,” Jack offered lamely.
Wayne acted like he hadn’t heard. “So, we’re looking for a vehicle with considerable damage to the windshield. So far that’s our only real obvious clue. Ferg had written a licence plate number down on his wrist. He’d told us there was a guy with a beard in a Ram truck who was doing the deal, but the plate turned out to be stolen. The owner didn’t know it was gone until our officers went to his house.”
Jack took the pause that followed to ask, “Has Betty been —”
“Two from our office are on their way to see her. She needs to know before she hears something on the news.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Yeah, well, being sorry can come later. Right now we need to catch the son-of-a-bitch who did it.”
“Of course. Is there anything I can —”
“We’d appreciate it if you could search where Graves lives. See if you can find anything that might link him to someone down here. There’s no phone on his body, so they must have taken it. We’re grasping for anything we can get at this point.”
“I, I’m on it,” Jack said. “Give me your contact details and I’ll call you back in a few hours.”
Jack had wanted to sound firm and professional, but his words were shaky and anything but firm as he fumbled for his notebook.
A minute later he ended the call and looked at Natasha. She seemed at a loss for words. He hugged her and said, “It looks like Ferg was making an arrest when someone drove into him and then shot him.” His words seemed blunt and without feeling. It wasn’t how he felt, but he had work to do and was making a determined effort to keep his emotions in check.
He felt Natasha tremble as she clung to him. “That’s so awful,” she said. “His poor wife … Betty … I —”
“I know.” He patted her on the back and held her a moment longer. “I have to go.” He gently pushed her back and his eyes met hers. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Jack obtained a search warrant and rounded up three members from the Major Crimes Unit, whose domain the investigation on the Canadian side of the border would be assigned to. It was 3:00 a.m. when he buzzed the apartment manager.
“It’s the middle of the bloody night,” the manager complained as he let them into the building. “I’d like to know what’s so damned important that you couldn’t wait until morning.”
“An officer was murdered tonight,” Jack said harshly. “So was Derek Graves, who lives in this building. Is that important enough for you? ’Cause it sure is for me.”
“Uh, yes, sir. Sorry.”
“We have a search warrant for his place,” Jack stated.
“I, uh, don’t have a key to let you in to his place,” the manager replied.
“Not a problem. Do the tenants have storage lockers?”
“No.”
“Good. Go back to your own apartment. I’ll let you know when we’re done.”
A moment later Jack approached Graves’s apartment door and pulled out his pistol. He then glanced at his three colleagues, who did likewise.
Some of Jack’s fury was channelled into the kick he gave the door. It crashed open with so much force that it imbedded the door knob into the drywall on the wall behind. A quick check told them the apartment was deserted and they holstered their weapons.
Jack then paused to scan what he saw. Near the entrance was the kitchen, which had a sink full of dirty dishes. The kitchen table held a laptop, and two mismatched chairs were pulled up to the table.
Bordering the kitchen was a living room, which consisted of a television set, a sofa, and a stack of cement bricks with a plank on top to make a coffee table.
The back of the sofa appeared to have been used by a cat or cats as a scratching post, but there were no cat dishes or anything to indicate he had a pet. It left Jack with the impression that Graves had likely retrieved the sofa from the garbage. A large cardboard swastika that had been blackened with shoe polish adorned the wall behind the sofa.
While one member from MCU took an interest in the computer, another started to search the kitchen. Jack and the remaining officer went to the bedroom, which contained an unmade twin bed and a dresser.
Two photos were propped against empty beer bottles on top of the dresser. In one, Graves was smiling from the driver’s seat of a vintage model Corvette Stingray. Jack thought Graves may have looked more impressive if it hadn’t been for a tall potted plant beside an array of windows to indicate the car was in a showroom.
The second photo was the one Jack had seen on Graves’s website — the one where he was leering at the camera with two pistols stuck in his waistband. It was obvious from the swastika in the background that the picture had been taken in the living room.
What murderous piece of shit would deal guns to an idiot like you?
The search didn’t take long and there was nothing obvious to connect Graves with anyone in the United States. Hate literature, which appeared to have been copied from various internet sites, was found in his dresser.
The photos, hate literature, and laptop computer were seized by MCU, who would turn the laptop over to Forensi
cs when their office opened in a few hours.
It was 5:00 a.m. when Jack returned to his office and called Wayne Dawson in Washington to tell him what, or, in reality, what they had not found.
“Nothing on our end, either,” Wayne said, sounding depressed. “We still have roadblocks set up, but after this length of time I’m doubtful we’ll get anything. Forensics is still on the scene, but I haven’t heard if they found anything or not.”
“Maybe the laptop we seized will reveal something,” Jack said.
“Let’s hope so. I’m the lead investigator, so let me know.”
“I will as soon as I hear.” He heard a wavering female voice in the background. “Where are you?” he asked.
“At Ferg’s … uh, Betty’s place.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“Just a moment.” Jack heard a murmur of voices, then Wayne came back on the line. “She’s, uh, resting.”
“Tell her I’ll call her later,” Jack replied.
“I think it best you wait until she feels up to calling you.”
Jack sighed. Yeah, I get the message.
* * *
Rose was starting work a few minutes earlier than usual, but it was the first Monday of the month and that meant more administrative work needed to be completed to appease the bureaucrats.
She looked in and greeted her secretary before continuing down the hall to her own office. As she hung up her coat she realized she was being watched. “Wow, you’re in early,” she said when she saw that it was Jack.
Jack swallowed, then held a report toward her while hoarsely announcing what he had to say. “Read this. It’ll explain what happened better than I can articulate at the moment.”
Oh, Christ … what happened? Rose took the report from his hand, sat down, then stared at him as he took a seat across from her. She’d seen him looking tired and depressed before, but never like this. His face was sallow and dark shadows made his eyes look sunken.
He gestured to the report. “Read it.”
She stared at the report but couldn’t immediately bring herself to read it. She felt sickened that whatever was in it had affected Jack that much. Then she inhaled deeply and let her breath out slowly as she focused on the words.
When she finished reading, she felt worse than she’d imagined. The report was strictly factual. No room for the emotion or trauma that went with such an event. Emotion and trauma that she knew Jack was trying to deal with.
“That pretty well sums it up,” Jack said, gesturing toward the report with a flick of his hand. “A factual account of what my investigation and actions have achieved.”
“Jack, what happened isn’t your —” A flash of anger in his eyes told her to stop. She bit her lower lip. Okay, I’ll try to keep emotion out of it for now. She swallowed. “This is international. I need to advise Lexton pronto and give her a copy.”
He stared at her silently in response.
Rose took another deep breath, then called Lexton’s secretary and made an appointment. When she ended the call she looked at Jack. “We can see her at nine o’clock.”
He didn’t respond.
Rose glanced at her watch. “Gives us twenty-five minutes. Do you want a coffee?”
He shook his head. “I’ll wait in my office.”
As he got to his feet their secretary arrived with the mail. Rose glanced at the first item on top of the pile. Oh, God, no. Not now.
Jack read her face. “Permission granted allowing me to cross the border?”
She nodded.
His jawline hardened and he briefly squeezed his eyes shut in an apparent attempt to control his own emotions, then he left.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lexton read some of the incoming mail in her basket, then glanced at her watch. Two minutes to nine.… She pondered over what the meeting could be about. All her secretary had said was that Staff Sergeant Wood had said it was urgent.
Does it have something to do with Quaile? Did he figure out it was his secretary who first spilled the beans? She shook her head. Doubtful. That dolt continually thinks of himself, but he doesn’t have the capacity to think for himself.
“Your nine o’clock meeting has arrived,” her secretary announced.
Lexton gave Rose a polite smile as she entered her office, then saw Taggart trailing behind. What the hell has he done this time?
As they dutifully took a seat across from her desk, she glanced at a piece of correspondence she’d received earlier that morning. “I see permission has been granted for investigators to work in the U.S. on your cross-border gun smuggling file. I’m glad to see it. That’s good.”
“Yeah … real good,” Taggart said. His voice cracked and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.
Hungover perhaps?
Rose glanced nervously at Taggart. “There’s, uh, been an incident,” she said, as if in explanation. “Perhaps it’d be better if you read this first,” she added, handing her the report.
“Oh?” Lexton replied. She couldn’t help glaring at Taggart as she accepted it. So that’s why you look the way you do. You did something, got caught, and it’s time to pay the piper. She flipped to the last page. Submitted by Taggart. She looked at Rose and scowled. Yes, he’s done something.
“It’s better to read the report first,” Rose suggested. “Then we can discuss the issue.”
Yes, the issue … whatever that is. She started reading. “Oh, my God,” she heard herself say when she read about Special Agent Ferguson’s murder. It was as if someone else had blurted out the words. Someone from another dimension. Certainly not a dimension she wished to be part of.
She felt her stomach knot and swallowed, then snuck a peek at Taggart. He was staring at her stone-faced. She then took a deep breath and continued reading. When she was finished, she put the report aside and stared quietly at him, hoping for a moment to collect her thoughts. She didn’t get that moment.
He leaned forward, his face distorted and seething with rage. “The important thing is you can rest easy knowing I didn’t violate policy by going into the U.S. without permission! I left him, to use the words of one of his guys, high and dry on his own!”
“Corporal Taggart!” Rose said sharply in an attempt to shut him up. Her attempt failed.
“Yup, we can all be proud that on this side of the border we respect our policy. Mind you, his wife, Betty, might disagree.”
“Corporal Taggart! That is no way to address a superior off —”
Lexton silenced Rose with a gesture of her hand. “It’s okay … I’m upset as well.”
“Upset?” Taggart snarled. “A law enforcement officer is murdered and all you feel is … upset?”
She stared at him, hoping to give him a chance to calm down, then continued. “I heard you use the phrase that people need to see the big picture. Policy is part of that big picture.”
“Yeah, some policy,” he retorted.
“I happen to agree with this particular policy. We can’t have law enforcement officials from two different countries, who are trained differently and operating under different judicial processes, hopping back and forth across the border without permission. Yes, I’m upset. I’m upset because I don’t see a better solution to that policy. As far as the perpetrator or perpetrators who ran down the officer and then killed him in cold blood, I feel sickened by it. No doubt how you felt when you first received the news.”
Taggart swallowed and his face paled when he appeared to reflect back.
Lexton decided to continue. “Undoubtedly, like most people, I will also feel the emotions that follow, such as grief and anger.” She waited a beat. “It may interest you to know that I did not rise to this position easily. I’ve earned my way, and for your information this is not the first murdered officer I’ve encountered in my career.”
He looked at her and his face softened. “Mine either,” he said glumly.
“I want to do everything within our power to help the U.S. in their in
vestigation. But we will do that while obeying policy and following the letter of the law.” She paused, then asked, “Do you feel you’re capable of performing your duties as I’ve described?”
“Yes,” he replied. He looked into her eyes. “I apologize for my outburst. Directing my anger at you was totally uncalled for.”
Directing it at me? My guess is you’re angry with yourself for following policy and not crossing the border — which next time could make you a loose cannon. She cleared her throat. “I presume, from your report, that MCU has taken the lead on our side of the border?”
“Yes, as per policy, I turned the brunt of the investigation over to them … although it is remotely possible I may be able to assist with the help of an informant.”
As per policy? Was that another dig at me? “Corporal, it would appear that you are too emotionally distraught at the moment to act in a professional manner. If that persists, then I will see to it that you’re removed from the investigation entirely.”
He looked puzzled, then appeared to understand why she’d said what she did. “Sorry, my comment about policy was not intended as a barb.”
Wasn’t it? She stared at him. He seems genuine. Perhaps too tired to choose his words carefully? Then again, he’s an operator whose ability to deceive comes as easy as breathing. “How long has it been since you slept?”
“Since I slept?” He glanced at his watch. “Uh, I guess about twenty-six hours.”
“Then you need to go home and get some sleep. It doesn’t appear that there’s anything you can do at the moment.”
“I have an informant who might be able to nose around,” he suggested lamely. “It’s a long shot, but maybe down the road someone else will contact the gangs to sell them guns.”
She nodded indifferently. “It will take a few days to download Graves’s computer. In the meantime, go home, get some rest, and we’ll discuss the situation in a couple of days.”
She thumbed through the daily diary on her phone. “Ten o’clock Wednesday morning.” She stared at Taggart, then added, “At that time I’ll be making a decision as to whether or not you remain involved in any way.”