The Grey Zone

by Easton, Don

  Jack told him that Derek had been in a van outside.

  “Sounds like these guys know what they’re doing,” Greg said. “Guess we better do it better.”

  Thirty minutes later, Jack spoke to Bumpy again. Surveillance on Derek’s office had spotted him returning with his van and parking it in a secure underground parking lot two blocks from his office. Bumpy also asked if Jack would like Special O to assist in planting a bug or tracker on it.

  Jack was thankful for the information, but decided it would be too risky to do so, considering Derek had the equipment to scan for such items.

  * * *

  Greg entered the Paddlewheeler Pub at 12:00 p.m. on Wednesday and took a seat on the patio, then ordered a Kokanee and a plate of breaded calamari. Twenty minutes later, Peter called to say he was running a little late, but would be there in an hour.

  At 1:00 p.m. Peter called again. “There’s been a change. I’m at a lounge called Fraser’s Nugget. I’m supposed to meet someone here shortly and the time is getting away from me. Can you pop over so we can talk? It’s about a ten-minute drive from where you are, and there’s parking in the rear. If you take Royal Avenue to —”

  “Fraser’s Nugget,” Greg repeated. “I’ll punch it into my GPS. Be there as soon as I can.” The RCMP should buy watches for all the dope dealers. Sure would save a lot of money if they could do things on time for a change. As he returned to his car, he called Jack.

  “The place is in Coquitlam, but not far from you,” Jack said. “Drive slow. I’ll make sure Special O has someone in there to cover you before you arrive.”

  “Any sign I’m being watched?” Greg asked.

  “Not that we can tell. Special O saw Derek arrive at work this morning, and they called me a few minutes ago to say he’s out with a bunch of young people who work for him. They’re currently at a coffee shop near his office having lunch.”

  It was 1:20 p.m. when Greg entered Fraser’s Nugget and approached Peter, who was sitting alone at a table. The lounge was quiet and dimly lit. The only other customers were a man and a woman cuddling in a darkened booth, holding hands and looking at each other like naughty children. Their wedding rings said they were married, but it didn’t take much imagination to guess they weren’t married to each other.

  “So what’s happening?” Greg asked as he sat down.

  “Fuck all,” Peter said angrily.

  “What the hell? I thought you were ready to do this? I already rented a room for the cash. You should’ve at least called me earlier.”

  “Sorry. It’s my fault. I unloaded the key I promised you to someone else after my connection assured me he had another one on hand. A few minutes ago he tells me that’s gone, too, and he won’t have any more before Saturday.”

  “Damn it,” Greg replied. “I don’t know if I can wait. I may need to go elsewhere.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s your prerogative.”

  He says he’ll have it in three days, but makes no attempt to get me to wait? Greg cleared his throat. “If I wait, is there a chance you’ll come down on price a little?”

  Peter glanced at his watch. “I don’t know. I’ll ask.”

  The waitress came to take Greg’s order, but Peter said, “Listen, I’m supposed to meet the guy in a few minutes. He’ll be ticked if you’re here. Do you mind?”

  Greg smiled apologetically at the waitress. “Sorry, looks like I’m on my way out.”

  Greg was halfway to the exit when Peter called after him.

  “Hey, Ricky! Give me a call this evening. Maybe we can get together.”

  His tone was friendly and it gave Greg hope that everything would turn out okay. “I’ll do that,” he replied.

  A moment later, he was walking across the parking lot at the rear of the building and fishing his car keys out of his pocket. He heard a woman call out to him.

  “Greg! Greg Dalton! It is you!” she said as she approached. “What are you doing so far from Toronto?”

  The woman was tall, attractive, in her midthirties, and had long, dark hair that hung to her shoulders. She wore skin-tight black leather pants and a red silk blouse that offered an ample view of her cleavage. A black leather purse with tassels was draped over one shoulder, and she carried a department store shopping bag in the other hand.

  “I’m sorry. You think you know me?” he asked.

  The woman smiled. “Jesus, Greg, how drunk were you that night? Are you saying you don’t recognize me with my clothes on?” she teased.

  Something moved in his peripheral vision, and Greg realized they weren’t alone. He turned and caught a brief image of a baseball bat before the blow smashed his nose, cheekbone, teeth, and part of his eye socket.

  Lying on the asphalt in a daze, he heard the woman’s voice.

  “Give him a few more whacks to make sure he’s dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Jack wasn’t concerned when he heard the ambulance siren. They were only a few blocks from the Royal Columbian Hospital in New Westminster, and since their arrival, it was the third siren he’d heard.

  His curiosity was aroused when Hawkins received a call from Special O. Within seconds, the panic in Hawkins’s voice told him something had gone horribly wrong.

  “Make sure uniform secure the area!” Hawkins yelled. “What? Oh, fuck, oh, fuck. They’ve already notified my office?”

  Hawkins ended the call and stared at Jack, his mouth hanging open.

  “What happened?” Jack demanded.

  “Greg left the lounge about ten minutes ago, but Peter stayed. Everyone held their positions and maintained silence for fear the bad guys have a cellphone detector. A few minutes ago some guy out walking his dog cut through the back parking lot and found a body.”

  No. Please, no. This can’t be happening.

  “They think it’s Greg,” Hawkins added.

  “You mean it might not be him?”

  “One of the Special O members got a look as the ambulance was loading him up. Said his face isn’t recognizable. He was beaten with a pipe or a bat or something … but he was wearing the same clothes that Greg was.” Hawkins swallowed. “His car’s still in the lot, too. It’s, it’s gotta be him.”

  This is my fault. I was supposed to be looking after him. “Uniform’s there?”

  “Yeah, and they cordoned off the area. They already called my office. That’s why Bumpy called me.” Hawkins paused. “I-HIT is attending.”

  “So he’s either dead, or they expect him to be.”

  “Yeah.” Hawkins looked dazed. “I’ll coordinate with I-HIT. Someone will need to attend the hospital. I — I gotta make some calls.”

  Jack clenched his jaw in an attempt to control his emotions as he lowered his window to speak to Laura, Alicia, and Bradley. And I need to call Rose. Greg’s wife will have to be notified.

  * * *

  An hour later, Jack and Rose met Assistant Commissioner Lexton in her office.

  “Any update?” she asked immediately.

  “They found a weak pulse when he was admitted,” Jack said. “He’s in a coma. A neurosurgeon said that if they can keep him alive, he’ll be in surgery for a lengthy period of time. A member from I-HIT is at the hospital and promised to keep me updated.”

  Lexton looked at Rose. “He’s married, you said?”

  “Yes,” Jack replied for her. “I notified Toronto Drug Section and they sent someone to tell his wife. I gave them my number to call back to make arrangements.”

  “We’ll pay for her flight out, of course,” Lexton said. She eyed Jack. “Tell me everything from the time he arrived at the airport.”

  Jack went over in detail the events leading up to what had happened. When he finished, Lexton stared at him quietly. He grimaced. I know. It’s my fault. You don’t have to tell me that.

  Lexton appeared to read his thoughts. “I don’t see that anyone from our side is to blame for what happened,” she said firmly. “Certainly not you. The decisions you made were reason
able given the circumstances.”

  There must’ve been something I could’ve done differently.

  “Thank you for that comment,” Rose said, glancing at Jack.

  “What really concerns me is that this is the second undercover operative to be targeted by these people in less than two weeks,” Lexton stated. “Granted, undercover work is dangerous, but this is unprecedented. Do we have any idea how their covers were blown?”

  “Not a clue,” Jack replied bitterly.

  “Is there any chance it was a robbery? Maybe a drug addict who picked him at random?”

  “I-HIT said he still had his watch and his wallet,” Jack replied. “I don’t think —” He was interrupted by his phone ringing. “It’s Constable Jameson. She’s the one I-HIT sent to the hospital.”

  “Answer it,” Lexton prompted.

  “No change,” Jameson said as soon as Jack answered. “Still in surgery, but a doctor wants to know when his wife is arriving. They want to speak to her about, uh, how invasive the operation to try and keep him alive will be.”

  “I’m not sure whether she even knows about it yet,” Jack replied. “She lives in Toronto. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “I’ve also got a picture of his face when he arrived,” Jameson said. “It’s, uh, unbelievable.”

  “Send it to me,” Jack said abruptly. “I’m in a meeting. I need to go.”

  Jack relayed the message to Lexton and Rose as the picture came through on his phone. He looked at it and heard himself gasp. I’m looking at a corpse. They’ll never save him.

  “Show me,” Lexton stated.

  “It’s gruesome,” Jack warned, swallowing the bile rising up his throat.

  “I used to work I-HIT. I’ve seen gruesome.”

  Rose leaned over for a look and winced, then Jack handed his phone to Lexton.

  She turned the phone in her hands, apparently unsure of which way she was to look at the image. Her face showed little emotion, but her jawline rippled. Jack couldn’t tell if she was clenching her teeth to control sorrow or outrage.

  “The only times I’ve seen this much trauma inflicted on a victim were in crimes of passion,” Lexton said sombrely. “Domestic situations, rejected lovers. People with a lot of repressed anger.” She handed the phone back to Jack. “Still no weapon found at the scene?”

  Jack shook his head. “It’s within throwing distance of the Fraser River. The dive team has been called. If was a pipe, they should find it. If it was a bat it may’ve been carried downriver.”

  “What investigative steps have been taken so far in regards to Derek and Peter Powers?”

  “Peter was brought in for questioning and immediately demanded a lawyer,” Jack sighed. “He has a good alibi in that two members of Special O had him under observation in the lounge when it happened.”

  “An alibi which was planned, obviously,” Lexton stated.

  “Yes. As far as Derek goes, he was also under observation by Special O, having lunch in downtown Vancouver.”

  “Another planned alibi, no doubt,” Lexton stated.

  “It might’ve been a precaution, because we’ve never done anything to make him think we know he’s involved. I spoke with Sergeant Hawkins. They’ll be releasing Peter shortly, and we don’t see any advantage in tipping Derek off as to our interest in him.”

  “What about the informant who made the introduction?” Lexton asked. “Could he have tipped them off?”

  “Sergeant Hawkins and Corporal Bradley were on their way to pick him up twenty minutes ago. Considering the seriousness of the charges over his role in what happened to Constable Short, I’d be surprised if he tipped them off.”

  “We should find out shortly. I imagine Sergeant Hawkins will be putting him on a polygraph,” Rose said.

  * * *

  Hawkins pounded on the door of Leo Ratcliffe’s basement suite with his fist. There was no answer, no sound from within.

  “I think that’s his car,” Bradley said, pointing to a green sedan parked in the alley behind a fence.

  Hawkins tried the door. “Locked. I’ll try calling him.” He took out his phone and tapped in Ratcliffe’s number. “No answer. Fuck it!”

  The door smashed open on the first kick.

  Leo was on his back inside the doorway with a bullet hole in his forehead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Jack had only just returned to his desk when Hawkins called to tell him that Leo Ratcliffe was dead.

  “Oh, shit,” Jack heard himself say. This has got to be a nightmare. Wake up!

  “Yeah, my sentiments exactly.” Hawkins sounded morose. “I’ve never lost an informant before.”

  “Do you think it happened before, during, or after the attack on Greg?”

  “Connie Crane is here from I-HIT. She thinks it happened two or three hours ago.”

  “Before Greg was attacked,” Jack noted.

  “Yeah, if she’s right, they may’ve popped him, then gone after Greg next. There was no sign of forced entry, and the door was locked when I arrived.”

  “But they shot Leo,” Jack stated, “and Greg was attacked with a pipe or a bat.”

  “Yes, but according to Connie, the gun was a small calibre. Maybe a .22 or a .32. He lives in a basement and the landlord is at work all day. Not to mention, I saw freshly cut grass on the neighbour’s lawn. Good chance that nobody heard the gunshot. Greg would’ve been a different story.”

  “They knew we would’ve been watching him,” Jack replied. “All they needed was to catch him out of our sight and make it quiet.”

  “Exactly.” Hawkins paused. “We’re canvassing the neighbourhood for witnesses. I’ll get back to you if we learn anything.”

  After telling Laura and Alicia what had happened, Jack was about to go and tell Rose when he received another call. He recognized the 416 area code for Toronto.

  “Jack Taggart?” a man asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Constable Mason Stone from Toronto Drugs. I’m about a block from Greg and Sally’s house and I’m about to tell her what happened. Is he still …” Mason’s voice was croaky, and Jack agonized for him and what he was about to do.

  “He’s still in surgery.”

  The sigh was audible. “That’s good, I guess.” Mason paused. “He and I’ve done a lot of UC operations together, and I was best man at their wedding two years ago. Now I wish he’d stayed single, like I did.” Mason paused again, then asked, “Can you give me some details?”

  Jack relayed the gist of what had happened, his own role, and how serious the injuries to Greg’s head were.

  “Christ, what do I tell her? I don’t want to give her false hope.”

  “I’d be as matter-of-fact as you can. She’ll likely be in shock and it could take time to register, so hang in there with her.”

  “That’s a given. Any progress on the arrests?”

  “Not yet. I just found out that the informant who made the introduction was murdered shortly before Greg’s attack. They grabbed one of the suspects who instructed Greg to go the area where he was attacked, but he demanded a lawyer and was subsequently released. Special O had him under surveillance when the attack occurred, so there’s no chance that he did it himself.”

  “But he could have arranged it.”

  “Yes. His brother — another suspect who runs a security consulting business — was also under surveillance.”

  “So he has a solid alibi, too. Sounds like these guys are real pros.”

  “Which is why I stayed back and ordered only minimal communication.”

  “I’d have done the same. Still, you must feel like shit.”

  “Yeah, I do. Nothing compared to how Sally will feel, though. At least I can tell you that the brass have already okayed her to fly out here.”

  “I’ll come with her. Don’t care if it’s on my own dollar.” Mason paused. “I’ve never been to Vancouver before. Greg’s mom lives in Burnaby, so I imagine Sally will
want to break the news to her as soon as we arrive. Is that far from the hospital?”

  “The hospital is in New Westminster, so depending where in Burnaby Greg’s mom is, it’s a fifteen- or twenty-minute drive.”

  “Okay … I’ll rent a car when I get there. I suspect I’ll stay at his mom’s house, too.”

  “Don’t worry about a rental. I’ll pick you up at the airport myself … providing Sally wants anything to do with me, that is.”

  “I doubt she’ll blame you. She’ll take her cue from me. I’ve been doing UC for the last seven years. If I don’t blame you, she won’t either.” Mason exhaled loudly. “Gotta say, though, the thought of telling her is making my stomach crawl up my throat.”

  Unfortunately, I know exactly how you feel. “Once you start talking to her, you’ll forget how you’re feeling.”

  “Because I’ll be focused on her,” Mason replied.

  Your own feelings won’t return until afterward. Feelings of sorrow, rage … and revenge.

  * * *

  At 10:20 a.m. the following morning, Jack spotted Mason and Sally in the arrivals area of the Vancouver International Airport. Neither looked like they’d gotten much sleep the night before.

  Sally was a petite strawberry blond with mascara smudging her freckled cheeks. She was wearing a lightblue pantsuit and Jack guessed she was about thirty.

  Mason, who was about the same age, wore blue jeans and a T-shirt. He was lanky, with a well-trimmed beard and dark-brown hair that hung to his collar. His eyes searched the crowd, then focused on Jack.

  Jack approached and introduced himself. Mason was Jack’s height, and his grip was firm. Considerably younger, Mason’s face still had a youthfulness that Jack had long since lost.

  He saw the anxiety on Sally’s face when she shook his hand. “The surgery lasted seventeen hours, but Greg made it through,” he said, knowing what was on her mind. “He’s currently in an induced coma, and on a ventilator.”

  Sally nodded.

  “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t given any indication of how long he’d be —”