The Grey Zone

by Easton, Don

  “I see.” Dyck turned to Crimmins. “Obviously our investigators will work together. Does anyone have any ideas for how to proceed, knowing what we know?”

  “I still think an undercover operation by an experienced operator targeting Derek Powers might work,” Jack said. “The problem is to find an operator who is experienced, but hasn’t been to court. Usually the two go hand in hand.”

  “You don’t go to court,” Lexton observed. “Neither does Corporal Secord.”

  “Yes, but we’re also on the Intelligence Unit,” Jack replied. “Our mandate tends to exclude us from —”

  “Your mandate be damned,” Lexton interjected. “What happened to our two officers is far more serious.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Jack replied. Not that she cares if I agree or not.

  Lexton eyed him. “How would you do the undercover operation?”

  “At the moment, I expect Derek and Peter are extra paranoid,” Jack noted. “To alleviate that, I’d recommend MCU conduct sloppy surveillance on Peter for the next two weeks, but stay clear of Derek. After that, I’d pull surveillance off of Peter, as well.”

  “So they’d think Derek was completely in the clear, and later, that we’d given up on Peter,” Lexton mused.

  “Right. Under the guise of a major drug trafficker from Alberta, I’d hire Derek Powers to check out some people I’m going to do business with. One of my alleged suppliers would be another undercover operative. As Powers is a professional, I’d prefer the second undercover operator be male, because illegal drug distribution at that level is usually male-dominated.”

  Laura nodded in agreement.

  “Now that we know who the leak is, I’m sure a suitable candidate can be found,” Lexton stated.

  “I’d get Derek to think that the guy I’m buying drugs off of is from a wealthy family,” Jack continued. “Then I’d set it up to look like he robbed me for say, five hundred thousand dollars. I’d act enraged and say I want to kill him. Hopefully Derek would suggest that we kidnap him to get the money back and bring in his accomplices to assist. We could set it up to have them arrested when they go to do it.”

  “Actually, that might work,” Hawkins stated.

  Lexton looked at Jack. “Then do it,” she ordered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Good news,” Jack said to Mason Stone over the phone. “The assistant commissioner is backing me completely. She wants to leave Ottawa completely out of it.”

  “Hey, are you sure she’s a genuine white shirt?” Mason responded. “Sounds like an imposter to me.”

  “Once in a while a good one comes along.”

  “She sounds like a real cop. Didn’t they send her on the hating constables course?”

  “If they did, she must have slept through it. There’s more. How’d you like to come out and do a UC with me targeting Derek Powers?”

  “Are you serious? It kind of pisses me off that you even thought you had to ask.”

  “I was only being polite. The UC has already been given the go-ahead and it starts in about two weeks … let’s say right after the Labour Day long weekend.”

  “That’d make it Tuesday, September fourth.”

  “Yes. It may be a short-term, two-week project, but if it takes longer to gain his trust, it could last much longer.”

  “What role am I playing?”

  “You’re a major coke dealer from a wealthy family. Mother widowed. You were recently kicked off the family estate when she caught you coming out of the maid’s quarters early one morning. That way we don’t have to come up with a mansion for you.”

  “So a few silk shirts. No problem. I did a UC on Italian organized crime a while back. I’ve got the bling to go along with the image.”

  “Good. Basically I’m using you as bait to be kidnapped. Any questions?”

  “Yeah, this maid I’m seeing, is she good-looking?”

  Jack chuckled. “That’s up to you because she’ll be imaginary.”

  “Damn.”

  “What I want you to do is call your UC coordinator and say you’ve already been asked. Let him know an official request will be arriving on his desk in a day or two.”

  “I’ll do it first thing in the morning.” Mason paused. “Is this your way of arranging that face to face you spoke of?”

  “I knew you wanted to be here when Greg comes out of his coma, but the real reason is I think you’re the best choice because you’re experienced, available, and you haven’t testified in court in B.C. We’re taking a chance that pictures aren’t being taken in other courthouses across the country, but your role will be brief, and if anyone is going to be checked out, I think it’ll only be me.”

  “So you didn’t just pick me for my good looks and charm?”

  “Nope. This case is too important to screw up. If I didn’t think you were the best person for the job, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “I appreciate that,” Mason said sincerely. “You know I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “One more thing. How well do you know your UC coordinator?”

  “Not well. He transferred in from Winnipeg last spring. Why?”

  “Does he know how close you are to Greg? That you were best man at his wedding?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  * * *

  Two days later, Lexton summoned Rose and Jack to her office.

  “It’s been nine days since Constable Dalton was attacked,” she stated when they sat down. “Are there any updates on his condition?”

  “I’ve talked with his wife, Sally,” Jack said. “The neurosurgeon told her that he’ll suffer considerable and permanent cognitive dysfunction … to the point that he’ll never be able to return to policing.”

  “Oh, God. How’s his wife doing?”

  “Still in shock. She spends all her time at the hospital, only going back to her mother-in-law’s house to sleep. I invited her to join my family for dinner, but she declined. As for Greg, he’s still in an induced coma.” Jack paused. “The doctors might bring him out of it in two weeks, but that’s still iffy.”

  Lexton grimaced. “Have you been able to learn anything further about Miguel Hernández?”

  “A little,” Jack said. “He’s been married three times, but appears to be living on his own again. He’s been with the Sheriff ’s Services for ten years, but applied to join the RCMP nine years ago. We’ve got his background history. Originally he was from Mississauga, Ontario. His parents still live there and his father’s a retired plumber. According to his application, he came to Vancouver to be with his first wife. He took criminology classes when he first came out, which is interesting because Derek Powers studied criminology and hires criminology students to assist him, so that may be how they met. Hernández’s application to join the RCMP was rejected when a background investigation revealed that he displayed bullying behaviour and that past neighbours reported he was verbally abusive to his wives … if not physically abusive.”

  “It appears he harbours a grudge. Anything else?”

  “Corporal Secord placed a bogus call to where he works, pretending to verify a credit rating. She was given his current cellphone number, which was only activated last week.”

  “Maybe he got rid of his old one as a precaution after what happened,” Lexton suggested.

  “Possibly. No phone tolls of interest, but he may be using office phones that we don’t know about. I’ve also spoken with the UC coordinator, and they’re still looking into which operators across Canada have testified in court here.”

  “Guess that’s a start.”

  “I also asked the coordinator to come up with an experienced operator to act as my supplier when I do the UC sting on Derek Powers.”

  “Good.” Lexton took a breath. “The real reason I called you both in has to do with my concern about our undercover operatives being burned. We don’t know if Hernández’s actions are being replicated elsewhere or if our
own building is under scrutiny. With that in mind, Sergeant Taggart, I am going to approve a modest expenditure for you and the other two undercover operatives in your office.”

  It should be the other three, but I failed to protect one and now he’s in a vegetative state in the hospital.

  “I want you to rent an apartment or office space to work in.” Lexton paused. “I realize there may be occasion for you or other members of your team to attend meetings and whatnot, but I’d like to limit the exposure of undercover operatives when it comes to frequenting known RCMP facilities. How do you feel about that?”

  “I’d like that,” Jack replied.

  “As I said, it’ll be a modest budget, so nothing fancy. I suggest you locate outside of Vancouver, as the cost will be lower. You’ll still report to Rose or, in her absence, directly to me.”

  “There are some logistics required,” Rose noted. “He’ll need the rental space alarmed and to have some storage for classified materials and reports that will need to be secured in a safe.”

  “I’m aware of that. Currently there’s a lull in the kidnapping investigation while MCU make themselves obvious by following Peter Powers around. Hopefully that’ll give you enough time to set things up before you make your approach to Derek.”

  Jack nodded in agreement.

  “I needn’t remind you that you’ll be in charge and accountable for the actions of all the undercover operatives under your command,” Lexton noted, “including any who may be here on a temporary basis to assist you in your investigations.”

  “Their actions, and their safety, too,” he snapped. Shit, where’d that come from? “I’m sorry,” he quickly added. “That didn’t come out right. I meant no disrespect.”

  Lexton gave him a stern look. “I don’t hold you responsible for what happened to Constables Short and Dalton. You shouldn’t, either.”

  * * *

  Lexton eyed the next visitor she’d summoned to her office.

  Chief Superintendent Quaile smiled nervously as he took a seat.

  “You’ve heard, I take it, about what happened to Constable Dalton?” she asked.

  Quaile slunk down in his chair and furtively looked around the room like a conspirator plotting a dastardly deed. His reply came in a whisper. “Do you think Taggart set him up and tried to get him killed?”

  What the hell? “No, I don’t think that!” Lexton replied, perhaps louder than necessary.

  “Oh,” Quaile responded, looking confused.

  “Why would you?” she asked.

  “Well … as you recall, you wanted people in there to spy on him. I can’t help but wonder if Taggart suspected Dalton.”

  “I never told you that I wanted to put spies in the office,” Lexton replied angrily. “I told you explicitly that I was not looking for anyone to inform, but simply wanted people known for their integrity and honesty.”

  “I’m sorry, yes, spying was the wrong word to use.”

  Lexton studied him briefly. “I’m told that Constable Dalton will not be returning to police duties. The Intelligence Unit is about to commence an undercover investigation of extreme importance. I’d like you to contact the undercover coordinator and see if you can find a suitable replacement to transfer in forthwith.”

  After Quaile left, Lexton sat with her elbow on the desk and her chin nestled in her hand, analyzing her own behaviour. The thought of her file on Taggart, hidden in her office safe, began to torment her.

  Have I become like Quaile? So obsessed that I’d be willing to believe almost anything? She recalled the pain etched on Taggart’s face when he said he was responsible for the safety of the people under him. Perhaps if she hadn’t seen that, she, too, could have been suspicious and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  She removed the folder labeled JT from her office safe and scanned through the files, the most recent being that of the unsolved murder of the gunrunner Erich Vath. Okay, I think I’m justified with these.

  She looked at the notations she’d made recently after he’d told her about his source in the intelligence community and his idea to divert suspicion, along with his plan to identify the kidnappers. She had written, “This member is devious and displays a ready willingness and natural tendency to lie.” Lexton sighed. Okay, maybe I went a little overboard.

  A moment later, Lexton returned the folder to her safe, having amended the comment to read, “This member displays an aptitude for thinking outside the box.”

  Lexton brooded over the change she’d made. Does he think outside the box, or does he see the boxes as coffins to be filled?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The following week, Jack was scanning apartment and office space listings on his computer when he received a call from Mason.

  “It’s all set for me to come out for the UC,” Mason said. “Approved by my boss and the UC coordinator.”

  “That’s great.”

  “You want me there right after the Labour Day weekend?”

  “Sally told me they’re taking Greg off his induced coma on the Friday of that weekend,” Jack noted. “I know you want to be there for that, so come earlier.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there for that, for sure. The problem is I’ve got a court case on the go, but the prosecutor swore she’d have me off the stand no later than the Wednesday.”

  “Then come as soon as you’re able. I’m arranging an apartment for you, but I also want you to familiarize yourself with Vancouver, since that’s where you’re supposed to be from.”

  “I don’t know the city at all,” Mason admitted.

  “Don’t worry, your part won’t involve much driving, and I don’t expect the bad guys to even be talking to you. Simply trying to cover all the bases.”

  “Okay,” Mason replied. “Looking forward to working with you.”

  Jack felt his stomach knot up. That’s exactly what Greg Dalton said.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Lexton received a call from Chief Superintendent Quaile.

  “I’m not sure how urgent the Intelligence Unit’s planned undercover operation is, but —”

  “I told you it was of extreme importance,” Lexton interjected. “Doesn’t that reflect a degree of urgency to you?”

  “Yes, yes. It was more a figure of speech. I’m reviewing a suggested candidate’s file on my computer, but I thought I should get your thoughts about him.”

  “Keep your computer on. I’ll be right there.”

  Moments later, Lexton took a seat across from Quaile and raised her eyebrow.

  He cleared his throat. “I spoke to Staffing in Toronto. A person was suggested to them by their undercover coordinator. He’s an experienced operator, single, lives in an apartment, and could transfer immediately.”

  “Okay, sounds good. What’s the problem?”

  “I wondered if there was an ulterior motive for their suggesting him, so I asked a lot of questions.”

  Now he’s smiling like he expects a reward. “And?”

  “I think they’re trying to rid themselves of a bad apple,” Quaile said smugly.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Constable Mason Stone. He has a reputation for being a loose cannon and has had been investigated several times by Internal Affairs … although apparently nothing has stuck.”

  “What’s his background?”

  “He has ten years’ service. Three in uniform in Regina, then seven in Toronto Drug Section.”

  “But he’s an experienced operator?”

  “Yes, the drug program coordinator said he’s worked all through eastern Canada on some really heavy cases.”

  “Regarding the Internal Affairs investigations, were any for corruption or anything of a criminal nature?”

  “They were policy related. It appears he has trouble following the chain of command.”

  Interesting. I wonder how Taggart would feel with someone like that under him. The shoe would be on the other foot. “Do you know what Mason’s exam scores were when he
applied for the Force?”

  “Give me a sec and I’ll pull them up.”

  A moment later Quaile made a face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He gestured to the screen. “Likely a data entry error. They’ve got his score as 162.”

  “Isn’t the average applicant score a 120? I understand that they’re not the same as IQ tests, but 120 is basically the score of an average university grad, yes?”

  “But we’ll take less than 100 if their ethnic or cultural background would help us to fill political quotas. In this case I’m betting his score was actually 126. Someone probably mixed up the last two numbers.” Quaile gave a quick smile as if to reassure that he knew what he was talking about. “A little high, but not uncommon.”

  “Out of curiosity, what was Sergeant Taggart’s score?”

  “I’ll pull it up.” Quaile’s mouth gaped as he stared at his computer screen. “Uh, it says 171. There must be a mistake.”

  “You think whoever entered that score was dyslexic, as well?”

  “I don’t know what to make of it.”

  I do. I’ve interviewed him several times. You were once his boss. Doesn’t say much for your intellect if you didn’t realize you were dealing with someone far beyond your own capabilities.

  “Maybe they’re both wrong,” Quaile offered.

  “It’s my understanding that people with high scores often are not hired because they don’t tend to fit in well with the paramilitary discipline of the RCMP.”

  “Yes, there’s another test we give to check that out. It’s based out of 100. A score toward 100 means they’re extreme radicals who fight all authority, while a score toward the bottom indicates they’re basically doormats that anyone can push around.”

  “So the ideal score would be 50.”

  “Yes, but that exact score would be unusual. Most people fall somewhere in the 40 to 60 range.”

  “What did Taggart and Stone each get on this test?”