The Benefactor

by Don Easton

Connie frowned as she recorded the licence plate from the car in her notebook. Too coincidental for it not to be the same car. Would a couple of drunks out joyriding in a stolen car think to torch it? Possible. She looked at the narrow distance that the car had travelled before driving over the woman and the dog. If Rankin is right, what’s the motive? Petty possession of drugs doesn’t seem serious enough …

  Two hours later, Connie and Boyle reviewed the security-camera footage from two different apartment buildings at each end of the block. The apartment at the end of the block showed a white delivery van going past on the street moments before the blue Honda Accord roared into view on the sidewalk and bounced back out onto the street.

  Connie zoomed in on the licence plate on the Honda from where it drove out of the apartment entrance. She wasn’t surprised that it matched the stolen car. The glare off the Honda’s windows made it difficult to see who was inside, only that the passenger was wearing a ball cap.

  She reviewed the footage again. The delivery van had passed the first apartment building five hours earlier before passing the apartment at the end of the street. Like the Honda, it was not possible to see who was driving.

  “Maybe the van lives in the area,” suggested Boyle.

  “Maybe,” replied Connie.

  Neither of the apartment cameras was able to see the licence plates of vehicles passing on the street, but one camera was able to zoom in and give Connie a name on the door of the van. It was for a Vietnamese restaurant in Vancouver called Hanoi House.

  Boyle phoned the I-HIT office to check the name of the restaurant and sat with his pen poised over his notebook while Connie continued to review the footage in slow motion.

  Connie saw Boyle make a notation in his notebook before hanging up. “I’ve got nothing further,” she said. “What do you have?”

  Boyle shrugged. “Nothing, really. There’s a report on the Hanoi House, but it’s three years old. Back then it was simply listed as a known hangout for Asian drug dealers.”

  “Was the report put in by Drug Section?” asked Connie.

  “No. By the Intelligence Unit.”

  Connie grimaced. “Do you know who wrote the report?”

  “Yeah,” replied Boyle, glancing at his notebook. “It was a Corporal J.B. Taggart.”

  “Fuck,” muttered Connie.

  Boyle looked at her in surprise. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Connie sighed. “I know Jack from several other investigations. On a plus side, he always gets results and is considered one of the best undercover operatives the force has. So is his partner, Laura Secord.”

  “So? What’s the downside?”

  Connie bit her lower lip for a moment. “He’s not so good at following the rules. There is also another problem. Anytime he gets involved, I end up with more work than I started with.”

  “Oh?” replied Boyle, unsure what Connie meant. “Well, it’s likely only a simple hit and run anyway.”

  “And if it isn’t?” asked Connie. “What about Nancy Brighton? What if she was the intended victim? We can’t sit back and wait to see if they get her next time.”

  “People don’t murder someone over a simple possession beef.”

  “I agree it doesn’t make sense,” said Connie, “but we can’t chance it. It could be some other reason that we don’t even know about yet. Maybe they did kill the right person.”

  “You’re talking like it is a murder.”

  “We have to treat it like it is,” replied Connie, gruffly.

  “So what do we do about Nancy Brighton? Supply round-the-clock protection for someone when all we might have is a simple case of hit and run?”

  “We’re going to have to make sure she’s safe until we investigate further.”

  “If it’s over the drugs, it could take a year to run it through court … or longer. It would be ridiculous to protect someone twenty-four-seven over a possession beef. Get someone to pull the charge and be done with it.”

  “Pulling the charge isn’t a precedent we can set. It would open the door to have more witnesses whacked.” Connie sighed. “But you’re right, it would be a tough thing to try and justify putting her in the Witness Protection Program.”

  “So what the hell do we do? We need answers fast. All we really have is the opinion of some traffic guy who probably wouldn’t know a homicide even if he were the victim. Where do we go from here?”

  “We have a report from Jack Taggart,” said Connie.

  “That’s three years old,” replied Boyle, with a wave of his hand. “Are you going to call him over that?”

  “I don’t have any choice,” muttered Connie. “If it is a homicide, we can’t leave any stones unturned. Besides, like you said, we need answers fast.” She reached for her phone and punched in Jack’s number.

  Listen to what my gut tells me … Jack Taggart … oh, yeah, this is a homicide all right. She glanced at Boyle as the phone rang. Poor sap. He’s got no idea of what we might be getting into. Guess I don’t, either … other than to expect more bodies …

  Chapter Five

  It was six o’clock in the evening when Jack and Laura arrived at Connie Crane’s office within the Major Crime Unit based out of Surrey. Introductions were made with Stan Boyle and the four sat around Connie’s desk as she explained what she knew so far.

  Jack noticed that Boyle sat with his arms folded across his chest while making frequent glances at his watch. “You need to be someplace?” he asked.

  “No,” replied Boyle.

  Oh, so what you were really saying is that you feel that inviting us over is a waste of time …

  “I’ve had someone drive past the Hanoi House, but there was no sign of the van,” continued Connie. “The 911 call for the hit and run came in at twelve-forty-eight, so who knows where the van could be by now.”

  “If it is even relevant,” yawned Boyle.

  “What have you done with Nancy Brighton?” asked Jack.

  “At the moment, we’ve talked her into staying with friends in Chilliwack, but she isn’t happy about it and I doubt she will stay there long.”

  “Witness Protection?” asked Jack.

  Connie shook her head. “I already brought that up with her and there is no way she will accept it. Being as we’re not sure it wasn’t accidental, or even had anything to do with her, I can’t say as I blame her. Not that it would matter. She made it perfectly clear that even if it does involve her, she’s not going into the WPP.”

  “Our office hasn’t had anything to do with that restaurant in over three years,” said Jack. “It came up as a haunt for a lot of Asian drug dealers. Most of them low-level. We turned it over to Drug Section who made some buys and busted a few of them. I called them after you called me. Everyone they busted has already been through the court system and, for the most part, received probation. They’ve had no interest in the place since then.”

  “I was hoping you might have an informant with the Viets to let us know what is going on, or if the van was even involved,” replied Connie.

  “We don’t have any Vietnamese informants at the moment,” said Jack. “Even if we did, the odds are remote that the informant would know anything about it. There are dozens of different Vietnamese gangs and they seldom have anything to do with each other. The situation with all the gangs is fluid. Those who are allies today could be enemies tomorrow. At the moment, the Vietnamese look after the majority of the marijuana grow operations and come under the control of Satans Wrath, who use them to insulate themselves from prosecution.”

  “The bikers’ involvement in marijuana crops is a huge concern for us,” said Laura.

  “Who cares about pot?” snorted Boyle. “It’s not exactly a hard drug. Bet more people smoke it than don’t these days … or have a least tried it.”

  “It’s the ideal wedge into corruption,” explained Jack. “There is huge money to be made from it and many people share your belief that it is not really a bad thing. That makes it an easy tool for crimi
nals to open the door to corrupt officials who might not otherwise be corrupted.”

  “Once the initial corruption takes place, the corrupt officials are then easy prey when it comes to other organized crime favourites,” added Laura. “Like influence-peddling, market manipulation, drug-trafficking, slavery prostitution rings, union corruption … and of course, the murder of rivals or those who are innocent or refuse to be bought.”

  “Kind of like using good old B.C. bud as the key to opening Pandora’s Box,” said Connie.

  “Exactly,” replied Jack. “The same thing happened over alcohol during the Prohibition years in the U.S. It was how organized crime really managed to gain control over a multitude of other criminal activities.” Jack gave Boyle a hard stare and said, “Which is why it concerns us that an organized crime family as strong as Satans Wrath is in control of the marijuana situation.”

  “So you’re saying the bikers could be behind it?” asked Boyle. “Maybe Mia Parker is a girlfriend to one of them?”

  “In my opinion, the bikers wouldn’t contract out a hit for something so trivial,” replied Jack. “Especially over a girlfriend. She might not even be convicted.”

  “Might get Parker’s fingerprints on the bags,” said Boyle. “Coupled with an eyewitness … she’s done.”

  Jack glanced at Boyle and said, “I take it you’ve never worked drugs. Her lawyer will attack the credibility of the witness. An older, retired woman peering through blinds or curtains on a window. Does she wear glasses? Was she sure she had them on? When was the last time her eyes were checked?”

  “Yeah, but fingerprints —”

  “If fingerprints are found, the lawyer will get the client to take the stand and say she dropped her purse, saw the dope, and touched it before realizing what it was and putting it back. Which he will suggest is what the witness saw. Parker has no previous criminal record. I’d say her chances of being convicted are about fifty-fifty. The bikers know this, so I would be surprised if they had anything to do with it.”

  “So you’re saying it isn’t a homicide?” said Boyle, with a nod of his head at Connie to say he had been right all along.

  “I didn’t say that,” replied Jack. “I’m saying I can’t think of a probable motive, but it doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Also, it’s not only the bikers who are involved. Although they basically control the Vietnamese over the marijuana crops, the Viets still have a lot of their own action going and are comprised of dozens of different groups who generally operate independently of each other.”

  “So having one informant, unless by fluke he was with the right gang, wouldn’t be able to tell us much,” said Connie.

  “Yes, although the higher up you go on the corporate ladder, significant decisions become limited to a select few,” said Jack. “At the moment, a lot of B.C. bud is heading south of the border. With Satans Wrath’s guidance, the Vietnamese are trading a lot of the marijuana for guns, heroin, ecstasy, and cocaine with the Chinese gangs. The Chinese are well established up and down the west coast of North America and have been handling much of the actual smuggling going on back and forth across the border.”

  “So what the hell does all that have to do with our hit and run?” asked Connie.

  “Good question,” replied Jack. “If this was a hit, I think we’re missing the real motive at the moment. I’m not saying that the Viets aren’t involved. Someone else could have hired them, but it doesn’t fit in with a normal Asian organized crime hit. They’re usually bloody and done with machetes or guns to make a statement.”

  “To make a statement?” asked Boyle.

  “Telling someone not to mess with them,” replied Laura.

  “Yeah, well, thanks for … all your help,” said Boyle, sounding dismissive, as he leaned back in his chair so Jack and Laura wouldn’t see him. When Connie looked at him, he gave a sideways glance at Jack and Laura, then rolled his eyes as if to say, Why did you bother calling these two yokels over …

  Connie chose to ignore him and leaned forward in her chair, clasping her hands on her desk. “Jack … I called the Asian Organized Crime Task Force before giving you a call, but they don’t have anything that would help.”

  “Who did you speak to in AOCTF?” asked Jack.

  “One of the secretaries. She was pretty short with me. Said if something came up, they would let me know.”

  “In future,” said Jack, “if you need something from AOCTF, I would suggest you give Sergeant Roger Morris a call.”

  There was something about Jack’s tone of voice and how he looked at Connie that told her there was something he was trying to imply. “Oh?” she asked.

  “Roger’s a good guy,” replied Jack. He gave Connie a hard look, shifted his eyes momentarily to glance at Boyle, then looked back at Connie and said, “I trust Roger.”

  “Yeah, AOCTF are really busting their asses over there,” interjected Boyle. “They’ve taken a lot of weapons off the street. Equates to saving us a lot of work.”

  Connie looked at Jack and gave a faint nod that she understood. AOCTF has a leak … be damned careful who you talk to… Connie glanced at Boyle. And Jack doesn’t trust him enough to talk about it in front of him…

  Laura glanced at Boyle. “You’re right about AOCTF being busy,” she said. “They’re so tied up with the punks doing the gang shootings that they don’t have time to go after the guys higher up.”

  Connie cleared her throat and looked at Jack. “I know you’re busy, but I wouldn’t have called asking for help if there were, uh, alternative investigative methods I could do myself. I’m really at a loss. I know you two have a knack for turning informants or getting information.”

  Jack smiled. “What did you do when you looked up my number,” he asked, “look in your phone book under last resort?”

  Connie would have smiled if someone else had said that … but Jack was telling the truth. Their eyes locked momentarily. “Something like that,” she admitted. “I have a serious time issue. If Nancy Brighton was the real target, we need to know and get a handle on it pretty damned quick. Any ideas?”

  “I have some,” replied Jack. “Any chance of getting a search warrant for the van?”

  “Based on it driving by on the street? Not a chance.”

  “A witness said it was possible that Asians were driving the Honda,” noted Laura. “We’ve got a Vietnamese delivery van, so there is an Asian connection.”

  “Are you kidding me?” replied Connie. “Over half of Richmond is Asian. A judge would laugh me out of the office.”

  “Besides,” said Boyle, looking at Jack, “we’re talking about a delivery van for a restaurant.” He did not keep the sarcasm out of his voice when he added, “What could you hope to find in it, other than about a hundred different sets of fingerprints?”

  “I take it you’ve never spent time on surveillance in the back of a van,” replied Jack.

  “Not really. I prefer a more active approach to police work,” replied Boyle.

  “Yes, I can tell by the sleep in your eyes that you must be run off your feet,” replied Jack.

  Boyle took Jack seriously and nodded, rubbing his eyes.

  “I’ve spent countless hours on surveillance,” continued Jack. “You get the munchies. You get thirsty. There could be candy wrappings or —”

  “Candy wrappings tossed back by service people in the van,” interrupted Boyle. “Means nothing.”

  “Or perhaps fingerprints on a set of binoculars,” added Jack.

  Boyle paused. “Oh, uh, yeah, I guess,” he replied. “Still, the point is moot. We can’t get a warrant. You said you had some ideas. What are your others?”

  Jack ignored Boyle’s question and nodded to Laura, indicating it was time to leave. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Connie,” said Jack, over his shoulder as he and Laura walked out.

  After they left, Boyle looked at Connie and said, “What a jerk. Did you see that? He treated me like I wasn’t even here.” Boyle glanced in disgust in the dire
ction Jack had left and added, “He doesn’t have a clue what to do.”

  “You were rude, too, when you sat back in your chair a moment ago, rolling your eyes.”

  “Maybe, but it’s not like either of them saw that.”

  “Jack did. Right after you did it, he looked at me, frowned, then rolled his eyes to mimic you.”

  “There’s no way he could see me. I leaned back —” Boyle then caught his reflection in the window behind Connie. “Oh, maybe he did see me.”

  “There is no maybe about it,” replied Connie, firmly.

  “Yeah, well, big deal. It’s not like they can help us.”

  “We don’t know that yet. I told you they are both UC operators. They have certain talents that neither of us have.”

  Boyle chuckled. “Come on, Connie. Don’t you think they might have a little difficulty going undercover as Asians? What are they going to do? Scotch-tape their eyes back?”

  Connie thought of Jack and Laura’s demeanour as she glared at Boyle. They accurately read your personality as soon as they met you…. She took a deep breathe to calm her response. “You’re new, so let me give you some advice. Show some respect and don’t fuck with them. We need their help.”

  “Why?” replied Boyle, defensively. “What can they do that we can’t?”

  “What would you do?” replied Connie.

  “Well … I know Forensics likely won’t come up with anything on the Honda, but they still haven’t told us if there are any prints on the broken wine bottle left at the scene. Tomorrow we could canvas the neighbourhood where the Honda was stolen from and see if anyone saw something.”

  “And if both of those avenues turn out to be dead ends, then what?”

  “I don’t know. What would you suggest?”

  “I don’t know, either, which is why I called Taggart.”

  Boyle frowned. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry if I came off sounding like an ass, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up on him. He said he had some other ideas, but didn’t come up with them when I asked. Bet you don’t get any phone call from him tomorrow.”

  Connie gave a grim smile. She believed Taggart would get results. It was how he would get results … or the consequences of his results that worried her.