by Don Easton
“I told him you were about to have a talk with Vicki and that if he wanted an update on the operational plan, I could give it to him.”
“And?”
“He practically bit my head off.”
Jack felt his stomach knot.
Chapter Sixteen
“Close the door and sit down,” Assistant Commissioner Mortimer said bluntly, indicating a chair across from his desk.
Jack obeyed and then returned Mortimer’s stare. A clock mounted on the wall slowly ticked off twenty seconds. What is this? Junior High? Are we supposed to see who blinks first? At forty seconds Jack thought, Okay, this is stupid. Acting defiant won’t help. He faked a cough and looked away.
Mortimer’s face registered his sense of accomplishment. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” he began menacingly.
Guess you’re not interested in whether or not Vicki said anything.
“You will never, and I repeat never, put me in a spot like you did with Assistant Commissioner Isaac.”
“Sir?”
“Don’t play stupid with me, Corporal! You know full well what I mean.”
Well, no, I really don’t, but I get why you didn’t want Rose here. You don’t want anyone to witness this.
“In the future, if you ever submit a report that even hints at being — what did Isaac call it, a delicate matter? — I’ll see to it that your career is over and that you spend the rest of your time on administrative duties. Do I make myself clear?”
Okay, stay calm. The important thing is to get the task force up and running. “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear,” Jack said submissively. “It was apparent to me when we first met that you disagreed with the type of investigations performed by the intelligence unit. May I ask what direction you’d like us to go?”
“Are you being impertinent?”
“No, sir. Not at all.”
Mortimer appeared taken back. “Well … perhaps you should liaise with other agencies, such as U.S. Customs or something to identify potential drug or money-laundering routes. Then turn that information over to the appropriate sections.”
“I see. More of a systemic approach.”
“Exactly. You’re in the intelligence unit. You shouldn’t be doing anything hands-on. Particularly with a group like Satans Wrath. They’re grubby, dangerous, and not worthy of the kind of criminal you should be focusing on.”
You’re right. Some of them even carry guns.
“It presents a far better image to go after white-collar criminals. Leave the bikers to CFSEU. There are city police officers in there who can deal with them.”
“The problem is, sir, that Satans Wrath are international. They go well beyond the jurisdiction of municipal police forces.”
“Have you not been listening to me?”
“Yes, sir, but I’ve an informant in the club who —”
“Yes, a Mack Cockerill — I made inquiries,” Mortimer said, tapping a piece of paper on his desk. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”
Jack saw his informant’s name scrawled on the paper and his anger rose further. Informants were identified in reports by a number to protect their identity. Someone of Mortimer’s rank would have clearance to identify who they were, but to do so would be highly unusual.
“I asked you a question, Corporal.”
“Yesterday afternoon,” Jack responded. “He called me at home and I met him shortly after. Would you like me to shred that piece of paper when I go?” he added, gesturing to his informant’s name.
“You let him call you at home?”
“My informants don’t work Monday-to-Friday jobs. Often what they tell me is urgent in nature.”
“That’s absurd!” Mortimer looked stunned. “That clearly explains to me how you came to be threatened. You practically invited them to your house.”
Bite your tongue, Jack, bite your tongue. At least he thinks of it as a threat now and not a joke.
“It also tells me you’ve no idea how to handle informants. As such, Cockerill will be turned over to CFSEU immediately.”
“Sir, this informant is extremely stressed out at the moment. He’s not paid and became an informant to keep himself from being charged.”
“Yes, you told me you took it upon yourself not to charge him for indecent exposure.”
“Yes, sir, and since then he has more than repaid his debt.”
“How long have you been subverting justice?”
What the hell? “Subverting justice, sir?”
“Deciding on your own who should face criminal prosecution and who shouldn’t.” Mortimer pushed himself back in his chair. “My God, you really are clueless.” He looked at Jack with disdain. “People like you don’t have the experience or intelligence to make such decisions, which is why Ottawa’s been forced to formulate new policy to stop that practice.” He appeared to run out of steam, but then added, “Perhaps certain instances may be allowed with approval of the attorney general, but basic-ally such methods are terminated immediately.”
“Sir, that is our most valuable tool for catching crim-inals. We need informants. For many, their impulse to talk is fleeting. Having to wait for approval from someone like the attorney general would greatly hinder the opportunity and expose the informant to further risk.”
“Is that a fact?” Mortimer’s words were sarcastic.
“Sir, a few years ago we discovered that a sister of a Satans Wrath member was carrying on an affair with the attorney general.” Jack paused to let that sink in. “So going to him for permission is … well, not only potentially dangerous, but many officers wouldn’t take the time to fill out the amount of paperwork required. Our eyes and ears on the street would virtually disappear.”
Mortimer’s tone remained sarcastic. “I’m sure, Corporal, that with all your vast knowledge and experience you feel qualified to question Ottawa’s decisions.”
“Sir, members in Ottawa who are caught up in the administrative and bureaucratic processes have different goals and agendas. Their goal may be to prevent some future lawsuit without any sense of what is needed to do effective policing. Most members have never developed or worked with informants. Sir, this new policy needs input from people who are knowledgeable about —”
“Enough, Corporal!” Mortimer snarled. “Let me assure you that you are not qualified to speak on the subject. Your lack of knowledge about informants is shameful. I’ll be calling the chief superintendent in charge of CFSEU to have someone there take over the informant. You may speak to Cockerill once more to let him know. After that you’re not to have any further contact with him … or any other informants, for that matter, until such time as I believe you have learned to act responsibly.”
Jack struggled to keep his rage in check. Does he want me to punch him in the face? No, he’s just a sanctimonious bureaucrat. Violence is as foreign to him as actual policing is.
“Did you hear me, Corporal?”
Jack’s nostrils flared slightly, before he answered politely. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Seventeen
Jack walked past his office and motioned for Laura to follow. Seconds later they each took a seat across from Rose’s desk and waited as she spoke on the phone. Jack noticed her face turn a ruddy red as she listened to the caller, then a moment later she said, “Yes, sir, you’ve made yourself perfectly clear.” Upon ending the call, she stared at Jack.
“Mortimer?” Jack asked.
Rose nodded. “I’ve been accused of allowing you to act like a cowboy.”
“I like cowboys,” Jack replied. “Honest and hardworking people.”
Rose glared at him. “This is serious!” she snapped. “He made it clear that it’s not only your career that’s in jeopardy.”
“I know it’s serious. Did he also mention I’m not qualified to handle informants and I’m to turn Weenie Wagger over to CF
SEU? In fact, he had Weenie Wagger’s name written on a piece of paper on his desk and said he was going to call CFSEU himself.”
“No, he didn’t tell me that.” Rose leaned forward, putting her elbows on her desk, and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God,” she mumbled.
“He told you to turn your informant over to CFSEU,” Laura repeated in disbelief.
“I told him Weenie wasn’t ready for that, but he wouldn’t listen. What’s even worse is he told me that policy is being written in Ottawa. We’ll no longer be allowed to turn informants in lieu of having them charged, except in exceptional circumstances.”
“You gotta be kidding,” Laura said.
“Wish I was. Mortimer refers to it as ‘subverting justice.’” Jack shook his head in frustration. “It’s that policy that’ll be subverting justice.”
Rose sat back in her chair. “Without informants, how does he expect us to do our job?”
“He doesn’t want us to do our job,” Jack stated. “He’s afraid it might force him to make a decision on something he could be criticized for. That’s why he didn’t want you there when he told me. He didn’t want anyone to witness what he said to me.”
“I don’t know what to do!” Rose exclaimed, gesturing with her hands in the air. “He’s too far up the totem pole to try and go above him.”
“We’ll work around it,” Jack said quietly. “Crime Stoppers are always getting anonymous tips. Maybe I’ll change my name to Mr. Anonymous. Intelligence reports won’t be going out, but we could still do a number on the bad guys.”
Rose bit her lower lip as she appeared to ponder the situ-ation. Then she gave a slight nod. “Glad you’re keeping the promise you made to me last month to keep me informed.”
Yeah, well … that was before they threatened my family and Mortimer took over.
“This is disastrous,” Laura said. “How can Mortimer sleep at night?”
“His priority is political,” Jack stated. “Climb the corporate ladder to the top. He sees people who actually do police work as dumb.”
Laura looked confused. “How’d he get to be where he is? It’s crazy.”
“Bureaucrats have different agendas,” Rose said, “and it has little to do with police work. I refer to it as the enemy from within.”
“The enemy from within,” Jack echoed. “I agree. Now it’s a matter of eliminating that enemy.”
“Eliminating?” Rose’s brow furrowed. “You can’t kill him … much as I’d like to.”
“Well, it’s like you said, bureaucratic interference goes with the job. This isn’t the first time, but I’m optimistic we’ll get past it.”
“How?” Laura asked. “You figure out a way to give him a coronary?”
“We’re not allowed to submit any reports that’d cause Mortimer any stress, let alone a coronary,” Rose said. She looked at Jack. “I’m almost afraid to ask. Why are you optimistic?”
“To start with, Laura and I turned a high-level source within the club Friday night.”
“The one at executive level?” Rose asked.
“Yes. He’s co-operating fully. Once the op plan takes effect, there’ll be so much going on that Mortimer won’t be able to ignore it. Hell, it’ll probably end up making him look good in the eyes of Ottawa. As long as I use Crime Stoppers, he won’t know the info is coming from us. I don’t care who gets the credit as long as the job gets done.”
Rose pursed her lips. “This source … what stick are you holding? Murder?”
“No … money laundering and five million in savings.”
“Five mil!” Rose exclaimed.
“Kind of gives a person incentive,” Laura noted.
Rose chewed her lip for a moment, then said, “Few people would have the inside information he’d have.”
“I know,” Jack replied. “We may have to let a few crimes go by to protect him. Obviously we won’t be submitting any reports. I’ll use Crime Stoppers entirely. There are a couple of drug shipments scheduled to arrive at the end of the month. One of my objectives is to make busts and attribute the extra attention Satans Wrath is receiving to Pure E. If we ever find Damien’s body it’d put further heat on him. The club would know he lied to them.”
“That and they’d know Damien informed,” Laura said. “It would damage morale. Plus, if someone of his stature informed, it might encourage others.”
“Any ideas what they might’ve done with his body?” Rose asked. “Doesn’t your new source know?”
“I asked. The three-three keep that info to themselves.”
“I see.” Rose was silent for a few moments. At last she said, “So what do you plan on doing now?”
“Work on the op plan. The report will need to reflect what we learned Friday night. Not easy to do when I’m not supposed to have an informant. I’ll make it sound like it’s old information but that the targets are still active. With luck, I’ll have the report on your desk by Friday.”
“Good.” Rose studied Jack’s face. “Is there something else? You look worried.”
Jack took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I was thinking about Weenie Wagger. I need to give him a heads-up.”
On returning to his own desk, Jack called Roger Morris at CFSEU and told him about his conversation with Mortimer.
“Christ, Jack. That’s … I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
“We’re not dead in the water yet,” Jack replied. “As far as any, uh, other sources go, there’s always Crime Stoppers.”
“I guess, but with Weenie Wagger, the Covert Asset Support Team will have to follow orders. There’s some good guys in there, but they’ll still need to approach him.”
“I know. I’ll do my best to prepare him, but I don’t think he’ll co-operate.”
“Then there’s not much to worry about. He either does or he doesn’t.”
“I know, but it’s wrong. He’ll think I’m treating him like a piece of property you can sell or give away.”
“I hear you. I’ll find out who is detailed to approach him and give them a heads-up. Tell them not to push too hard. Maybe make an initial offer of money and then leave him to decide on his own.”
Jack’s next call was to Cockerill, who responded sleepily. “You free to meet?” Jack asked.
“What the fuck. You woke me up. Why’re you calling? You said we was even.”
“We are. Some shit came down from above here. I’d like to meet with you.”
“Some shit is happening and you wanna meet?” Cockerill sounded incredulous. “In other words you’re hopin’ to weasel something more out of me! You promised we was done! I’m not seein’ ya!”
“You and I are done, which is why I’m calling. We’ve got a new boss. He’s going to send a couple of people from CFSEU over to talk to you and —”
“What the fuck! You told the gang unit about me?”
“It wasn’t my idea, but they’re going to offer you money and —”
“I ain’t rattin’ out my guys for money! What the fuck! You think I’m a low-life piece of shit you can use and pass around? Fuck you!”
“Mackie, please, let’s meet and talk a bit about —”
Cockerill hung up.
“Didn’t go well, I take it?” Laura looked at Jack as he put his phone down.
“No, it sure didn’t.” Jack sighed. “Guess he knows he doesn’t have any friends.”
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday, October 15, was Natasha’s birthday and Jack made it home from work at 6:00 p.m. Half an hour later he sat in the living room, smiling from behind the camera as he watched Mike and Steve give their mother a present. At only nine and ten, the boys didn’t have big allowances, but the gift of two small porcelain geese came with a lot of heart.
Natasha oohed and aahed over the gift, but Jack could tell she took more delig
ht in receiving the homemade birthday cards. Treasures, he knew, that she’d tuck away with the other cards she’d received over the years.
Jack handed her his gift.
“Beautifully wrapped,” Natasha noted. She smiled as she held the small box to her ear and shook it.
“Open it, Mom!” Steve pleaded.
Natasha smiled. “I don’t know … the box is so pretty, but okay.”
She opened it, then held up the pendant it contained. “Oh, Jack, it’s beautiful!”
“It’s called a mother pendant,” he said. “The two stones on it are Mike’s and Steve’s birthstones — a bright blue tanzanite for Mike and a diamond for Steve.”
Before Natasha could say more, an unexpected noise from outside their front door erased everyone’s smiles. It was the metallic sound of the mailbox lid. Jack saw the boys look sombrely at each other while Natasha looked sharply at him.
Damn it … probably nothing. My gun is in the bedroom — no, leave it. How can I expect my family to relax if I show fear?
“Jack?” Natasha’s voice was wavery.
“Probably advertising,” he said. “I’ll check.”
Moments later Jack returned with a pizza flyer. There’d been no need for alarm, but the happy mood was gone for the night.
Thursday afternoon Jack and Laura were at their desks working on the operational plan when Corporal Connie Crane from I-HIT strode in. She stood with her hands on her hips, glowering at Jack.
The last time he’d seen or spoken to her was two weeks previous at the scene of the triple murder. At that time she was furious and had held him accountable. What can I say? She was right. Isaac made the final decision, but it was my doing. “Connie,” he acknowledged her.
“Why didn’t you call me after we left the farmhouse?” Her tone was accusatory.
“I couldn’t,” Jack replied. “I’ve got an informant to protect. There was nothing more I could say about the matter.”
Connie grimaced. “Inspector Dyck called me in. He made it clear that what happened wasn’t your decision. He told me he was there when Isaac spoke to you about it.”
