by Don Easton
“So you’re not angry at me any longer?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I’m so pissed off over the whole situation that I’d like to kick somebody.”
“Don’t you own a cat or a dog?” Jack asked.
Connie let out a snort. “God, you’re a piece of work. I never know how to take you.”
“What do you mean?”
Connie grabbed a chair and sat down. “A few years ago I watched you put a badly injured cat down in an alley. You looked like you were going to get sick after you shot it, so don’t give me that shit about kicking a cat.”
I remember, too. Someone had broken its spine with a bat.
“Too bad your soft spot doesn’t apply to humans,” Connie said.
“Some animals only look human,” Jack replied, “but in reality they’re sick animals and should be put down. So why’re you here?”
“Several hours ago we ran a name of a Satans Wrath member and got the automatic response to notify you of the reason for the check. We didn’t, but I know you’d still get a computer printout saying we ran his name. I could see you not bothering to call if it was Highway Patrol, but I-HIT? How come you weren’t curious?”
“I’ve got all of them entered in the system,” Jack said. “I didn’t call because I didn’t know about it. The paperwork is probably still in Telecoms or the mailroom. That being said, have we got a murder? Who was —”
“You tell me if it’s murder,” Connie replied. “That’s why I’m here. It looks like an accidental drug overdose or maybe a suicide, but anything to do with Satans Wrath makes me suspicions. Someone called 9-1-1 about midnight but didn’t say anything. When the members arrived to check it out, his apartment door was ajar and they went in. We put the time of death in the early evening.”
“Who was it?” Jack asked. In the pit of his stomach he already knew.
“Mack Cockerill. Half-full bottle of fentanyl beside him and most of a bottle of whiskey gone.”
Damn it. Jack glanced at Laura, who closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Receipt we found in a liquor bag shows that the whiskey was purchased yesterday. Only his prints on the bottle and the one glass. Haven’t got the tox results back yet, so I’m only making a presumption.”
Jack nodded silently. “You find his cellphone?”
“No, it was gone.”
“Likely tossed so you wouldn’t pull any phone tolls. Don’t take that as being suspicious. Simply a precaution Satans Wrath would make so as not to give you any intel on their club.”
“Okay … so you going to tell me what’s going on?” Connie asked. “I saw the look you gave each other.”
Jack hesitated as he tried to decide what to say.
“Okay, that’s it! Where were you last night, Jack?”
He made a placating gesture with his hands. “It was Natasha’s birthday. I was home around six and we all went out for pizza. If you want a more detailed alibi I can give it to you, but in my opinion, Cockerill’s death was a suicide.”
“Anything to back that up as opposed to being accidental?”
“Cockerill was in trouble with the club for taking drugs and getting drunk. I think he was on the verge of getting kicked out. They were the only family he had. No other friends.”
“Goddamn it!” Connie exclaimed. “Why do I do this to myself? Why did I even think for a moment that I might get a straight answer from you?”
“What’re you talking about?” Jack said. “I’ve been straight with you!”
Connie studied his face. “Look, neither of you were happy when I told you what happened.” Her voice was firm and matter-of-fact. “Which is odd, because I’d expect that hearing about one of those guys dying would have both of you leaping up and doing a line dance.”
Jack exchanged a bland look with Laura.
“So I know there’s something you’re holding back,” Connie stated. “I think he was either your informant or someone you were about to bust. If he was your informant it raises a red flag, because if he was, is it possible someone found out and murdered him?”
“You’re good, Connie, I’ll give you that.” Jack eyed her for a moment, then said, “I’m willing to give you the whole story, but I must warn you, in doing so, it’ll leave you with a decision to make.”
“Not again,” she said bitterly. “A tough one, no doubt.”
“Not tough in my mind. Frustrating perhaps.”
“Was he tied in to your … delicate matter two weeks ago at the farmhouse?”
“If he was … and I were to give you all the details, what would you do?”
“What do you mean? I’d pass it on to the investigators. If he was your informant, we don’t need to worry about protecting him.”
“The investigators would then scoop the others up for interrogation.”
“Yes.”
“These guys have all been through that many times in their lives.”
“So you’re saying they wouldn’t talk and would demand lawyers?”
“Yes, and if the investigators don’t have any forensic evidence strong enough to convict them, then …”
“I know they don’t,” Connie said grimly. “Meaning, they’d be cut loose.”
“Exactly. Then the Gypsy Devils would know it wasn’t one of their guys who talked. How do you think they’d respond? Knowing Satans Wrath made them torture and murder three people when it was Satans Wrath with the leak?”
“With extreme violence, I presume.” Connie’s voice was sullen and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“Yes, and in my opinion, the Gypsy Devils wouldn’t care if innocent people got in the way. There could be a loss of civilian life. How would you feel about that? Knowing that your actions did nothing to solidify the murder investigation and then contributed to the murder of innocent people?”
Connie stared at Jack, but didn’t speak.
“I know you’re angry over what happened in the farmhouse. This is a continuation of that same delicate matter. Do you want me to tell you whether or not Cockerill was our informant and if so, supply you with all the details?”
Connie sighed. “I’d like to know. If he was your informant, I’ll keep the information to myself. I came here to find out whether Cockerill’s death should be classified as murder. To do that, in my mind, I need to know if he was your informant.”
“Then I’ll tell you.” Jack waited a beat. “I wish you could classify it as murder. The perpetrator would be Assistant Commissioner Mortimer.”
Chapter Nineteen
Early Friday afternoon Rose signed off on the operation plan. She then delivered it personally to Mortimer’s secretary before going to see Jack and Laura in their office. On entering, she gave them a thumbs-up.
“It’s done?” Jack asked.
Rose smiled. “It’s done. Great job, you two. I know you’ve been working day and night these past couple of weeks, but even so, I’m amazed with what you accomplished.”
Jack nodded. “Usually I’d suggest we go for a drink after work, but I feel so burned out, all I want to do is go home and introduce myself to my family.”
“Likewise,” replied Laura. “My husband’s taken to protesting by growing a beard again. He won’t shave until I spend a whole night with him.”
Rose grinned. “Then the both of you … go home. Take the weekend off and get some rest. I suspect things are about to get busy.”
Neither Jack nor Laura needed any further convincing.
Jack was finishing breakfast Sunday morning when he answered a call. He’d checked the call display but the number was blocked.
“Corporal Taggart, this is Jacob Isaac calling.”
“Who?” Jack asked in confusion.
“Your former assistant commissioner.”
“Oh, of course. Yes, uh, sir?
”
“I’d like to meet with you on a matter of some urgency. In confidence. I’m hoping you can come to my place. If you can, my wife, Sarah, will go to church without me this morning and I’ll put on a pot of fresh coffee for us.”
“A matter of urgency?” Jack repeated.
Isaac’s voice was grim. “Tomorrow I’m going to ask you to perform what may be the toughest undercover assignment you’ve ever had. I’d like to prepare you for it.”
One hour later, Jack arrived at Isaac’s home and was ushered into the living room, where he was served coffee. Jack saw Isaac eyeing him as he took his first sip. What the hell is going on?
“I won’t keep you waiting,” Isaac said. “I realize that inviting you to my house is highly unusual.”
Unusual? More like unheard of. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged.
“Let me start by stating something I suspect you already know. The toughest part of catching criminals is often due to decisions made by our own administration.”
Jack nodded. The enemy from within.
“There was a retirement dinner for me last night that Sarah and I attended.”
“Sorry I wasn’t there,” Jack said, offering up a little humour.
Isaac gave a slight smile. “I wish you had been there, too, but it was for commissioned rank only.”
“I hope you had a good time,” Jack said. “Now that you’re officially retired, I can say this without sounding like a brown-noser. You’re highly respected by those of us who are not in the commissioned rank.”
“Thank you. I was enjoying myself last night until I’d occasion to speak with your new assistant commissioner.” Isaac paused and met Jack’s gaze levelly. “Your name came up.”
“Not in a good way, I presume.”
“No, not in a good way.” Isaac shook his head. “I must confess I was so disgusted that Sarah and I left shortly after.”
Oh, crap. Mortimer. You son-of-a-bitch. You’re not approving the op plan.
Isaac seemed to read Jack’s thoughts. “He’s not going to give it the attention it deserves. I reminded him about the previous conversation we’d had. The one where he agreed a task force was needed and promised to give your operational plan the urgency it deserved. His remarks last night made it clear he didn’t consider the matter urgent and told me that other units, such as CFSEU, were too busy for now.” Isaac paused, then added, “I doubt he’ll ever submit your plan to Ottawa.”
Jack momentarily recalled Natasha’s birthday and the fear on his kids’ faces when they heard their mailbox rattle. Yes, nothing urgent about living under those conditions — or allowing Pure E to get away with torture and murder … He subconsciously clenched his fist. Christ, I don’t know whether to cry in frustration or scream in rage….
“He told me that he’s going to call you and Staff Sergeant Wood in tomorrow to notify you of his decision. I want you to be prepared and not act like you are now.”
What do you mean? I haven’t said a word.
“Making a fist and scowling will not go over well. He’d view it as insubordination, if not a direct threat to his person.”
Jack hadn’t realized he was doing either and quickly relaxed his fist and took a deep breath. This is unbelievable. Working day and night — and for what? To have my family live in fear? If Mortimer wasn’t going to authorize it, he could have said so weeks ago.
Isaac cleared this throat. “In my experience, people like Assistant Commissioner Mortimer tend to have someone else deliver such messages, or send their response back on paper. Calling the both of you in concerns me.”
“I submitted the op plan, but Rose signed off on it. I’d expect him to call her.”
“Yes, and if it was only her, perhaps the alarm bells wouldn’t have gone off in my head as loud as they did.” Isaac looked dismayed. “I believe he’s looking for an excuse to have you transferred. Perhaps hoping you’ll react in a way to justify his intention.”
“He said he accepted my apology before,” Jack offered lamely.
“Yes, but you need to understand that people like him hate and fear people like you. Your output requires operational decisions that could result in criticism later.”
“Sometimes tough decisions need to be made if we’re to get the job done,” Jack argued. “I do what I think is right.”
“I also do what I think is right.” Isaac studied Jack’s face. “There were times when I questioned your investigative methods — but we did share a common goal. That was to ensure criminals were brought to task. People like Mortimer are different.”
Good, you dropped the rank in front of his name. You hate the bastard, too.
“People like him go by the theory that the furtherance of their careers outweighs anything they once swore to uphold. To them, it’s not about catching criminals, but maintaining a perception of doing the job while being careful not to make waves.”
“I should’ve seen this coming,” Jack lamented. “He called me in last Monday and spoke to me about informants. The one I had that he knew about —”
“The one caught exposing himself?”
“Yes, Mack Cockerill. I was ordered to turn him over to CFSEU. I told Mortimer that Cockerill’s motive wasn’t financial and that he was turning to me because he needed a friend. Mortimer said I wasn’t competent enough to handle informants and that my methods of recruitment were subverting justice. Under orders, I called Cockerill to terminate our relationship. Two days later he died of a drug and alcohol overdose. I believe it was suicide.”
Isaac briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them his face looked cold and hard. “We can’t let him win,” he said forcefully.
“Who?” Jack asked callously. “Mortimer or Pure E?”
“Either,” Isaac said bluntly. “There’s more.” He paused, seemingly upset by what he was about to say. “You’ll also be told to cease any undercover activities.”
“He said that?” Jack replied in surprise.
“He mentioned your long hair and beard. Said it would no longer be tolerated.”
No undercover? He’s shutting me down completely.
“I know how you feel,” Isaac said. “but bear in mind that people like him don’t usually stay in the field for long. He’ll be clamouring to get back to Ottawa to curry favour with either the commissioner or whatever politician holds the power to pull strings. I bet he’s gone in two years.”
“I’ve thought of that, sir. The problem is that Pure E’s made this personal for me and my family. I was counting on having a task force to give an appropriate response. Now I’m told there’ll be no task force, no informants, and no undercover. He’s not allowing me to do my job.”
Isaac looked Jack in the eye and said, “Suck it up, Buttercup. Sounding like a crybaby won’t accomplish what needs to be done. I told you on the phone that tomorrow could be your toughest undercover assignment ever. That assignment will be to clean yourself up and go in and woo Mortimer.”
Woo Mortimer? Somehow I don’t think a thousand red roses would do it.
“If I didn’t think you were up to the task, I wouldn’t have bothered to call you.”
“But even if I were to convince Mortimer I shouldn’t be transferred, he’s still putting a stop to any plan to go after Pure E.”
“Yes, I’m curious myself as to how you’ll get around that.”
Curious as to how I’ll get around that? What’re you talking about? It’ll be bloody impossible.
Isaac leaned forward to ensure direct eye contact. “The thing is … I know you will. I’ve complete confidence in you.”
Jack swallowed.
“There’s one piece of good news that I’ll pass on. Prior to leaving, I lobbied to have the intelligence unit increased in size. Come next April, I expect there’ll be two more constables and a new sergeant’s position opening up. I’d like you
to do what it takes, wear a muzzle if need be, to ensure you’re still a candidate to receive your third stripe. I believe you’d be a valuable asset in that position.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I want you to keep that under your hat for now. I would also suggest you be careful about our little talk today. If Mortimer were to find out, it’d do little to enhance your future chance of success.”
“If I change my appearance and demeanour, won’t he suspect I was tipped off?”
“I doubt it,” Isaac replied. “The idea of me assisting someone in the non-commissioned ranks wouldn’t be anything he could fathom. In his mind, you don’t do anything unless it’s to better your own career.”
Jack bit his lip. Isaac has confidence in me, but how the hell can I do it? No undercover, no surveillance teams, no wiretaps …
“You’re a smart cop, Jack. Find a way around him. Pure E needs to be stopped. If he’s allowed to get away with threatening your family, it’ll encourage him to go further next time. If not your family, then someone else’s.”
“You mentioned you believed Mortimer would be gone in two years,” Jack said. “Would you allow your family to be threatened for that long?”
Isaac took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “No, I wouldn’t, so I expect you to take action soon.”
Jack nodded silently.
Isaac frowned. “A response to Pure E is necessary. I appreciate that most of the tools you need to do the job have been removed.”
Most? More like all.
“You still have your ability to think outside the parameters and come up with a viable solution. I’m positive you’re the man for the job.”
“Positive?” How can you be positive? I’m not.
“Look at it this way. I’m a lot smarter than Mortimer, yet you still managed to do end runs around me all these years.”
“Sir, you were always in charge and I respected —”
“In charge?” Isaac scoffed. “I may have been calling the shots on paper, but you and I both know who was pulling the strings.” He paused and his voice became grave. “Don’t give up, Jack. Not with Mortimer at the helm. Not when you’re needed the most.”
