A Delicate Matter

by Don Easton

  Jack arrived at work and immediately called Nicole Purney in the monitoring room for an update.

  “You’ll like this,” Nicole said. “I read some debriefing notes from last night. At 11:00 p.m. Sammy and his team followed Banjo to another prospect’s house — Kyle Fennel. Shortly after that, another prospect arrived by the name of … Hang on, I need to grab the report.”

  “Arnold Hoster,” Jack stated, giving a polite nod to Laura as she arrived at work.

  “Yes, the one and only,” Nicole confirmed. “What I was about to say is that they saw Hoster unload several stuffed duffle bags from his trunk and haul them into Fennel’s house.”

  “Super! Sammy found the stash house where the press is,” Jack said for Laura’s benefit. “Did they also follow Neal to the stash house?”

  “They broke off surveillance on him when they found the stash house, but he did show up at two in the morning. He was driving a pickup truck with a shell on the back. They saw him load two duffle bags into the back and confirmed that he turned off the main highway onto a gravel road leading to his and his brother’s place a short time later.”

  “Only two duffle bags?” Jack questioned. “I was expecting there’d be at least four with about thirty to thirty-five keys in each.”

  “Your math is good,” said Nicole. “Let me finish. He made a second trip to the stash house at 4:00 a.m. Guess he’s paranoid about getting caught with all the eggs in one basket. Surveillance saw him take two empty duffle bags into the house and lug them, filled, back out a few minutes later. He took them to the Delta acreage, as well. Banjo and Hoster left the stash house at about 5:00 a.m. and returned to their own places.”

  “This is great,” Jack said. “I expect they’ll do the same thing again tonight.”

  “I’ve a note that said Sammy worked until 6:00 a.m., but will be back in at noon. In the meantime a couple of other guys from his office are watching Fennel’s house.”

  “Perfect. Maybe tonight we’ll get our hands on some of that weed.” Jack noticed Rose waiting to talk to him, so he said goodbye to Nicole.

  “You look happier this morning,” Rose noted.

  “I am. Last night Sammy found the stash house and confirmed Neal made two deliveries from the stash house back to where he lives with Bob and Roxie.”

  “Nice to get good news,” Rose said. “I also have some news. I received a call from Isaac’s secretary. He wants to see the three of us in one hour.”

  “No surprise,” Jack said. “I had a feeling that Connie didn’t take me at my word when I told her Dwayne’s murder was all hers.”

  “Maybe because she has a memory,” Rose replied dryly.

  An hour later Jack, Laura, and Rose were walking down the hall to meet Assistant Commissioner Isaac when they met Inspector Dyck and Connie heading for the same meeting.

  Connie looked uncomfortable when she saw Jack. She motioned for him to walk with her as they followed the others down the hall. “It wasn’t my idea to get Isaac involved,” she whispered. “When I told you we needed to have a meeting with our bosses, I meant Rose and Inspector Dyck.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jack said. “Isaac and I have a bit of history together. I suspect he reviews all my cases under a magnifying glass.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  Jack shrugged. “Guess not. There has been the odd unfortunate coincidence in some of my past investigations.”

  Connie frowned. “Unfortunate coincidences in that the perps ended up dead.”

  “Sometimes,” Jack admitted. “Maybe ‘unfortunate’ is the wrong word. I should’ve said ‘fortunate.’”

  “Speaking like that, maybe it’s a good thing Isaac’s involved.” Connie’s voice had a distinct edge. “I want to make it loud and clear that you’re not to —”

  “Relax, Connie, before you burst an aneurysm,” Jack said. “Sure I’d love to be involved, but I’m not naive. I know it’d be ammo for a defence lawyer.”

  “Guaranteed,” Connie stated.

  “Know something? The lawyer’d be right. It is personal to me. I’d never lie in court or fabricate evidence as would be suggested, but it’d only take one person out of twelve to believe the defence lawyer and toss the case. You’re a good investigator. I’m happy to let you solve it.”

  “Solve it and bring the perp before a judge.” Connie enunciated every word.

  “Isn’t that what we all want?” Jack replied before turning his attention to Isaac’s secretary, who said that Isaac was ready to receive them.

  Moments later Isaac referred to the reports he’d received and gave a brief synopsis of the chain of events leading to Dwayne’s disappearance and probable murder. Upon confirming that he was up-to-date, he looked at Jack. “You’re investigating the bikers for exporting marijuana to the United States — possibly in exchange for cocaine, which you think Satans Wrath may be using to open a new pipeline to Europe.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack replied. “As of last night, Drug Section located the stash house that the Gypsy Devils are using to package the marijuana. The investigation is currently in its infancy, but with the assistance of the DEA, we hope to get a lead on the money trail to lead us back to Satans Wrath.”

  “Why should it be different this time?” Isaac asked skeptically.

  “I know from my informant that the money isn’t being returned in the semi and that there is a one- or two-week delay in getting the money. That’s new information for us. I hope that in time, perhaps through surveillance, we’ll identify who hands out the money on this end and work our way back from there. If we’re to hurt Satans Wrath, we’ll do far more damage by finding out how they launder their money or where it goes, rather than busting some low-level drug dealers.”

  “You’re also hoping that the DEA in Dallas may uncover some connection to who the West 12th Street gang is involved with in Mexico — which I take it would be an integral part of the suspected pipeline of cocaine bound for Europe.”

  “Yes, sir. Satans Wrath recently opened a chapter in Bogotá, Colombia, but for years they’ve dealt with the Mexicans for their cocaine. If money is not being paid immediately upon delivery for the marijuana, then I feel the Mexicans must still be involved, as they’re connected to the gang in Dallas.”

  “It would appear there are still a lot of unanswered questions,” Isaac noted, “but I concur with you, Corporal. Finding their money would certainly put a damper on them.” He turned to Inspector Dyck. “Am I to understand that your homicide investigation has revealed that the bikers are not involved with the disappearance of the victim — Dwayne Beggs?”

  “Yes, sir,” Inspector Dyck confirmed. “It was clearly established through a Drug Section wiretap that someone other than the bikers were responsible. A wiretap, I might add, that Drug Section obtained through the efforts of Corporal Taggart and Constable Secord.”

  “Then that being the case,” Isaac said, looking at Jack, “I see no reason why you shouldn’t continue with your investigation while I-HIT pursues their investigation.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jack replied. “I expect to be turning the bulk of the work over to our drug section and the DEA, but will have some involvement due to my informants.”

  “That’s fine, but under no circumstances are you to take any action in regard to the homicide investigation unless it’s at the specific request of I-HIT.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Isaac eyed Jack carefully. “I’m not criticizing your ability and I am sure you have a particularly strong desire to see the homicide solved, but in this instance, I’m ordering you to sit back and watch from the sidelines.”

  “I understand completely,” Jack replied. “I spoke with Connie earlier and am happy to leave it in her capable hands. I understand the reason to stay out of it.”

  Minutes after the meeting with Isaac ended, Rose spoke to Jack as he was about
to enter his office. “I think that went well,” she commented.

  “Me, too,” Jack said. “Connie can handle the murder and Laura and I are free to go after Satans Wrath.”

  “I noticed you told Isaac that you’re happy to let Connie handle it … but what if she doesn’t solve it? What’ll you do then?”

  Jack’s face darkened. “I’ll cross that bridge if and when I need to,” he replied.

  Rose stared after him as he walked to his desk. And no doubt that bridge will cross a deep chasm with slippery slopes. Hope for your sake that a body doesn’t show up at the bottom.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jack and Laura spent most of the day writing reports and exchanging phone calls with Sammy. He confirmed that his team was watching the stash house and Bob’s semi, but had nothing of importance to report.

  Late in the afternoon Sammy called again. “It doesn’t look good for us to scoop up a sample of weed before the truck leaves. Neal, Bob, and Roxie have been home all day.”

  “Then steal it from Neal when he’s making his last delivery tonight,” Jack suggested. “If he makes two deliveries like he did last night, he should have about seventy-five kilos. Taking that much won’t affect their delivery to Dallas. They’d probably have enough at the stash house to cover it.”

  “That would be one hell of a big sample, but as nice as that would be, I don’t think we’ll get a chance to steal any of it,” Sammy replied. “Neal takes it straight from the stash house to home. It’s not like he stops for a beer along the way.”

  “Is Benny Saunders still on your team?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah … why?”

  “He’s a good undercover operator. Get him to help you steal it when Neal is hauling the last load back.”

  “How can we do that without Neal knowing we’re on to him?”

  “And you call yourself an operator,” Jack said mockingly. “Guess I better get someone in uniform to help you. Do you know Constable Sophie White from Surrey Detachment?”

  “We can’t have uniform seize it! They’d be heated up for sure. You don’t want to chance that.”

  “That’s not what I had in mind,” Jack said.

  Moments later Sammy chuckled as he listened to Jack’s plan.

  Minutes after talking with Sammy, Jack received a call from Connie.

  “What do you know about a gang called the Cobras?” she asked bluntly.

  “Not a lot,” Jack replied. “They’re a low-level street gang, maybe comprising a dozen dealers. Their territory is in New Westminster and they hang out in a bar called the Shot Glass. Why?”

  “Do you know one of them by the name of Jamie King?”

  “He’s the ringleader. He used to live in Vancouver. Don’t know if he still does or not. At one time they were calling themselves King Cobras, but later it got shortened. They deal a lot of dope on the street, but are still too low level for us to pay much attention to. The Anti-Gang Unit has photos and dossiers on them. We do, too, but ours are a few years old. Theirs might be newer.”

  “They do. I’ve already got copies, but like you, they haven’t had much time to work on them.”

  “Why are you interested?”

  “When I got back to the office this morning, I found out that King has a boat in the same marina as Larry. I did a walk past on the pier. It’s a small speedboat and I saw what looks like blood splatter inside on the stern. It also has twin Evinrude motors and there’s a fresh scrape on one of the cowlings, like from a rock. Everything fits. I’ve got someone watching his boat while I get a warrant to seize it and search his house.”

  “That’s fantastic! They’re definitely the type of guys who’d do rips.” Jack smiled at Laura and gave her a thumbs-up. “I knew you were the right person for the job, Connie.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s still a long way to go. I showed the photos to Larry. He recognized King from seeing him at the marina, along with another Cobra by the name of Craig Dutton.”

  “Dutton’s a skinny little guy they nicknamed Weasel,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, I can see the similarity in the photo. Larry made several trips hauling hydro equipment and fertilizer to the island. King and Weasel may have clued in and followed him.”

  “How’d Larry respond to seeing the pictures?” Jack asked.

  “What do you mean, how’d he respond? He’s thrilled. What’re you getting at?”

  “Do you remember how he acted when we told him his brother had been murdered?”

  “Yeah. He was upset. Blaming you to start with.”

  “Not that,” Jack replied. “It was his demeanour later on. He was angry and thinking of taking matters into his own hands. I called him on it. Remember?”

  “I remember, but the poor guy — his brother had just been murdered. Of course he was angry, but he never said he was going to take matters into his own hands.”

  “He didn’t say in so many words, but he was thinking it.”

  Connie gave an unladylike snort. “Not everybody thinks like you.”

  “I’m serious. He’s also not that bright. I suspect doing stupid things comes natural to him.”

  “I hope you’re wrong, but even if you’re not, I doubt he’ll get the chance. He’ll be in hospital for another two days and King is already in custody.”

  “You’ve caught him?”

  “About ten minutes ago. He’s still living in a run-down house in Vancouver. I had an arrest team waiting for him to show up. They’re bringing him in now.”

  “That’s great, Connie. Good police work. Let me know how it goes, will you?”

  “Be glad to. Maybe you being ordered to watch from the sidelines isn’t a bad thing,” she joked. “This time I managed to bring in a live one.”

  “King’s not at your office yet,” Jack cautioned.

  Connie laughed. “You asshole. I’ll call you after I interview him.”

  That evening, Jack was at home when Cockerill called him. “I got somethin’ you should probably hear,” he said.

  “Can you speak up? We’ve got a bad reception. Are you calling from a parkade at some mall?”

  “That … that’s not funny,” Cockerill stammered. “Do you wanna hear what I got to say or not?”

  Jack could tell by the sound of Cockerill’s voice that he’d been drinking and decided not to fuel the anger. “I’m listening.”

  “We found out it’s a chicken-shit gang out of New Westminster that’s been doin’ the rips. They call themselves the Cobras.”

  “How do you know it was them?” Jack asked, knowing full well how they knew.

  “The cops sort of tipped us off,” Cockerill replied. “They showed pictures to Larry, who recognized two of ’em from being at the marina. Larry’s still in hospital, but called one of the GDs, who went over and talked to him.”

  “What are you guys going to do about it?”

  “We met with the Cobras a few minutes ago.”

  “You should’ve told me before the meeting,” Jack said tersely.

  “I didn’t know until I got there, then it was too late to be callin’ anyone. The Cobras hang out at a bar called the Shot Glass. We paid ’em a surprise visit.”

  “Bust any skulls?”

  “Not yet. ’Cause I’m still gimpin’ around with my cast, I was told to stand six by the door. I wasn’t able to hear everything that was said, but it went smooth like it was supposed to. Nobody got spanked. They were told that we knew they were doin’ the weed rips and that they had to pay up. They denied it. Their main guy, King, wasn’t there. Bet you guys have already scooped him, haven’t you?”

  Jack ignored the question. “How was it left — seeing as they denied it?”

  “We gave ’em two days. Told ’em if they didn’t pay us by nine Saturday night there’d be consequences.”

  “Consequences?”

/>   “If they don’t pay by then, we’ll put a couple of ’em in hospital for incentive. Might use the GDs for that, or maybe have a couple of our guys tag along. Then they’ll be given another couple days. After that, we won’t be so nice.”

  “You know where some of them live?”

  “Nah, but we’ll find them if need be.”

  “What if they really didn’t do it,” Jack said. “Did you consider that?”

  “Who the fuck cares? At least it’d send a message to whoever is doin’ it. Besides, it’s time the Cobras were taught a little respect. We’ll make them pay regardless — one way or another.”

  After hanging up, Jack reflected on his previous conversation with Isaac. I’m only authorized to watch from the sidelines. He gave a half smile. This could get interesting.

  Chapter Twelve

  Twenty minutes after speaking with Cockerill, Jack received a call from Connie.

  “Bad news,” she grumbled. “King demanded a lawyer immediately. I couldn’t get a word out of him. A search of his house didn’t turn up any guns. There was a little weed and coke for personal use, but that was it. The guy you call Weasel lives with him.”

  “What about his boat?”

  “The lab says the blood on the stern is fish blood. I had to cut him loose.”

  “Damn it.” Jack’s clenched his fist and had to make a conscious effort not to punch the wall in frustration. “What about the marks or scrapes on the engine cowlings?” he asked.

  “One scrape is fresh, but without the rock to match, it means squat.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “It doesn’t mean I’m giving up on him,” Connie said.

  Jack took a deep breath and slowly relaxed his fist, then stared at his fingers as he opened and closed them a couple of times. “He may wish he was still in custody,” he muttered.