“We checked with every cab company in the lower mainland and none had any record of a fare at that time and in that neighborhood.”
“That is because—because I didn’t enter into Driver Safe.” His accent increased as he grew nervous.
“You didn’t make a computer entry?” Every time a cab driver picked up a customer, it was procedure to record it in the onboard computer. Thus, the dispatcher knew his driver’s whereabouts which made the driver less apt to be robbed.
“No, I did not.”
When Staal asked Dhalliwal why he had ignored the entry, Dhalliwal said he forgot. It wasn’t until Staal threatened to call Dhalliwal’s supervisor that the cabby told the truth; the man in black had offered Dhalliwal one hundred dollars to drive from Second Avenue to the Smyth Cove marina on Lake Hanson and demanded that Dhalliwal not record the fare.
“That’s a fifteen dollar fare, Detective. I have three kids. I need the money. But please—please don’t tell my boss!”
Staal said he would call Dhalliwal’s employer if the driver didn’t come to the precinct and give a written statement. Staal didn’t need a statement; but if Dhalliwal saw the killer shortly after the murder, he should still be able to identify the suspect.
“No problem, Detective. I see you in twenty minutes.”
Staal noticed that the other detectives were no longer answering calls. “Anybody get anything?”
“Yeah. Another DMV staff member calling to say that Hennessey is a swell guy,” Gooch said.
“Christ, that makes three. This guy looks better by the second,” Staal said. “Anybody else?”
“I’m thinking we should get warrants for Eminem, Harry Potter, and that bald fuck from Seinfeld,” Rodriquez joked.
Staal thanked Rodriquez and Brown for their help manning the call center phones. He told the others about the cab driver and his willingness to cooperate. He walked to the coffee room and restarted the machine to brew a fresh pot. Then he flipped out his phone and ordered an assortment of sandwiches for delivery from the deli across the street. His next move was to visit Ken Fraser’s desk.
“So, how are you and your online buddies doing?” Staal asked.
“They went down for a nap, I guess. Hey, I had our man Francis on for a few minutes. The three of them talk in some kinda code...I haven’t figured much of it out, but I saved the conversation if you wanna take a peek,” Fraser said.
“Yeah, I’ll take a look later. Got food coming in fifteen. Hey, did you get into that DFA site?”
“Wakamatsu got in. It’s all blood and guts photos, and more of the same bullshit code. Some code; it’s English with a bunch of words changed.” Fraser referred to a sheet. “I have some red rice coming in last week on turtle, from Mr. Dress Up.”
“A delivery of photographs?” Staal asked.
“Yeah, red is blood, pink is porn. Rice is photographs, last week is today or next week, turtle is regular mail, and cheetah is e-mail.”
“Mr. Dress Up—a cross dresser or what?”
“Yeah, that’s my guess too.”
“Kenny, try and find as much of this coded shit as you can. Decipher it and try to talk to these turds in their code. Only use the code when you’re certain it’s translated correctly. Maybe you can earn these fucks’ trust and who knows, maybe set a trap.”
“You got it, Jack. Just call me the code breaker. With the exchange of pics, and the chit-chat—I think I can get solid with these fuck-heads.”
Rachael Gooch had a habit of appearing out of nowhere like a cat when a can of tuna is opened. “Jack, that cab driver is waiting in the coffee room.”
Jaswinder Dhalliwal stared at each of the six photographs from Staal’s photo line up. One image was of Francis Hennessey, and the others were of cops.
Dhalliwal continuously returned to one picture. “Dis one, I’m pretty certain that it is dis man,” he said.
Staal took the photo from the cab driver, and glanced and rolled his eyes at Gooch. “Mr. Dhalliwal, meet Constable Stanley Marshall.” Staal dropped the print in front of Dhalliwal.
“Dis is not the man? If you tell me which one, I will say that is him. Okay?”
“No, it’s not okay.” Gooch raised her voice. “Are you wasting our time, sir? Did you really take a fare around midnight June 29th, matching this description? Early thirties, white male, five foot six, one hundred fifty pounds, dark eyes, and dressed completely in black?” Her voice was loud and irritated.
“Yes, I—um, all deese photos look alike.” Dhalliwal leaned away from Gooch and wiped sweat from his brow. “If I could hear him speaking, I would know it was him.”
“He had an accent?” Staal asked. Dhalliwal stared at Gooch. Staal touched Dhalliwal’s arm to get the man’s attention. “Did the man you drove have some kid of an accent?”
“Yes. I mean no. Not an accent. A tone of voice, like a TV newsperson or a radio guy.”
“He faked a broadcast voice? Something like this,” Staal deepened his voice. “I would like you to take me to the Smyth Cove marina.”
“Yes, like that. Only more obvious.”
Staal thanked Dhalliwal for coming in, and asked to write his home and work number. To Gooch he said, “I think we need to visit Francis Hennessey.”
“How do we do that without tipping our hat?” Gooch asked.
“He works at the DMV and my driver’s license needs renewing at the end of July. So, we pose as customers and take a good look at him.”
“What do you hope to gain from talking to this guy, Jack?”
It was obvious to Staal that the Gooch didn’t want to go near Hennessey until they had a warrant for his arrest.
“I just want to talk to the guy. Get a feel for him, a vibe, you know what I mean.”
“And then after you get the right or wrong vibe?”
“Then we set up on him and see where he leads us. Three co-workers all point at him. I think this guy is worth a long, hard look.” Staal felt like he was selling something. He was loosing his patience with Gooch.
“Yeah, Jack, maybe you have something here.”
At the Major Crimes table, Staal spoke to Fraser. “Kenny, me and Gooch are heading out to eyeball Hennessey. You have anything for me?”
“Yeah, maybe. Hennessey was online for a few. I think these guys are using the DFA site to buy guns.”
“Gun! You sure?”
“Uh-huh, they call them greasers,” Fraser paused.
“Something else, Kenny?”
“This shit gets weirder by the second, man.”
“Yeah, no shit. Something in particular?”
“Hennessey said something about finding a cherry.”
“Shit!” Staal paced the room. “A virgin?”
“Yeah.” Fraser’s voice was faint. “He called it an untouched and kept referring to, ‘Needing one in their closet.’”
“All right, we’re out of here.” Staal stopped by his locker, removed his blazer and necktie, and pulled on a tattered leather bomber jacket. He slipped a pair of low-powered reading glasses in an inside pocket and put on a Seahawks cap. He made a quick call to inquire about the DMV’s operating hours. The office was open until nine PM.
“Should I be dressing up, Jack?” Gooch asked.
“I’ll approach Hennessey this time. You hang back and watch the freak as I bullshit with him. Then, later, if we need another angle, you can have a go with him.”
Staal stopped for a large coffee to go before he entered the Department of Motor Vehicles office. Inside, at least five customers were in line. A digital sign said estimated wait—35 minutes. It was fifteen minutes until closing at nine. Staal and Gooch stood in line, acting as though they did not know each other. Staal removed the lid from his foam cup and dropped the coffee a foot to his right.
“Ah, crap!” he exclaimed. He turned to Gooch and said, “Could you save my spot?”
Gooch nodded.
Staal pushed the slipping reading glasses up until they sat correctly on
his face. He walked to the counter and told the first cashier he saw about his spill. She told Staal it would be cleaned. He walked back to his spot in line and smiled when he heard a command over the PA system about a wet spill in the lobby.
Five minutes later Francis Hennessey appeared, dressed in dark blue overalls and carrying a mop. Staal stared at Hennessey until Hennessey noticed his attention. Staal nodded. Hennessey began his work. Once the spill was cleared, Hennessey tapped his front overall pocket and headed for the main door.
Smoke break, Staal thought as he followed the custodian. He pulled out his own lighter, put a cigarette to his lips and followed him outside. Hennessey was leaning against a concrete enclosure housing a garbage receptacle. Staal moved next to him, reached over, and lit the cigarette dangling from Hennessey’s mouth.
“Hey,” Staal began. “You’re Bloodshot, right?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Hennessey said. Staal heard fear in his voice.
Staal spoke low, but clear. “I’m Chimera. I think we spoke—online—today.”
“Yeah, so? So what?”
Hennessey had adjusted his voice to sound tougher. Maybe this was the tone the cabby Dhalliwal spoke of earlier. “I hear you might be looking for a greaser.”
“Hey, I’m straight, man. I ain’t into no homo shit!” Hennessey fidgeted as though he was about to head inside.
“Come on, Raven and Skull-digger were on about it.” Staal noticed a DCD tattoo on Hennessey’s neck.
“You don’t know those guys, man.”
“They didn’t tell you about me? We talked for hours about Ded Can Dance and shit. I mean their second album was A-1. You know.”
“Yeah, sure. What’s your favorite song off No Second Chance?”
Staal was glad he had received a quick run down on the death metal band from Hayes before he left 565. “Whattaya mean? There’s only one tune on that CD.” Staal paused for a moment and took a long drag on his smoke. “So, you interested in some cherries?”
“Fuck! I don’t know you,” Hennessey’s nervousness began to mount. The guy was timid and jumpy. Both traits fit his profile. “I like them fresh—ones that don’t stink,” Hennessey mumbled. He looked around the area, and waited until three customers entered and two left the DMV office. “What do you have?”
“I have a friend in a Catholic school. Real tight bitches. You need it clean, I got it, man.”
“I don’t know, man.” Hennessey looked around again. “You look familiar.”
Staal sensed he was loosing the guy. “I have something else I think you might like—right now—a greaser?”
“Really?” Hennessey’s eyes perked up.
“Yeah,” Staal pointed to the dumpster and began to walk in the direction.
When Hennessey was certain they were out of view of passers by he said, “Whatcha got, man?”
Staal reached into his shoulder holster and pulled out his service weapon. “Glock 17 nine millimeter—perfect condition.” He smiled. “Got two more if you need them.”
Hennessey reached for the firearm. Staal hesitated and then handed his weapon to the murder suspect. His mind went to the .38 revolver strapped to his ankle.
Francis Hennessey continued to feel the weight of the pistol. He looked through the sites, gripped the stock in both hands and pointed at the dumpster. Staal knew for certain that Hennessey had never held a gun in his life.
“Give me your number and I’ll call you.” Hennessey surveyed the area once more.
Staal pulled an old receipt from his wallet and wrote his cell number and J. Lynch on it. Hennessey took the bill, tossed his butt, returned the 17 to Staal and slipped through the door.
Staal waited for Gooch to emerge and as they walked to the Impala, told her what he had accomplished with Hennessey.
“So, what now?” Gooch asked.
“It looks like Jeff Lynch is selling a couple pistols to our boys and you and Fraser will have to bust them all for possession of stolen police service weapons. Then Mr. Lynch, the bastard, will flip on his new friends and inform the nice detectives that Hennessey and his friends are trying to buy a human sex slave.”
Gooch smiled. Jeff Lynch was an alias that Staal used in undercover work. “And the nice detectives will acquire a DNA sample from Mohammed and Hennessey.”
Staal knew that Gooch would gain a sample even without a warrant, through intimidation or trickery. It was his turn to grin. He turned the ignition key and started the Impala. “I like the way you think, Sergeant.”
Chapter 16
Jack Staal tossed his Jeff Lynch outfit into his locker. He was energized by the progress he had made with Hennessey. He had hoped to pick the custodian’s cigarette, but the butt disappeared down a drain when the Hennessey ended his smoke break. He remembered how wary Hennessey was when he approached him. Hennessey was intelligent and wouldn’t be manipulated easily.
Staal smiled when he felt Gina Hayes move in behind him and place her arms around his waist. He turned, held her close, and kissed her. The moment was short lived; they quickly stepped apart when they heard voices outside the locker room.
“So, any luck with Hennessey?” Hayes asked.
“Yeah, this guy looks better by the hour.” Staal filled Hayes in.
“Something isn’t right with me.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, first we have this guy sending us faxes...and the Knight book angle. Now we have Hennessey and Mohammed and the DFA.”
“I know—feels like something—a piece is missing.”
“What if...?” Hayes hesitated. “If our guy is a puppet master...controlling all this?”
Staal thought for a moment. “He sends the faxes—or has someone else do it. We run around in circles.”
“Before the tip-line, he gets the woman—Jenkins—all fired up and she calls in.”
“Michael Penske was the other person I talked to. We need to talk to all three callers—sit them down for a face to face.”
Gina nodded.
Rachael Gooch moved with purpose into the locker area. “Kenny found Dwayne Shultz and Stephen Posh. The four of them went to BCIT in the late 90s. Posh and Shultz are roomies and own a videogame rental shop.” She paused for a second. “Oh, yeah. Barnes called me in for an update.”
“Yeah, and what came up?”
“He told me to inform IHIT about the D.K. Soldier of Justice Book angle.”
“Yeah. What about the Hennessey-DFA part?”
She inhaled a long deep breath. “I didn’t mention it.”
“Good.”
“You’ve got until morning to make something of Hennessey and the DFA.” She inhaled again. “Then I’m updating the Team and Barnes.”
“Okay, sounds good.” Staal left the locker room and entered the detective floor. He caught Wakamatsu’s attention across the room and signaled coffee break. He then pointed at Fraser and gestured toward the coffee room, as well. He watched Wakamatsu tap Fraser as Gooch approached.
In the coffee room, the five detectives sat with their beverages. Staal began the meeting. “Fraser, I hear you tied the four amigos to the B.C. Institute of Technology?”
“Yeah, in ‘98. Actually, Hennessey and Mohammed go back to high school.”
“I think our boys are gonna get together tonight and try to buy guns from me as Jeff Lynch. Gooch and me will watch Hennessey after his shift ends. Gina, you and Cam will take Mohammed.”
“What about me?” Fraser asked. “You want me on the roommates?” He glanced at Gooch.
“Yeah, and I’m thinking we should bring Rodriquez in on this.”
“Rodriquez?” Gooch questioned sharply. “I don’t have the authority to bring in Rodriquez. Jack, you can’t just pull people in from other sections.”
“No shit, Rachael. T-Rod is familiar with the case, we’ve all worked with him before, he’s a good cop, and you know he wants the bump to Major Crimes.”
“Jack, it’s up to the brass to decide who replaces Murdocco.�
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“I’m with Staal,” Fraser admitted. “We need some help on this, and Rodriquez is a good choice.”
Many in the Criminal Investigation Branch believed that Rodriquez should have been appointed to MCS instead of Wakamatsu.
“With TR in we can keep Hayes clear and then use her to get close to Hennessey if this play fails,” Staal said.
“I should run this past the Inspector or at least Barnes. I might still be able to get Packard before he goes,” Gooch said.
Glenn Packard was the Sergeant in charge of General Investigations.
“Thomas is eager to make MC,” Hayes said. “He’ll ride with us off the clock if he’s not busy tonight.”
“Yeah, if he sits in tonight, and helps when he can, we can tell
Packard we need him, Staal said. “She knows Rodriquez isn’t gonna be in GI for long, anyhow.”
“Okay Jack, you talk to him. Let’s grab a meal and then head out, see where these four fucks lead us,” Gooch said.
Staal flipped out his cell phone and dialed Rodriquez. “Thomas? Staal. You still in the house?”
“Yeah, man. Just stepped out of the shower,” Rodriquez said.
“Need to talk to you. I’ll see you in five.”
Gooch told Staal that she was going down to talk to Teddy Elgin in Evidence about borrowing a few pistols for the night.
“Yeah, good call Rachael. Make sure Elgin disables those pistols,” Staal said.
Staal’s phone chirped signaling he had a text message. He clicked through to the message on the screen. It was from Hennessey.
Chimera. I still want the greasers. Call you after 11 tonight. CUL8r.
Thomas Rodriquez stood in front of the shower room mirror combing his thick black hair. He was five-eight and around a hundred seventy pounds with a wiry build. Staal once saw him take down a 250-pound guy with one left hook.
“You and Rosy got anything going tonight, Jay?” Staal asked.
“Nah, her and I is kinda fucked up, man,” Rodriquez said. “How’re you and Hayes?”
“That’s too bad, T. Me and Gina are good.” Staal checked his own appearance and grimaced at his five o’clock shadow.
Dead of Knight Page 13
