Loose Ends (4 page)

They walked along a manicured garden path while Wizard gave his version of what had happened that afternoon.

Dark lines formed in the furrows on Damien's forehead and shadows appeared under his eyes. His response was venomous. “You whacked two kids!” Spittle from his mouth landed on Wizard's face.

“Well, actually, Rolly whacked the boy. The Suit told us to do it and —”

“Since when does the fucking Suit give us orders? You were in charge!”

“I was in charge, but —”

“Fucking millions to be made and you pull this stunt!”

“Damien, you weren't there. We had no choice. They were mouthy little brats. Knew what was goin' on and threatened to tell the cops. We had to do 'em. Especially seein' as they saw The Suit. Besides, nobody knows about it or can connect it with us.”

“Why the fuck did you have The Suit with you way out there?”

“He was already up the Valley at a meeting all morning. Rolly was looking for spots for grow operations. It just worked out that way.”

“Next time, he takes his own wheels to the motel! You do the delivery after he's there.”

Wizard nodded that he understood.

“Where is he now?”

“Gettin' his treat at a motel. Rolly will clean that up after. I thought I should come and let you know right away.”

“Getting his fucking treat? Killing two kids didn't bother him?”

“Actually, I think he liked it.”

“Nobody is to know about this!”

“Rolly earned his Dirty Dog. I sanctioned it.”

Damien thought for a moment, then said, “Okay, he gets it, but not a fuckin' hint to anyone about
how
he got it!”

Damien monitored Wizard on camera as he left. His instinct told him that Wizard hadn't been totally honest. He had to trust his instinct. It got him to where he was.
People who lie to me are my enemy.

“You little shit!” Buck's voice drifted in through the open patio door.

“Buck! Don't speak that way to your sister!”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Don't ‘sorry' me. Apologize to her.”

“Danny!” said Susan, flicking the brim of his stetson with her finger.

Danny remained at attention but saw Susan as she held Tiffany, bundled up in a cotton blanket, in her other arm.

“What are you doing here?” asked Danny, as his eyes darted toward the arriving limousines.

Susan ignored the question and thrust Tiffany into his arms. She awakened and started to bawl loudly.

“I can't —”

“Be careful, she's still colicky.” Susan handed Danny a baby bottle and walked away as the prime minister's limousine rolled to a stop.

The media came alive. The PM stepped out of the limo and smiled broadly at the zeal and laughter of the media, then saw that the cameras were pointed at a policeman who was saluting him with one hand, while holding a baby in his other arm.

The PM knew a photo opportunity when he saw one. Kissing babies was a classic. He gently took the infant
from the policeman's grasp. The baby immediately quit crying. He smiled with delight and lifted the infant above his head.
Picture perfect!
The noise from the media drowned out a concerned comment that the policeman made. He brought the baby closer to his face and pursed his lips. It was then that Tiffany chose to vomit.

It was the first day after the September Labour Day weekend and Danny O'Reilly's first day as a policeman in Vancouver. He was dressed in a suit and tie. The last-minute decision to have him transferred to Intelligence instead of GIS puzzled him. The reason would soon be clear.

After a forty-minute wait, he was summoned inside the office of Superintendent Wigmore, who was in command of all the Intelligence units in British Columbia.

Danny stood at attention for two minutes while Wigmore sat behind his desk in an overstuffed leather chair, flipping through Danny's file. He wore a tailor-made suit that gave the impression that his shoulders could have belonged to someone who played pro football. His black hair was closely cropped and his moustache was trimmed top and bottom.

Wigmore eventually looked up and said, “Sit down.”

Danny sat in a wooden chair across from the desk.

“It's too bad,” said Wigmore, shaking his head. “Up until this incident with the PM, you had a good career. A few years in uniform, followed by four years on Drug Section, two years on GIS, and lastly, five months on PR duties. I understand you were transferred from Winnipeg GIS to PR because you blew the whistle. Is that right?”

Danny sighed. “Yes, sir. Two of my colleagues embellished evidence to try and convict a bank robber. They said he spent more time casing a bank than he really did. I told, and Internal interviewed them. They admitted that they may have exaggerated, and the trial was dismissed. It felt pretty uncomfortable working in the Section after that.”

“Your actions were admirable. I would expect nothing less from anyone who works for me. But now…” Wigmore made a clucking noise with his tongue before continuing, “After this stunt with the PM, your career is in the toilet. In case you didn't know it, Internal Affairs is contemplating having you charged with neglect of duty.”

Danny felt his stomach knot. “I didn't know that, sir.”

“Fortunately for you, I have a good relationship with Internal.” Wigmore clasped his hands on the desk and leaned forward, staring intently at Danny's face. “You're going to be working with Jack Taggart. Have you ever heard of him?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. What I am about to tell you will not leave this room, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It's quite simple. I don't trust Taggart, and
you
are going to provide me with every detail of what he is doing.”

“Sir?”

“Everyone Taggart works on, criminal organizations that have survived for years, seems bent on self-destruction once he starts to investigate. Ever hear of Project Stop-Watch?”

“The French gang that robs banks across the country? They're notorious!”

“They were.”

“They keep crooks outside disguised as shoppers to shoot any officer in the back who might arrive early. A young officer was shot in the neck in Montreal. I think she lived but was paralyzed from the neck. The mastermind was Levasseur. He never entered the banks himself but would pick up his men a few blocks from the heist where they switched cars. It was like he was made of Teflon. Nothing ever stuck to him in court. What does this have to do with Jack Taggart?”

“Two months ago, Taggart somehow got lucky and turned an informant in the gang. Last month Levasseur was murdered.”

“I heard that most of the gang was arrested.”

“One day Levasseur's men did a job and drove to ditch their car. Levasseur wasn't there. Vancouver City Police were waiting instead. Taggart tipped them off moments before. Word is, when the gang caught up with Levasseur back in Montreal, he said that some guy with a beard car-jacked him at gunpoint as the heist was going down. He said he was let go afterwards.”

“Obviously a lie. So he set up his own guys?”

“That's what they thought. His mutilated body was recovered later.”

“So Levasseur was Taggart's informant?”

“No. Taggart's informant was some low-level hood. Levasseur wasn't anyone's informant. What I do know is that Taggart had a beard then but shaved it off the day after.”

The suggestion made Danny catch his breath. “It might be a coincidence,” he offered.

“Coincidence, my ass! He might fool others, but he doesn't fool me! Up until now, I've never been able to
prove anything. This time will be different. A perfect opportunity has arisen.”

“Sir?”

“Something unexpected that I can use to my advantage. The only family Taggart had was his sister, her husband, and their two kids who lived on some farm up the Valley. Recently the two kids were murdered. Taggart's at the funeral right now.”

“That was his niece and nephew? It's in the news…”

“This is the time to get hard evidence on this hotshot. Someone messed with the only family he had. He won't be thinking all that clear. Gain his confidence, if you can, but be careful. Don't get sucked into his world. I want you to stick to him like shit to a sheep's ass. If he so much as jaywalks, I want it documented. You see anything, you sense anything, report it to me.”

“Shouldn't Internal Affairs be handling this?”

“They looked into Taggart and got zip. I need someone close to him. Someone he trusts.”

“Sir, I don't relish having —”

“You don't relish it?” said Wigmore, pounding his fist on the desk. His chair bashed against the wall as he stood and jabbed his finger into Danny's chest and said, “I bet you relish having a job to support your wife and baby girl, don't you, O'Reilly?”

Danny cringed back in his chair and said, “Yes, sir.”

Wigmore slowly sat down and said, “Good.” His voice softened and he said, “As policemen, we all have to do things we don't like sometimes. It's part of the job. Just make sure you do your job and I'll see to it that you're looked after.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In the future, don't go through my receptionist. I don't want any leaks on this matter or anyone to suspect you're talking to me. You're to report to me at home,”
he said, handing Danny a slip of paper with his telephone number. “I expect a report, say, every Monday night around eight. Call me more often if you think you should. If we need to meet in person, there's a place near my apartment called the Oceanside Lounge. The address is in the phone book.”

Wigmore glanced at his door. Danny caught the cue and started to leave.

“Oh, O'Reilly! One more thing.” Wigmore waited until Danny turned to face him. “Welcome to Vancouver.” Wigmore gave him what he thought was a reassuring smile.

Wigmore's smile became genuine after Danny left.
Child pornography. It's time for Taggart to go. He's too dangerous. A loose cannon.

Jack stared down at the two small caskets holding Maggie and Ben Junior. Mourners dropped handfuls of earth onto the caskets. He took two envelopes from his suit jacket.

Inside a nearby van, CC watched with binoculars. “What's Taggart up to?”

Her partner, Charlie Wells, grabbed his own binoculars. “He's taking something out of an envelope … looks like paper fish. He's dropping one in each grave.”

Jack dropped the cutout of a paper shark. It fell quickly to the earth in Ben Junior's grave. The cutout of a sunfish that he dropped on Maggie's casket made a slight thud. The bullet folded in the fish bounced off the side of the coffin.

Jack booked the rest of the week off, but the day after the funeral he called CC.

“Anything?”

“Jack, if we make an arrest, I'll give you a call. Until then, let me do my job.”

“Any leads?”

CC sighed. “Not much. But who knows. It's too soon yet.”

“What about the powder on the counter?”

“You were right on that. It analyzed as methamphetamine.”

“That's good! Every chemist who makes meth leaves what amounts to their own chemical signature in it. The lab can cross-match different samples and you might get a match to identify where it originated from.”

“Damn it, Jack. Butt out! Lucy at the lab just explained all that to me.”

“So you've put word out to turn in meth samples so the lab can cross-match with —”

“I was going to do that, but instead I'm talking to you! Get the picture?”

Jack allowed himself a glimmer of hope as he hung up. He had his own plan. He called the toxicology department in the crime lab. Lucy was one of the good guys. She would help.

Luigi Grazia was in charge of the Intelligence Section that Danny was assigned to. He was fifty-four years old, and with his greased-back hair, swarthy complexion, and pinstriped suit, he could have passed for a gangster in a B movie. Before he became a desk jockey, he'd had a reputation for solving difficult problems. Some said he was lucky. The fact was, he was cunning.

“Welcome to the section,” said Grazia in a gruff voice. “Everyone calls me Louie.”

Danny was conscious of Louie's penetrating eyes as they shook hands.

Louie told him he would be sharing an office with Jack Taggart, who would be his immediate supervisor. Danny was glad Jack was off for a week. He wasn't looking forward to shaking hands with his new partner. He discovered, however, that waiting was worse.

Danny reviewed the reports that Jack had recently submitted on an international child pornography ring. When he finished those, he spent the rest of the week reading reports on past investigations about organizations involved in extortion, stolen-auto rings, prostitution, contract murders, drug trafficking, armored car holdups, and more. Louie told him to think of it as a history lesson.

The weekend would have been a good chance for Danny to unpack the many moving boxes that were still piled in his living room, but he felt listless and tired.

“Monday tomorrow,” Susan commented over their morning coffee.

Danny's blank expression told her that he wasn't listening.

“What's wrong, honey? You acted thrilled when you first told me you were being transferred to Intelligence. But ever since you started you've been really quiet. You act like the cat that swallowed the mouse. What gives?”

“I'm just tired. I've done a lot of reading this week.”

“Tired? I can't remember the last time you worked a week of straight day shifts. I think your new job seems great!”

“Maybe I'm not used to it.” He forced a smile.

“Maybe things will be different tomorrow when you meet your new partner.”

Danny chose to bite a piece of toast.