Dead Ends (6 page)

Connie shook her head and said, “We canvassed the neighbourhood and there was nothing of interest.” She eyed Jack curiously and said, “I heard you were there this morning, making like a janitor.”

Jack shrugged in response.

“You should have asked me,” said Laura. “I would have helped.”

“It was no big deal,” replied Jack. “I was awake early.”
More like I hardly slept from grinding my teeth all night …

“It was good of you,” said Connie. “Anyway, I've even taking to interviewing winos. I've talked to four of them so far. There's a liquor store about a block away from Gabriel's. I'm posting a member there every day for the next week. Also got Forensics collecting prints from empty wine bottles we've found in a vacant lot down the alley to identify others.”

“Interviewing winos,” mused Jack. “I heard recruitment for your section was down, but I hadn't realized how desperate you had become.”

“Smartass,” replied Connie. “No, from what we've been told, there were at least a dozen different winos who used Gabriel's yard to get out of the rain. I'm going on a possible theory, with the way Father Brown was dressed, that he might have gone outside to chase some winos away and saw something he shouldn't have. Then again, he might have seen one of the dopers doing something and went out to investigate.”

“So you're hoping to come up with a drunk as a witness,” said Jack. “Bet the courts will love that.”

“Christ,” replied Connie. “The reason I'm telling you is to show how desperate I am. We need to find Varrick!”

“If you're that desperate, want me to try a quick UC call to his parents?” asked Jack.

“If you could think of something that wouldn't heat him up, go for it,” replied Connie.

“I'll think of something,” replied Jack. “Wait in the hall and close the door and make sure nobody walks in during the call.”

Jack waited until Connie left and closed the office door before glancing at Laura and saying, “I thought it better that Connie not hear. Don't want her to have to tell a judge and have the case thrown out by saying it put justice into disrepute.”

“The lawyer act?” smiled Laura.

Jack nodded as he thumbed through a file. “I have Varrick's parents' number … need to find out what lawyer is representing him on his drug charge.”

“It's Basil Westmount from the law firm of Manhattan, Westmount, and Wilson,” said Laura.

Seconds later, Jack punched in a phone number on his cellphone. “Good afternoon, may I speak to Mister Herman Varrick please … oh, I see, you're his mother,” he said. “Yes, I'm calling from Manhattan, Westmount, and Wilson.… Yes it is about his upcoming trial.… No, I'm sorry, his trial is still going ahead and it is imperative that we locate your son immediately.… I would call him, but the phone number we have is no longer in service.… Thank you, I would appreciate that …” Jack quickly jotted down a number and asked, “That is a cell number, is it?… We don't need to talk to your son as much as we need to courier him some documentation. Could you confirm his current address?.… It's called
Headstones
? Yes, I've heard of the place. I believe we have the address on file from a previous client. Thank you very much.… It is a transcript from his preliminary hearing.… He already has that? Then I am extremely sorry for having bothered you. Our secretary should have made a notation on the file. We won't need to contact your son, then.”

Jack hung up and winked at Laura before calling for Connie to come back in. When she did, he said, “It worked. I've got his cell number and address.”

“Fantastic,” said Connie. “How did you do it?”

“Pretended to be a friend looking for him,” said Jack

“Man,” said Connie. “I never thought these guys would fall for that old line. This is great, I'll find out who he's been talking with.”

I didn't think they would fall for that either,
thought Jack. He looked at Connie and said, “I wouldn't get your hopes up on getting much in the way of phone tolls. He gave this number to his mother, so it's his permanent number. He'll be using disposable phones for the stuff we're interested in. Cellphones that he'll toss out every week or so.”

Connie frowned and said, “Hope you're wrong. What about his address?”

“Familiar with a place out in White Rock the bikers have nicknamed Headstones?”

“Nope,” replied Connie. “Must not have had any murders there.”

“None reported,” replied Jack. “Headstones is a three-storey older house a couple of blocks back from the beach. It used to be a bed and breakfast place before it was bought by a close associate to Satans Wrath.”

“More of a silent partnership,” added Laura.

“It's a party place for people they don't necessarily trust enough to bring to their real clubhouse,” continued Jack. “Also a crash pad for some. The bikers nicknamed it Headstones.”

“Odd name,” said Connie. “Sounds like a place where we should excavate the yard.”

“You want another pig farm?” asked Jack.

“Hell, no,” replied Connie, thinking of the killing ground of one of B.C.'s more notorious serial killers.

“Relax, I don't think the bikers are that stupid,” continued Jack. “It got its name from a couple of large rocks on each side of the entrance to the driveway. A lot of prospective club members or associates live there and run the place. It has about eight bedrooms and Varrick is staying in one of them.”

“The place isn't easy to watch,” cautioned Laura. “They've got people coming and going all the time and some are the type who pay attention to anything that looks like it could be surveillance. On top of that, the prospects often do a walk-about checking for heat. There is a place Jack and I found where you can watch if you use binoculars, but if you get any closer you're liable to get burned.”

“Suggestions?” asked Connie.

“How about you apply for a wiretap on Varrick while Laura and I try to identify what he's driving and who he is meeting,” replied Jack. “If you get a wire, maybe we'll get lucky with a room or vehicle bug.”

“He might be meeting his partners in Headstones,” said Connie.

“Laura and I will photograph any new faces,” replied Jack. “We'll pass the photos on to you and you can show Gabriel.”

“And Noah,” added Laura.

“Why don't you show her?” asked Connie. “You know them better than I do.”

“I was the one who busted Varrick last time, which caused him to move into her place. I don't think she would appreciate me coming around.”

“Don't tell her that.”

“I already did.”

Connie stared at Jack without speaking.

“It was the honest thing to do,” he shrugged.

“You're a hard guy to figure out sometimes,” muttered Connie. “But even if we get lucky and they pick out a photo, we'll still need to put a real name to the face or faces. I agree it is the way to go, but I still think we will have more luck with a wire.”

“A wire might help,” said Jack, “but we're in this for the long haul. The good news is that he will continue. Getting arrested didn't stop him last time.”

“Last time he didn't take part in murdering a priest,” said Connie. “It might cause him to change careers. If he goes straight, we may never figure out who his accomplices are.”

“These guys don't give a damn about who they kill,” replied Jack. “They may lay low for a few days to see if the heat is on, but as soon as the bikers think he's cool, he'll be put back to work. His expertise as a lab rat won't be wasted for long. Too much money involved. When he starts up again we'll find out who his running mates are.”

“I've only got sixty days to run a wire,” warned Connie. “If we don't get something substantial by then, I won't be able to get a renewal.”

“I'm aware of that,” replied Jack.

“I don't see any other options,” added Laura.

Connie nodded in agreement.

Connie and Laura looked silently at Jack.

“Let's get to work,” he said.

* * *

Jack and Laura found a place where they could park their car and use binoculars to watch the parking lot at Headstones. Several rooms on the second and third levels had lights going off and on during the evening. At three in the morning the last of the lights went out.

Jack waited another hour before driving through the parking lot as Laura used a tape recorder to obtain the license plates of half a dozen vehicles still left in the lot. Partway through the lot, Jack tossed an empty beer bottle out the car window. If anyone was watching, they would think they were partiers looking for action. As it turned out, none of the registrations gave any clue as to which one, if any, were being used by Varrick.

Surveillance over the weekend and the following few days did not yield any sign of Varrick. On Friday morning, Connie called Jack to tell him that she had a meeting with Public Prosecution Service of Canada and hoped to have a wiretap signed and running by the following day.

“What about phone tolls?” asked Jack. “Who has he been calling?”

“His parents and a few others that all look legit … like fast food takeout places. The only ones who have a criminal record are his parents, and that was ten years ago for drug trafficking.”

“I was afraid of that,” sighed Jack.

“So I'm doing all this work to get a wire on the phone for nothing.”

“The phone, yes, but if we can put him to a car we might be able to wire it or some other location where they might chat. Like I said, it is going to take time.”

* * *

Early Friday afternoon Jack and Laura were slouched in their car watching Headstones and eating submarine sandwiches when Jack stopped chewing to answer his BlackBerry. It was the grief counsellor from the hospital calling to give him the news he dreaded to hear.

“Do you know anything about neuroblastoma?” asked Phyllis.

“No, but it doesn't sound good,” replied Jack. He repeated the word in his mind.
Neuroblastoma …
He felt like he had been whacked on the side of his head with a plank. He listened, guts churning, as Phyllis continued to talk.
Why didn't I keep track of the bastards? Faith has cancer. If only I —

“You still there?” asked Phyllis.

“Yes. Sorry. What do you know about it?”

“It is a cancer of the nerve cells and can occur anywhere in the body. In Faith's case, it is in her nerve tissue alongside her spinal cord in her neck. There are no clear indications of what causes it.”

“There are in this case,” said Jack, harshly, then lowered his window for air. “What's her prognosis?”

“Don't know yet. A lot more tests will need to be done. Likely chemo.”

“The rest … what about Noah and Gabriel. The other kids …”

“Things look good for them so far. They'll have to be retested every six months for the next few years. Jack, I'm sorry. Wish it was better news.”

“I better go see Gabriel,” said Jack.

“Uh, now is not the time.”

Probably hates my guts … and so she should …

“She's still in denial … doing a lot of praying. For you to see her … well, from what you told me, it could evoke a lot of unwarranted anger. It wouldn't help either of you. Leave her to me. Don't worry, I'll be in touch.”

“Jack!” interjected Laura. “It's Varrick. Heading to a black pickup truck,” she said, without taking her eyes from the binoculars.

Chapter Six

Connie Crane skipped her lunch break to go to the Public Prosecution Service of Canada and meet with Bob, the prosecutor who had reviewed her application under Part VI of the Criminal Code for a wiretap intercept on Herman Varrick.

Connie made herself comfortable in a chair across from Bob's desk, and after the usual niceties were exchanged, Connie gestured to her application on Bob's desk and said, “Well?”

Bob grimanced and replied, “It's pretty weak, I—”

“Come on, Bob,” interrupted Connie. “He was running a meth lab in the basement where the vic was found. Then he cleaned it out and took off.”

“I know,” replied Bob. “I did read it. Carefully, I might add.”

“Sorry,” sighed Connie. “I know it's not you. What are the issues you're worried about?”

“To start with, your affidavit says it wasn't Varrick who rented it. That it was someone else using a fake identity. You also say that Varrick was frequently in the company of yet a third unidentified person.”

“These other two are who we want to identify,” persisted Connie.

“And you say the only hair you found doesn't appear to match Varrick. There is nothing specific to indicate he had any involvement in the murder.”

“He was running a meth lab for Pete's sake.”

“Your Part VI is for a homicide, not drugs.”

“You think I should rewrite it as a drug investigation?”

“No. There is no evidence to indicate he is still involved in the manufacture of drugs.”

“So what are you saying? I don't have enough to get a wire?”

Bob paused for a moment and flipped through a couple of pages in the affidavit. He looked up and said, “Isn't there anything else you could give me?”

Connie shook her head and replied, “Nothing yet. We're doing surveillance, but so far it has been fruitless. We're hoping to get more evidence once we identify the other two guys. Which I am hoping a wire will do. There is also the other problem. Varrick is scheduled to appear in court for his meth lab trial in April. If he gets slam-dunked then, we'll really be left in the cold.”

Bob slowly nodded and replied, “Well … I said your affidavit was weak … but maybe not impossible.” He grinned and added, “Your victim was a priest. Maybe we'll get lucky and get a Catholic judge.”

“I'd appreciate you trying. Otherwise we've got nothing.”

“If we do get this signed, you better pray that you do get something within the next sixty days because I guarantee you won't get an extension otherwise.” He looked sharply at Connie and said, “Are you sure you don't want to wait and see what else you might dig up?”

Connie glanced at her cellphone and saw an incoming call from Jack. “Give me a sec,” she said apologetically to Bob.

“We're on him,” said Jack. “Westbound on 99 in a black pickup.”

Connie smiled and turned to Bob and said, “No, I don't want to wait. I want this son of a bitch!”

* * *

Connie got her wiretap order signed that afternoon. She immediately called Jack who told her that Varrick simply went to a bottle recycling depot and dropped off several dozen cases of empties, along with a few boxes of liquor bottles before going to a liquor store and restocking the booze supply at Headstones.

“If they've got him doing menial chores at Headstones when he is a cook for a meth lab, it is costing them money,” noted Jack. “They're worried and are laying low.”

“How long do you think they'll keep him on ice?”

“I'm surprised he isn't back to work already,” replied Jack. “Although trained lab rats are valuable, they're not club members and are still expendable. My guess is they'll wait a week or two to make sure there is no heat before putting him back to work. Maybe they're looking to rent a new place for a lab.”

“Hope so. The clock is running,” added Connie ruefully.

“Did you hear the news on Faith?”

“Who?”

“Gabriel's kid … cancer.”

Connie paused to let out a sigh before asking, “How bad?”

The pause gave Jack time to feel the rage simmer through his veins — his tendons and muscles going taut. For a brief second he allowed himself to fantasize that his hands were around Varrick's neck, choking the information out of him.

“Did you hear me?” asked Connie.

“I heard you,” sighed Jack. “It's bad. Could be terminal but they don't know yet.”

“I really, really want to nail these guys.”

“Trust me, we will catch them. Justice will be served,” he said coldly.

Connie's emotions were in turmoil when she hung up. She was saddened over the news about Faith, but at the same time, knowing Jack's reputation, she believed the culprits would somehow be identified.
Identified, perhaps. But with what evidence? And Jack's definition of justice … hope to God it is not Jack whom I have to testify against.

* * *

The next month dragged by without any progress. Varrick continued to do menial chores around Headstones. Occasionally other men helped him and Jack and Laura photographed any of them who were new faces. Connie showed the photos to Gabriel and Noah, but none were recognized.

Sixteen days after Faith's cancer had been identified, she underwent surgery. Phyllis called Jack to let him know that the surgery was partially successful.

“Partially?” asked Jack.

“They got most of it, but some wrapped around her spinal cord had to be left. The doctors are optimistic that radiation will get what they missed.”

“Think it would be okay if I paid Gabriel and her children a visit?” asked Jack.

“Give her a little more time,” said Phyllis. “She put her house on the market last week and it has already been sold. There's a quick possession date. She has a lot on her plate right now. Don't worry, I think she is starting to accept and even forgive the men responsible.”

“Forgive!” stammered Jack.

“It's her belief in the Bible. She's not as angry as she was. It's a good thing.”

After Jack hung up, he thought about what Phyllis had said.
Forgive? I'll never forgive!
His knuckles, still sore, made him realize he had unconsciously clenched his fists at even the suggestion of forgiveness.