Читать книгу Jack Taggart Mysteries 7-Book Bundle - Don Easton - Страница 18

Louie Grazia hung up the phone and pursed his lips while straightening his tie. Why did Assistant Commissioner Isaac want to see him? Isaac had a reputation for being both fair and firm. But he also had the power to make or break a person’s career at the snap of his fingers.

Maybe it wasn’t really serious. Had someone been in his office again? Isaac did have a quirk about his personal office. Louie recalled several months earlier when Isaac came in to work and found a small sticky mark on the glass top of his desk. No doubt someone drinking in the officer’s lounge the night before had gone in to use his phone and put a drink down. Isaac was furious and threatened harsh punishment if it ever happened again.

“Go on in, Louie, he’s waiting for you.”

Louie smiled cordially at the secretary, then walked across the plush carpet leading into Isaac’s spacious office. Isaac was seated behind a large oak desk.

Directly behind him was a stuffed buffalo head mounted high on the wall. The curved black horns and shaggy head gave it a majestic appearance as it stared out over the room. The men under his command had presented it to him years earlier as a gift when he was transferred out of the Yukon. Below it were two lances crisscrossed on the wall.

Isaac looked formidable. He was a big man who had a bushy grey handlebar moustache, thick grey eyebrows, and a horseshoe pattern of grey hair around a bald head. He liked to canoe, and his large, muscular arms handled this hobby with ease. His eyes were a deep brown that at times looked black. He was a no-nonsense type who expected nothing short of excellence from his subordinates. Those who didn’t measure up were transferred or forced to retire.

Beside a Bible on his desk was a picture of his wife. Several family pictures lay flat on the table under the glass. In front of his desk were several overstuffed brown leather chairs.

The curtains on the large windows were open, giving an unobstructed view of the mountains. The sun shining in cast a reverent glow over the room.

Louie recognized the long, serious face of Inspector Ted Nash. He was in charge of the Vancouver City Police Vice Section. Beside him sat Wigmore, whose much smaller office was across the hall.

“Good morning, Louie. Have a seat. I believe you and Ted know each other?”

“Yes, sir, we met once before, thank you.”

“Read this report Ted brought over and tell me what you think.”

Louie took the report. It outlined the murder of a Leonard Waschuk, who was found behind the Black Water Hotel three days ago. Damn it! What the hell has Jack been up to? Louie silently read on. Leonard was shot upwards through the lower jaw with a .22-calibre pistol. The end of his tongue had been cut off and placed on his chest. The word RAT had been carved on his forehead. Louie glanced at a colour photograph of the victim before reading further. A potato was visible beside Leonard’s head.

“A .22-calibre slug,” remarked Louie. “Professional hit. Very little noise and just enough power for the bullet to ricochet around inside the skull and turn the brain to mush. The potato was used as a silencer to make the weapon even quieter. With Ted being here, I presume the victim was a City informant?”

Isaac smiled briefly at Nash before answering, “You’ve hit the nail on the head! He was a methamphetamine dealer who purchased the drug from a probationary member of Satans Wrath Motorcycle Club. Someone who goes by the nickname of…?”

“Halibut,” said Nash.

“Ted tells me there were a few people in his office who knew he was an informant.”

“That’s right,” said Nash. “The two detectives who turned him in the first place, and maybe three or four others.”

“Why should this involve us?”

“Ted’s men had read a bulletin put out by our Homicide Section saying that they were interested in cross-matching methamphetamine. They called them to let them know what they had and that they were planning on running wire.”

“We’d just obtained a wiretap order on Halibut when it happened,” said Nash. “That was a couple of days ago. There’s been nothing on the lines to help us yet.”

Louie looked at Nash and said, “You think someone on Homicide let it leak? Would your men have given them Leonard’s name?”

“They didn’t give out his name to anyone, not that it would take a rocket scientist to figure it out. That’s not why I’m here, and I’m definitely not accusing anyone. This Leonard wasn’t the sharpest needle in the pile. My guess is he probably blabbed to his girlfriend or someone. I’m here because your Homicide Section said that your office is doing some work in the area. I was wondering if you had any sources that could give us a lead on the murder?”

“I would think Halibut would be a pretty good suspect.”

“He would,” replied Nash, “except he pissed on the side of one of our uniform cars that day at about noon.”

Louie caught the frown that Isaac gave Nash. He did not condone swearing, and there was little doubt that if Nash didn’t work for another agency, Isaac would have reprimanded him.

“The murder happened around suppertime,” continued Nash. “Halibut was locked up in the drunk tank then. He wasn’t released until the following morning.”

“How convenient,” replied Louie.

“This informant was involved in trafficking in methamphetamine,” said Isaac as he looked at Louie. “Your office does have some sort of … intelligence probe concerning methamphetamine in that vicinity. Correct?”

“Yes, sir. Project 13. Taggart and O’Reilly have been working on identifying the source of methamphetamine coming into Vancouver. We suspect that Satans Wrath is behind it.”

Wigmore smacked his hands together and sat forward in his chair. “Precisely,” he said, looking pleased. “And I understand that Taggart has an informant around the Black Water Hotel who recently supplied him with an ounce of speed. At least, I think that’s what his report said?”

“Yes, sir. That’s correct.”

“Taggart,” mused Isaac. “I’ve read several of his reports over the years. There’s something about him. He seems rather … intuitive.”

Grazia caught the eye contact between Isaac and Wigmore. There was little doubt as to who had sparked Isaac’s curiosity about Taggart.

Isaac sat back in his chair and smiled as he spoke. Grazia knew he was anything but relaxed. It was a simple ploy. To appear relaxed when you’re fishing for information. This makes other people relax, and sometimes things just slip out in casual conversation.

“Sir?” asked Grazia.

“I just can’t quite put my finger on it.” Isaac glanced at Nash and said, “It’s uncanny. He accurately predicts internal problems that criminal organizations will be having well in advance.” Isaac looked at Grazia, gave a small chuckle, and asked, “So what’s his little secret?”

“He is exceptionally astute, sir. Definitely the best man I have. He’s unique, innovative, a hard worker and —”

Isaac leaned forward, slapping his hands down on his desk. “Yes, yes, but there’s something else! Why is it that major criminal groups suddenly start killing themselves off once he starts to investigate?” His dark eyes studied Grazia’s face.

“Well, sir, it is easier to investigate a group that is suffering internal problems. Naturally a good investigator would strike while the iron is hot, so to speak.”

Isaac’s gaze remained riveted on Grazia for a moment, and then he leaned back in his chair and said, “Well, I’m sure you know your men. In any event, if this Project 13 uncovers any information that will assist Ted here, I expect you to cooperate fully.”

Wigmore smirked and said, “Well, considering that a homicide just took place, I think it would be prudent for Taggart to provide us with the full name and address of his informant. Perhaps the … informant is somehow involved.”

“Sir.” Louie looked directly at Isaac. “As a matter of policy, we don’t disclose the names of informants to anyone. It’s just not —”

“I really don’t need to know,” said Nash.

“Nonsense,” said Wigmore. “It would be good for at least you to know just in case the name surfaces in your investigation.”

“It is unusual,” said Isaac, “but under the circumstances, I fully agree. Who is the informant?”

“I’ll check with Taggart and get back to you on that, sir. I think he only used the source once because we couldn’t get funding.”

Wigmore coughed loudly, then said, “I just saw Taggart at his desk a few minutes ago. With your permission, sir, why not have Louie use your phone and call him now.”

Isaac gave a nod of approval and Louie called Jack and briefly explained where he was and what had transpired.

“No problem,” said Jack. “Hang on while I get the name from out of my desk.”

Jack ripped off an envelope taped to the back of his desk drawer and then held the telephone in the crook of his neck while sifting through multiple pieces of identification.

“We’re waiting,” said Grazia, with a noticeable edge to his voice.

“Sorry. Here’s a name. I mean here’s the name. Edward Trimble.”

Grazia relayed the information to Ted Nash, who assured everyone that he would never disclose it but would keep it in mind in case it surfaced in the murder investigation. Wigmore also wrote down the name and address in his own notebook.

Later that afternoon Bart and Rex spotted their target. It wasn’t difficult; he was wearing exactly what the tipster had told them. He also appeared to be watching everyone around him when he left the phone booth. Rex stuck the plastic radio receiver in his ear and followed on foot, while Bart remained nearby in the car.

Rex watched his quarry duck down an alley and retrieve something from an empty takeout coffee cup lying in a window well.

Bart’s radio crackled. “Bart, I think he just picked up. Ditch the car. Let’s grab this mother before we lose him.”

Moments later, Rex and Bart saw their target walk down another alley. Bart covered off one end of the alley while Rex hid and waited at the other end.

Rex crouched close to the wall. His muscles bulged under his shirt as he tensed in anticipation. All at once, his target loomed in front of him. Rex lunged for his throat. The victim’s eyes widened in panic and the mouth gaped open, but then he disappeared!

It was Rex’s turn to look surprised when the man ducked and left him grasping at air. He looked down as he sailed over the man and received a jab in both eyes with a pair of fingers.

Rex sprawled on the pavement, skinning both elbows. His target was doing an Olympic dash back down the alley. Rex clambered to his feet and stumbled after him, while wiping his eyes with his fingers.

Bart, peeking around the end of the alley, waited silently. There was no grab for the throat this time. Bart stepped quickly into the alley and buried one meaty, knuckle-bound fist deep into the man’s midriff. A belch of air escaped the man’s mouth and he collapsed to the ground as two baggies fell from his hand.

“Ya got ’im,” panted Rex, still wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. “Jesus, he’s fast!” he said, giving the man a solid kick to the ribs.

“He sure got you dancin’ in the alley like a wounded prairie chicken!” said Bart, picking up the baggies.

“The bastard poked me in the eyes! I couldn’t see!” he said, kicking once more.

Danny, parked down the next alley, held the binoculars to his eyes with one hand while eating an apple. He stopped chewing and chuckled when he saw Bart slam their quarry back against a wall.

Minutes later, Bart and Rex drove into an underground parking lot. Their quarry, whom they identified as Edward Trimble, lay slouched in the back seat. He was more than willing to cooperate in exchange for not going to jail. He admitted that he bought the speed from Red, who used to buy it from Lenny. He said Red now bought it from someone in Satans Wrath. Fast Eddy, as Bart called him, was willing to make more purchases from Red if they supplied the money. He thought he might soon be able to deal with Satans Wrath directly if Bart and Rex wanted him to. They did.

Danny leaned over and opened the car door and watched as Jack eased himself inside.

“You took a few good licks there,” Danny commented.

“Had to make it look real. They bought it. Money shouldn’t be a problem now.”

Danny started the car and said, “Where to?”

“My ribs are sore. Maybe stop by the clinic to check things out.”

“Check things out? What things?”

“Shut up and drive.”

“Oh, those things.”