Читать книгу A Delicate Matter - Don Easton - Страница 10

Late that afternoon, Jack and Laura met with their boss. Staff Sergeant Rose Wood leaned forward in her chair, listening attentively as Jack outlined his goal and his plan to achieve it. When he was done, Rose nodded thoughtfully. “You want satellite trackers on Mouse’s limo and Bob’s semi?”

“Along with bugs in both,” Jack stressed. “I’ll get the DEA to take over surveillance of the semi when it crosses the border.”

“Where you hope to identify the weed for cocaine connection and nail them all in a conspiracy,” Rose said.

“That’s the plan. It’s a good opportunity to gather evidence from the ground up.”

“Literally,” added Laura. “From the marijuana grown here to the cocoa plants in South America.”

“Maybe when the truck is being unloaded and the DEA bust them, they’ll find evidence to support the rumour about Satans Wrath widening its cocaine-distribution network into Europe,” Rose noted.

“Probably not any direct evidence,” Jack said. “There won’t be any full-patch Satans Wrath going anywhere close to Bob’s truck … either here or in the States. I also doubt that the coke connection would show up in person when the truck arrives in Dallas.”

“You don’t think catching full-patch Satans Wrath is a possibility?” Rose asked.

“There’s always hope that the DEA will come up with a lead on the money trail to connect the dots, but so far we’ve never been successful in that regard.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Rose said. “What do you know about the West 12th Street gang in Dallas?”

“I called a friend in the DEA. He says the gang is well connected with the Mexican mafia and are affiliated with other gangs in several major U.S. cities.”

“Mexican mafia,” mused Rose. “Explains the coke connection.”

“Exactly, but knowing and proving are different things. My idea is to let the semi return without any arrests being made, then see if we can discover how they move the money by working back when everyone gets paid.”

“Tracking the money trail has never progressed beyond the bottom end before,” Rose said. “What makes you think you’ll succeed this time?”

Jack made a face. “It probably won’t succeed the first time, but it’s a start. At least we know the money’s not being brought back with whoever delivers the dope. We may have to watch several deliveries take place before we can figure out how the money is distributed.”

“You’re talking months, perhaps even a year or two.”

“One way to really hurt Satans Wrath is to take away their money. I think it’s worth the gamble. All we’d risk losing is the chance to arrest a bunch of chumps with some weed. I’ve talked with Sammy Crofton in the Drug Section. He’s a good guy and in charge of a team. He’s on board with the idea. I told him we’d assist his team with getting a wiretap and do a bit more preliminary work, then the operation would basically be in their ball park.”

“Are the DEA willing to let two-hundred-and-fifty keys of marijuana go?” Rose asked.

“I’m sure of it,” Jack replied. “They’ll be interested in linking the cocaine connection and looking into the money-laundering aspect, as well.”

“Not to mention, the truck makes regular runs,” Laura put in. “If things work out, they’ll get the opportunity to bust them another time.”

“The DEA might also be able to do some side busts on the marijuana without heating anything up,” Jack added. “That’d provide more evidence for the conspiracy. If we surreptitiously get a sample of the weed here before the truck leaves Vancouver, it would tie in nicely.”

“Surreptitiously get a sample?” Rose looked doubtful.

“I’ll think of something.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you would.” She smiled to show she was joking. “The thing is, when it comes to the point of being surreptitious, we’re talking about testifying in court — which means Drug Section should be in control of the investigation, along with the DEA. Ultimately it will be their decision of what should be done and when.”

“Certainly,” Jack agreed, “but I still have a vested interest to protect my informant. Both Drug Section and the DEA will appreciate that.”

“Is your informant in jeopardy?”

Jack grinned. “No, but it’s a good excuse to maintain some control over the investigation.”

Rose nodded. “You said you wanted the trackers and bugs in place by next Tuesday. Do you think that between you and Drug Section you can get a wiretap order prepared that fast?”

“If Laura and I work double shifts we should manage. Sammy will apply for the wiretap, but we’ll help him with the paperwork. His team will also do surveillance on the limo and the truck. Then when the wiretap’s approved, we’ll have an idea of the best time and location for the team to sneak in and plant the bugs and the trackers.”

“Speaking of bug planters, have you checked with their office to see if they currently have the space to monitor the wiretaps for us?”

“I called them. They said they could handle it.”

“Sounds like you have your ducks in a row,” Rose said. “Why are you sitting here? Get to work.”

The next several days were hectic for Jack and Laura, but by Monday afternoon a judge had approved the wiretap order. It named Buck Zabat, Mickey O’Bryan, alias Mouse, Frederick Smith, alias Banjo, and Neal, Bob, and Roxie Barlow. An attempt to obtain a wiretap order on the other Gypsy Devil prospects had been turned down by the prosecutor, who deemed there was insufficient evidence.

By late Monday night, an electronics team was successful in planting a satellite tracker and listening device in Mouse’s limo.

Bob stored his semi in the barn next to his house in Delta, which was about a twenty-minute drive out of Vancouver. A pit bull was observed chained in the yard, and any attempt to place electronic equipment in the semi wasn’t possible because someone had always been home.

At noon on Tuesday Jack was at his desk when he received a call from Nicole Purney, who was a civilian member tasked with monitoring the wiretaps. Informants’ identities were not disclosed in the wiretap, but simply referred to as “informant A” or “informant B.” Nicole knew that Jack was one of the lead investigators conducting a drug investigation involving the named targets with the Gypsy Devils and Satans Wrath, but that was all.

“Banjo made his first call,” Nicole said, “and I’m certain it’s a good one. He asked some guy how many crabs he caught and the guy said seven. The guy then told him to hang onto them and bring them to the party on Thursday.”

“Any idea who Banjo was calling?” Jack asked.

“No, it’s a disposable phone. The guy was complaining that he might have food poisoning. He sounded like he was in pain.”

“Give me the guy’s number. I’ll talk to my informant later and see if I can match it with other names and numbers he might have.” Jack smiled when he saw that the number Nicole gave him was Larry’s number, which he already had in his notebook.

“Hold a sec,” said Nicole. “Banjo has called someone else … asking how many cases of beer the guy is bringing to Thursday’s party.”

“Maybe they’re having a party drinking beer and eating crab,” Jack suggested, pretending to question Nicole’s assessment.

“I don’t think so. Doing my job, you get a feeling for people’s tone of voice after a while. I think these calls are dirty.”

“I believe you,” Jack replied. “Have you told Drug Section?”

“Not yet, but I’ll give Sammy a call.”

“Thanks.” Jack felt his phone vibrate. “I’ve got another call. Talk to you later.”

Jack answered his phone and was pleased that it was Larry, telling him that Banjo had called him to say the delivery was set for Thursday night.

“You’re grunting like you hurt yourself,” Jack noted. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ve been throwin’ up,” Larry replied. “I think I got food poisoning.” He yelped in pain.

“Cramps in your abdomen?” Jack asked.

Larry moaned. “The pain was around my belly button earlier, but it’s now down on my lower right side. Maybe what I haven’t puked is workin’ its way out.”

“It could be appendicitis. You need to see a doctor. If your appendix ruptures and you’re stuck out there, you could die.”

“Yeah, but the weed … Our deal needs to — Shit dat ’urts!” Larry moaned. “I’ve already cleared out most of my hydro equipment and got it back at my apartment. All I need is for Banjo to get the weed. Another two days and — Lard tunderin’ Jesus b’y, she ’urts.”

“Get your ass to a doctor now,” Jack ordered. “Then call me back.”

“But what if you’re right? Won’t they put me in the hospital?”

“Yes, but only for a couple of days if it isn’t ruptured.”

“A coupla days? I gotta be here Thursday. Dwayne can’t handle the delivery. He can’t even drive.”

“One step at a time. See what the doctor says. Maybe it’s nothing, but if worse comes to worst we’ll figure something out. If it’s appendicitis, the GDs will just have to wait or pick it up themselves.”

“They won’t go out in the middle of the night in my dinky little boat to get it,” Larry muttered. “I got six duffle bags of it stored at the campsite now. Got about one more to go.” He hesitated before going on, “Still, me nerves is rubbed right raw wit da pain.”

“Look, if it ruptures, you’ll be a lot worse.”

“You really think it’d kill me?”

“Definitely.”

“That’s all I need is to wake up dead. Okay, I’ll do it. Dwayne can take care of the remainin’ bag. Except …”

“Except what?”

“If I’s gone a coupla days, Dwayne’ll be stranded out there … but guess it’s okay. He’s got food.”

“Give him my number,” Jack suggested. “If you end up in the hospital and he needs anything, tell him to call me.”

“Yeah … okay.”

It was 6:00 p.m. and Jack was on his way home from work when Larry called back and said, “I’m at Vancouver General. You was right, b’y. It’s me appendix. I’m goin’ in for surgery in a few minutes. They think it just ruptured an’ said I’ll be here for at least five days. I better call Banjo and —” A cry of pain and a nurse’s voice in the background interrupted his sentence.

“Forget about Banjo until after your surgery,” Jack said.

“I … okay, okay.”

Two hours later Jack received a call that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Officer Taggart! Officer Taggart! It’s Dwayne! I can’t get hold of Larry! He won’t answer!”

“It’s okay, Dwayne, settle down,” Jack said calmly. “Your brother had to go to the hospital, but he’ll be okay.”

“I know! He tol’ me, but they’re stealing all our bags,” Dwayne said excitedly. “I gotta stop ’em.”

“Who’s stealing the bags?” Jack’s tone sharpened.

“Three men in a boat. They got three bags already and went back for the rest.”

“Do they know you’re there?”

“No, I was hiding — but I’m gonna trick them and smash their motor,” Dwayne said, sounding pleased with himself.

“No, stay hiding,” Jack ordered.

“I got a rock.”

“No! Don’t do anything except stay hidden.”

The sound of rock smashing on metal told Jack he wasn’t heard. “Stop!” Jack screamed into the phone. “Can you hear me? Stop!”

The noise stopped and Dwayne said, “Uh-oh, they’re coming. Uh-oh.”

“Run!” Jack yelled. “Get away from there!”

Then he heard Dwayne shout, “I’m a deputy! You-you’re in big trouble!”

“Think you can fuck with my boat and get away with it?” a distant man yelled.

“Stay away from me! I’m warning you!” Dwayne shrieked.

“Why you little fucker!” The man sounded surprised, as well as angry.

The sound of a gunshot caused Jack’s arm to twitch.

“He shot me, Officer Taggart!” Dwayne cried. “In my tummy. I’m gonna die, aren’t I? Oh no, oh no …”

“Dwayne! Fall down! Pretend you’re dead!”

“It really hurts,” Dwayne sobbed. “I — Stay away!” he cried. “You go away!”

A second gunshot echoed over the phone, followed by what sounded like the phone bouncing off a rock and into water. Jack stood with his mouth agape, holding his breath as he strained to listen. All he heard was his own conscience screaming at him. Telling him he’d screwed up and that Dwayne had been murdered as a result.