“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
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.
