got more. Gabriel rented the basement out about a year and a half ago to a guy who owns a janitorial company. She copied down his driver’s license. The name given was a Bob Rimmer. I checked it out. The name, address, and driver’s license number are all bogus.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Gabriel says Rimmer … or whoever he is, wasn’t around much. He told her he owned the company, but two other guys by the names of Joe and John were the ones who were always coming and going. She never knew their last names, but thinks she could identify them. Joe is around thirty, slim, with short red hair. John is a little younger, muscular build, and a shaved head. She barely remembers Rimmer, but, as she recalls, he was around forty with collar-length dark hair. She says everyone tended to work nights and she seldom saw them.”
“Joe and John gotta be bogus, as well. No matter, we should be able to get prints.”
“That could be a problem. The place reeks of bleach. I think it’s been wiped down. Whoever the renters were, they don’t want to be found.”
“Wonderful,” muttered Connie.
“Maybe outstanding warrants on them,” offered Bert.
“Could be. Maybe the priest found out and they whacked him.”
“Possible,” agreed Bert. “We didn’t go in, but from what we did see, it looks like the basement suite has been cleaned out.
“Vehicles?”
“Joe and John drove a plain white van. No company logo. She can’t remember what Rimmer drove. Guess he usually parked in the alley someplace.”
“Figures,” muttered Connie.
“There is one thing. They might be bikers, or maybe associated to bikers.”
“They look like bikers?”
“No. She said the three of them looked real straight, but when they were first moving in, some biker-looking guy on a hog pulled into the yard. Gabriel said she heard Rimmer tell him in no uncertain terms to leave and never bring the bike around here again.”
“Did she ask Rimmer why?”
“She presumed he knew the noise would bother the neighbours.”
“Where’s Gabriel?”
“Inside waiting for the last mom to arrive and take the remaining daycare kid away.”
“I’ll need a statement from her. You said she is in shock. Do you think she is up to —”
“I don’t know. I guess she’s holding it together. I think she has to for the moment. Besides still babysitting, she’s got her own kids in the house. A four-year-old girl and a thirteen-year-old boy that she kept home from school.”
“This has gotta be tough on her.”
“At least she didn’t see the body.”
How about the pool of blood, bone, and brain matter on the lawn? She won’t forget about that. Holding it together … for how long? Still in shock — wait ’til it sinks in.
“You know any members that have a handle on the biker situation?” asked Bert.
Connie stared briefly at Bert as she collected her thoughts before lolling her head back and rolling her eyes. “Oh, crap,” she whispered aloud. “That would be Jack.”
Corporal Jack Taggart worked in and Intelligence Unit of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Vancouver. The unit specialized in organized crime. Jack knew a lot about bikers and in particular, Satans Wrath, who were world-renowned for having clawed their way to the upper echelon of organized crime families on the planet.
Connie Crane had past murder investigations where Jack, uninvited and against Connie’s objections, had interfered. The problem, in Connie’s opinion, was that Jack took certain investigations too personally. Mind you, some were personal, thought Connie, as she reflected back. Bad guys with any smarts should have known better than to mess with a cop’s family … especially Jack’s. Guess the ones who did were not smart. Not smart enough to know they would end up being corpses.
Connie could understand bending the rules when bad guys crossed certain barriers, but with Jack, there was more to it. Both Jack and his partner, Constable Laura Secord, had received special training as undercover operatives. They were considered two of the best operatives in the RCMP. Connie had never worked undercover, but she had learned a little about Jack’s personality from past investigations. She also knew Laura, and saw her personality change when she was assigned as Jack’s partner.
What the brass did not seem to understand, Connie had decided, was that the real undercover training took place on the street. A place where survival becomes much more personal and where your methods of survival become more honed and deadly the longer you do the work. Jack had been surviving for a long, long time. The same couldn’t be said for those he worked on. Many ended up in the morgue rather than court. Some said Jack’s involvement was only coincidental to the growing body count. Connie knew better.
Connie thought about some of her past cases with Jack. Some criminals became his informants … or had they become his friends? Some good guys we thought were friends had become criminals. Through it all, Jack continues to weave and twist his way in pursuit of justice. His justice … which has no resemblance to the law he was sworn to uphold.
“You okay?” asked Bert. “Who’s Jack?”
Connie slowly shook her head in response and sighed as she reached for her BlackBerry. Past investigations with Jack saw me investigating more murders than I started with. God, I hope this time will be different … I wonder if he is religious?
* * *
Corporal Jack Taggart leaned back in his office chair as he talked on his BlackBerry to a friend. His desk and Constable Laura Secord’s desk butted up to one other in an office designed for one desk and one filing cabinet. They had a dozen filing cabinets.
Jack’s friend was a woman by the name of Ngoc Bích. She was brought to Canada by a smuggling ring on the pretext of working in the hotel industry. Upon arrival she was forced into prostitution. Jack had befriended her and convinced her to give evidence. Now Ngoc Bích was a nanny to another friend of Jack’s. She was also taking music and learning to play the flute.
Many of the perpetrators associated to the smuggling ring had either been convicted or were dead. Two Vietnamese brothers, both considered ringleaders, were still free, pending trial.
Ngoc Bích explained to Jack that she had shown up for court at ten o’clock, but the two accused didn’t appear and the witnesses were excused. Warrants were issued, but Ngoc Bích later heard from the prosecutor who said that after the witnesses left, the defence lawyer appeared before the judge to say he had spoken with his clients and learned they had made a mistake and thought the court case was scheduled for the afternoon. The warrants were quashed and a new trial would be scheduled at a later date.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” lamented Ngoc Bích. “I really wanted this to be over. To see their faces when they are sent to jail for what they did to me and the others.”
“I
