his cane to steady his balance.
In 1944, Albert had been a rear gunner in a Lancaster flying over Germany. He was smaller and thinner than most men, which suited his cramped quarters in the Lancaster just fine. Unfortunately his position also caused him to receive a fist-sized piece of shrapnel to his knee. Pain was something he had long learned to live with.
“Mailman, aye! If he’s here when I get back I’ll kick his ass.”
Essie chuckled as Albert left the room.
Moments later, Albert carefully locked the door to the house and headed down the street.
The mall was only two blocks from their house, but Albert was the sociable type. What would have been a quick stop at an ATM and a drug store for most people took him considerably longer. It was an hour before he returned home and stepped inside.
“Essie! What’s this mail bag doing in the living room?” he yelled.
“Quick, my husband’s home! Hide under the bed!” came her staged whisper from the bedroom.
Albert’s eyes twinkled as he was about to reply, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was a man with a knife.
chapter nine
Jack was glad that Natasha was off for the weekend. They spent it together, trying out a few new recipes that they paired with an appropriate wine. It gave them a chance to talk and unwind a little. For a brief period of time, Jack’s brain overruled his heart and told him that the funeral was linked to him in name only.
By Monday morning, Jack was feeling somewhat refreshed and was waiting when Louie arrived at work.
“You’re early,” commented Louie, hanging up his jacket on a hook behind the door. “How did the funeral go on Friday?”
“It went,” Jack replied, then paused and asked, “Molen ... is it set?”
“Told you I would look after it. I did. He’ll get the fake report this morning. Anti-Corruption is handling the investigation. How do you feel about the meeting with Isaac last Thursday?”
“It was okay. I agree with the game plan for Molen, but we need to tread carefully.”
Louie looked at Jack and quietly replied, “I think you need to tread very carefully.”
Connie Crane didn’t arrive at work until almost noon. She had worked all weekend. The murder of an elderly war veteran had enraged her. She knew she might as well work because she was too angry to sleep.
The media clamoured for every ugly detail they could learn. Connie was generous with what she gave them. The details would sicken the public. Anyone with a shred of humanity who knew anything should call. She was right. One tipster was not satisfied to talk to someone handling the tip line. She wanted to talk to the investigator in charge.
Connie took the call and listened to the woman. She sounded like she smoked six packs a day.
“Listen, I’m just an addict,” she said. “I know nobody will believe me, but...”
Connie rolled her eyes. Crack whore! You’re right. I’m busy; let’s get to the point. She interrupted and said, “How much money are you looking to be paid? I don’t work drugs. Not sure what a rock sells for these days.”
“Listen, bitch! I don’t want no money for this! Just because I’m a fuckin’ addict don’t mean I don’t have a conscience! I’m also dying of fucking throat cancer so I really don’t need this extra crap. If you ain’t interested in me telling you who did it, then I’ll hang up!”
“Don’t do that,” said Connie. “Please. I’m sorry. You’re right. I haven’t slept all weekend and I’m feeling grumpy. What do you have to tell me?”
Connie hastily scribbled notes as the tipster talked. Is this some hooker with a grudge against her pimp — or someone else? She took the details and handed them to a colleague to check out. Wasn’t much to go on. Just a nickname: Spider. The tipster said he hung out at a skid-row bar on East Hastings called the Black Water. A long way from where Essie fell out of bed, crawled over to her husband, and felt his gurgling windpipe. Then heard a man laugh and felt him rip the pendant off her neck...
Connie saw a sealed envelope addressed to her at the office. She opened it and read the typed letter. It was about another murder. Details of how Holly’s husband was murdered, including hold-back information that had never been revealed to the media. It talked about Jack Taggart and how people associated with him would soon be dying, along with acquaintances of other organized crime investigators. She carefully placed the letter down on her desk and reached for her phone.
The meeting was held in the boardroom and included Isaac, Louie, Jack, Danny, Connie, and several I-HIT investigators, including Randy Otto.
Jack heard what Connie had to say and briefly closed his eyes as a corner of his brain said I told you so! Holly’s husband ... Charlie ... because of you.
“Sir,” said Louie. “If Jack is transferred, this threat will only perpetuate. We’re dealing with a terrorist. It will only get worse if we capitulate.”
Isaac didn’t respond.
“The note warns anyone working in Intelligence,” said Jack. He paused to take a deep breath, then continued, “With the number of people in our office, there’s no way we could protect everyone, let alone their families and friends. Even if we did, it would effectively shut down our office. We have to continue working the way we are.”
“I agree,” said Isaac, “but I want you in particular to keep an extremely low profile until we solve this matter.”
Jack knew he would not be able to convince Isaac otherwise so said, “Yes, sir. I agree that would be prudent. The note indicates that the victim was killed simply for having my name. That doesn’t make sense. We’re dealing with someone whose ego is so big that they simply won’t admit it was a mistake.”
“I agree,” said Isaac, “and someone with an ego like that will likely try to carry through with his threat in order to authenticate this letter.”
“Sir, it goes without saying,” said Randy, “that I have every person in my office working on this.”
“Good. Don’t worry about the overtime. Consider it approved.”
Jack thought for a moment and then glanced at Danny and said, “Maybe I should go solo for a while.”
Danny shook his head and said, “I don’t scare that easy. Besides, as you said, the note threatens our whole office. We would have to either shut the whole office down or stay inside and play solitaire — exactly what this person wants.”
“Who do you suspect is behind this?” asked Isaac.
“Not Satans Wrath,” said Jack, wondering if he had blurted that out too soon.
“What other crime families have you been actively pursuing?” asked Randy.
“I’ve been working entirely on Satans Wrath.”
“If
