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
