Текст книги "Jack Taggart Mysteries 7 - Book Bundle"

Автор книги: Don Easton

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Текущая страница: 81 (всего у книги 141 страниц)

Epilogue

Criminal conduct by informants has often been a cause for serious debate. If criminals could eliminate informants from their midst by testing them to commit a criminal act, or by their refusal to commit such criminal acts as they had prior to being an informant, then criminal organizations would seldom be penetrated.

In September 2006, defence lawyers argued in a British Columbia Supreme Court that the conduct of an RCMP informant by breaking the law constituted an abuse of process. On March 16, 2007, the RCMP won a significant victory in British Columbia Supreme Court when it was ruled that the illegal conduct of a million-dollar police agent did not violate the rights of the accused.

Unfortunately, in British Columbia, on average, criminals committing the same acts and who share a similar criminal history receive a sentence that is approximately three times lower than they would elsewhere in Canada. British Columbia continues to remain a favoured location for criminals to operate from, or, if apprehended in another province, an ideal location to move to for the purpose of pleading guilty in a British Columbia court.

There is a Commission for Public Complaints (CPC) created by Parliament to ensure that complaints made by the public about the conduct of members of the RCMP are examined fairly and impartially. The CPC is not part of the RCMP. The CPC make findings and recommendations aimed at correcting and preventing recurring policing problems. The CPC’s goal is to promote excellence in policing through accountability.

The CPC is a vital part of our democracy. It would greatly benefit society if our judiciary would face the same type of accountability on a national level.

Chapter One

It was early afternoon when Gabriel Parsons glanced out the window of her front door. It was the last Thursday in January and although the snow that fell on Burnaby in December was gone, the weather was still cold and wet. She turned and smiled knowingly at her visitor who was putting on her shoes to leave.

Gabriel had been running a daycare out of her home for three years and she was familiar with the worried look of young mothers who were leaving their toddlers behind for the first time. Cecilia, like the others, procrastinated the closer she got to the front door. When Gabriel’s husband died in a logging accident three years prior, leaving her with two children, she felt like God had forsaken her. Her son, Noah, was only ten years old at the time and Faith was one and a half.

Gabriel’s frequent trips to church brought her comfort and eventually her prayers appeared to be answered, at least in a financial sense. Her two-storey house was forty years old, but relatively sound and had a full basement. At first she thought about selling, but Noah did not like the idea. Faith was too young to understand, but Noah was devastated over the loss of his dad. The home was something he still clung to, so Gabriel relented and decided to use the house to aid her financial situation.

She rented out the basement to two young men who ran a janitorial supply service. At first she was nervous about dealing with renters, but her fears were soon put to rest. They were polite, always paid the rent on time, and gave her free cleaning supplies.

Her church also brought unexpected support. Father Brown, who was retiring at the time, became a boarder and moved into a spare bedroom on the upper floor at the back of her home. He happily volunteered to babysit while Gabriel tried to find work.

Gabriel smiled as she paused to consider how the quality of her life was improving. Initially she found temporary shift-work as a short-order cook, but felt guilty using Father Brown to babysit when he refused to accept anything in return. Father Brown noted her love for children and came up with the idea of opening a daycare. It was the perfect solution.

Gabriel’s thoughts returned to the present as Cecilia prepared to leave. Gabriel gestured to Cecilia’s jacket and said, “It’s raining. Zip up before you —” She caught herself and stopped. “I’m sorry,” she added, feeling embarrassed. “I’m so used to looking after children I sometimes forget and try to mother their parents, too.”

A pert grin flashed across Cecilia’s mouth as she zipped up her jacket. “It’s okay,” she replied. “I knew as soon as I met you that you’re the motherly type, which suits me fine.”

Gabriel didn’t reply, unsure of whether Cecilia was talking to her or simply uttering her thoughts out loud.

Cecilia took a deep breath as she looked around. The home was spotless. She gave Gabriel a warm smile and said, “When we first arrived, I commented to Emily about all the beautiful plants and bushes you have around your house. When you invited us in, I thought your home smelled cleaner than a hospital. Seeing how happy the children are … well, I know I’ve found the perfect daycare.”

Gabriel’s home did look picturesque. Tomorrow would be different. Rolls of yellow crime-scene tape left by the police would surround the entire property.

Gabriel glanced at the crucifix hanging on the wall at the entrance to her home. For a few seconds she did not hear the rambunctious voices of the three pre-schoolers playing in the living room. Instead, she felt at peace. A friend once told her that she was kind to a fault. Gabriel didn’t mind. She preferred to be that way. Her motto was: Do good unto others and they … well, for Gabriel, her naïveté was about to change. Murder has a way of doing that.

“I meant to tell you,” Cecilia continued, “that those pecan cookies you made were perfectly scrumptious!”

Gabriel gave a broad smile. She was forty-three years old, but had been cooking since she was a youngster. She also liked to eat what she cooked, as was evidenced by her wide girth and triple chins. “You can take some with you, if you like,” she offered.

“No, thanks, I need to watch my … uh, sugar intake.”

“Afraid you’ll end up like me?” replied Gabriel, making a pretext of eyeing Cecilia suspiciously.

“No!” replied Cecilia abruptly. Too abruptly. “I … uh, you look good,” she added, trying to sound sincere.

“Really?” replied Gabriel. Her voice was perpetually raspy, giving an impression of gruffness, but the merriment on her chubby, cherubic face said otherwise. “Its okay,” she continued matter-of-factly as her smile revealed she had been teasing. “I know what I look like. I don’t care. There are no men in my life now.” She shrugged and glanced at the children and saying, “But there’s lots of love, I can tell you that.”

“I know,” replied Cecilia warmly. “I could feel it as soon as we arrived.”

The two women stared at each other briefly, both lost in their own thoughts.

Cecilia was the first to break the silence. “I’ll be back at four-thirty to pick her up and see how she does. If everything goes okay, I’ll drop her off Monday morning on my way to work.”

“Everything will go okay,” Gabriel assured her. “She looks darling … and is already playing with the other children. Father Brown and I will take good care of her.”

A bemused smile played across Cecilia’s lips as she watched Father Brown, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor amongst a pile of toys, nonchalantly allowing a four-year-old boy by the name of Jerry to use Father Brown’s arm, neck, and head as a roadway for a toy car.

Cecilia’s smile vanished and she appeared wistful as she turned her attention to Emily, who was playing on a plastic slide. The two boys had accepted their new playmate. There was a lot of noise as all three children enthusiastically tested the durability and limits of the plastic playhouse and toys in the room. It was a happy noise, she decided.

“You’ve already hugged her and said goodbye,” said Gabriel softly. “Now might be a good time to slip away.”

“Okay,” replied Cecilia in a whisper. “You have my cellphone number … if there is any problem … if she doesn’t behave, just —”

“Don’t worry,” said Gabriel, giving her a reassuring pat on her back. “Emily is in good hands.”

Cecilia nodded and said, “Sorry, I know I’m worrying needlessly. It’s just that she’s – I’ve never left her alone before. She’s only three.”

“Worrying is what us moms do,” replied Gabriel. “You never get over it, no matter how old they get.”

Cecilia nodded and, after glancing at Emily one more time, she left.

Gabriel was pleased to be getting another child to babysit. Ostensibly she did it for the money, but even if she was rich, she would still want to do it. Before her husband died, they had talked about having at least six children. Now Noah was thirteen years old and occupied with school. Today, Faith remained in bed, complaining of a sore throat, but at four years of age, she would soon be in school as well.

Gabriel sighed as she thought about it. Some days she wished her children could have remained toddlers.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Jerry shrieked in protest as Father Brown picked up a toy tiger. The toy was for everyone, but Jerry was possessive. His shriek gave way to giggles as Father Brown pretended to attack him with the tiger.

Father Brown was a tall, thin man with a horseshoe pattern of grey hair on his head. He never cared for bifocals and instead tended to wear reading glasses that sat low on the bridge of his nose while his eyes peered out from above. His eyes tended to be watery, but twinkled with delight at Jerry’s giggles.

“Okay, Father Brown,” said Gabriel, in mock admonishment, “remember to share the toys with the other children.”

He raised his eyes in her direction and smiled, before relinquishing the toy to Jerry who retreated with it to a playhouse.

Emily, who had been watching Father Brown, approached him and with one finger, pointed at a grape-sized red birthmark on the center of Father Brown’s forehead.

“Boo-boo,” said Emily, softly.

“Not a boo-boo,” replied Father Brown. “It’s an angel’s kiss,” he said lightly.

Emily stared intently for a moment before leaning forward and kissing Father Brown on his forehead. “Better now,” she said matter-of-factly, before turning her attention back to the plastic slide.

Her unexpected kiss caused Father Brown to lean back abruptly. He looked up at Gabriel and said, “The new member of the flock isn’t shy, is she?”

“You have a way with children,” replied Gabriel.

“Apparently I do,” he said. A smile flittered across his face, but he became sombre as he reflected on an incident from the previous night.

“Something wrong, Father?” asked Gabriel.

Father Brown frowned. “I have a way with children, but these children are not lost souls. If only I could find a way with the new arrivals God is sending our way. The ones who keep taking up residence in our backyard,” he lamented.

“Again?” asked Gabriel.

Two months ago a nearby liquor store opened for business at eight-thirty in the morning. Their clientele consisted of the down and out. People who had given up all hope and used the bottle to obliterate their thoughts. They tended to frequent an empty lot not far from Gabriel’s house, but in the wet weather, some had taken to seeking refuge under a grove of large cedar trees in her back yard.

“You weren’t woken last night?” asked Father Brown.

Gabriel shook her head and said, “I thought that yard light you put up would stop them.”

Father Brown shrugged and said, “I think it is helping, but not everyone cares if the world sees them. An unfortunate soul stumbled into the garbage cans after you went to bed. I feared he would wake the whole neighbourhood up. I went out and asked him to leave. He did.”

“I’m sorry,” said Gabriel.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Maybe we should be calling the police.”

“Incarceration isn’t the answer. Give me time. I’m still working on the proposal to gather support for a new shelter. Besides, I was awake, reading the scripture.” He paused for a moment, gave a small grin, and added, “However, it would not be good for business if a mom came by with her precious one and saw a man passed out in your yard.”

Gabriel looked heavenward and replied, “I don’t even want to imagine what that would do for business.”

“Mommy,” cried Faith from her room.

Gabriel glanced at Father Brown. “Go,” he said, “I’ll attend the flock.”

Gabriel walked into Faith’s room and saw her stumble while getting out of bed.

“You not awake yet, sweetie,” said Gabriel.

“My neck hurts,” whimpered Faith, rubbing her neck.

Gabriel sat on the bed and placed Faith on her lap. She felt her neck and detected a lump. “You had your mumps vaccination last week,” said Gabriel. “Maybe you’re having a small reaction. How about you come out and play with the others? There’s a new little girl here to play with. Her name is Emily. I’ll give you all some ice cream.”

It was eleven o’clock at night and Father Brown reached to turn his bedroom light out when he heard the sound of breaking glass arise from the back of the house. He peered out the back window and saw an arc of light shine out from the basement door. The breaking glass had come from the renters in the basement. He was about to return to the comfort of his bed when he saw a man stagger out from under the cedar tree closest to the house. The man stood for a moment, looking about, before heading to a cedar tree that was farther away.

Father Brown muttered to himself as he put on his slippers and wrapped a bathrobe over his flannel pajamas before going outside. He passed by the cement steps leading down below ground level to the basement door. The door was wide open and Father Brown could hear the heated voice of one of the renters admonishing the other one for being clumsy. A portable fan was humming away at the door in an effort to clear a strong acidic odour.

Father Brown realized it was the fumes that had aroused the derelict and caused him to retreat to the tree farthest away. He was now sitting on the ground with his back against the trunk of the tree. He stared drunkenly up as Father Brown approached.

Father Brown took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He gave the derelict a friendly smile before crouching down to talk to him face to face. He wondered briefly if the acidic smell emitting from the basement could be any worse than the putrid smell of stale wine coming from the man’s breath.

“Sir, we run a daycare here … young children. Your presence could frighten them. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”

The man stared silently for several seconds as his brain slowly processed the data. Eventually he mumbled something and stood, swaying on his feet. He stared at Father Brown for longer than was polite, as was the way of inebriated people.

Father Brown gently guided the man down the driveway to the back lane, but stopped as headlights appeared at one end of the alley.

“It’s slowing down and parking,” noted Father Brown. “It’s safe for you to go. God be with you.” He let go of the man’s arm and watched as the man turned toward the lane.

As Father Brown walked back to the house, voices and shadows from the basement caught his attention. The voices were not loud, but someone was angry.

“You fuckin’ idiot,” seethed a voice. “We’ll never get it done in time.”

“It wasn’t like I did it on purpose,” replied the other renter. “Cocktail is supposed to drop by. Let’s see what he says.”

“Cocktail will be pissed at us for cooking outside the room. He won’t help. More likely he will rat us out. What do you think the bikers will say when we only deliver half the meth? They’ll kick our asses!”

Father Brown let out a small gasp. Did he say meth? Lord no – He stepped onto the lawn, knowing his footsteps would not be heard as he crept up to the basement stairwell. The yard light illuminated him from behind, so he crouched down to minimize his shadow on the house, while straining to listen over the noise of the fan. He knew he could scoot away unseen around the side of the house if either renter approached the basement door.

“Calm down. It was an accident,” a voice from the basement pleaded.

“Calm down! Fuck you, calm down.”

“It was me who dropped it.”

“You think Satans Wrath will understand? They’ll kick the shit out of us. We’ll be lucky if we don’t end up like Harvey.”

Father Brown sadly realized his fears were true. Gabriel will be upset, but the police will have to be —

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a shadow loom large on the back of the house in front of him. He spun on his heels and stared wide-eyed at the silhouette of a man who stood over him. The man was holding a cement construction brick high in the air with both hands.

Time slowed down for Father Brown. His jaw slackened and his mouth hung open in fear. He locked eyes with the man for what seemed like an eternity, but remained silently transfixed, as if resigned to his fate. He saw the first downward arc of the brick and his brain registered the sound of crunching bone.

Seconds later, Father Brown’s body, now prone on the grass, received six more blows to the head. The brick dispensed a rivulet of blood up the perpetrator’s chest and face with each upward motion. Other arcs of blood splashed high onto the back of the house. Upon impact the brick sprayed more blood in all directions. The added blows were not necessary. Father Brown was dead from the first blow before his body even crumpled to the grass.

It was what happened to Father Brown’s body next that revealed the real danger to Gabriel, Noah, and Faith as they slept upstairs in their beds.

Chapter Two

It was nine o’clock in the morning when Corporal Connie Crane, from the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team, arrived at Gabriel’s home and parked. She was the first member of I-HIT to arrive, but six uniformed Royal Canadian Mounted Police officers were at the house.

As Connie stepped from her car, a young woman started her car and pulled out with tires screeching, causing Connie to step back.

“Hey!” yelled Connie. “Did you see that?” she asked, turning to a Mountie who was standing near the front gate.

“I saw,” replied the Mountie, “but under the circumstances, I —”

“She even had a little kid in the car,” interrupted Connie.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “Her kid was one of the kids in the daycare here,” he added, gesturing with his thumb toward the house. “You’re Connie Crane from I-HIT, right?”

“We’ve met?” asked Connie. Her anger dissolved when she understood the young woman’s instinct to protect her child and leave in haste.

“Didn’t meet,” continued the Mountie, “but I saw you at a murder of some guy in Coquitlam River Park last year. As I recall, you had a partner by the name of Dallas. A blood-splatter expert. You’ll need him here.”

“He’s on his way. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

“We all look alike in uniform,” he smiled. “My boss is out back. He can fill you in.”

Connie went to the back of the property and recognized a sergeant sitting in a patrol car in the rear alley. He motioned for her to join him.

“Hi, Bert. What have we got?” asked Connie, as her eyes scanned the lane. She was glad to see that yellow crime-scene tape had already cordoned off the alley.

“What do you mean … we?” smiled Bert. “This one is a homicide for you.”

“You seem definite.”

“You could try to write it off as suicide, but it won’t be easy,” said Bert, with a hint of sarcasm. “Bludgeon your brains out in the back yard with a concrete brick, after which you drag yourself down a set of stairs into a basement suite and lock the door behind you. Oh, yeah, the brick is also in the basement.”

“Guess we – I can rule out suicide,” replied Connie.

“Where are the rest of the troops?” asked Bert. “Thought they would be here by now.”

“They’ll be tied up for another couple of hours. There was another gang hit this morning.”

“Another goddamned gang hit? I didn’t even hear about it.”

“Too many now to get much news coverage,” replied Connie. “So in the mean time, what can you tell me about this vic?” asked, Connie, with a nod toward the house.”

“No gang member, that’s for sure. A retired priest. Living —”

“A retired priest?” reiterated Connie, unconsciously fondling the gold crucifix dangling from her neck inside her blouse.

“Yeah. He was rooming and boarding here. The owner, Gabriel Parsons, is a widow and lives here with her two children. She also runs a small daycare out of the house. Only three or four kids at a time. I talked to her briefly, but decided to leave the real interview to you.”

“How did the call come in?”

“Gabriel said she was taking the garbage out at about seven-thirty and the first thing she noticed was a missing concrete brick out of the row of bricks lining her driveway. She turned and saw the sprays of blood up the back of her house. She dropped the garbage and headed back to her house. Along the way she saw the pool of blood and brain matter beside the basement stairwell. She ran back in the house and knocked on Father Brown’s door to tell him. When he didn’t answer she called 911. First member on the scene tried a key that Gabriel gave him for the basement door, but the lock had been changed. He kicked open the door and saw the body inside with a pulverized head. He didn’t go in, so your crime scene is intact.”

“Positive it’s the priest?” asked Connie.

“Wearing pajamas and a blue silk bathrobe with a dragon. Gabriel said it was his.”

“Did Gabriel look at the body? What was her response?”

“No. She waited at the top of the stairs. Started crying and broke into hysterics when she realized who the vic was. She’s not crying now … probably gone into shock.”

“What prompted the priest to go outside dressed like that?” mused Connie.

“Gabriel said they’ve had a problem with winos sleeping under the cedars in her yard. Father Brown used to roust them on occasion.”

“You thinking it was robbery? Doesn’t make sense if he was wearing a bathrobe.”

“I’ve 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 know. Me, too,” said Jack. “I wish I could have been there with you, but I don’t want the bad guys to see me and realize who I really am.”

“I understand,” said Ngoc Bích. “It’s okay. I’m not alone. Another woman is testifying, too. She is also angry that the trial did not go ahead. I guess we’ll have to wait a little while —”

“Hang on a second,” said Jack as the phone on his desk rang. Laura took the call and as he wrapped up his conversation with Ngoc Bích, he could overhear Laura’s cheery voice.

“No, I think Jack’s an atheist,” said Laura. “Me? I’m undecided. If I say I’m an atheist I’m afraid I’ll never get any holidays … hang on, Connie … Jack, you still an atheist?” asked Laura as Jack put his BlackBerry away.

“Yes, God made me one,” replied Jack.

“Yup, a heathen through and through,” replied Laura into the phone. She paused and added, “Why is that a relief? … Oh, you’re kidding. Better speak to Jack. He knows more about them than I do.”

Jack listened quietly as Connie quickly told him what she knew about the murder.

“Offhand,” replied Jack. “I’m not aware of any full-patch members of Satans Wrath who operate a janitorial service, but I wouldn’t be surprised. It would suit their MO to have such a company. They would use associates who don’t have criminal records. Especially if they could get contracts in sensitive areas.”

“Like police stations,” suggested Connie.

“Or Motor Vehicle Branches, airports, Social Services … any place to help them gather intelligence or gain entry to secure areas.”

“You’re thinking associates without records – so people you won’t have photos of.”