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. Maybe they’re looking to rent a new place for a lab.”
“Hope so. The clock is running,” added Connie ruefully.
“Did you hear the news on Faith?”
“Who?”
“Gabriel’s kid … cancer.”
Connie paused to let out a sigh before asking, “How bad?”
The pause gave Jack time to feel the rage simmer through his veins — his tendons and muscles going taut. For a brief second he allowed himself to fantasize that his hands were around Varrick’s neck, choking the information out of him.
“Did you hear me?” asked Connie.
“I heard you,” sighed Jack. “It’s bad. Could be terminal but they don’t know yet.”
“I really, really want to nail these guys.”
“Trust me, we will catch them. Justice will be served,” he said coldly.
Connie’s emotions were in turmoil when she hung up. She was saddened over the news about Faith, but at the same time, knowing Jack’s reputation, she believed the culprits would somehow be identified. Identified, perhaps. But with what evidence? And Jack’s definition of justice … hope to God it is not Jack whom I have to testify against.
* * *
The next month dragged by without any progress. Varrick continued to do menial chores around Headstones. Occasionally other men helped him and Jack and Laura photographed any of them who were new faces. Connie showed the photos to Gabriel and Noah, but none were recognized.
Sixteen days after Faith’s cancer had been identified, she underwent surgery. Phyllis called Jack to let him know that the surgery was partially successful.
“Partially?” asked Jack.
“They got most of it, but some wrapped around her spinal cord had to be left. The doctors are optimistic that radiation will get what they missed.”
“Think it would be okay if I paid Gabriel and her children a visit?” asked Jack.
“Give her a little more time,” said Phyllis. “She put her house on the market last week and it has already been sold. There’s a quick possession date. She has a lot on her plate right now. Don’t worry, I think she is starting to accept and even forgive the men responsible.”
“Forgive!” stammered Jack.
“It’s her belief in the Bible. She’s not as angry as she was. It’s a good thing.”
After Jack hung up, he thought about what Phyllis had said. Forgive? I’ll never forgive! His knuckles, still sore, made him realize he had unconsciously clenched his fists at even the suggestion of forgiveness.
Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Another couple of weeks rolled by without identifying Varrick’s accomplices. Connie called for a meeting with Jack and Laura at their office. She got right to the point as soon as she walked through the door.
“Okay, Jack. What’s going on? The wire expires on April third! That’s in two weeks! After that, Varrick goes to trial for the meth lab. You said the bikers would have him back in business soon. You call this soon?”
“Sorry, Connie. In the past they would have.”
“Yeah? So what’s changed?” asked Connie, violently shaking a chair to straighten the rollers before shoving it closer to Jack’s desk and sitting down.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out, as well. To take this long … the bikers are afraid of something. Maybe they’re protecting someone. Someone a lot more valuable than Varrick.”
“So what are you telling me?”
Jack shrugged and said, “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Maybe the bikers are protecting that