and valleys. Today we hit a peak. Please ask Yolanda to concentrate on Morgan and Yevdokymenko.”
“You got it. Might be a week or so. I’ll let you know.”
Jack glanced at the white van with Abe’s Furnace Repair on the door as he slowed to turn into his driveway. He was too tired to pay it much thought. As he jabbed the automatic garage-door opener, Natasha appeared from around the side of the house carrying a bucket of weeds and plant clippings. He parked and then walked out through the open garage door to give her a hug and a kiss.
Natasha stepped back. “You look and smell awful. Want to talk about it?”
“I hardly know where to begin. This morning I went to a triple homicide. It was gruesome. I think I should spare you the details.”
“I’m a doctor. I’ve seen gruesome. If something is affecting you, I want you to talk to me about it.”
Jack took a breath and slowly exhaled. “A man and wife were tied to chairs in their kitchen. The husband was made to watch as his wife was burned to death, then it was his turn. The third victim was the man’s brother. After being made to watch the other two, he was disembowelled.”
Natasha winced and briefly closed her eyes.
“It gets worse. One of the killers used a broom to leave a message in blood on the wall for me.”
Natasha gasped. “For you!”
“It said, ‘For you JT’ with the number 4 and letter U used instead of the words.”
“Why? Why would someone do that?”
“I’d set it up to make the brother look like my informant. I expected him to be killed, but not like that. Satans Wrath has a new national president by the name of Purvis Evans. Turns out he’s more vindictive and evil than I knew.”
“So you’re feeling responsible,” Natasha said.
“There’s more. At noon I received a call from Basil Westmount. He’s the club lawyer and told me he discovered it was Damien who gave me the info about a boatload of cocaine that ended up being seized in France last night. I called Damien to try to warn him and … and …” In exasperation he made a fist.
“And what?”
“Purvis Evans answered. He was waiting for my call. There’s no doubt Damien is dead.” Jack paused as he reflected on the situation. “Damn it, I meant to call I-HIT to see if they could trace Damien’s phone … but I guess that can wait.”
“How did they find out Damien was working for you?”
“His wife, Vicki. She did it.”
Natasha shook her head in disgust. As a doctor, she’d seen more than her share of people seeking treatment over domestic fights.
“And I fell for it,” Jack said bitterly. “It was me who put the final nail in his coffin.”
Natasha hugged him. “You always do what you feel is morally justified.” Her voice was soft and loving. “You’re a good person.”
“That’s another thing,” Jack said dismally. “Speaking of good people … Laura is thinking about asking for a transfer.”
Natasha maintained her hug, but looked up at him. Her face was grim. “But not you?”
“I can’t. I’ve got unfinished business.”
“That message on the wall?”
“Yes. There needs to be a reply.”
Jack saw the strain on Natasha’s face, then she released her grip and walked away. She’s worried about what I’ll do and the possible repercussions. He stared after her. I can’t let him get away with this. Natasha, I’m sorry.
Chapter Seven
An hour out of Vancouver, Corporal George Hobbs turned off the Trans-Canada Highway onto a road leading to a cellphone tower near the top of Sumas Mountain. Constable Dan Philips, a new arrival to I-HIT, sat beside him. Following in another vehicle was an officer with the canine unit.
The location they were headed to was where Damien’s cellphone had been answered by Pure E earlier in the day. Since then, the phone had been shut off and its current location was unknown.
As they approached the summit, Philips pointed to a road sign. “Isn’t that the name of the member who called you?”
Hobbs glanced at the sign. Taggart Road. Is this another message for Jack? “Yeah, same name.”
“What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a coincidence … or maybe it isn’t.”
“Hope this isn’t a wild goose chase,” Philips said, sounding disgruntled.
“You heard about the message someone left for Taggart at that triple murder this morning?”
Philips wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I heard.”
“Then I think we should take it seriously.”
“How well do you know this Taggart fellow? If it’s as serious as he said, you’d think he’d tag along.”
“He was called in to meet with the brass. From what I’ve heard, the guy has a good rep for clearing cases. Connie Crane has worked with him on and off.”
“But you’ve never worked with him?”
“No.” Hobbs was quiet for a moment. “Rumours are that a lot of the suspects he identifies never live long enough to go to court.”
Philips looked sharply at Hobbs. “What’re you saying?”
Hobbs shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably shouldn’t have said that. Taggart works undercover. A lot of real badasses have tried to kill him over the years. Most of ’em end up dead. It’s always justified, though.” At least on paper.
“I heard he and Connie arrested a murder suspect in Victoria last night. The scoop is the suspect pulled a gun and was going to shoot Taggart. Connie was hiding behind the guy and yelled for him to drop it. I guess he didn’t and she was about to double-tap two in his back when Taggart tackled him and saved the guy’s life.”
“Yeah, I heard that, too,” Hobbs said.
“Goes to show you shouldn’t listen to rumours.”
“You’re right.” Hobbs gestured ahead. “End of the road. We’re here,” he said, coming to a stop.
For a moment, both men gazed up at the cellphone tower, which loomed above the trees. “So now what?” Philips asked.
Hobbs glanced at his watch. “It’s twenty to five. Gonna be dark soon. Especially in the woods. We’ll let the dog handler do his thing.”
“If there’s a body in there the mutt should find it,” Philips said.
“Taggart says we got a body … and I tend to believe him. The big question is where.”
Two hours passed and it was dark when the dog handler called off his search. “No bodies today, gentlemen,” he reported. “Picked up some scent — people have been up here recently, but we didn’t find anything.”
“I appreciate the effort.” Hobbs glanced at the German shepherd and added, “From both of you.”
His phone rang and he answered it. Seconds later, he gave Philips a thumbs-up sign before jotting down an address in his notebook. Upon ending the call, he turned to Philips and said, “Damien’s phone has been reactivated. We’ve got an address.”
“Meaning Damien is still alive?” Philips asked.
“Or someone found it … or some other biker’s got it.” Hobbs punched a