Birds of a Feather. Don Easton
replied Davidson.
“I could smell the booze on him as soon as he walked in,” noted White. “He’s under enormous pressure right now.”
“Good point. I bet he cracks soon,” replied Davidson. “All good cops who fuck up eventually do. Their conscience gets to them.”
“Time to find out what makes him tick and figure out what the best plan of attack will be,” said White. “I would think a full psychological profile is in order.”
“I’ll get hold of the criminal profilers.”
“With what has happened, do you expect him to be transferred?”
“Without his confession, it puts his agency in an embarrassing position. If they transfer him it will imply to the Mexicans he is being relocated to protect him. They may think we are condoning what he did.”
“But if he isn’t moved, the cartel may kill him,” noted White.
“That would save everyone a lot of embarrassment,” replied Davidson evenly.
chapter thirteen
It was Thursday afternoon when Corporal Connie Crane called Jack to say she had met with a Crown prosecutor.
“Here it is in a nutshell,” said Connie. “If a judge thinks you have used too much intimidation, then whatever Slater may tell you would be inadmissible against him at any criminal proceedings. However, if what you are told assists us in investigating other players, then you might be able to go after them. Of course, if that happened, we still couldn’t enter any of Slater’s admissions.”
“What about calling him as a witness if he knows something? Threaten him with perjury if he doesn’t tell the truth.”
“You wouldn’t be able to enter evidence to prove he was lying. If you tried, a judge might say it puts justice into disrepute and toss the whole case.”
“So we can use Slater as a stepping stone, but even if he incriminates himself we still have to send him on his way with a get out of jail free card.”
“I think you got it.”
“Want me to go for it?”
“Yeah, we’ve got nothing else. Wilson’s in agree-ment. Both of us think he knows something about her disappearance, but we don’t think he is a hands-on kind of guy. If you think you can pull off some tough-guy scenario to get him to talk, go for it.”
“I’ll let you know how it goes. It may take a couple of days.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Why?”
“Because if you were using pliers it wouldn’t take that long.”
An hour after talking with Connie, Jack visited The Racquet Club. After a quick tour, he accepted an offer of a free pass used as a promotion to entice people to buy a membership. He was glad to see the customers used padlocks to secure their storage lockers. His ability to pick locks would make that step of his undercover plan easy.
The hardest job would be finding a remote spot and digging a grave that wouldn’t be discovered. For that, he found a construction site where the workers got weekends off.
On Friday afternoon, Jack called Sammy in Drug Section. “Hey, are you still hiding that ugly face of yours with a beard?” asked Jack.
“I only have a goatee now. What’s up, Jack?”
“A goatee is good. Need a small favour for a quick UC.”
“Yeah? How quick? Last time I agreed to do something for you, I ended up sitting in a bar so you could burn me to get the bad guys to trust you.”
“That worked well.”
“For you, yeah. Me, I could have been shot.”
“Never took you for a whiner.”
“A whiner? Up yours!” Sammy chuckled. “What do you need?”
“I need you to stand on a sidewalk and phone me when some guy arrives and asks for me. I’ll know when he’s arriving so you’ll only have to be there for a few minutes.”
“Sounds easy enough. Beats being in a doper bar like last time. When do you want to do it?”
“Tomorrow around supper time.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday … yeah, okay. Where at?”
“Do you know where the west-side chapter clubhouse for Satans Wrath is?”
“Oh, fuck …”
chapter fourteen
On Saturday morning, Jack awoke to the sound of Natasha singing to Mikey. She was lying on her back in bed beside him, but holding the baby up above her chest with her hands around his waist. Her voice was soft and sweet.
“Michael Edward Taggart … you’re our little boy. Michael Edward Taggart, you’re our pride and joy. Michael Edward Taggart, you’re such a little clown. Michael Edward Taggart, you’re fun to have around!” With this last comment she stretched her arms high and pretended to let Mikey drop.
Mikey’s bright eyes, coupled with his smile and bubbly giggle, begged for more.
Jack smiled to himself as he lay there. Life can be so good.
It was a special moment locked in time. One that would later come back to haunt Jack at the most dire moment of his life.
“He’s a very happy kid,” said Jack, as Natasha lay Mikey on her chest.
“Do you think so?” asked Natasha, turning to stare at Jack.
“Are you kidding? Look at him. He’s always giggling. Look at his eyes. So full of life.”
“I am looking. I think he just fell asleep.”
Natasha made a pretext of looking at Mikey and said, “Probably because he’s bored.”
“Bored? He’s not even seven months old.”
Natasha smiled at Jack and said, “He needs a baby sister or baby brother to play with.”
“It has only been a couple of weeks since we started trying. All in good time.”
“Boy, are you slow this morning. Don’t you know when I’m giving you a nudge?” she said, before kissing Jack on the side of his neck.
Jack scrambled out of bed, gently picked up Mikey and raced down the hall to place him in his crib.
“I take it that was enough of a nudge,” Natasha said, laughing as Jack ran back into their bedroom.
“You want to see a nudge? I’ll show you a nudge,” he replied, leaping back into bed.
Later that afternoon Natasha saw a hard look come over Jack’s face moments before he slipped on a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and left for work. She knew he was psychologically preparing himself for a role of some sort, but she didn’t like it. He didn’t look like the man she married and it scared her.
It was five o’clock when Slater walked out of The Racquet Club and got in his car. Ten minutes later, he received a call on his cellphone.
“Yeah, is this Clive Slater?” asked Jack.
“Who wants to know?” replied Slater.
“The guy who found his wallet.”
“What? … Jesus! I didn’t even know it was missing.”
“I found it in the dressing room at The Racquet Club. They gave me your number. Looks like you got about eight hundred bucks in it, along with your credit cards.”
“I’m not far away. I’ll be right there.”
“Oh,