Dead Ends. Don Easton
laptop.
“It is him,” she breathed. “He’s changed his appearance a lot. No wonder Gabriel and Noah couldn’t recognize him. It’s a definite match.”
“David Zacharias,” said Jack. “Goes by Zack. Long record for drugs and a close associate of Satans Wrath.”
Within the hour, Jack received a call from Connie.
“The bald guy is him!” said Connie excitedly. I showed Gabriel the photos. She said there is no doubt he is the guy who said his name was John. Can we ID him?”
“Already done,” said Jack. “Meet us at our office and we’ll fill you in.”
By the time Connie arrived, Jack had discovered that the young woman who owned the white van was actually Zack’s sister and was married to a drug trafficker who had a record for dealing in methamphetamines.
“I don’t want these guys for dope,” growled Connie. “I want them for murder. Varrick is due to appear for his trial in two weeks and my wire runs out in two days. What can we do?”
“Put a bug in the place we found today,” said Jack.
“The landlady handed them a key,” said Connie. “Means they haven’t even moved in yet.”
“All the more reason to get the bug in quick before they do,” said Jack. “I’m free to work tonight if you want teams to sit on Varrick and Zack to make sure you’re not caught.”
“You forgetting there’s a person living upstairs?”
“She’s old,” replied Jack. “Probably doesn’t hear well. Tell the team to go in with stocking feet.”
“Yeah, well, even if we do get the bug in, what chance do you think there is that they’ll actually talk about the murder? Especially in the limited time we have left.”
“Maybe by then we can prove they’re setting up a meth lab and can get a new wire for that,” suggested Laura.
“Do you know the work involved to do that?” replied Connie. “Besides, proving it’s a meth lab won’t take long. If we keep a new wire running in the hope of getting evidence on a murder when the wire is for dope, then defence will claim we were on a fishing expedition and have it tossed out of court.”
“Quit being so pessimistic,” said Jack. “Get the bug in. I don’t care if it is only for a couple of days. I think they will talk about the murder.”
“What are you?” she snorted. “One of these guys who says the glass is half full?”
“Naw,” replied Jack. “Who cares if it’s half full or half empty. It’s just beer. Slam it back.”
Laura caught a glint in Jack’s eye. She knew he had a plan.
* * *
The investigators were successful in placing listening devices in the basement suite late that night. Neither Varrick nor Zack returned or did anything of significance for another two days. It was nine o’clock at night before Varrick retraced his steps from Headstones and once more met with Zack at the strip mall before returning to the basement suite.
Connie stayed in the monitoring room to listen to the recorders. She had three hours before the wiretap would be disconnected. Jack and Laura were on surveillance and saw the men unloading boxes from the van. By the sound of glassware and a few comments she heard, Connie knew that they were setting up another meth lab.
“Jack,” she radioed. “One of ’em said it was the last of the boxes. Also a comment about having a few days to set it up before they get the juice.”
“Copy that,” replied Laura in his place. “They’re likely referring to the chemicals they need.”
“They could be leaving soon,” replied Connie. She waited a moment for a response, but there was nothing but silence. “This is it,” she lamented over the radio. “Tonight is our last chance. At midnight we have to pull the plug.” She waited for a reply, but didn’t get one. “Jack? You there?” she asked.
Laura answered and said, “Jack left. You should hear his fist pound on their door any second.”
As if on cue, Connie heard a loud thump over the recorder, followed by Zack’s nervous whisper to Varrick, “Who the fuck is that?”
Connie let out an involuntary gasp as her stomach constricted. Her lungs froze and her mouth unconsciously dropped open as she strained to listen.
Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Several anxious seconds ticked past and Connie stared at the silent recorder. Is it working? Moments later, the sound of footsteps told her that it was.
“Who is it?” came Varrick’s voice. “Who’s there?”
Dead silence was followed by the sound of Varrick slowly opening the door.
“There’s nobody here,” he said. “What the fuck! Look what’s hangin’ on the knob!”
“A gold fuckin’ cross?” responded Zack.
Connie heard the door knob rattle slightly before the door was closed again.
“There’s a piece of paper tied to it,” said Zack.
“A fuckin’ gold cross,” muttered Varrick, sounding bewildered.
“Someone’s yankin’ our chain over that dead priest!”
“His was real gold,” replied Varrick. “This is painted wood.”
“Who the fuck put it on the doorknob? Read the note.”
Connie heard a rustle of paper and Varrick said, “God knows what you did and is waiting …” Varrick started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” demanded Zack.
“Cocktail is fuckin’ with us.”
“You see him out there?”
“No, but who else could it be?” answered Varrick.
“I thought he wasn’t gonna show up until another couple of days,” replied Zack.
“Come on,” laughed Varrick. “There’s nobody else it could be. It’s him, fuckin’ with us.”
“Then why isn’t he comin’ in to laugh at us?”
“Probably will in a few minutes.”
“Cocktail, you fuckin’ bastard,” grumbled Zack. “Man, what a fuckin’ night that was,” he added.
“Your fault for breakin’ the glassware,” said Varrick.
“It was you who cracked the door open for fresh air,” replied Zack.
“I didn’t know a fuckin’ nosy priest would be outside listening,” answered Varrick.
“He wasn’t listening when we saw him. Too busy talking to God.”
Varrick chuckled, but his voice became serious when he added, “Good thing Cocktail came along.”
“I guess,” replied Zack. “He wasn’t laughin’ then. Fuckin’ near shit when we helped drag him in by the ankles.”
“He’s gotta be laughin’ at us. Come on, let’s go find him. We’re done here, anyway.”
Connie closed her eyes for a moment. Jack, you did it. Split this case wide open.
Jack answered his BlackBerry and listened to Connie’s excited and happy voice as she relayed what had transpired.
“Bad news,” said Jack. “I don’t know anyone with the nickname of Cocktail.”
“You don’t? Crap … well, I’m sure we will.