Dead Ends. Don Easton
“Also, it looks like we’ve got movement. Targets are leaving.”
“Maybe they’re going to meet with Cocktail,” suggested Connie.
“Maybe. Or someone will. The problem is what will they do when they find out it wasn’t Cocktail who hung the crucifix on their door?”
“Who cares?” replied Connie. “With what we’ve got on wire, this case is basically solved. Especially if we can lay a conspiracy charge. All we need is to identify Cocktail. Maybe tonight we’ll do that, too.”
Surveillance continued. Varrick retrieved his truck and went to Zack’s apartment building where Zack parked and got in with Varrick before driving to Headstones.
“I don’t like this,” said Jack as he and Laura parked in their usual spot to watch.
“Maybe they’re chatting with Cocktail,” suggested Laura. “If we scoop the plates, we might identify him tonight. What’s the worry?”
“The bikers kept these guys on ice a long time before deciding to set up another lab. I think they were protecting someone. Maybe Cocktail.”
“So? Your point being?”
“If Cocktail is really valuable, they wouldn’t risk having him go to Headstones. With what happened, Satans Wrath could be looking at Varrick and Zack as loose ends.”
“Oh, man.”
“Exactly.”
Numerous vehicles came and went from Headstones. Jack and Laura snuck around on foot and identified several licence plates belonging to prospective members of Satans Wrath as well as numerous other criminals. None were associated with any name or occupation that would warrant the nickname of Cocktail.
It was four o’clock in the morning when the lights went out at Headstones. Varrick’s truck remained parked.
“Maybe Zack decided to spend the night,” said Laura hopefully.
“Above ground or below, is the question,” replied Jack.
* * *
It was ten o’clock the next morning when Jack’s question was answered. He arrived at work and saw a computer message saying that a Detective Wilson with the Vancouver Police Department had checked Varrick and Zack for criminal records earlier that morning.
Previously, Jack had entered Varrick and Zack on the Canadian Police Information Centre computer. The CPIC entry was done in a manner so that whoever checked the names would not know Jack was interested, but a message would be sent to Jack advising him of who checked the names. It would be up to Jack’s discretion as to whether to inquire further. He decided to call.
“Homicide, Wilson,” answered a gruff voice.
Jack identified himself, already knowing what he was about to hear. “I got a silent hit on CPIC,” he said. “You ran two names this morning.”
“Herman Varrick and David Zacharias,” said Wilson.
“Both murdered?”
“Yup, I think it was murder,” replied Wilson. “Both found dead in an alley off of East Hastings about two hours ago. Time of death was about six hours earlier.”
“Shot?”
“Nope. Looks like heroin overdoses. A needle was still in Varrick’s hand. The thing is, neither had any tracks. Needles wasn’t their thing. You got something that can help us, one way or the other?”
Jack sighed. Do I tell them that it was me who got them killed? “Um, in my opinion it was not accidental,” replied Jack.
“Can you elaborate a little? Christ, if you’re right, we’re talking a double homicide here. Shit-rats or not, this landed on my desk. I want to solve it.”
“They were associated with Satans Wrath —”
“Shit,” said Wilson.
“And were in the process of setting up a meth lab,” continued Jack. “I think the bikers may have clued in that we were on to them.”
“So Satans Wrath severed the connection to protect themselves. Typical.”
“You got it. Varrick and Zack are … were of interest to I-HIT for another murder. I’ll get Connie Crane to call you and fill you in. She’s the lead investigator.”
Jack barely hung up the phone when it rang. It was Connie.
“Hey, Jack. Good going last night. How late did you sit on them?”
“The lights went out at Headstones at four this morning.”
“Zack stayed over too, did he?” noted Connie.
“His lights went out permanently around two. Same for Varrick.”
“This is all great,” said Connie, still filled with enthusiasm and not really listening. “I already spoke with PPSC. We’ll get an extension on our wire.”
“Connie, listen to me. I’ve got some bad news. Forget using Varrick and Zack to find Cocktail. We’ve hit a dead end as far as they’re concerned.”
“What are you talking about?”
“VPD found Varrick and Zack dead in an alley at eight o’clock this morning. Set up to look like heroin overdoses. They probably took them out of Headstones through the garage.”
“Oh, God, no …” Connie felt the depression settle over her like a lead blanket. My only leads to Cocktail are dead. Her mind felt numb as Jack told her about his conversation with Wilson. She twiddled her crucifix around and around with her thumb and forefinger as Jack spoke. Eventually the chain tightened around her neck and cut into the skin before she stopped.
“Are you listening?” asked Jack, moments after he quit speaking.
“Yeah, I heard you,” muttered Connie. “I was afraid this would happen.”
“You guessed that the bikers would kill them?” asked Jack.
“No. I knew when I called you into this case that I would end up with more bodies than I started with.”
“You haven’t. Varrick and Zack are VPD’s worry.”
“You tryin’ to be funny?”
“No, simply reminding you.”
“Of what?”
“To stay focused. Our primary objective is to find and identify Cocktail. Forget about Varrick and Zack now.”
“Yeah, but our evidence from last night’s wire is useless. Where do we go from here? And who is Cocktail? One of Satans Wrath?”
“I’ve never heard of him. I ran his name through the system. Nothing matched.”
“Varrick and Zack … you, uh, being straight with me on this?” asked Connie suspiciously.
“Hell, yes! I had no idea when I hung the crucifix on their door that it would get them killed. I figured the two of them were responsible for the murder. I was hoping to get them talking. I didn’t know they’d go looking for Cocktail.”
“Well obviously they did and he killed them, too.”
“I doubt that Cocktail killed them. I think Satans Wrath did it to sever the connection and protect Cocktail. He has to be a major player to have the bikers jumping through hoops for him.”
Connie’s sigh was audible.
“Sorry, Connie,” said Jack. “It was my fault. Last night I thought it was a good idea.”
“Yeah, well … shit happens. I’m not blaming you. If you hadn’t done it, we would be nowhere. At least we know who we’re after.”
“We’ll find out Cocktail’s real name,” said Jack,