Art and Murder (7 page)

Jack's first call was to Natasha. “Hi, I'm okay,” he said quietly. “Thought you might be awake. I heard that telecoms and Rose called you.”

He heard Natasha take a deep breath, then slowly exhale. “I'm lying in bed reading.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You're whispering. I take it whatever you're doing is not over yet?”

“It's far from over … but I wanted you to know I'm okay.”

“You sound unhappy. Are you really okay?”

“I'm okay. Very tired and busy. Hopefully I'll be home for supper and I'll explain then. Go back to sleep.”

He heard her yawn. “The boys will be up soon.”

“Sorry, I have to go. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Yeah? Well, I love you six.” Jack hoped a little humour would provide assurance to Natasha that he really was okay, but she'd hung up. His next call was to Laura.

“You heard?” she asked glumly.

“Yes. Get over here.”

“I need directions.”

“Hang on a sec.” Jack walked to the rear of the shop and kicked Bojan in the knee. “Hey. I've got a friend coming to pick me up, but she needs directions. You two can figure out a way to untie yourselves after I'm gone.”

The optimism on Bojan's face was evident as he quickly gave directions.

“You get that?” said Jack into the phone.

“Got it,” replied Laura. “Should be there in thirty minutes.”

Jack hung up and glanced around the workshop. The building was open to the roof and long and narrow, with windows on the sides. The floor was a cement slab and the walls were covered in sheets of plywood. A long workbench was under the windows in the front section of the building, and another workbench was on the end wall in the room at the rear. The end wall did not have any windows, and rows of tools hung above the workbench.

Jack used his knuckles to rap on the end wall. As he did, Anton glanced at Bojan and gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, as if to say Jack was an idiot to search there.

That's encouraging.
He knocked a few more times and detected a section that sounded hollow where a stud should have been. A tug on a support bracket holding a row of screwdrivers caused the section to open like a door to reveal that a false wall had been built over the end of the building.

Inside, Jack saw kilos of cocaine stacked up, along with a cardboard box and a narrow wooden crate. He hauled the cocaine and the cardboard box out and placed them on the workbench, then smiled at Anton. “You're a bad boy, Anton. Telling me there was no more cocaine. I count thirty-one and a half kilos. Guess it must have slipped your mind.”

Anton's mouth was still wrapped in duct tape but his eyes revealed his anger.

Jack opened the cardboard box and saw an assortment of jewellery, two passports, and four cellphones. The passports were both Romanian and the numbers were in sequence. The photograph in each one was of the same woman, but the names were different, as was her date of birth, although both dates put her age at twenty.

He looked at the phones and saw that a felt pen had been used to scrawl a number on the back of each phone, running in sequence from four to seven. He retrieved the two phones he had taken from Anton's pocket and saw that one had the number three on it.

Next he slid the crate out and pried the top off. Inside he felt the edge of a picture frame that had been wrapped in bubble wrap. Anton and Bojan were watching intently, but when Jack glanced at them, they both looked away with an obviously feigned lack of interest.
Something important, boys?

Jack left the picture as it was and picked up Anton's phone with the number three. He gave a grim smile as he pushed redial.

“It's about time,” Roche said in French.

“So, you're a Frenchman,” Jack said harshly. “Do you speak English?”

“Who is this?” Roche replied frostily in English.

“My name is Jack. I'm the guy you ordered Anton to kill.”

A gasp was followed by a moment of silence, then Roche said, “I've never heard of you and I don't know what you're talking about. You must have the wrong number.”

“Perhaps you would like to speak to Anton. Personally, I hate talking on phones, but with what happened, I'm presuming this call is okay. I'll let him explain the situation to you,” he said, then ripped the duct tape from Anton's mouth.

Roche listened in shock as Anton spoke and then Jack took the phone away.

“Okay, I think he's explained the situation to you enough,” said Jack.

Roche remained silent as he tried to figure out what to say or do.

“I take it very personally what you tried to do to me,” Jack continued, letting the anger show in his voice.
And a lot more personally for what you did to Kerin Bastion.

Jack knew if he took the stash, there would be no reason for the bad guys to continue to contact him. He had to think of another solution and cleared this throat. “I have located something valuable … but not exactly something I can take to the bank. Still, it's enough collateral for me to give you incentive to find a way to reimburse me, even if I do kill these two idiots.”

“Please, don't harm them,” Roche begged.

“That will depend on you,” Jack said. “I will give you two hours to decide on what you can offer to rectify the wrong you've committed. If I don't hear from you at exactly seven-thirty, don't bother calling later because there won't be anyone who could answer. Same thing if you phone anyone to try to rescue them. If I or my associates see someone, I'll kill these two idiots immediately and take what's in front of me.”

“I don't have Klaus's number!” Roche's voice revealed his panic. “He lives there and will be coming home after he sees the doctor.”

Jack remained silent.

“Please, don't hurt them,” said Roche again, speaking rapidly. “I'm sure we can come to some form of —”

Jack hung up.
Let the games begin.

Jack turned his attention back to the crate and caught the worried look Bojan gave Anton as he slid the painting out and unwrapped it. It was an image of a clown with a white face and a teardrop under one eye. It reflected his own emotions.

He realized he'd been lost in his own thoughts when he became aware that both Anton's and Bojan's gazes were fixed on him. “Why are you staring at me?” he yelled. “You thinking of trying something?”

“No,” replied Anton. “I was only watching what —”

“Shut up!” Jack put the duct tape back over Anton's mouth and then over his and Bojan's eyes, before using his phone to photograph the painting, passports, and jewellery. He then sent the photos to Rose, along with a text telling her he'd contacted Roche and that he was expecting to hear back from him at seven-thirty.

Jack was placing the painting back into the crate when Laura called to say she had arrived at the front gate. He ripped the tape off Bojan's mouth, then put a gun to his head, saying, “You have a choice. Give me the number for the keypad at the front gate or I'll ram it open with you tied to the front bumper.”

Moments later, Laura entered and parked behind the workshop as Jack had directed. The first thing she saw upon entering the workshop was Clive's body on the floor.

“Back here!” Jack called.

Laura walked into the back room and saw two men lying hog-tied on the floor. Next to them stood Jack, who gestured to a stack of cocaine, along with a cardboard box and a flat wooden crate. “Take a look,” he said.

His voice sounded hollow and Laura knew he was hurting inside. She fought the urge to tell him the French police officer's murder wasn't his fault. Her eyes met his and she saw the muscle in his jaw ripple. His eyes flashed anger as he put his finger to his lips.

Laura nodded.
Message received.

“Got thirty-two kilos of coke and enough jewellery to keep you happy for a lot of birthdays,” said Jack, continuing to play the role he'd set out for himself.

Laura looked at the cocaine stacked on the workbench alongside several phones and a couple of passports. She then looked in the cardboard box and saw it was filled with expensive watches and cloth bags no doubt containing diamond rings and gold jewellery. She looked at the two captives again, then at Jack.
A dead police officer in Paris, a dead dope dealer here … and this?
She made a palms-up gesture, silently asking,
What should we do?

* * *

Jack's phone went off, and he held up a hand indicating Laura to wait while he answered the call. It was Rose. He left Laura to watch the captives as he moved to the opposite end of the building.

“What have you got?” he asked abruptly.

“Special ‘O' located Klaus at VGH. He's sitting with Liam in the waiting area. They said he's rocking back and forth and holding his jaw and moaning, but the waiting room's full. I doubt he will be clear before noon.”

“Good. What else?”

“I called Paris and told them you were talking directly to Roche in an undercover capacity. That caught their attention. I'll be getting a copy of Kerin's notes any minute.”

“Thank you,” Jack said.

“I haven't had time to check into the jewellery or the painting yet, other than to ask the French about it, and they say the painting doesn't match any of the stolen ones they know about. What did you say to Roche?”

“I let his brother explain the situation to him, although at this point I can't let on that I know they're brothers. I then told him I wanted compensation other than what I found and would hold the stash and the two guys as collateral. Besides the photos I sent you, I also have thirty-two kilos of coke.”

“Great. I also presume it was all in plain sight for you to see?”

“It was when I photographed everything.”

“That's what I was afraid of,” said Rose sternly.

“It isn't like I had time to get a warrant,” replied Jack tersely. “I'm surprised Roche hadn't already tossed his phone. Probably waiting for a confirmation call. I needed all the ammo I could find and to call him as quickly as possible. Besides, I don't have any intention of charging these guys with dope trafficking or stolen property.”

Rose decided to drop the subject of a search warrant. “You also found two passports made out to the same person with different names. I asked the French about that, too, but they said the issue of fake passports has never come up before.”

“The woman on the passports is probably a courier,” Jack said. “If they're handing out passports to dope runners, I hate to think who else might be getting them.”

“Makes the rest of what you found seem insignificant in comparison.”

“It's all insignificant when compared to a policeman being murdered.” Again, feelings of guilt and self-doubt clouded his mind.

“I know, I know,” Rose said. She paused, uncertain of how to respond, then asked, “How did Roche react?”

“I didn't give him time to talk. The reason I stalled for two hours was to figure out what my strategy should be. Did the French give you something?”

Rose took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She knew that today would be a long one, followed by a sleepless night. “Okay, according to the French, Roche is a high roller. Sharp dresser, expensive restaurants, high-class hookers, and he owns a villa on the outskirts of Paris.”

“Which means his boss, or the Ringmaster as they call him, will be similar or even more so. Is drugs their main thing?”

“No, from what Kerin learned, that was a venture that Roche was doing on his own. Stolen property appears to be what the Ringmaster has made a living out of. Roche had also hinted that the Ringmaster might retire and hopes
he'll
become Ringmaster.”

Jack thought about that. “The Ringmaster must be busy if he's in charge of different crime rings operating out of different countries.”

“I expect he travels a lot, but we're talking Europe. EU nationals can hop in and out of different countries without even showing a passport.”

Sounds like a lonely life,
Jack thought, recalling all the times he was away from home and missing his family. “Do we know if the Ringmaster's married?”

“They don't know. They said he's like a ghost. They only know it was the Ringmaster who killed him because of what Kerin said before he was shot. They still have no idea who he is or what he looks like.”

“What about the witness who saw him run from the washroom?”

“The men's washroom adjoins the women's. A lady heard the shot and at first thought someone had banged a stall door really hard, but when she walked out, a man burst past her from out of the men's side. She suspected then that it wasn't a door banging she'd heard. So she peaked inside and saw the body.”

“Did she see the killer's face?”

“No, he had his hand up to the side of his face when he ran past. After that she only saw him from behind. She was too rattled to remember what he was wearing. She described him as having a stocky build, collar-length black hair, and said that his hand had lots of black hair on it.”

“That describes a lot of men.”

“I know. She did add that he was agile. Apparently he jumped a waist-high stone wall without using his hands. Made her think the guy was an acrobat.”

“Some circus act,” said Jack cynically.

Rose paused, then asked, “What do you want to do?”

“The French appear to be onboard with us,” Jack noted.

“How about you give me Roche's number and I'll pass it on to them?” Rose suggested. “Maybe they'll be able to triangulate the call to know where he is.”

“I'll text it to you, but these guys are phone savvy. His number will continually change.”

“You're probably right. They say he barely used the phone that Kerin had the number for.”

“I don't expect he ever will. You'll have to work hand in hand with the French and use my number to backtrack from so the French can triangulate Roche's new phone and location on their end.”

“Agreed, but we're still investigating a murder here. I know you witnessed it, but we need to get evidence on whoever ordered it. I'll need you to sign the paperwork so we can record your conversation with Roche. It would be nice to implicate him right away.”

“I'll sign the form when I return to the office.”

“Then text me permission,” Rose said, “and I'll get the ball rolling.”

Jack didn't know what he would have to do to convince Roche to do what he wanted, but would do whatever it took … and he didn't want that recorded.

His silence told Rose that she would not be getting permission anytime soon.
Damn you, Jack.

“Back to the French tracing the call,” Jack said at last. “Remind them that any chance there is of me getting to the Ringmaster will be lost if Roche spots any heat.”

“Yes, and did you hear me when I told you to text me permission to record you?”

Jack sighed. “A police officer died trying to save my life, so give me room to operate.”

Rose felt her stomach knot.
Okay, Jack. I'll forget about recording your calls for now.
“After what happened, I'm sure they're all too aware of having their surveillance burned.”

“Next question. Are you willing to let me take this all the way?”

Rose was silent for a moment as she thought about the potential fallout when the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team found out that Jack had witnessed a murder and didn't report it immediately.

“What are you thinking?” Jack asked.

“What about Clive Dempsey? We're going to have to notify I-HIT sometime and they'll call Forensics. You won't get away with a UC for more than a couple of hours.”

“I'll need a lot longer than that. When I called Roche, I caught him off guard. Once he's had time to think, he'll be more paranoid about me.”

“Thinking that your UC might not work?”

“I'm not saying that. Only that I may have to come up with some unorthodox means to gain his trust.”

“Unorthodox?”

Jack waited a beat, then said, “I guess you have to ask yourself a question. Do you want to arrest someone today for killing a dope dealer, or delay that so we can catch a cop killer later?”

Rose was silent.

“Well?” Jack asked.

“Even if I support you, it doesn't mean that everyone will. I-HIT will come unglued when they find out. There's no way we can keep it under wraps. Not with what just happened and the involvement of the French. For you to be at the actual scene and not call in Forensics to do a proper investigation is —”

“I can't take a chance on that. I don't know who else could show up. As far as Dempsey goes, I'll help out I-HIT by delivering his body to them personally.”

“Oh, God,” Rose groaned. “They'll go nuts.”

“I've fought with them before to protect an informant. Remember that serial rapist?”

“Yes, but this is murder.”

“Damn right it is. Murder of a cop … a husband … a father.”

“You don't need to tell me that!” Rose snapped. “I'm hurting too. We all are. What I'm saying is that Paris isn't I-HIT's jurisdiction. I was referring to Dempsey. There is another consideration. Whoever you have there who killed Dempsey will probably flee to some other country if you let him go.”

“He probably will,” conceded Jack. “Still, I'll see what I-HIT has to say. Who knows what the future might bring? I'll make sure I identify these guys. We'll find them again if need be.”
Provided they aren't already using fake passports.

“I better call the brass,” said Rose. “Considering that a foreign officer was murdered trying to save one of us, I suspect they'll eventually go along with you doing an undercover op.”

“Eventually being the key word. For my UC plan to work, I need to act now. It's almost 6:00 a.m. The brass will be at work at 8:30. Call them then to make an appointment. That will give me time to come up with more results to support my actions.”

“Your actions,” Rose echoed. “I don't even want to ask what those are.”

“I'm flying by the seat of my pants. I'm not sure what I'll do.”

“Like I believe that,” muttered Rose. “Maybe I should at least try to clear it with I-HIT to give them a heads-up.”

“And risk having them call the brass … who will then put everything on hold? For my plan to work, I have to act immediately.”

“So you do have a plan.”

“Only an initial plan to keep the door open with Roche.”

“I see.” Rose sounded skeptical.

“Let me deal with I-HIT,” Jack said.

“When do you plan on doing that?”

“Between nine and ten o'clock this morning if all goes according to plan.”

“Which is when you want me to tell the brass,” said Rose.

“Exactly.”

“If you do a UC, can you still protect your informant if you do discover who the Ringmaster is?”

“I expect I'll be going to Europe. Depending on the laws of some of those countries, my real identity may not need to be divulged. It could even appear like I'm an informant — or worst-case scenario, the police involved in any arrests will be told that I'm the informant, which will take the heat off the real informant.”

Rose ran the situation through her head again.

“So? Do I at least have your backing?” asked Jack.

“You really think you can get Roche to tell you who the Ringmaster is?”

“Tell me who he is?” Jack's tone was harsh. “I'll be meeting the bastard face to face.”

Rose slowly breathed out. “Do what you have to do.”