“No, I haven’t caught them yet.”

“I mean your hand, not —” She stopped when she saw Jack smile at her. “Do I need to worry?” she asked, convinced that Jack’s smile was not genuine.

“I think I cracked a knuckle, but as far as the bad guys go, you don’t need to worry.”

Natasha stared at him silently.

“Hey, I’m smiling, aren’t I?” added Jack.

“Yeah, and your upper lip looks a bit like a Frankfurter. It always does when you’re trying to pull one over on me.”

Jack’s chuckle was genuine. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you, too.” She eyed Jack’s hand again. Punching a car door was not his style. She gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and said, “Let’s go find that corkscrew … then we’ll talk … and don’t try to bullshit me or I’ll use that plunger on you.”

“I could think of a nicer way to get a hickey,” replied Jack.

“Hickey? Wasn’t what I had in mind. You would need a proctologist when I was done.”

It was seven o’clock Friday morning when Jack arrived back at Gabriel’s house with cleaning supplies. The blood was sprayed high enough up the back of the house that he needed to borrow a ladder from a neighbour. As he scrubbed the streams of dried blood off the aluminium siding he reflected on the violent, uncontrollable rage of the person who did the murder. This is one animal I will find …

Later that afternoon, Connie returned to Jack and Laura’s office. Any optimism she had disappeared when they both gave her the thumbs-down signal.

“How about you?” asked Jack.

“Not a thing on the Varrick house. The parents went grocery shopping and to the liquor store and that was it.”

“How about the crime scene?” asked Laura.

Connie shook her head and said, “We canvassed the neighbourhood and there was nothing of interest.” She eyed Jack curiously and said, “I heard you were there this morning, making like a janitor.”

Jack shrugged in response.

“You should have asked me,” said Laura. “I would have helped.”

“It was no big deal,” replied Jack. “I was awake early.” More like I hardly slept from grinding my teeth all night …

“It was good of you,” said Connie. “Anyway, I’ve even taking to interviewing winos. I’ve talked to four of them so far. There’s a liquor store about a block away from Gabriel’s. I’m posting a member there every day for the next week. Also got Forensics collecting prints from empty wine bottles we’ve found in a vacant lot down the alley to identify others.”

“Interviewing winos,” mused Jack. “I heard recruitment for your section was down, but I hadn’t realized how desperate you had become.”

“Smartass,” replied Connie. “No, from what we’ve been told, there were at least a dozen different winos who used Gabriel’s yard to get out of the rain. I’m going on a possible theory, with the way Father Brown was dressed, that he might have gone outside to chase some winos away and saw something he shouldn’t have. Then again, he might have seen one of the dopers doing something and went out to investigate.”

“So you’re hoping to come up with a drunk as a witness,” said Jack. “Bet the courts will love that.”

“Christ,” replied Connie. “The reason I’m telling you is to show how desperate I am. We need to find Varrick!”

“If you’re that desperate, want me to try a quick UC call to his parents?” asked Jack.

“If you could think of something that wouldn’t heat him up, go for it,” replied Connie.

“I’ll think of something,” replied Jack. “Wait in the hall and close the door and make sure nobody walks in during the call.”

Jack waited until Connie left and closed the office door before glancing at Laura and saying, “I thought it better that Connie not hear. Don’t want her to have to tell a judge and have the case thrown out by saying it put justice into disrepute.”

“The lawyer act?” smiled Laura.

Jack nodded as he thumbed through a file. “I have Varrick’s parents’ number … need to find out what lawyer is representing him on his drug charge.”

“It’s Basil Westmount from the law firm of Manhattan, Westmount, and Wilson,” said Laura.

Seconds later, Jack punched in a phone number on his cellphone. “Good afternoon, may I speak to Mister Herman Varrick please … oh, I see, you’re his mother,” he said. “Yes, I’m calling from Manhattan, Westmount, and Wilson.… Yes it is about his upcoming trial.… No, I’m sorry, his trial is still going ahead and it is imperative that we locate your son immediately.… I would call him, but the phone number we have is no longer in service.… Thank you, I would appreciate that …” Jack quickly jotted down a number and asked, “That is a cell number, is it?… We don’t need to talk to your son as much as we need to courier him some documentation. Could you confirm his current address?.… It’s called Headstones? Yes, I’ve heard of the place. I believe we have the address on file from a previous client. Thank you very much.… It is a transcript from his preliminary hearing.… He already has that? Then I am extremely sorry for having bothered you. Our secretary should have made a notation on the file. We won’t need to contact your son, then.”

Jack hung up and winked at Laura before calling for Connie to come back in. When she did, he said, “It worked. I’ve got his cell number and address.”

“Fantastic,” said Connie. “How did you do it?”

“Pretended to be a friend looking for him,” said Jack

“Man,” said Connie. “I never thought these guys would fall for that old line. This is great, I’ll find out who he’s been talking with.”

I didn’t think they would fall for that either, thought Jack. He looked at Connie and said, “I wouldn’t get your hopes up on getting much in the way of phone tolls. He gave this number to his mother, so it’s his permanent number. He’ll be using disposable phones for the stuff we’re interested in. Cellphones that he’ll toss out every week or so.”

Connie frowned and said, “Hope you’re wrong. What about his address?”

“Familiar with a place out in White Rock the bikers have nicknamed Headstones?”

“Nope,” replied Connie. “Must not have had any murders there.”

“None reported,” replied Jack. “Headstones is a three-storey older house a couple of blocks back from the beach. It used to be a bed and breakfast place before it was bought by a close associate to Satans Wrath.”

“More of a silent partnership,” added Laura.

“It’s a party place for people they don’t necessarily trust enough to bring to their real clubhouse,” continued Jack. “Also a crash pad for some. The bikers nicknamed it Headstones.”

“Odd name,” said Connie. “Sounds like a place where we should excavate the yard.”

“You want another pig farm?” asked Jack.

“Hell, no,” replied Connie, thinking of the killing ground of one of B.C.’s more notorious serial killers.

“Relax, I don’t think the bikers are that stupid,” continued Jack. “It got its name from a couple of large rocks on each side of the entrance to the driveway. A lot of prospective club members or associates live there and run the place. It has about eight bedrooms and Varrick is staying in one of them.”

“The place isn’t easy to watch,” cautioned Laura. “They’ve got people coming and going all the time and some are the type who pay attention to anything that looks like it could be surveillance. On top of that, the prospects often do a walk-about checking for heat. There is a place Jack and I found where you can watch if you use binoculars, but if you get any closer you’re liable to get burned.”

“Suggestions?” asked Connie.

“How about you apply for a wiretap on Varrick while Laura and I try to identify what he’s driving and who he is meeting,” replied Jack. “If you get a wire, maybe we’ll get lucky with a room or vehicle bug.”