“He might be meeting his partners in Headstones,” said Connie.

“Laura and I will photograph any new faces,” replied Jack. “We’ll pass the photos on to you and you can show Gabriel.”

“And Noah,” added Laura.

“Why don’t you show her?” asked Connie. “You know them better than I do.”

“I was the one who busted Varrick last time, which caused him to move into her place. I don’t think she would appreciate me coming around.”

“Don’t tell her that.”

“I already did.”

Connie stared at Jack without speaking.

“It was the honest thing to do,” he shrugged.

“You’re a hard guy to figure out sometimes,” muttered Connie. “But even if we get lucky and they pick out a photo, we’ll still need to put a real name to the face or faces. I agree it is the way to go, but I still think we will have more luck with a wire.”

“A wire might help,” said Jack, “but we’re in this for the long haul. The good news is that he will continue. Getting arrested didn’t stop him last time.”

“Last time he didn’t take part in murdering a priest,” said Connie. “It might cause him to change careers. If he goes straight, we may never figure out who his accomplices are.”

“These guys don’t give a damn about who they kill,” replied Jack. “They may lay low for a few days to see if the heat is on, but as soon as the bikers think he’s cool, he’ll be put back to work. His expertise as a lab rat won’t be wasted for long. Too much money involved. When he starts up again we’ll find out who his running mates are.”

“I’ve only got sixty days to run a wire,” warned Connie. “If we don’t get something substantial by then, I won’t be able to get a renewal.”

“I’m aware of that,” replied Jack.

“I don’t see any other options,” added Laura.

Connie nodded in agreement.

Connie and Laura looked silently at Jack.

“Let’s get to work,” he said.

Jack and Laura found a place where they could park their car and use binoculars to watch the parking lot at Headstones. Several rooms on the second and third levels had lights going off and on during the evening. At three in the morning the last of the lights went out.

Jack waited another hour before driving through the parking lot as Laura used a tape recorder to obtain the license plates of half a dozen vehicles still left in the lot. Partway through the lot, Jack tossed an empty beer bottle out the car window. If anyone was watching, they would think they were partiers looking for action. As it turned out, none of the registrations gave any clue as to which one, if any, were being used by Varrick.

Surveillance over the weekend and the following few days did not yield any sign of Varrick. On Friday morning, Connie called Jack to tell him that she had a meeting with Public Prosecution Service of Canada and hoped to have a wiretap signed and running by the following day.

“What about phone tolls?” asked Jack. “Who has he been calling?”

“His parents and a few others that all look legit … like fast food takeout places. The only ones who have a criminal record are his parents, and that was ten years ago for drug trafficking.”

“I was afraid of that,” sighed Jack.

“So I’m doing all this work to get a wire on the phone for nothing.”

“The phone, yes, but if we can put him to a car we might be able to wire it or some other location where they might chat. Like I said, it is going to take time.”

Early Friday afternoon Jack and Laura were slouched in their car watching Headstones and eating submarine sandwiches when Jack stopped chewing to answer his BlackBerry. It was the grief counsellor from the hospital calling to give him the news he dreaded to hear.

“Do you know anything about neuroblastoma?” asked Phyllis.

“No, but it doesn’t sound good,” replied Jack. He repeated the word in his mind. Neuroblastoma … He felt like he had been whacked on the side of his head with a plank. He listened, guts churning, as Phyllis continued to talk. Why didn’t I keep track of the bastards? Faith has cancer. If only I —

“You still there?” asked Phyllis.

“Yes. Sorry. What do you know about it?”

“It is a cancer of the nerve cells and can occur anywhere in the body. In Faith’s case, it is in her nerve tissue alongside her spinal cord in her neck. There are no clear indications of what causes it.”

“There are in this case,” said Jack, harshly, then lowered his window for air. “What’s her prognosis?”

“Don’t know yet. A lot more tests will need to be done. Likely chemo.”

“The rest … what about Noah and Gabriel. The other kids …”

“Things look good for them so far. They’ll have to be retested every six months for the next few years. Jack, I’m sorry. Wish it was better news.”

“I better go see Gabriel,” said Jack.

“Uh, now is not the time.”

Probably hates my guts … and so she should …

“She’s still in denial … doing a lot of praying. For you to see her … well, from what you told me, it could evoke a lot of unwarranted anger. It wouldn’t help either of you. Leave her to me. Don’t worry, I’ll be in touch.”

“Jack!” interjected Laura. “It’s Varrick. Heading to a black pickup truck,” she said, without taking her eyes from the binoculars.

Chapter Six

Connie Crane skipped her lunch break to go to the Public Prosecution Service of Canada and meet with Bob, the prosecutor who had reviewed her application under Part VI of the Criminal Code for a wiretap intercept on Herman Varrick.

Connie made herself comfortable in a chair across from Bob’s desk, and after the usual niceties were exchanged, Connie gestured to her application on Bob’s desk and said, “Well?”

Bob grimanced and replied, “It’s pretty weak, I—”

“Come on, Bob,” interrupted Connie. “He was running a meth lab in the basement where the vic was found. Then he cleaned it out and took off.”

“I know,” replied Bob. “I did read it. Carefully, I might add.”

“Sorry,” sighed Connie. “I know it’s not you. What are the issues you’re worried about?”

“To start with, your affidavit says it wasn’t Varrick who rented it. That it was someone else using a fake identity. You also say that Varrick was frequently in the company of yet a third unidentified person.”

“These other two are who we want to identify,” persisted Connie.

“And you say the only hair you found doesn’t appear to match Varrick. There is nothing specific to indicate he had any involvement in the murder.”

“He was running a meth lab for Pete’s sake.”

“Your Part VI is for a homicide, not drugs.”

“You think I should rewrite it as a drug investigation?”

“No. There is no evidence to indicate he is still involved in the manufacture of drugs.”

“So what are you saying? I don’t have enough to get a wire?”

Bob paused for a moment and flipped through a couple of pages in the affidavit. He looked up and said, “Isn’t there anything else you could give me?”

Connie shook her head and replied, “Nothing yet. We’re doing surveillance, but so far it has been fruitless. We’re hoping to get more evidence once we identify the other two guys. Which I am hoping a wire will do. There is also the other problem. Varrick is scheduled to appear in court for his meth lab trial in April. If he gets slam-dunked then, we’ll really be left in the cold.”

Bob slowly nodded and replied, “Well … I said your affidavit was weak … but maybe not impossible.” He grinned and added, “Your victim was a priest. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a Catholic judge.”

“I’d appreciate you trying. Otherwise we’ve got nothing.”

“If we do get this signed, you better pray that you do get something within the next sixty days because I guarantee you won’t get an extension otherwise.” He looked sharply at Connie and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to wait and see what else you might dig up?”