Striker found it difficult to accept what he was hearing. ‘So just to be clear here, this car had two GPS tracking systems on it.’

‘From two different companies, yes.’

Striker mulled it over. ‘That would explain how the bombers found them.’

Felicia took the bracket and analysed it. ‘Where would they get a Lowry GPS unit from?’

Corporal Summer shrugged. ‘Anywhere. So much has changed the past five years. Global Positioning is nothing new any more. God, you can bid for one of these things on eBay.’ She took back both brackets and put them into their corresponding evidence bags. Then she directed Striker and Felicia to the corner of the parking lot where they examined a piece of V-shaped steel that was roughly the size of a large cooking pot. ‘This was the base, what held the explosives.’

Striker crouched down to examine it. The V-shape would direct the explosion upwards, making the explosion more focal and directed. Striker looked up at the corporal. ‘Was this shape used to increase the damage to the victim – or to limit casualties?’

‘Only the bomber knows that,’ Summer replied. ‘But that’s not what concerns me. What does is the actual size of the base. What it signifies.’

‘And that is?’ Felicia asked.

‘They’ve switched to home-made explosives.’

Striker thought this over. ‘And you’re sure of this?’

‘Positive. If they’d used this much professional grade, nothing would be left of the car. We’ll have to get the lab to test the residue samples to be one hundred per cent certain. But this much is true – a commercial or military explosive would never require this size of a base. The bombers are using HME now. I’d stake my career on it.’

Striker thought of the smoke pouring from the car. ‘That would explain the greyer colour of the smoke, would it not?’

‘Completely.’

Felicia interjected: ‘These are all nice tidbits. But it doesn’t explain the most fundamental question of all – why the change?’

Corporal Summer hazarded a guess. ‘It could be something simple. Maybe they ran out. Maybe their black-market supplier fell through. Who knows for sure? Maybe they underestimated their need.’

Felicia shook her head. ‘I can’t believe that. Not these two. They’ve been completely prepared for every job. I mean, think about it: electrical torture, scuba gear, laser tripwires – we’re talking organized here. There has to be a reason for the switch. These are professionals we’re dealing with, not some hacks.’

Striker nodded. He had to agree.

He looked at the leftover blackened shell of the undercover police cruiser that was still smoking in the parking lot. Aside from the actual frame, almost nothing remained.

‘This is going to sound like an odd question, but I don’t suppose you found any dolls in that debris?’ he asked. ‘Like a miniature policeman.’

Corporal Summer gave him a curious look and shook her head. ‘No. Anything that was in that car has long since been burned up.’

Striker nodded half-heartedly. ‘Let me know if you find anything.’

Before she could respond, he turned around and headed for the exit. Harry was still on scene, being treated by a paramedic in the back of one of the ambulances.

Hard questions needed to be asked of the man.

Eighty-Seven

Striker and Felicia made their way out of the A&W parking lot and headed across Semlin Drive towards the primary crime scene where Sleeves had been executed. Behind the yellow row of tape, a gaggle of reporters were squawking out his name: Detective Striker. Detective Striker! Detective Striker!

He ignored them all.

Two uniformed patrolmen guarded the entrance to the lane, one at each end. In between them, Noodles was busy snapping pictures.

Striker took a moment to examine the bloodied spot of pavement where Sleeves had died. ‘If someone had told me three hours ago that Sleeves was going to be dead, I’d have thought this nightmare would be over.’ He met Felicia’s stare. ‘But he’s not the bomber, Feleesh. He never was the bomber. We’ve been chasing a lie.’

Felicia had a confused look on her face.

‘Maybe not,’ she admitted. ‘But he was part of this in some way. He had to be – at least through his gang affiliations.’

Striker thought of the Satan’s Prowlers. Then of Sleeves. And finally of the latest name that they’d been hearing a lot of lately – Carlos Chipotle. The more Striker thought it over, the more something bothered him.

‘Something doesn’t mesh here.’

‘What?’

‘The Satan’s Prowlers. They may be an outlaw motorcycle gang, but they still have their own set of rules to abide by – and they take them very seriously. Disrespect your colours and you can be killed; no Blacks or Jews in the club; never bring the gang unwanted police attention—’

‘And no women, either,’ Felicia said. ‘Women are just property to them.’

Striker nodded. ‘Exactly. But there’s one rule the gang follows that’s above all the others – no family members targeted. And no children.’

‘Not ever,’ Felicia agreed.

Striker reasoned it out. ‘I’ve heard of some ex-members getting burned to death and others having their dicks cut off, but never once have I heard of the gang going after another member’s family – and especially not the children.’

Felicia shook her head. ‘Where are you going with all this?’

Striker met her stare. ‘Not only did Sleeves blow up Chipotle’s family, but the Prowlers actually sanctioned the killing. Why? What could this man possibly have done for the gang to break their most fundamental rule? To implement such a horrific penalty? I can think of only one thing.’

Felicia let out an excited breath. ‘Being a rat.’

Striker nodded. ‘I’m starting to wonder if Chipotle was selling information on the side. Or acting as a police informant. If that was the case, we have an interesting turn of events here. With Sleeves and Chipotle both dead, it works out rather well for the Prowlers, doesn’t it?’

‘It does,’ Felicia admitted.

‘And look at the style of shooting. Kneecapping someone before the final headshot is a Prowler trademark.’

‘But a commonly known one,’ she pointed out.

‘What do you mean by that?’

She shrugged. ‘For all we know, someone wants us to think it was the Prowlers who did him in. I mean, who else benefits from Sleeves being dead? I can think of two people – one of them was killed when that car blew up and the other is being treated in the ambulance.’

Striker looked at her in surprise. ‘You don’t seriously mean Harry?’

‘Once again, Jacob, friendship is like a veil to you.’

‘Feleesh—’

‘Harry was right here in the area when Sleeves took one. We know that – we got him on GPS. Plus, he’s been hiding Koda from us ever since the first bomb went off. And we know he was selling drugs back to the Prowlers.’

‘We believe he was selling—’

‘Oh bullshit. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.’

Striker said nothing. Processing the thought was difficult. He’d known Harry for so long, almost his entire career. And he’d seen the man suffer through some very hard times – the accidental drowning of his first son; the divorce from his first wife.

It had been more than most men could have handled.

And through it all, Harry had been a rock of integrity. A good man. To see him acting this strangely was shocking, no doubt. And to think that he might have been selling seized drugs back to the gang was an even greater blow.

But murder?

Striker couldn’t believe that.