Dead Ends. Don Easton

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      “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.”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ