Lethal Rage (25 page)

“So what do I do? Ask for surveillance on Karen, my house? For how long? I can't have this hanging over us for the rest of my career or until he decides I'm not co-operating.”

“Give me a couple of days, Jack. Let me talk to Homicide. I've also got a couple of buddies at Mobile Support who could help out, maybe keep an eye on Karen. Don't worry, she'll never know they're there. Give me a couple of days,” he repeated, “and we'll have an answer for you. Okay?”

“And what do I do till then? Stay home? I could call in sick.”

Mason considered for a minute. “Unless you can guarantee Karen won't figure something's up by your attitude, I wouldn't. Come to work, do your job. Your shift finishes tomorrow, right? I'll have your answer by then.”

Jack got up and walked to the door. “I'm trusting you with the most important person in my life, Rick.”

“I won't let you down, Jack. I promise.”

Jack looked like he wanted to say more, needed to say more, but he gave a silent nod and walked out. Manny shut the door behind them.

Last day of shift. Mason's promised day of delivery. The day before had been sheer hell and Jack knew Mason had been right about coming to work; there was no way he could have kept this secret from Karen. The shift hours had helped. He saw her briefly when he rolled in after three in the morning and again a few hours later when she got up for work. A quick “Hello” and “How you doing?” passed between them.

But today was the last day and it was training day, to boot, which meant the shift started early and Jack would be off early. If he went straight home after work — and there was no way he could go out for drinks that night — she'd still be awake and no amount of acting on his part would hide the truth from her.

And if it wasn't settled — and how the hell did Mason plan on fixing it? — didn't she have a right to know?

“Jack! You with us?”

“Sorry, Sarge.”

“As I was saying,” Johanson carried on, “Warren and Armsman, 5108, eight o'clock for lunch.” He finished reading out the assignments, then set the sergeant's clipboard aside. “All right, listen up.” He leaned on the little podium, his bushy grey eyebrows furrowed into one long hairy centipede. “It's been a hell of a week and I know you're all anxious to go out tonight and get pissed.” A hearty cheer confirmed his thoughts. “But first we have to get through tonight.”

The platoon settled down; Johanson was not the type to drag parade on for no reason.

“First, our own Officer Warren identifies a cop killer —” a round of applause “— then he has to go and make the arrest on his own —” heavy applause and whistles “— which, if he ever does again, I will personally kick the brains out of his ass. And, no, I don't believe that bullshit about your radio not working. It was a stupid, dangerous stunt to pull, Warren. We could have ended up with another dead cop. Good job, though,” he added quietly.

“For those of you who don't know, the Crown decided to withdraw the murder charges against the suspect.” Jeers, boos and a chorus of “Fucking lawyers.” “I imagine the charges from the pursuit will also be eventually dropped. So, the suspect is out on the streets. Which brings me to my last point. Midnights had a homicide at Sherbourne and Dundas last night after we finished. The victim hasn't been identified yet, but I've been told he is black with a shaved head and was wearing black leather gloves.”

Another burst of applause saluted the news. Johanson waited for the ruckus to die down on its own before continuing. “The victim will probably be ID'd tomorrow during the autopsy by fingerprints.”

“Why can't Jack just go look at him over at the morgue?” someone threw out from the back of the room.

“Because the victim's face is missing. Apparently, someone put a shotgun to the back of his head and removed the front half of it. We'll have to wait for the results. In the meantime —” the sergeant cracked a very rare grin “— I think we might be able to celebrate a bit tonight.”

More cheers.

“You buying, Sarge?”

“Fuck you, Townsend. All right, that's it for now. Take ten, then get your asses back here for training. Jack, stay put.”

Once the room was clear, Johanson got serious. “You go home last night, Jack?”

“Yeah.”

“You married?”

“Yeah. Sarge, what —”

“What time did you get in?”

“After three. Why —”

“Can she confirm that?”

“I guess. What diff—” Then it hit him. “You're shitting me, Sarge.”

Johanson put a hand on Jack's shoulder, an act of physical contact even rarer than a grin. “I don't think so, no, but a lot of people will. And some of those people will be looking at you very closely. I know this is good news to you, it's great fucking news, but all I'm suggesting is that you shouldn't act too happy about it.”

Jack nodded. “Thanks, Sarge. I won't.”

“You don't own a shotgun, do you, Jack?”

“No.”

“Even better. See you back here in ten.”

Jack headed upstairs to the report room, a tiny, cramped room — was there any other type in the station? — off the front desk. A day-shift officer was pecking away at a keyboard.

“Were you at the homicide scene today?” Jack asked without preamble.

The officer looked relieved to have a break from his blistering two-finger typing. “Yup, I was.”

“Did you see the body?”

“Fucking right I did.” His face brightened. “You shoulda seen it. Everything from here up —” he placed his hands just below his nose “— was missing. It was fucking awesome.”

“Was he wearing a Raptors jacket?”

“Yup, he was.” The officer suddenly looked worried, his
Aw, shucks, ma'am, 'tweren't nuttin'
country-boy face pale. “You didn't know him, did you?”

“No, not really. Last question: was the jacket leather or nylon?”

“Lemme check.” The officer flipped through his memo book, searching, searching . . . searching. Jack wanted to rip the book from his hands and look himself. “Okay, here it is. Leather. It was a leather jacket.” Officer Country Boy looked at Jack hopefully. “That what you wanted to hear?”

Jack didn't know if he should laugh or panic. “I guess so, thanks.”

Next stop: Major Crime. The door was closed and this time he remembered to knock. No answer, and the door was locked. “Damn.”

“Looking for me, Jack?” Mason stepped out of the stairway down by the Youth Bureau. He had a Subway sandwich bag and a full paper cup in one hand while he dug in his jacket pocket for keys with the other. “Come on in,” he invited when he got the door open. “I was expecting a visit from you today.” He set his lunch on his desk and shrugged out of his well worn leather jacket.

Mason settled behind his desk and took a long gulp of his drink, the ice cubes rattling clearly in the room's stillness. “I know what you're going to ask, and, no, we had nothing to do with killing Charles.”

Jack sighed in relief. “I'm sorry, Rick. It's not that I really thought you —”

“But you weren't exactly sure, either.” He smiled perceptively around a mouthful of sub. Swallowing, he added, “Shit, man. If I was in your place, I'd be thinking the same thing.”

“Then who?”

Mason shrugged and bit into his sub greedily. Talking as he chewed, he speculated, “Could have been anyone, really. Charles made a lot of enemies downtown with his push to take over the crack trade. It was only a matter of time before someone took a shot at him. I'm just surprised it was done so well. Normally, these mumble-fucks would drive by and empty a clip in his direction, hoping to get lucky. Whoever did this was determined not to miss.”

“Johanson talked to me on parade, implied I might need someone to vouch for my whereabouts last night.”

Mouth too full to speak, Mason nodded, a cynical frown on his face.

“You think I need one?”

Swallowing, Mason wiped mayonnaise off his lips. “Well, you certainly have reason to kill him and you were working last night, right? Now, the guys from Homicide aren't all idiots and they'll know there's a whole host of suspects out there, but in order to appear impartial and open-minded they'll have to take a look at you, if for no other reason than to cross you off as a suspect.” He chewed on his sub for a few seconds. “Karen was home when you got in last night, right?”

Jack nodded.

“Went straight home from work? No side trips to the girlfriend's or anything like that?”

“Straight home. Got there around quarter to four.”

“And Karen can attest to that? Not that a wife's word is the greatest alibi, you understand. Somewhat of a biased position. As long as the marriage is still good, that is.” A cocked eyebrow changed that last bit into a question.

“Yeah, we're good.”

“All right. Let's see. . . .” Mason hunted through some papers and came up with a printout of a radio call. “Here it is. A call for the sound of a gunshot came in at 3:27. Almost half an hour after you booked off work. Someone could argue that gave you plenty of time to drive around, find Charles and surgically remove his head from his shoulders with a shotgun. Drive home like a demon and still be in bed by four or so.”

He tossed the paper back onto the pile. “You didn't tell anyone else about that little meeting you had with Charles, did you? If Homicide found out about that little tidbit, you'd jump to the top of the suspect list. Shit, you'd be the
only
name on the list.”

Jack shook his head emphatically. “Just the people who were here. No one else.”

“What about Manny? Could he have mentioned it to anyone?”

“He said he'd keep it to himself and I believe him. I'd trust him with my life.”

“Don't say that too lightly — you just might be.” Mason leaned back in his chair and sipped his pop, using the straw this time. He abruptly banged the chair back down on its four feet. “Tell you what: after work last night, you came here and we shot the shit for a while. You left around 3:30. It's better than relying on Karen's statement and it puts you at the station at the time of the shooting.”

“Thanks, Rick, I appreciate it, but why are you doing this for me?”

Mason waved away the thanks. “I know what it's like to have Professional Standards or Homicide sniffing around you. It's a pain in the ass you can do without. If they ask, tell them we talked about the charges against Charles and why they were dropped 'cause you were still pissed off about it.”

Jack smiled. “But not pissed off enough to go kill him.”

“You're a smart lad. Now fuck off and let me work. Oh, and Jack?” he called when Jack reached the door. “Two things: first, this conversation never took place and, second, now you know why you should knock before coming in.”

The shift passed by in a swirl of emotions, the headiest being relief. Charles was permanently out of the picture and along with him went the threats against Karen. True, she would be royally pissed if she ever found out a threat had existed, but he figured he could justify his silence.

Manny was ecstatic over Jack's good fortune and never complained when Jack stood mutely at calls, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. As the hour of eleven approached, they asked for and got the okay to go one and one — taking an hour of time off at the end of shift in lieu of banking the lunch hour they had not been able to take — and made a beeline for the station.

Jack grabbed the duty bags while Manny unloaded the shotgun. Between his duty bag, lunch cooler, soco kit and camera and taking out a shotgun, Manny had to make at least two trips to load and unload the car if he was working solo. Jack held the door open for his partner, who trundled past like some overloaded, clanking Sherpa.

Jack ran into Jenny outside the report room.

“Coming out tonight?” she asked. “Reason to celebrate.”

“Not this time. Think I'll just head home and share the good news with Karen.”

“In shape, intelligent and considerate. Why are all the good ones taken?” she mourned.

“Maybe we just seem that much better because we are taken,” he suggested, shrugging.

“Maybe,” she agreed reluctantly, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “But you'll let me know if you ever become available, right?”

“Absolutely,” he promised and darted into the change room when he felt himself blushing. Jenny's laughter chased him in.

The lights were on when Jack pulled into the driveway just before midnight. He would have been home earlier, but he had stopped along the way to pick up flowers again. Same store, but this time the flowers looked fresh. He sat behind the wheel listening to the engine ticking as it cooled off in the autumn air.
How do I break good news like this? Great news, hon! Guess who was murdered today at work?
Jack laughed at himself.
Probably not the best approach. Screw it, I'll wing it.

Stepping inside, he called out, “Karen? You upstairs or down?” He kicked the door shut behind him and toed off his shoes. “Karen?” He took two steps into the front hall and sharp pain exploded behind his right ear and everything went black.

His eyelids flickered and the pain greeted him enthusiastically. Groaning, he rolled onto his stomach and felt carpet beneath his hands. When he tried to lift his head, his belly heaved as the pain radiated in great nauseating waves from a spot behind his ear. Clamping his teeth shut, he fought the urge to puke and waited for the pain to subside to a more manageable level.

Jack thought he heard someone calling his name. Karen? Maybe, but everything sounded fuzzy, as if she was phoning from far away and there was a really bad connection. Gritting his teeth and telling himself he would not puke, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, his head hanging between his arms.

Slowly, he opened his eyes to a world of vague and distorted images. Were those his hands? He wiggled his fingers, and the shadowy blobs moved appropriately. He felt the carpet under his hands. Carpet meant the living room. He remembered being in the front hall when . . . when what?

He could hear Karen calling his name. She sounded like she was crying, but he couldn't focus his thoughts. What was going on?

Something smashed into his ribs, lifting him off the floor and dumping him on his back. His head seemed to hurt less with this new agony in his ribs. Jack clutched his side and stared at a spinning ceiling, willing it to slow, to stop.

A dark shape blocked out the revolving ceiling. A face? It had to be a face because words came out of it. The words were fuzzy, but he could understand them.

“I'm surprised you're awake so soon. You must have one fucking thick skull.”

Hands grabbed his shirt and hauled him to a sitting position. His head and ribs tried to outscream each other.