LITMIR.BIZ

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saying that they were interested in cross-matching methamphetamine. They called them to let them know what they had and that they were planning on running wire.”

      “We’d just obtained a wiretap order on Halibut when it happened,” said Nash. “That was a couple of days ago. There’s been nothing on the lines to help us yet.”

      Louie looked at Nash and said, “You think someone on Homicide let it leak? Would your men have given them Leonard’s name?”

      “They didn’t give out his name to anyone, not that it would take a rocket scientist to figure it out. That’s not why I’m here, and I’m definitely not accusing anyone. This Leonard wasn’t the sharpest needle in the pile. My guess is he probably blabbed to his girlfriend or someone. I’m here because your Homicide Section said that your office is doing some work in the area. I was wondering if you had any sources that could give us a lead on the murder?”

      “I would think Halibut would be a pretty good suspect.”

      “He would,” replied Nash, “except he pissed on the side of one of our uniform cars that day at about noon.”

      Louie caught the frown that Isaac gave Nash. He did not condone swearing, and there was little doubt that if Nash didn’t work for another agency, Isaac would have reprimanded him.

      “The murder happened around suppertime,” continued Nash. “Halibut was locked up in the drunk tank then. He wasn’t released until the following morning.”

      “How convenient,” replied Louie.

      “This informant was involved in trafficking in methamphetamine,” said Isaac as he looked at Louie. “Your office does have some sort of … intelligence probe concerning methamphetamine in that vicinity. Correct?”

      “Yes, sir. Project 13. Taggart and O’Reilly have been working on identifying the source of methamphetamine coming into Vancouver. We suspect that Satans Wrath is behind it.”

      Wigmore smacked his hands together and sat forward in his chair. “Precisely,” he said, looking pleased. “And I understand that Taggart has an informant around the Black Water Hotel who recently supplied him with an ounce of speed. At least, I think that’s what his report said?”

      “Yes, sir. That’s correct.”

      “Taggart,” mused Isaac. “I’ve read several of his reports over the years. There’s something about him. He seems rather … intuitive.”

      Grazia caught the eye contact between Isaac and Wigmore. There was little doubt as to who had sparked Isaac’s curiosity about Taggart.

      Isaac sat back in his chair and smiled as he spoke. Grazia knew he was anything but relaxed. It was a simple ploy. To appear relaxed when you’re fishing for information. This makes other people relax, and sometimes things just slip out in casual conversation.

      “Sir?” asked Grazia.

      “I just can’t quite put my finger on it.” Isaac glanced at Nash and said, “It’s uncanny. He accurately predicts internal problems that criminal organizations will be having well in advance.” Isaac looked at Grazia, gave a small chuckle, and asked, “So what’s his little secret?”

      “He is exceptionally astute, sir. Definitely the best man I have. He’s unique, innovative, a hard worker and —”

      Isaac leaned forward, slapping his hands down on his desk. “Yes, yes, but there’s something else! Why is it that major criminal groups suddenly start killing themselves off once he starts to investigate?” His dark eyes studied Grazia’s face.

      “Well, sir, it is easier to investigate a group that is suffering internal problems. Naturally a good investigator would strike while the iron is hot, so to speak.”

      Isaac’s gaze remained riveted on Grazia for a moment, and then he leaned back in his chair and said, “Well, I’m sure you know your men. In any event, if this Project 13 uncovers any information that will assist Ted here, I expect you to cooperate fully.”

      Wigmore smirked and said, “Well, considering that a homicide just took place, I think it would be prudent for Taggart to provide us with the full name and address of his informant. Perhaps the … informant is somehow involved.”

      “Sir.” Louie looked directly at Isaac. “As a matter of policy, we don’t disclose the names of informants to anyone. It’s just not —”

      “I really don’t need to know,” said Nash.

      “Nonsense,” said Wigmore. “It would be good for at least you to know just in case the name surfaces in your investigation.”

      “It is unusual,” said Isaac, “but under the circumstances, I fully agree. Who is the informant?”

      “I’ll check with Taggart and get back to you on that, sir. I think he only used the source once because we couldn’t get funding.”

      Wigmore coughed loudly, then said, “I just saw Taggart at his desk a few minutes ago. With your permission, sir, why not have Louie use your phone and call him now.”

      Isaac gave a nod of approval and Louie called Jack and briefly explained where he was and what had transpired.

      “No problem,” said Jack. “Hang on while I get the name from out of my desk.”

      Jack ripped off an envelope taped to the back of his desk drawer and then held the telephone in the crook of his neck while sifting through multiple pieces of identification.

      “We’re waiting,” said Grazia, with a noticeable edge to his voice.

      “Sorry. Here’s a name. I mean here’s the name. Edward Trimble.”

      Grazia relayed the information to Ted Nash, who assured everyone that he would never disclose it but would keep it in mind in case it surfaced in the murder investigation. Wigmore also wrote down the name and address in his own notebook.

      Later that afternoon Bart and Rex spotted their target. It wasn’t difficult; he was wearing exactly what the tipster had told them. He also appeared to be watching everyone around him when he left the phone booth. Rex stuck the plastic radio receiver in his ear and followed on foot, while Bart remained nearby in the car.

      Rex watched his quarry duck down an alley and retrieve something from an empty takeout coffee cup lying in a window well.

      Bart’s radio crackled. “Bart, I think he just picked up. Ditch the car. Let’s grab this mother before we lose him.”

      Moments later, Rex and Bart saw their target walk down another alley. Bart covered off one end of the alley while Rex hid and waited at the other end.

      Rex crouched close to the wall. His muscles bulged under his shirt as he tensed in anticipation. All at once, his target loomed in front of him. Rex lunged for his throat. The victim’s eyes widened in panic and the mouth gaped open, but then he disappeared!

      It was Rex’s turn to look surprised when the man ducked and left him grasping at air. He looked down as he sailed over the man and received a jab in both eyes with a pair of fingers.

      Rex sprawled on the pavement, skinning both elbows. His target was doing an Olympic dash back down the alley. Rex clambered to his feet and stumbled after him, while wiping his eyes with his fingers.

      Bart, peeking around the end of the alley, waited silently. There was no grab for the throat this time. Bart stepped quickly into the alley and buried one meaty, knuckle-bound fist deep into the man’s midriff. A belch of air escaped the man’s mouth and he collapsed to the ground as two baggies fell from his hand.

      “Ya got ’im,” panted Rex, still wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. “Jesus, he’s fast!” he said, giving the man a solid kick to the ribs.

      “He sure got you dancin’ in the alley like a wounded prairie chicken!” said Bart, picking up the baggies.

      “The bastard poked

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