An Element of Risk Read online

  Jack Taggart Mysteries

  Loose Ends

  Above Ground

  Angel in the Full Moon

  Samurai Code

  Dead Ends

  Birds of a Feather

  Corporate Asset

  The Benefactor

  Art and Murder

  A Delicate Matter

  Subverting Justice

  An Element of Risk

  Copyright © Don Easton, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover image: istock.com/InkkStudios

  Printer: Webcom

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Easton, Don, author

  An element of risk / Don Easton.

  (A Jack Taggart mystery)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4597-4163-8 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-4597-4164-5 (PDF).--ISBN 978-1-4597-4165-2 (EPUB)

  I. Title. II. Series: Easton, Don. Jack Taggart mystery

  PS8609.A78E44 2018 C813’.6 C2018-900728-1

  C2018-900729-X

  1 2 3 4 5 22 21 20 19 18

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country, and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation, and the Government of Canada.

  Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

  — J. Kirk Howard, President

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  For all the police officers who have lost their lives in service of the people they were trying to protect

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Ana Valesi had no idea she was being spied on when she stepped out of the foyer of her office building. It was the last Wednesday in March and the rain, although not heavy, was decidedly cool. She opened a robin-egg coloured umbrella and joined a sea of other workers intent on getting home. For the thugs who followed, her umbrella stood out like a beacon amongst a sea of bobbing black ones. It made their job all too easy.

  As she walked toward the car park, her mind was focused elsewhere. She was a Crown prosecutor and today had been the opening salvo in what was scheduled to be a month-long murder trial.

  The victim, eighteen-year-old Gerald Williams, was a member of a criminal gang based out of Mission called the United Front. Williams had been targeted and gunned down with multiple shots when he left a movie theatre. It was only by sheer luck that other movie goers had not been injured or killed as they fled in panic.

  The accused, nineteen-year-old Ronald Forsythe, belonged to a neighbouring gang based out of Abbotsford called the Death Heads. The two gangs had been in a turf war for over two years and were vying for control of the lucrative drug and prostitution trade.

  The gangs were primarily comprised of adolescent males. Approximately fifty members made up the Death Heads and there were perhaps a dozen less in the United Front. Even the leaders were younger than thirty years old.

  It was their age that made them so dangerous. A lack of maturity, coupled with inexperience, decidedly limited their ability to reason, let alone envision the consequences of their actions or feel empathy for any unintended victims.

  The wanton disregard for life exhibited by both gangs had been appalling. Drive-by shootings were occurring on crowded sidewalks, in restaurants, and in parking lots. Car chases with shots being exchanged had become outrageously common.

  The trial was receiving a lot of attention from the news media and citizens, not to mention the gang members themselves. Security was tight, and those intent on attending the trial were subjected to the same intense screening one would receive at an airport.

  During the preliminary trial, which had taken place months earlier, the defence lawyer, fearing that the presence of fellow gang members might have a negative influence on the judge, had strongly suggested to his client that he tell his fellow gang members not to show up in court. Any who did show had been requested to dress appropriately and try their best to look like choir boys. The same suggestion had been made by Ana for those who sided with the victim.

  The gangs took the suggestion to heart and usually limited their support, sending only the leader of each gang along with one or two followers. When gang representatives did show, the two gangs were kept separate.

  Harold Borman, the leader of the Death Heads, was delegated to sit on the right side of the courtroom, while Jarvis Thibault, leader of the United Front, sat on the left. Despite the heavy police presence, the tension was palpable.

  Ana knew it wasn’t only the tight security that aroused attention. The citizenry, stirred by media coverage of the ongoing shootings, were rightfully scared, angry, and kee
nly interested in the outcome of the trial.

  Her case was also receiving rapt attention from her own superiors. She’d been selected to prosecute because she was a seasoned veteran with a reputation for being savvy, but she knew the respect she’d earned through years of dedicated work could vanish in an instant. Any slip-ups on her part would have serious ramifications for her future.

  So far, the case was going as she wanted. The preliminary trial had gone well, but that being said, the real battle was yet to come.

  Now, as she drove her white BMW out of the parkade, she went over the testimony she’d heard that afternoon and thought about the questions she’d ask when court reopened the next morning.

  * * *

  Twenty-three-year-old Aron Kondrat tapped the steering wheel of his blue Ford Mustang with a nervous energy when he stopped two cars behind Ana at a red light. Beside him sat twenty-two-year-old Jeremy Pratt. Both were members of the Death Heads, having joined the club when they were only twelve years old. The two had been close friends long before then.

  Pratt spoke into his phone, using a conference call to update gang members in two other cars that were assisting in the surveillance. “Okay, the bitch is still on 99 but sittin’ at a red light facin’ Davie. Okay, the lights changed … we’re goin’ through the intersection and still headin’ south on 99. Better scramble if you don’t wanna miss the light.”

  “They made it,” Kondrat stated. “Can see ’em in the rear-view,” he added.

  * * *

  Ana arrived at her mother’s house and parked in the driveway before entering through the front door.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” two-year-old Isabella shouted as she ran to Ana’s outstretched arms.

  Ana hugged and then kissed her, while her mother, Maria, retrieved her granddaughter’s boots and jacket.

  “How was she today?” Ana asked.

  “A perfect angel … as always,” Maria replied, while stifling a yawn.

  Ana eyed Maria and thought how exhausted she looked. “If you ever get tired, you’ll let me know, won’t you, Mom? We could always put her in daycare.”

  “Are you kidding? No way! I love looking after her.” Maria paused and looked around. “Besides, I need something to do. I hate rattling around in this big house by myself. Issy gives me a sense of purpose.”

  “It’s been a year since Dad died. Still no thought to moving? Pietro and I certainly have the space.”

  “Thanks, but I’m sure your husband doesn’t want his mother-in-law moving in with him.”

  “Are you serious? Pietro adores you. He says you’re simply an older version of me. He’d love it.”

  Maria smiled. “I know, I was teasing. The truth is, I’m not ready for that yet. All my friends live close by.”

  Ana nodded knowingly. She then glanced at Isabella. “Wrong foot, Issy. The boot goes on your other foot.”

  * * *

  “Okay, the bitch is back out,” Pratt reported excitedly, “an’ she’s got a little kid with her.”

  “This is fuckin’ perfect,” Kondrat stated. “It don’t look like no fuckin’ daycare, either. If that’s the case, it’d be easy to do a fuckin’ number on her right here.”

  “Maybe grab the kid or somethin’,” Pratt suggested.

  “Yeah, that’d be good. We’ll have to run it past Borman.”

  “Figure he’ll go along with it?” Pratt questioned.

  “That fuckin’ no-mind. Who knows what he’ll want.” Kondrat gestured toward Ana’s car. “She’s backin’ out. Tell everyone to get ready.”

  “We know where she drops her kid off,” Pratt replied. “That’s gotta be the best play. If we lose her, it won’t matter.”

  “We won’t lose her,” Kondrat replied. “She drives like an old woman.”

  “Once we talk with Borman, how long you figure after that?” Pratt asked.

  “If he likes our idea, we should confirm that she always drops the kid off here. We’ll come back either tomorrow or Friday to make sure.”

  “So maybe we could do our thing on Monday,” Pratt suggested.

  Kondrat nodded in agreement, then said, “That’d give us time to pick up some wheels. I sure as fuck don’t wanna use my own car.”

  * * *

  For Ana, Thursday and Friday went well in court, but she still spent much of the weekend studying case law while Pietro took care of Isabella.

  On Monday morning she drove Issy back to Maria’s house. She thought it would be a day like any other. Instead, it was a day that would haunt her forever.

  “Mommy, I see Gwama’s house,” Isabella piped up from her toddler seat in the back of the car.

  “Grandmother’s house,” Ana replied, enunciating the words carefully. Besides taking law in university, Ana had also majored in English. Isabella was her only child and she was determined that she’d learn to articulate clearly and not use baby-talk.

  “Gwama,” reiterated Isabella emphatically.

  Ana smiled and decided to let it go. A moment later, she opened the back door of the BMW and leaned in to unbuckle her daughter.

  * * *

  Kondrat and Pratt watched Ana from down the street. This time they were in a Honda Civic. It had been stolen the day before and had been swapped for Kondrat’s Mustang, which was parked a few blocks away.

  “Dis gonna be a day dat bitch ain’t never gonna forget,” Pratt said, gazing at the Glock 19 pistol he held in his hand. It had been fitted with a laser grip. “Man, I can’t wait to see how dis baby works.” He raised the weapon and rested it on the dash and looked out to get a fix on the laser dot. “Bet I could take her out from here.”

  “Fuck, Jeremy, put it down before someone sees you,” Kondrat said.

  “Ain’t nobody gonna see me with this rain,” Pratt replied, sounding annoyed.

  “Yeah, well do it anyway. It’s not her we’re gonna —”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Pratt lowered the pistol. “I was just sayin’ is all. It’d be so easy to off the bitch. Fuck, you could pull right up an’ I could do ’er when she stands up. I wouldn’t even need to get out of the car.” He eyed Kondrat. “You hear what I’m sayin’?”

  Kondrat flexed his fingers inside his latex gloves, then glanced at Pratt. “Yeah, I hear ya’, but what we’re gonna do is better.” He snickered. “Imagine how much she’ll fuckin’ freak when she gets the news.”

  Pratt grinned. “Yeah, it’ll be so cool.” He paused to stare at a passing car, then added, “Wish we were in court to see it when Borman looks her in the eye and smiles.”

  “You an’ me both.” Kondrat gestured to the house. “She’s taken the kid in.”

  “Yup.” Pratt was silent for a moment, then laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “When Borman calls, you should tell ’im to video the bitch on his phone when she hears. What a fuckin’ hoot that’d be to watch. Bet she bawls her eyes out right in court.”

  “Bor’ smilin’ at her is enough,” Kondrat replied. “She’ll get the message. If he does any more than that, he’s liable to get busted.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’d be so … like, cool to see it, though.” He pointed. “The bitch is out.”

  Pratt glanced at his watch. “Seven-thirty. Same as last week.”

  They watched Ana drive away, then Kondrat drove into an alley a couple houses down from where Isabella was dropped off and parked the car.

  * * *

  Sergeant Roger Morris was a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer assigned to the Combined Forces ­Special Enforcement Unit, located in Surrey, about a thirty-five-minute drive from the RCMP headquarters building in Vancouver.

  These days, a top priority for CFSEU was to try and get a handle on the street-level gangs who were actively trading shots with each other.

  Roger, along with Detective Pete Davis, who was a colleague assigned to work with him from the Vancouver PD, were keenly interested in the gang trial taking place. They’d both played supervisory roles in the i
nvestigation.

  Despite the security put in place, Roger’s nerves were on edge as he and Pete took a seat in the back of the courtroom. Both gangs were striving to make a name for themselves — a name the gangs hoped would put fear in the hearts of everyone. That quest, coupled with an abundance of testosterone and juvenile thinking, made them unpredictable.

  When Roger spotted Harold Borman, his suspicions were heightened. Last week Borman had sat in the last row of benches with his back to the wall. Today he’d moved closer and was sitting with one of his cronies directly behind the prosecution’s table. Okay, jerk-offs, what’re you up to?

  The trial had barely restarted when Roger saw Borman nudge his buddy, then get up and leave the courtroom.

  Roger elbowed Pete. “Keep an eye on the guy sitting behind Ana,” he whispered. “I’m going to see what Borman’s up to.”

  A minute later, Roger located Borman in a hallway using his phone. Not an unusual occurrence because phones had to be turned off in court.

  Okay, time for me to quit being overly paranoid, Roger thought, before heading back to the courtroom.

  * * *

  Pratt waited anxiously as Kondrat spoke on the phone.

  “Well?” he asked when the call ended.

  Kondrat gave a grim smile. “Let’s do it.”

  “Fuckin’ aye, man!” Pratt smirked as he snapped the latex glove on the wrist of his gun hand for effect.

  Both men pulled the hoods on their jackets up over their heads before giving a tug on the peaks of their ball caps to lower them.

  Kondrat then took his own Glock 19 pistol equipped with laser grip from his waistband and tapped the barrel on Pratt’s like he was giving a toast. “Party’s on, dude!”

  Seconds later they hustled down the alley, opened the back gate to Maria Valesi’s yard, and ran to her back door.

  Pratt kicked the door, but the deadlock bolt held fast. He kicked a second time and the wood splintered, but the deadbolt remained in place.

  “Come on!” Kondrat yelled in frustration.

  Pratt kicked again. This time the door flung open and they burst inside.

  Maria’s screams and Isabella’s frightened cry could be heard throughout the house.

  Chapter Two

  Corporal Jack Taggart and Constable Laura Secord were both members of the RCMP assigned to an intelligence unit in the headquarters building in Vancouver. Their mandate was to target sophisticated organized crime rings, particularly those who operated on an international level. At the top of their list was the Satans Wrath ­Motorcycle Club.