“Sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t ‘sorry’ me. Apologize to her.”
“Danny!” said Susan, flicking the brim of his stetson with her finger.
Danny remained at attention but saw Susan as she held Tiffany, bundled up in a cotton blanket, in her other arm.
“What are you doing here?” asked Danny, as his eyes darted toward the arriving limousines.
Susan ignored the question and thrust Tiffany into his arms. She awakened and started to bawl loudly.
“I can’t —”
“Be careful, she’s still colicky.” Susan handed Danny a baby bottle and walked away as the prime minister’s limousine rolled to a stop.
The media came alive. The PM stepped out of the limo and smiled broadly at the zeal and laughter of the media, then saw that the cameras were pointed at a policeman who was saluting him with one hand, while holding a baby in his other arm.
The PM knew a photo opportunity when he saw one. Kissing babies was a classic. He gently took the infant from the policeman’s grasp. The baby immediately quit crying. He smiled with delight and lifted the infant above his head. Picture perfect! The noise from the media drowned out a concerned comment that the policeman made. He brought the baby closer to his face and pursed his lips. It was then that Tiffany chose to vomit.
chapter four
It was the first day after the September Labour Day weekend and Danny O’Reilly’s first day as a policeman in Vancouver. He was dressed in a suit and tie. The last-minute decision to have him transferred to Intelligence instead of GIS puzzled him. The reason would soon be clear.
After a forty-minute wait, he was summoned inside the office of Superintendent Wigmore, who was in command of all the Intelligence units in British Columbia.
Danny stood at attention for two minutes while Wigmore sat behind his desk in an overstuffed leather chair, flipping through Danny’s file. He wore a tailor-made suit that gave the impression that his shoulders could have belonged to someone who played pro football. His black hair was closely cropped and his moustache was trimmed top and bottom.
Wigmore eventually looked up and said, “Sit down.”
Danny sat in a wooden chair across from the desk.
“It’s too bad,” said Wigmore, shaking his head. “Up until this incident with the PM, you had a good career. A few years in uniform, followed by four years on Drug Section, two years on GIS, and lastly, five months on PR duties. I understand you were transferred from Winnipeg GIS to PR because you blew the whistle. Is that right?”
Danny sighed. “Yes, sir. Two of my colleagues embellished evidence to try and convict a bank robber. They said he spent more time casing a bank than he really did. I told, and Internal interviewed them. They admitted that they may have exaggerated, and the trial was dismissed. It felt pretty uncomfortable working in the Section after that.”
“Your actions were admirable. I would expect nothing less from anyone who works for me. But now…” Wigmore made a clucking noise with his tongue before continuing, “After this stunt with the PM, your career is in the toilet. In case you didn’t know it, Internal Affairs is contemplating having you charged with neglect of duty.”
Danny felt his stomach knot. “I didn’t know that, sir.”
“Fortunately for you, I have a good relationship with Internal.” Wigmore clasped his hands on the desk and leaned forward, staring intently at Danny’s face. “You’re going to be working with Jack Taggart. Have you ever heard of him?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. What I am about to tell you will not leave this room, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s quite simple. I don’t trust Taggart, and you are going to provide me with every detail of what he is doing.”
“Sir?”
“Everyone Taggart works on, criminal organizations that have survived for years, seems bent on self-destruction once he starts to investigate. Ever hear of Project Stop-Watch?”
“The French gang that robs banks across the country? They’re notorious!”
“They were.”
“They keep crooks outside disguised as shoppers to shoot any officer in the back who might arrive early. A young officer was shot in the neck in Montreal. I think she lived but was paralyzed from the neck. The mastermind was Levasseur. He never entered the banks himself but would pick up his men a few blocks from the heist where they switched cars. It was like he was made of Teflon. Nothing ever stuck to him in court. What does this have to do with Jack Taggart?”
“Two months ago, Taggart somehow got lucky and turned an informant in the gang. Last month Levasseur was murdered.”
“I heard that most of the gang was arrested.”
“One day Levasseur’s men did a job and drove to ditch their car. Levasseur wasn’t there. Vancouver City Police were waiting instead. Taggart tipped them off moments before. Word is, when the gang caught up with Levasseur back in Montreal, he said that some guy with a beard car-jacked him at gunpoint as the heist was going down. He said he was let go afterwards.”
“Obviously a lie. So he set up his own guys?”
“That’s what they thought. His mutilated body was recovered later.”
“So Levasseur was Taggart’s informant?”
“No. Taggart’s informant was some low-level hood. Levasseur wasn’t anyone’s informant. What I do know is that Taggart had a beard then but shaved it off the day after.”
The suggestion made Danny catch his breath. “It might be a coincidence,” he offered.
“Coincidence, my ass! He might fool others, but he doesn’t fool me! Up until now, I’ve never been able to prove anything. This time will be different. A perfect opportunity has arisen.”
“Sir?”
“Something unexpected that I can use to my advantage. The only family Taggart had was his sister, her husband, and their two kids who lived on some farm up the Valley. Recently the two kids were murdered. Taggart’s at the funeral right now.”
“That was his niece and nephew? It’s in the news…”
“This is the time to get hard evidence on this hotshot. Someone messed with the only family he had. He won’t be thinking all that clear. Gain his confidence, if you can, but be careful. Don’t get sucked into his world. I want you to stick to him like shit to a sheep’s ass. If he so much as jaywalks, I want it documented. You see anything, you sense anything, report it to me.”
“Shouldn’t Internal Affairs be handling this?”
“They looked into Taggart and got zip. I need someone close to him. Someone he trusts.”
“Sir, I don’t relish having —”
“You don’t relish it?” said Wigmore, pounding his fist on the desk. His chair bashed against the wall as he stood and jabbed his finger into Danny’s chest and said, “I bet you relish having a job to support your wife and baby girl, don’t you, O’Reilly?”
Danny cringed back in his chair and said, “Yes, sir.”
Wigmore slowly sat down and said, “Good.” His voice softened and he said, “As policemen, we all have to do things we don’t like sometimes. It’s part of the job. Just make sure you do your job and I’ll see to it that you’re looked after.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In