Staal’s cell-phone buzzed in his pocket. “Yeah.”
“It’s Gina. Thought you might like an update. Posh and Shultz are still hanging tight. They have made repeated phone calls. Apparently unanswered. I’m thinking to Hennessey. They look worried...anyway, that’s about it.”
“Thanks, Gina. Gooch and Fraser are about to go back at our boys. Talk to you soon.” Staal hung up.
“About time?” Gooch said, rising from the lunch table.
“Yeah, go at them about pistols. Go hard. Let’s get what we need as quickly as possible,” Staal said.
“Round two,” Fraser said as the detectives entered Interview Room One. Gooch and Fraser took up positions in the interview room next to Hennessey. Fraser set an open can of Coke on the table and offered a cigarette. Hennessey accepted both stimulants.
“So, Francis, we have some good news for you,” Gooch began. “I hope you’re willing to cooperate with us.”
Hennessey nodded and inhaled deeply on his cigarette.
“We have information concerning the murdered girl. Vancouver homicide just laid charges after a suspect confessed to the kidnapping.”
Hennessey choked as he exhaled and his eyes lit as he stared at Fraser.
“So it appears that you are clear on the issue of her death. However, there are the stolen firearms to talk about,” Fraser said.
“First, and most importantly, we have the unregistered Smith & Wesson 9mm pistol found on your person,” Gooch said. “We called in our firearms technician. He can tell a great deal about a gun’s history, like when and where it was used.”
“It’s called ballistics, Francis,” Fraser said. “Our guy fired a few rounds from your nine—and compared the slug to our nationwide records.”
“Imagine our surprise when we discovered a match right here in Hanson,” Gooch said. “A bank heist, Canadian Imperial, back in March this year that turned into a homicide.”
“I just bought that gun tonight, from that guy—Chimera—you, you call him Lynch,” Hennessey whined. “What does Lynch say?” his eyes darted between the detectives.
“Lynch and his buddy say you were selling them the pistols.”
“No fucking way!”
“We’ve got detectives pulling the bank robbery file, looking at the video surveillance tapes as we speak.” Gooch ignored Hennessey. “A security guard was shot and killed that day, Francis. Hank Ogilvie, HPS, retired after 25-plus years on the job.”
“Lot of cops right here in West Precinct, would love five minutes alone with the guy who put old Hank down, Francis.” Fraser stared into Hennessey’s eyes.
Staal had seen that stare before, that tell-me-what-I-want-to-hear-or-I’ll-tear-your-fucking-head-off, Ken Fraser patented gaze.
“I—I, never even fired that gun,” Hennessey stammered.
Staal kicked the door to the interview room. He pushed the intercom button. “Gooch! Is that the piece o’ shit that killed Hank? Just let me have a minute with him!”
Gooch turned away from Hennessey and spoke toward the door. “Constable O’Brien, step away from the interview area, please.”
“See, Francis? You’re the most popular guy in the house. Every cop from Patrol to Major Crimes is looking to kick your ass,” Fraser added.
“I didn’t rob any fuckin’ bank!” Hennessey attempted to sound unfazed. He looked around the room, rubbed his face, and then said, “The bank videotapes will prove it wasn’t me.”
“The bank video shows two guys about yours and Mohammed’s build wearing ski masks,” Gooch answered.
“It wasn’t me.” His voice was fainter now.
“Both shooters were hit when Ogilvie returned fire,” Fraser said.
“We have blood and DNA from both guys, Francis. You wanna prove it ain’t you?” Gooch asked.
Hennessey nodded.
“Then give us a DNA sample. Right now. We have a lab guy ready to take it.”
“I don’t know,” Hennessey said.
“Look, man. If you’re clean on this the DNA will show it,” Fraser said. He sat down for the first time across the table from Hennessey.
“If you didn’t do this, then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Gooch sat as well. “If you’re clear on this shooting, I’m willing to look the other way on the possession of stolen property bit.”
“Come on, that’s bullshit; no way you’ll let me go on that!”
“Look, Hennessey, we’re Homicide. We don’t give a shit if you just bought some stolen pistols.”
“If the DNA doesn’t match...you’re free to go. If you don’t give up a sample, Francis, then my partner and I will look to nail you on anything and everything we can.”
“Okay.” A whisper.
“What’s that, Francis?” Gooch asked.
“I’ll do it. The DNA test.”
“I knew you were a smart guy, Francis. You’ll have to sign this form giving us the legal right to test you without a court order.”
Fraser passed the form to Hennessey. A few minutes later Wilson Drummond entered the room with an aluminum case. He opened it up, and removed two swabs and evidence bags. He prepped the first swab and motioned Hennessey to open his mouth.
“Won’t hurt a bit,” he said. He turned the swab in Hennessey’s mouth, removing a sample of loose skin from the inside of the left cheek. He placed the swab in an evidence bag, sealed it, and then redid the procedure with the second swab in the right cheek. He also took a blood sample from a pinprick in Hennessey’s right index finger.
“You’re doing the right thing here, Francis,” Fraser said.
Drummond dated and added the case number to the sample bags and then informed Gooch that he was finished.
Staal had left the interview area for a bathroom break as Drummond harvested the Hennessey samples. Upon returning, he found Fraser and Gooch working the same angle on Mohammed. However, this time Mohammed was playing games. When the detectives asked questions, Mohammed talked in gibberish riddles.
Staal could feel his temperature rise, his pulse quicken. “We don’t have time for this shit!” he hissed.
Fraser talked about a bullet taken from Hank Ogilvie’s body matching a test round from Mohammed’s Smith 9 mm.
Mohammed looked toward Fraser and exclaimed, “You must learn the ways of the force if you’re to come with me to Alderaan.”
“Enough with the bullshit, Abdul!” Gooch had an angry look that Staal knew well. He had seen that face a moment before Gooch knocked down a three hundred pound Hell’s Angel with one punch after he questioned her sexual preferences. “This offer won’t last. Don’t be a damn fool!”
“Who’s more foolish? The fool or the fool who follows him?” Mohammed said to Gooch.
Staal scratched his head. The last line had sounded familiar. “From where?” he mumbled. He paced the hallway, running Mohammed’s words through his head.
“I’m going to try this one more time, Abdul,” Fraser said.
“Do, or do not. There is no try,” Mohammed interrupted.
“Shit! It’s movie dialogue,” Staal said. He knocked three times on the door to Room Two, the code for the detectives to step out and review tactics.
After a five-minute strategy session in the coffee room, Fraser and Gooch were ready to go back at Mohammed.
“You sure this will work, Jack?” Fraser asked.
“Yeah. No. Just go at him hard with it.”
Fraser stood in front of Mohammed and stared into his eyes while Gooch leaned against the north wall of Interview Room Two.
“Impressive! Indeed, you are powerful as the Emperor has foreseen,” Fraser said in a commanding voice.
Mohammed bolted to his feet, beaming. “You’ll find that I’m full of surprises!”
Staal smiled. Fraser jabbed both of his hands into Mohammed’s armpits and hoisted the suspect off his feet. He turned, slammed Mohammed against the one-way mirror and held him there, his feet dangling free.
“Enough!” Fraser said as he stepped back and slammed Mohammed against the window again, his eyes burning into Mohammed. “Of this shit.”
Staal didn’t see Staff-Sergeant Max Barnes in the hallway until Barnes was close enough to see Mohammed pressed up against the mirror.
“Staal! What the fuck is Fraser doing in there?” Barnes reached to hit the intercom button.
“Hold up, Max. Fraser’s just about to get what we need.”
Fraser put Mohammed back down on his feet and helped him to a chair.
“And what is that, Jack? A brutality beef with Internal?” Barnes tried again to reach the intercom. Staal blocked him and managed to turn off the audio.
“No. A DNA sample to compare to the ones we got from the cigarette butts found at two of the three Birthday Boy crime scenes. We don’t have enough for a court order, so we’re being creative.” Staal let his words sink in for a few seconds. “This guy’s been jerking us over and Kenny was just bringing him around.”
“Jesus—fuck! You’re interrogating these two as Birthday Boy suspects?” Barnes’ face turned bright red and his eyes darted around as though he was contemplating what would happen if IHIT filed a formal complaint.
“Well, Max, this city’s about to go bug-shit. The Team is still fucking around with Douglas. We need something solid—and if that means going at these guys hard—and without the Team—then that’s what I’m gonna do!” Staal watched Gooch and Fraser work Mohammed. He knew Mohammed was close to breaking down.
“We need an arrest, but not this way.” Barnes shook his head.
“Look there, Sarge,” Staal pointed at the window. “Gooch just got a signed permission form. Drummond’s people will have a sample in twenty minutes.”
“Fine, great. I’ve got another one for you, Staal.” Barnes handed Jack a folded sheet paper.
“Another what? What is this, another case?” Staal asked, his voice rising.
“That’s right, Detective, a homicide. Get over there and secure the scene.”
Staal looked into the shorter man’s eyes. Barnes was just under six feet tall with a lean build, despite his year-long desk posting. He sported a graying goatee in a vain attempt to look up-to-date. “Perhaps you haven’t been keeping up on current events, Boss. But I’m working a serial right now.” Staal’s patience was wearing thin.
“Wakamatsu is already out there. Work it with him,” Barnes said, turning to leave the interview area.
Staal stopped him. “Call in IHIT. They still have four teams idle. Antoski’s squad can handle this one. I know Freeman’s guys are tied up in court with that child prostitution thing, but Degarmo told me that Antoski’s load is light.”
“Look, Staal.” Barnes wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Antoski’s got three walking wounded over there, and Freeman’s working to put away a piece-of-shit who killed his wife and mother-in-law.” Barnes jabbed a finger at the note in Staal’s hand. “So get out there and get started and let the Mounties decide what team they send. Got it?”
“Bullshit! You’re just pissed at me for not keeping you in the loop with these two. Or is this your pussy way of getting back at me for the heat I brought you over the Burke case?” Staal knew he was approaching a line with Barnes. He could smell a disciplinary action.
“Sean Moore is your case, Staal. Secure the scene with Detective Wakamatsu, and wait for IHIT.” Barnes turned, crossed the hall, and ducked into the coffee room.
Staal followed. “Max—that piece of shit Hennessey tried to pay me and Rodriquez to snatch him a twelve year old girl off the street!”
“Fraser and Sergeant Gooch have this.”
“Perhaps you’ve heard of Death From Above—human sacrifices?”
“Sean Moore is your concern—not death cults—get out there or go home.”
“Unfuckinbeleivable!” Staal hissed.
“I’ll say,” Gooch said, coming out of Room Two. “You had Mohammed figured. When we broke his code, he spilled everything.”
“Yeah. But look at this,” Staal handed the note to Gooch.
“What the fuck?” Gooch snatched the sheet from Staal. “Another case, when we’re this close?”
“Yeah. Me and Cameron. Let me know when you hear any results. I’m gone.” He started down the hall.
“Hold on Jack, this is nuts. I’ll talk to Max. Then I’ll call Antoski—and see how soon his team can get assembled.”
“Forget it, Rach. Barnes is an asshole.” He shook his head. “I’ll be in touch.”
Staal’s mind drifted away from the job and he felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. The sun was rising, warming the interior of the Impala. He flipped the visor down to shield his eyes and stared at a photo of Brenda clipped to the visor. He hadn’t thought of his daughter for several hours, but now she filled his mind. The resemblance between Samantha Van Allen and his daughter was uncanny. The thought took his breath away sometimes; that it could have been her.
He shook off his reverie, lifted his hand from the steering wheel, and turned the ignition key of his Impala. The engine screeched as the starter-motor gear grinded with the rotating ring-gear. The engine was already running. “Shit!”
Staal thought about his current situation and all of its possible implications. Perhaps Max Barnes was still hot because Staal had solved his first major case with Hanson in a day before IHIT even got on scene. A reporter wrote that Staal had embarrassed the Team, and soon after some considerable heat came down to Barnes from the Chief Constable of HPS. Now with Staal making progress with Hennessey and Mohammed, the Team would take over. Corporal Chin would have reason to persuade his boss to have Staal and the others removed from further work on the Birthday Boy case.