Free Above Ground by Don Easton

time, Jack’s brain overruled his heart and told him that the funeral was linked to him in name only.
    By Monday morning, Jack was feeling somewhat refreshed and was waiting when Louie arrived at work.
    â€œYou’re early,” commented Louie, hanging up his jacket on a hook behind the door. “How did the funeral go on Friday?”
    â€œIt went,” Jack replied, then paused and asked, “Molen ... is it set?”
    â€œTold you I would look after it. I did. He’ll get the fake report this morning. Anti-Corruption is handling the investigation. How do you feel about the meeting with Isaac last Thursday?”

    â€œIt was okay. I agree with the game plan for Molen, but we need to tread carefully.”
    Louie looked at Jack and quietly replied, “I think
you
need to tread very carefully.”
    Connie Crane didn’t arrive at work until almost noon. She had worked all weekend. The murder of an elderly war veteran had enraged her. She knew she might as well work because she was too angry to sleep.
    The media clamoured for every ugly detail they could learn. Connie was generous with what she gave them. The details would sicken the public. Anyone with a shred of humanity who knew anything should call. She was right. One tipster was not satisfied to talk to someone handling the tip line. She wanted to talk to the investigator in charge.
    Connie took the call and listened to the woman. She sounded like she smoked six packs a day.
    â€œListen, I’m just an addict,” she said. “I know nobody will believe me, but...”
    Connie rolled her eyes.
Crack whore! You’re right. I’m busy; let’s get to the point.
She interrupted and said, “How much money are you looking to be paid? I don’t work drugs. Not sure what a rock sells for these days.”
    â€œListen, bitch! I don’t want no money for this! Just because I’m a fuckin’ addict don’t mean I don’t have a conscience! I’m also dying of fucking throat cancer so I really don’t need this extra crap. If you ain’t interested in me telling you who did it, then I’ll hang up!”
    â€œDon’t do that,” said Connie. “Please. I’m sorry. You’re right. I haven’t slept all weekend and I’m feeling grumpy. What do you have to tell me?”
    Connie hastily scribbled notes as the tipster talked.
Is this some hooker with a grudge against her pimp — or
someone else?
She took the details and handed them to a colleague to check out. Wasn’t much to go on. Just a nickname: Spider
.
The tipster said he hung out at a skid-row bar on East Hastings called the Black Water.
A long way from where Essie fell out of bed, crawled over to her husband, and felt his gurgling windpipe. Then heard a man laugh and felt him rip the pendant off her neck...
    Connie saw a sealed envelope addressed to her at the office. She opened it and read the typed letter. It was about another murder. Details of how Holly’s husband was murdered, including hold-back information that had never been revealed to the media. It talked about Jack Taggart and how people associated with him would soon be dying, along with acquaintances of other organized crime investigators. She carefully placed the letter down on her desk and reached for her phone.
    The meeting was held in the boardroom and included Isaac, Louie, Jack, Danny, Connie, and several I-HIT investigators, including Randy Otto.
    Jack heard what Connie had to say and briefly closed his eyes as a corner of his brain said
I told you so! Holly’s husband ... Charlie ... because of you.
    â€œSir,” said Louie. “If Jack is transferred, this threat will only perpetuate. We’re dealing with a terrorist. It will only get worse if we capitulate.”
    Isaac didn’t respond.
    â€œThe note warns anyone working in Intelligence,” said Jack. He paused to take a deep breath, then continued, “With