Free Snakes & Ladders by Sean Slater Page A

hundred per cent. I remember it perfectly cuz that’s my kid’s birthday – seventy-nine.’
    ‘And you saw just one person inside the vehicle?’
    ‘Yeah, just the one – the cocksucker.’
    ‘Male or female?’ Striker asked.
    ‘Couldn’t tell either way.’ The man’s fingers clenched into fists. ‘Goddam prick was driving too fast again. Almost knocked the load right off my forklift.’ He jabbed a finger towards the front road. ‘He’s always driving too fast. He’s a fuckin’ nimrod . And I’ll tell ya this: he ever stops out front – even once – I’m gonna get him outta that truck and kick his fast-driving ass all over Franklin Street. Goddam cocksucker’s gonna kill someone one day, he keeps that up!’
    Felicia stepped forward. ‘You said, again ? Have you seen this vehicle before?’
    ‘Sure. Lotsa times. He’s always coming this way. Always driving like a fuckin’ nutcase.’
    ‘How often?’ Striker asked. ‘Any particular days?’
    The older man thought about it for a long moment, then shook his head. ‘I can’t make no rhyme or reason outta it. Just seen him down here lots. Always driving too damn fast.’
    Striker looked at Felicia and saw that she understood the significance, too. They had a pattern of driving behaviour here, and a regular route travelled. It was good news and bad – good because it would be easier to track this person down; bad because it made it less likely the man was connected to Mandy Gill’s suicide. For all they knew, the driver was just another John, coming down here to get his rocks off, then hauling ass to get out of the area.
    Striker wrote down the last two numbers of the licence plate, which now gave them three out of a possible six letters and numbers. J for the first three letters; 79 for the last two out of three numbers. It made Striker smile.
    They now had enough for a motor vehicle search.
    He handed the written statement to Felicia and asked her to do the Q and A with Gibson. When she took it and sat down in one of the office chairs, Striker left the room and hung out in the warehouse, where he could be alone.
    He got on his cell and called up Brian Greene, a contact of his at the Insurance Corporation of British Columbia. Striker knew the man well from a previous motor vehicle accident in which Brian’s sixteen-year-old son had gotten critically injured. Striker had located Brian, picked him up, and driven him Code 3 to Burnaby General Hospital to see his son before the emergency surgery. Driving lights and siren with citizens in the car was a departmental no-no, regardless of the son’s injuries, and it could’ve gotten Striker into hot water. But that became a moment that Brian Greene would never forget. Ever since then the man had been a reliable and useful contact.
    The call was answered on the third ring.
    ‘Brian Greene,’ the man said.
    ‘Brian, it’s Jacob Striker.’
    ‘Detective! Long time no talk.’
    ‘I’m surprised you’re still there. It’s late.’
    ‘Yeah, well, we had another after-hours meeting. The tenth one this month, I think. Everything’s always a crisis around here, right? I was just about to leave.’
    ‘Well, lucky me for catching you.’
    ‘That depends on what you need. How’s life with the Vancouver Police Department?’
    ‘I’m just one lotto ticket away from retirement.’ Brian Greene laughed, and Striker continued: ‘How is Jonathan doing?’
    ‘He’s walking . He’s walking and he’s doing well. Finishing his degree at UBC. Philosophy. Which means he’s never leaving home, I guess.’
    ‘You got a professional student on your hands.’
    Brian laughed. ‘Yeah, I think he’s gonna live at home till he’s thirty!’
    Striker smiled at that. It was good to hear the boy was doing well. Back then, at the accident scene, he didn’t think Jonathan Greene was going to make it. And the memory of that moment stirred up some hard emotions.
    Striker changed the subject. ‘I’m calling