Jacklighter Copse

By Glenn Muller

A charred body. A frozen pond. A holocaust tattoo.

In the New Millennium, a World War II tragedy seems an unlikely link to the bizarre murder of a vineyard owner. Especially when Detective Inspector Evan Lareault's main suspects are deer poachers, rival farmers, and a crime boss.

And then there's Chas Fenn. He claims to be only a witness but his alibi is weak. And no wonder. Fenn can hardly admit he stumbled onto the scene while trying to hide a stash of mob money. If Fenn thought he had troubles before, he now has the inspector, a cadre of game wardens, hired killers, and a crooked cop to contend with.

Picking up where TORQUE left off, this standalone whodunit features many characters from the first book in the series while introducing the dangerous Nicolas Wray and his beautiful and deadly assistants, Yunni and Jade.

For those craving more pace to their police procedurals, JACKLIGHTER COPSE answers the bell with a riveting mystery thriller you'll find hard to put down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenn Muller
• Release date: Jan 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9780991864195

Glenn Muller

Glenn Muller was born in New Jersey, USA, then spent his early years in England before emigrating to Canada where he would attain Canadian citizenship.After jobs in hotel administration, driver education, computer applications, and bookkeeping, Glenn started his own successful bookkeeping business. Writing, of course, he’s always done for love, not money. Though money is always politely accepted when offered.Chas Fenn, the protagonist in his debut novel, TORQUE, was inspired by the twelve years he spent as a driving instructor, and would appeal to fans of The Republic of Doyle. The sequel, JACKLIGHTER COPSE, was written in response to the demand for another book featuring Chas Fenn and Detective Inspector Evan Lareault. His other novel, BOOMERANG, was influenced by a life-long interest in Space exploration and would appeal to fans of Clive Cussler, Lynwood Barclay, and Michael Connelly.Although his genre is thrillers, Glenn natural sense of humour bubbles to the surface, prompting readers to describe his books as “fun-packed” and “just plain awesome”.

Book preview

GLENN MULLER

JACKLIGHTER COPSE

Edition 1.4

Copyright 2020 Glenn Muller

Uncorked Ink Press

Distributed By Smashwords

EPUB ISBN 978-0-9918641-9-5

MOBI ISBN 978-0-9918641-8-8

PRINT ISBN 978-0-9918641-7-1

Licence Notes

This book is licenced for your personal enjoyment only. Except for brief passages embodied in reviews or other non-commercial uses, this book may not be reproduced in any form without the prior written consent of the author. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase them a copy. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, then please visit your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Copyright page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Acknowledgements

About the Author

JACKLIGHTER COPSE

GLENN MULLER

CHAPTER 1

Her eyesight was poor. Legally blind by some standards. Yet she could see what had to be seen and moved easily through the woods even though the night sky was overcast and dark. The steady rain helped to ease the ever-present fear by masking footfalls and cleansing her scent from the air. Still, she hesitated at the edge of the clearing, unable to reveal herself to the others until the instinctive cycle of look, listen, and smell was complete.

When she stepped out of the thicket, those closest sensed her presence and turned to look her way. The rest continued to graze the sparse ground cover or snap twigs off dormant shrubs. This was the first rain of what had been a cold, dry, winter and foraging was almost more effort than it was worth. A solitary buck, the leader of the herd, was a few metres away. He flicked out his tongue to taste the air, and having noted her arrival resumed grinding down a frozen nub of moss. Females were always welcome.

The rain didn't mask everything, and all movement stopped when alert ears detected a new sound in the lower range. It was distant but moving. Not a deer or even a wolf or coyote. Familiar. Not necessarily a threat though something to be monitored.

The rumble increased in volume. Something was approaching the glade. The ears now swivelled radar-like as the animals stirred uneasily. Noise like that rarely strayed far from the road. Hardly ever into the woods. The buck snorted and stomped his hoof. The hard earth transmitted the blow and caused white tails to raise; a sign of danger and the signal for the herd to follow.

They were on the point of flight when the noise abruptly stopped leaving only the low patter of the downpour and the thumping of their hearts. The creatures stood poised as their eyes, wide-open and adapted to the darkness, moved in search of clues.

A single click triggered a stunning light, a silent sensory explosion as three hundred watts of brilliance lit up the meadow. It paralysed the herd, for stillness was an inbred survival technique. To run blindly through woods was to risk grave injury, and even fawns knew their natural predators wouldn’t detect a motionless object. For these predators, however, the halogen glare gave an un-natural edge. One they took full advantage of.

The first shot, a deafening crack to sensitive ears, broke the spell and as the doe turned to flee she saw the large buck crumple to the ground. Suddenly she was running with the others, elastic sinew and powerful muscles accelerating them toward the safety of the trees. Just ahead of her another doe reared and fell onto its side. Its legs flailed as she leapt over it. The panic caused her to jump too high and it took forever for her hooves to strike dirt. When they did there came a staggering jolt in her chest. The blow hammered the wind out of her and her forelegs collapsed. Her jaw crashed into the rutted soil and was pushed a full body-length forward before the rest of her frame toppled in a heap.

The lead pellet had ricocheted off her ribs and perforated a lung but the adrenaline that surged through her veins dulled the pain. She bleated in terror, venting streamers of bloody snot. Then a dark presence loomed over her, its smell both repulsive and frightening. She struggled to raise her head until a persistent pressure on her neck forced her cheek to the earth. Another beam of light, directly above, dazzled her eye, then a hard object with a dull point like the prong of an antler pressed against her skull. It was the last thing she felt before the final violent shock.

"Jeezus H, Wade. Why didn’t you just bring a machine gun!"

Wha’d’yer mean? We came to get meat and we got meat. One each for the three of us.

One would have been enough. We’ll be lucky to fit even two in the back of the truck. I hope you brought a tarp.

Yeah, yeah. I got lots of tarp, and plenty of rope. Besides, I got plans. Somethin’ that will benefit you and me, and the old fart over there. Wade and Jeff Teller, each with small flashlight strapped to their hunting caps, turned their beams toward the third member of their party. Truth be told, they weren’t sure how old he was. The weathered face had gaunt features and a permanent gray stubble about the chin. He looked to be about seventy yet had the wiry strength and sprightliness of someone much younger.

He was kneeling beside the buck with a hunting knife poised to incise the throat. The wide blade penetrated the flesh then slit downwards toward the belly. He reached into the opening and extracted the guts, cut them free from the animal and tossed them aside. A little something for the coyotes. His own headlamp shone back at them briefly.

While you guys are watching me work, that meat is starting to spoil, he said, indicating the other kills. It was important to get the carcasses cleaned and hung to drain as soon as possible. Wade nodded and stored his rifle in the truck's cab while his cousin, Jeff went to the back and retrieved some coils of rope from the bed. He dropped a length beside the gutted buck.

Holler when you want it hung in the tree, buddy. Not Dan, his first name, or Galo, his last; buddy was being familiar without being friendly. They had a common bond and got along well-enough but they weren’t really buddies. It wasn’t just the generational gap, the cousins being in their early forties, it was just more of a business relationship.

Jeff had met Galo first, on an Internet forum for hunters, back in January. After a feeling out period the undercurrent of their private messages became that of extending the deer season, which for Ontario, Canada, was in the Fall. This being March, and their third outing in as many months, Galo and the Teller’s had become bona-fide poachers. Or more specifically; jacklighters. Their preferred method of hunting at night, with spotlights mounted on a truck, was most efficient with a team of three; one to drive, one to aim the light, and one to be the shooter. While they found that they worked well together; at the end of the day, or night, their relationship was more for mutual gain rather than a desire for company.

Apart from completing the triumvirate, Galo also had an intimate knowledge of these particular woods from years of tromping through them as a kid. Time spent trying to dam the streams, or stalking squirrels with a slingshot. If they’d known where to look, the cousins might have seen Galo’s initials, carved by a penknife, on some of the trees. Just his. The woods had been a private domain. A place where he could escape from a life he didn’t want filled with people he didn’t like. Other kids might have had it worse but he was a foster kid and, at the time, only felt sorry for himself. Those intimate memories of the bad old days Galo kept to himself. He thrust them away with a shake of his head and went back to trussing the buck.

So, what’s this big 'scheme' you got, Wade? Jeff wriggled his fingers into latex gloves and crouched down beside his doe. Wade’s light flashed over the third carcass as he exposed the underbelly.

Well, said Wade, jabbing into the flesh with the point of his blade. It occurred to me that farmers don’t like deer decimating their crops. And, in a tough economy, who wouldn’t want to supplement their meat supply. So, if we could rid them of a pest and lower their grocery bill at the same time, we just might have a readymade market.

How do we know that the farmers aren’t already doing this?

A couple probably are. Most aren’t though. Just look at all the deer fences around the crop fields. And farmers work long days, they don’t want to be up all night chasin’ vermin.

Jeff could see the logic in that. Makes sense. We’re already supplying ourselves and a couple of neighbours. It would just be a matter of getting more customers and expanding our market. Could turn a nice profit. It’s not like this costs us much. Some gas and a few bullets.

Wade sniffled and ran his sleeve under his nose. His surgical gloves were shiny with blood and he wiped his knife blade on the deer’s flank. To do it properly will require some investment.

You mean, like, money?

Yes, like money, you cheap bastard. It always takes some to make some.

Jeff was untangling his length of rope. How much?

Well, I was thumbing through a truck trading magazine while I was in the shitter and saw just the thing. A used reefer truck.

A truck full of reefers! Now you’re talking. Jeff chuckled at his joke and looped the rope around the doe’s neck.

It’s a 1986 International with a twenty-one-foot box. Eight thousand dollars but I can probably get it for seven-five.

And I suppose you’ve got seven and a half thousand handy?

No. But we could get a bank loan.

You might want to invest in new tires for this truck, first. Galo had come over to solicit help to hang his deer. With those bald skins on your rims, we’d get stuck back here if it was any muddier.

Feel free to open your wallet, buddy. Wade didn’t like his grand ideas dismissed so summarily.

Maybe I will, said Galo. I know a guy—owes me a few. I can get a set of all-terrain treads at wholesale. Call it my contribution.

For a moment the only sound was the patter of rain as all three headlamps beamed on the ground. Then Jeff’s light lifted and he said, That’d be great, eh, Wade?

Wade’s light rocked up and down a couple of times. Yeah. Sounds good. He tried to make it sound like he was smiling.

Together they hung the deer from sturdy tree limbs and, using a pump sprayer, rinsed the cavities then let the carcasses cool in the breeze while they cleaned up.

Jeff was right. Three large animals; three torsos, three heads, and twelve legs did not fit within the confines of the truck bed. Even when roped in and covered with a tarp, hooves still stuck out at odd angles. The small pickup looked like a shuttle in a knacker's yard.

Shit, Wade. This is really obvious.

See. This is why we need the reefer truck.

Well, we don’t have one right now, do we? What if someone sees us driving down the road? A cop will pull us over, for sure.

You worry too much. If it comes to that we’ll just say it’s road kill.

Road kill—and who hit them—Rambo?

Shut up and get in the truck.

CHAPTER 2

Fenn wheeled into the plaza and parked his Toyota a few spaces down from the driving school. He could tell by the adjacent cars, all of which were compacts sporting DriveCheck roof signs, that he was the last instructor to arrive. No surprise there. Carole Lundsen, co-owner of the business, habitually filled his time slots with students that lived on the outskirts of town. He’d given up protesting; few could hold a grudge like Carole and Fenn just didn’t care that much. He wouldn’t have to enter the meeting alone, though. Outside the office, dapper as ever in tight black jeans and Italian leather boots, was the diminutive Joe Posada. Joe took a hard drag on his cigarette and exhaled to the side as Fenn approached.

Any idea what prompted the royal summons, Chas?

Must be something important to Dieter if he’s paying for an hour of his employees’ time. Is your schedule full these days?

Joe nodded.

Mine too, so it won’t be about downsizing, though Dieter will probably whine about expenses.

Oh, let’s not go there. I just hope he won’t announce another team-building weekend.

Fenn laughed. I really didn’t mind the last one.

Of course not, you’re a rock climber. After an hour of being roped to Pauline Dumb-ass I was ready to jump off the damn cliff.

I’d forgotten about Pauline Dumais. Only lasted two months, poor girl. Anyway, shall we go inside?

Joe made the cigarette tip glow once more then pinched it off and put the stub behind his ear.

Cutting back, Joe?

A headshake. Smoking more. This way I can take advantage of micro-breaks.

Fenn followed Posada down the hall. He dinged the reception bell as he passed but Asha Fabiani was busy digging through a file drawer and didn’t respond. A burst of laughter came from the classroom portion of the office and they walked in to hear Brett Nelson finishing a story.

The front of this guy’s car is actually inside the store, bits of ceiling tile are floating down, and there’s bottles of vitamins all over the hood. The old gent behind the wheel rolls down the window and says, Sorry, Miss. I meant to go next door. More laughter. Actually, it was lucky he didn’t go next door, because the exam centre was packed.

Always is. This from Dieter Lundsen, who was standing behind a desk at the front of the room. Dieter also looked dapper, though the height of his fashion, a brown polyester leisure suit with a wide-lapelled paisley shirt, was last seen in the early seventies. It was too early in the year for Carole’s suede miniskirts, so she was in a purple velvet jump suit and a headband that matched Dieter’s shirt. Their employees, try as they might, had yet to come up with suitable nicknames for the two retro hippies.

Speaking of which, Dieter continued. "Asha says that driving tests are now being booked five months ahead. August tenth, as of today, so keep that in mind. He arranged a number of small boxes on the desk into two neat rows. Okay, Folks, I’d like to start the meeting since we’re finally all here." A meaningful glance at Fenn and Posada as they found seats in the third row.

I won’t sugar coat that this has been a hard winter, financially. However, barring further catastrophes, we will survive. Dieter looked toward his wife, rather than the instructors. The recent contract negotiations had left both sides a little bruised, and it hadn’t helped that Fenn had totalled a vehicle while being carjacked. The insurance bill still had to be paid even if the court case was still ongoing.

On the plus side, March Break is about to start and our classroom course for that week is fully booked. This news produced smiles all round. And, he said with a pause for effect. We’ve just finalized arrangements for DriveCheck to be the sole provider of trainers for the PLOW program.

PLOW? Not sure that bodes well for Chas, said Brett, prompting a couple of laughs. Dieter gave an indulgent smile.

It’s an acronym for Plantation Labour with Offshore Workers, or something like that. The organization works with farmers and government agencies to bring field workers from the Caribbean, Mexico, and other countries to fill jobs on farms that Canadians don’t seem to want.

That’s because it’s back-breaking work, interjected Brenda Woodhill. It’s also hotter ‘n hell here, in the summer, and us pale Northerners can’t handle it.

Dieter resumed. Besides coordinating the labour force, PLOW makes sure the workers know of their rights and are informed about available services such as church groups who often host dinners or other forms of entertainment. PLOW also subsidizes lessons for those who are licenced in their own country but need an upgrade to drive on Canadian roads.

This brought understanding nods from everyone except Carole who was jotting down the meeting minutes while absently twiddling the string of love-beads dangling from her neck.

However, continued Dieter, not all farms bring in workers. And not all will take advantage of the subsidy. Therefore, each DriveCheck franchise has a large area to cover. Since Burlington is central to the western end of Lake Ontario, our office will cover farms in North Burlington, through Flamborough, and down to Vineland in West Lincoln.

Brett Nelson emitted a low whistle. That’s a fair bit of ground to cover.

Yes, it is, and until we see how many enrollees we have, we’re going to make this the domain of one instructor. The logical choice, since he has the most experience teaching foreign students with limited English, is Chas. Dieter said it with a magnanimous smile but the enthusiasm in the room barely registered. An eager novice might have bought the ‘here’s something special’ delivery, but the veterans all knew that distance between students was an equation of time and money, and this assignment was no gift. Carole stopped writing and looked over the top of her glasses at Chas, who just gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

That’s settled then, said Dieter, meeting Fenn’s eyes just long enough to catch his expressionless stare. Moving on, I have another exciting bit of news. He moved the boxes on the desk closer together then picked one up and opened it.

As you all know, lapses in communication between the office and you folks on the road can lead to missed appointments and wasted trips, which is bad for business and expensive for all of us. From the box, he brought out a black plastic case about the size of a blackboard eraser. With two fingers he gripped a nub on one corner and pulled up an antenna, then he flipped down a flap to reveal a raised set of number buttons. He held it up so the instructors could see it was a type of phone.

This is a flip phone; the newest design in portable phones and the solution to our communication problem. Dieter handed it to Brenda and began to open another box. Fenn leaned toward Joe.

It’s not that new, he said quietly. A few months ago, Fenn had been in possession of the same model, with interesting results. No doubt Dieter had found a deal on last year’s version and, true to form, was peddling it as the latest thing.

With these we can stay connected in real time and give a level of service that the competition can’t offer. So, I’m going to make it mandatory that every instructor be equipped with a flip phone. Dieter picked a sheet of paper off the desk and gave it a little wave. Thanks to a shrewd deal by yours truly, these will actually save you money.

Wait for it, whispered Joe.

The franchise will provide the phones; you just pay for the usage plan that we're enrolled in as a group.

And there it is, muttered Joe. "I’ll bet you ten-to-one that his portion of the phone costs are rolled into our portion of the payments."

So, why is it called a flip phone? This from Brett Nelson.

’Cause you flip it out the window when it doesn’t work, sniped Brenda. Fenn grinned whereas Carole shot dagger-eyes at the middle-aged female instructor. Brenda was a tough weed who’d grown up on the cracked sidewalks of North Hamilton. She wouldn’t be fazed by an intense pair of Nordic blues.

It’s called a flip phone because you flip down the mouthpiece revealing the buttons for dialling. It’s the most compact model on the market. You can slip it into your back pocket.

Fenn snorted involuntarily. Dieter looked up.

Something to add, Chas?

I think you might be overselling it, Dieter, replied Fenn. For that to slip into the pocket of my jeans, I’d have to slip out of them first. This brought a wolf-whistle from Brenda.

Hey, Asha, she called. Get in here. Chas is about to demonstrate the new phone.

Okay, Dieter conceded. Your jacket pocket. I’ve programmed the office number, and those of the other phones, into everyone’s phone. Please learn how to use them as soon as possible. Oh, and everybody gets one free month.

He’s so generous, said Joe under his breath.

That’s our Dieter, Fenn responded then turned to face the door when Asha knocked on the frame.

Before you guys take off, she said. I need to see Brenda, Brett, and Chas,

Right, said Dieter, with an air of great accomplishment. I think we’re done here. Make sure you sign the phone contracts and give them to Carole.

The instructors shuffled to the front to get a phone and began to amble out. To give Asha time to deal with Brett and Brenda, Fenn sat back down and perused the instruction manual that came in the box. He was more of a hands-on than a user-guide kind of guy so it was a quick peruse. He flipped the unit open and raised the antennae. Red Fox One to Blue Leader. Come in Blue Leader. This prompted a disparaging look from Carole who left the room shaking her head.

The phone fit snugly inside his jacket pocket. He gathered up his binder and the box and went to find Asha. Brett and Brenda were just heading out with the other instructors when Dieter called after them.

The phones have all been charged but make sure you plug them in, nightly.

Asha moved close enough to Fenn to tickle his palm with her fingertips. Everyone knew of their recent engagement but the couple were low-key with public displays of affection. Dieter noticed them together, though, and said, Asha, remember that calls for PLOW bookings should go right into your fiancé's schedule. Coordinate with Carole, okay, dear?

Asha squeezed Fenn’s hand. Absolutely, Dieter. Leave it with me.

As Dieter retreated to his office, Asha said to Fenn, I’ll do what I can to bunch them close together. Then she tugged on his sleeve. I need you to get a box down for me in the storage closet.

The storage closet was just that; a walk-in closet with shelving units on both sides of a narrow aisle. Asha pushed Fenn inside then closed the door. It was dark.

Aren’t you going to turn on the light?

Asha pulled Fenn against her and thrust her hands into his back pockets. That would spoil the mood. They closed their eyes and kissed like they were making up for lost time—until the door opened and Carole said, Will you guys find a room.

I thought we had, said Asha as she and Fenn separated. They left Carole to look for whatever it was she’d come in for, and Fenn said, Well, I think my work is done, here. Let me know when the flood of farm bookings comes in.

I’ll flip-phone you, Asha replied with a grin, then turned away as the office phone rang. DriveCheck; how may I help you?

CHAPTER 3

Fenn was musing on the pros and cons of his new farm-labour assignment when a chime from within his jacket reminded him of the other dubious change in his workplace. He drove on, with the intention of ignoring it, until the thought occurred that Asha was the most likely caller. He turned onto a side street and stopped but left the car in gear with his foot on the brake. Retrieving the phone, he flipped down the mouthpiece and said hello.

Hi Dieter. Mrs. Fleming, mother of one of Joe Posada’s students is upset about the extra lessons her son needs. She wants to talk to the owner of the business. Can you give her a call?

I could, but I’m not Dieter.

Chas? Did I call the wrong number?

I don’t know. Did you?

I don’t think so. Hang up and I’ll try again.

Fenn closed the phone and a moment later it rang again.

Pizza Palooza.

Really? Have you got a vegetarian special?

Yes, ma’am. It’s made with kelp and goat’s milk.

Can I get extra seaweed?

Dieter mixed up the phones, didn’t he.

Asha sighed. Yup. Now I have to call around and see who else got the wrong box, and then make arrangements to get them switched.

Have fun with that.

Thanks. You’re at the top of that list, by the way.

Okay. I’ll give you the phone tonight.

Okay. Bye.

Asha and Fenn had been engaged for five months. His proposal by the river in Muskoka had been interesting, to say the least, but she'd moved into his apartment shortly afterwards. Spacious, with good natural light, their pad occupied the entire basement of the house owned by Muriel Stafford. Muriel was a recent widower and one of Fenn’s long-term students. The apartment rental was a good arrangement, but Muriel had been delighted when Asha become a tenant. The two women often shared a pot of tea when Fenn was otherwise occupied, and baked goods frequently appeared on stoops.

It was getting near six pm, with dusk drawing on, when Asha backed her Honda Civic into the driveway. As she gathered her things she noticed a man exiting a sedan that was parked on the other side of the road. Gray gabardine, dark trousers, and sturdy black shoes, the wind lifted strands of his thinning hair as he walked up the driveway. He steadied the car door while Asha got out of the driver’s seat.

She gave him a blank look. Whatever it was the guy was selling, she didn’t want any. Jowly, a gray pallor to his complexion, and somewhat round-shouldered, he was a few inches taller than her five foot six. A skilled martial artist, Asha was not intimidated by his expression which was far too serious for a salesman. She glanced back at his car; a late-model Buick, then checked out his shoes again. They had heavy stitching and thick soles like her Doc Martens.

A cop.

He had a business card in his hand.

"Miss Fabiani? I’m