Blindside Read online

  Back at Pitt Street she was surprised to see Liam Moore still at his desk. She told him that they were getting exactly nowhere: every witness smeared from the face of the planet.

  ‘You’ve got to give him credit,’ Moore told her. ‘I mean, he is committed to this scorched earth policy of wiping out everyone and anyone who can connect him to the bad drugs. It’s impressive in its singular purpose.’

  ‘Impressive?’

  He shrugged his massive shoulders.

  ‘It’s all relative.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘What about this Parker guy? Think he can come up with anything?’

  ‘I don’t know. I only met him the once.’

  ‘Keep an open mind. Armstrong will get over it.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Moore snorted, leaned back in his chair and stretched. Irvine waited for the chair to break under his bulk. She was grateful it held out.

  Moore looked at his watch and then out at the almost empty office outside. Most everyone had gone home already. ‘Getting late,’ he told Irvine.

  She looked around at the office then at her own watch. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Go home. Nothing more to do tonight.’

  She stood and opened the door of Moore’s office.

  ‘And Becky,’ he said behind her. ‘We will get this guy.’

  She turned back to look at him and nodded. Not sure that he was right.

  7

  It had been a frustrating morning for Logan and Cahill. The four D. Hunters that Bruce had tracked down turned out to have no remote connection to either Tim Stark or the FBI. They were a housewife in Broomfield, an attorney who worked for the public defender’s office, a construction worker who was holidaying in Vegas for the week and a fifteen-year-old high school student. They had known the details of the individuals from the information Bruce had given them. And it turned out that they were exactly what the records showed.

  ‘Dead end,’ Cahill said as they got in the car after the last house call with the teenager’s mother.

  ‘What did you expect? That it was some sort of code name?’

  Cahill gave Logan a pained look.

  ‘So, now are you going to tell the FBI about it?’

  ‘Why? It’s a dead end.’

  ‘It is in Denver. But maybe it wasn’t supposed to be restricted to the city?’

  From the look on Cahill’s face, Logan figured that the thought had not occurred to his friend.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Cahill said.

  Logan shook his head.

  ‘Jesus,’ Cahill went on. ‘How stupid do I feel.’

  Logan told him not to worry about it.

  ‘But we’ve done what you came to do. You got an answer on Tim and Melanie can rest a bit easier now. Let’s go home.’

  Cahill gripped the steering wheel.

  ‘Maybe we should talk to Webb again,’ he said. ‘Tell him what we found out.’

  ‘I think that would be sensible.’

  Cahill started the car up and pulled out from the kerb. Logan checked his phone and saw that he had two voicemail messages: one from Irvine and one from Ellie. He listened to both and wanted to be back home with them.

  ‘What time is it?’ Cahill asked him.

  Logan checked his watch and said it was after three.

  ‘Okay, let’s get back to the room to get freshened up, then we’ll grab an early dinner. We can go see Webb tomorrow.’

  ‘And arrange flights back home?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Logan wasn’t convinced.

  Logan took the laptop from his bag and went to the bar in the hotel to wait for Cahill to finish up in the bathroom. He ordered a bottle of locally brewed wheat beer – Easy Street – and sat at a table by the window, looking out on to the street. The beer was good.

  He put the laptop on the table and opened it, settling back in his seat to read the newspaper he had bought that morning while he waited for the computer to boot. The first couple of pages were taken up by some story about illegal campaign donations in a local election. Seemed to Logan like politicians were the same the world over.

  The computer beeped, waiting for him to input a password. He typed it in and connected to the Internet via the hotel’s Wi-Fi connection.

  He was annoyed by the futility of their search today for the elusive D. Hunter, so he found a local phone directory and typed the name into the search box.

  The search returned two of the people they had checked out today, a whole bunch of other, plain old ‘Hunter’ entries, one Dr Hunter and a law firm – Dutton Hunter Green. He thought that the law firm might be more of a possibility than the others so searched again for its own website and then scrolled through the names of all the lawyers. Nothing jumped out at him.

  He tried a new Google search: ‘Hunter, Denver’. It returned over a hundred pages of results. He skimmed through the first fifteen pages before he saw one that caught his attention. It was an article from the same newspaper ten years ago – about a young police officer injured in a bank robbery which had descended into a gunfight. It had been an FBI operation that he stumbled into before his very first shift as a uniformed cop. His name was Jacob Hunter.

  Logan read the story twice, something nagging at his mind. There was a quote from the Chief of Detectives about the investigation into the shooting.

  Logan had a thought: if Hunter started in the force ten years ago, maybe he was a detective now.

  D. Hunter – Detective Hunter.

  That would make sense. What if Tim Stark had seen something that meant this Hunter was somehow involved in whatever the gang he had infiltrated was up to?

  He ran a search on ‘Detective Hunter, Denver’, found a recent news story about a disabled veteran who had been found dead in one of the city centre parks. There was a quote from a homicide detective about some potentially related deaths in recent weeks. As usual, the cop was noncommittal.

  The cop’s name was Detective Jake Hunter.

  ‘What do you think?’ Logan asked Cahill back in their room. ‘Maybe it’s him.’

  Logan waited while Cahill read the articles Logan had found.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Cahill said when he was done reading. ‘I mean, why would an undercover FBI agent have an interest in a city homicide detective?’

  Logan thought for a moment.

  ‘Maybe he’s dirty. The detective. Involved with whatever Stark was investigating.’

  Cahill scanned the stories for the third time.

  ‘We need to tell the FBI, right?’ Logan said.

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We don’t know what his part is in all of this. Or if it’s really his name that Tim sent to himself. If he is involved, could be Tim was simply reminding himself that he was someone he needed to speak to about the case. I mean, you remember what Webb said. Tim was using an alias on the flight because his undercover status had been compromised. He must have known the bad guys were after him and maybe he didn’t know how much time he had or whether he’d make it out alive.’

  ‘Webb didn’t exactly say that, Alex.’

  ‘He said as much.’

  ‘If you’re thinking what I know you’re thinking, it’s a bad idea. Let the professionals handle it.’

  Cahill put the paper down and stared at Logan.

  ‘After everything we’ve been through over the last couple of years, you can say that to me without a trace of irony? You’ve seen the so-called professionals at work. Does that give you the confidence to hand something over to them?’

  ‘Not the FBI.’

  ‘Same thing so far as I’m concerned. I mean, I’m not about to trust something like this to those guys. I owe it to Tim to do more than that.’

  8

  ‘We’re coming up tomorrow,’ Raines said into the phone.

  He was talking to his second in command at the mountain compound.

 
; ‘What time?’

  ‘After breakfast. Around nine.’

  ‘Fine with me.’

  ‘Listen, we need picking up. I’ve got an FBI tail and I don’t want to drive myself. I can lose them easier on foot in town.’

  ‘Tell me where and when and I’ll come get you myself.’

  ‘No. You stay put. Send one of the others.’

  ‘Just one? I mean, what if you get into a tight spot with the Feds?’

  Raines thought for a moment. He didn’t want to get into a war in the city. But how did that Rolling Stones song go? You can’t always get what you want.

  ‘You’re right. Send two and make sure they come loaded for bear.’

  ‘Copy that.’

  ‘I’ll be at the diner. The one we usually meet at.’

  ‘The Fried Egg on Seventeenth and Market?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘You want the boys to come into town and you can call them when you’re set? They won’t be far away. That way you can make sure the Feds aren’t on to you.’

  ‘Yeah. Let’s do it that way.’

  ‘Does this mean we’re doing it now?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Looking forward to it being over.’

  ‘Me too. Stay sharp, soldier.’

  Raines wasn’t sure if he would be coming back to the apartment from the compound so he packed a bag with enough clothes to last him a week. Then he called Matt Horn.

  ‘We’re going to get picked up in town early tomorrow. Can you meet me at the diner for breakfast?’

  ‘Sure. What time?’

  Raines was glad that he didn’t have to put up with any crap from Horn this morning. They could probably finish this thing off without him, but it would be safer if he was still on board. No loose ends to worry about.

  ‘No second thoughts now?’

  ‘No.’

  Raines had expected some hesitation from him and was happy that there had been none.

  ‘Good. Meet me at eight-thirty in the diner. I need to shake the Feds who are sitting on me first. Shouldn’t be too hard. They’re amateurs.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate them, Seth.’

  ‘I’ve estimated them exactly. And they won’t give me any trouble.’

  ‘What do you want me to do if you’re late?’

  ‘Order breakfast. I’ll call your cellphone when I’m on my way.’

  Raines felt that he should say something more than just giving orders.

  ‘Look, Matt, this’ll be done soon.’

  ‘You keep saying that.’

  Raines sighed.

  ‘You’re the one who got fucked over,’ he told Horn.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And I got you out of that shithole hospital.’

  ‘I said I know.’

  ‘Nobody else was going to do anything for you. Not the army and not the Government.’

  Horn stayed quiet.

  ‘So this is where we get ours. You understand?’

  ‘I don’t need a lecture, Seth.’

  Raines was surprised by the anger he heard in Horn’s voice.

  ‘I said I’m in,’ Horn went on, his voice getting louder. ‘So let’s get it over with.’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  9

  The hotel concierge gave Logan and Cahill directions to the police headquarters building and they went out on to the Sixteenth Street Mall to catch one of the free shuttle buses that traversed the mile-long street in both directions. They got on a southbound bus and stepped off at the last stop at the corner of Broadway.

  ‘State Capitol Building is over there at the east end of the park,’ Cahill said, pointing to a grand-looking building with a gold-domed roof as the bus pulled away. ‘We need to go to the west end, behind the City-County building.’

  They walked the short distance to the park and Logan saw another imposing building opposite the Capitol Building, with granite columns and a clock tower above.

  The park itself would have been an impressive sight had it not been for the large numbers of vagrants who called it home. Some lay sprawled in groups under trees drinking alcohol of unknown origin while others wheeled shopping trolleys along the pathways piled high with blankets and the rest of their worldly possessions. Logan saw that some of them wore army issue coats and trousers.

  Cahill surveyed the park in silence.

  ‘It’s worse than it was last time I was here,’ he said eventually.

  They walked until they were past the City-County building and turned left on to Cherokee Street where the police headquarters were situated. Two buildings forming an L-shaped pedestrian plaza, five storeys high and constructed from brown brick. The windows were heavily tinted.

  The two buildings had signs above the entrance doors: one read ‘Administration Building’ and the other ‘Pre-Arraignment Detention Facility’. Logan pointed at the first one and they walked over to the glass doors.

  Inside the foyer of the building was a public desk with two uniformed cops sitting behind bullet-proof glass. Cahill walked over to the desk and Logan wandered around looking at some of the history of the department displayed in glass cases on the walls.

  ‘We’re looking for Detective Jake Hunter,’ Cahill told the sergeant behind the desk.

  ‘Your names?’

  Cahill told him.

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘We might have some information to share.’

  The sergeant had been writing on a pad in front of him and now looked up at Cahill, a vertical line creasing between his eyes. You might have called it a frown but his eyes were devoid of emotion. He was a large man, probably nearing the end of his career, with wispy grey hair and a round face. He wore glasses and did that thing where he looked over the tops of the glasses in a quizzical manner. Vaguely condescending. Like he was talking to a child.

  ‘Is he in?’ Cahill asked. ‘Detective Hunter.’

  The sergeant stared at Cahill and shifted his gaze to Logan as he came up and stood beside Cahill. Logan couldn’t tell how the conversation had gone so far so adopted a non-threatening look and said nothing.

  ‘What kind of information?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘Well, we’re not very sure but it’s about the death of a federal agent.’

  The sergeant paused for a moment to look at them some more. When he was done looking he wrote in his pad, told them to have a seat and picked up the phone on his desk.

  They sat in the seats in the middle of the foyer and watched the sergeant speak into the phone. They couldn’t hear what he was saying from this distance. He put the phone down and waved them over.

  ‘Someone will be down to talk to you shortly,’ he told them.

  ‘We should sit down again?’ Cahill asked.

  ‘If you like.’

  They sat and waited for a half-hour or so before a man in his late twenties wearing a navy suit and with fair, almost blond hair came through a door to the left of the main desk. The man looked at the sergeant who pointed at Logan and Cahill.

  ‘I’m Detective Collins,’ the man said as he came over to where they were sitting. ‘I understand that you’ve got some information for us?’

  He stood there as though he wanted to hear what they had to say quickly and then leave again. Like he was used to dealing with time wasters that way. He hooked his hands into his belt and Logan saw the holster clipped on his right hip as his jacket pulled back.

  Cahill stood.

  ‘It would be better if we spoke in private.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Collins asked.

  ‘It’s kind of sensitive.’

  Collins looked down at Logan, who was still sitting, then back at Cahill.

  ‘Who are you guys?’ he asked.

  Logan sensed that Cahill was going to struggle getting anywhere with this guy if he took his usual approach so he stood to speak instead.

  ‘My name’s Logan Finch,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And this is Alex Cahill.’
r />   Collins shook his hand.

  ‘You’re not from around here.’

  ‘No. I’m a lawyer and we’re here at the request of the wife of a federal agent in connection with his death.’

  Collins tilted his head to the side. He appeared unimpressed by what Logan had said. Probably dealt with lawyers all the time and no doubt had a low opinion of most of them.

  ‘The Feds know about this mission of yours?’

  ‘We’re only asking to speak to Detective Hunter in private for a few minutes. We’d rather not discuss this out here.’

  Collins blinked.

  ‘If you think we’re wasting your time, you can show us the door,’ Cahill added.

  ‘And who are you again?’ Collins asked Cahill.

  ‘He’s a retired US army NCO and former member of your Secret Service.’

  Collins looked at Cahill again for a moment and told them to follow him.

  They went through the same door that Collins had used to come into the reception area and a metal detector beyond that. From there, Collins led them along a narrow corridor to an interview room. Collins held the door open for them and waited till they were seated at the small table in the room.

  ‘Wait here,’ was all he said before closing the door, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.

  ‘At least we got past the first line of defence,’ Logan said. ‘Though I still think we should have spoken to Webb about all of this first. I mean, Tim Stark was his guy. He wasn’t a cop.’

  ‘Let’s see where this takes us. I want to see Hunter’s reaction to all of this.’

  ‘But we’re going to tell Webb after this?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Cahill had a way of saying ‘sure’ that meant: let’s wait and see how this pans out first before we make a decision.

  10

  They waited for around fifteen minutes before the door opened again and Collins came in followed by a slightly older man about Logan’s height with close-cropped dark hair. He wore black trousers and a white shirt with a plain red tie and no jacket. He had a holster on his belt like Collins.

  ‘I’m Detective Hunter,’ he said, extending his hand to shake Logan’s.