Blindside Page 6

  ‘They’ll be flagged.’

  ‘Uh …’

  ‘I kind of want it to get back to us.’

  ‘I get it.’

  Bruce paused.

  ‘You want me to check it out on any, eh, official sites?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. When do you need it?’

  ‘I’ll be back in the office in ten minutes.’

  ‘I’m on it.’

  What Bruce meant by ‘official’ sites was law enforcement sites. And not the publicly available ones. The ones that required hacking. Cahill was wary of that. The firewalls and security systems on those things were good. Bruce was better, but the risk of accidentally tripping up was too great. Even being on such a site was a serious criminal offence.

  Sometimes such an approach was necessary. This time, Cahill thought that staying on the right side of the law would be enough.

  Cahill walked back to the office and straight to Bruce’s room.

  Today’s T-shirt – ZZ Top.

  ‘Old school,’ Cahill said, pointing at the T-shirt.

  Bruce puffed out his chest.

  ‘Best live band I ever saw,’ he said.

  Bruce started playing an air guitar and making a noise with his mouth roughly approximating a ZZ Top riff. Cahill thought he recognised it, though he was no fan.

  ‘“La Grange”?’ he asked.

  Bruce stopped his elaborate air guitar histrionics.

  ‘You the man, boss.’

  Cahill nodded.

  ‘Results?’ he asked.

  Bruce turned to one of five computer monitors in his room and tapped it meaningfully with a finger. There was an archived news story from the States about an FBI investigation several years ago. Stark was mentioned as one of the agents.

  ‘Okay,’ Cahill said. ‘Why are you showing me this?’

  ‘That’s all I can find on the guy,’ Bruce said, sweeping hair behind his ears.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Archives. Old stuff. Nothing recent at all. I’d normally expect something to show up even if it’s a simple Google search, you know. But this is it. I mean, unless your man is a schoolteacher from Manchester with a Facebook page extolling the virtues of bondage?’

  Cahill said nothing.

  ‘Coz that’s all I got,’ Bruce went on. ‘Strictly weirdos and normals.’

  ‘What does that tell you?’

  ‘That there may have been some kind of recent effort to hide your boy’s activity. Law enforcement types usually show up somewhere.’

  Cahill looked around the room. It was exceptionally clean and organised. Most people assumed from Bruce’s external appearance that he was a slob, expecting his workspace to be littered with McDonald’s wrappers and empty Coke cans.

  Nope.

  ‘You want anything official looked at now?’ Bruce asked.

  ‘No. Thanks, Bruce.’

  Cahill went back to his office and slumped in his seat. He stared at the paperwork in front of him but found it hard to concentrate. He knew that his singular nature was both his biggest strength and weakness – his inability to change his focus once he had zeroed in on something.

  And he had zeroed in on Tim Stark now.

  2

  It was after six that night when Irvine and Kenny Armstrong got back to Pitt Street. The sun was falling, painting the sky orange. A streetlight above them buzzed on and off.

  They had been to the three previous crime scenes and taken a tour of the areas where drug dealing was now most prevalent, stopping only for a quick sandwich over lunch. Irvine realised how much things had changed since her days in uniform. It seemed that the territories changed every few years as new dealers and gangs took over.

  There was a note on Irvine’s desk telling her that a uniformed officer had called to identify the girl in the river as Joanna Lewski – pronounced Leff-ski. A Polish immigrant and known prostitute. She showed Armstrong the note.

  ‘That’s one of the uniforms who found the girl today,’ he said, looking at the name on the note. ‘I’ll set up a meeting with them tomorrow. Get the full story.’

  Irvine nodded.

  ‘Have you made a connection between any of the victims?’ she asked.

  Armstrong was sitting across the desk from her. Most of the staff had gone home for the night and the place was nearly empty. Irvine saw a light on in Liam Moore’s room, but the boss was nowhere to be seen. Never was after six.

  Armstrong stretched in his chair.

  ‘Other than the fact that they all died of overdoses and that the drugs were the same, no. Why?’

  Irvine opened the file for the third victim and took out a set of photographs. The first one showed a young man lying curled on a mattress on a floor. His skin was pale, his lips blue. The room he had died in was bare other than a mattress on the floor. It was stained and dimpled where the springs had gone.

  ‘This is probably just my CID brain working overtime, but did you explore the angle that these deaths might not have been random?’

  Armstrong leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. ‘You mean, like, could these people actually have been targets rather than having the bad luck to buy some bad gear?’

  ‘It’s just a thought.’

  He scratched his face.

  ‘I appreciate you guys are going to come at this from the perspective of the drugs,’ Irvine said. ‘Looking for dealers or suppliers or whatever. But maybe there’s another angle, you know. Maybe it’s about who the victims are.’

  ‘That would make it a serial killer?’

  Irvine raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes it would.’

  ‘You start throwing those two words around and it’s going to take this thing on to a whole ’nother level. I mean, Warren wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, for starters, the case would be pulled from him. CID would take over. He likes nothing more than breaking a big case. Helps him when he goes to get budget increases for us. And he’d look like an idiot for not making the connection before. Four deaths is a lot to explain away.’

  ‘I suppose …’

  Irvine flipped through the files, checking the locations of the deaths and anything else that might link them. They were all within a five-mile radius, but that didn’t mean much. Glasgow wasn’t a big city, really. And drugs were prevalent in the deprived council estates, many of them bounding one another. So there was nothing unusual about them being that close.

  Armstrong watched her in silence, content to let her work through it on her own.

  So far as Irvine could tell, there didn’t seem to be a family connection between any of the victims and none of them were reputed to have any gang affiliations.

  Two men: thirty-one and twenty-three.

  One woman: twenty-four.

  And the girl this morning – Joanna. Irvine couldn’t think of her as a woman.

  So young.

  Irvine closed the files and stifled a yawn.

  ‘You should head home,’ Armstrong told her. ‘You’ve done well to get up to speed on all of this in one day. There’s plenty more to do tomorrow.’

  ‘I want to be ready for it.’

  ‘You are. What else is there for you to do today?’

  ‘Just feels like we should do something, you know?’

  ‘Listen, we’re both exhausted. Can’t work at your best like that. And I thought that maybe you’d like to go home.’

  ‘I do. It’s just …’

  ‘What?’

  How much to tell this guy?

  ‘I got divorced not long ago,’ she said. ‘Last year. And I went through … some other stuff. A friend of mine got killed.’

  Armstrong frowned.

  ‘It was a difficult time and I didn’t work much. The boss was good about it, you know.’

  ‘And now you want to make up for lost time. Is that it?’

  ‘Maybe. I just know that since I came back I’ve been dealing with the usual crap this city throws up
on a daily basis. Robberies and fights and everything else. And the one murder on my desk is at a dead end.’

  ‘Hey, I get it,’ Armstrong said. ‘We all feel like that sometimes. But you’re tired. Go get some rest and we can start again tomorrow.’

  Irvine sighed.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, not looking at him.

  ‘Plus, a good sleep, a shower and a shave and I’ll be brand new.’

  He jutted his chin out.

  ‘I need to make a call first,’ Irvine said.

  She stacked the case files on top of one another and Armstrong walked out into the hall to give her some privacy.

  Irvine called Logan. She told him that she’d be late and could he pick Connor up from the childminder. He said sure.

  ‘That your husband?’ Armstrong asked, coming back in from the hall.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you have a kid?’

  Irvine didn’t feel like having a getting-to-know-you conversation right now. Not after what she’d seen today.

  ‘No offence, Kenny. But can we save this till later?’

  He tilted his head as he looked at her and nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘It’s not you.’

  ‘Don’t sweat it.’

  Armstrong pulled his jacket on. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift,’ he said.

  Irvine looked at the new files on her desk.

  Four more deaths. It seemed never ending.

  3

  Logan was waiting for Irvine at his flat, leaning on the door frame. Irvine smiled and gratefully walked into his embrace, breathing deeply of his scent. She heard Ellie playing the piano somewhere inside.

  They went into the hall together, Logan asking how her day had been.

  ‘Depressing and exhilarating in about equal measures.’

  She followed Logan into the living room.

  ‘Ellie,’ he shouted, turning back to the hall. ‘Finish up for tonight, okay?’

  The piano tinkled for another few seconds and stopped.

  Irvine went into the room and saw Connor asleep on the couch, his hair mussed and his top pulled halfway up his back. The TV was on with the sound turned down low.

  ‘How was he?’ she asked.

  ‘Good as always. He followed Ellie around like a pet dog. I think she secretly enjoys the attention.’

  She leaned down and smoothed Connor’s hair back off his forehead, kissed him gently there. One of his hands came up, fluttering where she had kissed him. Irvine felt a wave of emotion hit her and swallowed it down.

  Logan was watching her from the window, leaning back against the sill.

  ‘You want to get home?’ he asked.

  Irvine felt tired, but wanted to get to her place after spending the whole weekend here. As much as she loved being with Logan, she wasn’t ready to live with a man again. Not yet.

  She nodded at him and sat beside Connor, resting a hand on his leg.

  ‘Tough day?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. Not only do I have an unsolved murder on my desk, but I got co-opted into a drug operation. Pulled a teenager out of the river today.’

  He reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  ‘How was your day?’ she asked.

  He told her about the plane crash and that Cahill was making noises about going over to America to kick up a fuss.

  ‘Sounds like Alex.’ She smiled.

  Cahill was growing on her. Slowly.

  Ellie came into the room and stood by the door. Irvine smiled at her and got a smile in return. Their relationship was still a little tentative so Irvine tried to give her space, let her breathe.

  ‘You’re getting good,’ she said to Ellie. ‘I mean, with the piano.’

  ‘My teacher says I should think about drama school or something. I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, sounds good to me.’

  Logan glanced at the guitar on a stand under the window. He didn’t get so much time to play it any more.

  They drove to Irvine’s house and Logan carried Connor inside while Ellie waited in the car. When Connor was in bed, Logan hugged Irvine and said see you soon. Kissed goodnight.

  After soaking in a hot bath, Irvine poured herself a glass of red wine and lay on the couch in her living room flipping through her notes from today. She couldn’t see any connection between the four victims and felt a little foolish for having mentioned it even as a possibility to Armstrong.

  Her eyes got heavy and so she turned off the lights and went to bed. As she lay there, she turned on her side and rested a hand on the space beside her, hoping to feel the warmth that Logan left there when they were together. There was nothing but cold.

  4

  Cahill sat in his study at midnight going through e-mails on a laptop but not seeing them. He gave up and closed the machine, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head.

  His wife Sam came in and sat on the couch.

  ‘You’re not doing anyone any good right now, Alex. I mean, you look like you need a good sleep.’

  He smiled and nodded.

  ‘Thanks, hon. You look great too.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Sam got up and walked round behind Cahill, kissed the top of his head and started massaging his neck. He leaned forward.

  ‘You’re not getting any younger. Maybe it’s time you left the action man stuff to the newer guys?’

  ‘People don’t hire the company, Sam. They hire me. And Tom.’

  ‘You’ve got to let the younger ones take up the slack. Otherwise, who’s going to look after the business when you’re done?’

  He reached up and grabbed her hands, squeezing them lightly.

  The phone rang. Cahill picked it up and said his name.

  ‘Alex, it’s Scott Boston.’

  Cahill sat forward.

  ‘Scott. At last.’

  ‘I was just checking … I mean, how did you get on with Tim Stark? The plane thing, you know?’

  Boston didn’t sound like his usual confident self. His language was hesitant, staccato.

  ‘I’m still working on it.’

  Cahill didn’t want to say too much. Susan Jones had stuck her neck out to give them even the little information she had. It wouldn’t be right to drop her in it.

  ‘Anything I can do?’

  Sam backed away from Cahill and pointed up, telling him she was going to bed. He nodded at her.

  ‘I don’t know, Scott. The last time we spoke I didn’t get much chance to say anything. And you’ve been dodging my calls ever since.’

  Boston laughed. It sounded strained, like he was trying too hard.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I mean, it kind of took me by surprise. Tim and the crash and all.’

  ‘Sure,’ Cahill said, waiting for Boston to say what it was he had called to say.

  ‘I needed to clear some things up before I could say anything.’

  ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘It would be a big favour to me if you could lay off with the crash. I mean, you asking around is making life difficult for a lot of people.’

  ‘Difficult how?’

  Boston sighed.

  ‘You haven’t changed, Alex. You never could leave well enough alone.’

  ‘It’s not in my nature, Scott. I mean, I don’t like getting fed bullshit. Especially by people who I thought were friends.’

  ‘Maybe I deserved that.’

  ‘There’s no maybe about it. Why don’t we start again and you tell me what’s really going on.’

  ‘Don’t push it.’

  Cahill was pissed at that.

  ‘So, what you’re telling me,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level, ‘is that it’s okay for everyone to lie to Melanie Stark about how her husband wasn’t on that plane and let her think he was into something illegal.’

  Boston said nothing. Cahill heard him breathing.

  ‘And you and I both know that Tim Stark was as clean as they come.�
��

  ‘He was,’ Boston agreed.

  ‘So, tell me, Scott. What’s this all about? Why did you fire Tim? Why was he on that plane using a different name?’

  ‘Who told you—’ Boston stopped himself from saying any more.

  ‘You forget I know how all of you guys operate. I’ve been around the block more than most.’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything.’

  ‘But you can tell me to back off, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Scott …’

  ‘Alex, you know me. I’ve always been straight with you, haven’t I?’

  ‘So far as I know, yes. But there’s always a first time.’

  ‘Well, this isn’t that time. Believe me.’

  It was Cahill’s turn to sigh. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ he asked. ‘Riddles?’

  ‘People’s lives are at stake, Alex. You have to leave it alone.’

  Cahill heard the strength of feeling in Boston’s voice. ‘This is nothing to do with the Service, is it?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why are you calling me?’

  ‘I’m the messenger, that’s all.’

  ‘What, they thought it would sound better coming from you?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘And what exactly is the message? I mean, let’s not be coy about it.’

  ‘Fine. You push any harder and life will get difficult.’

  Cahill closed his eyes. ‘What about Melanie?’ he asked.

  ‘You told her he was on the plane? That he’s dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then she knows what she needs to know. For now.’

  ‘Christ, Scott. What’s fair about that?’

  Boston laughed, a harsh sound. ‘When has this kind of thing ever been fair, Alex?’

  Cahill knew that he was right. But it didn’t stop him feeling anger bubble inside.

  ‘Can we rely on you, Alex?’

  Cahill stared out into the night through the windows of his study.

  ‘Alex?’

  ‘I won’t tell Melanie anything else.’

  ‘That’s not exactly what I asked.’

  ‘That’s all I’ve got for you.’

  5

  Cahill went to bed but couldn’t sleep after the call with Boston. He pulled back the covers and swung his feet out of the bed, listening to the steady rise and fall of Sam’s breathing beside him. He turned and put a hand on her shoulder, feeling her skin warm under his fingers. Her breath hitched and went back to its steady rhythm.