15
Logan looked at Ruiz and Martinez when his phone rang. He took it from his pocket to turn it off and saw that it was Irvine calling.
‘Hey,’ she said when he answered the phone. ‘It’s me.’
‘Becky? What time is it there?’
‘Late. Or maybe it’s early. Depends on how you look at it.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I can’t sleep. This case I’m working on, you know. So I thought I’d call.’
‘I’m glad you did.’
‘What you up to? Alex keeping you out of trouble?’
‘Uh, not really. Believe it or not I’m sitting in the Denver field office of the FBI.’
‘What?’
‘Long story. And before that we were at the police headquarters.’
‘Sounds like a typical Alex Cahill holiday plan.’
Logan laughed.
‘Tell you about it when I get back. But what’s up with your case?’
‘I don’t know. It was a tough day. We were at a scene. Multiple deaths. One was a boy, just a teenager.’
‘Sounds bad.’
‘It was. I hate this drug stuff. Give me a robbery any day.’
Drug stuff.
‘But I’m already feeling better,’ Irvine went on. ‘I mean, talking to you.’
Logan was only half listening. The other part of his mind was rewinding to an earlier conversation with her. Something about heroin overdoses that CID was asked to look at. He stood and walked out into the reception area out of earshot of the agents.
‘You said something before,’ he said to her. ‘About drug-related deaths.’
‘Yeah, it’s this case. The thing today. Why?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe nothing, but the reason we’re here, at the FBI, is kind of similar.’
‘What?’
‘I guess I’m not making much sense. Sorry. Must be the jet lag.’
‘Similar to what?’
‘I mean, drug overdoses. They’ve had a few here as well. Seems like there’s something going on with ex-soldiers.’
There was a pause.
‘Becky …’
‘Somebody told me today that there are former soldiers involved in my case. You remember the murder I told you about – the one in the newspapers? Guy got shot dead in a Range Rover. Andrew Johnson. He’s one of them. Not that the guy who told me is all that reliable a source and I haven’t had a chance to check it out yet.’
Logan sat at the receptionist’s chair and grabbed a pen, twisting it in his free hand.
‘You’re jet-lagged and I’m up in the middle of the night,’ Irvine laughed. ‘We’re making a lot of sense.’
Logan put the pen down and ran his hand up, through his hair. He leaned back in the chair as the female agent came out into the reception area. She glanced at him as she walked past and went out to the elevators.
‘Where’s Alex?’ Irvine asked.
‘He’s locked in with the FBI chiefs and the cops right now talking about this stuff.’
‘How come you’re excluded?’
‘Nobody likes lawyers.’
‘I kind of like this one.’
He smiled. ‘Nice of you to say.’
‘Listen, I’m going to go back to bed. See if I can’t get some sleep before the alarm goes off. I expect I’ll be up to my neck in paperwork tomorrow. It’ll be a nightmare.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you when I get back.’
Irvine sat the phone handset down on the kitchen table and sipped at a cup of tea. It was comforting in the middle of the night when the darkest kind of man was still out there.
She thought about Frank Parker and his son. They were so secure in their place in the world. No matter how reasonable Parker seemed, or how desperately he wanted to be considered some kind of old-fashioned gentleman, he still ruled by violence. People died on his say. He sold drugs that ruined lives. And what now?
Soldiers turned drug dealers shot in the head.
People laundering drug money tortured and killed in their own homes.
Parker had shaken her with his visit. No doubt that had been part of his strategy too. Letting her know that it didn’t matter that she was a cop – he could still get to her whenever he wanted to. Business would be done on his terms.
She drained her cup, rinsed it in the sink and went upstairs to her room. She used to love getting into bed and pulling the quilt up to her chin, safe in the womb-like warmth. But tonight she couldn’t get warm, the cold ingrained in her bones.
And when she closed her eyes all she could see were the faces of the dead.