Silent Night

THIRTY FOUR

A couple of minutes later, the two detectives were sitting across from each other at a table on the second floor in the coffee shop. Despite the lateness of the hour there were still some people scattered around, most of them engaged in either quiet conversation or tapping away on netbooks. Archer knew most of these places shut at 10pm, but given the winter season they must have pushed it back by an hour or so to capitalise on the extra business. He and Josh had both ordered a drink and a quick bite. They’d been on the go all day, no time to grab anything to eat, and the old army adage held water. Whenever there’s a break in battle eat something. You never know when you’ll get the chance again.

‘I still don’t believe this,’ Josh said, biting into a Danish and wiping some icing from the corner of his mouth. ‘That was one nasty son of a bitch. I thought he was a slam dunk.’

Archer shrugged, taking a bite from an oatmeal cookie. ‘His alibi checked out. Nothing we can do.’

‘And now Jacobs is dead. You catch the way Sway was getting at Marquez? Racist a*shole.’

‘Our profile of him as the shooter was purely based on Peterson’s assumptions. Hendricks called in and said there’re about thirty of them on that estate and they’re coming and going all the time. Any one of them could have pulled the trigger. Until we find a murder weapon or a witness, this is all just a guessing game.’

‘So why don’t we bring them all in?’

‘Two reasons. ATF has jurisdiction. We move when they say we move. Catching Jacobs’ killer isn’t the priority here. The virus is. And also, no one has any idea where Rourke is. We can’t arrest him if we can’t find him. And if we arrest his entire gang, he might disappear for good.’

‘But you heard the call Jacobs took at the Bureau. We just heard Sway talk. They had the same accent.’

‘He had an accent. And he didn’t mention the virus during the call. It’s all hearsay. It would never hold up.’

Josh considered this, looking down at his cup of coffee. ‘Shit, you’re right.’

Pause.

‘But that son of a bitch knows something.’

‘But he also now knows we’re onto him. If he’s got half a brain cell, he’ll leave town immediately with the rest of his crew.’

‘That’s going to screw up ATF’s operation.’

‘Or it might help it.’

‘How?’

‘Sway’s not going to hang around. He knows we’re breathing down his neck. And any man who’s under pressure and in a rush is much more likely to make a mistake.’

Josh’s phone rang. He was mid-mouthful of Danish, but grabbed the phone and answered it.

Pause.

‘Yeah, I’m with Arch,’ he said. ‘We’re still at the coffee shop.’ As he spoke, Archer put the remaining piece of cookie in his mouth, then picked up his tea and leaned back, considering the situation.

Josh was right. Sway was a home run. He ticked all the boxes, fit the profile perfectly. It was clear from his dismissive attitude towards Josh and Marquez that he had no time for anyone not white Caucasian. But he was here at the time of the shooting. It was on camera and an eye witness backed it up. It was a rock-solid alibi. He couldn’t have fired the rifle. Which meant somewhere, they’d missed something. They needed to go back and reconsider the evidence. Adjust their train of thought.

There was an answer here.

They just had to find it.

Josh ended the call. ‘That was Marquez. They let Sway go. CSU are still trying to pinpoint exactly where the bullet came from. No one saw a muzzle flash and no one heard the shot.’

‘The rifle must have had a silencer.’

Josh finished his Danish and wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘So what now?’

‘We forget about Jacobs and pray that we get a lead at the campsite.’

Silence followed. The Starbucks had music playing; considering the hectic day they’d had so far the normality of the atmosphere was welcome. A moment of calm in the eye of a storm. Archer looked around at the other customers. They had no idea what was going on right now and the potential danger they were all in. He thought back to this morning. Seeing Katic off for the last time. It didn’t even feel like the same day. He ran through everything that had happened since watching her taxi leave. The initial briefing. The ride into Manhattan. Peter Flood’s suicide. Macy’s. The Seaport. The house. Kyle Gunnar. Tonic. He reached up and felt his nose gently. It was sore as hell.

‘She got you good,’ Josh said, watching him. ‘You and Kruger look like twins.’

Archer shot him a look and he thought back to the fight in the club. ‘Thanks for your help by the way. I thought they had me.’

‘No problem. Hell of a day, right?’

‘Yeah. Thank God we’ve got Shepherd back.’

There was a pause. Archer thought for a moment.

‘What?’ Josh asked.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Shoot.’

‘Why did Shepherd take time off?’

Josh’s expression changed. He looked across the table at Archer, instantly serious.

‘You think I know?’

‘You and him go back a long way.’

Josh watched Archer closely. A long moment followed. Then he nodded.

‘This stays here. Understand?’

‘Of course.’

‘At the end of October, Shepherd was asleep in bed with his wife, middle of the night. Something woke him up. He heard a noise from downstairs. He was burgled at the beginning of the year so he thought they’d come back for another slice. He pulled his nine and crept out. None of the lights were on in the house. He went downstairs and saw a figure dressed in black, holding a gun. Shepherd shot him twice in the chest. Killed him on the spot.’

Josh looked down.

‘Turned out the guy was his son.’

Archer’s mouth opened. ‘What?’

‘He’d snuck out to go see his girl. The gun in his hand was one of his brother’s toys that the kid had left on the rug. He’d picked it up off the floor to put it away and then Shepherd had appeared and put two in his chest. He was only eighteen.’

‘Jesus Christ. Shepherd killed his own son?’

‘That’s why he took the time off. That’s why he hasn’t been the same since he got back.’

Archer’s mouth was open in shock. He couldn’t believe it.

‘How’s his wife?’

‘She hasn’t spoken to him for weeks. She kicked him out of the house. He’s been staying with Hendricks.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah,’ Josh said. ‘Hell of a thing. Man tries to defend his home, ends up killing his own boy.’

With that the conversation ceased, Archer still shocked at the revelation. Both men sat there in silence.

Then Josh shot his cuff and checked his watch. ‘We should get back downtown.’

‘OK. I’ll be a few minutes behind.’

‘Where you going?’

‘We need a lead. Something more than the campsite.’

‘So where else are you gonna find one?’

‘We never checked out Flood Microbiology, did we?’

Josh thought for a moment. ‘No. We didn’t.’

‘I want to take another look around the lab. See if there’s anything we missed.’

Josh nodded and drained his coffee. ‘Want me to give you a lift?’

Archer shook his head.

‘I’ll walk. Need to clear my head anyway.’



‘Hey! Look who it is!’

Peterson grinned as he walked onto the industrial estate, a taxi behind him pulling away and speeding off into the night. A bonfire was going in the centre of the area, thrash metal coming out of some speakers, bottles of liquor and cans of beer being passed around. Three of the guys walked towards him, shaking his hand one by one. The man in the middle was one of his two companions from the bar in Hoboken.

‘You crazy son of a bitch,’ he said. ‘How the hell did you get them to let you out?’

‘My girl posted bail,’ Peterson said, with a grin. ‘Arraignment is in a month.’

The trio laughed, two of them patting him on the back.

‘C’mon, dumbass. Let’s get you a beer.’

Peterson walked off with the trio towards the main campsite. Behind the bonfire, the doors to one of the meth caravans opened. A big bearded guy stepped out; he pulled down his mask, then grabbed a can of Bud and took a swig.

‘Idiots,’ the man beside Peterson said. ‘Cooking product next to our campfire. Hey!’

The big guy looked over at him.

‘You want to take that shit somewhere else?’

The cooker gave him the finger and drank some more beer.

During this exchange, Peterson glanced over his shoulder.

But all he saw were old abandoned buildings and dark forestry beyond.



‘You hearing this, OK, Sergeant?’ came Faison’s voice quietly over the radio.

Sixty yards from the main campsite, hidden in the shadows of the hedge-growth with the members of his team, Hendricks scooped up his radio and answered.

‘Copy that,’ he said quietly. ‘Loud and clear.’

Peterson was wearing a small, imperceptible sticky mic tucked away under his collar. From now on they could hear every word he was saying down there. One of Shepherd’s people had just contacted them to report that the British lawyer had been shot dead at the nightclub before the trade took place. Someone took him out with a rifle. They’d arrested Finn Sway who’d been found near the scene but his alibi had checked out and they’d released him. Shep had wanted to keep him in custody regardless but given that this was an ATF operation, Faison ultimately called the shots. He’d requested that they let Sway go. And so he had.

Hendricks had agreed with that decision. He knew people like Sway. Even if he didn’t kill Jacobs himself, he would have been implicated. And he was involved with this last vial of the virus somehow. Hendricks had heard the briefing and it all made sense.

Looking down at the camp, his eyes narrowed in anticipation. Now, Sway would be twitched knowing the NYPD was up his ass.

All they had to do now was sit back and wait for him and his crew to make a mistake.