Blindside (17 page)

So much for the killer smile.

‘Let me know tomorrow morning how you’re getting on?’ Irvine said.

Murphy nodded, turned and walked away without saying anything else.

‘That was … helpful,’ Armstrong said.

Irvine watched Murphy pull open the door to the stairwell at the far end of the open plan area.

‘Actually, he is very good,’ she said.

Irvine looked at Armstrong, caught him staring at the injured side of her face. Realised that the pain was starting up again. She put her hand against her face and felt the swelling.

‘I don’t think we’re going to accomplish much more today, do you?’ Armstrong asked.

She knew where he was going with this.

‘Before you say anything, I’m fine.’

‘I’m not planning on contradicting you on that.’

‘But you
are
about to suggest that maybe I should go home early. After all I’ve been through.’

She made quotation signs with her fingers as she said the last sentence. Remembered someone else who did that – Cahill. It was a sign that his particular brand of rough charm was starting to work on her.

‘Something like that. We can pick up with him tomorrow,’ he said, nodding his head to the side in the direction Murphy had gone.

‘What about the rental agency for the accountants?’

She swivelled in her seat and lifted the card from her desk. ‘We could go and talk to them.’

Armstrong took the card from her. ‘I’ll do that. I’m pretty sure I won’t get attacked in their swanky office.’

Irvine narrowed her eyes at him, drummed her fingers on the desk.

‘It would give me a chance to pick up Connor early from the childminder’s, I suppose,’ she said.

‘Connor’s your son.’

She nodded, though he hadn’t asked it as a question.

‘So go. Do it. Take a couple of hours off and swallow some painkillers.’

At home, Irvine made Connor his favourite dinner of spaghetti with cheese sauce and gave him a bath after watching a Scooby Doo DVD. He loved Scooby Doo. Maybe as much as she did.

She let him splash around in the bath with his toys before taking him to his room and reading him a few pages of
Winnie-the-Pooh
. He listened rapt as she told him about Pooh’s and Piglet’s not-so-brilliant plan to kidnap Roo. She found herself vaguely disturbed – thinking that it was a little too much like a child abduction plot. Then Kanga gave Piglet a cold bath for his troubles. Order restored to the Hundred Acre Wood.

Crime and punishment.

If only it was that easy in reality.

After Connor was settled in bed, Irvine checked her mobile, hoping that Logan had called. He had not.

‘Probably still in the air,’ she told herself.

She ran a bath and looked in the mirror at the ever-expanding mass of black and purple bruising that seemed to be spreading across her face.

Undressing in the bathroom and leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor, she slipped into the hot water and dipped her head, soaking her hair and pushing it back. After that she doused a facecloth with cold water from the tap, put it over her face and lay back, trying hard not to remember the fear she felt back in Suzie Murray’s building as the man who might have killed Joanna Lewski came at her.

6

Descending into Denver International Airport, Logan stared out of the window of the 747 jet at the vast expanse of the Great Plains. He knew that the city sat in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains and was surprised at how flat the land was.

Cahill was still dozing in the seat next to him. In fact, he’d slept for almost half of the flight while Logan tossed and turned for an hour before giving up on sleep and watching two movies and some episodes of
Seinfeld
.

The terminal building was visible on the left as they cruised in to land: a series of white peaks looking like snow-covered mountains. It was a unique design for an airport. Logan remembered Cahill telling him a while back that the roof had partially collapsed under the weight of snow one year.

The big plane touched down and the pilot engaged reverse thrust. Logan felt himself slide forward on the leather of his seat. Cahill stirred and opened his eyes, blinking away the residual sleep.

‘We there yet?’ he asked, smiling.

Logan tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. He rubbed at his own eyes and felt the early morning start beginning to wear him down. His watch was still on UK time and it showed just after ten at night, totally at odds with the bright sunshine outside.

‘What’s the time difference?’ Logan asked Cahill.

‘Seven hours.’

Logan fiddled with his watch until he got it to three. He stretched and yawned as the plane slowed and turned towards the terminal.

‘Best way to beat the jet lag is to try to get acclimatised now. Stay awake as long as you can.’

Logan nodded, knew he was right. He also knew that he was going to struggle to make it much past dinner.

‘Trouble with this place,’ Cahill went on, ‘is you’ve got the altitude to adjust to as well. You’ll probably feel nauseous for a day or two till your body gets used to the thin air.’

‘Great.’

Cahill clapped a hand on his shoulder and unbuckled his seatbelt. The plane was still moving. Logan had a thing about keeping his belt fastened till the light went off. Cahill was not so much one for the rules. He stood and opened the overhead luggage space, drawing a look from one of the female stewards at the front of the cabin. He smiled at her sheepishly, a look Logan guessed he’d perfected over many years. The woman shook her head and smiled. The benefits of looking a bit like Bob Redford.

All his friends call him Bob.

They trooped off the plane and walked with the other passengers through a series of long corridors. Logan noticed a lot of Native American images on the walls and heard chanted music. He asked Cahill what it was about.

‘American guilt. Like all this makes up for everything that was done to the native population. You’ll see when we get into town that a lot of the streets are named after tribes as well. Champa, Arapahoe and the like.’

The arrivals hall was like any other place: everyone was tired and desperate to get to their end destination. Logan was glad that they had packed carry-on luggage only as they walked towards the immigration lines.

‘This is where we find out’, Cahill said, ‘if we are persons of interest.’ He made quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

‘Nice euphemism,’ Logan said.

‘You ready to be locked away in a room for several hours?’

‘Not really. Unless there’s a couch I can crash on.’

‘There will be a floor. Beyond that, who can say.’

‘Look forward to it.’

There were separate queues for US citizens and foreign nationals so Logan and Cahill split up and waited in line. Logan looked across at Cahill and saw that he would be at the desk before Cahill.

He stood nervously behind the white line, watching as a German family in front of him went through the process: the parents having their fingerprints scanned and recorded digitally. The young man behind the desk wore a navy blue uniform with Department of Homeland Security insignia and a sidearm in a belt holster. His shirt was tight on his muscular frame.

When the family was done, the officer waved Logan forward. Logan glanced quickly over at the US queue and saw that Cahill was third in line.

‘Afternoon, sir,’ the officer said as Logan handed over his passport.

The name badge pinned to his shirt read ‘Whitaker’.

He looked at the passport and up at Logan. ‘What brings you to Denver, sir?’

Unfailingly polite.

‘I’m here with a friend. He’s over here to see some family.’

Whitaker looked at the line of people behind Logan.

‘He’s an American citizen,’ Logan said. ‘He’s in that line.’

Whitaker nodded and tapped something on the keyboard in front of him. He looked at a monitor screen hidden from Logan’s view under the desk. After a moment he asked Logan to register his fingerprints on the digital scanner. Logan did what he was asked, noticing that the officer had kept hold of his passport. He tapped some more on the keyboard while Logan went through the fingerprint process.

When he was done, Logan looked over again at Cahill and saw that he was now at the immigration desk as well.

Whitaker handed Logan his passport.

‘Welcome to Denver, sir. Have a nice stay.’

Logan smiled and said thanks, his heart beating hard enough to bruise itself against his ribcage.

He walked past the desk and over towards the US citizens desk to wait for Cahill. When he got there, Cahill looked over and winked. Logan was amazed that he looked so calm.

Logan went to the far wall and leaned against it, propping his bag up and closing his eyes. He felt exhausted, but knew Cahill was right about beating the jet lag. He couldn’t afford to go to sleep now – or in the next few hours.

When he opened his eyes, Cahill was at the immigration desk. The officer was speaking into a radio mike attached to his shirt. Logan came off the wall and felt his pulse start to accelerate again. What if they took Cahill and left him? He didn’t know much about US law – had visions of Cahill being transported to Guantanamo Bay in an orange jumpsuit and made to sit on the ground outside all day with a bag over his head.

But the officer finished his radio conversation, looked at Cahill and smiled before handing over his passport.

‘See,’ Cahill said as he walked up to Logan. ‘Piece of cake.’

‘I’m glad. Orange isn’t your colour.’

Cahill frowned, not understanding.

‘Never mind,’ Logan said, grabbing the handle of his bag. ‘Let’s get out of here before they change their minds.’

7

There was more Native American art on the walls of the main terminal building when they came out of the customs hall. Cahill pointed to a sign suspended above them indicating the way out.

‘Let’s go find a cab,’ he said.

Logan nodded and followed after Cahill. They went down a short, wide corridor to automatic doors leading out of the terminal concourse. Logan was suddenly aware of two DHS uniformed officers behind them. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt as if they were being shadowed by the two men.

‘Are we being followed?’ he asked Cahill.

‘Yeah. You just noticed?’

‘For how long?’

‘Since we left the immigration desks.’

‘But why didn’t they detain us there? I mean, wouldn’t that have made more sense?’

‘Maybe they want to wait. See what we’re going to get up to.’

‘You don’t believe that.’

Ahead of them, a dark car pulled up outside the exit doors.

‘No, I don’t,’ Cahill answered after a pause.

‘So what’s up?’

‘I reckon it’s the FBI that is involved with this thing with Tim. So the
DHS guys are probably just keeping an eye on us until the Feds show up. They’ll want to take us to the local field office rather than get stuck out here. That’s their comfort zone.’

The door of the car facing the terminal opened and a Hispanic man in his early thirties got out. He was wearing a dark suit. Another man got out of the other side of the car. They both had dark hair parted neatly on the side.

‘And here they are,’ Cahill said.

The men walked forward as Cahill and Logan stepped through the automatic doors. Logan could see the flat expanse of the land beyond the airport, with the sun still high in the clear sky. The air was pleasant, but with an underlying chill as the day wore on. Snow was visible on the Rocky Mountains to the west.

Logan turned to look for the DHS officers and saw them standing inside the doors.

‘Mr Cahill?’ one of the suits asked, stepping up to within a few feet of them.

‘That’s me.’

‘You must be Mr Finch.’

Logan nodded.

The man reached into his jacket and took out a leather wallet. He showed his identification.

‘I’m Special Agent Martinez and this is Special Agent Ruiz. We’re with the FBI.’

‘You don’t say,’ Cahill said.

Martinez cocked his head to one side, like he didn’t understand what Cahill had said.

‘Would you come with us, please?’

Ruiz opened the rear door of the car.

‘What’s this about?’ Logan asked, stepping in front of Cahill. ‘I mean, we’re not under arrest, are we?’

Martinez looked at Logan, then at Ruiz.

‘No, sir,’ Ruiz said.

‘We’re hoping you could help us with our inquiries,’ Martinez said, turning back to face them.

Cahill stayed quiet, content for Logan to take the lead.

‘Can you tell us anything else?’

‘We can speak more comfortably at our office in town, sir.’

‘I’m a lawyer and I’d prefer to know what this is about before I get into that car.’

Ruiz spoke again and Logan began to wonder if he was the more senior of the two agents, even though Martinez had taken the lead initially.

‘I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to discuss that with you right now, sir. But I’m sure it will all be clearer when we get to the office.’

Cahill looked at Logan and shrugged: it’s up to you.

‘We’re not under arrest?’ Logan asked Ruiz.

‘No, sir.’

‘And you have no plans to send us back the way we came on the first available flight?’

‘That’s correct, sir. You’re welcome to stay here. Mr Cahill is a US citizen after all.’

‘You just want to ask us some questions about Tim Stark?’

That got a reaction. Martinez drew in his breath sharply and stared at Logan.

‘No one said that.’

‘But that’s what it’s about, right?’

‘As I said, sir,’ Ruiz interrupted, an edge in his voice like he was annoyed with his partner for reacting. ‘We can go over everything in town.’

‘I guess we could do that.’

Cahill took his bag from over his shoulder and held it out to Martinez.

‘Would you mind?’ he said.

Martinez hesitated and took the bag. Logan left his on the concrete and followed Cahill past Martinez and into the back of the car. He looked up to see Martinez set his mouth in a thin line before picking up his bag and heading to the back of the car. He could’ve sworn that Ruiz smiled a little before he closed the door.