Blindside (30 page)

‘Not much use to anyone otherwise.’

Logan put the gun back in its holster and replaced it on the bed.

‘So,’ he said. ‘What’s the plan?’

8

‘Why did you support Hunter when he was pressing Webb to have the SWAT team on standby for this Raines operation tomorrow?’ Logan asked Cahill.

They were sitting at the table in their room with the TV on mute. The guns were still on the bed.

‘You’ve heard that cliché?’ Cahill asked.

‘I’m a lawyer. I’ve heard lots. Which one in particular?’

‘That failing to prepare—’

‘Is preparing to fail. Yeah, I’ve heard that one.’

‘Webb said Horn told them that he was meeting Raines alone, right?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘But if Horn’s story is true, he’s been thinking about coming in for a while now. And he deliberately messed up the drug cocktail to draw attention to their operation.’

‘You mean killing people? There are other ways.’

‘You’re missing the point, Logan.’

‘I get your point. I was making a different one. What you mean is that his behaviour might have rung an alarm with Raines. Who obviously isn’t stupid.’

‘Correct.’

‘So Raines might be suspicious of Horn now and not tell him everything.’

‘Go on.’

‘Which means we should be ready for him coming to the meeting with back-up.’

‘I knew all that training you’ve been getting wouldn’t go to waste.’

‘Trouble is, I don’t think that Webb or Grange were buying into what you were telling them. Why else would the SWAT team be on standby at the police HQ instead of on site?’

‘A mixture of institutional arrogance – which is standard for the Feds from what I can gather – and a desire to keep it low key. They figure if Raines doesn’t see an army coming for him his reaction might be less …’

‘Extreme?’

‘Good word. Yes.’

‘What’s your take on that? I mean, Hunter was definitely on your side.’

‘According to what you read about that Fed bank robbery job he got caught up in, he’s got reason to be cautious. Every new screw-up by the Feds that gets someone killed demonstrates a certain resistance to anyone’s perspective but their own.’

‘I think Grange said no because it was the opposite of what you said.’

‘You might be right. Great tactical thinking, huh?’

Logan smiled, though the knot of tension in his stomach was tightening with each minute that passed. He glanced back at the guns.

‘You know, you can still say no,’ Cahill said, seeing the anxiety in Logan’s face. ‘And I’ll go it alone.’

Logan stood and walked to the window, looking out into the city.

‘Tell me what we’re going to do,’ Logan said.

He turned to Cahill and leaned back against the window sill.

‘Webb and Grange will be across the street in the building opposite the diner where Raines will meet Horn. It’s a three-storey residential apartment building. They’ll put the occupants of the second-floor apartment at the front up in a hotel and use that as their forward command post. They’ll have comms links to their agents on the ground and to the SWAT team.’

‘Hunter and Collins will be in the diner at separate tables,’ Logan added. ‘Dressed like regular guys getting breakfast before going to work.’

‘Correct. There will be two female agents and a male agent in there also posing as the owner and serving staff.’

‘No civilians?’

‘Never. Too risky.’

‘What about ordinary customers. How do they deal with them?’

‘Turn them away at the door. Make up some story about why they can’t serve anyone else. Regular people will swallow anything if you say it with enough conviction.’

‘We’re regular people.’

Cahill looked blankly at him.

‘Never mind,’ Logan said. ‘So, that’s a total of five law enforcement personnel in the diner and two across the street.’

‘Plus Ruiz and Martinez in a car around the corner on Seventeenth Street.’

‘And we’re just going to walk right into the middle of this operation and order breakfast.’

‘While wearing our illegal weapons.’

‘I forgot that part.’

Logan shook his head.

‘The Feds are going to go mental when they see us in there, so how do we get past the first line of defence? I mean, won’t they turn us away as well?’

‘They know me well enough by now and won’t risk compromising the operation by getting us out of there.’

‘Sounds easy.’

‘It’s not. And you stay as far out of harm’s way as possible if Raines decides to light it up, okay.’

Logan nodded.

‘Leave that shit to me.’

‘You can count on it.’

‘If you have to put him down, though …’

‘I’ve done it before.’

9

They took Armstrong’s car to the flat in the East End occupied by the two prostitutes Pope had identified. Armstrong drove out of the city centre along Duke Street while Irvine stared at the old photograph of Butler, trying to see something in his eyes to explain everything that he had done. But it was just a digital facsimile of the man: coloured ink arranged by a computer on glossy paper. The more she stared at it, the less real it became. She put the photograph in the door pocket and looked ahead.

‘How did it go with the FBI?’ she asked.

Armstrong glanced at her then back at the road.

‘Not much for us to tell them. We don’t have anything to go on with this guy Butler yet.’

‘What about them?’

‘They were cagey about giving away too much. All they said was that they were close and planning for an operation.’

‘An operation?’

‘They didn’t elaborate.’

‘We’re co-operating with each other, right?’

‘As much as we can at this point. But they’ll want to keep it to themselves.’

‘You mean take all the credit.’

‘I suppose.’

They fell into silence again. Irvine checked her watch. It was around nine. She thought that the two prostitutes would likely be asleep after a long night shift. Might be good to catch them a little off guard. Maybe they would say something that ordinarily they would try to hide, whether out of fear or a general mistrust of the police.

‘I need to tell you something,’ Irvine said.

Armstrong didn’t look at her or say anything.

‘About how I got Butler’s name.’

‘I was wondering.’

She took a quick breath.

‘Frank Parker told me.’

She saw his fingers tighten on the steering wheel, the skin stretching and turning white.

‘He came to my house last night.’

This time Armstrong turned to look at her. There was something hard in his eyes.

‘There was nothing to it,’ Irvine said quickly. ‘He wanted to give me information.’

‘Such a gentleman.’

‘Kenny—’

‘He’ll want something in return eventually. You know that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine. It’s between you and him. Nothing to do with me. But watch your back.’

She sensed that her interaction with Parker both at the restaurant and last night had changed her relationship with Armstrong. Had soured it for him. He would never be able to view anything Parker did objectively, no matter how positive it might be for this case. There was nothing she could do about that.

‘This case will be over soon,’ he said. ‘Now that we know who Butler is, he can’t stay hidden for ever.’

Unspoken:
and we won’t have to be partners any more
.

Irvine didn’t regret how she had dealt with Parker: it was part of the job. Armstrong would have to carry his own personal demons.

10

Four men occupied the seats in the twin cab pick-up truck. A heavy-duty canvas sheet was strapped over the truck bed, covering two automatic rifles and four handguns. Behind the truck was a nondescript, five-year-old sedan. There were two men in the front seats with another two automatic rifles in a bag in the trunk of the car.

The six men travelled silently in the tension that builds before a battle. They were all veterans and used to the stress of such situations. It did not matter to them that their adversaries this time would be their fellow countrymen and officers of the Federal authorities.

These men were now on the other side of the line. And the pay-off that awaited all of them was all that mattered now. No one was going to take that away from them. Not one of their own and not the FBI.

The enemy was the enemy, no matter what flag they operated under.

The cars moved on through the night, ten miles from Denver city centre.

11

The flat was at the top right of a block of four. It was a familiar local authority property probably built sometime in the fifties or sixties. The entry door was located at ground-floor level beside the door for the lower flat. The stairs up to the first floor were internal.

Armstrong pulled up to the kerb outside the block and switched the engine off. Irvine looked up at the windows of the flat facing the street.

‘Curtains closed,’ she said.

‘Maybe no one’s home.’

‘Probably still asleep. Let’s go wake them up?’

Two young children, no older than seven or eight, were playing alone in the front garden of the neighbouring house on the left. Irvine smiled at one of them and got a two-fingered salute in reply.

‘Nice,’ she said under her breath.

Irvine stood behind Armstrong as he knocked on the door of the flat. They waited for thirty seconds and Armstrong tried again – harder this time. Third time, he banged with his fist until they heard movement on the stairs inside. A woman’s voice, groggy from drugs or sleep or something else, asked who was there.

‘Police,’ Armstrong said. ‘We need to speak to you.’

There was the sound of the woman ascending the stairs and a muffled
conversation with someone. They couldn’t make out the voices from behind the closed door.

Armstrong turned to look at Irvine and she raised her eyebrows at him.

‘Probably trying to work out where to hide their gear,’ he told her, turning back to hammer on the door again.

They heard the lock being fiddled with and the door swung inwards. A woman of about twenty stood in the lower hall in a dirty bathrobe. Her eyes were hooded and her jaw muscles slack.

‘Come on,’ Armstrong said, stepping into the hall and taking the woman by the elbow to lead her upstairs.

Irvine followed, smelling ripe body odour and marijuana smoke. The carpet on the stairs was worn at the edges and threadbare. It looked like one of those patterned efforts that had been popular thirty years ago.

Armstrong reached the top of the stairs with the woman and pushed at the door leading to the hall inside the flat. He went through the door. Irvine was two steps below him when the first gunshot sounded.

The brain takes a little while to react when encountering something unexpected. Irvine stopped where she was at the sound of the shot.

Another one sounded.

A woman screamed.

Another shot.

Irvine ran up and into the hallway.

12

The woman who had answered the door was slumped on the floor with her back against the wall. Her eyelids fluttered. The wall above her was streaked with blood and matter where she had slid down it. An entry wound below her right collar bone pumped blood out, soaking the front of her robe.

Armstrong was not in the hall.

The door at the end of the hall opened and another woman of about the same age came out of the bathroom. She was wearing panties only. She saw Irvine kneeling by the other woman. Irvine wasn’t sure what her eyes registered, but the woman stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door.

‘Kenny,’ Irvine shouted.

Armstrong’s hand appeared out of the first doorway on Irvine’s right. She ran into the room at a crouch.

Armstrong was in a bedroom in a similar position as the woman out in the hall, sitting inside the door with his back against the wall. He raised his other hand and Irvine saw that his pinkie and the finger next to it were missing. Ragged stumps leaked blood. He was in shock, his skin pale.

Irvine pulled a pillow from the bed, took the cover off and wrapped it tight around his wound, tying it as securely as she could. The material was immediately soaked in blood.

She put her hands on his cheeks.

‘Butler?’ she asked.

Armstrong closed his eyes. She shook him and they opened again.

‘Kenny. Was it him?’

He shook his head. Irvine wasn’t sure if he was telling her no or that he didn’t know. Not that it mattered. There was someone in the flat with a gun.

Irvine turned and crouched in the doorway. She looked quickly out into the hall. The woman was now unconscious. Otherwise, it was empty.

She pulled her phone from her bag, dialled nine nine nine and explained the situation to the operator as quickly as she could.

‘I need an armed response team here now,’ she said.

The operator was good. Most of them were. She got right on it and kept Irvine on the line until she could confirm that the message had been relayed and would be actioned.

‘Do you want to stay on the line, Detective?’ the operator asked.

‘Yes. I’ll keep it open. That way you’ll have a record of anything that happens. But I don’t want to talk any more.’

Irvine set the phone against the open door so that the sounds from within the house would be heard over the line.

She took a breath and shouted, ‘Jack Butler!’

No reply.

‘I’m a police officer. There is an armed response vehicle on its way here now.’

She wasn’t sure what else to say so stayed quiet. There was no use trying to talk him out of any further violence. He was already in line to be charged with multiple murders.

A door opened down the hall and footsteps sounded, running towards Irvine’s position. She moved back from the door, tripped over Armstrong’s outstretched legs and fell on to her behind as the footsteps reached the door to the bedroom.

13

The woman from the bathroom hurtled past the door, still dressed in her panties and nothing else. Irvine heard her go down the stairs and out the front door where she started to scream incoherently.