False Witness (John Steel series Book 3) (9 page)

“So, that’s the limey everyone is talking about?” Bennett asked as McCall watched Steel disappear to do God knows what.

“You mean is that the right royal pain in my ass?” she said bitterly. “Yes, that’s him.”

Bennett grinned and stuck a matchstick in his mouth. “Huh, well he sure don’t look like much to me.”

McCall turned towards him with a curious look on her face. “Oh believe me, Detective, you have no idea how deceptive looks can be.” She began to head for the door then stopped. “And remember one thing, Carl. Don’t ever piss him off, or you may not live to regret it.” McCall left, leaving Bennett laughing at her statement.

“Oh yeah, very funny, McCall! I’m shaking in my shoes!” Bennett shouted out after her.

Samantha McCall headed back to her car with a longing to drink that glass of wine. A chilling breeze howled down the narrow streets like some demonic hound, carrying with it whatever could be caught up in it.

There wasn’t much McCall could do now. She would have to wait until Tina had carried out her examination, and besides if she had hung around at the scene, she would only have got in the way of CSU. McCall stopped and looked back at the window. Bennett was looking out across the street below at something, but it wasn’t her.

*

Steel stopped and put on his full-length wool and leather trench coat. He pulled the high leather collar up tight around his neck so it almost covered his ears.

He looked around in time to see McCall speed off in her 1966 Mustang, the tail lights disappearing into the night. He could feel Bennett’s eyes fixed on him almost in wonderment, he could almost feel the man’s question as if it was being beamed to him telepathically: “Who the hell are you?”

Steel didn’t look up. He just straightened out his coat and checked his phone again.

High above him, Bennett watched McCall’s car leave but his interest was focused on this Steel character. He took out his cell phone and pressed the speed dial, then waited before speaking:

“Yes, it’s me... Bennett. Who the hell did you think it was? Look, she has just gone but she’ll be back on it tomorrow. What? No. She’s not alone on this, she has got a partner, yes that’s right a
partner
.

“Who? I don’t know. Some jumped-up British asshole.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, a silence that made him nervous.

After a moment a muffled voice came on the phone, giving him instructions. As he listened, he looked down at Steel, who had just taken out a pair of leather gloves from his long coat, a coat that carried on the wind like a ship’s sail on the high seas.

Bennett watched as Steel put on his gloves and pulled them tight.

“Yeah, that’s the guy,” Bennett went on talking on the phone. “He’s got people all worked up but I reckon he’s all show...”

Bennett watched as the street lights flickered for only a second. When they came back on Steel had gone. It was as though he had faded into the night itself.

Detective Bennett looked on in fear as a cold shiver raced down his back. He closed off the phone and put it away, as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.

No way man, no friggin’ way!
he thought to himself. A tiny voice in Bennett’s subconscious told him that something was wrong with this man, something was very wrong indeed.

He quickly stepped back, away from the window, and looked up through the glass into the darkened background. This was as good as a mirror, and his eyes dropped to the shield pinned on his belt strap. He looked at it hard, regarded his reflection, then closed his jacket, as if he didn’t wish to be reminded what it stood for.

The night had an
eerie darkness to it as though all of the stars had gone out.

Only the bright lights of the city illuminated the way and kept the blackness at bay.

Steel had walked all the way from the crime scene. He needed time to think about what might come next.

The text he had received was an address for some seedy bar on the edge of the bright lights.

This was Irish country and he knew he had to watch his back.

As he approached, Steel took note of the vehicles out front and in the parking lot next to it. This bar was full of bikers and people who just needed a place not to be found, and Steel had seen a lot of these places in his time and all of them were as dangerous as they came.

The Englishman flattened his collar and walked in past two heavy-looking men with biker colours on armless jackets.

John moved into the bar and looked over it once, taking note of exits and other means of getting out quickly, even if that meant using the large window inscribed with the scripted lettering of the boss’s name:
Flanagan’s.

He homed in on the darkened corner with a small table and two chairs opposite a stall that was bathed in darkness, then he headed over as if he wasn’t even there.

Even though he had a full-length trench coat and a black suit on he just blended into the shadows—he may as well have been invisible.

As Steel sat in the stall, he leaned back and was immediately engulfed in the shadow of the booth.

He took his time looking around, assessing who was most likely to be a threat and if it came to trouble, how best to deal with it.

The smell of stale beer and cigarettes filled the air and a thick layer of tobacco smog hung like a morning mist, while loud Irish music blared from the speakers in the corners of the room.

The detective glanced over to the door, as a man in his late fifties walked in and stopped near the bar. He wore jeans and a brown leather jacket, which didn’t suit him at all.

Steel smiled as the man leaned against the bar and a giant of a man walked over to meet him; the giant had fiery red hair and a long matching beard.

The owner, perhaps
? Steel thought to himself.

The two men spoke, and then the bearded guy nodded towards the booth where Steel sat. He had to admit he didn’t sneak in, but was somewhat relieved that the giant had seen him. The man walked over, carrying two pint of beer. He had a swagger that Steel knew to be a
Company
walk.

“Are you Steel?” he asked.

Steel didn’t speak, he just pushed out the chair opposite him with his foot so that the stranger could sit. The man placed the drinks down on the small table and sat. The bulge in his jacket told Steel he was packing, probably a Glock orSig, judging by the size of it.

“My name is Dalton,” the newcomer began. “A... mutual friend asked me to look you up.” Dalton waited for a response but got nothing. He smiled and sat back on the wooden stool, combing his fingers through his short brown hair.

“Sorry, you must think me a fool,” he went on. “The Echo sent me.”

All Dalton could see of Steel were his hands, which were pressed together at the fingertips, as he tapped his two index fingers as if in contemplation.

“Go on!” the Englishman instructed.

Dalton picked up a hint of distrust in Steel’s voice. “Echo said from now on I was to be your only contact, it was safer that way.”

Steel said nothing, however Dalton could feel that the man opposite him was sizing him up.

“The package has gone to ground, but don’t worry, I will find it,” Steel answered. “What I don’t get is why the company doesn’t do it.”

Dalton smiled and took a sip from the frosted glass. “We just do as we are asked or told to do, we never ask why. Sometimes it’s just easier that way, don’t you think?”

Steel sat in silence.

“I will text you later and that will be the number you will be able to reach me on.” Dalton smiled falsely as though he was enjoying himself.

“Anything else I should know?” Steel asked.

Dalton shook his head and took another drink. “No, not at the moment, but keep me in the loop as things progress.” Dalton didn’t expect Steel to answer and he wasn’t disappointed by his silence.

A commotion at the bar made Dalton turn round as two men were being escorted out by what could be only described as ‘muscle’.

“You know, you’re somewhat of a legend at the agency,” Dalton continued. “The one that got away. The first, in fact.” Dalton looked back and froze as an empty chair stood before him. Dalton raised his glass as if to toast the absent Steel.

“Sure and it’s good to meet you, Lord Steel.”

The morning sunrise was
a blazing orange that stained the city in a deep umber, and a cold breeze made its way down the maze of quiet streets.

McCall had gotten to the morgue early to bring Tina her coffee and in order for them to catch up on girlie chat time. The topic was none too specific, just anything but work.

“So, I know this really cute guy,” Tina began, and Sam McCall rolled her eyes at yet another pitch by her friend.

“Hey, look, Sam, it’s been months since Doctor Dave left for DC, so who you got to scratch your lonely ass now?”

McCall said nothing. She couldn’t.

“What, you waiting on Prince Charming to wake up and realise you’re there?” the ME said.

McCall scowled at her in disgust. “You’re kidding’ me, right?” Sam told her. “Sorry but he is the last guy I would be with.”

Tina could see through her lies and just nodded. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. My point being that
you need a guy
.”

McCall felt it was time to move on and headed towards the body of Edward Gibbs. “So did you find any more little ‘friends’ inside our latest vic?”

Tina shivered at the thought of a scorpion in someone’s mouth. “No, I haven’t gotten around to him yet, but as soon as I have something I’ll call you,” Tina replied, almost disappointed at the change of conversation.

“You got a time of death?”

Tina flicked through her notes and those of the night-shift ME. “You’re looking at a T.O.D. of around eight o’clock last night. Give or take.”

“Well, the guy’s editor phoned it in at around ten past so that fits,” Sam said. “Anything else?”

Tina shook her head as she pulled on her gloves. “Not yet but I’ll keep you posted.”

McCall answered her cell phone as she walked towards the door. “Steel? Hi, yes, morning. Look, meet me at the
Herald
, we’re going to see the editor, maybe he can fill in some blanks.”

Tina watched as the double doors swung back and forth after her friend’s dramatic exit and pressed play on the remote, filling the room with music.

McCall pulled up outside the offices of the tower block of the tabloid newspaper’s main office. It was a large structure, more glass than concrete, and a large LCD display was positioned where passers-by could see it. Scenes of current events and adverts flashed up on the massive monitor.

Steel was leaning up against one of the wall pillars, waiting patiently for McCall to arrive, and as she pulled up he kicked himself off the wall and walked towards her.

“Good morning, Detective, how are we today?” he asked.

Sam McCall looked at him strangely, as he seemed to be in a better mood than usual. “You’re in a good mood, Steel, who did you kill last night?” she joked—or at least she hoped she had! Steel just smiled and headed for the turnstile glass doors.

“After you,” he indicated for her to go in front of him, and McCall smiled at him as she walked past and entered the door system.

The lobby was large with a long reception desk to the side and elevators that fitted snugly into the back wall at the far end of the lobby. As McCall and Steel approached the reception, a young woman with black hair and black-rimmed glasses came up to them.

“Hi there,” the brunette began, “I am Daphne, you must be the detectives who called?”

Sam McCall shook the woman’s hand after showing her shield that sat on her belt.

“Yes I am Detective Sam McCall and this is Detective John Steel.”

The young woman smiled broadly as she shook Steel’s hand, causing McCall to roll her eyes.
He always seemed to have that effect on women
.

“If you would like to follow me please, I will take you to see Mr Cruise.”

They headed for the elevators in silence with only the sound of the woman’s high heels tapping on the tiled floor to break it.

*

The woman pressed the call button and turned to face them, her face full of sadness. “It sure is a shame about Edward. He was... a good friend.”

McCall opened her mouth to ask what she meant but was interrupted by the elevator doors sliding open. The smartly dressed woman stepped to one side and ushered them in first.

The ride up took but a moment, all of it in silence. McCall wanted to ask her more about Edward, especially her relationship with him, but before she got the chance, to her disappointment the elevator stopped and the doors opened onto a large room.

In front of them were dozens of booths, where the individual reporters and editors were busy creating their copy for the daily news. The noise of telephones and shouting reminded the two detectives of their own department.

Daphne walked out and headed to the other side of the large room, towards an office right at the end. The two detectives followed her, taking in the surrounding bustle of the newsroom. The editor’s office was huge, with glass walls which revealed a large wooden desk and a view across the skyline.

Daphne stopped outside the open wooden door and knocked before entering, and McCall and Steel followed her inside and waited for the editor to finish what appeared to be an important phone call.

Even though he was sitting down, McCall could tell that he was tall. His broad shoulders filled out his white Prada shirt and his brown hair was full and styled. She reckoned he was about fifty, but for his age he was in really good shape.

The editor finished the call by slamming the receiver back into its cradle, then he looked up, smiled and stood up.

“Sorry about that,” the editor apologised. “Just some idiot... Never mind, it’s not important.” He reached forwards and shook hands with both detectives.