Move to Strike (56 page)

But the ever diplomatic Logan was already shaking his head, as an equally as satisfied ADA Carmichael finally emerged behind him.

‘I want to get one thing straight,' Logan said, lifting his arms so that the entire mob would fall obediently into silence, the reporters' long arms now finding every available gap to shove their microphones towards Jeffrey Logan's perfect face, their notebooks at the ready, their cameras fixed on record.

‘I love my children,' he said, his expression one of earnestness. ‘They have made mistakes, and many of them are a result of the unfortunate circumstances life has dealt them. I feel responsible, for not rescuing them sooner, and I wish I could take that back.

‘But above and beyond all else, I know that my children need help. Whether their motives be that of defence or revenge or greed. And I agree with ADA Carmichael that they should not be released into the general community until such time that they have been treated, rehabilitated, saved by the system of justice which we all hold dear.'

David felt the blood boil inside him.

‘That video was an atrocity,' Logan went on, the masses now hanging on his every word. ‘But it was just a small snapshot of what my children and I had to endure. So if you ask me what I think about today's events, if you want to know how I felt as I watched that disturbing drama unfold, I say this and only this . . .

‘I now understand that my wife was ill, very ill and if any good is to come of this terrible tragedy I ask that everyone trapped in the cycle that is emotional abuse seek help – be you the victim or the perpetrator. And if my comments help one child, one parent, to salvage a life from the remnants of the catastrophe that is domestic maltreatment, then all is not lost after all.'

And then, after turning to shake Amanda Carmichael's hand, Logan nodded to a tall dark-suited bodyguard beside him – the guard assisting Logan through the crowd until they reached the kerbside where he opened the back door of a tinted-windowed black Mercedes sedan.

Just as Logan bent to enter the car, his head turned ever so slightly so that he might make eye contact with David who was now standing with Arthur across the other side of the square. And then he lifted his right hand so that it rested close against his chest, formed a fist, extended his pointer finger, and lifted his thumb. And then, with his hand now forming the shape of a gun, he jerked his thumb ever so slightly as if he had just pulled the trigger.

‘Bang!' he mouthed, making no mistake of his communication.

‘Bang!' he mouthed again, as if for good measure.

And then he disappeared into his $200000 ride, and within seconds, he was gone.

‘
N
o, no, no
,' said a distressed J.T. Logan to his sister. They were in the back of the DYS security van. They were whispering. It was dark.

It was the first moment they had had a chance to be alone together since Chelsea had been arrested – the van to Brockton was running late, so the DYS security guards had placed Chelsea in the Plymouth van until the second transport arrived – and they both knew they had to make the most of it . . . to talk, and fast!

‘This isn't working. It is falling apart. Did you hear what that professor said – about Mom and her being a donor?'

‘They were talking about her brain,' argued Chelsea, sitting as close to her brother as possible. ‘And there was nothing wrong with her brain.'

‘I know. But, but . . .' J.T. was deteriorating and Chelsea knew it. He was losing weight, his eyes were heavily shadowed, his hands were shaking. He needed her to look after him and she could not properly do it. Within minutes they would be yanked apart once again, and she failed to see any hope of change in their predicament.

‘Why do you think Mom signed that donor card in the first place, J.T. ?' asked Chelsea, trying to lift her brother's spirits.

‘Because she thought it would protect us.'

‘And she was right.'

‘No, none of this is right. None of this has been right from the very beginning.'

Chelsea let out a sigh. ‘Listen to me, J.T.,' she said, negotiating her handcuffs so that she might take his hand. ‘We have gone as far as we can; to say any more could make things worse.'

‘We are about to be separated for life, Chels,' said J.T. ‘How could things get any worse?'

Chelsea stopped herself from nodding. ‘Explaining it won't help – not now.'

‘But maybe I don't care,' he said, the tears falling freely down his smooth, sunken cheeks. ‘Maybe I just want to tell him everything, so that someone besides
us
will finally understand.'

‘You don't need to tell David everything for him to understand,' she said, placing her forehead against his, her breath slow and warm, her skin hot against the coolness.

‘But I want him to
know
– about how good she was, about what she was willing to do.'

‘He knew her, J.T., and even though he did not see her after Father took hold, he has not forgotten – I can see it in his eyes.'

J.T. exhaled, before giving his sister the slightest of nods, their tears now merging as they fell in droplets upon their shackles.

‘Then we say nothing,' he said.

‘Nothing.'

‘And if David finds out?'

‘Then we pray he knew her well enough for him to forgive us.'

‘T
he order came from a Damien Chi,' said Joe Mannix as he took a seat on the worn velvet stool across from David.

They were at the Idle Hour, a smoky pub in South Boston that smelt eternally of malt and cigarettes and that musky odour that came from old men wearing even older clothes and Brylcreem in their hair.

The Idle was one of Joe's favourite haunts, and every time he suggested it as a meeting place, David protested with vigour. But not tonight. Tonight David was more than happy to be hiding in the corner of the cosy wood-panelled pub, making the most of the fact that happy hour at the Idle ran around the clock, and there was no way they would be interrupted or overheard here – in a room full of men content to drown in their sorrows while Roy Orbison sang about ‘Crying' on the 1960s jukebox.

‘Chi is captain of the Asian Boyz New England outfit. In other words, he holds a hell of a lot of clout in our corner of the Asian underworld.'

‘Can we link him to Logan?' asked David, noticing that Joe could not help but smile.

‘Chi just got out of Suffolk County Jail, where he was being held awaiting trial for several counts of drug distribution. But our guys from narcotics hit a snag when their major witness went AWOL – which I can tell you is a recurring problem when it comes to prosecuting people like Chi.'

‘So this Chi walked.'

‘And kept walking. Chi knows our guys are still trying to run down this witness, so he's left the state for a while, the latest intel having him somewhere in Florida. The guy is escaping the heat by getting some sun, if that makes sense.'

David nodded. ‘Isn't that a problem?' he asked, knowing that beyond all else they needed to link Logan to Chi's outfit in order to tie him to McCall's shooting.

‘Yes, in that we don't have access to Chi, which means we can't ask him if what Lopez's snitch Tsi said about the connection is true. But no, in that Chi would never give it up anyway.'

‘So in the very least, we have Logan and Chi in the same jail together for a least a space of two days.'

‘Same jail, same floor. We even have the guards saying they shared a conversation or two together – apparently Logan reached out to Chi and had the guy in tears.'

‘Logan had a gang lord in tears?' asked David, incredulous. ‘He must have manipulated him somehow.'

‘That's the way it looks – a theory that holds up given Lopez's snitch claims the McCall shooting was carried out gratis.'

‘No money was exchanged?'

‘Not a cent. In fact, this Tsi told Lopez he got the impression Chi was returning some sort of favour by popping the old lady. As crazy as it sounds, Logan must have something on Damien Chi – but I have no idea what it could be.'

‘You got someone looking into it?' asked David.

‘McKay is shaking it down,' replied Joe.

David nodded in gratitude. ‘So now we have Malcolm Tyler's exhumation in the works, a viable link to the Asian Boyz, and that autocue reflection,' said David, taking a sip of his thick, sour Guinness before looking up at Joe once again. He had told Joe what he had seen in that gravy boat the moment he had walked into the dimly lit pub – unable to hold it in any longer.

‘That's right. Susan will give us a heads up on the gravy boat thing tomorrow or Friday at the latest,' he said, referring to their FBI agent friend and the fact that he had already called her to arrange the isolation
and enlargement of the images in question. ‘She has a mate in Special Agent Bond's unit who promises to do it after hours, away from 007's prying eyes. She says she's pretty sure they can blow up the gravy boat and enhance the reflection so whatever words might be on it are readable, and if those words match the audio then . . .'

‘Bang!' said David, who had told Joe about Logan's ‘friendly' gesture of late that afternoon.

‘Bang!' said Joe, pointing his own finger as he lifted his Guinness in cheers.

‘We're getting there, Joe,' said David at last. ‘Which is good, considering my clients are at cracking point.'

‘They're strong kids, David.'

‘They've had to be. But I . . .' David hesitated as if not sure he should go on.

‘What is it?' asked Joe.

‘Well, I don't mean to sound greedy, I mean, at this stage Chelsea and J.T. are looking as guilty as all hell. But if we do manage to pull this off, Joe, in the unlikely chance that we beat Logan at his own game, what will become of those kids – with no mother, no father.'

‘They have each other, David.'

‘That's not enough.'

‘Then maybe there is someone else out there – someone who the kids have come to trust and respect, who might open her heart to . . .'

But Joe was interrupted by the ringing of his cell – and, as if by fate, the very subject of their conversation was now on the other end of the line.

‘Katherine,' said Joe. ‘What's up?'

‘Lieutenant,' she said, David now hearing de Castro's voice as Joe flipped his cell onto speaker. ‘I . . . we have a problem. I don't know what to do. This isn't going to plan. It is too soon, I am not ready.'

‘Whoa,' said Joe, his eyes set on David. ‘Slow down, Katherine. What is it? What's happened?'

‘It's Jeffrey, he called me five minutes ago and said he wanted to see me. He said that he needed some fresh air, so he was going to shower and then walk across the Common, which means he could be here in less than an hour. And I . . . I am not ready.'

‘Can you fob him off so we can go with the Friday night rendezvous as planned?' asked Joe.

‘
No!
I mean, I can't do this twice, Lieutenant. I am not sure I can even do it at all.'

‘Katherine,' said David. ‘This is David Cavanaugh. Did he tell you what he wanted to see you about?'

‘No. But he said he had a great day in court. That the tide was turning and luck was coming our way and all of this would soon be over. Oh God, David, I can't do this, I can't.'

Joe put his hand over the phone. ‘She's losing it. If this is going to happen it has to happen tonight.'

‘But she isn't wearing the wire.'

‘We can get Frank to grab George from audio and be at her place in fifteen, wire her up before Logan gets there.'

David nodded, pulling out his cell to call McKay while Joe was still talking.

‘Katherine,' said Joe into the speaker. ‘Listen to me. Detective McKay and a police audio technician will be at your place in fifteen minutes. The tech will wire you up while Frank goes through what we've practised step by step. You're a smart woman, Katherine, smart and strong and more up to this than you think. And if Logan tries anything we will be right outside your house in an unmarked audio van, and in your front door in seconds.'

‘I don't think he is ready to hurt me yet,' she said after a pause. ‘He needs to own me first.'

‘That's right,' encouraged Joe. ‘So as long as you stress you are on his side . . .'

‘Yes. I will tell him that Sara came to see me today, and that she tried to turn me against him, and that I was glad he called so that I could warn him, that Sara and David claim to have evidence that he organised Stephanie's murder, and you want me to mention his mother and . . .'

‘That's it, Katherine. You got this nailed.'

Then Joe offered some last words of encouragement, promising Katherine that all would be okay before hanging up his cell and looking to David once again.

‘It's too early,' said Joe.

‘It is what it is.'

‘She's not ready.'

‘She has to be – in fact . . .' David's brain was in overdrive. ‘Listen, Joe, this may not be such a bad thing after all. I mean, there is no way Logan is going to miss tomorrow – his much-anticipated day in the sun.' Carmichael was due to call Logan as her star witness tomorrow afternoon.

‘You think that even if Katherine's baiting pops this psycho's cork, he will hold on and delay going for the guns until after he gives his testimony.'

‘He has no choice.'

‘On the contrary, David, this fucker has the habit of doing whatever he damn well pleases.'

But David was shaking his head. ‘No. I know this guy, Joe. He won't miss his opportunity to put the final nails in his children's coffins, which means you can use tomorrow to set up the surveillance as planned. We can track his car, Joe, follow him all the way to Chatham.'

But Joe was already on his feet, pointing at his watch and throwing a twenty on the table as David grabbed his jacket from the stool behind him.