G. Moffat - Blindside

‘So this is where we get ours. You understand?’

‘I don’t need a lecture, Seth.’

Raines was surprised by the anger he heard in Horn’s voice.

‘I said I’m in,’ Horn went on, his voice getting louder. ‘So let’s get it over with.’

‘That’s the plan.’

The hotel concierge gave Logan and Cahill directions to the police headquarters building and they went out on to the Sixteenth Street Mall to catch one of the free shuttle buses that traversed the mile-long street in both directions. They got on a southbound bus and stepped off at the last stop at the corner of Broadway.

‘State Capitol Building is over there at the east end of the park,’ Cahill said, pointing to a grand-looking building with a gold-domed roof as the bus pulled away. ‘We need to go to the west end, behind the City-County building.’

They walked the short distance to the park and Logan saw another imposing building opposite the Capitol Building, with granite columns and a clock tower above.

The park itself would have been an impressive sight had it not been for the large numbers of vagrants who called it home. Some lay sprawled in groups under trees drinking alcohol of unknown origin while others wheeled shopping trolleys along the pathways piled high with blankets and the rest of their worldly possessions. Logan saw that some of them wore army issue coats and trousers.

Cahill surveyed the park in silence.

‘It’s worse than it was last time I was here,’ he said eventually.

They walked until they were past the City-County building and turned left on to Cherokee Street where the police headquarters were situated. Two buildings forming an L-shaped pedestrian plaza, five storeys high and constructed from brown brick. The windows were heavily tinted.

The two buildings had signs above the entrance doors: one read ‘Administration Building’ and the other ‘Pre-Arraignment Detention Facility’. Logan pointed at the first one and they walked over to the glass doors.

Inside the foyer of the building was a public desk with two uniformed cops sitting behind bullet-proof glass. Cahill walked over to the desk and Logan wandered around looking at some of the history of the department displayed in glass cases on the walls.

‘We’re looking for Detective Jake Hunter,’ Cahill told the sergeant behind the desk.

‘Your names?’

Cahill told him.

‘What’s this about?’

‘We might have some information to share.’

The sergeant had been writing on a pad in front of him and now looked up at Cahill, a vertical line creasing between his eyes. You might have called it a frown but his eyes were devoid of emotion. He was a large man, probably nearing the end of his career, with wispy grey hair and a round face. He wore glasses and did that thing where he looked over the tops of the glasses in a quizzical manner. Vaguely condescending. Like he was talking to a child.

‘Is he in?’ Cahill asked. ‘Detective Hunter.’

The sergeant stared at Cahill and shifted his gaze to Logan as he came up and stood beside Cahill. Logan couldn’t tell how the conversation had gone so far so adopted a non-threatening look and said nothing.

‘What kind of information?’ the sergeant asked.

‘Well, we’re not very sure but it’s about the death of a federal agent.’

The sergeant paused for a moment to look at them some more. When he was done looking he wrote in his pad, told them to have a seat and picked up the phone on his desk.

They sat in the seats in the middle of the foyer and watched the sergeant speak into the phone. They couldn’t hear what he was saying from this distance. He put the phone down and waved them over.

‘Someone will be down to talk to you shortly,’ he told them.

‘We should sit down again?’ Cahill asked.

‘If you like.’

They sat and waited for a half-hour or so before a man in his late twenties wearing a navy suit and with fair, almost blond hair came through a door to the left of the main desk. The man looked at the sergeant who pointed at Logan and Cahill.

‘I’m Detective Collins,’ the man said as he came over to where they were sitting. ‘I understand that you’ve got some information for us?’

He stood there as though he wanted to hear what they had to say quickly and then leave again. Like he was used to dealing with time wasters that way. He hooked his hands into his belt and Logan saw the holster clipped on his right hip as his jacket pulled back.

Cahill stood.

‘It would be better if we spoke in private.’

‘Why’s that?’ Collins asked.

‘It’s kind of sensitive.’

Collins looked down at Logan, who was still sitting, then back at Cahill.

‘Who are you guys?’ he asked.

Logan sensed that Cahill was going to struggle getting anywhere with this guy if he took his usual approach so he stood to speak instead.

‘My name’s Logan Finch,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And this is Alex Cahill.’

Collins shook his hand.

‘You’re not from around here.’

‘No. I’m a lawyer and we’re here at the request of the wife of a federal agent in connection with his death.’

Collins tilted his head to the side. He appeared unimpressed by what Logan had said. Probably dealt with lawyers all the time and no doubt had a low opinion of most of them.

‘The Feds know about this mission of yours?’

‘We’re only asking to speak to Detective Hunter in private for a few minutes. We’d rather not discuss this out here.’

Collins blinked.

‘If you think we’re wasting your time, you can show us the door,’ Cahill added.

‘And who are you again?’ Collins asked Cahill.

‘He’s a retired US army NCO and former member of your Secret Service.’

Collins looked at Cahill again for a moment and told them to follow him.

They went through the same door that Collins had used to come into the reception area and a metal detector beyond that. From there, Collins led them along a narrow corridor to an interview room. Collins held the door open for them and waited till they were seated at the small table in the room.

‘Wait here,’ was all he said before closing the door, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.

‘At least we got past the first line of defence,’ Logan said. ‘Though I still think we should have spoken to Webb about all of this first. I mean, Tim Stark was his guy. He wasn’t a cop.’

‘Let’s see where this takes us. I want to see Hunter’s reaction to all of this.’

‘But we’re going to tell Webb after this?’

‘Sure.’

Cahill had a way of saying ‘sure’ that meant: let’s wait and see how this pans out first before we make a decision.

They waited for around fifteen minutes before the door opened again and Collins came in followed by a slightly older man about Logan’s height with close-cropped dark hair. He wore black trousers and a white shirt with a plain red tie and no jacket. He had a holster on his belt like Collins.

‘I’m Detective Hunter,’ he said, extending his hand to shake Logan’s.

Hunter’s shirt cuffs were rolled up on his forearms and when he shook his hand Logan noticed a pale scar running up his right arm: the wound from the bank robbery. He looked serious. In fact, he looked like he was always serious.

Cahill shook hands with Hunter and they sat looking at each other across the table. Collins stood leaning against the wall just inside the door. He folded his arms across his chest and crossed his feet.

‘Danny… I mean Detective Collins said this was something about the death of an FBI agent.’

Logan nodded.

‘What does it have to do with me?’