Andrew Grant - Even

Tanya patted her bag.

“Good,” he said. “RV at the fountain if you don’t find anything.”

Weston was the first to come through on the radio.

“On me,” he said. “Statue, southwest corner. Code blue.”

Lavine reached him just before us.

“What have you got?” he said.

“Found him. But there’s a problem. I think we’re too late.”

Weston led the way round the outer path until we reached another monument. From a distance it looked like a giant candlestick, but as we drew closer I saw it was actually a stout, white flagpole with a five-pointed star at the top. Seven people were gathered around its square stone base. A woman, eating sandwiches. Another listening to an MP3 player. Another on the phone. Three teenagers, sitting together at the far corner, talking. And one man. He was leaning back against a carved plaque. His hard hat was lying on the plinth next to him, upside down. Clumps of fresh mud had fallen from the cleats on his work boots and the leather on the toes was torn and scuffed. His yellow vest was rucked up under his arms as if he’d slumped down from a standing position. His neck was twisted sharply to the right. His eyes were shut. And his tongue was lolling out from his mouth like a giant pink slug.

“See what I mean?” Weston said.

“How did this happen?” Lavine said.

“Must have been the two guys he left his job with,” Weston said. “I already checked for them. No sign.”

“What about these people?” Tanya said. “Someone must have seen something.”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” I said.

“Kyle, call it in,” Lavine said. “I want the place sealed off. Nobody leaves. Everyone gets questioned. Twice. See if there’s any CCTV from the streets or the park. Or the construction site. Get forensics here. And the ME. Tell them to put a rush on it. We’ll make a start with these guys.”

“Hang on a second,” I said. “Who checked his vitals? Or are we just making assumptions, here?”

“Kyle?” Lavine said.

“No,” he said. “I pulled back and called you guys.”

“You don’t think…?” Tanya said.

I stepped forward and reached toward his neck with two fingers. But before I made contact the guy’s right arm whipped up and his fingers clamped tight around my wrist.

“Afternoon, Julio,” I said. “Or should we call you Lazarus?”

Lavine and Weston wanted to arrest the guy on the spot, but I persuaded them that a sandwich and a coffee at the park cafe would be a more productive option.

“OK, then,” Lavine said, after taking a swig of cappuccino and munching through a couple of biscotti. “I’m ready to talk. What was that about, back there, Julio? Are you a Boris Karloff fan or something?”

“Relax, man,” Arca said. “I was just checking you out.”

“Checking us out? Who do you think you are?”

“A guy with a cell phone.”

“Meaning?”

“You think people don’t talk, because we’re not in the service now? You think I don’t know six more Tungsten guys got canned, the same as me? And five are dead?”

“Let me see the phone,” Weston said.

Arca took a small silver Motorola from his coverall pocket and put it on the table. Weston picked it up and prodded a couple of buttons.

“It’s not the phone that called Raab,” he said. “But your wife called you. Right after we spoke to her.”

Arca didn’t reply.

“She told you we were coming. That’s why you tried to run. Doesn’t make you look good, Julio.”

“Five guys are dead,” Arca said. “My wife gets a call out of nowhere. You tell her you’re the feds. How does she know?”

“So you set this up with your boss? You’re getting paranoid.”

“He established a viable cover,” I said. “Headed for a populated area. Created a diversion. Observed our reactions. Pretty smart, I’d say.”

“We’ll come back to that,” Lavine said. “But right now, tell me why you got fired from Tungsten.”

“Don’t know,” Arca said.

“You got fired from a job paying you a couple of hundred grand a year, and you didn’t ask why?”

“Oh, yeah, we asked. Fed us some ‘client complaint’ bullshit.”

“Why did the client complain? What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“What about your buddies?”

“Nothing.”

“So they fired you for no reason. How’d that make you feel?”

“Great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They gave me fifty-five grand. The chance to retrain. Now I got money in the bank. I don’t have to go overseas to earn a living. And people don’t try to kill me every day.”

“What did you do at the hospital?” I said.

“In Iraq? Premises team.”

“There was more than one team?” Lavine said.

“Right. There were three teams. Premises-that was us. Supplies-they guarded the medicine trucks coming in. And close protection-they went with the doctors when they were off-site.”

“What about the team that just got fired?” I said.

“Premises team, the way I heard.”

“These overseas guys, they have weird traditions,” I said. “They can be very sensitive. Easy to offend. Are you sure…”

“I know about their traditions. We get training before we go over there. I’d been three times, already. And we did nothing wrong. None of us.”

“Then did you see anything strange? Out of place? Maybe something that didn’t hit you till later?”

“No. Nothing like that. It was a hospital. Sick people, funny smell. It was boring. Why are you asking me these things? When are you going to ask me about James Mansell?”

“Why ask about him?”

“Because he killed those other guys.”

“He did? Why? How do you know?”

“Look. Six people get payouts. They go freeriding together. Nothing unusual about that. Lots of guys do after their final tour. But then five of them don’t come back. You do the math. And do it quick. I’m the only ex-Tungsten guy left around here. Don’t want him coming back for my slice of pie.”

Lavine kept himself under control until Arca had disappeared through the trees. Then he slammed his palm down on the table so hard it sent a wave of leftover coffee slopping into his saucer. People glanced at us from other tables. Tanya fidgeted, uncomfortable with the attention, and began to chew her lower lip. Weston stayed still, but I saw his knuckles whitening around the arms of his chair.

“What now?” he said.

Tanya shrugged.

“Anyone got a quarter?” Lavine said.

“Feel a big tip coming on?” I said.

“I’m thinking about James Mansell,” he said. “Heads, he’s in mortal danger. Tails, he’s a mass murderer.”

“But which?” Tanya said. “Or maybe both?”

“Doesn’t matter right now,” Weston said. “Either way, we’ve got to find him.”

“Agreed,” Tanya said. “But how? Arca was useless as a lead. Tungsten was a dead end. And now we’re looking for one guy who could be anywhere in the whole of the United States.”

“Or Mexico,” Weston said.

“Don’t forget Canada,” Lavine said.

“Anywhere in the world, then,” Tanya said. “And that’s some haystack for the four of us to comb through.”

When I heard that expression as a kid I always thought it was stupid. How could a needle possibly end up in a haystack? And why would anyone care?

When I got a little older I thought, So a needle’s in there, and we need it back. No problem. Get some matches. Hay burns. Needles don’t.

Later still I thought, Why waste time on a fire? Use a magnet. Make the needle come to you.

Eventually, when I thought about it a little more, I put it all together. It’s not about whether you need matches or a magnet, at all. It’s about knowing where to get the right tools for the job.