A Touch Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2) Page 9

I wasn’t born yesterday. I’d been doing this shit for a while.

  I leaned back against the wall opposite Rooster and took a long drink of coffee.

  “Is he the only one missing?” I said, when it looked like Rooster was about to bolt.

  He shook his head.

  “Two others. Last week.”

  “Do I know them?”

  The head shake again. Short, jagged, nervous. Eyes flicking back at the entrance to the alley.

  “Have they been reported to the cops?”

  He snorted, relaxed his rigid stance a fraction, and sneered back at me.

  “Wot, you fink we live on the streets ‘cause we love it?” Another one of those unhinged head shakes. “We’ve all got reasons, right. Some more desperate than others.”

  “Is Eagle like that?” He’d always given me the impression that it was his choice. He could do almost anything with that quick wit of his. Uneducated but definitely switched on, that was Eagle. But I suddenly wondered whether it had all been an act. And I, the seasoned cop, had fallen for it.

  Oh, I knew Eagle was an act, but his back story? No, I’d fallen for that.

  Rooster just stared at me but didn’t say anything.

  “What do you think is going on, Rooster?”

  He shrugged.

  “Give me something to go on. I’ve got a flyer pointing towards an open night at Sweet Hell and a bum telling me Eagle was off the streets last night. A Thursday,” I added, needlessly. He got it. Thursdays onward were all work, until Sunday morning. With Wednesdays following close behind.

  It was almost like a normal job in hospitality.

  “He was ‘ere on Wednesday. Didn’t meet up wiff us on Thursday mornin’. No one saw him out that night.”

  “And you think…?”

  “I don’t know wot to fink!”

  “But it’s not like Eagle?”

  “He was seeing Dave,” Rooster mumbled. I leaned forward to better hear him.

  “Who’s Dave?”

  “One of the others who disappeared.”

  “When did Dave disappear?”

  “Last weekend,” he reluctantly replied.

  I pressed back against the wall and thought. Eagle hadn’t been in touch since Friday last week. But clearly had been seen on the streets on Wednesday. Why the hell had he not got in touch about this Dave? I could have helped.

  I was missing something.

  I looked across the small space to Rooster. His eyes were working hard, looking at everything and nothing. Fidgety.

  “What’s going on, Rooster? You can tell me.”

  And that there was my mistake.

  If Eagle hadn’t told me. There was no way Rooster would.

  He sprang off the wall in such lightning quick moves I couldn’t reach my gun fast enough. But by the time he had his knife pressed to my throat I’d released it.

  His breath stank of stale coffee as he puffed out agitated air against my cheek. Or it could have been the macchiato seeping into my shoes from the dropped venti cup that tainted the aroma.

  But when my gun muzzle butted up to his temple he stopped sucking air altogether.

  The knife dropped, clattering to the ground, and he pulled back. Shock and fear gracing his baby face.

  “The fuck?” I said, flicking the safety back on my Glock, but not holstering it. “You better start talking, now!”

  He made a sound. More like a squeak. Then he bolted.

  By the time I made it back out of the alley, bypassing the butter fingered delivery man, hurdling a shop keeper’s inward produce, he’d disappeared.

  Chapter 10

  “Mind over matter, Sport. If the firewalkers can do it…”

  “Well, shit,” I muttered, slipping my gun away before any enterprising civilian with a cellphone started filming.

  What the hell was that all about?

  I shook my head, and started heading back to Mercury Lane and my car parked down on Cross Street. I could officially advise Pierce and Hart that Eagle was missing, with potentially more street kids/workers as well. But whether he was involved in whatever the fuck was happening at Sweet Hell, I couldn’t say. And my one chance to connect the dots on that front had disappeared into the Karangahape Road rush hour throng.

  I glanced at my watch, then unlocked my car, slipping into the driver’s seat. Time to visit Pierce’s friends at ASI.

  And see Damon.

  I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. There was no denying that part of me was excited. Thrilled even. But a whole big part of me was unsure. Had we broken up? Or was it really an act? Damon had seemed tired of it all in the end. Tired of me.

  I couldn’t help thinking he’d lost faith in me. I couldn’t help thinking he was waiting for me to say something. To convince him otherwise.

  But I had. And he’d disregarded it. Because I was “not myself, right now.”

  Before I pulled out of my parking spot I checked my calender on my phone. Stared at the circle around Monday. My “date” with the shrink. Until Carl resurfaced I’d been seeing Dr Hennessey weekly. Now my appointments had been bumped up to every four days. I’d been on probation, the evidence was all there. But I’d been too fucked up to notice it.

  Mind over matter. Just like when dealing with physical pain. You shut it off. Cut it down. Force your brain to think everything was all right. For physical injuries, when needed, that makes sense.

  I wasn’t so sure about mental ones. Could cutting off Carl’s continued existence in my mind be a healthy thing?

  I guess I’d find out on Monday. Because I sure as hell wasn’t going to let Hennessey see me.

  Whether I succeeded was another matter. My years of trying to get my father to see me meant I wasn’t that good at hiding. But I’d have to be. If I’d been on probation, then Hennessey was the only reason I was currently back with the “in” crowd. If he caught wind of my fragile mental state, due to Damon’s defection, then I could kiss CIB goodbye.

  Mind over matter, Sport. If the firewalkers can do it... I wasn’t walking on fire, but it sure as hell felt just as hot.

  I pulled the car out onto K Road and cheated by crossing Grafton Bridge behind a bus. I wasn’t on an emergency, but if the public transport system could use this thoroughfare, then so could I. I was on official business. It counted, in my eyes.

  No one made a fuss so I cruised past Auckland City Hospital and cut through the Domain to soothe my nerves.

  I was nervous, I realised. Anxious about seeing Damon. Something I rarely ever did was get this sort of wound up. But my nerves were shot. My body was weary. My heart heavy. And my world spinning away on the breeze.

  All I had going for me was my profession. And faced with a murder case with little clues, that was a debatable crutch right now.

  But I am nothing if not my father’s daughter. He hides everything emotional in a mental locked drawer. I keep busy, pretending everything is all right.

  I parked behind the Anscombe Securities and Investigations building at bang on five-thirty. And immediately noted three surveillance cameras. If there were three, there’d be more. This place took its security to heart. But with a name like that, it was to be expected.

  Pierce’s car was already here, but Damon’s wasn’t. And the relief at that just made me mad. I am not a coward, but I sure as hell felt like it when I realised I had more time to prepare.

  I dusted myself down, grimacing at the coffee stain and smear of hamburger grease on my shirt. Then started laughing. No one could accuse me of dressing up for this meet. That was for damn sure.

  The door opened before I reached it, which told me I’d been watched, and my needs anticipated. I raised an eyebrow at the military looking guy who held it open. Combat boots, camouflage drill pants, and a white t-shirt. His chiselled cheeks were covered with blond stubble.

  “Detective Keen,” he said with a nod of his head. “Got your ID?”

  You have got to be kidding me.

  “Who are you?” I as
ked. “Anscombe?”

  “No.” Nothing else.

  I flashed my badge, and because this dickhead asked for it, my gun as well. He grinned. It was all teeth. And then waved me inside.

  “They’re in control. I’ll show you the way.”

  He turned before I could acknowledge any of that, the door behind us already triple bolted, and secured with a metal bar. I counted three more domed ceiling cameras before we made it the the corner of the hall. These guys were serious.

  I’d heard of them before, of course. I knew Pierce used them when something outside of CIB was required. Cops are well known by those who frequent the wrong side of the law. To go undercover usually takes years of hard work and often involves new recruits who haven’t made a name for themselves. Those of us in the Criminal Investigations Bureau have all been around the block a time or two by now.

  So, when a more anonymous approach is required, Ryan calls on these guys. But I’d also heard the rumours. The whispers of not quite corruption, but coincidence. ASI, as they liked to be known as, seemed to always be in the wrong place at the right time. They’d solved, or helped solve, more high profile crimes than some of the senior detectives in CIB. They were either very good at what they did.

  Or very bad indeed.

  The jury was still out on that one, but Pierce trusted them and I trusted Pierce. So, we’d see how this played out.

  “Here we are,” Commando said. He waved up at yet another camera mounted near the ceiling and I heard a click from the other side of an impressive bank vault styled door.

  I’d started smiling. Commando noticed, but chose to not comment. These guys needed their own movie.

  “Keen,” Pierce greeted me as I slipped past my escort. The door shut behind me with a decided thump. Commando had remained outside. I watched him walk back down the hallway on one of the multiple security screens covering the expanse of one whole wall. His progress outlined on several successive screens, until he entered the garage and hopped into a rugged looking SUV, and then drove out through electronic doors.

  “Impressive, huh?” Pierce said, almost proud, as if this set-up was his own.

  “Or frightening,” I murmured, my eyes shifting to the dark haired man who sat watching me. He had the most piercing ice blue, intelligent eyes.

  He also had my number. Or so he thought.

  “Detective Lara Keen, this is Nick Anscombe of Anscombe Securities and Investigations,” Pierce announced.

  “Nice to meet you, Detective,” the guy said, standing up to his full height, well above mine, and holding out a hand to shake.

  I squeezed back when he did. He smirked and sat back down.

  “Nick’s managed to tie into all the security cameras outside Sweet Hell, but it’s no-go for inside, I’m afraid.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “My tech team have tried, but their system is too good. For now,” Nick explained. “They’ll keep working on it tomorrow.”

  “Where are they?” I asked. This all looked very techy.

  “On a date,” Nick replied, moving joysticks, changing camera angles, and proving he knew just how to drive this behemoth and didn’t need his “tech team” at all.

  “Together?” I asked and he looked over his shoulder at me and smiled.

  “Yes, together. It’s date night.”

  A huff of laughter escaped. For some reason that sounded so normal, it took the edges off the entire operation.

  Or just made it seem more slippery, I couldn’t tell.

  “Comp U has the security footage,” Pierce advised. “No-go with that as well.”

  “Do we know if it’s been tampered with deliberately, at least?” I asked.

  “A possibility, they said. But nothing definite.”

  I nodded. Not a lot we could do about that. “My contact is AWOL,” I advised.

  “Confirmed?”

  “Yes. As well as at least two other street workers.”

  “Any names?” Pierce pressed, pulling out a pad and jotting a few things down. Such a good little police detective.

  I reached up and pinched the bridge of my nose. Pierce immediately stopped writing and lowered the pad and pen.

  “Somethings got them jittery.”

  “Your contact’s team?”

  I nodded.

  “What happened?”

  I shook my head. There was no point mentioning Rooster’s freak out. The kid had been petrified in the end. And his knife was now secured in my lock box in the boot of my car. He couldn’t hurt anyone else with it.

  “Wound up tighter than a drum,” I said instead. “Couldn’t get anything more out of him. No connection to Sweet Hell, at any rate. He ran,” I added. “Before I paid up.”

  Pierce whistled. No informant left without taking the money. It’s why they talked to us. Not because they were concerned citizens, but because they needed the cash.

  Eagle and his team had expensive tastes.

  “What’s your gut say now?” Pierce asked, and Nick stopped what he was doing to look at me. It wasn’t the first time someone had found my instincts laughable.

  But then, Anscombe wasn’t laughing.

  “It’s all connected. The deceased victim. Carole Michaels. Eagle and the street workers. Sweet Hell.”

  Silence.

  “Well,” Nick drawled. “That’s why you’re here.” He flicked a switch on a panel before him and four of the largest central screens changed to show Sweet Hell. Two from different angles across K Road, one filming the length of the driveway down the side of the building. The last showing the entire rear carpark and back door.

  The Rolls Royce was already there. Late evening sunlight glinting off its paintwork, making the black and gold sign on the building’s wall hard to read.

  “The Roller belongs to your friend Kyan Marcroft,” Pierce said.

  “He’s not my friend.”

  “Clearly. But that doesn’t mean we can’t use your connection at a later date.”

  I forced myself to just keep breathing. That Anscombe guy was watching me too closely.

  “We think it’ll be best if Michaels enters the front of the club,” he continued. “Bypasses the rear until he gets properly invited.”

  “They’d be the jumpy type,” I agreed.

  “Especially as they know you’re investigating them,” Nick pointed out.

  “They know we’re investigating a murder from just across their street,” I argued.

  Nick shrugged.

  “This guy is connected,” he said, looking across at a screen that showed a close-up of Kyan. “Not just connected to this case,” he clarified. “But connected.” He stressed the last word. “Eric, my tech guru, managed to pull some names off their members list.”

  He brought up another screen.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Pierce queried, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes at the screen.

  But I saw why. I saw it right there in black and white. Not grey.

  Superintendent Ethan Keen was a priority member of Sweet Hell.

  Pierce turned his head slowly and looked over at me.

  “We already knew, Nick,” he said slowly, his eyes on me and not Nick Anscombe.

  “You suspected,” Anscombe argued. “And now you know.”

  He was right. I’d just been joining the dots. My father hadn’t come out and admitted he had joined the exclusive members only club.

  But now we knew.

  “And you held this back, why?” Pierce pressed.

  Nick shrugged again. It was at once careless and also purposeful. He was trying to calm the atmosphere in the room. It didn’t work. Pierce was pissed off.

  I was just tired.

  “You’ve not been here long,” Nick pointed out. “And I needed to get a feel for your partner.”

  We didn’t correct him. Pierce and I weren’t partners. I still hadn’t recovered enough from losing Carl, to let someone else in. And he was still waiting for his former partner, Harvey Stone
, to be exonerated and return to work.

  It felt more and more like neither of those things would ever happen.

  Pierce and I shared a look. He’d been thinking that thought as well.

  “And now?” I asked Nick.

  “And now you know.” In other words, I’d passed some sort of test and Nick Anscombe, of Anscombe Securities and Investigations, had decided I was all right.

  “Good to know,” I said, voice clipped.

  He just smiled.

  “OK,” Pierce announced, moving us on from the tense stand off. “We’re going to wire Michaels up and watch his progress from here.”

  “We’re miles away from Sweet Hell. Shouldn’t we be closer?” I queried.

  “Absolutely not,” Nick interjected. “See here?” he said, indicating about a dozen street cameras dotted around the CBD and mainly Karangahape Road.

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod.

  “We’re not the only ones tied in,” Nick offered. I raised my eyebrows at him. “So is the main security room at Sweet Hell.”

  “They monitor the streets?” I asked, incredulously. Who was that organised? Or paranoid? Other than the Police.

  “Just these strategic ones,” Nick said. “We can’t work out why.”

  “Beresford Square. Day Street,” Pierce started ticking off the locations the cameras were on. “East Street. Boardman Lane. Galatos Street.” He stood up and looked at me again. “And Pitt Street.”

  “Coincidental,” I said.

  “Michaels is still at HEAT.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Because his GPS has been tied into our control,” Nick offered.

  I waved a hand at the camera views Sweet Hell - and ASI - monitored on the screens. “Look, all of those are central urban streets within a short walking distance of the club. It could just be standard procedure. Should they have any problems on site, they are already tapped into the Police’s CCTV network. They’ve probably been monitoring Pitt Street for months.”

  We both looked at Nick.

  He shrugged. I was getting fed up with that gesture.

  “If it’s coincidental,” Pierce said carefully. “Then it’s a convenient coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “It could still be a coincidence,” I doggedly pushed.

  “Or they’ve been watching him,” Nick said, looking back at the screens, “to determine if he is worthy or not.”