Sleeping Dogs Page 4

  He turned the pack inside out, transforming it from a standard black bag that nobody would notice to a distinctive blue and grey one. He replaced the contents, zipped it closed, and flushed as he came out of the cubicle, almost bumping into the big Samoan guard.

  ‘Sorry bro,’ the guard said, starting to check all the cubicles as Dan went to the sinks.

  He hit a tap to get the water running and went straight out the door while the guard was looking the other way. The Indian guard was coming the other way to back up his colleague and Dan ignored him, hooking the day pack over his shoulder and keeping his eyes front but ears open as he made good his escape.

  Chapter Seven

  Chris Taylor called Dan at 830am, catching him walking in the door with the paper in his hand and the buzz of the day’s first coffee on his tongue. He listened for nearly a minute before ringing off, dropping the paper on Molly’s desk and heading back down to the car.

  It took the best part of forty minutes to make it downtown, and ten minutes after that he was walking into one of the 24-hour bars off K-Rd. At 920am it was deserted aside from a couple of nearly-dead city types who looked like their coke had worn off some time ago, and Top.

  He was sitting on his own at the bar, a Scotch in front of him and his eyes like road maps. He didn’t see Dan until he took the seat beside him, and when he did, a slow grin started its way across his face. Dan didn’t smile in return, and Top’s face dropped.

  ‘I had a call from your boy Chris this morning,’ Dan told him, swinging round so he was side on to the bar. ‘He tells me you, ahh...advised him to put in his papers.’

  Top said nothing, but took a sup from his glass.

  ‘He tells me you believe it’s the best solution for him because of the results of the investigation, which clearly support the allegation against him. He tells me you believe he will be found guilty, regardless of whether he did it or not, but if he pulls the pin you’ll be able to make any charges go away for him.’

  Top said nothing, just stared straight ahead at the bottles on the wall behind the bar. Dan’s voice took on a harder edge.

  ‘Hey, if that’s the case, then I’d say what you’re telling him is probably good advice. Except...I haven’t given you an update like that, Top.’ He waited, his eyes boring into the side of Top’s skull, which stayed fixed rigidly straight ahead. ‘In fact, the update I gave you last night was almost exactly opposite to that, and said words to the affect that it’s all a crock and your boy’s being set up by his supposed mate and a cheap little slut.’

  Dan was leaning forward now, angry and wanting to get in Top’s face, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense and hard. Still Top would not look at him.

  ‘Look at me, Top,’ he said harshly, the blood pounding in his head. The red mist was descending and he felt a tremor run through his hands. He bunched hem into fists but that only made his tension rise.

  Dan pushed himself back from the bar, physically breaking the spell, and sucked in a breath.

  ‘So what’s goin’ on, Top?’ he asked hoarsely, quieter now but still with a thread of anger running through his words. ‘Did his old man buy you off?’

  Top visibly flinched as if he’d been slapped. His right hand rose shakily from the bar top, the ice in his Scotch rattling against the glass as he brought it to his lips. He managed a small swallow, a narrow trickle of the golden fluid running down his unshaven chin as he carefully lowered the glass back down. He wiped the back of his hand across his chin and sucked the Scotch off it. He still never turned his head.

  ‘Really Top?’ Dan felt his own voice catch in his throat as he said it. Disappointment and sadness welled inside him, and as he stared at the man in front of him, he saw a tear begin to slip down the side of Top’s nose, slowly dribbling down onto his upper lip.

  Dan turned away, unable to look any longer, and stood up. He paused, unsure now what to do. The Asian barman caught his eye and indicated pouring a drink. Dan shook his head bluntly and scowled at him.

  ‘Chill, bro,’ the barman told him defensively, ‘I was only asking.’

  ‘Well don’t. And don’t serve him again either-he’s an alcoholic and he’s drunk and you’re serving him at half past nine in the morning.’ Dan scowled harder. ‘You’re a disgrace, mate.’

  ‘Hey hey, don’t come in here throwing your weight around, okay bro?’ The barman came round the bar and walked towards him. ‘This ain’t your turf, so don’t be messing with something you don’t wanna be messing with, okay bro?’

  Dan stood his ground and the barman stopped when they were toe to toe. He was almost a head taller than the barman, but the other guy’s arms were knotted hard with muscle and he had less body fat than a bulimic catwalk model. They eyeballed each other hard.

  ‘If you wanna keep your licence, Bruce,’ Dan told him softly, his voice full of menace, ‘I suggest you stand down pronto. Today’s not a good day to get arrested, and if that happens, you can bet your bottom dollar Immigration’ll come through here about thirty seconds later. Comprende?’

  The barman didn’t break the stare. ’Bruce?’ he said, ‘really?’

  ‘You don’t look like a Jackie,’ Dan replied coolly. ‘Now cool your jets before you do something you’ll regret.’

  ‘I could snap you in half, bro,’ the barman told him flatly, not a hint of emotion in his eyes.

  ‘I know, but you won’t. You got bigger things to worry about if that happens, so let’s both just go about our business. Right?’

  The barman said nothing, and Dan turned away, walking towards the door. It was both an act of disrespect to turn your back on an opponent and an act of faith that he wouldn’t react, and it wasn’t until Dan was out on the footpath again that he let out his breath.

  He stood there for a minute, watching the hustle and bustle around him as the city day kicked off properly, seeing and hearing and smelling the life around him but unable to focus on anything but the maelstrom of emotion inside him.

  Chapter Eight

  Detective Inspector Hugh Kennedy wheeled his unmarked Commodore into the car park behind Dan Crowley’s silver Vectra. He waited while the private eye parked and got out, and watched as the other man glanced in his direction.

  He saw a scowl cross Crowley’s face before the other man turned away and headed towards the business centre. Kennedy eased the car up behind him and buzzed the window down, but Crowley ignored him and kept walking.

  Fighting his irritation, Kennedy called out to him. ‘Crowley. Crowley!’

  Crowley stopped and took his time turning around. He made no move towards Kennedy and said nothing, just fixed him with that direct gaze of his. Kennedy had been on the receiving end of it numerous times over the years, and still found it uncomfortable.

  It was a look that was a challenge, appraisingly critical, hostile and confrontational, irritated and mocking all rolled into one, and he hated it. Coupled with the sneer Crowley always gave him, the one that curled part of his upper lip under his moustache, it always made Kennedy want to slap him across the mouth.

  ‘You wanna say something Huey,’ Crowley growled now, ‘or are you just drinking me in?’

  Kennedy flushed unwittingly, realising he’d been staring. ‘Um, agh...’

  ‘Right, good talk.’ Crowley turned and walked away again, and Kennedy honked the horn without thinking. It was loud in the enclosed area, and he saw the blinds in a nearby office twitch as somebody peeked out to investigate the noise.

  Crowley turned and strode back towards him, the scowl in full force now, his movements strong and purposeful. Kennedy stayed in the car; it felt safer that way.

  ‘You want something little man?’ Crowley snarled, leaning both hands on Kennedy’s window frame, ‘or are you just trying to piss me off?’

  Kennedy subconsciously pulled back from the attack, and immediately knew that Crowley had seen it for what it was. He mentally kicked himself.

  ‘Um, actually I came to remind you to not to inte
rfere in an active Police investigation. You have responsibilities due to being licensed, and there could well be legal ramifications for overstepping the boundaries of your role.’ He paused, getting a confidence boost from finishing his spiel.

  Crowley’s lip curled and he looked at Kennedy with disdain.

  ‘Gosh, what a great speech Huey,’ he sneered, ‘bet that took some practising. Now run along and find some paper to push. There must be a dozen meetings for you to attend today, so don’t let me hold you up.’ He stood and slapped the roof of the car. ‘Lightweight.’

  Kennedy watched him walk away again, the arrogance of his swagger and the dismissive nature of his scorn making the DI’s cheeks burn. He felt hopelessly impotent dealing with people like Crowley, knowing how they saw him. Despite having reached a senior rank, Kennedy knew within himself that Crowley’s assessment of him as a ‘lightweight’ was entirely true.

  He gunned the engine angrily and slipped it back into Drive, but hesitated when he saw Crowley turn and walk back towards him. He waited for the private eye to get back to the car, and thought he could see a change of expression in his face.

  ‘I’m only doing this because it’s in my client’s best interests, but I have to tell you before you do anything stupid,’ Crowley told him. ‘I have evidence that will blow this case outta the water, and it will save you a lot of time and energy, and probably money, if you hold fire on any charges for now. Your witnesses are lying to you.’

  Kennedy blinked with surprise. ‘I’d be interested to know what could blow it outta the water,’ he said doubtfully, ‘it seems pretty solid from where I’m sitting.’

  ‘You need to get out and about more, then. It’s a stitch up from start to finish.’ He couldn’t help himself. ‘And you’d know all about stitch ups.’

  Kennedy pursed his lips and looked piously at him, but didn’t respond to the jab.

  ‘I’ll disclose the evidence to you,’ Crowley told him, ‘but I need to speak to my client first. I’ll be in touch.’

  Kennedy nodded slowly, his mind ticking over. He looked up at Crowley. ‘That’s very co-operative of you, Dan.’

  Crowley scowled. ‘Don’t get too excited just yet. We’re not mates, and I still don’t like you. I just know that you play it totally by the book, and are scrupulously honest to a fault.’

  ‘Gee,’ Kennedy replied drily, ‘I thought it was the start of something special.’

  Crowley studied him silently for a moment. ‘It’s not. I just hope you’ve got the stones to deal with this appropriately.’

  He turned and walked back towards the office.

  Kennedy dropped the handbrake and shot across the car park, braking hard when he got to the exit. He paused to wait for a pair of young mums pushing prams, and glanced in his rear view mirror as he did so, still fuming at Crowley and how he’d been so scornful.

  He caught sight of a smooth silver Lexus pulling in behind him, and craned his neck to see the driver. As he watched, a sporty looking young man got out of the driver’s seat, and an older, distinguished looking man alighted from the passenger’s side. Kennedy didn’t recognise the younger man, but the older one was Mathew Taylor.

  Kennedy waited until they had walked out of view towards the business centre, then slipped the Commodore into reverse and manoeuvred back into a slot. He hurried after the two men as they made their way through the pedestrian access out to Main Highway, and up the stairs.

  He waited until they reached the first floor before taking a couple of steps up after them, going just far enough to see them enter the offices of Chase Investigations Ltd. He stopped there and saw the door close behind them. Kennedy paused, drumming his fingers on the stair railing as he processed this new development.

  Molly looked up as the door opened and two men entered. The young man in the lead looked around quickly, his eyes settling on her for a fleeting second before moving again.

  ‘Where is he?’ he asked urgently, still scanning, ‘Danny? Where is he?’

  Molly glanced at the older man behind him, who smiled easily at her. ‘Hello ma’am, I’m Mathew Taylor. I’m here to see Dan Crowley.’

  It was a statement of fact, and she recognised his name immediately. She also recognised the younger man from Dan’s description of him, and instinctively knew there would be trouble.

  ‘And here I am,’ Dan said, stepping out of the kitchenette with a water bottle in his hand. He extended his hand to Taylor and they shook. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  He pointedly ignored Brady and ushered Taylor to the sofas. The politician declined the offer of a coffee, but took a seat and crossed his knees like a lady.

  ‘I’ve heard good things about you, Mr Crowley,’ Taylor began smoothly, ‘it sounds like you run a tight ship here, very professional.’

  ‘We do what we do,’ Dan nodded.

  ‘And I appreciate all that you’ve done for my son thus far.’ Taylor paused, the meaning of his words apparent. He laced his fingers together on his knee and looked serious. ‘But I’d like to settle up the account now and leave things there. The matter has come to a natural conclusion and there’s no need to bother you any further. We’re going to let sleeping dogs lie, as it were.’

  ‘Oh look, it’s no bother at all.’ Dan’s smile was easy, but Molly could see that despite his relaxed pose on the sofa, his shoulders were tense.

  ‘That’s very good of you,’ Taylor assured him, the plastic politician’s smile still in place. He half turned towards Brady, who was hovering beside him. ‘If you’ll let us know the amount, Paul will settle up for you.’

  Dan nodded slowly, still pointedly ignoring Brady.

  ‘‘That’s a very kind offer,’ he replied, ‘but unfortunately our services are contracted to our client, not to you, Mr Taylor. I’m afraid I can’t discuss rates etcetera with you.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

  Brady shifted impatiently and opened his mouth to speak, but Taylor silenced him with a casual flick of the hand, a gesture so blatantly domineering that it was embarrassing to watch. Molly cocked an eyebrow in surprise, and Dan didn’t even try to hide his smirk. He saw Brady scowl at him, and smirked a bit more. Brady’s lips pinched and his face paled with humiliation.

  ‘I don’t think you understand me, Mr Crowley,’ Taylor continued, adopting a more serious tone now, complete with a grave expression. He could have been discussing the Middle East crisis, or famine in Africa, but he wasn’t. ‘This matter has gone far enough, and caused enough...inconvenience for all of us. My son will be resigning from the Police and will be undertaking his OE within the month, and this business will be dealt with expeditiously by those making the decisions.’ He nodded sagely to emphasise his point. ‘So you needn’t be inconvenienced any further.’

  Dan nodded slowly, absorbing the politico’s words and chewing them over thoughtfully. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped.

  ‘See, I have a problem with that. Your son hasn’t actually done anything wrong aside from jump in the sack with the wrong kind of girl. I can prove that the assault allegation is trumped up and clear his name.’ He held up one finger. ‘That’s the first thing. The second thing is that the cop investigating the case has just spoken to me literally five minutes ago and warned me to keep out of it, so he clearly doesn’t know anything about it all going away.’

  Taylor’s eyes flickered and Dan nodded again.

  ‘I thought so. Obviously you’re tight with somebody higher up the food chain than him, which...’ he sighed now, ‘kind of hints at, I don’t know...corruption?’

  Taylor physically flinched, and Brady’s face went dark. Molly felt her pulse quicken and glanced at the desk phone, wondering how long it would take her to grab it and dial triple one.

  Dan held up a second finger. ‘That’s the second thing. And the third thing is; who got to Top?’ He spread his hands expressively. ‘Somebody has put some pressure on the old fella, enough for him to drop the ball and hit the bottle. Enough to
steer his moral compass the wrong way. Enough to scare him.’

  He sat back now, the speech over, and waited. Silence hung thickly in the office for what seemed an eternity. The three men stared at each other, the hostility clear now, until finally Taylor’s face eased into an awkward smile. He stood up with a heavy sigh, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  ‘I can see we’re getting nowhere here, Mr Crowley.’ He sighed sadly. ‘Unfortunately I think we’ll just have to see how the cards fall now, and hope for the best.’

  He extended his hand with a genial smile. Dan ignored his hand and moved towards the door.

  ‘For a man in your position, Mr Taylor,’ he said, ‘you sure have some strange associations.’

  He turned as he opened the door, and Taylor stopped short, waiting for the punch line.

  ‘Corruption’s such a dirty word,’ Dan told him, and Taylor looked offended.

  ‘I’d be careful throwing round words like that, Crowley,’ he replied, unable to hide the catch in his voice.

  ‘Yeah? How about methamphetamine?’ Dan glanced pointedly at Brady, standing dutifully behind his boss.

  Taylor cocked his head quizzically, and glanced at his aide then back to Dan.

  ‘What exactly is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Users tend to go through dramatic mood swings, sometimes not sleeping for days and full of energy, then crashing for days until they get another hit. Erratic moods, volatile tempers tending towards extreme violence, paranoia, all sorts of bad stuff.’ Dan held his gaze coolly. ‘The sort of behaviour it would take to scare off a veteran cop. Could be the sort of stamina it would take to work like a demon on a political campaign.’ He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I dunno, just speculating. I’ve never worked in politics before.’

  Taylor stiffened noticeably.

  ‘But I have worked with criminals for a long time, and a lot of them use meth. I know the signs and I recognise the users.’ He shrugged again. ‘Probably the last thing a politician would want spread across the front page of the Herald, specially coupled with the whole corruption angle.’ He heard Brady let out a hiss of anger, and continued to ignore him. ‘Just sayin’.’