Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mick
I t’s been years since I looked through one-way glass. The interview room is exactly as I remember it. Light grey walls, a small table and two chairs in the middle. The space is devoid of warmth and humanity. As is the man sitting in the hot seat. Sweat breaks out under my armpits, and my heart decides that now would be a good time to simulate a gym workout.
Jake stands next to me, hands on his hips, surveying the room. “Thanks to your forensic voodoo, we have enough evidence to charge Matthew Baker for tax fraud. I doubt we’ll get anything else out of him to prove a connection to Leadbetter, but it’s worth a shot.”
I wipe sweaty palms on my trouser legs. I never expected to see that face again. “You might be luckier than you think.”
“What do you mean?”
I tug on my tie. The temperature in this room is stifling. “I recognise Baker from my undercover days. He called himself Reaper.”
I turn away from the glass. My mouth is dry, my fingers trembling as memories flash in front of me: Reaper slipping out of the building before all hell broke loose, the ensuing gunfire, Davo dropping to the floor.
Jake’s eyes all but glow as he touches his fingertips to the mirror. “He’s a member of Leadbetter’s gang?”
“Yep.” Bile creeps up my throat and my knees buckle. “One of his key henchmen, a cruel bastard. Got off on pointing guns at his men’s heads.”
Jake pulls out his phone. “Greg, get your arse in here.”
I collapse onto a nearby chair and concentrate on my breathing. For once, Jake’s oblivious to his surroundings, his focus firmly planted on Reaper. It gives me time to regain control and stop the past from sucking me under.
One breath in.
One breath out.
The door swings open, and Greg strides in, doing up his tie. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
The flagrant disrespect is just what I need to pull myself together. I laugh and wince at the glare Jake directs my way.
His lips flatten. “Why are you dressing yourself?”
Greg adjusts his collar. “No reason.”
“Jesus. If I catch you and Emily doing anything you shouldn’t at the station …” The vein at Jake’s temple pulses and his jaw works overtime. He’ll wear his molars down if he keeps that up for too long. It’s the first time I’ve seen him genuinely lose patience with his friend.
Greg scowls. “Trust me to have a bit more decorum, Jake. Or at least trust Em. We weren’t banging in your office. I spilt coffee on my tie.”
“Fine.” Jake closes the door and leans against it with the confidence of a lion that’s cornered its prey. “Now, let me fill you in on what Mick just told me before you conduct the interview.”
Greg and a constable enter the small room. The constable remains near the entrance while Greg advances on Reaper, aka Matthew Baker, with slow, measured steps. Movements designed to intimidate. But Reaper’s no pushover. He’s taller than Greg and packing a shit tonne of muscle.
Greg goes through the preliminaries of introducing himself and telling Reaper his rights. The arsehole sneers and flicks him the bird, but the beads of sweat on his brow tell us his confidence is forced.
With a cocky smile, Greg drops the report I prepared onto the table. “So, Mr Baker, it seems there are a few anomalies in your last three tax returns.”
Reaper shrugs. “No idea. You’d better talk to my accountant.”
“We would, but she died of an overdose.”
He smirks at the one-way glass. The prick knows he’s being watched. “That’s unfortunate.”
“I hear these are your favourite.” Greg throws a packet of cigars onto the table. “Terence Leadbetter likes them too.”
Reaper laughs, sweat now trickling down his cheeks. “I have no idea where you’re getting your intel, Sergeant, but I don’t smoke. And I’ve never heard of … what was the name? Leadbetter?”
Greg looms over him, still as a statue. “Are you sure about that … Reaper ?”
Reaper’s affable smile fades to an ugly scowl. He crosses his arms and glares at the two-way mirror. “I got nothin’ to say until I see my lawyer.”
Jake ushers Greg, Emily and me through the pub door. We order drinks and pizza and take a seat in the back corner. It’s three pm, way past lunchtime, but in a rare breach of protocol, Jake’s declared an early mark .
He raises his glass. “You did well in the interview, Sergeant Anderson. Baker, or Reaper, or whatever his name is, was shitting himself.”
I shudder as an image of Davo flashes in my mind, the light in his eyes ebbing away. I’m an eyewitness who can put Reaper at the scene of a crime. Witnesses have a habit of winding up dead. “We’re not there yet.”
“I know.” Jake nods, acknowledging the panic that must be painted all over my face. “Don’t worry. We’ll find an alternate connection to Leadbetter, so you won’t need to testify about what went down undercover.”
He can’t make promises like that, but I appreciate his confidence.
Greg drapes an arm across Emily’s shoulders and kisses her cheek. “Em can help.”
She replies by using Greg’s tie to pull him towards her for a full-mouth kiss.
“For Christ’s sake, you two,” Jake grumbles.
Their mouths lock for a few more seconds. Greg lifts his gaze and winks. “We’re not on the clock now, Inspector.”
Jake taps his watch. “Technically, you still are.”
The transformation in Greg is astounding. He was the last person I’d have expected to settle down. And proof that, with the right incentive, anyone can change their ways.
A scuffle near the pool tables catches my attention, as does a mop of brown hair. My heart sinks. Ashley.
Jake’s shrewd gaze turns in the same direction. “Do they look over eighteen?”
“Nope,” says Greg. He snaps his fingers at Jake. “Let ’em be. They’re not hurting anyone.”
“True. But they’re underage and drinking,” I say.
Greg’s brows pinch together. “Fuck. Can’t we have one afternoon with no drama?”
It’s hard to tell whether Jake will give them a warning or arrest them. That’s the last thing Melissa needs. “How about I go over and suggest they leave?”
Jake strokes his jaw and studies the three boys. “Okay. But if they give you any trouble, I’m hauling their arses down to the station.”
I adjust my jacket and stroll over to the pool table. Ashley’s all smiles as he hits a ball into the corner pocket. His expression darkens when he sees me approaching. His two friends straighten their shoulders and puff out their chests.
“Hey, Ashley. Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Ashley glances at his mates. They’ve got trouble written all over their faces. Why is he hanging around these punks?
He adjusts his stance and tilts his head to the side. “What’s it to you?”
“Fuck off, mate,” says the guy with a piercing through his nose.
“I can’t do that. You have to be over eighteen to be in this part of the club.”
A hint of vulnerability leaks into Ashley’s expression. He’s not beyond redemption. Yet. But his friends show no remorse as they advance on me. They’re both my height but still in that gangly teen phase.
“And what are you going to do about it?” says the punk with long, ratty hair dangling around his face.
I raise one eyebrow. “I’ll give you a choice. Otherwise, your parents will get a call.”
Ashley lifts his chin and turns a hateful glare on me. “Piss off. You’re not my dad.”
“Nope, I’m not. I’m over here as a mate. Because if my detective friends come over, you’ll all be spending the afternoon at the station.”
I hook my finger towards the table I’d been sitting at. The lethal expressions on Jake’s and Greg’s faces should be sufficient warning. And while Emily appears harmless, she could bring these boys down faster and harder than Jake and Greg combined.
“If you don’t leave now, they’ll arrest you.”
“Fucking pigs.” The one with the piercing spits on the floor. “We’re out of here.” He and his mate swivel and storm towards the front of the pub.
Ashley clenches his fists by his sides. “You gonna rat me out to Mum?”
Saying ‘yes’ would ostracise him further, but what do I do? The ink on my forearm itches as if Davo’s trying to send me a message. “Nope. But only if you go home now. You know the school will have already called your mother when you didn’t turn up to class. She’ll be worried.”
I remove my wallet and offer him a business card. “This is my number in case you ever need to chat.”
He swings his backpack over his shoulder, looking much younger than his fifteen years. “Whatever.” I half expect him to ignore the card, but he snatches it from my hand and struts away.
I scratch the persistent itch on my arm. Talk to me, Davo. How do I get through to him?