Dark Fissures

by Coyle, Matt;

  “Yes, and one of them was my husband.”

  “Who you were going to divorce.”

  “You can be cruel when you want to be, Rick.” She stood up, face tight, and grabbed the canvas bag off the floor. She stuffed the million-dollar bonds into the bag one by one. “They killed my husband and left me and my son with nothing. I’m not going to be the good little martyr and live my life off someone else’s idea of a clean conscience.”

  “You can live your life however you want to. I don’t know anything about clean consciences.” But I knew sooner or later, I’d need a high-priced lawyer. Trying to beat a murder didn’t come cheaply. A million or so dollars would give me a chance.

  “I’m not going to keep all of this for myself, Rick. I’m going to give some to charity. A lot. Something good can come from this. I can help people who really need it. I can help Cash and the people in my life I care about.” Her face went soft and her eyes glistened an impossible blue. “I care about you, Rick.”

  Just like that, my life could change. Brianne’s already had. In her mind, she’d washed the blood off the bearer bonds and made them clean. And justified her decision. I couldn’t make that decision so easily.

  And I didn’t know if I could love someone who could.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  I GOT OUT of the bed Brianne and I shared at seven thirty the next morning. Or later that same morning. Or the morning after the night that never ended. I’d gotten maybe two hours more of zombie sleep after Brianne’s revelation. She’d slept like a baby. Was still asleep.

  George followed me as I limped around the hotel room quietly collecting weapons and dirty clothes and stuffing them into my duffel bag. I got dressed into my last clean t-shirt and underwear. I pulled the jeans I’d worn last night off a pile of clothes on the floor and struggled into them. My knee yelled when I bent it, but I stayed silent. The empty shoulder holster lay on top of my bomber jacket on the floor. I placed the holster in the duffel bag and put on the jacket that now had a bullet hole in the left arm

  Something didn’t feel right. A piece was missing. I took off the jacket, reached back into the duffel bag, pulled out the holster, and put it on. I took the Smith & Wesson .357 out of the duffel and slipped it into the holster, then put the jacket back on. Better. I felt whole now. The threat to my life had ended last night, but I still craved the security of a firearm strapped to my body. How long would that need last?

  Would I be wearing it when Police Chief Tony Moretti knocked on my door? What would I do to stay free?

  I had a lot to figure out beyond even my freedom. Brianne’s offer hung over me like an albatross and an angel. Enough money to ensure my freedom on a faraway island. No Randall Eddington. No Tony Moretti. Just my demons. I doubted there was enough money anywhere to chase them away. Could I live with myself for making the same decision I might never forgive Brianne for making?

  I didn’t have any answers. At least not the right ones, yet.

  I left a note on the hotel notepad telling Brianne I’d call her later that afternoon. Maybe I’d have answers by then. Maybe even the right ones.

  George tilted his head into a question when I left him behind and exited the hotel room.

  The morning sky held more gray than light as I drove home. I found a local news station on the car radio and braced for what I knew I’d hear. The death of Congressman Peterson and the shootout in Coronado split time dominating the news coverage. I was a part of the news again, even if the news didn’t know it yet. I couldn’t stay hidden forever.

  Nothing so far about Ben Townsend in Pine Valley. Sooner or later, someone would notice the car hadn’t moved in the driveway for a while and investigate and then call the police when they whiffed the stink of death.

  Kyle Bates had been identified and the reporter was already calling him an ex-Navy SEAL. It wouldn’t take long for the police to find out that he and recently deceased LJPD Sergeant Jim Colton had served together and were friends. Maybe the exposure would force Moretti to open up Colton’s suicide investigation. Maybe Brianne would finally get that insurance money, now that she didn’t need it.

  I called Rollins and we coordinated our story about Coronado. We’d only use it if the cops came calling. No volunteering. I already had one supposed murder hanging over my head. I wasn’t going to show up at Coronado PD and try to explain one more.

  I made it home and parked in my driveway, left the duffel bag in the car, and limp-hustled next door to pick up Midnight. He jumped up and licked me in the face and bounced all the way home. I felt the same way. I just couldn’t bounce. We went inside and I turned to shut the door and saw a car pull up across the street. A Crown Victoria. Local law enforcement choice for plain-wrap cop cars. I braced for Moretti to get out of the car and feared my reunion with Midnight might be the last I’d ever have.

  The car door opened, but it wasn’t Moretti who got out. FBI Special Agent Blanton. Special Agent in Charge Richmond’s toady who escorted Brianne and me into the SAC’s office. He wore an overcoat over his blue suit like a real live G-Man. I’d expected law enforcement, just not the FBI. I held the door ajar and waited for him to approach.

  “Mr. Cahill.” Blanton gave me his bureaucratic smile.

  Midnight stuck his head between me and the door and growled. Low. Menacing. Determined.

  “Quiet.” I snapped my finger and he quieted, but his hackles stayed at full spike.

  “Oh, dear.” Blanton inched back away from the door. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.”

  “Can this wait, Agent Blanton? It’s been a long week.”

  “It’s really rather urgent and involves the conversations you had with Special Agent Mallon.”

  “Then why didn’t he come?”

  “He’s currently under suspension.” Blanton dropped the smile. “We’d like to get your side of the story before we take further disciplinary action.”

  Mallon had helped me out and had gotten into a jackpot because of it. More ruin in my wake. He’d helped me crack the case. The least I could do was stick up for him.

  “Come on in.” I swung the door open. Midnight showed Blanton his teeth.

  “I was mauled as a child.” Blanton looked at Midnight and then back at me. “Would you mind securing your dog?”

  “He only bites people who want to hurt me. But sure.” I limped over to the back door and let Midnight outside.

  “What happened to your leg?” Blanton had the front door closed and was already standing near the couch in the living room.

  “Old football injury.” I headed back into the living room.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Cahill.” He pointed to the couch. “Do you need a hand?”

  “I’ll manage.” I finally made it to the couch and sat down. It would have felt good to sit, except that I had an FBI Special Agent standing over me in my own house.

  “Why did you contact Special Agent Mallon?”

  If I told him the truth, I didn’t know where it would end. Maybe on Coronado Beach kneeling over the dead body of Kyle Bates. I couldn’t lead him down that path. Not yet. Hopefully never.

  “It involves a case I’m working on and it’s confidential.” Mostly true. “I’m sure you understand. The FBI is big on confidentiality.”

  “How’d you like to be indicted as Special Agent Mallon’s coconspirator?” His smile pinched flat and his small eyes went hard. “Should we talk here or back at the field office?”

  Protecting Special Agent Mallon suddenly lost its righteousness. I’d been fearing Moretti putting me behind bars; now the FBI wanted to jump ahead in line.

  “Coconspirator to what?” My mouth cottoned up.

  “Why did you contact Special Agent Mallon?”

  “After I talked with SAC Richmond at your headquarters, someone called me claiming to be Mallon. He agreed to meet me that night and give me information about the phone call Jim Colton made to the FBI before he died. I went to the meet and someone tried to kill me. I
called the real Special Agent Mallon the next day and told him what had happened.”

  I’d taken the first step along the path that led to two dead bodies on Coronado Beach. They’d died trying to kill me and Brianne. Open and shut self-defense. Except I’d always had a hard time making law enforcement believe me.

  “What about Paulie’s Auto Body Repair, Ben Townsend, and Phoenix Holdings?”

  I couldn’t tell him what I knew without mentioning Doug McCafferty and Kyle Bates. I’d be back at the FBI field office as soon as the conversation was over. Or the Coronado Police Station.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I wasn’t under oath. Yet.

  “I know from Special Agent Mallon’s computer searches that he collected information about Paulie’s, Mr. Townsend, and Phoenix Holdings and passed it on to you.” Blanton peered down at me, hands on his hips. “Who besides you and Brianne Colton know about them?”

  An odd question for someone trying to learn the truth.

  “Know what about them?” The hair on the back of my neck rose up.

  “Maybe you should look at this.” Blanton smiled and reached his hand inside his coat. He pulled out a gun and pointed it at my face.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  I FROZE. THE air left my body. My pulse spiked.

  Special Agent Blanton.

  The third partner. The inside man at the FBI. Brianne’s interaction with Alyssa Bates had convinced me that Alyssa had been the silent partner. I’d forgotten that there had to have been someone inside or very close to the FBI.

  My carelessness might get me killed.

  “Stand up. Hands behind your head.”

  I stood up and Blanton pressed the Glock 9mm against my chest. A black metal cylinder was screwed into the barrel. A silencer. Like Kyle Bates had used last night on the beach. Cold. Quiet. Deadly. The tool of an assassin. He patted me down with the hand not holding the gun pointed at my chest. He pulled the revolver from my shoulder holster and put it in the pocket of his trench coat.

  Midnight howled and slammed against the sliding glass door from the outside.

  “You were the person Colton talked to when he called the FBI a few days before he died.”

  “Gold star.” He waved the Glock at me. “Sit down.”

  No weapon in range. No Oak Rollins to bail me out. No way to get to Blanton before a bullet stopped me. I sat down.

  “I don’t get it. Colton calls you with his suspicions about Bates and McCafferty and they suddenly decide to make you a partner?”

  “I’m taking your gold star away.” He smiled. A mask he probably wore his whole life to get close to people he could use. Even now when he held the upper hand. “We served together in Iraq. Well, served at the same time. But we did drink together, sometimes. I was in the logistics chain on the ground in Haditha. I was responsible for getting needed supplies into the war zone. But I also knew how to get things out. Like gold bullion, currency, and the last bearer bonds ever issued by the US Treasury in 1986 and sold exclusively overseas that some Al-Qaeda sympathizer ended up with. Until they were seized by a couple of enterprising SEALs.”

  “So why join the FBI when you were a millionaire?” Time. Luck. A mistake. The only things that could keep me alive.

  “A millionaire’s not what it used to be.” He laughed. A mirthless bark. “I had two years left on my hitch in the Army. Bates and McCafferty the same in the Navy. We needed someone to get the little bit of gold we stole out of Iraq. McCafferty volunteered to die for the team and be born anew while Bates and I did our time for the USofA. We used the gold and sold a few bonds for fifty cents on the dollar to set up the holding company and then waited for the bonds to mature. Fifteen million split three ways is a much better lifestyle than a million apiece.”

  “But why join the FBI?”

  “No better place to be to keep an eye open for any investigations into missing Iraqi war booty. Took me five years to get transferred to San Diego where I could also keep an eye on Bates. We were almost home, too. Then McCafferty gets spotted while he’s in town by Colton who couldn’t let things go. Such an anal sense of duty to a country that held him in as high regard as used toilet paper.”

  “So you had to kill him.”

  “Not me. Although I would have if needed.” His dead eyes told me a stopwatch had just started ticking on my life. “I left that to his brother SEALs, McCafferty and Bates. The ones you somehow killed in Coronado last night. I guess I should thank you for increasing my share.”

  “Where did they get the fentanyl they used to incapacitate Colton before they hung him?”

  “Good guess. You aren’t as stupid as you look.” The smile. I wanted to punch it off his face. “You’d be amazed at the things you can find in an FBI evidence locker.”

  “Someone’s going to figure out your involvement, Blanton. Killing me just leaves more evidence to track.”

  “You’re a problem, Mr. Cahill. You involved Special Agent Mallon. He started connecting dots and asking questions. Fortunately, he asked them of me thinking I’d take them to that politician SAC Richmond. But, you’re right, sooner or later word will get to Richmond and he’ll start an investigation. Now tell me where my bearer bonds are and maybe you can live.”

  We both knew he was lying about the living part, but all I could do was play along and try to stretch the clock. “I don’t know where they are. Alyssa Bates probably has them. She was there on the beach last night and took off after her husband died. I didn’t even know about—”

  Someone knocked on my front door. Pounded the door.

  Blanton put a finger to his lips and pointed the gun at my head.

  Midnight howled and threw himself against the sliding glass door.

  More knocks.

  “Cahill, let’s get this over with!” La Jolla Police Chief Tony Moretti shouted through the door.

  “He won’t go away,” I whispered and prayed I was right.

  “Get up.” Blanton looked surprisingly calm.

  He stepped forward and shoved the gun against my head and used his other hand to help me off the couch. He walked me to the door.

  “Any movement and you die.” He stuck the gun in my side and glanced through the peephole. Then he stepped behind me with the gun still in my side. “Answer it and get rid of him.”

  I opened the door. Moretti stood on the porch in a suit, brown lunch bag in his hand at his side. Alone.

  “You want to do the buccal swap here or downtown?” He smirked and lifted the paper bag. “The time has come, Cahill.”

  The gun pushed harder into my right side hidden by the door.

  “You have a warrant?”

  “Hardball. Always hardball with you, Cahill. I thought you’d jump at an opportunity to exonerate yourself, but if you want a warrant, I’ll get you one.”

  “Downtown. I’ll go downtown with you, Moretti.” I blurted the words out. Maybe jail could save my life.

  “Chief Moretti. So nice to see you again.” Blanton stepped from behind me in front of the door with open angles on both Moretti and me. His gun hand hidden behind his right leg. “Come in and we can discuss who has jurisdiction to arrest Mr. Cahill.”

  “Special Agent Blanton?” Moretti scrunched his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You’re not the only agency investigating Mr. Cahill.” The smile. “Come in and we can compare notes.”

  Moretti stepped inside, his face frozen in a squint. Blanton pushed the door closed.

  “I’m ready, Chief. Downtown.” I took a step. “Let’s go.”

  “We can all figure this out down at the station.” Moretti turned the doorknob.

  Blanton swung the gun up at Moretti.

  “Look out!” I lunged at Blanton. Flames came out of the silencer with a soft “pift.” Burnt gunpowder stained the air. I hit Blanton in the side with my shoulder and grabbed for the gun. I heard Moretti’s body hit the ground just before Blanton and I landed on the floor. Blanton slid on his back and
angled the gun at me. I grabbed his jacket but couldn’t reach his arm.

  The sliding glass door exploded into shatterproof pellets. Midnight tumbled along the hardwood floor. Blanton twisted and swung the gun at Midnight. My hand found his coat pocket. And my .357 Magnum. The pift of Blanton’s silencer. The magnum’s trigger. Six explosions. Empty.

  Blanton still. Midnight, unhit, stood over his body, growling. I staggered over to Moretti. A hole in his chest. Shirt soaked red. He blinked and held up a hand. Then our eyes met and reality crystallized between us. No warrant. His investigation was still off the books.

  If he died, I went free.

  EPILOGUE

  I FOUGHT BACK tears the first time I heard Brianne’s number-one hit on the radio, “California Cowboy.” The song she’d written for me, but never sang out loud. Now it came from a studio two thousand miles away in Nashville. She moved there shortly after December 1. She hired the best studio musicians in Music City and cut a demo that went platinum. I still get a $5,000 check in the mail from Nashville at the beginning of every month.

  I haven’t cashed one yet. I never will.

  Rollins and I turned ourselves in to Coronado PD the day the ambulances arrived at my house. After the San Diego Police Department questioned me for three hours about the bloodbath in my home. It took many more hours under the hot lights in Coronado and corroboration from Brianne, but Rollins and I weren’t arrested. In fact, we were hailed as heroes on the news. Jim Colton’s death was finally ruled a homicide with the help of the new La Jolla Chief of Police.

  I’ve suffered tragedies in my life and been unlucky in love. But in the end, life finally tried to even things out. I’ve been shot a couple times, but survived. Had bones broken and bent, but can still walk. My dog’s been poisoned and shot at, but is still alive and healthy. I have a job I like and I still own a home. There’s even a number-one country song about me on the radio, sung by a woman I could have loved.

  And I have a brand-new Congressman named Tony Moretti, who, legend and the official record say, saved my life. Not the other way around, which is fine by me. Hailed a hero, Moretti left my city for Washington D.C.