by Thomas Ryan
Jeff gave Mary a peck on the cheek.
“You never need worry on that score. Next time I promise I’ll be back for the next dance,” he said.
When Jeff walked into Quentin’s office he received a similar reaction.
“Jesus what happened to you?”
Jeff sat down.
“I had a run-in with one of Akbar’s men. I came off second best.”
“He came looking for you?”
“No, I went after him.” Jeff quickly related the events of Saturday night.
“So Esat Krasniqi was associated with the killer?” Jeff nodded. “That might explain this,” Quentin said.
Quentin laid the front page of the morning paper across his desk. ‘Serial killer on the loose’ ran the headline.
Jeff snatched the paper from Quentin.
“Esat Krasniqi was found murdered yesterday,” Quentin said.
Jeff sat back in his chair.
“My fault I suppose. Playing amateur detective exposed him. Akbar did the rest. Well, Krasniqi learned the hard way. Sleep with wild dogs and one day they’ll rip your throat out,” Jeff said, dropping the newspaper on the desk. “How was the opening night? Sorry I missed the main event.”
“A roaring success,” Quentin grinned.
“And Jeannie?”
“She’s coming round.”
Jeff nodded but wasn’t convinced that Jeannie would ever come round.
“Any news from Rebecca’s lawyers this morning? Are they still pushing to sell my vineyard?”
Quentin pursed his lips, “Not a word, I’m afraid. Until I hear otherwise your ex-wife is still going ahead with the auction.”
Jeff stood up.
“I’d better get up to the police station. I have to meet with Brian Cunningham and Barbara Heywood. Now Krasniqi is dead, Brian won’t be a happy chappy. Then I’m off out to the vineyard. Whatever you do, Quentin, keep your security in place until this is over. I’m sure with Akbar’s face plastered everywhere he will stay low. But not for long.”
Barbara was shown through to Moana’s office, now seemingly Cunningham’s. The constable informed her Cunningham would be along in a few minutes. She scanned through the pages of a magazine. When Jeff walked in she dumped it on the coffee table.
“You still look like shit,” she said.
“Thanks for the compliment. Believe me, it looks worse than it feels.” He tried a smile but it hurt and he rubbed his jaw. “Well, getting there anyway.”
“When Brian phoned and insisted I come here I said I was worried about you. After what happened to Esat Krasniqi, who knows what Akbar might do next. But Brian said not to worry. You can take care of yourself. I wanted to believe him but by the look of your face I’m not so sure.”
“It was dark, I couldn’t see much and that gave him an unfair advantage,” Jeff laughed, fending off the sarcastic remark.
“Don’t be a chump, Jeff. Krasniqi will have told Akbar you set him up. You need to be careful.”
Jeff nodded. His mobile beeped to tell him he had received a message. “Excuse me a moment.”
Barbara studied Jeff as he checked his messages. For the first time she saw it. Determination. Defiance. He would win no matter what the odds. Protect what was his. No one would stop him. It wasn’t bravery as such although he had already proven he had courage. No, it was something else. At the height of a crisis where a normal person would be experiencing fear or at least anxiety, Jeff Bradley became calm and plunged himself into danger with the same ease as a mere mortal such as herself pushed her hand into a bucket of tepid water. She had seen it in Brian that night in the Domain. She wondered if all SAS men were the same.
“Where is Brian?” Jeff asked, putting the mobile in his pocket.
“Down the hall.”
“How is he?”
“On the phone he sounded pretty good really. I’d prefer it if he yelled at me. My first husband used to give me the silent treatment. I hated it.”
“The day is not yet over.”
Cunningham entered the office and made his way behind the desk. He seemed indecisive as to whether he should sit or remain standing. He stayed on his feet, eyeing them. Barbara thought her heart missed a beat. Jeff looked as unmoved as ever. Finally Cunningham shook his head and sat. Barbara gave Jeff a quick glance. Here comes the berating was her unspoken message.
“There are many words that come to mind,” Cunningham started, then paused for a moment. “Next time you have inklings, contact me. Do you both understand?” Jeff and Barbara nodded. “A man is dead because of the actions of you two. Remember that. Worst of all we’ve lost the only connection we had to Zahar Akbar.”
Cunningham opened his mouth to say more then decided against it.
Jeff shrugged. Indifferent.
Cunningham glared. “You are not the police, Jeff.”
“What do you expect from me, Brian? An apology? Forget it. Krasniqi was working with Zahar Akbar. The way I see it he is collateral damage. You know about collateral damage don’t you, Brian?”
Barbara watched the interplay, chalking a board in her head to remind her to get her assistant, Amy, to do some research on New Zealand forces in Afghanistan. Whatever happened between these two, she wanted details.
“What now, Brian?” Barbara asked. “Where does that leave you? Will you stay working with Moana or is it back to the Tactics Group?”
“Given that the killer and the terrorist are one and the same I have been left in a complicated situation. In the warehouse there were signs Krasniqi was helping others; a stolen truck, an emptied container. But still nothing definitive that screams ‘I’m a terrorist’. I have free rein to follow up on any information that comes my way that might lead to Akbar and his men. That’s my position until I can prove we have a national security problem. Anyway, forensics and the team are going over Krasniqi’s warehouse and home. They wanted to remove Krasniqi’s computers, to check for evidence relating to his murder, not the terrorist cells. I convinced Moana to have them leave all the equipment there for the moment. She said it can stay for a couple of days. I know it’s a risk. If the computers went missing any evidence that might lead me to Akbar might be lost forever. We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we, Jeff? Unfortunately I’m in no position to check over the computers myself. Everything is sealed until forensics give the all clear.”
Barbara saw Jeff’s eyes squint. A quizzical look. Then he rubbed the back of his head.
“I hear what you’re saying. It is a risk. We wouldn’t want to lose a potential trail,” Jeff said. “If you are saying that from the evidence found in the warehouse there are more terrorists then that seals it for me, Avni Leka is behind it. Zahar is not an organiser, nor was his brother. They are contractors. If Zahar has a team he will have needed funding. Lots of funding. Leka has the money. If I’m right and this is one of his operations then bad shit is about to happen.”
“This Leka is the man from Kosovo?” Barbara asked.
“That’s the one.” Jeff looked Cunningham in the eye. “A lot of people are going to die, Brian. Leka’s operations are about maximum casualties. I’m getting more up to date intel on Akbar. I’ll let you know when it arrives.”
“And where might this be coming from?”
Jeff rubbed his jaw. Should he mention Lee Caldwell? Not at this stage. He would leave it to Caldwell to make himself known if he wished to.
“You both must have watched movies where the little guy is asking someone in the military a question and is told the information he seeks is on a need to know basis. Well this is one of those times.”
“You’re shitting me, right?” Cunningham blurted out, incredulous. “We’re not in the army now. Whether you like it or not it is a police matter. And don’t pull that ‘I’m a civilian’ shit on me. A killer is on the loose, who also happens to be a ter
rorist who, according to you, might just kill a truckload of Auckland’s citizens. So don’t go telling me I’m on a need to know fucking basis. Sorry, Barbara.”
“No need to apologise. It’s a good swearword. I use it all the time.”
“You’re going to have to trust me on this,” Jeff said.
Cunningham looked as if he was about to explode. He snapped his pencil instead. Barbara held her tongue and watched the battle of wills. These two men fascinated her and were involving her in the biggest story of her career. As a woman and a journalist it didn’t get much better.
Cunningham’s mobile rang. He glanced at it. “I have to go.”
He stormed out and slammed his office door behind him.
“Does that mean we stay?” Barbara asked.
“My advice? Time to go.”
“I still want an interview, Jeff. At least some background into what happened when you were in Kosovo. Will you at least talk to me about it?”
“I’ll tell you what. Do you have to work this afternoon? How about your news programme?”
“It’s weekly. I have time today if that’s what you’re about to ask?”
“I need to drive north this afternoon and drop a carton of Boundary Fence wine off in Whangarei. Up and back tonight. Be at my house in Devonport at 5pm. We can talk on the way. That’s the only offer you’ll get.”
Barbara smiled. “Okay. I’ll come for a drive. Don’t leave anything out. One thing, though: I’m a television presenter. I need a live interview.”
“I’ll give you the story and then we can agree on the questions and what goes on television. Then you can come out to Boundary Fence and do the shoot.”
Barbara returned to the Channel Nine studios and locked herself in her office. The stack of documents in her in tray threatened to topple onto the floor. A few dedicated hours should see it reduced before she left to meet up with Jeff Bradley. She went over the details for her next show. The murder was hogging the headlines. Brian had spoken to Moana and she had given permission to use some information unknown to other media companies. Jeff Bradley chasing the killer through the Domain would be the lead story. She loved this angle. ‘Hero’ human interest stories attracted viewers and Jeff Bradley had a growing hero reputation. She had promised to leave out the connection between Esat Krasniqi and the terrorists. Nothing would be said about the raid on the warehouse.
Amy came into the office. “I need a couple of days off, boss.”
Barbara was slightly taken aback. “You can’t take holidays in your first week, Amy.”
“Undercover work,” Amy said, grinning ear to ear. “I’ve been hired by the protest group I was telling you about. To get to see who brings the cash I need to be with them full time.”
“Amy, this is not a game.”
“Come on, Barbara. This is what we do. We’re investigative journalists, remember.”
“I’m an investigative reporter, you’re an assistant.”
“Semantics.”
“Go away and give me a few minutes to think about it,” Barbara said.
“What’s to think about? I’m in there.”
“Amy. There are things going on that I cannot tell you about. I need to think. Now go away and leave me alone.” Amy went to protest. “Five minutes. Go.” Amy walked slowly through the door. “And don’t sulk.” Barbara yelled after her.
Barbara picked up the phone. She needed to speak with Hank Challis. They’d exchanged pleasantries when he’d been appointed her producer and little else. Now she needed a face-to-face discussion, but the thought of being alone with him in his office made her skin crawl.
Hank Challis stood when he saw Barbara standing in the doorway. As always she was surprised at the size of the man. Large in all directions. Then at the shock of thick white hair swished back Elvis Presley style and plastered in place with hair cream. Beady eyes surveyed her from beneath charcoal black eyebrows sprouting in all directions like blackberry bushes.
He pointed to one of the two chairs in front of his desk.
“Nice to see you, Barbara. How can I help you?”
Barbara rolled out the story. It only took her five minutes, but all the while Challis continuously checked his watch and rifled through sheets of paper. More than once she had to bite back her irritation. But she was determined to keep her cool in front of this man, even if it killed her. When she’d finished he didn’t appear to notice at first. Then there was a sudden rise of the blackberry bushes.
“Ah. I see. Well, little lady. I hate to be a source of disappointment for you, but I’m not certain I can give approval to allowing a young member of staff being placed in such a dangerous position. Apart from the legal ramifications – and I’m sure there must be many – if something went wrong I’d be held accountable.”
“Come on, Hank. Our job is news gathering. Going undercover for research is the job we all signed on for, for Christ’s sake.”
“Be that as it may, if there is danger I can’t allow it. Fights between protestors and citizens pissed off at being inconvenienced are happening all the time. Hell, yesterday two men were taken to hospital. You want me to give permission to plonk Amy in the middle of that? No. Not likely. Besides, this is hardly earth shattering, Barbara. Professional protestors have been around for eons. In fact I would guess the general public probably believes that all the protestors are professional. Does anyone really care who’s paying them?”
Barbara said, “The police have an interest in this other than civil disorder.”
“Really?” Challis said, feigning interest but running his finger down the page of his diary.
“They have reason to believe that whoever is funding the protestors may be connected in some way to the man killed over the weekend and the attack on two women a week ago.”
Challis’s mouth dropped open.
“That seals it. It isn’t going to happen.”
Barbara shook her head. How on earth this tub of lard ever worked for CNN as he said he did defied belief. The guy did not deserve to sit at the desk as producer of the most successful news show in the country. She must have really pissed someone off on the top floor.
“Is this not something the police could do?”
Barbara said, “Yes. But it would take time and we don’t have time. Amy has got herself into this group. Someone out there is murdering people. This could lead to the break they need to find him. The police would credit Channel Nine with the capture.”
Challis nodded. “When you put it like that it certainly raises the stakes, and of course I’d agree to help if I could, but I can’t, so there it is. A closed book.”
“What do you mean ‘a closed book’? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Challis eyed Barbara with mild amusement. She suspected from Challis’s expression that he considered her IQ to be lower than a newt’s. The seat groaned under his weight as he leaned forward. Elbows planted on the desktop, he brought his two forefingers together to support his chin. His overt impatience morphed into a forced look of concern.
“I’m the producer and those are my rules. Now, your show. Let’s talk about the Bradley interview and the incident in the Domain and of course this killer you’re so concerned about.”
Her hands dropped into a clasp on the table. Barbara felt her colour rising.
“This is just bullshit.”
Challis’s eyebrows shot heavenwards. A crinkle formed above either nostril as if he’d been subjected to a very bad smell.
“Look. I understand how upsetting this must be for you. I have daughters. So I do have some understanding of how the female mind works. Your tenacity is admirable, but my advice is to relax. Don’t fight the system. You can never win. You get what I’m saying here?”
The air of finality couldn’t have been plainer. Barbara glanced around the room at the symbols of Challis’s ach
ievements hanging in ornate frames on the walls. Some were in the form of photos of him standing next to second-level world celebrities – one a US open golf champion. It was definitely the office of an egotist.
She hoisted herself to her feet.
“We’re having staff drinks tonight. If you come along, maybe I can buy you a drink?”
His eyes dropped to ogle her chest. She resisted the urge to fold her arms. Disgusted, she turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
23.
The black Range Rover kept two cars between it and Jeff’s BMW. The four occupants sat in silence. There was nothing to be said. They knew what had to be done.
In the BMW, Barbara sat quietly in the passenger seat, still seething after her meeting with Challis. She had spoken to Brian Cunningham and to Amy; Amy would continue with her undercover work but if asked it had been her idea to go it alone. Brian promised Barbara he would appoint detectives to watch over Amy. Challis could go to hell. She was not about to let the biggest story of her career slip from her grasp because her new boss, Hank the Yank, didn’t have the balls for it. The page on her notepad remained empty of words; she was too distracted to ask questions. She would give Jeff the third degree on the way back.
An hour and a half later, as Jeff’s car ascended the Brynderwyn mountain range, he spotted the Range Rover in his rear-view mirror. He had noticed it earlier but had thought nothing of it at the time. Years of training to spot and slip tails had become second nature. Knowing Akbar was out to kill him had heightened his awareness. Without thought he constantly scanned his rear-view mirror every time he drove. The heavy traffic had made the Rover harder to spot. He slowed and pulled closer to the verge to allow cars to speed past. The Rover kept its distance. He slowed again and again the Rover stayed back. There was no doubt. They were being followed.
“Get Brian Cunningham on the phone, Barbara,” he said handing her his mobile phone. “His number is in the contact list.”