Move to Strike (52 page)

‘Hear, hear to that,' said the café's proprietor, and team member number nine, Mick McGee who, David knew, knew little of their cause but shared such a strong friendship with most of the people in the room that he would support them regardless. ‘This TV pansy sounds like a right asshole,' Mick said with a grin as he handed David a beer. ‘And you can rely on me to supply all the refreshments necessary for the rest of the evening.'

‘This ginger beer is great, Mick,' said Joe then, lifting his full-strength Bud into the air. Mick's breakfast and lunchtime café had no liquor licence, a small technicality Joe and Frank had turned a blind eye to more than once.

‘Then I'll keep it coming,' said Mick, as he moved back into the kitchen. ‘And I have a bottle of cranberry juice that tastes mysteriously like sherry out the back, Mrs Kelly.'

‘Then I shan't say no,' said Nora with a smile.

And David felt more grateful than ever, as he moved to Sara and took her in his arms. ‘You lied to me,' he said quietly into her ear.

‘So what are you going to do?' She smiled. ‘Ground me?'

‘That doesn't seem to work.'

‘Funny that,' she said.

And then they got down to it, pooling all their information so that they might decide upon a plan to finally put an end to this nightmare. In the end it was Barbara who came up with it – her idea being inspired and terrifying all at the very same time.

‘No,' said Barbara, now rising from her corner booth to arch her back and stretch her legs.

They had been going at it for hours, spending most of their time establishing what they had and deciding upon which angle to work given time was short and Carmichael was blitzing them at trial. It had not taken long for them to realise that, despite what they believed they ‘knew' about Logan, they had
nothing
concrete,
no one
at their fingertips to put on the stand and prove it. And that was why Katherine de Castro's role in this whole mess had become so important – as when she did meet Logan wearing a wire, her approach could be nothing short of foolproof.

‘It's not going to work,' said Barbara, continuing her train of thought.

‘Why not?' asked Sara, now joining Barbara on her feet. ‘Katherine is the only one who can reach him. He is enamoured by her. You said it yourself – Logan will see winning her affections as a victory, so why not let him think he has won this battle, so that we can win the war?'

Sara had spent the past twenty minutes posing her idea as to how de Castro should approach her conversation with Logan. David could tell she had been thinking of nothing else all afternoon – and he had to admit, her proposal sounded impressive. Basically, Sara had proposed that Katherine apologise to Logan for not being more conducive to his advances, that she tell him she had been concerned he was too emotionally distressed by recent events to make clear decisions, to know his heart, to know his mind. But now she could deny her true feelings no longer – she was in fact falling for Logan too – and if she was completely honest with herself she would have to admit that she had probably had feelings for him for some time, feelings she had never acknowledged, out of respect to Logan, to his children and his wife.

Sara's plan had Katherine expressing her devotion to Logan, voicing her belief that their long-term business partnership was proof of their ability to work together as a team. And now she wanted something more, to be his confidante not just in matters of business but also in matters of the heart. She needed him to open his soul to her, to express his most secret desires and feelings, to tell her about the
real
Jeffrey Logan – and how he came to be the man he was.

‘I thought we agreed that Katherine had to appeal to Logan's vanity,' Sara continued after a breath, the slightest tinge of frustration in her voice. ‘That she had to lead him carefully into a position where he wanted to
share his diabolical plans,
brag
about them even, and show her exactly how clever he is.'

But Barbara was already shaking her head. ‘No, Sara. Katherine shouldn't be appealing to his vanity but
challenging
it. Your plan makes absolute sense,' she said, now confusing all in the room, ‘if we are talking about your average egotistical asshole. But you have to remember Logan is way up there on the scale of psychopathological intellect. He may be vain, but his superior intelligence will always act as a monitor to his emotions. In other words, as much as he
wants
to “secure” Katherine here as his own,' Barbara gestured at a now ashen-faced de Castro, ‘he will see her little act for exactly what it is – a feigned attempt to get him to show his cards. And the consequences of this could be disastrous – as it would place Katherine in . . .' But Barbara stopped there, her eyes darting to Katherine, before making their way over to David. She was telling them that in her opinion Sara's plan would put Katherine's life in serious danger – and they could not afford to risk it.

‘So what approach
does
Katherine take?' asked Joe, perhaps feeling the need to cut the silence short.

‘She tells him the truth,' said Barbara.

‘She
what
?' asked an incredulous Sara.

But Barbara hesitated before answering, her eyes once again meeting David's, as if sensing that he knew exactly what Katherine de Castro had to do, and should be the one to voice it.

‘Katherine has to tell him what we are up to,' he said. ‘She must go to him and tell him that you came to see her.' David looked over at Sara. ‘She must repeat a version of your conversation – tell him what you claimed, tell him we think he is a diabolical monster and that we want her help to bring him down.'

‘No,' said Sara. ‘David this is . . .'

But then David saw the realisation in her eyes – that it was the only thing Logan
would
believe. That it was the only approach that would keep Katherine de Castro safe – and force Jeffrey Logan into a position where he would do exactly what they wanted.

‘I'm sorry, Sara, but David's right,' said Barbara. ‘We have to flush him out. We have to convince him that we are closing in – and that he has no choice but to act. Don't forget the man has an inherent need to feed
whatever his particular urge might be, and if his urge is a need to be near his weapons, then we need to give him a reason to seek them out.'

‘You want to use Katherine to feed Logan's desire to go after his massive collection of weaponry somewhere in Chatham so that he can return to Boston and hunt David down?' said Sara, her cheeks now flushed with anger. ‘
This was not how this was supposed to go
,' she continued, her eyes pooling with tears.

‘Sara,' said Joe, feeling the need to reassure her, ‘I don't like this any more than you do.' He looked across at David. ‘But this may be our only way out. If Logan goes for his guns we will be on his tail within minutes and sticking to him like glue. And the minute we find his arsenal we can trace each and every one of his guns back to their original purchaser – Jason Nagol. And if David is right about Stephanie's father, if we get that exhumation order and find a bullet in his head, we may even be able to match the bullet to the weapon and nail this bastard for good.'

‘And what about his mother, Joe?' asked Sara. ‘What if that poor woman finds the guns first? We all know she must be aware of Logan's arsenal – I mean, why else would she have dragged herself from her hospital bed to trek from one side of the country to the other?'

‘We traced her call to a payphone in Chatham, Sara,' said Joe. ‘There are only so many places she could be staying. We'll find her before she puts herself or anyone else in danger, and then me and Frank will be free to . . .'

‘To
what
, Joe? Paint a target on David's back?'

There was silence as Sara met David's eye, her chest heaving in a series of short, sharp breaths. She looked to those around her, perhaps sensing that there was no way she was going to convince them. And in that moment David wished beyond anything that things were different – but they weren't, and they wouldn't be, until Jeffrey Logan was brought to justice.

‘I can help,' said Tony Bishop, a new voice in the mix, his eyes following a now defeated Sara as she slowly re-took her seat.

‘Help how?' asked David, reaching under the table to take Sara's hand.

‘You want to make him angry enough to go for the guns? I think I know exactly how that can be achieved.' Tony took a breath before going on. ‘Maybe all that evidence you
don't
have could be used to your
advantage – I mean, you may not have a list of witnesses to rat this lowlife out, but Logan doesn't need to know that, does he?'

‘I don't understand, Tony,' said David. ‘What the hell are you saying?'

‘I am saying that maybe it is about time Logan's ghosts came back to haunt him – and I know exactly the person to open their cage and let them loose.'

T
he banging was loud enough to wake her – the banging and intermittent buzzing and now thumping on her high-rise apartment door. ‘
Jesus
,' said Amanda Carmichael, as she prised open her pale blue eyes, the brightness of the moonlight now squeezing her pupils into pinpricks. ‘
Who in the hell?
'

She rose from her bed, grabbing her pink silk gown from the night-stand before making her way across the apartment. Her heart was racing, partly because she had been pulled from a deep and much sought after sleep (it had been midnight before she had managed to drift off), and partly because she was instinctively suspecting (hoping) the person on the other side of the door might be the same one she had kissed, unexpectedly, mere nights before. But a glance through the peephole showed it to be none other than Tony Bishop, the expression on his face pure panic.

‘Jesus, Tony,' she said, as she pulled the door open. ‘It's nearly 1am for Christ's sake. What the hell is your problem?'

‘I'm not the one with the problem, Amanda,' he said, moving past her to pace her expansive living room. ‘I did not know what else to do . . . I mean, I have a moral obligation, to my client.'

Amanda studied her ex-lover before her; Tony was genuinely flummoxed. She had never seen him so agitated before.

‘What is it, Tony?' she asked, shutting the door behind him.

‘It's David – I mean . . . shit, Amanda, you have no idea how hard this is for me. DC is one of my oldest friends, but Logan is a long-term client and you are prosecutor in his children's case and . . .'

‘You know something . . . about Cavanaugh?' she asked, her curiosity well and truly piqued. ‘You have some information about his defence which you have a moral obligation to disclose.' She knew she was leading him, but she did not give a damn.

‘Yes,' said Tony, now moving quickly towards her. ‘He . . . he has a new list . . . an extended one, which he obviously does not intend to disclose until he begins his presentation of evidence and . . .'

‘Slow down, Tony,' she said, taking his arm. ‘What list? What is Cavanaugh hiding?'

‘His witness list. I saw it . . . I mean, it was by accident, of course. I met him for a drink after work. We've been friends for years and I was worried this case had come between us . . . which it hasn't, at least not
yet
, but . . . then he went to the men's room and this drunk guy, he walked past our bar stools and knocked over DC's briefcase and this folder fell out and . . .'

‘You saw his witness list?' she asked, her eyes now wide with excitement. ‘But the list he provided for the court contained only a handful of names – character witnesses for the children, the kids' psychologist, the kids themselves.'

‘This one is different,' said Tony.

‘Different how?'

‘There are at least five new names – and their addresses are from all over the country, from Nevada and Maine to . . .'

‘Jesus, Tony, who are these people? Did you memorise them? Jeffrey Logan is your client after all and . . .'

‘I wrote them down,' he said, pulling a small piece of notepaper from his crumpled shirt pocket, his face a mixture of resolution and self-disgust.

‘Tony, I . . .' She could barely contain herself. She would have even embraced the sweaty, panicking man before her if she had not been in such a hurry to study the names on the list. But then her brow furrowed.

‘I don't understand,' she said. ‘Who the hell are these people? Carleton Blackmore, William ‘Little Willie' Dukes, Gerald and Calvin
Garretson – well, they are the gun traders but . . . a Mrs Deirdre McCall, a Detective Michael Lopez of the Las Vegas Police . . . who . . . why in God's name would he be . . . ?'

‘I have no idea, Amanda, but these names have to mean something to somebody.'

The cogs in Amanda's brain turned in double-time, as she tried to put it all together. ‘Cavanaugh has a bee in his bonnet about Logan, Logan was born in Vegas, this has to have something to do with him.'

‘Then maybe he will know who these people are?' said Tony.

Amanda nodded, before looking at her watch. ‘It's the middle of the night.'

‘It's the middle of the trial,' countered Tony.

And Amanda sensed that Tony was right – there was no way she was waiting another six hours to find out what the hell Cavanaugh was up to.

‘Grab that telephone behind you,' she said, pointing to the hands-free on the coffee table. ‘And get Logan on the line – now!'

Moments later, just as Tony Bishop was listening to the ring of Jeffrey Logan's telephone, Sara Davis was lying two miles east, praying for an end to this madness and wishing, beyond all else, that her unborn child would not be brought up without a father.