The Mark of Halam (11 page)

Pressure from the media would bring pressure from above. Journalists would demand to know why the police had not informed the public of the danger, arguing that the public had a right to protect themselves. What were the police doing to catch the murderer? And why had the identikit not been released earlier? The usual diatribe when journalists went on a rant to have themselves viewed as crusaders for good at the expense of the police. It would blow over when a new headline came along. In the meantime Moana would bear the brunt of it and if it ever came out that it was he who had
asked her to withhold the information then his own career might be on the line. But it would never be made public. Moana would not defend herself and point fingers. She was a leader and leaders carried the can for their decisions. He owed the detective senior sergeant
.

The identikit picture now splashed across all newspapers and television news programmes generated the response from the public that Cunningham had feared. Calls swamped the police switchboards and flooded the emergency lines. A local employment agency offered temps at a reduced rate. The district commander had little choice but to accept. It seemed every single one of Auckland’s million plus citizens had sighted the killer.

Moana had asked her superiors for more manpower to broaden her investigative reach. The reply was as expected. None to spare. Professional criminal gangs, aware for some time police resources could not cope, had stepped up their activities. Burglaries, shoplifting, car thefts and robberies were increasing at an alarming rate. Now, from here on in until the submarine left New Zealand waters, crime might become the perfect storm. Cunningham gave thought to sinking the bloody thing himself.

The detective team would now focus on capturing Akbar as a murderer and this muddied Cunningham’s waters. Moana would be forced to follow procedure because when they caught him and it went to court any aspect of the legal process not adhered to might see their case tossed. She had been caught with her panties down for withholding information and she wouldn’t let that happen again.

That made his ability to investigate the terrorist cells almost impossible; his tactics team were not detectives. He decided he would hang with Moana for as long as he was permitted. It made him feel like a bird on a perch waiting to swoop on any crumbs of information tossed his way. After searching Krasniqi’s warehouse there was little doubt Zahar Akbar had a team. Jeff Bradley had
been right. Something else was going on and the something else had
to do with a team of terrorists. If so, what? For the moment it was all conjecture. He stabbed his silver-plated letter opener through the forehead of the photo of Zahar Akbar pinned to the corkboard.

22.

J
eff pushed through the doors to Quentin Douglas and Associates
offices at 8.30am. It surprised him to see Mary sitting behind her desk. A security guard sat on a leather chair reading a magazine. He glanced up, saw it was Jeff then turned back to the magazine and continued reading.

“Good morning,” Jeff said.

He received a glare and then a worried look.

“The bruising looks worse than it really is,” Jeff said.

Mary came out from behind her desk and gave him a hug, then she touched the side of his face.

“I’ll be fine. In a few days it’ll be gone.”

“Neither Quentin nor I are very happy with you. Disappearing the way you did on Saturday night. He wants to know what you were up to. So do I, for that matter. You promised me another dance. A girl doesn’t like rejection. You’ll have me thinking I’m a wilting flower and you don’t love me.”

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
Satur
day 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 terrorist 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.