Another directive. This time reminding me that Carl was the known criminal and should be treated as one, and Kahui only a suspect.
I swiped the phone closed and turned to look at Damon.
"Are you ready for this?" I asked. "You don't have to get HEAT involved. You could step back now."
"Lara," he murmured, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "This is what I choose." The words meant more than they said.
Damon was choosing me. I could see that now. No matter what. No matter where. He wasn't going to watch me walk away ever again.
"I don't deserve you," I whispered and he smiled.
"I was thinking how lucky I am," he offered.
I snorted, a small huff of incredulous air.
His hand snaked around the back of my neck, up under my hair, hot against my naked skin. And then he pulled me closer, over the centre console, meeting me partway with his lips pressed to mine. The kiss was deep and desperate. The kind of frantic embrace you treasure because you think it might be your last. Tongues tangled, breaths intermixed, moans entwined until I was sure we were steaming up the glass on the windows.
And everything except Damon left my mind. For a minute, maybe two, the world was safe and blissful and comfortable and right. Then when we parted, breathless, flushed, eyes glinting with the excitement of our arousal, the sounds of cars passing on the road beside us broke the spell and reminded me where we were and why.
"Damn it," I said, under my breath. Not wanting to return to reality at all.
"I'll be right there with you," Damon insisted. "You're not facing him alone."
Him. He meant Carl. Not Kahui. Kahui was a suspect and I'd treat him as such. But Carl? Oh, dear freaking God. I had to find an inner strength to do this. I had no choice. But I did have Damon at my side.
I nodded back at him. Straightened myself up, turned the key in the ignition and when a gap appeared in the chain of traffic, pulled out and headed to Cliff Road, St Heliers Bay.
Simon Kahui's house was made of glass. I wondered if that was prophetic. I parked the car just down the road where we could observe the address without being too obvious. I lowered my driver's side window so I could hear any approaching sounds. What I heard was the strain of an opera song, wafting out of Kahui's open French doors. The house was enormous, architecturally designed, angular and completely lit up throughout. His power bill must have been astronomical, considering it was just after four in the afternoon.
On a week day. And the Crown Prosecutor looked like he was home; a shiny black Jaguar F-Type R Coupe sitting in the driveway.
I couldn't get a good line of sight inside. Although the French doors opened up onto a raised deck that would have allowed splendid views across Cliff Road and out over the harbour to Waiheke Island, it was completely obscured from roadside view by a neatly trimmed hedge. A private oasis in the middle of suburban seaside Auckland city.
Kahui was doing well for himself. But then, just because he worked for the Solicitor-General's office, on behalf of the Crown, didn't mean he couldn't still partner in a private law firm. And that would have been raking in the dough. Of course, I had no idea what the Crown Prosecutor got paid, but combined with his private practice, I was sure Simon Kahui was financially sound.
And then there's his suspected involvement in Declan King's criminal world. Just what would a drug lord like King have paid a Crown Prosecutor? I probably couldn't think of a figure high enough.
And God, the implications of that supposed liaison were too large to fully comprehend.
We'd been here five minutes, but Pierce was still nowhere to be seen. My plan was to secure the property, or as much as I could from this vantage point and with only two men, and wait for the Detective Sergeant to arrive. Then, we'd head on in.
It was a sound plan. In theory. But I'd temporarily pushed Carl from my mind.
Pay attention, Sport. Don't fucking fall asleep on the job.
Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. A blur, much like the blur on the CCTV footage from Quay Street. I was out of the car, gun in hand, swiftly walking across the road, semi-crouched, before I'd even registered. I worked furiously to slow my pace and panic down.
Damon's harried footsteps sounded out behind me, as he crossed the tarseal to my side at the hedgerow.
"A little warning next time," he whispered harshly. All I could do was nod. "Are you OK?"
I offered a smile, it was probably strained, and then ducked down the side of the neighbour's house. My heart was in my throat mixed with my stomach acids. I couldn't talk.
The neighbours weren't home, their house locked up like Fort Knox. It was one less hassle to deal with in a situation that was about to go boom! I stopped at the back fence, holstering my weapon and climbed up on some garden furniture to peer over the wall into Kahui's backyard.
"What did you see?" Damon whispered. Not what do I see. He was still back at my abrupt exit from the car.
I knew I must have looked pale, because I could feel the blood had drained from my face. I knew I looked panicked, because my breathing was too rapid, Hennessey's instructions failing me right now. I knew my knuckles were white, where they gripped the edge of the brick wall too tightly, because my fingertips had gone numb.
But I couldn't, for the life of me, counteract any of it. I couldn't control it. I was spiralling down that fucking rabbit hole and I knew what I'd find at the bottom.
I'm better than this.
"He's gone in the back entrance," I whispered. "Kahui's near the front, by the French doors, listening to opera."
"Carl?" I envied that Damon could say his name with such impunity. My body wouldn't allow me that.
I nodded and climbed over the wall.
Landing in a quiet crouch on trimmed grass I palmed my gun, safety off. Damon sprang down just as lightly, not even puffed. The benefits of being an active fireman. I checked to make sure he was ready, and then sprinted across the lawn and placed my back to Kahui's house wall. I let a breath of air out.
"Are we going in?" Damon mouthed.
We didn't have a choice. Carl had made that for me. I nodded.
"Stay behind me," I mouthed back, receiving a nod of acknowledgement from Damon.
Announcing we were there would surely have made Carl pull the trigger sooner. I had to hope we got to him first and that Pierce arrived to clean the mess up afterwards. I kept my lips closed, breathing heavily through my nose, sucking in much needed calming air.
It occurred to me, as I slid through the slightly ajar back door, that I was attempting to save the life of a man purported to want me dead. But as much as the dots all lined up and made a somewhat understandable picture, I was still a cop. On the right side of the law.
Carl was not.
I inched through a utility room; boots, raincoats, sun hats, all manner of things lined up along the wall. Crouching, I peered around the corner into an impressive granite and stainless steel kitchen right out of a showroom mag. I crossed towards where I thought the hall would be and came up with a den. A TV room for the kids maybe, to work in after school and be close to Mrs Kahui.
Speaking of which, where was the Crown Prosecutor's wife and kids?
I couldn't hear any conversations, just that heavy, harsh operatic song. How anyone enjoyed listening to this, I didn't know. I already had a headache. But I was guessing it was for more reasons than just the choice of German opera Kahui liked.
I retreated, making Damon take several steps back to let me pass, and crossed over to the other side of the kitchen, finding the hall. Taking a deep breath I stepped into the long corridor, aware there were no doors to escape through and no cover to take should Carl - or Kahui - get trigger happy at the other end. I signalled for Damon to stay back at the kitchen, so I could clear the length first.
I was impressed that he obeyed the command without argument. Maybe I could work with him on a regular basis, after all.
I scratched that thought as
a voice replaced the opera from the front room.
Blinking through the immediate and visceral pain at hearing Carl talk again, I checked back up the stairwell, glancing at the landing visible through the slats of the bannister rail, before stopping to the side of the door leading into the lounge. I signalled Damon closer from over my shoulder, not taking my eyes off the entranceway where Carl's voice could still be heard.
Counting to three in my head, paying homage to Hennessey, I rounded the door frame gun raised, eyes scanning the room. And met an unusual and totally unexpected sight.
Kahui was perched on the tip of his toes on a chair, a length of coarse, thick rope looped around his neck and attached to an intricate chandelier high above his head. The mechanism looked purposeful, rather than decorative. The rope weaved through pulleys that had to lead somewhere. I just couldn't see where. What I did instinctively know, was that Carl had upped his game. This was an escalation which meant tampering with the man about to be hanged would hasten his death.
A booby-trap.
Kahui's panicked and wild eyes blinked rapidly at me, but he couldn't talk. His mouth was gagged, a tightly tied piece of material, I was thinking part of his High Court garb, spreading his lips wide. His arms were bound behind his back as well, and he was dressed in his lawyer robes, white curly wig crooked on his head. Sweat ran down his tanned skin, the whites of his eyes standing out in stark contrast against his dark heritage.
I'd taken in all of this in a second or two of perusal. My eyes took in the rest of the lounge in another three seconds flat. Kahui was the only person in the room.
Then where was Carl?
"Simon Kahui," I said, holstering my gun and moving to at least be near the man, to calm him and figure out how to extricate him from the device that threatened his life. "I'm Detective..."
"Sport," Carl's voice said over my shoulder. I spun, hand to weapon under my jacket, hair flying into my face.
Heart beating erratically.
A large - must have been over a hundred inches in size - wall mounted Plasma TV screen displayed the image of my ex partner. I wasn't sure if seeing him on a live feed video was easier than in person, but I took what relief I could get.
"Carl," I said, voice surprisingly steady. "What have you done?"
"Of all the questions to ask me, Lara," he chastised softly, making a lump appear in my throat from the familiar sound.
"What the hell, Carl?" I managed.
"Lara," he said softly.
An old feeling of kinship reared its comforting head at his gentle tone. It was not wanted. I almost pulled my gun and aimed it at the TV. But threatening a video image would not have looked sane.
"Sport," he added, the nickname breaking my heart damn near in two.
I forced myself to breathe, to not tear up, and to stand tall. Lifting my chin, I glared in challenge and held the warm, slightly amused, blue eyes of my mentor. The man who had taught me everything worthwhile that I know about being a cop.
"Time for you to learn the truth," Carl said, leaning forward on screen, from where he sat in a finely upholstered chair in a beautifully plush decorated room.
Yes, Carl had taught me a lot, but he hadn't had a hand in developing my natural instincts. And my gut was telling me that room, he sat in on the TV screen, was in this very house.
"So talk," I offered, taking in as much detail as I could from the scene on the TV.
Chapter Thirty-Three
"Time for you to learn the truth."
He looked older. Even more world weary than before. His short blond hair had grown out; no regular visits to his barber. He'd brushed it back off his forehead, used a gel to hold it in place. Carl was not a vain person, I hadn't been aware he even knew what hair product was.
He was wearing a nondescript white t-shirt, not an obvious choice for a murderer. I think he still had a bit of a beer belly, but it was hard to tell from the angle of the camera. He had, though, lost some weight. His face leaner, the muscles on his arms more pronounced; not bulging as such, but defined. Carl was not a gym junkie, he liked enjoying life too much for that.
I searched his face and body, what I could see, for injuries. That fall should have killed him. I wanted to ask. There were so many damn questions in my head. But this was his game, for now. I had to play it carefully.
He waited patiently for me to do my assessment. I prayed he thought it was due to nostalgia and not because I was also checking out the room he was in. I could see artwork on the wall off to the side; a cutesy watercolour depicting a gingerbread house. Over his right shoulder was a bookcase, painted white. The spines of the books were multi-coloured and bright. His left shoulder partially hid a strange structure from sight, I couldn't get a frame of reference to make out what it was. Mainly white, sitting on the floor, coming up to, at a guess, mid thigh. What the hell was that?
Carl sat back in his chair and said, "You look good, Sport."
A doll's house. The object was a kids doll's house. The room a bedroom, or playroom. Probably upstairs, because the den down by the kitchen housed the entertainment system and minimal toys.
"You look alive," I countered.
Carl chuckled. It ripped right through me. I ground my teeth, worked at not showing any emotion and tried my damnedest to not clench my fists at my sides.
"Michaels been looking after you?" he asked, as though we were having a little catch-up session and a man wasn't about to lose his life if he wobbled too much at my back.
"What do you want, Carl?" I asked. Kahui would be tiring, we had to end this now.
My eyes flicked to Damon's off to my side, saw he was watching this all play out and was too far away to reach Kahui in time, if the shit did hit the fan.
"I taught you better than that, Sport," Carl admonished. "It's not what I want, it's why."
"It's always why," I replied.
That bloody chuckle again; deep, rumbling, like a big teddy bear. But this teddy bear kills.
"Why?" I said, unable to stop myself. Too much emotion came through in that one word.
"I found out something," Carl started. "At that last informant I went to. It was big." He shook his head, disgust and incredulity on his face. "It would have destroyed the Crown Law Office. Wouldn't it, Kahui?" The last was directed at the man about to be hanged over my shoulder.
Kahui made a whining sound from behind his gag.
"The Crown Prosecutor on the payroll of Declan King," I offered.
"You have been paying attention, Sport. I'm impressed." His smile was genuine. It caused me so much pain. "I wanted us to meet up and move on the intel that night. I knew how sensitive it was. I knew it would blow up in our faces before we got a chance. So, I arranged for us to meet out Mellons Bay way. Discuss a plan and then move on Kahui. I wanted to do it under the radar. Someone was helping the Crown Law Office, and that someone is in CIB."
My stomach flipped, I tasted bile on my tongue.
"Who?" I asked, despite knowing none of this could be confirmed, and Carl was hardly a reliable source right now.
He shook his head. "Still don't know. Kahui's good at keeping secrets. Aren't you, Prosecutor? Very tricky. Even sent his family away, once he knew his underlings were being culled before they could act on his instructions to kill you. The arrogant prick thought he could take me on himself. Forgot that I was a decorated detective with fifteen years CIB experience. Forgot just what I was capable of." He turned his attention back to me. "But you didn't. Followed the leads, didn't you, Lara? Did everything I asked without fail."
It was a strange sensation to feel hatred toward my old partner. To know I'd been manipulated by him. Predictability in this profession is not necessarily a good thing.
"Why act now, Carl?" I asked, taking a small step back towards Kahui.
Carl's eyes followed the movement like a fucking hawk. I had to think laterally. I had to do something he didn't expect. But I was a graduate from the school of Carl Forrester, and my major was in Carlisms.
"That fall," Carl said, voice soft and lethal, capturing my attention despite the desperation clawing at my mind right then.
My gut was telling me I'd been outplayed. I refused to believe it, but Carl's words, about that last night on the cliffs at Mellons Bay, broke my mental debate.
"Took a lot out of me, Sport. For a while I wasn't sure which side I was on. Everything scrambled."
Oh, fuck. It still was, Old Man. Can't you see?
Was this why he'd turned rogue?
"And then Kahui got pushed to investigate the King spill-over evidence," Carl said. "Contacted Tommy." Thomas Withers, who had been so unsure about killing me. "I'd been watching Tommy, couldn't remember why I was meant to, but kept doing it out of habit anyway. And once the Solicitor-General got involved and pressured Kahui, who in turn pressured Tommy, it all started to come back."
He chortled, a self-deprecating laugh. Shook his head, at himself I think, and then looked down the camera lens directly at me. Like he had on the CCTV footage at Quay Street. But this time it was so much more personal, because I knew he was somewhere above my head inside this house.
And I had to get to him.
My eyes caught movement outside the window. Carl noticed, of course. But I'd intended for him to.
"Who's there, Sport? Who did you involve? You know you can't trust any of them. So, who does Lara Keen think is safe to call for back-up now?"
As if he had a right to know.
"Pierce," I said, watching as Pierce circled the front lawn, heading around the back of the house.
Carl laughed. "You always had a soft spot for the lame ducks." His eyes darted across the room to Damon. "Somehow that tendency was forgotten when you met Michaels, though. Knew you needed him back in your life."
This was all well and good, but Kahui was fading. How long he'd been up on that chair was anyone's guess, but I could see the strain when I checked over my shoulder briefly. The guy was about to pass-out, and then all hell would break loose. I needed to act before then.
H.E.A.T. Book Bundle (H.E.A.T. Books 1-3) Page 31
