they’d first dated, she had seemed independent enough to handle the occasions when a case kept him out of town and out of touch. In recent months, though, that had changed.
She talked about how, because he wasn’t available, she’d turned down this invitation or that one. He told her often enough to go on without him. But even when he said those words, he knew they weren’t the right ones.
The bottom line was he couldn’t give her what she wanted. Marriage and kids. A husband who showed up at the dinner table every night.
It just wasn’t in him. Wasn’t part of his makeup. He wasn’t a nine-to-fiver. He’d be bored with any job that kept him behind a desk or any relationship that became as predictable as his and Stephanie’s had.
It really was better that she was the one to move on. Easier for her. She’d find someone ready to give her what she wanted. What she was entitled to. And he, no doubt, was getting exactly what he deserved.
Fatigue overtook him as he stood there, staring. He recognized the feeling that crept up on him more and more of late, from the dark alleys of his mind.
Regret.
Over cases gone sour, over failed relationships. Regret that he wasn’t a better friend for Myron when his wife had passed away. That he hadn’t mended fences with his own father before his death five years ago. That perhaps he was responsible for a man hanging himself. That, though he had no other choice, he’d killed a fourteen-year-old kid in a dark warehouse.
He couldn’t seem to let go of any of them; instead, he kept them buried inside. They escaped some nights, and he welcomed them because they were all he had.
The phone rang.
He briefly considered ignoring it, then, relenting, turned and grabbed it. “Cavanaugh here.”
“Can we meet?”
Recognizing his friend Ake Almgren’s voice, Nick managed a tired smile. “That wife of yours must be giving you the night off for good behavior. Or she’s tired of having you underfoot,” he added as he sat again.
He envied Ake and Sue their solid marriage, their kids. Maybe tonight more than at other times. He rubbed the grit from his eyes. “Or does Sue think I need some cheering up?” Recently, Sue and Stephanie had been getting together for lunch or a movie, so Ake’s wife probably knew about Stephanie.
There was a hesitation on the opposite end of the line.
“Hey, Ake. I’m okay.”
“I was sorry to hear about Stephanie’s decision, but that’s not why I’m calling. I almost wish it was.”
“What do you mean?”
Ake didn’t answer him, and at the continued silence, the muscles between Nick’s shoulder blades bunched. “Ake? Sue’s okay, right? The boys, too?”
“They’re fine. You alone?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Does the name Kelly Logan mean anything to you?”
His hand clenching the phone, Nick straightened. He hadn’t heard the name in more than six years. Except in his own head. The case, the woman, were some of his biggest regrets. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he knew he’d see her there.
“You investigated her back in ninety-six.” Ake prompted, obviously thinking his silence was due to his inability to place the case. “Princeton Air.”
“I recall the investigation. It was one of my first cases,” Nick said. “We got a tip a small cargo airline was moving weapons for the Irish Republican Army. I went in undercover.”
Ake picked up where he stopped. “The father committed suicide before he could be taken into custody. Both the girl and Aidan Gallagher, a known IRA sympathizer, walked.”
“Couldn’t be helped,” he said. “We had nothing to tie them directly to the guns. The only material witness, a courier, was dead before we could get to him, and the only prints found on the weapons were the father’s.”
“And just two of the crates were recovered,” Ake said.
“That’s right.”
“The report I’m reading says Aidan and the Logans were friends, that he claimed his appearance in their home was innocent.”
“And there was no evidence to suggest otherwise. The Logan girl even called him uncle.” Nick reached over and switched on the desk lamp.
“Not a casual friend, then?”
“No. If I remember the story right, John Logan and Aidan grew up in the same Belfast neighborhood. Several months earlier, the old neighborhood had been ripped apart by a couple of bombs. John’s sister was one of the ones killed.” He recalled John telling him the story, the tears in the Irishman’s eyes. Nick had never been an IRA sympathizer, but, in that moment, he had certainly been an empathizer.
“Why all the questions, Ake? Most of what you’ve asked so far must be in the report sitting in front of you.”
“What do you know about Benito Binelli?” Ake continued.
With the question, the headache thrumming just below the surface, perhaps for hours, mushroomed, an atomic bomb going off at the base of Nick’s skull.
He massaged the stress-tightened muscles. “Businessman. Scum. Has a team of lawyers to keep him out of jail.”
“What would you say if I told you there’s evidence Kelly Logan’s in bed with him?”
Nick’s fingers tightened on the handset again. “What would I say?” He came up with numerous possibilities. Most of which he was unwilling to voice. “I’d say he’s a little old for her,” he said, though they both knew Ake had meant in bed figuratively.
From all accounts, Benito Binelli appeared a happily married man with two teenage daughters. Currently, his only vices were the selling of illegal drugs and the occasional murder when someone was foolish enough to get in the way of business.
“Where are you going with this, Ake? Are you guys working Binelli now?”
“Yeah.” After another brief pause, Ake picked his words carefully. “This isn’t an official call. It’s strictly one friend asking another for an opinion. It’s important that it doesn’t go any farther. At least for now.”
“Sure.” He stood to look out the window again. “Whatever you say.”
“Kelly Logan’s name came up in several of the reports. As background, I read over the file on Princeton Air.” Ake hesitated again. “There’re some unusual similarities between the two investigations.”
“Unusual? In what way?” Nick asked.
“I rather you look at it for yourself. I may just be seeing spooks where none exist.”
It was an odd choice of words. “Okay,” he said, his tone cautious. “Do
