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Chapter Four

"You get anything back on the gun?"

"Not much." Danny pushed his glasses up on his forehead, pinching at the bridge of his nose, his posture stooped and weary. "Couple of hits through the system. Used in a couple of shootings and in a murder…"

"Tim McCann." Flack took a mouthful of semi turgid coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste, any heat long since leeched from it. "Down in the Bronx, outside an Irish bar."

Danny nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. Doyles on Tremont. He took three in the chest from close range, but no one copped up for it."

"It was The Auld Man." Flack shivered, throwing the empty cup into a nearby bin, curling his hands into his pockets, the chill stalking through the corridors of the Crime Lab like a ghost. "Sonofabitch."

"The Auld Man?"

"Tommy Cassidy. He's got his fingers in all sorts of pies. Gun running, extortion, protection, the whole shebang."

"Sounds lucrative." Danny leaned against the wall, rubbing at his eyes, bloodshot and tired from staring at a computer screen all morning. Unconsciously, he flexed his fingers, slivers of pain, ice cold and sharp, slipping through his body like a memory. "Let me guess. Someone decided that it was too big a pie for him not to share."

"Something like that."

"Who?"

"James McCann." Flack grinned bitterly. "Tim's father. He's a real piece of work. A few weeks after that, one of Cassidy's bars burned out." He shrugged. "We never had enough evidence to bring McCann in on it."

"I'll bet a weeks salary that Cassidy didn't take that too well."

"Not even a little bit. His son…"

"Declan? Declan Cassidy? Mac's up in court on that one this week." Danny shook his head, blowing a low whistle out between his teeth. "I didn't know that was messed up with this."

"Yeah, he took out Shaun Hughes." Flack tapped his fingers against his temple. "Two in the head from close range, tore the place up, took the cash from the registier, tried to make it look like a robbery. Shot the waitress as well." He shook his head again, his eyes dark and cold. "I liked that place too."

"What'd the poor bastard do?"

"He paid the wrong guy." Flack shrugged. "He paid the wrong guy and they came looking for him."

xxxXXXxxx

"I talked with Jim Steele."

"And?"

"He didn't go for it. He wants to go to trial."

"You said he would go for the deal."

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. I'm looking at spending the rest of my life in this shithole. You told me he would go for the deal."

"His case isn't strong enough…"

"You said he would go for the deal."

"I said he might go for the deal. Maybe if you offered a little more…"

"No fucking way."

"If you offered him some information, he might go with a lesser charge. Jim Steele might be ambitious, but he's pragmatic. If you give him bigger fish…"

"No fucking way!"

"Okay, okay. You need to keep that temper under control. You cant let Jim Steele get under your skin if it comes to trial."

"I can keep it cool. We just have to make sure we have enough to keep Jim Steele from coming after me."

"I cant hear about this, Declan. You know that"

"You don't need to know. All you need to do is give my dad their list. He can take care of the rest of that shit."

"I don't want to hear this Declan."

"You just worry about Jim Steele and making sure our case is as strong as it can be. Let me worry about the rest."

xxxXXXxxx

"What have we got?"

"Looks like a stick up job." Angell crouched next to the body, face down in the alleyway, hands still outstretched, almost pleading, begging for his life, her breath frosting out in the chill, frigid air around them. "He came out in the alley from the back door of the bar and…"

"Some introduced him to a baseball bat." Lindsay crouched down next to Angell, peering intently at the wound, frowning in concentration. "Looks like we might have a fragment of the weapon lodged in the wound."

"Where's Mac?"

"Court. Or preparing for court. I think he's meeting with the DA today." Lindsay opened the case, reaching for the tweezers. "He's got the Cassidy case coming up soon." Carefully she closed the edges around the fragment. "Who found him?"

One gentle tug and the bloodstained fragment came free. Gently she rested his head back on the icy, uncaring ground.

"Waitress. Came out after they had finished locking up, found him." Angell grinned bitterly, a brief, slashing, stabbing burst of warmth in the cold, dark alley. "Damn near fell over him."

She dropped the piece into the bag, sealing it quickly and standing. "What's his name?"

"James Quinn." Angell nodded at the door, a uniform cop standing guard next to it. "He owns this place."

"Does he usually let the staff lock the place up?"

"Sometimes." Angell shrugged, flicking quickly through her notebook. "Waitress says he often took the takings home with him if it had been a good night."

"Not the smartest thing to do in New York."

"He's old, had this place for years. Knew most of the customers by name. His whole life was in this place."

"So why kill him?"

Angell shrugged again. "A good night in a bar like this can be a lot of motive to some people."

"Was last night a good night?"

"It's an Irish bar in New York. Every night is a good night."

xxxXXXxxx

It was cold when she let herself into her dark, cold, lifeless apartment, the fragile heat, the fragile light of the winter sun disappearing beneath anger of the oncoming night. She walked through the empty rooms, stalked by the chill, like the memory of a rose, wilted and dying in the frost.

It was going to be a bitter night.

She switched the television on, just for some light, some noise. A flicker of life in the deathly silence.

Work and sleep. Work and sleep. She didn't even have time for her family anymore. Christmas was coming, and they would be expecting her, and where would she be?

Work. Like she always was, at work.

She glanced at the phone, still and silent like everything else in her apartment. Wondering if she should phone….

"No." She spoke aloud, just for something to say, just to hear her voice somewhere other than in the middle of the chaos of an ER, the sudden noise of her television a welcome distraction from her thoughts. "He wouldn't want to…."

Anyway, the game was about to start.

xxxXXXxxxx

"You still here?"

"Yeah." Jim gestured at the paperwork in the middle of his desk, case files, photographs and statements scattered across it. "I want to catch up on all this before I leave."

Alex's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, cold and hard behind her glasses. "Is this the Cassidy case?"

"Yeah." Jim yawned, stiff ling it behind his hand. "We're nearly ready for trial."

"How strong is the case?"

"Strong enough." He hesitated, briefly and hurried on, not wanting to give her time to question his decisions again. "Cassidy's lawyer came to me today to offer a deal. He's shitting himself in there."

"Maybe you should take it. See if you can get him to roll on The Auld Man."

"It's not going to happen, Alexandra."

"Apply enough pressure…."

"He wont testify against his own father, Alexandra." Jim shook his head, looking away from her, back at Mac Taylor's statement. "I need to get back to this."

xxxXXXxxx

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Michael." He leaned casually against the wall, his leather jacket zipped to the neck, his hands buried deeply in his pockets. "The Auld Man sent me."

"Did he now?"

"Yes." He meet the smaller man's eyes, his gaze dark and hard and cold, boring through him like a steel bit. "He said you'd have what we need."

xxxXXXxxx

"What can I get you, Detective?"

"Gimme a beer."

"Sure." The barmaid smiled at him as she walked to the fridge behind the bar, an extra sway in her hips, trying to tempt his eyes. "There you go."

"Thanks." His fingers cut grooves in the ice on the glass bottles, his fingertips tingling with the sensation. He took a mouthful, the alcohol cold and pure, almost burning against the heat of his mouth.

Don looked around the bar, almost empty apart from a few hardened drinkers, regulars. They probably spent every night of their lives here. Drinking. Alone.

Good. He wanted the isolation, wanted the time to think.

"Could you put the game on?"

End of Chapter Four.