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Chapter 7; Constant Eye
Chris Hayes got the letter the afternoon after it was sent. At first he wasn't sure what to think of it. The guys in the mail room had brought it up after the lab had got a look at it. No chemicals on the page, no poisons, just a run of the mill letter, although the paper was lightly hinted with cigarette smoke so whoever had put it together, or someone in their house was a smoker.
The post mark was little help, there were a lot of people who lived along the park and anybody could drive around and stick a letter in any public box at any time.
Chris didn't know what to think of it. The police department got more empty threats and prank mail than anybody else. It would just be his luck if the letter was just empty and some teenager getting their rocks off wasting tax payer's money and the polices' time.
Chris was tempted to just throw it away, but because he couldn't be sure it WASN'T legitimate, he took it to Walker.
Walker took one look at it, scrunched his brows and said; "Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it."
And Chris thought nothing else of it. It was the sting actually that jogged his memory of the letter, something he'd overheard the perp say as he was being loaded into the back of a car.
"You idiots… You're all idiots! All this time he's been right under your nose!" He'd banged his head so hard into the screen partition between the rear seat and the forward bench so hard he'd cut his forehead.
Chris remembered staring at the bastard and the blood on his face, how the skin had been torn enough to flap a little as he raged in righteous indignation.
"You don't have any evidence! You have NOTHING!" He laughed and laughed and Chris finally got tired of it and walked away. By that time Altair, Ezio and Shaun were gone and Chris rode back to the precinct in the VC van.
Evidence… Evidence.
The letter claimed that this person had a picture, had proof of what an ambiguous 'He' had done to little kids. Could this person be talking about the sleaze ball 'Captain'?
What could it hurt, just to check on it? Just to show up, play coy and see who was there, who could have evidence and against whom.
What could it hurt?
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The meeting place the letter's writer referred to was a bar. They always seemed to be bars. This one catered to business class, white collar assholes who worked out in private gyms where the treadmills came with video screens that let you imagine you were running in exotic places, had manicures and got massages every Thursday during Lunch because the stress was just so high. Chris felt like a big ugly pulsing pimple on some supermodel's ass he stuck out so badly.
He sat in the back of the room, like he'd been told and ordered something to eat. It was kind of strange to be in a bar that served more than nachos and chips. Once or twice he thought he saw a familiar face swim in the crowd but couldn't be sure. He wasn't too familiar with Thorpe's partner outside of work, for all he knew this could be the guy's favorite spot. After fifteen minutes had gone by where he didn't see the guy again he pushed the thought aside and waited.
The letter had said eleven-thirty… it was nearing last call now and still the perp hadn't shown up.
Christ, this was so stupid. It probably had been a prank and he'd fallen for it.
He folded a few dollars as a tip under his empty plate and stood. He'd wasted half his night sitting here and he wasn't wasting a minute more. Not when he had a warm bed and a willing woman waiting at home. He wasn't in his twenties anymore, going into the station in the same clothes as the day before wearing dark sunglasses because he hadn't slept was stupid. It was as he was leaving that a hand brushed his elbow in a really too familiar way and he turned.
The guy had just melted into the crowd, straight laced, clean cut boring and easily forgettable in his gray-brown suit. He looked like any other corporate asshole in the whole place and Chris had to have looked him in the face a dozen times and not recognized him until now when his mouth was quirked up at the corner in irritation and his brows were pulled down behind his glasses.
Chris Hayes was not a stupid man and he specialized in longshots. "You sent that letter?"
Shaun narrowed his eyes but nodded.
"You do know it's illegal to falsify information, or to prank the police, right? I could arrest you and have you shipped back to London."
"But you won't."
"No… Because I'm pretty sure you did it for a reason more intelligent than getting your rocks off making cops run around like headless chickens."
"Correct. Now, answer me this… Who did you tell about it?"
"Just my brother."
"Did he tell anyone else?"
"Probably, he is a detective, your lucky you didn't have a whole team on this place."
"Luck, or intention?"
Chris's brows drew down and he let himself be pulled to a table at the side of the room.
Shaun folded his hands on the tabletop. "Is it not protocol to have an entire team present during such things? Especially when a 'threatening letter' is part of the equation?"
Chris's mouth opened and closed with a click. It was. You had the person the letter asked for and you had at least six plain clothes officers placed at strategic points around the area, especially if it's in a crowded place and they could hide easily. You had armed backup in case things went tits up. You never walked into a situation like this alone. Chris had come with his gun and a text message to Thorpe detailing where he was and why just a single button click from being sent in case something went wrong. Yes, it had been dangerous coming here alone, but Walker would have thought he was being stupid if he'd known he was coming. Walker would have reminded him that nine out of ten letters like this that came in were fake and that it would be better to send a surveillance team in instead. He had believed Walker when he'd said; 'I'll handle it.' But… but why hadn't there been a team here? Chris was good at recognizing faces and the only one he was sure he'd seen was Thorpe's partner. Abbas was never the face of surveillance situations. He was too recognizable. Someone will sooner remember the details of a man's face if that man was not the 'norm' in the situation. So, unless this really was his favorite bar there really shouldn't have been any reason for him to be here. It should have been Walker himself and…
"What are you implying," Chris leaned forward in his seat, trying to appear intimidating, but Shaun was cool like ice and didn't seem fazed at all.
"It's not implication. It's most probably truth and it fits with the evidence perfectly."
"What evidence?"
Shaun slid a piece of paper across the table, folded neatly and symmetrically into fourths. "Go home, Mr. Hayes… And once you're there, call this number, but only after you're home, understand?"
Chris scoffed; "Seriously? Kid, what do you think this is, James Bond or some shit? What's with the covert act?" He started to unfold it but Shaun's expression was dark and something stopped him, ate slowly at the back of his mind.
Why hadn't walker sent a team here? Even if a threatening letter was just a prank, there was still a team sent, just in case, unless sound evidence was found that the letter was truly false and as far as Chris had heard and seen around the office, there hadn't been even so much as a peep about this… Walker had said; 'I'll take care of it.'
"What is this about?" Chris tucked the folded paper into his wallet deliberately so Shaun could see he was taking the request seriously.
Shaun visibly relaxed and stood to leave, pulling on his blazer; "If we're correct it could blow a few cold cases wide open and bring down one of the largest child trafficking rings in recorded history… It could also get us killed, but I—for one—am willing to take that risk if it means stopping these sick bastards and making the world a little safer."
Chris snorted but didn't say anything. He'd gained a new perspective in the past few months, he would be a father in the spring and the thought of some sicko out there on the hunt for kids and the added risk that he was a police officer, the thought that someone holding a grudge, or even just the bald chance someone would kidnap his baby made him sick to his stomach.
He would… he would do anything to keep his kid safe. Even if that kid was only about four inches long and buried deep in Thorpe's belly, he wanted to make the world a better place for the kid and if this was the way to do it, he would.
"Alright… When I get home."
Shaun nodded and left.
Chris had a beer and called a cab.
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The next morning, sitting in bed with his head in his hands he would wonder how he had been able to go to sleep with something like that ringing in his ears.
Desmond had sounded so relieved on the phone, relieved and scared to death; "I have it on good authority that there is a dirty cop in your midst… Someone who—for some reason or another—was indebted to one of these guys and tampered with evidence. It makes sense. I mean—those two kids who were snatched before Ezio and me, why wasn't there a full investigation into them? Why wasn't the FBI informed about them? Why did it take Altair to make anybody else notice?"
And silent cogs started turning in Chris's head. It fit perfectly. A cop, someone on both cases who had tampered just enough with evidence to hide someone's tracks. Possibly even his own tracks.
Desmond and Shaun had narrowed down their list to just a handful of people. Ruling out all but two of the female officers and Chris was horrified to hear that Walker was on that list, but—but something clicked. Why wouldn't Walker follow protocol and send a team to that bar? Even a small one, just to check it out? Why would he completely shut it down?
Chris didn't want to think of his brother as being corrupt. Walker was a father, he was married, he had kids! He went to frickin Disney World every other year and rode in teacups with his daughter for Christ sake! The man didn't even miss having dinner at home unless a case made that impossible. He was a good man and a good father, how could it be possible that he may have been altering evidence and making it harder or impossible to find kids that had been taken? It didn't seem right and Chris tried futilely to shove it from his mind.
No, it couldn't be. Not at all, it had to be someone else!
But then… why had Abbas been there alone? Why hadn't there been a team?
ASK HIM! For fuck-sake, just ask him why he didn't send a team!
But, what if he did? What if he is a leak?
Chris battled with himself until it was time to leave and most of that day he was stiff and unreadable, going over and over and over in his head the reasons why Walker couldn't be a leak… and conversely, the reasons he could be.
At three that evening Walker approached him and asked him if he was feeling OK that he had seemed 'off' all day.
Chris put on a smile but couldn't meet his brother's eyes; "Nothin', just a headache…"
Walker wasn't convinced but he gave a slow nod and turned to leave.
It happened without his permission, just a strange desperate need to reaffirm his brother was a good and honest man and denial that it could be otherwise, Chris spoke;
"Hey, did you—did you hear anything about that letter? The one about the picture?"
Walker was still for a microsecond, hands in his pockets, then he nodded; "Yeah."
"Oh? What happened?"
"Nothing much, I asked around turns out it was a couple teenagers who thought they'd be funny. I didn't waste any time with it after that. Just put it in the old round filing cabinet."
Chris's throat and jaw tightened and he felt cold in his chest but he choked it down; "And the picture?"
Walker smiled, crooked and so familiar— Chris thought about how insincere it was;
"There was no picture."
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