Blindside - By Gj Moffat Page 0,20
Otherwise, who’s going to look after the business when you’re done?’
He reached up and grabbed her hands, squeezing them lightly.
The phone rang. Cahill picked it up and said his name.
‘Alex, it’s Scott Boston.’
Cahill sat forward.
‘Scott. At last.’
‘I was just checking … I mean, how did you get on with Tim Stark? The plane thing, you know?’
Boston didn’t sound like his usual confident self. His language was hesitant, staccato.
‘I’m still working on it.’
Cahill didn’t want to say too much. Susan Jones had stuck her neck out to give them even the little information she had. It wouldn’t be right to drop her in it.
‘Anything I can do?’
Sam backed away from Cahill and pointed up, telling him she was going to bed. He nodded at her.
‘I don’t know, Scott. The last time we spoke I didn’t get much chance to say anything. And you’ve been dodging my calls ever since.’
Boston laughed. It sounded strained, like he was trying too hard.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I mean, it kind of took me by surprise. Tim and the crash and all.’
‘Sure,’ Cahill said, waiting for Boston to say what it was he had called to say.
‘I needed to clear some things up before I could say anything.’
‘What’s on your mind?’
‘It would be a big favour to me if you could lay off with the crash. I mean, you asking around is making life difficult for a lot of people.’
‘Difficult how?’
Boston sighed.
‘You haven’t changed, Alex. You never could leave well enough alone.’
‘It’s not in my nature, Scott. I mean, I don’t like getting fed bullshit. Especially by people who I thought were friends.’
‘Maybe I deserved that.’
‘There’s no maybe about it. Why don’t we start again and you tell me what’s really going on.’
‘Don’t push it.’
Cahill was pissed at that.
‘So, what you’re telling me,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level, ‘is that it’s okay for everyone to lie to Melanie Stark about how her husband wasn’t on that plane and let her think he was into something illegal.’
Boston said nothing. Cahill heard him breathing.
‘And you and I both know that Tim Stark was as clean as they come.’
‘He was,’ Boston agreed.
‘So, tell me, Scott. What’s this all about? Why did you fire Tim? Why was he on that plane using a different name?’
‘Who told you—’ Boston stopped himself from saying any more.
‘You forget I know how all of you guys operate. I’ve been around the block more than most.’
‘I can’t tell you anything.’
‘But you can tell me to back off, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Scott …’
‘Alex, you know me. I’ve always been straight with you, haven’t I?’
‘So far as I know, yes. But there’s always a first time.’
‘Well, this isn’t that time. Believe me.’
It was Cahill’s turn to sigh. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ he asked. ‘Riddles?’
‘People’s lives are at stake, Alex. You have to leave it alone.’
Cahill heard the strength of feeling in Boston’s voice. ‘This is nothing to do with the Service, is it?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘So why are you calling me?’
‘I’m the messenger, that’s all.’
‘What, they thought it would sound better coming from you?’
‘I suppose.’
‘And what exactly is the message? I mean, let’s not be coy about it.’
‘Fine. You push any harder and life will get difficult.’
Cahill closed his eyes. ‘What about Melanie?’ he asked.
‘You told her he was on the plane? That he’s dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then she knows what she needs to know. For now.’
‘Christ, Scott. What’s fair about that?’
Boston laughed, a harsh sound. ‘When has this kind of thing ever been fair, Alex?’
Cahill knew that he was right. But it didn’t stop him feeling anger bubble inside.
‘Can we rely on you, Alex?’
Cahill stared out into the night through the windows of his study.
‘Alex?’
‘I won’t tell Melanie anything else.’
‘That’s not exactly what I asked.’
‘That’s all I’ve got for you.’
5
Cahill went to bed but couldn’t sleep after the call with Boston. He pulled back the covers and swung his feet out of the bed, listening to the steady rise and fall of Sam’s breathing beside him. He turned and put a hand on her shoulder, feeling her skin warm under his fingers. Her breath hitched and went back to its steady rhythm.
He went down to his study and called Melanie Stark. It was early evening in Kansas. He had no idea what he was going to say to her.
‘Alex,’ she said, her voice a flat monotone.
‘How are you holding up?’
‘You know …’ She faded into silence.
Cahill did know.
‘It takes time,’ was what he said.
A cliché. Still, it was true.
‘Why are you calling? It must be late there.’
Cahill looked