Lockdown

There was a concrete lip at the very edge of the roof. Lock pulled Stafford up on to it.

‘Please. Please, don’t do this!’ Stafford begged.

‘Why shouldn’t I? Give me one good reason.’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘You don’t want to die, do you?’

Stafford shook his head, tears streaming down his face. ‘No, I don’t.’

Lock stood back, the gun still on him. ‘OK, so here’s what you’re gonna do.’

Lock briefly outlined Stafford’s obligations and what would happen to him if they weren’t fulfilled. Then he retreated back inside the stairwell, leaving Stafford alone on the roof for the night to think about what he’d done.

A few days later the intern had contacted Lock to thank him. A day after the attack a certified cheque in the amount of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars had arrived in the mail at her apartment. Along with a legal agreement that she would take no further action.

Lock knew that it was a cheap way out for Stafford and he felt bad about that. But he also knew what the conviction rate was in sexual assault cases.

Once again, justice hadn’t come into it.

Twenty-two

‘I want Ty to work the recovery with me.’ Lock phrased it as a statement rather than a question. It was quicker that way, and they’d already wasted thirty minutes on bullshit that had zero to do with the safe recovery of Josh Hulme and everything to do with Meditech’s share price and Stafford’s ego.

‘Agreed,’ said Nicholas. ‘What else do you need?’

‘We’ll need someone to liaise with the JTTF.’

‘Wouldn’t you be the best person to do that?’ Nicholas asked.

‘I’m gonna have my hands full. Plus, my being involved hasn’t been a popular move with them.’

‘OK, what else?’

‘We’ll need a team of people to sort through all our previous threat assessments. Particularly those relating to Richard Hulme.’

‘Already done,’ Stafford piped up. ‘And I’ve had a briefing go out to all employees warning them to be vigilant and report anything suspicious to local authorities and our security personnel.’

Maybe Stafford’s midnight sojourn on the roof with him had finally knocked some sense into him, Lock thought.

‘So who’s to hold the fort here while you’re out playing detective?’ asked Brand.

‘By the looks of it, I thought you’d already stepped into the breach,’ Lock fired back.

‘Well, someone had to.’

Nicholas Van Straten rifled his papers, signalling the end of the meeting. ‘That’s everything settled, then.’

Ty and Lock rode back down together in the elevator.

‘You sure about leaving this place to Brand?’ Ty asked.

‘Nope.’

‘Me either. You know, I don’t have the kind of investigation experience you do.’

‘So?’

‘So maybe I’m not the best man to be helping you out.’

‘You fit all three of my main criteria,’ Lock said.

‘Oh yeah, and what are those?’

‘I need someone I can trust. And investigating comes down to one thing those chumps back up there don’t possess. Common sense.’

‘That’s only two. What’s the third?’

‘If there are any more closed doors, I need someone in front of me.’

‘Now, that I can buy. I’m still getting a feeling there’s something else.’

Lock sighed. ‘OK, the political activists we’re going to be dealing with aren’t your right-wing Bill O’Reilly crowd, right?’

‘Meaning it’ll be a hell of a lot more difficult for them to tell a black man to go take a jump.’

‘Got it in one. We need to locate the enemy’s weak spots. If that so happens to be a liberal conscience, that’s what we use.’

‘So you’d use the colour of my skin to game someone?’

‘Absolutely.’

Ty thought about that for a second. ‘OK, I can be down with that.’

The elevator’s floor counter ticked down to single digits.

‘So, what do you think our chances are?’ Ty asked.

Lock thought about it. The doors opened into the lobby.

‘Well, we got no ransom demand, no sightings since the kidnap, and the one person who does know what happened was just confirmed dead. Apart from that, I’d say we’re in excellent shape.’

Twenty-three

‘We’ll take my car.’

Ty gave Lock a look.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You got something to say about my car, you’d better say it.’

‘OK, but if we take your car,’ Ty said, pulling out a black i-Pod, ‘we gotta dock my tracks.’

It was Lock’s turn to eye-roll Ty. ‘Maybe I should have picked Brand as my ride-along after all.’

Ty faked outrage. ‘That cracker listens to country. I got stuck in the CAT vehicle with him once. Made me listen to a tune called “How Can I Tell You I Love You With a Shotgun in My Mouth?” And they say rap lyrics are messed up? Damn.’

‘Point taken. My ride, your music.’

‘Calling your vehicle a “ride” is stretching it.’

‘So’s calling the shit you listen to music.’

Forty minutes later they pulled up at the gates of the cemetery, still debating the pros and cons of Lock’s car and Ty’s taste in music.

Ty scanned the other arrivals. ‘Don’t these folks look in the mirror before they leave home?’

At the top of the hill a Who’s Who of the animal rights crowd were gathering to watch Gray and Mary Stokes being laid to rest, alongside their long-deceased pets, dogs, cats, rabbits, and even a donkey.

‘Not an animal lover?’

‘Had a pit bull once. Loved that dog, man.’

‘What happened to it?’

‘Tried to eat my little cousin Chantelle. Had to shoot the asshole. I mean, she was pulling its ears and shit, so it wasn’t entirely unwarranted biting her, but family’s family.’

‘Ty, I get a lump in my throat listening to stories about your upbringing. It’s like the Waltons on crack.’

Ty smiled. ‘Screw you, white boy.’

‘Listen, you stay here with the car.’

‘Aw, man. Do I have to?’