The Getaway (Sam Archer 2) by Tom Barber Page B

floor. We’ve tried perp walks, but no one we’ve brought in has ever been able to make an I.D.’ He paused. ‘But I thought we made a breakthrough ten days ago.’
    ‘How so?’
    ‘I got Brown talking.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘He’s got a kid. List of charges against him would take his boy away forever if we wanted to contact child services. I dialled the number in front of him, and pressed Call . It opened him up straight away.’
    ‘What did he tell you?’
    Gerrard checked over his shoulder, making sure they weren’t being overheard. They were speaking in lowered tones alre ady, but he spoke even quieter.
    He leaned forward over the table.
    ‘A week today, there’s a world title fight at MSG,’ he said. ‘Welterweight strap. Biggest fight of the year. Brown said Farrell’s planning to hit the place during the fight.’
    ‘MSG? As in Madison Square Garden ?’
    ‘The very same.’
    Archer turned and looked out of the window over his shoulder. The Garden was a two minute walk from here, on the corner of 33 rd and 8 th .
    ‘Hit it how?’ he asked.
    ‘Get in the stash room. There’s a big rock concert taking place the night before, this coming Friday night. The money rooms will be packed from the concession stands. There will be millions of dollars in there, easy, and it’s not scheduled to be transported out of there until Sunday. They’ll find a way of getting inside, or will pay someone off at that gate, and will head straight for those rooms.’
    Archer thought about it for a moment, then all of a sudden realised they’d drifted off topic. He’d been too swept up in what Gerry was telling him. He turned back to Farrell’s file, and examined the man’s harsh photo again, memorising his features, trying to picture him in his head doing the deed, pulling the trigger of the sho tgun against his father’s head.
    He pointed at the file. ‘So you think he’s t he one who murdered my father?’
    Gerrard nodded.
    ‘Yes. Or someone in his crew did. Let’s just say they all fit the bill.’
    ‘But that makes no sense. My father was based in D.C. This is your gig. How the hell would he get dragged into this?’
    ‘An Assistant Director sent him up here. I didn’t know about it until later, but apparently he was ordered to see what the hell was going on with my team. Observe my five agents and me from a distance and report back what he saw to the offices in Washington . Like I told you, the clearance rates are published in national reports every three months. New York ’s stats are bringing a shitload of shame and blame on the Bureau. Thirty-four per cent isn’t going to cut it.’
    ‘But why would they kill him? They wouldn’t have any idea who he was.’
    Gerrard shook his head.
    ‘After he died, I learned that he’d been investigating them too, by way of association.’ He paused, looking Archer in the eye. ‘I think he found something, Sam. Something that could close this case, and bring them all down. And I think somebody killed him before he could tell anyone what it was.’
    Archer thought for a moment.
    ‘Any proof?’ he asked.
    ‘The method of execution . This crew, they only ever use sawn-off shotguns. It’s their signature, their calling-card, their bread and butter. Shotguns are a nightmare for ballistics fingerprinting. The buckshot scatters everywhere when you pull the trigger, so it’s impossible to get a sample and match it to a particular weapon. Our only hope would be if they racked the pump and left a shell behind, but they haven’t had to fire the weapons on a job yet. There’s a saying in the Bureau that every bullet is another piece of evidence to convict you . But whoever killed Jimmy didn’t reload. The empty cartridge stayed in the weapon. And he took it, point-blank, when his back was turned. Farrell did eight years for killing a guy the exact same way. Shotgun, point-blank, back of the head. Tell me there isn’t a pattern and a correlation there.’
    Archer thought