“Yesterday the photos were being reviewed by the team when Roger Powell recognized Peter.” It started to make sense. Roger was a colleague who’d workedwith Mitch and Ross for years. He’d had the pleasure—if it could be called that—of meeting Peter during the last stages of their relationship. Roger was one of the people to recommend that Mitch dump Pete’s sorry arse. Mitch assumed he’d seen enough junkies in his career on the drug squad to recognize when someone couldn’t be saved, something Mitch wasn’t able to see until Peter had broken his heartone too many times.
“How long has he been part of the club?” Ross interrupted. “I assume he’s affiliated in some way?”
Sutherland nodded. “That’s a logical conclusion given how tight he looked with Rocky.”
“But wouldn’t he have to prove himself first? He can’t just appear from nowhere and be part of Rocky’s inner circle. The Soldiers aren’t that trusting, and club protocol wouldn’t allow it.”
“The working theory at the moment is that Crowley is looking to become a prospect, so he’s seeking a sponsor in the club, and he knows Rocky’s younger brother, so it gave him an in.”
“The brother who lives in Melbourne?”
“Not anymore. But yes, that’s the assumption.”
“So how are they linked?” The whole thing still didn’t make any sense to Mitch.
“Flight records show Peter was in Melbournelast month. We can’t find any record of hotel accommodation.”
“It’s a long stretch to link them just because they spent time in the same city.”
“Perhaps. Phone records do show calls from Peter to Rocky’s brother. We’re looking for more tangible proof, but in the meantime, we’re working with what we’ve got. The fact Crowley traveled with Rocky to the airport when he picked up his brother, plusthe phone calls, is enough for now. It reeks of a personal connection, not a business dealing.”
Ross leaned on the table. “So why’s the kid back now, especially after all this time?”
“We’re not sure of that either.”
“What the fuckareyou sure of?” Mitch thumped the conference table.
“Listen, Mitch,” Sutherland said calmly. “I know this is out of the blue, but work with me here. Do you needa minute to get your shit together?”
Mitch slumped back in his seat. “No. Continue.”
Sutherland raised a brow but started talking. “The kid—Finn Cummings—has finished studying. We don’t know what his brother’s plan is for him, but it appears whatever it is, it will take place in Sydney. The lease on his Melbourne flat wasn’t renewed, and all his belongings have been shipped back to Sydney.”
“He’s living with Rocky?” Rocky Cummings, president of the Soldiers of Fury MC, lived in a house overlooking the river—flash enough to draw attention and special enough to impress those he wanted to show off to. Biker gang president done good.
“It doesn’t appear so. He’s living in the old house where they grew up.”
“Carl Cummings’s place? I don’t think anyone’s lived there for years. It mustbe a dump.”
“From the outside it looks like a run-down dump, but the kid only arrived yesterday. Maybe he’s just staying there temporarily.”
“Well, thank God he has the sense not to stay anywhere near his brother.” Mitch drank the last of his coffee, the liquid now tepid and unappealing. He grimaced. “And what about Peter?”
“Crowley appears to be staying at Rocky’s.”
The coffee roiled in Mitch’sgut, or maybe it was the idea of Peter so close to the head of the Soldiers of Fury Motorcycle Club. Jesus, the Peter he knew might have had a drug habit and started hanging with the wrong people, but the Soldiers?
Mitch could see the concern on Ross’s face. He knew Ross would be worried about his reaction and running different scenarios through his head.Will Mitch have a nervous breakdown?Will I be picking up the pieces again when Mitch falls apart?Sutherland, on the other hand, looked all business. Mitch took a deep breath.
“So what do you want me to do?”
FINN THREWopen the last of the windows in an attempt to rid the old house of the musty odor that seemed to permeate every corner. He had managed to sleep in his old bedroom the night before but woke with the headachefrom hell due to blocked sinuses. Between the mold speckling the corners of the ceiling and the stale bedding, he was lucky the headache was the worst thing he was suffering from, although the throbbing pain in his face was the final push he needed to spring clean the house from top to bottom.
He found a few ibuprofen tablets in the bathroom cabinet and washed them down with water straight fromthe tap, never minding they were probably a couple of years out of date and left there from one of his earlier trips. When he stood, the reflection in the mirror shocked him. Although why he was surprised was a mystery. It had been a shitty few weeks, and he’d hardly slept for days, as the purplish smears under each eye attested to. Even his usual tan couldn’t camouflage the pallor. Finn draggeda hand across his chin, feeling the two days’ worth of fair stubble that graced his jaw, but didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.
He wore his short blond hair in a messy style. The sides were trimmed close to his skull, the inch-long lengths on top usually ruffled to stick up at all angles, a slick of product keeping the artful arrangement in place all day. Today, in lieu of hairbrush,comb, or hair gel, he ducked his head under the running water and flicked his hands through it. It didn’t matter what he looked like, anyway, not for what he had planned for the day.
The kitchen was no better than the bathroom. A layer of dust covered everything from the cupboards to the laminate benches. The dark carcasses of dead flies littered the windowsills. Why the hell Rocky hadn’t doneanything to maintain the house was beyond him. It was as if his big brother shut the door on the place the day their dad died and never came back.
