Hembury’s voice rose an octave with excitement and anticipation. “Jesus, are you involved in that case? That footage is everywhere. They say it was a revenge gang killing connected to a bank robbery. I’ve been following it, but, weirdly, it didn’t cross my mind that it might be your investigation—”

Vargas cut in. “Troy, the gang-killing theory is total shit. This case involves a level of criminal power and ruthlessness that’s off the scale. What started as an audacious but pretty regular robbery has morphed into a catalogue of torture and murder, the like of which I’ve never experienced before.”

During the next hour, Hembury listened intently as Vargas took him through the intricate details of the case, starting with the safe-deposit raid and finishing with the sniper shooting on the courthouse steps. Troy nibbled on some cold prawn toast and downed it with a large swig of beer.

“Nic, clearly this is all about whatever’s inside one of those boxes. The torture, the executions, the contract killer are all part of the pursuit of that one objective. What kind of criminal walks away from millions of dollars when it’s handed to him on a plate? This case is a total head fuck.”

“Exactly, and right now my only lead is a San Francisco phone number, which is why I need your help.”

“Nic, it’s our only lead. Give me five minutes to check it out.”

Hembury ended the call and logged on to his work laptop.

Using the police database, it took him less than two minutes to discover the address and owner of the number. Unfortunately, he didn’t think the information was going to be of much help to his fellow detective. He hit the last number on his mobile and Vargas picked up after just one ring.

“Okay, Nic, here’s what we’ve got – the number is registered to a high-rise office block on California Street, which is located in downtown San Francisco. The entire building is owned by the Franklin Pharmaceutical Corporation, which is one of the ten largest companies in the States. They’re a huge outfit. That building alone must house over five thousand employees, and that number is a direct line that could belong to any of them. They are an incredibly well-respected company. In fact, the son of the CEO, John Franklin, is running for the Republican nomination and looks odds-on to win—”

Vargas cut in. “Yes, they’re enormous over here as well. They have offices in Buenos Aires and Córdoba. I think the company originated in Argentina.”

He paused for a moment of thought. “Troy, my old man used to say that every good barrel can have one bad apple.”

“Okay, Nic, if we are going to play the metaphor game … we are looking for a needle in a giant haystack.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

17 January 2012

Buenos Aires