A Time For Justice (7 page)

He expected a bullet in the head. It never came. The room was
empty. He beckoned Donaldson in.

The American sauntered up behind him. ‘Very good. You move
well.’

‘
Thank you. Let’s check out the bathroom before we get too
cocky,’ said McClure shakily.

It was empty.

‘
He booked in and fucked off when he saw us, I guess,’
Donaldson mused.

McClure reholstered his weapon. ‘I’ll tell the manager to seal
off this room until we can get Scenes of Crime to do
it.’

Thirty minutes later they accosted Karen Wilde in the lift at
Preston police station.

As they followed her down the corridor to her office,
Donaldson said, ‘What a bitch,’ under his breath.

McClure merely raised his eyebrows.

‘
I’d like to fuck her though,’ he added without moving his
lips, eyes glued to her rear.

‘
Join the queue,’ McClure retorted.

‘
Right, what’ve you got for me?’ Karen said when they reached
her office. She sat at the desk.

‘
I’m Detective Chief Inspector McClure from Greater
Manchester’s Serious Crime Squad and-’

‘
I’m Special Agent Donaldson, Karl Donaldson,
FBI
,
based in
Miami, Florida, in the United States of America.’

‘
I’m fully aware of the location of Florida. It’s where Mickey
Mouse lives, I believe.’

Both men shook her hand, Donaldson with a grave, piss-taking
formality. ‘And may I add what a pleasure it is to meet ya’ll,
ma’am?’

‘
You can add what you damn well like. Just get on with it -
I’m busy.’

McClure opened his mouth but Donaldson cut in. ‘Allow me ...
I’ll try and sum it up in a nutshell.’

‘
Do try,’ said Karen thinly, resting her chin on her thumb and
forefinger.

‘
I work in the Organised Crime Department of the FBI and for
the last five years me and my partner have been trying to nail a
mobster called Corelli. Very rich guy, into anything illegal you
care to mention - drugs, prostitution, fraud... Anyway, we’ve been
pretty unsuccessful.

‘
This guy Corelli has loads of business partners. One of them
is a young punk called Danny Carver. Carver has been linked to
Corelli for about three years. Suspected of being involved in some
major stuff. I mean mega-shit - gun-running, drugs, massive
commodity frauds, the whole caboodle. Eventually, Carver gets
pissed because he does a lot of legwork but only gets a small
percentage of the profit. So what does he do?’

‘
Do tell,’ said Karen.

‘
Cuts loose and starts doin’ deals himself without the boss
but using his contacts. Cheeky, huh? Corelli ain’t happy but he
lives with it until Carver schmoozes into a deal that Corelli
himself is actually tryin’ to put together with a drug baron in
Manchester, guy called Brown. Corelli is that far’ - here Donaldson
laid his palms together - ‘from doin’ business when Carver steps in
and pulls the rug out from under him then sets up the same deal
with Brown but with bigger percentages all round.’

‘
What does this deal involve?’

‘
Importing crack into the UK. Basically taking over the
British market,’ intercut McClure. ‘Big money.’

‘
Millions,’ affirmed Donaldson. ‘Money that Corelli wasn’t
happy losing. The rumour is that Corelli put out a contract on
Carver - but I stress it’s only a rumour.’

Karen checked her watch impatiently.

‘
What we intended to do,’ Donaldson said hurriedly, ‘was to
nail Carver, which wouldn’t have been too difficult because he’s a
sloppy operator. Then we’d promise him immunity from prosecution, a
new life, new I.D. - y’know, full-blown witness protection - in
exchange for him testifying against Corelli. Might’ve worked,’ he
mused.

‘
Anyway,’ he concluded, ‘we fixed up this transatlantic
cooperation exercise between the FBI and the Greater Manchester
police - with the blessing from your Home Office. . . and it was
all going well until yesterday. Carver was –’

‘
What happened yesterday?’ Karen interrupted.

McClure took over. ‘We’d had Carver and Brown under obs for a
couple of weeks. We knew they’d holed up in an hotel in Lancaster
with a couple of call girls. It was our intention to pick up their
tail yesterday morning, but we were late arriving at the hotel
because we got snarled up in motorway roadworks. By then, both of
them had gone.’

‘
How careless,’ sneered Karen. ‘This is very interesting, but
what has it got to do with me?’

‘
According to the management,’ said Donaldson, ‘Carver had
left in a Daimler with one of the hookers and Brown had gone off in
a Beemer with the other girl.’

‘
A Beemer - what’s that?’

‘
Sorry - a BMW,’ explained Donaldson. ‘Next thing we know -
BOOM! Carver has a bomb up his ass.’

‘
Hang on. So you’re saying that the car that blew up causing
the M6 tragedy, had Danny Carver in it - and you might know who
killed him and why?’

‘
Not exactly,’ Donaldson stressed. ‘I am saying that Carver
was in the Daimler. I’m surmising that he was killed by a hit man
who works for Corelli, because he’d usurped him on a big business
deal.’

‘
How can you be sure that this Danny Carver was in the
Daimler? There’s nothing identifiable left in the car. It’s not
even recognisably a Daimler. ‘

‘
Just adding up the scores on the doors,’ said
McClure.

‘
Talk evidence,’ Karen insisted.

‘
OK,’ said Donaldson. ‘Firstly we know that Carver was booked
on a flight to Miami from Manchester yesterday. He didn’t get on it
- we checked.

‘
Secondly we have a video tape here from the hotel’ - he held
up the cassette - ‘which shows Danny Carver getting into a Daimler
with a girl and being driven away. We’ve watched your tapes of the
explosion from the freeway camera and it looks like the same model
of Daimler. I’ll bet when your forensic team get their results
together they’ll find the remains of three bodies.’

‘
I am definitely intrigued,’ said Karen, beginning to squirm a
little with excitement.

Donaldson went on, ‘I saw a man in the hotel lobby yesterday
who I recognise as having some Corelli connection - but the great
thing is that the hotel video cameras pick him up arriving in a
car, parking it, walking past Carver’s limo and bending down next
to it.’

‘
Really!’ exclaimed Karen, barely suppressing her glee. ‘Can
you see exactly what he did?’

‘
No, because the film is a bit blurred. It needs enhancing.
However, we
can
see that his suitcase drops open next to the car. He bends
down to pick his clothes up and quickly reaches under the limo.’
This was said by McClure. ‘Good stuff, eh?’

Fucking bloody ace,
Karen thought,
but didn’t allow herself to smile.

‘
Add to that the rumour about the contract,’ said Donaldson,
‘and I think we’re onto something, don’t you?’

‘
Possibly,’ Karen said.

‘
Once you get a Technical Support Unit to enhance the number
plate from the motorway video we’ll know for sure if it was
Carver’s Daimler or not.’

‘
I already have the number,’ Karen said triumphantly, and read
it out aloud from her notes.

‘
That’s the one!’ McClure confirmed. ‘If TSU can do the same
for the hotel video and lift the registered number from this guy’s
car, we could be well on our way.’

‘
And all I have to do is catch him,’ Karen said. She looked
expectantly at Donaldson. ‘So, what’s the guy’s name?’

‘
That’s the problem. I don’t know. There is another problem
too. I believe he’s only fulfilled part of his contract. If we
don’t get him quick, he’ll kill again.’

In spite of her tardy entrance to an already delayed briefing,
Karen Wilde handled the start of her first murder investigation
with the assurance of a seasoned professional.

She stepped onto a raised platform at one end of the gym and
called for quiet.

Within minutes she had them eating out of her hand. The
irritability of the officers soon evaporated as she directed her
considerable public-speaking skills at them. She concluded by
naming the pairings of detectives and asking them to see the
Allocator for their tasks in half an hour.

The investigation was underway at last.

Before leaving the platform she said, ‘Is DS Christie
here?’

‘
Yes, ma’ am,’ he said from the back of the room.

‘
My office - ten minutes,’ she clipped and stepped
down.

‘
Lucky you,’ someone said to Henry.

‘
Why?’

‘
Spanking.’

Henry chuckled.

He knocked on the office door and entered. Karen was sitting
behind her desk reading the initial pathology and forensic
reports.

‘
Sit down,’ she said, briefly looking up then returning her
attention to the paperwork.

He sat on a chair opposite her and waited, wondering what job
he was going to be given. He speculated. Must be interesting if she
was giving it to him personally.

Eventually she stacked the papers neatly in front of her and
looked at Henry.

‘
DS Christie,’ she said at length.

‘
Yes.’

‘
How are you? You look awful, if you don’t mind me
saying.’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t feel too bad, just sore. Can’t wait to get
going with this, though.’

She frowned. ‘Hm,’ she said.

Henry’s eyes narrowed. Something was wrong here.

There was a pause, then: ‘Can you tell me how it is that
within the space of a few minutes yesterday you performed an action
which reflected great credit on the force, followed by one which
has brought us equal public disgrace?’

Henry’s mouth sagged open. He clamped it shut with a clash of
his teeth.

‘
Your action at the scene of the bombing in trying to rescue
those children was commendable. Shortly afterwards, in an incident
which was broadcast on nationwide TV, you threw a reporter down the
riverbank. What do you have to say?’

Flabbergasted, Henry shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

‘
Well, I can tell you that an official complaint has been made
by the BBC. It alleges assault, abuse of authority, discreditable
conduct and such-like. Here. . .’ She handed him a form.

It was the notorious Form 14, a Discipline and Complaints
form. On it were set out the allegations in detail.

Karen cautioned Henry and asked him if he had anything to say.
He shook his head sadly, on the verge of tears.

‘
D and C will be looking into it,’ Karen said. ‘In the
meantime you can return to your normal duty.’

‘
I’m not on the investigation then?’

‘
No - you’re too personally involved. It wouldn’t be right,
for your sake. Before you go, though, would you write out a
detailed statement about what happened yesterday and submit it to
the statement reader. OK, that’s all.’

Chapter Five

Hinksman drove his hired Mondeo east across the county to
Rossendale, an area of high moorland, deep valleys and towns
clinging precariously to the hillsides like clusters of
weather-beaten barnacles. He was making for a remote farmhouse
situated high above Bacup which had fantastic panoramic views
across the Tops towards the ugly sprawl of Greater Manchester in
the south.

The house had been renovated and modernised and owed little to
its agricultural origins. Now it was the type of house a wealthy
accountant or stockbroker might have bought as a place in the
country: private, exclusive, yet within commuting distance of
work.

Hinksman looked around admiringly as he drove up the steep,
winding track to the house.

He’d been there only four days previously. He’d hoped that a
return would be unnecessary but ... such is life.

He stopped at the large wrought-iron gates and pressed the
button on the intercom.

‘
Yes?’ came a metallic voice.

‘
We met last week,’ Hinksman said. He glanced up whilst
talking and waved at the camera discreetly lodged in the branches
of a tall tree. ‘You sold me some almonds.’ The word ‘almonds’
referred to the smell given off by Semtex.

‘
I thought we’d finished our business.’

‘
You were wrong,’ said Hinksman.

He took his finger off the button and returned to the Mondeo.
He’d left the engine running.

After a short delay the gates swung silently open. He nosed
the car up the drive, and came to a halt on the gravel at the front
of the house. He got out and leaned on the bonnet of the car for a
moment, admiring the view and the other two cars parked there, a
Bentley and a Ferrari. I’ll treat myself to a Ferrari one day, he
thought. It’s a real good idea. Me and Donny blasting down the Keys
together. Sure thing! The picture in his mind’s eye made him smile
again.