A Time For Justice

by Nick Oldham

  FB nodded impatiently. ‘OK, OK, I haven’t the time to argue - but you keep me informed of every move you make, every breath you take... ‘

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Henry. ‘You’ll be watching me.’

  ‘Too fucking right I will.’

  ‘Are you DS Christie?’ A uniformed Constable had sidled up next to Henry.

  ‘Yes.

  ‘There’s a message for you from the hospital. The PC who was shot in the guts has asked to see you. I’ve been told to pass on the message urgently. Apparently he doesn’t have much time left.’

  August stood by one of the screens which protected the scene from onlookers. He was hot and sticky and worried.

  I’ve really done it now, he thought. Blood on my hands. Innocent men mown down like rats because of me. Because I was desperate to protect a career and a reputation. Everything gone through one lousy night with a whore. And I walked right into it, eyes closed, cock erect. What a stupid fucking bastard I am.

  August looked at the driver of one of the cars, still slumped across the steering wheel. Part of the side of his face was missing, but his eyes were intact, wide open and staring accusingly. Right at August. He tore his gaze away with a little whimper.

  August’s mind raced on. They still have a hold on me, whoever they are, he thought frantically. If they want me for anything else, they’ve got me by the balls. If they gave that damned tape to the press, I’d be finished for good. Whatever happens, I must stop them being able to get at me again...

  ‘FB,’ he said loudly, ‘on my desk, nine tomorrow morning, I want everything about Hinksman from Day One. I’m going to take a very personal interest in this investigation and from now on I’ll be looking over your shoulder. I shall expect daily updates on all lines of enquiry - understand? I want to know absolutely everything.’

  The motorcycle was abandoned near Garstang where both Hinksman and the rider transferred to a car. Here there was time for the remainder of the handcuffs to be snipped from Hinksman’s wrists. He rubbed them gratefully and the blood flowed back into his hands.

  Thirty minutes after driving sedately through country roads to Blackburn, the car stopped outside a terraced house in the Revidge area of the town. The driver handed Hinksman a key and said, ‘That’s where you’ll be lying low until the next stage, whatever that is. There’s enough food and drink for you for at least a week. Goodbye and good luck.’

  Hinksman said, ‘Thanks. That’s a good firm you work for. How do I contact you if I ever need you?’

  The man laughed. ‘You’ll find a way,’ he said mysteriously.

  ‘Understood,’ said Hinksman.

  They shook hands and Hinksman got out. The car pulled away from the kerb and Hinksman made his way to the front door of the house without looking back.

  Ten minutes later he was joined by Lenny Dakin who had dumped the Jag and was now driving a legitimate car.

  They greeted each other with much effusiveness and self-congratulation. A brilliant job. Superbly professional. It was as though they were discussing a Stock Market coup, not a shooting which had left more than half a dozen cops dead.

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to come through,’ Hinksman admitted, ‘when my lawyer said nothing to me.’

  ‘I decided it was best that way. If he got cold feet and blabbed it would’ve jeopardised the whole thing. Better safe than sorry.’

  They looked at each other then embraced elatedly, slapping each other’s backs. When they came back to earth, Hinksman asked, ‘What’s next?’

  ‘To get you out of the country.’

  ‘How do you intend to do that?’

  ‘Well, Corelli wants you back in the US as quickly as possible, but it’ll have to be done at my speed. We have a delivery due at the weekend, so what I plan to do is use the reverse route for you. That’ll get you to Eire, and from there it’s relatively easy to get to the States, maybe via Paris or Amsterdam, whatever.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Hinksman said approvingly.

  ‘So in the meantime, just crash out here. You should be safe enough if you’re sensible.’

  Hinksman’s nod turned smoothly to a shake. ‘I have business to attend to. A debt to repay.’

  ‘Now look.’ Dakin’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve put my neck on the line for you, so don’t fuck anything up.’

  ‘As if I would,’ said Hinksman reprovingly with a grim smile. ‘I’ll be careful and I’ll be back in time. Trust me.’

  A hand clamped down on Kovaks’ shoulder, making him jump. He had been sitting at his desk, staring blankly into space, with the Corelli surveillance reports in front of him, ever since Damian’s phone call. He turned round and there was Eamon Ritter accompanied by Ram Chander.

  ‘Hey, day dreamer,’ laughed Ritter. ‘I bumped into Ram in reception. He said he’d come to see you about Sue’s murder, so I brought him straight up. Look, I really am sorry about her, Joe. She was a damned good agent and though I didn’t know her too well, she always had a pleasant smile for me. She was your partner for a while, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yeah, she was. And thanks for the sentiment. How’s the investigation going, Ram?’

  ‘To be honest,’ the Indian admitted, ‘we don’t seem to be getting anywhere and until we apprehend this Damian character, I don’t think we will. That is why I came to see you, Mr Joe, to see if you have heard anything more.’

  Kovaks looked at Ritter and instantly decided, what the hell, he’s an agent too.

  ‘Yes, I have heard something. Gotta phone call from your chief suspect not long before you walked in here. Sounds like he wants to talk to someone.’

  Chander’s interest perked up. ‘Did he say where he was?’

  Kovaks shook his head. ‘Said he wanted to talk to someone he could trust, then I think he panicked and hung up. I’ve been waiting for him to call back, but he may not. He knows that all calls are recorded. He sounded scared.’

  Chander sighed. ‘OK, Mr Joe, if he does, please let me know immediately. Just remember, this isn’t a Federal matter, it’s my case.’

  ‘Yeah, no problem,’ said Kovaks.

  After Ram Chander had left, Ritter sat down next to Kovaks.

  ‘I didn’t know that Damian was number one suspect,’ he said. ‘I knew they wanted to talk to him, obviously, but do you think he killed her?’

  ‘No fucking chance,’ said Kovaks with feeling. ‘He wouldn’t even kill a computer virus. Maybe he knows who did it, though. Maybe he witnessed it.’

  ‘He couldn’t have,’ argued Ritter. ‘Wasn’t he on leave, at his mother’s in Clearwater?’

  ‘Apparently he left there and could’ve easily been back at the time of the killing.’

  Ritter drew in a breath. ‘So he could have done it?’

  ‘Or witnessed it.’

  ‘The cunt,’ rasped Ritter. ‘Look, if you need any assistance whatsoever, just let me know, will ya? My workload’s pretty light at the moment. I’d be happy to help you in any way I can.’

  ‘Thanks, Eamon.’

  He died before Henry could get to him. The nurses in the Casualty Department at Lancaster Royal Infirmary were just dismantling the medical equipment from around the bed and pulling drips out of veins which no longer pumped blood. Two of the nurses had tears in their eyes. A couple of young doctors stood at the end of the bed, conversing in hushed tones. An older doctor was filling out a form on a clipboard.

  Two uniformed Constables and a Sergeant stood quietly by the door, all three overawed by the circumstances.

  Henry walked to the Staff Only area where a Sister was working at a desk. He introduced himself and showed his identity. Henry noticed that she, too, had red rings around her eyes. He couldn’t decide if it was tiredness or emotion.

  ‘The policeman who just died,’ he said, ‘asked to see me. I wonder if you know what it was about. No one around his bed seems to.’

  ‘I don’t, actually,’ she said. ‘However, he was very lucid up to the last and asked fo
r a pen and piece of paper. He wrote a short note on it and gave it to me to give to you. I think he knew he would die before you got to see him.’ It was then Henry saw that the redness was emotion. ‘He was in incredible pain,’ she said, ‘but he was very brave and very philosophical. He’s a credit to the force.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Henry, trying not to be moved. The last thing he wanted was to be drawn into this. He needed to keep an emotion-free head. ‘Do you have the note?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s here.’ She pulled a piece of paper out of a pocket and handed it to Henry. ‘I haven’t read it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He went to the waiting room where he found a spare chair and sat down. He unfolded the note.

  It looked like it had been written by a frail eighty-year-old with arthritic fingers. But it was legible.

  DS Christie, he read. He’s going to come for you.

  Henry read it over several times before slowly folding it up and placing it in his jacket pocket.

  ‘No,’ Henry said out loud. ‘I’m going to go and get him.’

  Special Agent Eamon Ritter realised that he might have made a mistake, or possibly two, or maybe even three.

  The first one had been failing to ensure that Damian had actually been in Clearwater and the second was not searching Sue’s apartment properly. Now there was a distinct possibility that the little worm had witnessed the whole thing.

  And what happens when you assume? he grilled himself mentally. You make an ‘ass’ of ‘u’ and ‘me’.

  Standard FBI ground rules: don’t make fucking assumptions.

  And now, to compound all that, he’d made a third mistake by letting it slip to Kovaks that he knew about Damian’s leave to his mother’s in Clearwater.

  Kovaks was very sharp: the chances were that he was probably meditating on that same disclosure at this very minute. Drastic measures were required - and these could include the sudden deaths of another Special Agent and a fingerprint expert.

  Something was bugging Joe Kovaks, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He filtered through everything that had happened during the day: the visit to Laura, Tommo’s infantile remarks, Damian’s phone call, Ram Chander’s appearance.

  What the hell was it?

  Twenty minutes later he still didn’t have the answer. This is no good, he thought. I’m getting nowhere fast. He decided to take the rest of the day off. Give Chrissy a surprise.

  He replaced the Corelli surveillance logs into a file and tucked it under his arm. He would take them home and study them there with a beer in his hand. Removing any official documents from the building, unless approved, was strictly against Bureau rules. But like most of the rules, Kovaks thought they were bullshit and often flouted them.

  On the way home he would call in and see Laura, pep her up and discuss his idea of where to waste Corelli.

  As he stepped into the elevator, the phone on his desk started to ring. He did not hear it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kovaks rubbed his temples wearily and stood up. He walked across to the large picture window of the apartment. From it there was a fine view of one of the inlets of the intracoastal waterway which ran up behind Fort Lauderdale. Yachts, motor boats, power boats, craft of all sizes and descriptions were moored there.

  But Kovaks’ mind was not on the splendid vista. It was concentrated solely on the violent death - not before time - of Corelli.

  Was this really the right way?

  Using Laura, a no-hoper, who had never really done anyone any harm - could he live with that? Using her, knowing that she would almost certainly die.

  The problem was that he’d known her before she became a drug user and a prostitute, and he could clearly remember her as a spirited, pretty and more or less honest girl. Given time, trouble and patience she could return to her former self.

  But there was no time.

  She had to do it soon. Corelli had to be wasted. Delay meant more lives destroyed.

  Kovaks had purchased the murder weapon - a two-inch-barrelled Smith & Wesson model 31, Regulation Police, .32 calibre. It was just under 7 inches long and weighed 22 oz when empty. Laura needed to get in close and that meant a pistol or revolver, of a size and calibre she could hide and handle easily. And it had to be powerful enough to do the job. It was a wonderful gun to handle, though Kovaks found it too light for himself.

  Laura had taken to the gun well. She knew a lot about them anyway. She’d spent their last session together practising, walking up to a lampshade with the empty gun tucked into her waistband, then drawing and pumping six imaginary shells into Corelli’s head.

  She found it very exciting. She wanted to do it for real.

  ‘You must say nothing,’ Kovaks coached her. ‘You stroll up to him like it’s a normal Sunday afternoon. Look relaxed. Smile. Pull the gun out at the last possible moment and shoot the bastard. Throw it down, turn and run. I’ll be outside in a car waiting for you.’ This lie almost stuck in his throat. ‘Don’t worry about the layout of the place yet. We’ll go there for a meal ourselves a couple of times beforehand and find out where he usually sits. Now ... squeeze the trigger. Yes, like that. Don’t pull it.’

  Kovaks didn’t hear Chrissy emerge from the bedroom. She padded barefoot and silent up to him, wearing a short nightshirt which only just managed to cover her. She touched his sleeve. He jumped.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘What’re you shaking your head for?’

  ‘Oh nothing, just pondering.’

  She slid an arm around his waist. It was as though a shock of electric current had passed through him. Surprised, but happy, he draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him.

  She smiled.

  He couldn’t believe it: a smile. He was almost overwhelmed with joy.

  ‘I’ve been pretty awful to live with these past few months,’ she admitted.

  ‘You’ve had good enough reason. It hasn’t been a problem.’ It was a brave attempt at a lie.

  ‘Oh yes, it has,’ she insisted. She put her other arm around him and squeezed. ‘You’ve been so good to me. I’m a lucky lady. You’ve put up with me and my moods and my medical needs, stayed with me through everything, no complaining, nothing. I’m very grateful to you, Joe.’

  ‘You don’t have to be grateful. It’s my job - I love you.’

  ‘Do you? Even now, with a face like this and a chest that looks like a burned turkey dinner?’

  ‘Honey,’ he told her tenderly, looking straight into her eyes, ‘I’ll admit that initially I was attracted by your looks, but I fell in love with the person behind them. I fell in love with the way you talk, the way you drag your feet, the way you have an answer for everything and a million more things. I’m still in love with that person, even if she is a bit burned.’

  She swallowed. Her eyes became moist. ‘I thought you’d leave. I was terrified you’d go. I wouldn’t have blamed you.’

  ‘Don’t be a dork. I love you.’ He spelled it out.

  ‘I love you too, Joe.’

  ‘Well, that’s all right then.’

  One of her hands went to the back of his neck and pulled his head down towards hers. They kissed. A tingle of excitement made Kovaks curl up his toes. It was their first real kiss for many months. Slowly their lips parted and became wet and they began to explore each other’s mouths, tongues intertwining, sliding around each other like snakes.

  ‘Joe, Joe,’ said Chrissy, breaking off, slightly breathless. ‘We need to make love.’

  ‘I’ll second that.’ He bent down and scooped her up into his arms. Moments later they were on the bed and she was tugging hungrily at the belt on his trousers.

  The next time Henry Christie looked at a clock it was 11.30 p.m. He had been busy all day setting up the incident room in the gymnasium at Lancaster police station. Then together with Karen and Donaldson he had brainstormed the lines of enquiry their team of detectives were going to follow the next day.

  Henry was alone now; t
he other two had gone home. This was the last chance they would have for some time to get a good night’s sleep. He stood with his hands on his hips in front of the whiteboard upon which all their ideas had been scribbled down. There was a lot to go at. Tomorrow would be an even longer day.

  Then he thought: Tomorrow - Christ! My day off!

  He picked up a phone and dialled a sleepy-sounding Kate.

  ‘Sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I know it’s late. I would’ve phoned earlier but I didn’t get a chance.’

  ‘No, no, ‘sokay,’ she mumbled.

  ‘About tomorrow,’ he began haltingly.

  ‘You’re not coming, are you? I thought as much ... er, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’ve seen the news, it’s a dreadful business.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, stifling a yawn of his own. ‘I’m well involved in the investigation, so you’re right, I won’t be able to come round. You do understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘I have to catch this bastard before he catches me,’ he said bleakly. ‘I think I may have to kill him.’

  ‘Henry, that sounds rather dramatic.’

  ‘He’s made it personal, love. He said he’s coming for me.’

  ‘Christ,’ she breathed.

  ‘Kate, I love you,’ he said. ‘When this is all really over, let’s get back together. No more talking, let’s just do it.’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ she said simply.

  There was a short spell of stunned silence on the line.

  ‘I love you too, Henry. Please be careful, I want you back.’

  She hung up.

  Henry slowly replaced the phone and closed his eyes gratefully.

  Kate snuggled down under the duvet, next to Leanne who had sneaked in about twenty minutes before, claiming she couldn’t sleep. She had dropped off immediately next to her mother but the phone had woken her.

  ‘Was that Dad?’ she asked dreamily.