by Nick Oldham
Seconds later Corelli had been drawn to one side and directed to a long table where another Customs officer awaited them with a smile. The table was directly in front of the screen which Henry and Donaldson were behind, giving them, as planned, an excellent view of the proceedings.
Corelli and his man were smiling, as though they expected this to happen. They were patient and courteous, and carried out the requests of the Customs officer without rancour. Not once did they show irritation or annoyance.
‘ He’s fuckin’ enjoying this,’ hissed Donaldson. He was the one showing irritation and annoyance. ‘I just wanna put one on him. I really do.’
‘ Obviously something he’d foreseen,’ said Henry, less bothered.
He studied both men through the one-way window.
Corelli was about fifty years old and overweight. He was short and rotund, but carried his poundage quite well. His face was wide and his skin dark, betraying his Mediterranean origin. He had eyes which were lit with humour and a beguiling smile which he flashed regularly as he shared a joke or two with the Customs officers. He reminded Henry more of an accountant or bank manager — or maybe a successful salesman. He looked ordinary, decent, law-abiding, middle-aged and fat. He wouldn’t have drawn a second glance in a street.
‘ Know anything about the other guy?’ Henry asked Donaldson. ‘Lots. He’s Corelli’s main bodyguard, trusted right-hand man, but not a policy adviser or anything like that. He organises Corelli’s personal protection and anti-surveillance. Name of Jamie Stanton. An ex-cop, actually — did about five years with the NYPD before he went bad. Got busted for selling drugs to fellow officers, then moved into the security business, personal protection mainly. Worked with one or two controversial businessmen and union organisers before gravitating to Corelli. I think he’s probably very good — so good that he hasn’t been tested in any situation yet, and he’s made Corelli very surveillance-conscious. We’ve wired his home twice — both times sussed and he never uses his own phone to do business, unless he can’t help it because they’re nearly always tapped. He’s also a fitness freak. Jeez’ Donaldson shook his head, ‘if he came across, it’d be gold for us, but that’s just wishful thinking. He’s dedicated to Corelli and paid very, very well.’
Henry saw that Stanton was a tough-looking man in his mid-thirties who oozed violence coupled with intelligence. A dangerous combination. He was chunky, strong-looking, with shoulders like a swimmer. He did fit the stereotype, Henry thought with relief. His eyes were watchful. His movements were those of a man accustomed to reacting quickly should the need arise, but otherwise he conserved energy, a bit like a cat. Everything was held back for that vital thrust. Yet he too was smiling and cheerful, though on closer inspection his countenance wasn’t as convincing as Corelli’s. He’d been told how to react if stopped and didn’t really like acting the pleasant man. Henry made a mental note to watch him very carefully should their paths ever cross. He hoped they wouldn’t.
The baggage search was over, the clothing and toiletries — for that’s all there was — had been replaced.
Before moving away Corelli looked past the shoulder of the Customs officer at the one-way window behind which Henry and Donaldson lurked. He gave a cheerful wave of acknowledgement. Then he and Stanton — who scowled — walked towards the arrivals hall.
‘ Bastard, bastard, bastard,’ Donaldson uttered, wringing his hands in frustration.
‘ Suddenly I feel very small,’ said Henry. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets. ‘I don’t now think this was a good idea, to have him searched. ‘
‘ Why the fuck not? It inconvenienced him, didn’t it?’
‘ And brought us down to his level, Karl,’ Henry said like the critical parent. ‘We should be better than this. It’s not as though we were likely to find anything, was it? He’d hardly have had a case full of crack, would he?’
Grudgingly Donaldson said, ‘Suppose you’re right… but I still enjoyed it.’
‘ And that’s all that matters,’ Henry said sarkily. ‘C’mon, let’s see who he meets up with.’
Out in the bustling arrivals hall they were just in time to see Corelli and Stanton being led out of the building by a man in a chauffeur’s uniform.
They pushed through the crowd.
When they emerged outside, all they saw was the rear end of a large, plush saloon car pulling away from the kerb. A Rolls-Royce with personalised number plates.
Donaldson cursed and fumbled for his pen and a piece of paper, hoping to get a note of the number.
‘ No need,’ said Henry, laying a hand on Donaldson’s arm. ‘I know who owns it — a guy called Lenny Dakin. RCS have run surveillance on him a few times but got nowhere.’ He pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Now I know what Jason Brown was doing in Blackpool. Dakin has some business interests there. Looks like they could’ve been working together, maybe. Looks like Dakin could have set up Brown for the hit, maybe. Looks like Dakin and Corelli are now business partners…’
‘ Maybe,’ the two men said in unison.
The charge of murder in English law is a very simple charge.
At 10 p.m., after a full day of interviews, a detective brought Hinksman, who was on his crutches, before the custody officer. Also present was Hinksman’s solicitor.
‘ Just listen to what the officer has to say to you,’ the custody officer told Hinksman.
The detective began to speak, reading from the charge forms. ‘You are charged with the offence shown below. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention now something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. You are charged that at Blackpool in the County of Lancashire, you did murder Jason Brown. This is contrary to common law.’ The detective looked up at Hinksman. ‘Do you wish to make any reply to the charge?’
Hinksman, who had simply stared at the wall as the charge was read out, continued to do that. He acknowledged no one and refused to take his copy of the charge.
‘ You’re not getting bail,’ the custody officer said, ‘because I have reasonable grounds to believe you’ll fail to appear, or that you’ll interfere with the administration of justice by intimidating witnesses if you’re released. You’ll be appearing at court tomorrow when there’ll be an application for a three-day remand in police custody to allow us to question you about many other matters. Do you understand?’
No response.
The custody officer beckoned two gaolers. ‘Take him back to his cell.’
They led him down the corridor and ushered him into a cell, slamming the door shut behind him, but leaving the inspection flap open. One of the gaolers sat down on a chair in the corridor outside the cell as it is normal procedure in Lancashire to keep all persons charged with murder under constant supervision.
In the cell Hinksman propped his crutches up and lay down on the bench-bed. The mattress was thin and covered with tough, thick plastic. He pulled a rough blanket over himself and stared at the ceiling. Two thoughts circled around in his head: escape and revenge.
Henry and Donaldson drove back to Blackpool. The American had checked out of his Manchester hotel and moved into one in the resort while he continued to work with Henry on the Hinksman case.
On the journey Henry told him all he knew about Dakin, which was precious little. He’d actually heard nothing about the man for some time and would have to check with the RCS office in Bolton about the current state of play. He seemed to have slipped quietly out of the limelight.
They arrived at Blackpool Central police station just before I0.30 p.m.
After checking the custody office to find out whether Hinksman had been charged or not, Henry invited Donaldson up to the social club which was on the top floor of the station. Donaldson accepted. Both men were eager for a drink.
They sat at the quiet bar. Henry drank lager with a whisky chaser whilst the American contented himself drinking straight out of a bottle of Bud.
Conver
sation drifted from topic to topic as the drinks went down. Cops all over the world find it easy to talk to each other. They discussed their careers and enjoyed exchanging a few war stories. Eventually the subject turned somehow to Chief Inspector Karen Wilde. Henry was speechless when he was told about her treatment and then her rape.
‘ But you must not tell anyone,’ Donaldson insisted. ‘She wants it that way, wants to try and forget it and get on with her life.’
Henry whistled softly. ‘I see her in a whole new light now,’ he confessed. ‘I completely hated her, to be honest, but I never really considered things from her perspective. You seem to know an awful lot about her in such a short time. You soft on her?’
Donaldson coloured up and squirmed. He took a sip of his beer. ‘You could say that,’ he said with a slight trace of bitterness. ‘I’ve fallen in love with her, I think. But she doesn’t want to know — which, I suppose, is fair enough at the moment.’
‘ Why have you told me all this, Karl?’ Henry asked.
‘ Dunno,’ Donaldson shrugged, looking at the bubbles in his beer.
‘ So much has happened over the last few days, and although it might sound a little soppy, I just needed to get some of it off my chest. I just wanna talk to somebody and you’re the nearest… and you seem a pretty decent guy.’
‘ Cheers,’ said Henry doubtfully.
Two ladies who’d been sitting at the far end of the room near the snooker tables came to the bar to buy drinks as the last orders were called. Whilst waiting, one of them turned to Henry. He looked at her and smiled, vaguely recognising her. She was very good-looking and oh, so young. About twenty. She smelled delicious.
‘ You’re Henry Christie, aren’t you?’
‘ Yes I am,’ he said. ‘And who are you?’
‘ Police Constable Natalie Atkinson and this is Alex,’ she said, thumbing at her friend. ‘She’s a PC too. We’ve just started here from training school.’
‘ Oh, very nice,’ said Henry. ‘I hope you have a good career.’
‘ That’s a very nasty cut on your head,’ she said. She laid a cool finger on his forehead.
‘ It is,’ he agreed. His stomach leapt at the touch.
‘ You’re a bit of a hero, aren’t you?’ she asked. Her eyes were wide and bright and moist as she gazed up at him. ‘And you’ve shot a man, haven’t you?’
‘ No to the first; yes to the second,’ he said modestly. Who would be corrupting whom, he wondered idly, if this went any further. ‘But,’ he added, ‘I’m not proud I shot anyone.’
‘ My friend and I are going on to a nightclub. Would you and your friend like to come along?’
‘ Oh, I don’t know,’ said Henry, flattered. He checked his watch. ‘What about you, Karl?’
Donaldson had picked up the gaze from Alex. ‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘I’d like to let my hair down for an hour or two, especially after the events of the last few days.’
‘ You’re an American!’ blurted Alex, sidling over to him.
Donaldson nodded. ‘He’s an FBI agent,’ Henry said.
‘ Wow,’ Alex said, truly impressed.
‘ So, you coming along then, or what?’ Natalie asked. ‘We’re going to the loo. It’ll give you a minute or two to make up your minds.’ The ladies excused themselves.
Henry and Donaldson eyed each other uncertainly for a fleeting moment. Both men’s faces cracked into smiles.
Henry, slightly affected by drink already, slapped his left hand onto his right bicep and jacked up his fist.
‘ What the hell does that mean?’ asked a perplexed Donaldson.
‘ It means I could give her one,’ said Henry dirtily.
‘ You mean…?’
‘ Fuck her, I believe is the international term,’ said Henry.
‘ Doesn’t mean that in the States. It means “Up Yours”.’
‘ Same thing,’ laughed Henry.
‘ You English, there’s no hope for y’all.’
They finished their drinks and stood up as the ladies came back from grooming themselves. Henry felt light-headed and dizzy and a little out of his depth, but what the hell! A bit of a razz wouldn’t do anyone any harm, would it?
‘ You game for a laugh?’ he asked. ‘Sure thing,’ affirmed Donaldson.
In the lift Natalie slid her arm through the crook of Henry’s. She inspected him minutely with big seductive eyes. Then she smiled. ‘Can I kiss you?’ she asked politely, turning to face him properly and snaking her arms around his neck, completely ignoring the other two in the lift. Henry took in her scent again. Its vapours intermingled intoxicatingly with the liquor which already clouded his brain and therefore his judgement. He knew he shouldn’t. ‘I’ve never kissed a hero before,’ she said, drawing his face towards hers, his mouth towards hers.
His arms went round her waist. She felt so slim. He pulled her eagerly towards him. She responded, grinding her hips into his.
They kissed.
Two hours of negotiation, planning details, finance, profits, routes and couriers had passed before Corelli leaned back in his chair, stretched and yawned. In the grate a fire burned and spat ferociously. On a rug in front of it lay Dakin’s two Dobermans, sleeping soundly.
Dakin smiled. ‘Care for another drink?’ he asked Corelli.
‘ A small bourbon,’ said Corelli. He stood up and went to the window, looking out into the darkness that was the Ribble Valley. Light from the moon made the river itself look silver in the bottom of the valley.
Dakin handed him a glass. ‘Do you like my house?’
‘ I do,’ said Corelli, ‘and your hospitality and your business ability.’ ‘Good, I’m glad.’
Dakin held out his glass. Corelli chinked his against it.
‘ Here’s to the future and shared prosperity,’ said Dakin.
They each took a sip of their drinks.
‘ There is, however, one problem to be resolved,’ Corelli said thoughtfully.
‘ What’s that?’ Dakin sounded guarded. ‘I thought we’d covered everything. ‘
‘ Oh, we have, businesswise. Now, the man the police arrested…’
Hinksman,’ nodded Dakin.
‘ As part of our arrangement, and to show your good will towards me, I should like you to ensure that he does not remain in the custody of your fine police department any longer than necessary — if you see what I mean.’
Donaldson was still awake when the knock came on the door of his hotel room. He was savouring the feel and warmth of a woman in his bed, even though she was virtually a stranger. But that didn’t matter to him at that moment. He felt good and relaxed and proud that he’d been able to perform so well after all this time.
The knock came again.
He wasn’t sure whether he’d actually heard it the first time, or even if it was his door. He glanced at his watch. Just gone four. Puzzled, he eased his left arm gently from under the sleeping shoulders of Alex and sat up slowly on the edge of the bed so as not to disturb her.
There was another knock, louder, slightly more urgent this time. He pulled on a pair of shorts and went to the door. He opened it to see Karen standing there in the corridor.
She was crying. Her eyes were pools of clear water. Streams ran down her cheeks. She looked lost and beautiful. Donaldson’s heart went out to her when he saw how misshapen her mouth became as she cried and tried to hold it back, and how much her shoulders juddered with each sob.
‘ Karen,’ he said.
‘ Karl, I’m sorry — I just needed someone. I need to talk to somebody… I haven’t got any friends.’ She almost choked on the word friends. ‘I feel so alone… I want to talk to you. I’m cracking up, I think. My head, it’s just spinning round and round… won’t stop. I need someone to hold me. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘ No, I don’t.’ But he couldn’t help looking over his shoulder back into the room.
Karen saw the glance and followed it with her own eyes.
Disturbed by
the noise, Alex was sitting up in bed yawning. The sheets had tumbled to her waist.
‘ You’ve got someone in there,’ said Karen. It wasn’t an accusation. There was sadness in her tone.
‘ Yeah,’ Donaldson said. ‘I mean… she’s nothing. I’ll get rid of her — she can go.’
Karen suddenly took control of herself. She shook her head. ‘Don’t bother, Karl. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come without phoning first. It was stupid. But I expected… Oh, it doesn’t matter.’
She turned and walked towards the lift.
‘ Karen — wait!’ He started to panic.
The lift doors opened immediately. Half-naked at his doorway, Donaldson watched helpless as she left.
‘ Karen,’ he shouted. ‘Karen, I love you.’
As though she hadn’t heard or didn’t give a damn, she stepped into the lift, but did not turn round to face him. Her back stayed towards him.
The doors closed. The lift hissed and began to descend.
Donaldson closed his eyes and dropped his head forwards into the palms of his hands.
Chapter Sixteen
Henry slithered into work at nine the following day, not feeling particularly well nor particularly proud of himself. He’d got home just after 4 a.m. and sneaked into bed in a drunken stupor in the belief that he’d managed it without waking his wife; as the reality of the sober world hit him he realised there was no way this could have been the case.
Kate, however, hadn’t said a word. She’d been her normal cheerful self, waking him up prior to setting off for her own work. She’d kissed him gently and placed a glass of orange juice on the bedside cabinet.
With his aches and pains and breakages, it took him about twenty minutes to get dressed.
He grabbed a coffee in the canteen which he intended to drink in the office. On his way to the lift he was waylaid by Natalie in police uniform. Henry took comfort from the fact that she looked worse than him — but she was on the early shift and could have only managed an hour or so’s sleep at most. It didn’t stop her being gorgeous though. And that perfume…