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.
Footsteps crunched behind him. The man who was walking towards him from the house was about fifty, six feet tall and upright like the ex-soldier he was. Hinksman knew him only as Gaskell. He was an arms dealer, legit and properly registered with the local cops.
‘ You shouldn’t have come here again,’ said Gaskell, clearly worried. ‘It’s far too risky, and as far as I’m concerned, my business with you is concluded. I did a favour for Corelli because he’d done one for me many years ago; now we’re even. I don’t particularly want to be associated with someone who indiscriminately kills women and children.’
