‘Another idiotic Yank.’
The next one came through with excruciating slowness. It was so damn slow that Karen was sure the machine had gone on the blink. She tapped her toes angrily. When the printing was complete, she grabbed the paper and read it several times before handing it to McClure.
She could hardly contain herself.
McClure read it out loud: ‘Fingerprints identified from military file as belonging to James Clarkson Hinksman.’ He looked up and grinned. ‘Got the bastard.’
Page three came off the machine. It was the photo from Corelli’s file, showing the big Italian and Hinksman at a restaurant.
Page four showed an old photograph of Hinksman, passport size, dressed in a military uniform. Page five contained brief details of a military career which had come to a halt four years previously when he was dishonourably discharged following a court martial. The next four pages were an expanded summary of his service record. The last page listed all the murders of prostitutes that the fingerprints linked him with.
There was nothing else.
‘ At least now we know who we’re looking for,’ said Karen, ‘although we haven’t got a clue where he is. He may no longer be in this country.’
‘ Perhaps we should get his mug splattered all over the media,’ McClure suggested.
‘ We will.’ Karen turned to Donaldson. He was still on the phone, scribbling something on a scrap of paper.
‘ Thank your colleague for me,’ she said. ‘He’s done a fantastic job.’
Donaldson finished writing. ‘My new boss says thanks, Joe. Me too.
Great job.’
He hung up and, smiling broadly, picked up the fax of Corelli and Hinksman. ‘I knew I’d seen that face before. We have literally thousands of photos of Corelli but I remembered this one. I think I did quite well.’
‘ I do too,’ Karen conceded with more warmth than she intended.
‘ So, we’ve got a real top hit man on our hands. Now, what’s all this nonsense about not knowing where our Mr Hinksman is?’ He held up his scrap of paper. ‘He’s on vacation in Blackpool.’ He attempted a poor Lancashire accent. ‘Land of cloth caps, donkey rides and mucky postcards, tha’ knows, lass.’
‘ Give me that!’ laughed Karen. She snatched the paper. She read it and punched the air with a fist. ‘Yes, YES, YES!’
Joe Kovaks leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers behind his head. He chuckled in disbelief, but consoled himself that even the best brains sometimes failed to see simple solutions to complex problems. He couldn’t believe they’d never checked the military file, yet all it had taken was the press of a button on Damian’s magic fingerprint machine and — hey presto! Mr James Clarkson Hinksman, Mafia killer extraordinary, was exposed. Jeez, how could they all have been so dumb, he thought. That bastard could have been fried over a year ago. If that harpy Lisa Want ever got hold of this, she’d have a field day exposing the inefficiency of the FBI.
He sighed at the stupidity, but wasn’t too upset because it wasn’t normal procedure to cross-check the military files.
Just then, Sue appeared in the doorway, virtually filling it. She’d just showered in the ladies’ rest-room and changed into a jogging outfit which she kept in her locker. At least she would smell all right for a while, Kovaks thought cruelly, but then regretted it. She’d more than proved her worth today.
‘ Good result,’ he said pleasantly, his voice carefully low.
‘ Yep,’ she agreed.
‘ Good ole Damian. Workaholic, that guy.’
‘ I like him,’ she admitted.
Kovaks took a deep breath and consulted his watch. ‘Look, I know it’s late and all that, but would you like a drink on the way home? Just a quickie, by way of celebration.’
‘ I’d love one,’ Sue said, ‘but… I’ve made other arrangements.’ As if on cue, Damian appeared at the office door. Hair combed, jacket brushed, tie straight. Like a nervous teenager on a first date.
‘ Damian’s offered to take me home,’ Sue said apologetically.
‘ Raincheck?’
Relieved somewhat, Kovaks nodded. ‘Raincheck.’
Sue danced as lightly as was possible towards Damian, breasts bouncing uncontrollably, lighting up Damian’s eyes with lust. She gave Kovaks a salacious wink, then disappeared with the slightly built fingerprint expert, arm threaded through his.
‘ Rather you than me, pal,’ Kovaks said under his breath.
As he pulled on his jacket the phone chirped. It was the switchboard operator. ‘Joe?’
‘ I’m just on my way home.’
‘ Dade County Correctional Institute left a message for you. You went to see one of the inmates earlier.’
‘ Yeah?’ Kovaks’ stomach dropped.
‘ He’s been knifed to death.’
It was 11 a.m.
The unmarked police car raced at 120 mph down the motorway towards Blackpool. The driver was a PC from the motor driving school. McClure and Donaldson sat silently in the back of the car rereading the faxes from America. Karen Wilde sat in the front passenger seat, brooding, staring intently ahead. Angry.
The confrontation she’d recently undergone with Crosby and Fanshaw-Bayley had set the whole thing back several hours, although in the end she’d got her own way and a firearms team had been deployed to Blackpool for a briefing.
After receiving the information from America, Karen had decided to see Crosby face to face to ask for a team this time. She walked straight into his office. Fanshaw-Bayley was also there.
‘ Ahhh,’ said Crosby looking up from his desk. ‘I was just about to summon you, miss.’
‘ I need authorisation for a firearms team,’ she began breathlessly.
‘ We think we’ve located-’
Crosby slashed his right hand through the air as if he was executing a karate chop, stopping her in mid- sentence.
‘ You deliberately disobeyed my orders yesterday, miss, and now you want me to sanction another team?’
‘ What d’you mean, sir?’
‘ I said “No” to your request yesterday.’
‘ You did, yes.’
‘ Yet you utilised the Blackpool ARV,’ he stated.
Her mind whizzed. What was going on here? ‘It was a compromise,’ she said defensively.
‘ It was disobedience of a direct order,’ he shouted. ‘Implicit in my “No” was the fact that you were not, repeat not, to use armed officers for your little fiasco.’
She looked quickly at FB who smirked, enjoying her discomfort.
‘ I didn’t use a team,’ she said, trying to regain her composure. ‘You used armed officers!’
‘ Yes,’ she said, exasperated. ‘I used the ARV. They are on twenty-four-hour cover in every division and can be used for day-to-day jobs just like any other patrol in the county. They were there as insurance. They didn’t draw their weapons, neither did they get involved in the raid. It was a sensible move, if you ask me.’
‘ No one’s fucking asking you! You disobeyed my orders, pure and simple.’ His face was red with rage; he was screaming in classic Scouse.
‘ I protected my men,’ she insisted. There was no way she was going to back down and admit she was wrong — particularly with FB looking on.
‘ And it wasn’t even the man you were after, just some poor innocent bloke…’
‘ Whose driving licence was used by the biggest mass murderer since Lockerbie.’
Crosby wasn’t to be diverted now. He was in full flow. ‘You used excessive force in entering his house and now I believe we’re faced with a huge bill for trashing the place.’
