FB turned to Karen, ‘This is your doing,’ he said with vehemence.
‘ None of this would’ve happened without your incessant ambition.’
‘ Don’t become a bigger fool than you already are, FB. I wasn’t to know he had a dodgy heart.’
‘ It was common knowledge.’
‘ Common to whom, dickhead?’ she challenged. She sat back down and folded her arms, determined not to enter a no-win, no-profit argument.
The intercom buzzed on Jean’s desk. ‘Get a car to pick up Mrs Crosby from home and take her to hospital. Then arrange for mine to pick me up from the garage. I’m going to see him too.’
‘ Yes, sir.’
Karen came to an instant decision. ‘This is preposterous,’ she said, striding across to the Chief’s door. Jean opened her mouth to remonstrate, but Karen burst through the door before she could utter a word and crashed it shut behind her.
Blackpool Tower came into view. In ten minutes they would be at the central police station where the firearms team had been told to assemble for the briefing.
Karen sighed heavily as she thought back to her head-on confrontation with Dave August, Chief Constable and lover.
‘ I said I was not to be disturbed.’
‘ I still need a firearms team,’ she said. ‘There’s no ACC on duty now — only you can authorise it.’
‘ FB was right — you are a bitch. There’s a man lying near to death and-’
‘ And there’s also a killer on the loose who needs catching,’ she cut in. ‘Life goes on, especially in this job. So does death by murder. It doesn’t stop because someone’s ill. Now do I get the team or not?’
‘ Yes… now piss the hell off out of here.’
As she reached the door, August added: ‘And by the way, if this murder isn’t bottomed in twenty-four hours, you’re off the investigation and I’m handing it over to someone with more experience.’
They were slowing down now as the motorway narrowed into a two-lane road and they entered Blackpool.
Karen sat back and cleared her mind, concentrating on the task ahead.
Pepe Paglia mooched, hands in pockets, down the street on which his small hotel was located. He was still rather depressed at having handed a thousand pounds in cash over to Hinksman the day before. On the other hand he felt reassured that Corelli would reimburse him handsomely in the not-too-distant future. That was the good thing about family ties, however tenuous; a favour for a favour.
He entered a newsagents and picked up a copy of that day’s Sun. In the back room of the shop a TV was switched on, showing a lunchtime news bulletin. Paglia was not really paying it much attention. He was too busy choosing goodies for his sweet tooth. He glanced up by pure chance and saw the screen as he picked up a Mars bar. His mouth dropped open.
Paglia almost sprinted back to the hotel, arriving breathless and weak, in desperate need of a cigarette.
They commandeered the parade room at Blackpool Central police station for the briefing. The firearms team was already assembled when Karen, McClure and Donaldson arrived. There was one Sergeant and twelve Constables, including two women. All were dressed in lightweight blue overalls, ballistic vests and caps. Each wore a pair of Reebok trainers. They were checking numerous weapons between them as they waited: handguns, rifles, semi-automatic pistols, MP5s, stun grenades, CS gas launchers. They were like a small, well equipped army.
Karen stopped in her tracks and surveyed them. It was the first time she had ever seen such a team. They exuded calm, confidence and good humour. And efficiency. They were an efficient killing machine.
Karen cleared her throat and moved to the front of the room, aware for the first time of the magnitude of the chain of events that she might be just about to unleash.
She introduced herself and her two colleagues.
The ceiling of Hinksman’s room had many cracks in it and some dampness in one corner. He lay on the bed, hands clasped across his chest, staring blankly up at it, when Paglia rushed in without knocking.
Even though the door had been flung open, Hinksman had reacted instinctively as soon as the handle had started to move downwards. He rolled off the bed, grabbing the revolver which was on the bedside cabinet, twisting himself onto his knees, using the bed as cover; by the time Paglia actually stepped into the room he was greeted by the sight of a black muzzle pointing directly at his chest, the hammer on its deadly backwards journey.
Paglia froze. His jaw dropped.
Fortunately, Hinksman saw who it was and eased the hammer back into place with his thumb. He stood up angrily.
‘ Jesus H Christ,’ he cursed through gritted teeth, ‘I told you knock and wait. Next time I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.’
Paglia gulped. ‘Sorry,’ he blabbered, ‘but I thought you should watch this.’
He switched on the portable TV. The top story was being wound up with an artist’s impression of the man police were after in connection with the M6 bombing. The sketch was Hinksman, of that there was no doubt. It captured his features exactly, right down to the cruel, piercing eyes. Killer’s eyes.
Hinksman watched scornfully. ‘So?’ he spat. ‘It changes nothing.’
‘ Oh,’ said Paglia, bemused by the calm reaction.
‘ Because they think they know what I look like means nothing. They don’t know my name or where I am, do they?’
‘ Right, right,’ said the hotel-keeper. ‘I thought you should know, that’s all.’
Hinksman nodded. ‘You did right.’
When Paglia had left, Hinksman switched the TV off and lay on the bed again. The drawing had been a very good likeness — and that was a niggling worry. There was no way it could have been drawn from someone’s memory. It was a lift from a photograph, Hinksman suddenly realised. But which one?
Maybe it was time to quit this Godforsaken little country after all. Get the job done and get out. In the meantime, Hinksman decided, he’d hole up somewhere else. In a city. Manchester or Liverpool somewhere he could just fade into the background.
The telephone rang in the reception area. Hinksman heard Paglia answer and then the sound of footsteps running upstairs.
This time Paglia knocked and announced himself nervously through the closed door.
‘ Come in, you idiot.’
‘ Phone for you,’ said Paglia, out of breath again.
‘ Who is it?’ Hinksman asked sharply.
‘ Only one other person knows you’re here.’
Hinksman shouldered Paglia out of the way and sprinted down to take the call.
Only a minute later he was back.
He started to pack. Quickly.
Paglia hovered at the bedroom door. ‘Problem?’
‘ Big problem,’ said Hinksman, stuffing his clothes into a holdall.
‘ They do know who I am and what’s more, they know where I am.’
And not only that, Hinksman thought as he looked at Paglia, you know far too much about me.
Chapter Nine
The briefing was over. The team was ready to move.
Karen had been as honest as she could be about the situation, which pleased them all. Normally briefings were couched in half-truths, downright lies and need-to-know, which could put team members in unnecessary
