He failed to notice a happy couple sat on a low wall near to the waterfront. They were very much engrossed in each other and the picnic they were sharing.
As Ritter walked smartly past them the woman looked up purely by chance.
Puzzled, she said, ‘Isn’t that..?’
‘ Who?’ said the man.
‘ Naah, can’t be. What would he be doing here?’
‘ Who?’ asked the man again.
‘ I’m sure that was Eamon Ritter.’
‘ Well, so what? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,’ said the man, doing what he thought was a passable imitation of a Jew.
She burst into a fit of giggles, her big fat shoulders shuddering with laughter. It was nice to be in love, laughing at things that would have been blatantly unfunny otherwise. She took a huge bite of her pastrami on rye sandwich, the mayonnaise dripping delightfully down her double chin.
Chapter Fourteen
Four days later Hinksman was discharged from hospital into the eager hands of waiting detectives.
The doctor said he was fit to detain, but must be allowed frequent rest periods and breaks during interviews, and must take his medication as and when prescribed. If he felt faint, complained of dizziness or was physically sick, the police surgeon should be called out or he should be brought back to hospital immediately. The impatient detectives raised their eyes to the heavens, but there was no way they were going to jeopardise this one by breaking the rules. For a start, too many cases had been lost in recent years by over-zealous cops bending the law and secondly, Hinksman was accompanied by his solicitor.
Hinksman was taken under armed escort to Blackpool Central police station.
Around the perimeter of the station were armed patrols who had been detailed to guard the building twenty- four hours per day whilst Hinksman was held there. Their MP5s were clearly visible, held openly across their chests for everyone to see and be warned. The police were taking no chances on this one.
At the station he was presented to the custody officer, who, after hearing the circumstances of the arrest, authorised Hinksman’s detention to secure and preserve evidence and to obtain evidence by questioning. He booked him into the computerised custody system and gave him his rights: the right to free legal advice, the right to have someone informed of his detention and the right to consult a copy of the Codes of Practice.
Because he was with his solicitor, Hinksman did not choose to exercise his other rights at that time.
Fifteen minutes after arrival at the station he was taken to an interview room where the first of a series of taped interviews began. On and off, with breaks, the interviews would last all day.
The legal process had begun.
Chrissy woke up about 10 a.m., which was quite early for her. She worked behind a bar in a hotel in Fort Lauderdale which stayed open until 3 a.m. She never generally hit the sack until gone four which wasn’t as bad as it seemed because Kovaks often finished work late (or early, depending on your viewpoint) and they often met tired, yet horny, in bed and indulged in great pre-dawn sex, which set them up for a long morning’s sleep.
That particular morning, though, Joe Kovaks was on office hours.
He’d left the apartment at 7 a.m. and Chrissy had the bed to herself.
Two things had woken her.
The first was her bladder, the second the thump of some mail coming through the door.
She slithered out of bed and took care of the first problem before traipsing naked down the hallway to sleepily retrieve the mail.
It was a package addressed to her from National Geographic, the size and weight of one of their excellent magazines. Which was all very nice, except she didn’t subscribe to it.
She frowned, slipped a finger under the flap and started to open it.
Sue was walking down a corridor in the FBI Field Office in Miami, clutching a batch of mail underneath her crossed arms. She was smiling sweetly to herself and humming as she contemplated love, life and happiness. And more particularly, Damian’s penis. Eamon Ritter was striding purposefully down the corridor in her direction.
‘ Good morning,’ she said pleasantly to him.
He responded with a grunt; didn’t bother looking at her.
‘ Did you go for a sail around the bay?’ she asked as they passed, shoulder to shoulder.
‘ What?’ he said, stopping in his tracks.
‘ Yesterday,’ she went on innocently. ‘It was my day off. I went down to Bayside — saw you walking up from the waterfront, near to the Bounty. Just wondered if you’d been for a sail around the bay.’
He looked coldly at her and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re mistaken!’
‘ I’m sure it was you,’ she persisted naively. ‘In fact, you were wearing that suit.’
‘ I said you’re mistaken.’
‘ Oh,’ said Sue, belatedly realising from his tone of voice that he wanted her to be mistaken. ‘Yes, I must be. Sorry.’
He gave her a look which made her shiver, then turned and stalked away.
She watched him for a mesmerised second or two, disgusted at his abruptness, and went on her way towards Organized Crime with the mail held more tightly to her bosom.
‘ Yeah, they’ve been interviewing him all day,’ Donaldson said on the phone to Kovaks. It was 4.30 p.m., British time. ‘But he’s said nothing whatsoever. Exercising his right to silence, apparently. Won’t even state his name for the tape.’
Kovaks sighed. ‘Only to be expected,’ he said philosophically. ‘Is he represented by a lawyer?’
‘ Yeah. They call ‘em solicitors over here.’
‘ An appropriate name. What’s his history?’
‘ Connected to big-time local crims. Haven’t got any further with him, though.’
Sue trundled into the office with a wave for Kovaks. Only a couple of other agents were in the room, sat at their desks, jackets off, deep into compiling reports. She distributed the mail around various desks, concluding with Kovaks’. ‘Thanks,’ he mouthed over the phone call and put his hand to his lips, forefinger and thumb-tips touching, indicating that a cup of coffee wouldn’t go amiss. She nodded and made her way to the machine in the corner.
Kovaks slotted the phone in between his shoulder and left ear, leaving his hands free to deal with the mail.
‘ So what’s your role now?’ he asked Donaldson.
‘ Background. Working with a Detective Sergeant called Henry Christie…’
‘ Ain’t he the one who arrested Hinksman?’
‘ Yeah. Seems a good guy, but his nerves are shot to hell. We’re putting together everything I know that’s of value for the investigation over here. How’s Whisper’s murder enquiry coming along?’
Kovaks was sifting through his mail as he talked. He flicked to one side a couple of envelopes which he knew contained intelligence bulletins, and opened another which contained a letter requiring a quick response. He finally came to the biggest envelope — one from the National Geographic.
‘ Wall of silence,’ he told Donaldson. ‘I’m not happy with the doctor, though. He’s a creep and I don’t trust him. So, are we going to extradite Hinksman?’
‘ All in good time.’
Kovaks picked up his letter-knife and slid it into the top of the envelope. He was already looking forward to a free magazine.
‘ We’ll let the Brits go through their legal process first,’ said Donaldson. ‘They’ve got enough to stitch him up and convict whether he says anything or not. We’ll try and get him after that. Anything new on Corelli?’
‘ Naw…’ The knife went in as if it was cutting butter. ‘Still waiting for permission to tap his house down in Key West. I think he does a lot of business down there.’
