‘ 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.
Conversation 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.
