them and then were dragged down an alley. Is that correct?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ Can you describe the alley?’
Henry thought a moment. ‘It was about twenty feet wide and a hundred and fifty feet long, coming to a dead end. The exact measurements are on a plan, which I believe you have a copy of.’
‘ It is your recollections the court is interested in, not a map,’ said Graham haughtily. ‘Where exactly was this alley?’
‘ Between the pub and the next building along, which is a guest house, I think.’
Graham’s mouth pursed as he composed his next set of questions. ‘What time of night was it?’
‘ About nine forty-five.’
‘ Remind the court, officer — what month was it?’
‘ October.’
‘ October,’ said Graham ruminatively, drawing out the word, as though chewing the cud. ‘Quite late on in the year, wouldn’t you say?’
‘ It is a fact,’ said Henry, deadpan, ‘that the twentieth of October is quite late in the year.’
A couple of the jury giggled. There was a slight release in tension. Graham shot them a hard, warning glance. He did not like it. But he took control of himself and smiled good-naturedly, accepting the joke at his expense. He turned back to Henry, his features assuming the look of a hunter poised to kill.
‘ So, getting on towards winter. Nights drawing in…’
Impulsively, Henry cut in: ‘If you’d like me to say that it was dark — yes, it was dark.’ He regretted his words immediately, not only because he’d spoken otherwise than in answer to a question, but because courts are very formal, traditional, patient places and by his impatience he had just managed to rub everyone up the wrong way, including Judge and jury. Not a good move.
Graham allowed himself the flicker of a smile, just the corners of his mouth twitching. Only Henry saw it.
Graham was back in charge of the interaction.
He said, ‘I would be obliged if you could refrain from jumping the gun, Sergeant.’ He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head at Henry, as if to say, ‘Do you understand, pal?’
Henry nodded. ‘My apologies,’ he mumbled.
Graham paused and perused his papers, allowing time for everyone in the court to settle and for Henry to become agitated. A pause can be a good weapon, if used correctly.
‘ So, it was a dark night,’ confirmed Graham. ‘What was the weather like?’
‘ Clear and fine.’
‘ Could you see down the alley?’
‘ It was fairly poorly lit and there were a lot of shadows.’
‘ Was there any actual lighting in the alley at all?’
‘ No.’ At that point Henry began to see where this was leading and his stomach lurched. He might just conceivably lose this.
‘ So, you were dragged into the alley and a vicious fight ensued between yourself and several men. You have graphically relayed details of this struggle whilst giving evidence earlier, and we are all very impressed by your bravery…’
Just fuck off, Henry thought.
‘… so I don’t intend to pursue that. But at the conclusion of this fight, could you remind us what position you were in?’
‘ Face up on the ground, surrounded by people who didn’t like me very much.’
‘ You also mentioned that you’d received a blow on the head prior to this and that you thought you’d passed out momentarily. Is that correct?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ How did you feel?’
‘ Frightened. ‘
‘ No doubt,’ said Graham. ‘Were you pretty dazed too, from the blow on the head?’
‘ Actually my head was very clear,’ he said. ‘My body was in a mess physically — but I was thinking very clearly.’
Graham nodded. Then pounced.
‘ You’d been beaten up, bashed about the head and body, quite badly injured, knocked unconscious — and you say you were thinking very clearly?’ Graham barely suppressed a laugh. ‘Do you expect the court to believe that, officer?’
‘ I’m a very cool customer in stressful situations,’ said Henry glibly and rather rashly. A complete and utter lie, one which was seized upon ruthlessly by Graham.
‘ A cool customer in stressful situations,’ the QC repeated dubiously. ‘Now that is not altogether true, is it… Sergeant?’
‘ Yes, it is,’ said Henry without conviction.
‘ Well then, perhaps I could remind you of another incident when you showed yourself to be completely uncool in a stressful situation. Such as at the scene of the M6 bombing, of which my client is accused. You actually assaulted and threw a TV reporter down the banks of the River Ribble. Isn’t that so? Not the actions of a man who is, quote “A very cool customer in stressful situations”, are they?’
‘ That was completely different,’ protested Henry eventually.
‘ Are those the actions of a man who is a cool customer?’ Graham was insistent.
‘ Completely and totally different…’
‘ Did you or did you not assault a TV reporter?’
‘ Yes, but-’
‘ Thank you, officer,’ said Graham victoriously.
Henry found himself to be shaking and grinding his teeth. He gripped the edge of the witness-box to stop himself falling over. His breathing was shallow. His nostrils flared. Suddenly this big courtroom was beginning to swallow him up. He wanted to flee. Leap over the side of the box and run. Run for his life. He was, again, showing exactly how uncool he was in stressful situations. His eyes roved round the room madly. To the Judge. Across the faces of the jurors. To Hinksman, who smirked. Back to Graham, a man he hated more than anyone else at that moment in time.
Get a fucking grip on yourself, Henry, he told himself. Get a fucking grip. Pull yourself together. Don’t let this little shit win.
‘ I need to tell you about that particular situation,’ he pleaded. He looked at the Crown prosecutor for support.
The man, who had been squirming until that moment, got the message and stood up reluctantly. He addressed the Judge. ‘Your Honour, I feel that Sergeant Christie should be allowed to tell the court about this if he so wishes… After all, he did not bring the subject up. It was my learned friend here.’
Graham said quickly, ‘Your Honour, the situation itself is not actually relevant, merely the witness’s reaction to it.’ The last thing he wanted was Henry going for the sympathy bid.
‘ No,’ said the Judge with finality, ‘the Crown is quite correct, Mr Graham. The officer should be allowed to expand a little if he so wishes.’
She nodded towards Henry who said, ‘Thank you, Your Honour.’ The prosecutor sat down, hoping Henry wasn’t going to make a mess of this, like he had done so far.
Joe Kovaks rubbed his eyes. He had been up all night, patrolling the streets of Miami, searching, but not finding. It was almost 7 a.m., five hours behind British time.
He was parked in a plain FBI sedan in the Lemon City district, north of Miami, killing the last few minutes of his tour of duty.
His temporary partner, Tommo, dozed next to him in the passenger seat, snoring gently. Sue had been reassigned unwillingly to other duties — some massive white-collar fraud enquiry where she could use her accountancy skills to their best advantage — and Tommo had been teamed up with Kovaks pending the return of
