onto the landing and listened. It was all quiet. He heaved Jane out onto the landing and pulled her to her feet at the top of the stairs. Her head flopped onto her chest. Spit dribbled out of her mouth. With a gentle push he let go of her and she went spinning down the steps to the landing below, arms and legs flailing everywhere. She came to an untidy bundle at the foot of the stairs.
Hinksman followed her down, stepped lightly across her and sped down the rest of the stairs.
Within seconds he was out of the building. Gone.
The greyness of dawn was just arriving.
Even though he wanted to, Henry couldn’t get to sleep. A parrot in the surgery below was squawking loudly, shouting obscenities, and in turn had set off a yapping terrier dog. The combination was unbearable. After half an hour of the cacophony he rolled off the bed and made himself a mug of tea. He switched on the, gas fire, sat down in front of it and sipped the brew while staring at the flames.
About five-thirty the animals must have got tired and they ceased their noise. Henry sank back into the armchair, closed his eyes and, at last, nodded off.
An hour later Henry and the animals were reawakened by a loud knocking on the door. Henry staggered down the back steps and opened it. A bright-eyed Donaldson stood there, immaculately turned out. His smile drooped when he saw the unshaven mess that was his British counterpart.
‘ You did say six-thirty,’ Donaldson said defensively. ‘Long day ahead. ‘
‘ Yeah, yeah, I know,’ muttered Henry. ‘Come on in, give me ten minutes. ‘
‘ You look like something a cat’s dragged in,’ Donaldson observed.
‘ And you look like a dog’s dinner,’ said Henry. ‘Did Karen get you dressed?’
He had a quick shave and a shower, threw on some clothes and fifteen minutes later was sitting in the passenger seat of Donaldson’s hired car which sped down the motorway towards Lancaster. After a brief, perfunctory conversation, Henry’s eyes closed, his chin sagged onto his chest and he fell asleep, drooling.
Donaldson laughed and tuned into Jazz FM.
As demanded, everything about Hinksman was on Dave August’s desk at 9 a.m. sharp. The Chief Constable glanced at the boxes of files that FB had deposited and was itching to get into them, just to see if there was anything at all, anything that would guide him to the people who had made him do this awful thing.
But it was a task that would have to wait. The day ahead held other priorities: press conferences, then a visit to the incident room. After that he planned to meet all the bereaved relatives personally at their homes. Just to give them a few minutes. To show he cared.
That was not going to be easy, knowing that, ultimately, he was the one person responsible for their deaths.
It was going to be a tough day.
Joe Kovaks was at his desk by eight o’clock that morning. He ignored the mountain of paperwork that he’d allowed to accumulate there. He wanted to get two things done.
First he wanted to see his supervisor and ask to be taken off the Corelli case.
Then he wanted to visit Laura and tell her about his change of heart. Killing Corelli wasn’t the way forward, he now knew, and he had to convince her of that — which wasn’t going to be easy. He’d spent enough time brainwashing her; now he had to try and reverse the process. The prospect was daunting. But the little sachet of white powder in his jacket pocket should make things easier.
For the first time in years his supervisor arrived late for work. Kovaks had been pacing the man’s office like a cat.
‘ Hello Joe,’ he said, removing his coat. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘ Hi, look, sorry to be so blunt Arnie, but can I make an urgent request?’
‘ Sure,’ said the puzzled supervisor.
‘ I want off the Corelli case, as of now. The case papers are all up to date. That OK? ’
‘ Fine by me, but why now? You’ve put a lot into this over the years. You in trouble or something? Someone leanin’ on ya?’
‘ Not in trouble, but someone is leaning on me, yeah, but in a nice way. Can I tell you later, boss? I don’t want to appear rude but I have an urgent meet with an informant. After that I’ll come back and have a chat. OK? ’
‘ Yeah, yeah,’ the supervisor said, completely flummoxed.
‘ So I’m off the case?’ Kovaks confirmed.
‘ As of this moment.’
‘ I love ya,’ said Kovaks. He took the man by the shoulders and kissed his cheek. Before anything more could be said, Kovaks had turned and left the office.
Quickly the supervisor wiped his face dry, disgusted at the thought of being kissed by another man.
Car theft is a growth area in crime in Britain. It is a big headache for the police. There are always some people who leave their cars unlocked with the key still in the ignition.
People like Henry Christie.
When he’d parked in the early hours he’d been so tired, had so much on his mind and had been so busy chatting to Jane that he’d simply got out of his car, left the key in the ignition and forgotten to lock it.
Even if he’d remembered he wouldn’t have been distressed. After all, who would want to steal a car which even the owner described as a ‘heap o’ shit’.
The answer was a young man called John Abbot. Aged fifteen, he was once again playing truant from school, engaged in his favourite pastime of robbing cars.
The ‘robbing’ was either stealing from them — which he did mostly — or, if the opportunity arose, driving the cars away and abandoning them somewhere when he got bored. Usually on the beach in the face of an incoming tide.
Abbot was one of Blackpool’s most prolific car-crime experts and was verging on becoming a professional. He made over three hundred pounds per week selling the goods he stole from cars, and wrecked about ten thousand pounds’ worth of cars each month, just for pleasure. He was rarely caught.
He was strolling through the streets of the south-shore area, trying car doors as a matter of course, when he came across Henry’s Metro.
He couldn’t believe his luck when he saw the key in the ignition. He had a quick glance around the interior and sneered at the state of it: torn seats, worn carpets and a radio which was just that — a radio. Not even a cassette player! No one would want to buy that.
‘ This car deserves to be trashed,’ he said. He slid in and reached for the key.
The engine fired at the third attempt and ticked over lumpily. He dipped the accelerator a few times and revved it gleefully. He selected first and moved off. There was a big smile on the young criminal’s face.
He was not to know that this was the last car he would ever steal.
It was a long time since Joe Kovaks had felt so happy, certainly not since the letter bomb. It was like a new beginning, and he was looking forward to the road ahead. If this is what love feels like, he thought, give me more.
He almost skipped through the office to his desk. One or two people looked up quizzically from their work as his tuneless humming reached their ears.
The phone rang as he sat down.
‘ Joe Kovaks, Special Agent. May I help you?’ he answered brightly. ‘Joe, it’s me,’ came a weak voice.
Reality flattened Kovaks back into his chair. ‘Damian, where the hell are you?’ he hissed urgently. He’d almost forgotten about Sue’s murder.
‘ Look, I can’t talk on this line, you know that.’
‘ Hang on, hang on.’ Kovaks fumbled in his jacket for his electronic diary. ‘I gotta number here you can use.’ He pressed a few buttons. ‘Damian, you still there?’
