The manoeuvre took the traffic officers completely by surprise, which was fortunate for them. It meant that none of them lost their lives.
Halfway up, the steepness of the slope meant that the mercury tilt switch attached to the detonator in the half-pound block of Semtex strapped to the underside of Henry’s car was activated.
Contact was made.
Kovaks listened hard to Damian’s story. How he had been to his mother’s in Clearwater, but had returned early to surprise Sue. They had made passionate love within moments of his arrival and afterwards he’d gone to the en-suite bathroom to answer a pressing call of nature. Whilst in there, he’d heard someone at the apartment door, then voices in the lounge. Discreetly, he’d crept out of the bathroom and listened to what was going on. He had recognised Ritter’s voice and clearly followed the accusations he made to Sue about her knowing he was on Corelli’s payroll, then some talk about his condo and his boat. Sue had denied it all, saying she wasn’t keeping any sort of a file on him. Then things had got nasty. Sue had screamed for help. Damian had crept to the bedroom door and looked through the crack. To his horror, he’d seen a knife in Ritter’s hand plunging repeatedly into his girlfriend’s body, blood spurting everywhere. Frozen in fear and panic, unable to help her, he’d eventually scuttled under the bed where he’d hidden until it was all over, sucking his thumb, curled up in a foetal ball.
When the attack had stopped he’d heard Ritter moving around the apartment, felt his presence in the bedroom. Then Damian had pissed in his pants.
He’d lain there shaking, eyes closed, praying that Ritter wouldn’t find him and kill him too.
Then he heard the front door open and close.
And, when he was sure Ritter had gone, he forced himself to go and see Sue.
‘ And then I was sick and then I ran.’ There were a lot of ‘thens’ in Damian’s story. ‘Every time I close my eyes, she’s there: dead,’ he said hoarsely. ‘What a mess — and all my fault.’ Tears poured down his tortured face.
‘ Don’t punish yourself, Damian,’ Kovaks said. ‘You’re only human.’
Damian looked up with pleading eyes. ‘Do you believe me?’
‘ Yes, I do. One or two things have sorta slotted into place here.’ Kovaks’ nostrils dilated as he thought. ‘Yeah, I believe you.’
‘ So what do we do now?’
‘ First we get you somewhere safe where you can get a decent meal and a shower — and a change of clothes. Then we’ll have a good long talk over a beer, get a few things written down. Then I have to think. Probably go to the cops first, let ‘em know what’s what.’
‘ But what if they’re in on it too?’ Damian shook uncontrollably. ‘What if Corelli has them in his pocket, like he does Ritter?’
‘ No one could get Ram Chander in their pocket,’ said Kovaks confidently. ‘C’mon, trust me, Damian. We’ll go to my place first. Chrissy won’t mind and it should be safe enough for a few hours.’
They started to get to their feet.
‘ I think not,’ came a familiar voice from behind Kovaks’s shoulder. ‘Sit back down, gentlemen.’
Kovaks reached for his gun, but before he could draw it, he felt the cold muzzle of a revolver jammed into the back of his neck.
‘ Sit down, Joe, or I’ll make your brain into tomato catsup for their hamburgers. ‘
Kovaks sat down slowly. A wide-eyed Damian followed suit. Ritter edged in next to Kovaks, and with his free hand removed Kovaks’ revolver.
Kovaks looked at Ritter, then beyond. He was not alone.
Ram Chander stood by the door together with two of Corelli’s goons.
Kovaks closed his eyes.
Henry Christie was disgusted with himself.
Two minutes earlier he had been clinging to a toilet bowl at Blackpool Central police office and had been violently sick. Now, after swilling his face with cold water, he was looking at himself in a mirror over the washbasin..
And he did not like what he saw.
He should have been sick for the boy, Abbot. He should have been sick because a stupid young teenager had been blown to pieces on a motorway verge, his remains scattered far and wide.
But he wasn’t. Henry had been sick for himself alone. A single idea dominated his thoughts.
That bomb had been meant for him, dammit! He glared angrily at his reflection, but behind the grimace he saw pure terror in his eyes for the first time in his life.
Hinksman was going to kill him and there was probably nothing that Henry could do to stop him.
With that thought Henry turned away from the mirror and dashed back to the toilet cubicle.
To the best of their abilities, the remains of John Abbot had been collected from the scene of the explosion by the police, ambulance and fire brigade. They had been bagged and sent to the mortuary where they had been unpacked and distributed over the tops of two post mortem slabs.
Henry Christie, together with Karl Donaldson, Karen Wilde, FB, a couple of high-ranking local detectives and a Scenes of Crime officer who was recording the PM on video, watched a pathologist pacing around a third slab. She had been brought in from Merseyside as Dr Baines was still busy in Lancaster.
Now the pathologist picked up a piece of charred flesh that could have been part of a hand or foot. She thought for a moment, surveying the reconstruction work, said ‘A-ha!’ with glee, danced round the slab and placed it. It was a foot. She was enjoying herself.
‘ I don’t think I want to watch this,’ said Henry. The smell of burned flesh was overpowering. He ducked out of the room without apology.
Karen followed him out.
‘ I just want to thank you for putting my name forward for this investigation, Henry. I appreciate it. And FB’s been really nice to me too. He’s even talked to Karl.’
‘ Good. I’m glad,’ said Henry.
‘ You OK?’ She linked arms with him.
Surprised but touched, Henry gave her a lopsided grin and admitted, ‘No, not really.’
They were standing in the room where a large refrigerator took up the whole length and height of one wall. Inside it, bodies were stored on sliding trays. At the far end of the room a PC and an undertaker had just placed a body on one of the trays. The PC was writing a name on the leg with a felt-tip pen.
‘ I suppose,’ said Henry, ‘that I didn’t really expect him to try something. It’s shocked me. And a bomb again, on the motorway. That’s just reopened a wound I thought I’d sewn up pretty well. Obviously I haven’t. I keep seeing the kids on the bus again.’
‘ We’re dealing with a madman.’I
‘ One who knows exactly what he’s doing,’ Henry suggested. ‘He’s dangerous rather than mad. Don’t forget, he kills people for a living. Madmen don’t.’
They had been walking slowly towards the PC who, as they drew level with him, pulled a white sheet back over the body on the tray. Henry did a double take.
‘ Let me see,’ he said quickly.
The PC obliged. ‘Jane Marsden, local prostitute, shoplifter, drunk, and all-round lowlife,’ he summed up. ‘No great loss to society.’
‘ What are the circumstances?’ Henry asked.
‘ Found about an hour ago at the bottom of a flight of stairs in the fleapit doss house she lived in. Probably been lying there all day from the state of her. She took some major straightening out.’ The PC chuckled at the memory. ‘Looks like she fell down drunk and broke her neck. Post mortem’ll tell.’
‘ Anything suspicious?’ Henry probed. He was trying desperately to recall some of the things Jane had been saying to him, things he hadn’t really been taking in because he’d been too engrossed in his own thoughts.
‘ Not on the face of it. Why?’
Henry ignored the question. He drew the sheet further back. There was some bruising across her throat.
