Henry didn’t speak. Just waited for Rik to come good.
‘Obviously, I didn’t really think about it then, but he must have gone down the road and literally bumped into his robbery victim…’
‘A teenage girl,’ Henry stated.
‘And if I’m not mistaken, you had some dealings with her in the front office yesterday evening.’
‘And another — a Goth.’
‘Yup — two robbery victims, both attacked by the same lads I would say, from the offender descriptions, that is.’
Henry’s mind flipped it all over. ‘You said the description the paedo-guy gave you fitted the description of one of the offenders from last night? When did he get tea chucked at him?’
‘This afternoon.’
‘And you said you saw two lads walking past the Pump?’
‘Yep.’
‘Rik, very soon I’m going to pull rank and whup your sorry arse if you don’t tell me everything, like now.’
‘I saw Rory Costain.’
‘And who else, dammit?’
‘Your mate — Mark Carter.’
Henry was already rising to his feet. In his mind he heard the recording of the call made to alert the police to the body behind the shops. He thought he recognized it and now he could put a name to the voice. ‘Grab your coat,’ he said to Rik.
The body had been discovered by a strolling holiday maker, rolling to and fro in the gentle surf of Mellieha Bay, Malta’s longest stretch of beach. Since the discovery some well-meaning civilians had dragged it from the water’s edge before the police arrived.
Donaldson ducked under the cordon tape and went along the plastic walkway that had been unrolled to the body to ensure that everybody who had to, went on the same route there and back.
Lighting had been erected and the body was now hidden from view by windbreaks pushed into the sand. He was relatively impressed by the scene protection, but he doubted much would come from it.
He was allowed to view the body and recognized the corpse as the gaoler from the police station cells in Valletta. The one who had accompanied him on his visits to Fazil and who had now paid the price of corruption and collaboration. He had been shot to death, two to the head, two to the chest.
Donaldson did not need to spend long looking. He came quickly to his own conclusions about motive. Obviously, this simple man had colluded, had his palms crossed with silver, and then paid the price.
Witnesses were always better off dead.
He turned and walked slowly back to the police car that had brought him, glad as hell he hadn’t had sex with a woman he didn’t even know. It had seemed a good idea at the time, as most hare-brained things usually do, but he was relieved he hadn’t gone all the way. Integrity intact — almost, he thought. He would sneak silently back to his room so as not to disturb her. He knew for certain the only woman for him was Karen, the only woman he wanted to make love to. He pulled out his mobile phone and as he sat in the back of the police car, he called her just to tell her how much he loved her.
Unfortunately, the call went straight through to answerphone.
NINE
Henry and Rik helped themselves to a set of keys for one of the CID cars and hurried down to the garage. Henry’s Mondeo was still causing a potential obstruction so, ever the gent, he moved it somewhere less obstructive, then jumped into the battered Focus Rik was waiting in, revving an engine that pumped out clouds of unhealthy- looking blue smoke. Henry’s intended jump into the passenger seat was interrupted by the necessity to scoop the scrunched up chip papers and an empty coke can into the footwell, before sitting down gingerly on stained upholstery that he hoped was drier than it appeared.
Despite the best intentions of everyone concerned, it was an impossible task to keep the interior of runabout cop cars clean. Their lifestyle just did not allow for it. Henry didn’t comment, but his face showed displeasure.
Rik drove out of the car park on to the wild streets of the resort and Henry’s excitement was not diminished despite the car’s grotty interior. This was a major breakthrough in the investigation. A crucial witness.
He thought about Mark Carter, who he knew pretty well since being the detective who’d investigated the death of Mark’s sister from an OD. A concoction of drugs traced back to the dealer — Mark’s older brother, Jack. It had been a messy investigation and Henry had used Mark as a snout, an informant, along the way. The poor lad had ended up witnessing the murder of another young lad on the same piece of no-man’s-land between the back of the shops and Song Thrush Way, aka Psycho Alley. A case of history repeating itself, Henry mused.
Henry knew Mark was a good lad, someone with dreams and ambitions and the intelligence to make something of his life, which then begged the question — what the hell was he doing hanging around with Rory Costain? And did he commit two quite violent robberies with him? And did he witness the old man’s death and then Rory’s?
‘You sure it was Mark Carter?’ Henry asked Rik, who threw the danny around a corner causing a plastic Fanta bottle to roll off the dashboard.
‘I am.’
‘And you think Mark and Rory committed two robberies?’
‘Description fits with what I saw and what the victims say. Another thing might help prove it. The Goth had an imprint of a shoe on his face, y’know, in his make-up? I know you’ve got Rory’s footwear, so it might be worth comparing the soles with the CSI photos of the Goth’s face. From what the lad says, it’s the one who fits Rory’s description that stomped on him, even though the other one gave him a good whacking, too.’
Henry sighed. He looked out through the grubby window, smeared by hand prints, and watched the town whizz by. ‘I expected better from Mark Carter.’
‘I expected nothing else,’ Rik said pragmatically. ‘His mum’s a drunk and a slapper, his brother’s banged up for drug trafficking and his sister’s a junkie corpse. Who can blame the little shit?’
Henry went hollow at Rik’s words of reality. It was such a shame a lad of Mark’s potential should hit the skids like this. And if he was witness to another two murders, the future looked very bleak psychologically for him, too. Henry could not even begin to imagine what the lad was going through. As well as the horror of reliving the events, he could be terrified he was next on the list.
‘Why the hell hasn’t he come forwards?’ Henry demanded.
Rik sniggered. ‘Because they don’t. People like that don’t. He might be shit scared, his shed might well have collapsed, but we’re still the enemy. He won’t trust us lot one iota.’
‘No,’ Henry said sullenly. And he, Henry Christie, had given Mark no reason to trust the cops. He’d used, then abandoned him after making some promises that were never kept. It was no wonder Mark would think twice about coming to the police. He’d been let down badly by them once. Henry went silent, his eyes defocusing as his mind turned inwards. He remained in that semi-catatonic state until Rik pulled on to Shoreside.
It was a decent enough night, no rain like the previous one and quite a few kids were milling about on the streets. A gang of six watched them drive past, immediately making the Focus as a plain cop car. Two stuck middle digits up at the detectives. Mouths opened and obscenities were shouted.
‘Shits,’ Rik observed.
‘Abandoned kids,’ Henry countered.
‘Bollocks. Shite parents. No control.’
‘No jobs, shit housing, no one cares,’ Henry said bitterly.
‘Jeez,’ Rik said, staring at Henry’s profile. ‘You going soft in your old age?’
‘And preyed on by people like the Costains,’ Henry ranted.
‘Shits,’ Rik said again, closing the conversation.
They were glared at by more street hanging kids, but got by without incident. Police cars were often stoned on this estate. Then they were outside the Carter household on the edge of the estate. Lights were on, someone
