man he’d faced in the cell.
Donaldson computed that the man wasn’t expecting to see him. There was that awful moment of dawning recognition. Just a fraction of a second. Almost nothing, but for Donaldson it was the moment that saved his life and exactly the moment his neighbour’s door opened. Another distraction.
The guy’s gun was down at his side and he was still partly obscured because he was still half behind the room door that he’d opened inwards with his left hand, which meant he was encumbered.
Then he started to react, to bring up the gun.
Donaldson spun one-eighty in that moment of hesitation and distraction and hurled himself across the corridor, a distance of maybe three metres.
The man realized his position, not the best from which to kill a man.
As the gun came up, Donaldson saw that although it would be a rushed shot it would probably hit him somewhere in the groin region, maybe taking out a testicle or two, or even a penis.
He ducked to his right and the man tried to follow him with the muzzle, but was still hampered by the door.
Vanessa screamed, the sound filling the corridor with horror.
The man had to take a step back to open the door and free himself from his disadvantageous position. At the same time, Donaldson realized that if the man were to get out, then he would be unable to defend himself, so he had to take the fight to him. All this went through Donaldson’s mind as he ducked right, so he immediately weaved left and threw himself at the door with the intention of trapping the man behind it. He put all his weight into the manoeuvre and it worked, pinning him in the ‘V’ between door and wall, but ensuring that the man’s hand was still free. That became Donaldson’s target and he grabbed the man’s right forearm with both hands and pounded it against the wall.
The gun discharged, the bullet driving into the ceiling right above the two men. Then it went off again, but this time Donaldson had managed to wrestle the man’s arm down parallel with the floor, and the bullet smashed into the patio doors at the far end of the room, disintegrating them spectacularly.
Donaldson had the man’s arm tight up against the wall.
The man fought back, heaving his weight against the door, his whole body tensing with muscle as he forced the door back against Donaldson.
Both of the FBI agent’s hands went for the gun, trying to tear it out of the man’s grip, but the reaction to this took him by surprise. The man simply opened his fingers and let the gun drop to the floor, kicked it away into the room, and with a supreme effort, tore his arm free of Donaldson’s fingers, then put all his power behind the door, keeping it there as a barrier between them. He got himself into a better position like a man trying to push a tractor and Donaldson, despite his undoubted strength, felt himself being pushed backwards as the man, inch by inch, managed to close and lock the door against Donaldson, who roared with anger and pounded it with frustration.
Then he had a sudden thought and reeled away from the door just as two bullets came through the wood at chest height. Had he stayed where he was, beating a closed door, he would have taken both in the heart.
Then another two shots ripped through at head height.
And the neighbour screamed again.
And in a parallel mind-thought, Donaldson was glad that Vanessa had witnessed this. There was no way now she’d want to have sex with him.
Having worked in Blackpool on and off for many years, Henry was used to dealing with gay men. He hoped he always treated them with courtesy, consideration and fairness. Most of the ones he’d encountered were generally well balanced blokes with a slightly effeminate touch, very unaffected and straightforward. There were those, however, who were completely off the counter, at the far end of the stereotypical scale and would have been booed off stages.
‘Well,’ the manager of the clothing store known as Lucio’s said, clasping his hands together, ‘the thing is this,’ He spoke with a slight lisp and a wave of the hand. ‘I wasn’t worried when he didn’t show up this morning, because he doesn’t keep regular hours, but when he didn’t show up this afternoon I got a bit concerned.’ He pursed his lips, gave Henry a once up and down, did the same with Rik and liked what he saw, his eyes bulging at the sight. Rik reddened and tugged his collar. Henry smirked. The manager’s lips pursed more tightly and could have even been a kiss. He tore his eyes from the younger of the two detectives and brought his attention back to Henry, who he clearly did not find attractive. Henry could see it in his eyes. Maybe he was just too rugged. ‘Then I heard on the radio about the murder and even though there was no name mentioned, I got to thinking. The description sounded a bit like Mr Casarsa.’ He shook his head. ‘I mean, I’ve no reason to think it was Mr Casarsa,’ — he pronounced the name as ‘Cathartha’ — ‘but I was worried by his non-appearance so I called in, just in case.’ He clasped his hands together again. ‘I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.’
‘No, Mr Gooden, you haven’t,’ Henry assured him.
They were in Lucio’s. It had closed for business and they were on the shop floor, near the till by the front door. Henry glanced at the stock, the displays of footwear, clothing and jewellery. Most of it had names he recognized and it all looked good quality stuff. But Henry wondered…
Alex Bent hadn’t arrived, but was expected soon.
Henry said, ‘We haven’t formally identified the dead man as yet, and I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but from the description you’ve given me it sounds like he could be the victim, this Mr Casarsa.’
Gooden looked deeply shocked and saddened. ‘I’m mortified. Who could possibly want to kill him? He was such a nice, gentle man and so proud of this business. And I think he has more shops, too.’
Alex Bent’s car drew up outside.
‘Are the goods you sell genuine?’ Henry asked out of the blue, fingering a ladies jacket on a rack. It had a very well known designer label.
‘I have no reason to think otherwise.’
Henry nodded, but held back from asking any more questions. There were many that had to be posed.
Alex Bent came in.
‘Oooh,’ Gooden gasped and almost fainted, his legs buckling. He held himself up from falling over by gripping the counter. Neither Henry nor Rik dashed to his assistance. ‘Oh my.’ He held a hand on his forehead.
‘What’s the matter?’ Henry asked.
‘That… that…’ He pointed weakly at one of the items Bent was holding in his hand.
‘What?’
‘The cane… the walking stick… it belongs to Mr Casarsa. I recognize it. Oh, poor, poor Mr Casarsa.’
Or, thought Henry, poor, poor Rosario Petrone, as he was better known to the police.
TEN
Henry treated the store manager to his nicest smile and said, ‘This officer will look after all your needs.’ He stressed the word ‘all’ and patted Rik Dean’s shoulder. The DI’s eyes drove daggers into Henry’s heart and Henry gave him a wink. Mr Gooden adjusted himself primly on the interview room chair and smiled seductively at Rik, who squirmed. Henry then left the both of them in the interview room so they could get on with the task of getting a statement down from Gooden, who seemed only too pleased to be assisting the police with their enquiries. Henry started to make his way back up to the MIR up on the sixth floor.
Time had dragged. It was almost ten thirty p.m. Henry still had a lot to do before calling it a day and leaving the investigation in a suitable state for someone else to take over.
At the moment it all seemed very bitty and incoherent.
Two murders, both connected, one witness out there to both killings — probably.
One of the bodies, that of a Camorra Mafia chief who had been lying low in Blackpool; the other, an innocent boy, a rascal, maybe, who had seen too much. Henry churned it over, shuffling his thoughts into order with a view to then getting them down in the murder policy book, the record he was obliged to keep — supposedly contemporaneously — of the investigation as it unfolded. Then he had to call the detective superintendent who was going to take over the reins tomorrow and give him a heads up. Henry had been told who this would be and had no
