was gone, so Mark’s future, particularly the next two years, looked very shaky indeed.
Henry’s reassurances wafted over Mark’s head. It was obvious he didn’t believe a single word that came out of the detective’s mouth. ‘We’ll look after you.’ ‘We’ll sort you out.’ ‘You’ve nothing to worry about.’ ‘Honest.’
Bollocks.
Even Henry didn’t believe himself.
All he really wanted from Mark was a statement and a good description of the murderer, then hopefully, if things got that far, for Mark to pick the guy out of a line-up. And then give evidence at court. If it got that far. A lot of ‘ifs’, the main one being ‘if’ an arrest was made. But the bottom line was that Mark was the main witness so far and he was expected to make a statement that would put his life in greater danger than it already was. On top of that he had to deal with his mother’s murder, probably at the hands of the same person who had killed Rory and the old man. Not forgetting Billy Costain.
And Mark was sixteen. He was afraid, even if he didn’t show it. He had no familial support. He did not trust the cops because they’d shafted him once before, and he was a troubled teenager with all the usual hormonal issues to deal with.
It was a very big ask for a very young boy. And, in truth, Henry wasn’t completely sure how to deal with it. So after getting a very big flea in his ear from Mark, he made his way across to the mortuary where, it seemed, the bodies were stacking up. As he drove, his hands dithered on the steering wheel.
Karl Donaldson continued to try and log into the files he wanted to inspect without success, each time thinking this would be the occasion he got through. A bit like hitting the side of a TV in the hope that the picture would come back. It never did, of course.
Finally, seething, he picked up his phone again, which spookily, rang as his fingers closed on it.
‘Mr Donaldson, sir, it’s me, Jacintha.’
‘Hi Cinth.’ It was his shared secretary.
‘You asked me to speak to the IT guy about your little difficulty.’ The words ‘little difficulty’ came out and sounded like she was referring to erectile dysfunction or something.
‘Yeah, I’m still struggling,’ he said, as though he did have that condition.
‘Well, the guy I spoke to was really shirty with me and told me it was none of his business.’
‘Why would he say that?’
‘I don’t know. I told him I was making the enquiry on your behalf.’
‘And?’
‘He just said that your access had been denied.’
Donaldson’s whole being missed a beat. ‘What does that mean?’
‘He wouldn’t say.’
‘Access denied?’ Donaldson said, his voice rising. ‘Who can deny me access to files I have a right to see?’
‘Well, most files are password protected,’ Jacintha said.
‘I know that… and there are some I don’t have access to, which I understand. But the ones I want to look at are, or were, available to me. Did the guy say anything else?’
‘I asked him who you should talk to about it. It’s obviously some sort of misunderstanding that needs clearing up.’
‘Yep…’ Donaldson waited.
‘He said you need to speak to Mr Barber.’
Donaldson’s mouth dried up. ‘Don Barber? Why Don Barber?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Right, well thanks for that, Cinth. I appreciate what you did. Can you put me through to Don, please?’
‘He’s not here.’
‘What do you mean, not there? You mean he’s gone home for the night?’
‘No, I mean he isn’t here. Hasn’t been in the office for about four days now, sir.’
‘Where is he?’
‘That I don’t know, Mr Donaldson, sir.’
FIFTEEN
‘ Y ou didn’t send your lackey this time?’ Keira O’Connell said. She was scraping back her hair and fixing a dangerous-looking clip into it before fitting her surgical cap.
‘Adetective inspector’s hardly a lackey,’ said Henry, sounding tired. He had enough problems to be going on with and O’Connell’s obvious annoyance at his rejection of her was starting to wear thin. ‘Look, Keira,’ he said reasonably, hoping that his massive male ego hadn’t got things wrong or completely out of proportion. Maybe she was this cross all the time. ‘I’m really flattered.’ Already he knew he sounded patronizing. He wasn’t good at saying no to women, not initially anyway. Only when the guilt kicked in. ‘I’m trying desperately hard to make a go of it with Kate. And as much as the thought of being with a beautiful woman like you is — ’ his throat went gritty here as his thoughts instantly turned to what it would be like rolling around with her — oh, mama — ‘incredible, I just can’t risk anything.’
‘Are you sure you’re happily, happily married?’ she asked simply. She picked up a scalpel.
‘Yes,’ he said without hesitation.
O’Connell’s eyes played over his face, trying to see if there was a lie there. Her jaw line tensed and relaxed several times. ‘OK,’ she relented. ‘Desperate woman, acting desperately…’ She picked up a pair of latex gloves and blew into one of them, inflating it. ‘Let’s go and cut up our next body… people do seem to have a habit of dying around you, Henry,’ she observed.
Billy Costain’s large body had been laid out on the slab and prepared for post-mortem. A CSI was in position to record events.
Henry looked at the four bullet holes arced across Costain’s wide chest, and he realized how close he himself had been to being the next body for examination. His phone vibrated in his pocket, making him jump.
‘Excuse me.’ It was ‘Home’ calling. He backed out of the mortuary and answered it, expecting to be speaking to Kate. ‘Hiya, sweetheart.’
‘I may be many things to you, but sweetheart ain’t one of them, buddy,’ Karl Donaldson told him.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Henry said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You mentioned Jerry Tope, the custard cream licker?’
‘What about him?’
‘Can I borrow him after all? I’m still having difficulties, shall we say, accessing work. I could do with him having a look-see. And he owes me a favour for not sending him to prison for fifty years for hacking into the FBI website.’
‘Which is what you want him to do now?’
‘Well, yeah…’
‘You’re welcome to him. I’ll have to ring off, find his number, then get back to you…’
‘I’ve had a drink,’ Jerry Tope said. ‘Can’t turn out.’
‘How much have you had?’
‘A pint.’
‘And you can’t drive after a pint?’
‘I can drive after ten pints, I just choose not to,’ Tope said, clearly annoyed at the interruption to his evening.
‘I need your help. A computer thing. Can I come and see you?’
Tope sighed so heavily that Donaldson expected to feel a draught down the line.
‘Where do you live?’
‘A place called Lea, just on the Blackpool side of Preston.’
‘Gimme the address, I’ll find it,’ Donaldson said. Tope told him, Donaldson scribbled it down and as an afterthought asked, ‘Do you have a broadband connection?’
