bathroom and took two plastic cups off the glass shelf by the basin. He poured champagne into them and gave one to the superintendent. That Hargrove knew Bollinger was his favourite champagne suggested that he had done more than get the laptop from his car when he visited Sewell’s house, but Sewell wasn’t up to picking a fight. ‘You realise you’re running out of any goodwill you might have had?’ he said.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Hargrove.
Sewell doubted that was true. The superintendent had obviously come to the hotel with something on his mind, and he’d never been lost for words during their previous conversations. ‘Enough is enough,’ he said. ‘I’ve given you four days, which is twice as long as you said it would take. You said you had all you needed to arrest Hendrickson.’
‘We do,’ said Hargrove.
‘So arrest him. Throw the shit into a cell and let me get back to running my company.’
‘I wish it was as simple as that,’ said Hargrove. He sipped his champagne. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any whiskey in the minibar is there?’ he asked.
‘There isn’t a minibar. Hendrickson will have better facilities in prison than I’ve got here,’ Sewell said.
‘But you’ve got your computer. And I’ve given the sergeant cash for any food you want bringing in.’
‘I want to go home,’ said Sewell flatly.
‘We need more time,’ said Hargrove.
Sewell swore.
‘Possibly the rest of this week.’
‘I told you already, Hendrickson could be bleeding my company dry. By the time I get back into my office there might be nothing left. What then, Superintendent? The police will come up with three million quid, will they? Out of petty cash?’
‘Actually . . .’ Hargrove took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Sewell, who put down his beaker and opened it. It was from the chief constable of Greater Manchester, agreeing to reimburse him for any money he lost as a result of his co-operation with the ongoing investigation. He would also guarantee a consultancy fee of twenty-five thousand pounds, whatever the outcome of either case.
‘He can do that?’ asked Sewell.
‘He can do whatever he wants with police funds,’ said Hargrove.
‘This guy you’re after, the second investigation, he’s big, yeah?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Hargrove. ‘He’s big.’
‘Big kudos for you if you get him, commendations all round, the chief constable looks good?’
‘If it wasn’t important, we wouldn’t have put your case on hold,’ said Hargrove.
‘So he’s bigger than me, is that what you mean?’ Sewell bristled. ‘I sit here in this pokey hell-hole while you find bigger fish to fry?’
‘No one’s saying your case isn’t important, Mr Sewell. Larry Hendrickson will go to prison for a long time, and rightly so. But what we’re working on now is a different sort of case. I wish I could go into details, but I can’t. What I can tell you is that the guy we’re going after is a nasty son-of-a-bitch and the police here have had all sorts of problems with him. You’ll win all sorts of Brownie points if you help take him out.’
Sewell reread the chief constable’s letter. ‘The twenty-five grand’s mine whatever happens?’
‘Providing you co-operate.’
‘And if I come to you after this is over and tell you that as a result of that shit Hendrickson being in charge of my company I’m a hundred grand down, the Greater Manchester Police will write me a cheque to cover the loss?’
‘That’s what the letter says,’ said Hargrove. ‘The chief constable might want to see a breakdown of your losses, but I can’t see him going back on his word.’
‘All right, then.’
‘You’re okay to lie low for the rest of this week?’ asked Hargrove.
‘Yes, but not here,’ said Sewell. ‘I want an upgrade.’
‘I don’t think that’ll be a problem. We’ll move you tomorrow.’
‘Five stars.’
‘Agreed,’ said Hargrove wearily.
‘A suite. Not a room.’
Hargrove nodded.
‘And sex,’ Sewell added.
‘I’m going to have to draw the line there, Mr Sewell,’ said the superintendent.
‘I’ve had nothing but my right hand for company,’ said Sewell. ‘That’s a cruel and unusual punishment in my book.’
‘I can’t risk you meeting a girlfriend,’ said Hargrove. ‘It’s only four or five more days.’
‘It wouldn’t have to be a girlfriend,’ said Sewell. ‘I’d use an escort agency. They’ll send a girl round. I’ll make sure it’s not one I’ve had before.’
Hargrove rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Okay,’ he said wearily.
‘And the sergeant uses his money to pay for it.’
‘For God’s sake, man!’ said Hargrove.
Sewell shrugged. ‘I can’t use my credit cards, can I?’ he said. ‘Besides, if the chief constable wants me to be happy, he’ll pay.’
Hargrove stood up. ‘I think I’d better go before you take the shirt off my back,’ he said.
‘It wouldn’t fit,’ said Sewell, grinning, ‘but I’ll have the tie.’
Angie Kerr climbed out of the shower and stood watching her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror as she towelled herself dry. The scab on her breast was about to come off and she dabbed it carefully with the edge of her towel. It wasn’t the first time her husband had burned her, but if everything went to plan it would be the last. No more burns, no more slaps, no more punches to the stomach that he knew would hurt but not leave a permanent mark. All his friends knew how he treated her. Sometimes when he abused her in public, she got a sympathetic glance or some small acknowledgement that they knew what she was going through, but they were all too scared of Charlie to say anything.
Eddie Anderson had come closest to talking to him about it. Charlie had punched her in the stomach while they were in the VIP section of Aces after she’d asked him to stop flirting with one of the waitresses. The girl was a tall, leggy blonde, barely out of her teens, and Charlie had had his hand on her backside, squeezing it as if he was checking a melon for ripeness. The girl was leading him on, flashing her eyes and flicking her hair, and she had known full well that Angie was his wife.
Angie had waited until she and her husband were alone before she told him she didn’t like him making a fool of her. He’d smiled coldly, then slammed his fist into her belly. She’d been unable to breathe for a minute or so, gasping as tears streamed down her face. Charlie had stood up and walked over to the bar where Eddie and Ray were drinking. Angie had just about recovered her breath when Eddie came over and told her he was to drive her home. Angie didn’t argue. She knew that if she did, her husband would hurt her all the more.
He had given her his arm, she had taken it gratefully and they had walked out together. Angie would never forget the look of triumph on the waitress’s face. She wondered if the girl knew what Charlie was like, if he ever showed her his violent side. Maybe he only needed one woman to dominate, and it was her bad luck that he’d chosen her. Eddie had helped her into the back of the car, but he didn’t say anything until he was sitting in the front with the engine running. He’d looked at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Kerr?’ he’d asked.
He’d kept looking at her, waiting for her to answer. Angie had wondered what he expected her to say. If she’d said no, she wasn’t, that her husband had hit her one time too many, would he have taken her to hospital? To the police station? Had Charlie asked Eddie to pretend to be concerned to see how she’d react? And if she had told Eddie that she was sick to death of the beatings and the verbal abuse, would he have told Charlie, and would Charlie have made her life more of a misery than it already was?
‘The way he treats you, it’s not right,’ Eddie said quietly. This time she had seen concern in his eyes.
Angie had found herself smiling, even though her stomach felt as if it had burst. ‘I’m okay, Eddie,’ she’d said. ‘I know he loves me really.’
Eddie had stared at her for several seconds, then put the car into gear. He hadn’t spoken again all the way home, even when he’d walked her to the door.
