‘ Well, I do — and when I saw her yesterday I realised I’d been hiding those feelings from myself.’ Kruger reddened, feeling idiotic, saying words which were a complete lie. ‘I figured that if we do a good job and find Bussola cheatin’ on her, she might just come back to me.’ He almost choked to death on the words, but kept a straight face.
‘ So, for the sake of your ex-wife,’ Myrna said, outraged, ‘you’re suggestin’ we mount a surveillance on a mobster, when even the joint forces of the Feds, local cops, DEA and AFT haven’t managed to sniff him out, despite their resources?’ She looked around at each of the board members. ‘I suggest we all say no.’ There was a general nodding of heads, though no one made direct eye contact with Kruger who was, after all, the boss man. ‘Bussola is a dangerous guy,’ Myrna boomed in conclusion. ‘If he finds out we’re tailing him, he’ll react in his usual way. I don’t believe any of our operatives should be put into such danger.’
Kruger leaned forwards. His face was thunderous.
‘ Okay, okay,’ he breathed angrily. ‘I won’t overrule you, though I really want to, but I will tell you something you should know.’ He took a deep breath, wondering how he should phrase the bombshell. ‘If we don’t take on this assignment — and this is the truth — everyone in this room, everybody sat out there in those offices, every one of our teams out on the streets will be out of a job tomorrow.’
Trent was disturbed a short time later by Coysh who was wearing a loose-fitting blouson jacket zipped up to the neck. He was holding the hem tightly. He stepped into Trent’s cell, found him to be alone and unzipped the jacket. Almost a hundred Styrofoam cups fell out onto the floor. He emptied all his pockets and produced another fifteen, crushed and broken.
Trent gathered them up delightedly and began to stuff them underneath his mattress.
‘ I’ll probably need another load — maybe more,’ he told Coysh. ‘Can you do it?’
Coysh nodded but eyed Trent uncertainly. ‘What d’you want them for?’ He was completely befuddled. ‘I thought you wanted to sort Blake out, not give him a tea party.’
‘ I do — and I will. You’ll see.’
‘ What, with Styrofoam cups?’
Trent winked. ‘Method in my madness. Now, there is something else you can do for me…’
‘ You bastard, Steve Kruger.’
Myrna’s countenance was set hard as granite as she faced him across the office. The others had left, cowed by Kruger’s shock announcement and the brief conversation afterwards. Myrna wasn’t to be railroaded though. When they were alone together she powered into him like a prize-fighter.
‘ You cannot make a statement like that, then say no more, refuse to give us the “why”. That’s treatin’ us all like imbeciles, Steve. How in hell are we even supposed to believe a word of what you said — that we’d all lose our jobs? It’s preposterous.’
She was a very fine-looking woman, Kruger had to admit. Standing there in front of him, hands on hips, feet shoulder-width apart, she was pretty darn intimidating. He weakened for a moment, then rallied.
‘ Myrna, I’m not lyin’ to you.’ He sat down heavily on a chair and his head dropped into his hands. He blew a farting noise into his palms, then looked up at her, allowing his fingers to stretch his facial features. ‘But you were right about one thing… Felicity does absolutely nothing for me. I hate the goddamned sight of her. I definitely do not harbour any affection for her.’
‘ Thought not.’ Myrna’s voice held a wisp of triumph. ‘So what then, what’s this all about?’
Kruger snorted a short laugh.
‘ She’s got a hold on me, Myrna. Something stupid I did a few years ago, something so completely idiotic you wouldn’t believe it.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Damn… and I think she’s got the paperwork to prove it.’
‘ Tell me — now,’ Myrna insisted.
He made the decision to admit to only the second person in his life about the illicit weapon-dealing which had provided the foundations on which the successful enterprise known as Kruger Investigations had been constructed.
Trent was in the TV lounge watching a documentary about the fire brigade, unable to keep a smirk off his face. A couple of other inmates were in the room but the majority of the others were packed into the main association room where a big-screen TV had been erected and onto which a satellite beamed a live Manchester United game. Trent could hear ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’.
Vic Wallwork sauntered in, looking ill and as worried as ever. He sat next to Trent. They ignored each other for a few minutes as the fire fighters on TV tackled a very nasty blaze by which several people were trapped.
When everyone was rescued — to an appropriate but unconnected cheer from the football audience — Trent said, ‘Well?’
‘ Yeah, done it. But never again, never a-fuckin-gain.’
‘ How much?’
‘ Just what you ordered.’
‘ Well done, Vic.’
‘ When are they gonna get me, Trent?’
‘ I don’t exactly know, but if I were you, Vic, I’d keep my arse right up against the wall… not that that’ll help, you understand, because they’ll still fuck you.’
Danny’s day concluded about seven that evening.
After having put the puzzlement of Claire Lilton’s disappearance out of her mind, she spent most of the afternoon interviewing a young lad who had been the subject of repeated indecent assaults and buggery by the head teacher of the primary school he attended. It proved to be a pretty harrowing afternoon, made all the more difficult because the boy was only six. Whilst interviewing him Danny felt like a fraud for thinking she had problems. At least they were solvable… but the youngster, unless he was something very special indeed, had a lifetime of nightmares ahead as well as medical problems. Danny’s predicament melted into insignificance.
In the end she obtained a first-class video statement which would hopefully get the teacher put away for many years.
Her brain was the texture of cotton wool balls when she rode down in the lift and walked out into the rear yard of the police station. Night had fallen early, rain was splattering down and it was dark even though the yard was illuminated by electric lights. It became even darker as she walked into the covered area where the car was parked.
She swore to herself.
It was only at that moment she remembered Jack Sands and the little episode from the morning. She realised as she approached her car that she had not taken any precautions against the possibility of a repeat confrontation.
Even though she was in a police car park, it was poorly lit, she was alone and feeling vulnerable. No one was around to hear her screams.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. A tight feeling, as if her skin had been super-frozen, spread across her face.
Suddenly she was on guard, holding her breath.
Every shadow was Jack Sands, waiting to pounce.
Her trembling hand snaked into her bag. Her fingers sought, fought and withdrew the remote locking control and keys for her car.
She quickened her step… and of course she had parked at the far end of the car park.
In a matter of seconds she had reached the rear of her car — safely. Then she was inside the car, slamming the door, desperate to slide the key into the ignition. She was okay. She had made it. She giggled a little at her stupidity.
The key went in… and her door was yanked open. Sands reached in, grabbed her and dragged her out in a split second before she could react. He dumped her onto the concrete and the base of her spine crashed on the hard surface, sending a shock wave up to her cranium.
She opened her mouth to scream — but Sands was quickly on top of her, hand clasped over her mouth,
