The Sig was in her right hand, supported in the palm of her left.
There was a blankness in her mind. Yet, simply, she was aware — somewhere — that she had started to sweat from every pore in her body. As Kruger dived away, she saw the injured man drop to his knees, one of the bodyguards dive away too, and the other two start to turn… but in her mind it wasn’t a fast twist because she slowed everything down right into its component parts without even realising she was doing it.
The two men as they pirouetted, their guns drawn from under their jackets… the weapons coming round to be pointed at her and Tapperman… the weight of the pistol in her hands… the high-contrast sights down the barrel. Her finger tightening on the trigger…
Three weapons exploded simultaneously.
The ones in the hands of Mark Tapperman and Myrna Rosza.
The one in the grip of the bodyguard who was aiming at the prostrate body of Steve Kruger.
Within the confines of the parking lot, the noise of the combined discharges was deafening. A huge reverberating, eardrum-smashing roar.
Having to run made Claire Lilton’s cracked ribs hurt. When she thought she was out of catching distance, she slowed right down, dodged into a back alley and got her breath back. She reached into her sports bag and grabbed a cold can of orange Tango which she opened and gratefully gulped down. It was getting to be a hot day.
When recovered she tossed the can over a wall and wandered aimlessly around, until she was back on Dickson Road, about half a mile away from the shop.
She doubted whether the shopkeeper would call the cops, so she felt quite safe.
As it was approaching high season, Claire fitted in easily with the thousands of other kids thronging the streets of Blackpool, the single biggest holiday resort in the world. She knew that if necessary, she could mingle for weeks and never be noticed. All it required was a grain of common sense, some cunning and courage, a bit of luck and she would be able to survive indefinitely.
Within a few moments she had wandered onto Gynn Square, a large roundabout on the promenade in North Shore.
Wearily she went into a small recreation ground only yards away, off Warbreck Hill Road. She unhooked the bag and let it fall to the ground, slumped on a bench and stretched her tired legs.
She was dressed for the season in a cut-off T-shirt drawn tightly over her small, developing bust; then there was a gap showing her flat, white tummy; then there was a pair of Lycra exercise shorts clinging to her thighs. Nike trainers finished off her attire.
It had been Henry Christie’s intention to get the team turned out onto the streets as soon as possible.
With Danny’s efficient help, he succeeded.
He watched the last officer leave the briefing room, then turned to speak to Danny. ‘They’ll need all the luck in the world to catch this guy.’ He nodded towards a window. ‘And this weather won’t help us at all. Tourists will be flooding in today… needle in a haystack job.’
‘ At least we’re doing something. We need to catch him, otherwise he’ll start again. Can you imagine what all those years cooped up could do to a pervert like him?’
Before Henry could reply he heard an angry voice behind him. ‘DC Furness? Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
Jack Sands.
‘ My office — NOW!’ he shrieked.
Danny looked up at Henry for support, fear in her eyes. Henry gave her a sly wink, and turned to Sands with a simmering anger. In a measured tone he said, ‘Nobody calls people by their last names these days, and nobody says 'my office — now' unless they want to come across as a real jerk.’
‘ Up yours, Henry,’ Sands snapped back. ‘She’s my officer, not one of yours — not yet anyway — and I’ll speak to her any way I want to.’
‘ Wrong on both counts,’ Henry said crisply. ‘Jack, we all need to sit down and chat — like now, if possible.’
‘ I haven’t got time.’
Henry stepped up to him and snarled, ‘You’d better make fuckin’ time, if you value your job.’
Trent saw her sitting alone, a faraway look on her face. He knew instantly she was the one for him. She couldn’t have been more than eleven years old, but looked older. Trent could see through that. He was good at judging a youngster’s age and this one was just right for him. The age he liked. Their bodies beginning to develop, their womanhood not yet there. He looked again at this girl and experienced that old sensation, like someone had drawn a knife-blade down his back, triggering a sexual response in his genitals.
She had long slim legs, wore a minimum amount of clothing and was by herself. There was no one hovering nearby who could have been with her. She looked vulnerable, just right for plucking.
Trent seated himself at the far end of the bench. He opened his newspaper, crossed his legs. His eyes watched her reaction to his presence.
Initially there was no indication she had even seen him. He coughed. That seemed to break her trance. She glanced at him. Her face was painfully beautiful. Trent sneered inside himself as he pictured her down on him. Outwardly he returned a smile.
She gave a wan, slightly pathetic grin.
‘ My name’s Louis.’ He folded down the newspaper. ‘What’s yours? I’ll bet it’s a pretty one.’
She told him.
‘ Take a seat,’ Henry offered Jack. They were in Henry’s small office where Henry had arranged three chairs on the ‘public side’ of his desk, ready for the encounter.
Sands sat with a great show of reluctance and impatience, sighing heavily.
Henry indicated for Danny to do likewise. She chose the chair furthest away from Sands which was also the one directly opposite him. Instantly she regretted two things — taking the seat and her choice of clothing.
She was in a pencil skirt which rode up her thighs as she sat down and crossed her legs. Sands’s eyes homed in on the display and a look of wickedness flitted across his face. She pulled the skirt down and uncrossed her legs, sitting there with her knees pressed tightly together. It felt uncomfortable and unnatural and Sands knew it. She could tell from his face.
Henry hitched his trousers up with his fingers and thumbs on the creases and sat in the vacant seat. He crossed his legs.
Sands glowered cocksurely at him.
‘ As you know, Jack, Louis Trent did a runner from jail last night and he’s almost certainly back in town. Obviously we need to try and recapture him as soon as possible. I spoke to Mr Fanshaw-Bayley this morning and he told me to use Danny to lead the team because she knows Trent so well. No doubt you agree with this thinking.’
Danny shot Henry a quick look of concern. To say he was distorting the truth was an understatement.
‘ Because it was such a rush to get things pulled together,’ Henry added, ‘I didn’t have time to explain, so I apologise for that. At least you know now.’
‘ Well, now that your team are up and running, I’ll have her back, thanks.’
Henry shook his head. ‘As of now she’s on CID.’ He handed a rolled-up fax to Sands, rather like a Biblical scroll. Sands unrolled it and read it slowly. It was confirmation of what FB had promised Henry that morning, written and signed by the man himself. Danny was on CID as of now.
Sands’s face looked like it would burst. ‘This is completely out of order. He can’t do this, not without consulting me.’
‘ He’s an ACC. He can do mostly what he likes and usually does.’
‘ I’m going to go to the Detective Superintendent and get this blocked. She’s on my Department until next Monday.’ And Sands stood up to leave.
‘ Sit down Jack, there’s more we need to discuss… I said, sit down.’
