It did not take him long to find what he was looking for.
He clambered up the metal railings and reached for the mesh, pulling it apart at one of the seams. Within moments he had broken through and clambered up onto the cage, sitting on the edge with nothing now between himself and the roofs of the shops below. He shuffled right to the edge, dangling his legs over. One last push, and he would be over.
It would be over.
‘ What do you think of this one, Gus?’
Felicity emerged from the changing room, displaying the thousand-dollar creation she was trying on for size. And also to reassure Gus, who had spent no time in lingerie; he had been sitting on a chair at the entrance to the changing rooms, agitatedly tapping his feet, peering in for a sight of Mrs Bussola.
‘ It’s really nice, Mrs B,’ Gus said. He tried to sound enthusiastic.
‘ Thanks, Gus. You’re obviously a connoisseur.’
‘ A what?’
‘ A thick cunt,’ Felicity said under her breath. She twirled back into the changing area, accompanied by an attentive member of staff, to try on the next outfit.
Before she closed the door, she spoke briefly to the sales assistant. ‘Darling, do you have access to a cellular phone? I seem to have left mine at home and I need to phone my husband. Of course I’ll pay for any calls and any extras.’ She gave a knowing nod to the woman and crushed a fifty-dollar note into her receptive palm.
‘ I’ll see what I can do, Mrs Bussola.’
‘ Oh, and by the way, don’t let on to that goon, will you?’
‘ You can be assured of my discretion.’
Ira Begin was on edge. Everything was now ready. He had been to see the person who would act as the last line of attack if the worst came to the worst. Now all he needed to be told was where the girl was.
He was in the rear of a car being driven back to Bussola’s house in South Beach. His cell-tel was on his lap and he prayed for it to ring. If it didn’t, then a certain police officer would have more than just his annual retainer cut off.
He bounced the small phone in his hand, desperately holding himself back from calling Captain Crenshaw. From past experience, Begin knew it would not speed matters up.
Then it rang and Begin jumped. He fumbled to answer it.
‘ Yeah.’ He listened. ‘Got that. Consider your efforts to be a good investment.’
Begin ended the call.
Now he had everything he needed.
‘ Patrol to attend the Tower: report of a possible jumper. I repeat…’
Henry Christie, normally so poor at using the PR other than for his personal benefit, had actually tried to develop some good habits since becoming a Detective Inspector. He actually listened to it these days and even while he had been out eating shrimps, he’d kept one ear on the comings and goings of police activity around the town.
‘ DI Christie received. I am literally outside the Tower now. I’ll attend.’
‘ Roger. Thanks, sir. Any other patrols to assist?’
Several called up, by which time Henry was running across the Promenade, looking up as he did so.
It was a very long way up. And down.
It was one of the biggest cars Danny had ever seen in her life, and was like sitting in a mobile living room. Typically American, she thought; all the same, lovely and very comfortable. But not a patch on her beloved, now deceased, Merc.
She looked discreetly sideways at the big detective who was driving. His left elbow rested out of the window and he was steering using his left little finger, occasionally holding the wheel with his right when necessary. He whistled tunelessly, looked laid back and cool in his dark glasses. Danny had not thought to pack sunglasses, but did not mind the bright sun in her eyes. It made a change from Britain’s pathetic effort.
‘ Not far now,’ Tapperman informed her.
‘ Fine.’ They had not travelled far anyway.
Ten minutes later they pulled up in the driveway of a large white house in a fairly exclusive development.
‘ I thought we’d be going to a cop shop.’
‘ Naw,’ drawled Tapperman, releasing his seat belt. ‘This girl’s got an aversion to cops.’
Danny grabbed her holdall and got out of the car, which was still bouncing on its soft springs from stopping. As they walked up the drive, past another large vehicle, some type of people-carrier, the front door opened and a black woman stood on the threshold, right hand extended.
‘ Hi, I’m Myrna Rosza. You must be Danny Furness. I’m pleased to meet you.’
‘ And I’m pleased to meet you, Myrna.’
They shook hands and appraised each other critically, both liking what they saw. Somehow there was something between them immediately. A connection. A closeness. Both sensed this would be a harmonious relationship.
‘ Come in, you must be bushed.’
‘ I’m not too bad. Where’s Tracey?’
Myrna’s eyes flickered upwards. ‘Asleep, like she’s been for most of the time. I don’t intend to wake her, if that’s okay. I think she needs all the rest she can get. Maybe you’d like a shower, get freshened up? Then I’ll do us a meal and we can talk.’
‘ Sounds good.’
They smiled at each other.
Behind them Tapperman said, ‘I’ll leave you to it. If you have any problems, bell me anytime.’
‘ Sure, thanks Mark.’
When he’d gone, Myrna said conspiratorially, ‘Bit soft dumbass, but a heart of gold. Here, let me take your bag.’
Henry barged his way through the tourists of the day, unceremoniously heaving them to one side where necessary. He arrived at the lift to find a long queue of people waiting to go up the Tower.
‘ You a police officer?’ somebody shouted.
‘ Yeah.’ Henry turned. He recognised the manager of the place.
‘ Come with me.’
He led Henry to the service lift which was ready and waiting and empty. Henry peered through the window as the lift rose, watching in case the jumper decided to fly before he got there.
Felicity was standing in her underwear when the sales assistant returned with a cellular phone. The woman’s mouth sagged open in shock when she saw the bruises all over Felicity’s torso. The gangster’s wife caught the expression and with a sneer said, ‘It’s how my husband shows affection.’
Stunned, the woman held out the mobile. Felicity banged in a number and waited impatiently for the connection. The sales assistant withdrew.
‘ Kruger Investigations? I want to speak to Myrna Rosza. Urgently.’
It was wonderfully fresh, brilliant up here. The drunken man was sitting on top of the mesh, looking at a view inland across Lancashire, towards the Pennines. Then he looked down between his legs and swallowed. There was a flat roof below on which he would surely land.
For a split second there was hesitation. He wondered if he had the courage to do this thing.
Someone on the platform shouted, ‘Don’t do it, mate!’
But he had to.
