by Nick Oldham
That was what she did.
She worked from very early each morning until late into the night, calling customers worldwide, chatting, reassuring them in the same way she had done very soon after Kruger’s death. She spent most of her waking hours next to the phone in her office, feeding the fax and writing letters. It was a hell of a task, but needed the personal touch, she believed. She contacted, one way or another, every single customer and supplier, past and present, and the response she got was brilliant. She firmly began to believe that Kruger Investigations had a future, even without Steve, but it had to be driven by her.
And in the early hours of that Tuesday morning, she put the finishing touches to a couple of letters, slotted them into envelopes and dropped them into the out tray.
She was tired, yeah, but it was the fatigue which came through constructive hard work. She blinked the grit out of her eyes and yawned. What to do with the weekend was the question playing on her mind. She was adamant she would take Friday off and make something of it.
The prospect of heading down to the Keys with no particular aim in sight kind of appealed to her. Maybe she’d get the old Thunderbird out - the one her husband had so recklessly bought her a couple of years before, probably in a fit of guilt - and see how that performed.
Mmmm . . . She closed her eyes, imagined the warm wind in her hair, the straight road, a beachside guesthouse, a drink or two . . . she was almost asleep at the desk when the phone rang, loud and shrill in the stillness of the morning. She leapt out of her skin and fumbled to answer it.
It was Jake, the security man, down in reception. ‘Sorry t’ bother ya’ll Mizz Rosza, but I knew you wuz in or I woulden a rang...’
‘It’s okay, Jake. What is it?’
‘Like, normally, I’da thrown her out on her ear, but she sez she knows ya and wants t’see ya an’ apologise.’
‘Who does?’
‘Whazz y’name, gal?’ Myrna heard Jake ask. There was a mutter. ‘Sez she’s a-called Tracey Greenwood. Sez y’ve prob’ly bin lookin’ f’her.’
‘Put her in the elevator, Jake and send her up.’
Myrna waited for the arrival of the elevator. When the doors opened Tracey was huddled in a foetal ball in one corner, big eyes staring up fearfully at Myrna, thumb in her mouth. She looked dreadful, just like a bunch of rags. Myrna helped her to her feet. She was pathetically light. Brittle.
‘I’m sorry, I got scared - lost me bottle’ she said with a cough.
‘Not scared enough to steal my purse, girl,’ Myrna rejoined with a snap.
When Tracey had been seated down in Myrna’s office and given a coffee, Myrna said, ‘You here to stay now?’ She nodded dumbly.
‘Why the hell did you go off like that?’
‘Don’t know. I was frightened. I needed a fix too.’
‘And now you’ve run out of money, I suppose,’ Myrna said scornfully. She did not wait for a response. ‘Are you planning to leave again?’
‘No.’
‘In that case, sit there, don’t move. I’ve got a phone call to make.’
From Kruger’s office she dialled Karl Donaldson’s home number, having worked out it was only 8 a.m. in London and there was a chance he was still at home before setting off for work. Donaldson’s wife, Karen, answered. A baby screamed in the background. ‘He’s just about to leave. I’ll get him. Hold on.’
‘This is Karl Donaldson.’
‘Karl, she’s back.’
‘You gonna keep hold of her this time?’
‘I am.’
‘Right, good. Call you back soon.’
Donaldson immediately phoned Henry Christie at home but was told he had already left for work. He then rang Blackpool police station to be told he had not yet turned in, but was expected to be in later after attending a special hearing at Lancaster Crown Court. Donaldson asked for a mobile or pager number, but no one could actually put their fingers on one at that moment. Cursing, Donaldson hung up and flipped through his organiser. The number of Henry’s pager was not there either. He knew he had it at work, so he decided to wait until he got there before trying to get hold of Henry.
Meanwhile, Myrna returned to her office, ready to get some answers from young Tracey, the girl who had stolen her credit cards.
‘Hey, I’ve got some great...’
‘Come on, Henry,’ Danny waved him urgently back down the corridor. ‘The Judge wants to see us – now!’
‘Eh? Why?’
‘How the hell should I know? Come on, hurry up.’ Danny knocked on the chamber door.
‘Please, please, sit down,’ Mrs Ellison said to them. Two extra chairs had been brought in and placed directly in front of her desk. The two solicitors were sitting apart, on chairs at an angle to the corners of the desk. Henry and Danny sat in between. The Judge peered down her nose at Henry.
‘Mr Christie - I thought I recognised the name. How are you?’
‘Your Honour, I’m fine, thank you very much.’
Danny gazed incredulously at him. Stanway almost groaned. The last thing he wanted was for Henry Christie to be on intimate terms with the Judge.
‘I seem to remember you were in pretty bad shape last time we met - dodging bullets and Mafia hitmen, as I recall.’ She recalled correctly, having presided almost four years before on a very high-profile trial, here at Lancaster Crown Court, in which Henry had been one of the main police witnesses.
‘I’m well recovered from then, thank you, Ma’ am.’
‘But still in the wars, I see.’ She chuckled, nodding towards his recent facial injuries.
‘Trouble follows me everywhere,’ he shrugged modestly.
She gave him a tight smile which indicated the pleasantries were over and business was about to begin. ‘Now, you may be wondering why I’ve asked you both in here,’ she said, gearing smoothly into the meat of the day. ‘The fact is, I’ve listened to these two gentlemen arguing their individual points of view and it seems, overwhelmingly, that I should give the defendant, Gilbert, bail; Spencer, on the other hand will stay in custody. However, I don’t wish to rush any decision if there is a chance of getting more perspectives on it. I was aware you were out there and I believe it only right you should be able to talk to me about the matter.’
‘Thank you. That’s very thoughtful,’ Henry said.
‘Before we commence, though, I would like you both to take the oath.’
The usher moved in silently and handed Henry a Bible which he took in his right hand and swore to Almighty God to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Danny did likewise.
‘Mr Christie, why don’t you want these men to get bail?’
‘Firstly, they are charged with murder, an offence for which I believe bail should not be granted under any circumstance. Both men are wealthy people with huge liquid assets. I believe that if given bail, both would abscond and by abscond, I mean leave the country.’
‘I object!’ Stanway interrupted loudly. ‘My clients would be more than happy to surrender their passports.’
‘It’s very easy to get forged passports,’ Henry said patiently. ‘Your Honour, I know for a fact that the defendant Gilbert has connections with the underworld in the United States. He was recently arrested for indecent acts with a child whilst in Miami, but was released without charge. The person he was arrested with is an active member of the Florida underworld - a gangster in other words. The forgery of passports is common to such people. I believe we would never see either defendant again.’
‘Is it true you have little evidence against them for the murder charge?’ the Judge asked.
Henry wondered how to flower it up. He decided to go straight for the jugular - and sod it. ‘It’s true our evidence, at this moment, relies substantially on a statement taken from a witness who is now dead. I do not believe it is a coincidence that this young girl was murdered as a result of giving the police a statement. I firmly believe Gilbert ordered her murder.’
It was the f
irst time Henry had openly voiced such an opinion. He watched Stanway’s non-verbals and thought he saw the whole of his body wobble.
‘This is an outlandish suggestion,’ Stanway retorted. His face was red. ‘My client has absolutely no connection whatsoever with this incident and to suggest it is so is preposterous and, were we not in a court of law, scandalous.’
‘Quiet!’ Mrs Ellison snapped.
Stanway drew in his neck, like a tortoise into a shell.
‘We believe,’ Henry went on, ‘that if released, Gilbert will continue, in whatever way he can, to pervert the course of justice. He’s a powerful man who rides roughshod over people to get what he wants. I am also sure he is involved in a paedophile network which may be international in its scope. Several items the police have seized point to this as being much more than supposition. There is no doubt he is heavily involved in child sex-abuse and his release will only allow him to continue his activities.
‘Finally, there is the murder of another young girl. Her body was discovered recently in a shallow grave near Darwen. We suspect Gilbert to be involved in this.’
‘Evidence?’ Mrs Ellison asked.
Henry coughed. He glanced at Stanway, then back at the Judge. ‘Could I speak to you privately, Your Honour?’
‘This had better be good, Mr Christie. The fortunate thing for me is that I have the power to administer appeals as I see fit. Mr Stanway is not impressed at being ejected from the chamber.’
‘I understand - but it is good.’ Henry went on to detail the story of the disappearing witness in America and the fact that if this witness could be found, Gilbert would definitely be facing another murder charge. Henry concluded the story by saying, ‘I have just received a phone call to say the witness has turned up again and is willing to give evidence.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that if Gilbert gets bail, we have a good chance of never seeing him again. If he stays in custody - on remand - and we bring this witness back from America, we can arrest him and deal with him without any problems. From what I can gather, this witness is very jittery indeed. We need to act with due speed.’
Mrs Ellison nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ll give you until Thursday to get this witness back into Britain and accordingly I shall remand both defendants until that day ... then it’s back to the Magistrates’ Court. If you haven’t got a witness by then, you will have to appeal to the lower court again ... and there is a very good case for releasing Gilbert on bail.’
‘That doesn’t give us much time,’ Danny observed bleakly. ‘Two days. How are we going to manage it?’
‘It’s better than nothing.’
They were on the M6, Henry driving south towards Preston. The CID Mondeo was touching a hundred and beginning to reek of burning oil.
‘You’re such a pessimist, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Just answer me this - how the hell are we going to manage it? A reluctant witness, one who’ll only speak to me . . . come on, how?’ Danny’s hands made a gripping gesture.
‘That’s what we’re going to sort out now when we see FB at Headquarters. I’m going to put to him that we send you on a plane to Miami today and you can bring her back and at the same time take a statement off her in mid-Atlantic. We’ll get her into protective custody as soon as she lands and then slap Gilbert with a-’
‘Hang on, hang on!’ The implications of what Henry had just said struck her. ‘So you want me to go to America? Drop everything - just like that! Henry ... hold your horses!’
He swerved into the fast lane to avoid a lorry which pulled out unexpectedly.
‘Henry, all I plan to do this week is crash out. I am absolutely knackered and the last thing I want to do is fly to Miami and back in a day. It’s an eight-hour flight each way!’
‘Would you rather see Gilbert walk?’
‘You know I wouldn’t. That’s not the point.’
‘I’ll arrange first-class seats. You can stretch out and sleep all the way over. You might even get to do some sightseeing. It won’t be that bad.’
She shook her head, unimpressed. ‘I’m not going. Why don’t you just get her dumped on a plane at that end and we’ll meet her over here. That would make more sense and it would be cheaper.’
Henry fell silent. ‘You’ve got a point, I suppose,’ he said eventually. ‘We can’t make you go.’
‘But I want to go.’
‘What?’
‘I really, really want to go and bring her back and charge Gilbert with another murder. . . part of me, a big part of me wants to do that. But I’m just exhausted. I’m probably on the edge of a nervous breakdown too and I don’t want to have it three thousand miles from home.’
‘Tell you what,’ Henry began persuasively, ‘you go, bring her back, then leave her with me. Then take a few weeks’ leave from Friday. Go away - out of the country for a while. Crash out in Spain or the Bahamas.’
‘But you’re short-staffed. Other people are on leave.’
‘We’ll manage. Just do this last thing for me. I know you’re completely shell-shocked and I know you’ll be even more knackered with two long flights under your belt in quick succession, but do it and then take as much time off as you need. I’ll square it with FB. I would really appreciate it.’
‘Shit! You could talk the knickers off a nun. I’ll do it.’
‘Brilliant! Now all I have to do is convince FB to send you. As you said, it won’t be cheap.’
‘You mean this conversation could have been for nothing? You don’t even know if he’ll pay for me to go?’
‘Well, I certainly don’t have the authority to spend probably well over five grand in air fares, do I?’
‘Henry, you are a real bastard.’ She punched him on the arm. Hard.
He came off the M6 at junction 29, and cut across south of Preston to Police Headquarters at Hutton.
He did not notice the grey Jaguar which shot past him, motoring south, driven by Maurice Stanway who was carefully rehearsing the words he would be saying to his clients down at Risley Remand Centre, near Warrington. He knew Charlie Gilbert would not be a happy man.
‘That is one hell of a lot of money.’ FB read the figures again and again and did some calculations in his brain, subtracting the amount from some budget or other. ‘Anything cheaper?’
‘Yeah.’ Henry’s lips were pursed like a cat’s bottom, his annoyance beginning to show with FB’s penny-pinching ways. ‘There’s no doubt a three-hundred-quid return on a charter flight, cramped up like a sardine, no legroom, no space to sleep, shit food, swollen ankles.’
‘And there’s something wrong with that?’
‘With respect, sir - yes, there is. This is, after all, a business trip, not a holiday flight.’
‘But the price! We could buy another helicopter for this.’
Henry shook his head impatiently. ‘It’s either that - Business Class - or she won’t go. Will you, Danny?’ He turned unexpectedly to her, bringing her into the conversation.
Up to that point Danny had simply been a spectator. She was thrown for a few seconds. ‘No,’ she said finally.
FB glowered at her. Then his lips pursed into the shape of a cat’s arse. He knew he was being railroaded. With dignity, he conceded defeat. ‘What must be, must be,’ he shrugged.
‘If nothing else she deserves a bit of pampering after what she’s been through,’ Henry said patronisingly, wishing his words unspoken when he saw Danny’s angry face.
‘When can we get her on a flight?’ FB asked, a note of resignation in his voice.
Henry consulted his notes, taken during a conversation with a travel agent with whom the Force often dealt. ‘There’s one tonight, arriving four a.m. our time, eleven p.m. theirs.’
Danny quickly worked that one out. ‘I don’t fancy that,’ she said disgustedly. ‘That means leaving here at eight tonight. No, thanks. I want a decent night’s sleep before I go.’
‘Shit,’ Henry said under his b
reath. ‘That starts cutting things a bit fine then. There is an eight a.m. flight tomorrow, landing in Miami at 4 p.m. our time, eleven a.m. their time. That means you’d have to pick the girl up and do a quick turn around, catch a six p.m. flight back from Miami, which would land back in Manchester at seven a.m. our time on Thursday morning.’
‘Jesus,’ Danny said. She closed her eyes and sighed. Sixteen hours, two eight-hour flights almost back to back. Not recommended for anyone in any condition. However, Henry’s promises about the days following made her decision. ‘I’ll do it. Just make sure that when I land back in Manchester on Thursday morning, you are waiting for me, probably with a hearse, because I’ll be all but dead.’
They both looked at FB whose face wore the mask of pain of a man who was having to fork out money from his own wallet. ‘Okay, get it booked.’
Henry reached for the phone.
‘Oi! What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I was going to use your tele-’
FB was shaking his head. He jerked his thumb towards the door. ‘Find another.’
Out in the corridor Danny remarked, ‘You don’t let FB walk all over you, do you? He usually flattens people.’
‘He’s done that in the past, but since he pulled a particularly dirty trick on me a while ago, which nearly got me shot to pieces, I don’t take any shit from him, ACC or not. And that’s not meant to sound like bragging. He owes me a lot ... now, where can I find a phone? I know, let’s go out to the Divers’ hut. We can get a brew there as well.’
‘The Divers’ hut?’
‘Yeah. I used to be a police diver donkey’s years ago. Did a couple of years on the branch when it was a part-time thing; there’s people on it I know well.’
Ten minutes later Henry had booked Danny on the flight to Miami and, over a cup of tea, was showing her the intricacies of some diving equipment, boring her to death in the process.
