A Time For Justice hc-1

by Nick Oldham

  ‘ Did you enjoy last night, hero? I did,’ she said.

  ‘ Yes, yes I did,’ Henry coughed. He vividly remembered the sex in the car. It was a long time since he had fucked in a back seat. He’d forgotten how difficult it was. But it had been good, fast and exhausting. Different. A change.

  ‘ What about tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘ Oh, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Commitments, y’know?’ He knew he should have said no, quashed it there and then, but could not bring himself to do so.

  She nodded understandingly. ‘Give me a call if you get free. I’ll be in all night.’ She tiptoed up and gave him a less than subtle peck on the cheek which was witnessed by several others.

  I can handle this, he thought as he made his way to the office. No probs. I can handle this.

  Donaldson was already in the office, sifting through paperwork, a visitor’s badge on his lapel. Much to Henry’s disgust he looked positively healthy.

  ‘ Mornin’,’ Henry croaked and sat down heavily, jarring his ribs painfully. ‘I feel about nine thousand years old.’ He rooted through the drawers in his desk for an aspirin. He knew they were there somewhere.

  ‘ Howdy,’ said Donaldson.

  ‘ Good night?’ Henry enquired of him, knowing he’d taken Alex back to his hotel room.

  ‘ So so,’ he said. ‘Good points and bad points.’

  ‘ Oh,’ said Henry. He couldn’t work up the energy to pry. He found and devoured two pills, swallowing them with his coffee. He wiped his mouth and said, ‘To business. Let’s try and find out what Mr Dakin’s been up to recently, and also where he and Mr Corelli are holed up.’

  ‘ I have an idea where they might be today,’ said Donaldson.

  ‘ Oh?’ said Henry. He was about to ask when the phone rang.

  ‘ DS Christie — can I help you?’ It wasn’t a good line for some reason. ‘Sorry, just hold on a second.’

  Some of the other detectives in the office were laughing and talking quite loudly, making it difficult for him to hear. He shouted, covering the mouthpiece first: ‘Will you lot shut your gobs! I can’t hear a fuckin’ word. And it is the Chief Super on the line.’ Silence clamped quickly down. Henry returned to his phone conversation. He wrote furiously and listened intently.

  A few moments later he hung up.

  ‘ Well, Karl, sorry about this, mate, but I’ve been taken off this investigation as of now. We’ve got another murder — a double one, in fact.’

  Henry drove all the way east across the county of Lancashire to the Rossendale Valley. He had two Detective Constables from his office as company. All three men had been assigned to the Murder Squad.

  On the moors above Rossendale there are many quarries, both used and unused. These workings scar a bleak but beautiful landscape. It was to an old stone quarry above the town of Whitworth in the most easterly part of the valley that Henry drove that day.

  He knew the way well. He’d served in that part of the county as a young uniformed PC on the beat and returned occasionally, to see friends made in that era of almost twenty years ago. It was an area he knew quite well and missed. He often thought of it with the affection of distance and time. The harsh winters, the placid summers, the contrast of hill and valley — all things lacking in the western half of the county.

  The road he took now was rough and pot-holed. Only cautious driving prevented the bottom being ripped out of the car. However, they arrived at the scene without mishap.

  It was a bustle of hectic police activity — cars, vans and cops milling everywhere. But thankfully no blue flashing lights. Henry did not wish to add to the apparent chaos and parked well away, walking the remaining distance, much to his companions’ muttering annoyance. The only place a detective likes walking to is a pub.

  A Detective Chief Inspector from the Division strode out from a cluster of worried CID men and greeted Henry, shaking hands. ‘Oh good, my Murder Squad,’ he said. However, he seemed more concerned with money matters than catching a killer.

  ‘ Bad do, this, lad,’ he said glumly in his cloth cap accent. ‘The bloody division’s on its last legs financially and I don’t know where the money’ll come from to finance this. Bloody bankrupt us, it will. Headquarters’ll have to dig in for this.’

  The economic aspects of the affair didn’t particularly concern Henry. If he’d wanted to juggle figures, he’d have become an accountant. That was his argument. All he knew was there had been an alleged double murder and he wanted a chance at catching the culprit. The money would come from somewhere. It always did. It had to.

  He commiserated with the DCI. Then: ‘What’ve we got, sir?’

  ‘ Two mutilated bodies down disused quarry workings,’ said the DCI. ‘Found a couple of hours ago by a man who’d been shooting rabbits in the area. No idea, as yet, who they are. Man and a woman by the looks. Doctor says they could’ve been here for up to a week. Decaying quite quickly now, apparently. Trail’s cold here, I’d say.’

  ‘ What about the mutilation?’

  ‘ They’re both face down at the moment, but it looks pretty extensive from what we can see.’

  ‘ Jealous lover?’

  ‘ Nope, looks like a professional job.’

  ‘ Hell,’ said Henry, heart sinking. ‘Makes it more difficult.’ Then his spirits soared again. ‘Never mind, the cost might ruin the county for good and we’ll all be made redundant so it won’t matter anyway.’

  ‘ Very funny,’ murmured the DCI. But there was the glimmer of a smile on his face.

  He led Henry towards two disused workings which had been dug side by side many years before behind a dilapidated redbrick stone-crusher. Both workings were roughly the shape of huge upturned and sunken ice-cream cones, about 30 metres across. They were partially filled with rainwater, old tyres, junk and the rotting hulks of abandoned cars that had been pushed over the edge.

  The two bodies had been discovered in the right-hand excavation in relation to Henry’s approach.

  He carefully went to the edge and looked over.

  From where he stood it was a sheer drop to the water’s surface, but to his right was a grassed pathway clinging to the inner circumference of the working which led down to a ledge about twenty feet below the rim. It was a wide ledge and he could see it clearly. It was the scene of the crime.

  ‘ This area is used a great deal by kids on scramblers,’ said the DCI into Henry’s ear. ‘Surprises me they haven’t been found earlier.’ Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘If you don’t look, you don’t see.’

  ‘ No, suppose not,’ admitted the DCI.

  There were the only two living people on the ledge at the moment. One was the Scenes of Crime photographer, who was combining stills and video shots of the scene. The other was the Home Office pathologist, Dr Baines. He was dressed in an all-in-one disposable paper suit, with plastic gloves and plastic shoes. He looked like a painter and decorator.

  The bodies themselves were tucked virtually out of sight under the bonnet of the decomposing shell of an old car which was on its roof. As Henry looked at the scene all he could see clearly was a naked foot, half-covered in grass.

  ‘ Have a look,’ urged the DCI. ‘The pathologist should have completed his initial by now. Time to go and get them turned over.’

  At the top of the path stood a uniformed PC with a clipboard and pad. On the ground next to him was a supply of paper suits, plastic shoes and disposable gloves. He issued Henry and the DCI with a full set each and instructed them to put them into evidence bags when they’d finished at the scene. This way there was less chance of any vital evidence being carted away on the clothing and shoes of heavy-footed coppers.

  It was not a simple task to get the suits on over normal clothing. Henry and the DCI jigged about comically for a while. Once dressed, Henry led the way down to the scene.

  On the ledge he nodded at the doctor who, on recognition, smiled broadly at the detective. They had previously spent several revelrous nights together.
/>   ‘ Henry, you old bastard!’

  ‘ You not been struck off yet?’ Henry asked lightly.

  ‘ No… the dead tend not to complain.’

  They shook hands, despite their disposable gloves.

  ‘ So what d’you think?’ asked Henry. ‘Suicide pact?’

  Baines chuckled. Then he became serious. He moved his large head from side to side, pursed his lips and thought for a moment or two.

  Henry liked him very much. He was young, just forty, and for the position he held that was good going. He knew his job well, so well in fact, that Henry felt in awe watching him work. Henry enjoyed being in the presence of people who knew their specialised fields intimately and he was honoured that Baines classed him as a friend. Henry looked upon himself as a jack-of-all-trades. Their friendship also assisted their professional relationship no end when at the conclusion of an investigation they knew they would be out together on the town, celebrating success (or failure) in some dive of a nightclub. But now, in all seriousness, they both became the two pros they were.

  ‘ From here,’ the doctor said, ‘I’d say they’ve been rolled down that slope behind you.’ He pointed to the steep side of the quarry. ‘Or maybe pushed out of a car.’

  ‘ We’ll get it checked for tyre-tracks,’ the DCI cut in. ‘Forensic can do that. They’ll be here soon.’

  ‘ And they’ve come to rest under this car,’ Baines concluded. ‘And

  …?’ Henry urged.

  ‘ Can only see one of them really, and not very well. A male. I’d say the other’s female, but that’s to be confirmed. He looks like he’s had his brains blown out. Not pretty. Been butchered too. Can’t say an awful lot about that either, yet.’

  ‘ Bloody messy,’ commented Henry.

  ‘ So how do you want to recover the bodies?’ the doctor asked. His question was directed at the DCI.

  All three men turned to consider the problem.

  The bodies had rolled down the slope and come to rest underneath the bonnet of an overturned car which looked like it had been there for years. It was badly rusting, had no windows intact, no wheels and probably no engine. It might once have been a Vauxhall of some sort, Henry thought, one of the bigger ones, but he couldn’t be sure. They had wedged next to what used to be the front windscreen.

  Henry knelt down and looked. The bodies were face to face, both naked, trussed up together in a large polythene sheet. One arm had come free and protruded into the cab of the car through the windscreen.

  Henry noticed that there was no hand on the end of it. For a brief moment he was stunned. He pulled himself together.

  Baines squatted down next to him. ‘As I see it,’ he said, ‘there’s three options. One — drag them out by hand. Two — get your lads down here to do the heave-ho and roll the car away…’

  ‘ And the third?’

  ‘ Get a crane to lift the car away inch by inch,’ said Baines. ‘But,’ he admitted, ‘there are problems with each.’

  Henry waited.

  ‘ The first one will be very messy and unpleasant — and we might do something silly like pull one of their legs off, or head off, or something. Fraught with danger, as they say. The second one is OK, but as you can see, from where we are, as soon as the car is rolled over, it will topple down the quarry on top of all those other cars which is a good sixty-foot drop. So if there’s any evidence in the car, it’ll be a pain recovering it.’

  ‘ And what about option number three?’ asked Henry. ‘It’s like a TV game show, this.’

  ‘ Best of the lot,’ enthused Baines.

  ‘ Why?’

  ‘ Everything is preserved. The only problem is that the crane might destroy any tyre-marks which are up at the lip of the quarry. ‘

  ‘ Unless we get forensic to move their arses and do the business up there ASAP,’ said Henry. ‘Yep, I’m for that one.’

  They stood up simultaneously.

  ‘ I don’t want to put a damper on this,’ said the DCI, ‘but where the hell do you intend to get a crane from? It’ll cost a fortune to hire one.’

  ‘ No problem,’ said the doctor. ‘There’s a working quarry half a mile up the road from here. Plenty of cranes there. I’m sure if you ask nicely enough they’ll oblige.’

  ‘ Something tells me,’ said Henry with a smile, ‘this is a decision already made.’

  Donaldson knocked hard. There was no reply. He looked through the downstairs windows, shading his eyes with his hands, then went round the back of the house to check the rear garden, but it was clear there was no one at home.

  Next he tried the neighbours. No one could help him.

  Then he sat in his car on the road outside the house. He felt an incredible empty sadness pervading his whole being. She was gone. He had lost her. She didn’t want to see him now.

  And there would be no time to tell her what he felt.

  He swore at the girl from the London office of the FBI who had contacted him that morning to tell him the news: he had been recalled to the States. The British cops didn’t need him any more. He had done his job. His flight had been booked from Manchester for the following day. He was expected to be on it. It gave him just enough time to attend Ken McClure’s funeral.

  He punched the centre of the steering wheel in abject frustration, and cursed aloud.

  Fanshaw-Bayley arrived at Rossendale’s public mortuary. He looked a worried man. With good cause, as Henry was soon to find out.

  After a cursory inspection of the two bodies which were laid out on the slab, still encased in their polythene coffin, he beckoned Henry and the DCI outside.

  He sighed before he talked. ‘Severe money problems here,’ he began. ‘And manpower.’

  ‘ So what’s new?’ asked Henry.

  ‘ Different this time,’ said FB. ‘I’ve been to see the Chief this morning and he’s told me we cannot afford to launch a full-scale murder enquiry on this one. Basically there’s no money left in the coffers. We feel we need to keep resources channelled into the M6 bombing so we tie up all the loose ends. And that means keeping the majority of the squad working on it for at least another two weeks. As and when it winds down, we’ll release officers to this enquiry — unless you finalise it first.’

  ‘ Well, judging from this,’ Henry said, ‘there won’t be any quick result here.’

  ‘ So what’s the set-up?’ asked the DCI.

  ‘ You’re the head of the investigation, and Henry here will run the operation itself.’

  ‘ What?’ said Henry nonplussed. ‘Shouldn’t it be a DCI at least?’

  ‘ The divisional DI is off sick and I’ve no one else available,’ said FB. ‘Anyway, they’re only toe-rags, these two, crims topped by crims by the look of it. So it’s your baby, Henry. Look on it as a reward for Hinksman. ‘

  ‘ Another good decision by the Chief,’ said Henry sourly.

  ‘ Look,’ said FB, a hard edge coming into his voice, ‘I don’t particularly like it either. But it’s all about money these days, and that’s something the county doesn’t have much of… and I don’t like a DS talking that way about the boss. He’s under a great deal of pressure at the moment, what with Jack Crosby dying.’

  Amongst other things, Henry thought.

  ‘ And we’re making the best of a bad job — OK?’ concluded FB.

  ‘ No, not really,’ said Henry truthfully. ‘We always make do in the police. Pisses me off, it really does. But what choice do I have?’

  ‘ Absolutely none,’ said FB.

  ‘ How many men will I have?’

  ‘ Ten detectives.’

  ‘ Ten! Jesus! Impossible.’

  ‘ I’ll try and get one of the support unit teams to assist too. That’ll give you another ten PCs and a uniformed Sergeant. But no overtime, either.’

  ‘ Can’t be done,’ said Henry, shaking his head.

  ‘ You’ll have to do it,’ insisted FB.

  ‘ I am not happy, not one little bit.’

  ‘ It’
s not your job to be happy or not,’ said FB shortly. ‘You’ll do as I say, understand?’

  Glumly, Henry nodded. He began to realise now why Karen didn’t much like FB.

  FB turned to the DCI. ‘You keep the media sweet, OK?’

  ‘ I’ll do me best, sir.’

  Creep, thought Henry.

  ‘ Let’s just hope we don’t get any more murders this year.’ FB swivelled back to Henry. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m satisfied you’ve done enough background re Hinksman. Well done. I’ve spoken to the FBI office in London and told them they can take their agent back. We don’t need him any more.’

  ‘ But Corelli’s landed in Manchester! I sent you a memo. He’s hobnobbing with Lenny Dakin. Karl Donaldson’s input could be crucial. We really need him and his knowledge.’

  ‘ Unfortunately he’s going back to the States — tomorrow, I believe.’

  ‘ So who’s going to keep an eye on Corelli then? This connection has the makings of a big one — and there are the links with the M6 bombing too. Rumour is that Corelli put the finger on Carver and hired Hinksman to do the dirty business.’

  ‘ Just pass your info onto the incident room and let them handle it,’ said FB dismissively.

  ‘ But we need someone in the know!’ Henry stressed.

  ‘ Unlucky,’ said FB finally. ‘He’s going and that’s that. Right, I’m off now. Hope you catch someone.’

  Henry and the DCI watched FB’s car drive away.

  ‘ I take it you knew this was going to happen,’ Henry suggested.

  ‘ I had an inkling,’ admitted the DCI.

  ‘ Thanks a bunch,’ said Henry, throwing his hands up in the air. He turned and made his way back into the mortuary, talking to himself. ‘Fine, fine, a double underworld killing, ten jacks to sort it, no bloody overtime. It’s not a problem, I can handle it, I can handle it — I’m a Sergeant, aren’t I? I should be off fuckin’ sick.’

  He felt completely overwhelmed and out of his depth. It was probably the last thing he needed at this time.

  Baines stood by the slab, smock on, plastic gloves on, cap on, mask on, dissecting-knife at the ready. An attendant stood by his side. The Scenes-of-Crime photographer was standing halfway up a stepladder, video at the ready, in a position to record the whole post mortem.