A Time For Justice hc-1

by Nick Oldham

  If she’d chosen to squeal about it, he could have been in trouble enough. But there was nothing. Not a word. Just a longish period off sick for her. Now he was sure the whole thing was dead and buried. She was back at work in Lancaster and doing pretty well, by all accounts. Good luck to her. He held no malice against her. And the time had long gone for her to make any complaints.

  So he was safe. He was flying high again.

  The Jaguar rolled into Preston town centre and pulled outside the Crest Hotel. Dave August leapt out of the car and trotted into the foyer.

  She was there, waiting for him. As soon as she saw him, she stood up. ‘David,’ she said, crossing over to him. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and smiled prettily.

  ‘ Janine, you look lovely,’ he enthused.

  ‘ Thank you,’ she said shyly, colouring up.

  ‘ Shall we go?’ He had bought expensive ringside seats for a boxing match in Manchester as his new girlfriend was a fan of the sport. She said it made her feel excited…

  He beamed and crooked his left arm. She slid hers through it and they walked out of the hotel, side by side.

  ‘ A Jag! This is exciting.’

  August gallantly opened the passenger door for her.

  ‘ You are a real gentleman,’ she said. ‘I need to kiss you.’

  She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him squarely on the lips, holding him slightly longer than necessary. Then she slinked into the car, her skirt riding up, leaving the Chief Constable in no doubt that she was wearing no underwear.

  Karen and Donaldson rode in silence up to his floor, holding hands nervously, hardly daring to catch each other’s eye. He fumbled for his room key in his pocket as they walked slowly down the corridor.

  He put the key in the lock.

  Before turning it, he stopped and said, ‘You don’t have to do this, Karen. I don’t want to rush you. I can wait for as long as it takes.’

  For an answer, her arms slid around his neck. Their mouths touched. Hesitantly at first. Then her hips moved against his groin seductively. He felt himself grow to bursting. She felt hot and pulsating inside.

  Then she pulled away, gasping slightly. He unlocked the door.

  After the boxing, August and Janine were invited to what was described as a ‘little get-together’ at a private house in Wilmslow. It was a big house, one of those neo-Georgian affairs with a well-laid driveway with an entrance and an exit. Out in front of the house was a row of classy cars; the Jaguar slotted in perfectly with them.

  August and Janine then walked arm in arm up to the front door, which was open. The sound of disco music wafted to their ears from the back of the house.

  ‘ Is this where I meet all those police-loving businessmen you promised?’

  ‘ I’ll do my best,’ she said. ‘It’s a pretty big charity do. Anyone who’s anyone’ll be here and they’ll have paid handsomely. There’ll be councillors, sportsmen, businessmen… all in a good cause.’

  ‘ And why haven’t I paid to attend?’

  ‘ Because I know the organiser,’ she said mysteriously.

  As they entered the house a photographer snapped away.

  Inside it was a mass of people, shoulder to shoulder. The music was loud, but it was a good beat. There were clouds of cigarette smoke and the unmistakable tang of cannabis.

  August’s eyes went from face to face. Many of them had been at the boxing. He half recognised a couple of footballers and an MP whose name he couldn’t recall.

  Janine led him out through the throng to a large patio at the rear, which doubled as a dance floor. Beyond the patio was a large swimming pool; beyond that was a marquee which seemed to be the focus of food and drink.

  A waiter bearing a tray thrust a glass in August’s hand; another held a tray full of sandwiches, pies and sausage rolls under his nose until he made a selection.

  He drank the wine in one. It was immediately replaced.

  ‘ Now, darling,’ Janine said, ‘I promised to introduce you to some people. I won’t be long.’

  She left him open-mouthed by the pool and hurried back into the house, where Lenny Dakin was waiting for her.

  The businessmen spent an hour with August. One said he had the largest Volkswagen dealership this side of Birmingham and was interested in sponsoring vehicles for the special constabulary. The other said he owned a firm specialising in industrial, commercial and domestic security. He wanted to sponsor neighbourhood watch schemes by providing cut price security items, even free ones to pensioners.

  August was hooked. The ease of it amazed him. Getting money out of the private sector was usually like getting blood out of a stone. But this! Pure gold.

  Both men promised they would contact him the following week.

  Business concluded, the two out of work actors left him beaming with pleasure into his beer. They collected their fee — ?100 each — were told to forget this night ever happened, and left the party. Neither one had any idea why the charade had been carried out. Some sort of practical joke, they assumed.

  Janine rejoined August who was sitting at a table by the pool.

  He shook his head in admiration. ‘I’ve got to hand it to you. You are brilliant. And sexy. And intelligent. It was a freak of Fate, us meeting like that and hitting it off so well, wasn’t it?’ He was referring to their first encounter two weeks before during a flutter he and a couple of friends were having at a casino in Blackpool.

  ‘ Mm, she agreed. ‘It was a freak.’

  ‘ Why did you agree to have dinner with me so readily?’ he enquired. ‘You didn’t even know who I was.’

  ‘ Yes, I did, actually. I’ve seen you on TV many times. I wasn’t going to miss the chance to get to know you. You’re an interesting guy, to say the least.’

  Janine hoped she sounded convincing. The effects of the cocaine Dakin had allowed her were wearing off now and she needed another snort.

  Bastard, she thought. I’ll be glad when all this is over.

  ‘ Anyway,’ she said, raising her eyes to his again, ‘now that I’ve kept my promise, I want you to make one to me.’

  ‘ Anything. ‘

  ‘ That you’ll let me fuck your brains out.’

  August nearly came there and then. ‘Here?’ he croaked.

  ‘ My place. I have a house nearby.’

  ‘ I didn’t know that.’

  ‘ There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Davey darling.’

  ‘ In that case, I promise.’

  ‘ That was lovely,’ Karen said softly.

  ‘ Yes, it was.’ Donaldson was tired and dreamy.

  They were lying facing each other, holding hands, a single sheet draped over their bodies.

  ‘ I was frightened that it would never happen,’ she confessed. ‘I was terrified that I wouldn’t want a man to touch me again after what I went through.’

  Donaldson rested a leg across hers. He kissed her neck.

  ‘ I’ll help you every step of the way, if you want me to,’ he promised tenderly.

  ‘ Yes, I do. I want you in my life all the time, for everything, not just that.-’

  ‘ Sounds fine by me.’

  ‘ But I want to ask you something… do you think I should prosecute Dave for what he did to me, or just let it lie?’

  ‘ Er, how could you do it now?’ asked Donaldson. He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘It would be your word against his, wouldn’t it? Pretty damned difficult to get a conviction, especially after six months.’

  Karen took a deep breath. ‘Just after it happened I was in deep shock and I didn’t really know what to do about it. I went away for a month to Greece — Skiathos, but before I did I went to a rape crisis centre in Manchester. They were very kind to me. It’s a fantastic place, in its own way. I had a few days’ counselling there and made a statement while it was all fresh in my mind. And 1 saw a doctor too.’

  ‘ So?’ Donaldson was puzzled.

  ‘ A specially trained doctor who special
ises in sexual assault cases. She took photos of my injuries, made her own notes and took samples, swabs for evidence — and kept them all. It’s the sort of place where they understand that the victim isn’t always completely together mentally and may not be in a position to press charges. So they take the samples and store them at the correct temperatures, just in case the victim wants to pursue it at a later date.’

  ‘ You mean all the forensic evidence is still there, intact?’

  She nodded.

  ‘ Well I’ll be damned!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s handy.’

  ‘ I feel I may want to press charges, but I’m still not sure. I’m still in two minds about it.’ Tears stood in her eyes.

  ‘ Hey, calm down, don’t upset yourself.’ He stroked her hair.

  ‘ Sorry. I need to discuss it with you, but not now, not here — I’ve a lot of love-making to catch up on — but soon. Do you mind? I’ll understand if you don’t want to get involved.’

  ‘ I want to get involved all right,’ he said, ‘physically and mentally, OK?’

  She slipped a hand around the back of his neck and eased him towards her. ‘I love you,’ she said. They began to kiss.

  Dave August stirred and rubbed his eyes. He looked at his watch. Six-thirty in the morning. He pushed the sheet back and swung his legs out of bed. Then he realised where he was. Janine’s house, somewhere south of Manchester. A smile spread across his face as he glanced round at the sleeping female next to him in the large bed.

  Carefully he pulled the sheet off her and looked at her bare flesh with a tinge of pleasure.

  He felt himself move again.

  But no. He had to leave.

  Janine stirred and moved over the bed to rub her bare breasts against his naked back.

  ‘ I need to be going,’ he said reluctantly. ‘You said you’d give me directions to the motorway. I don’t know this area at all!’

  ‘ Later,’ she murmured, and gently slid her hand around to grip his twitching penis, taking it firmly in her palm. She squeezed it, began to manipulate it. It expanded rapidly.

  August placed a hand on one of her breasts.

  As soon as August and Janine left the house some twenty minutes later, a removal van pulled up outside. Six men descended on the property. In less than an hour every piece of furniture and every fitting had been removed and placed in the back of the van. A ‘For Sale’ sign was erected in the front garden and the van, men on board, drove away.

  The house was back on the market, being sold by a small chain of estate agents, ultimately owned by one man.

  Lenny Dakin.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘ Daddy, I know I like it ‘n’ everything, but why are you living over a vet’s?’

  ‘ Don’t ask stupid questions, Leanne,’ her older sister Jenny admonished her. ‘Mummy and Daddy have split up because Daddy’s become a drunk and an adulterer, and you need to live somewhere, don’t you, Daddy?’

  ‘ Yes, dear, I suppose that sums it up,’ said Henry, restraining himself from a smile despite the accusations.

  ‘ Well, I know all that,’ Leanne said dismissively. She was sitting in the back seat of the Metro with a couple of dolls in her lap, and they were all en route to the Lake District. ‘But why over a vet’s?’

  ‘ Because it’s cheap and interesting,’ he said.

  ‘ When you get divorced,’ began Leanne, about to pose one of those dreaded questions, ‘will you marry the vet? She seems like a nice lady. I’d like her to be my second mum. I could have all sorts of pets to mend, couldn’t I?’

  ‘ Whoa, hold your horses,’ said Henry. ‘Your mum and me aren’t divorced yet. We might be getting back together.’

  ‘ Mum said that hell would have to freeze over first.’ Jenny grinned at her father. ‘But she was in a real bad mood when she said that.’

  ‘ Oh really?’ said Henry. He felt his guts twist.

  ‘ And not only that,’ interrupted Leanne again, ‘why are you driving this crappy car?’

  Henry burst out laughing.

  Henry had rented a log cabin owned by one of his workmates, situated high and lonely in the hills above Hawkshead in an idyllic position. He’d been there on many previous occasions with his complete family and the girls particularly enjoyed it.

  The single-track path leading to it was long and arduous. The Metro struggled valiantly over the bumps and up the incline and made it more or less intact. They unpacked quickly — they were only staying the night and had a minimal amount of gear — and Henry assembled his fishing tackle.

  ‘ Right — you two be OK for a couple of hours while I go up to the tarn to fish?’

  ‘ Yeah,’ they said in unison.

  ‘ Good. I’ll be back by four at the latest. Then we’ll go over to Windermere on the ferry for tea. Tomorrow we’ll have a look at Beatrix Potter’s place. OK?’

  ‘ Yeah,’ they said. ‘Excellent.’

  ‘ Good.’

  ‘ Tight flies, Daddy,’ chirped Leanne. ‘Don’t be long.’

  With a grin on his face at her child-like mistake, he hunched his equipment onto his back and over his shoulders and headed towards the trees, breathing deeply of the cool, pine-laden air. He felt as if this was the first day of the rest of his life. He’d felt the same way on many other occasions over the last few months though — and most had turned to rat-shit, so he wasn’t foolish enough to totally believe it; yet somehow today did feel different.

  He’d made a start by deciding to cut out two things that seemed to cloud his life at the moment — alcohol and women.

  He was determined to woo Kate again and get back to a normal happy existence. The bachelor life didn’t do much for him, he had to admit. He longed for the warmth of family life; being with the kids made him miss it even more.

  But how to get back into Kate’s good books?

  That would take some doing.

  Betrayal couldn’t easily be forgotten.

  And he knew things could never be as they had been in the past; it was the future that interested him.

  Once into the trees, coolness and darkness reigned. The pine tang in the air became almost overwhelming, like a drug. The ground was firmly soft to walk on and he dawdled along, halting occasionally as he spotted some bird or beast. He broke back into open sunlight soon after and pushed on upwards.

  He felt glad to be alive.

  He’d made a few important decisions and things could be rosy again if he played it right. Once the trial was out of the way, the road ahead would be clear, he hoped.

  After twenty minutes’ fairly hard walking, getting up a good sweat, the tarn appeared below him. He trod cautiously down a scree and approached the water, breathing heavily.

  A few minutes later he was on the banks.

  Looking across the surface of the water he thought, I bet no one’s fished here in an age, and his heart bumped when he saw the ‘blimp’ of a trout feeding on the surface only ten metres out, then another further away. Out loud he said, ‘You little beauties won’t be expecting me, will ya?’

  He laughed and the echo of it danced across the water.

  An hour and two undersized fish later, he’d drawn his fly line in and was making a couple of false casts when, as he brought the rod up to 90 degrees with the line running out behind him, ready for that final forward cast, the rod snapped in two and collapsed around his ears. There followed an echoing crrack-ack-ack in the air from over the tarn. Just as Henry realised what was going on, the water at his feet exploded violently.

  He threw down his tackle and ran, scrambling wildly towards the trees.

  Somebody was shooting at him.

  He dived full-length onto the ground just as a bullet slammed into a nearby tree. Splinters flew.

  Henry’s thoughts whizzed around his head like a silver ball skittering around a pinball machine. If it wasn’t a lucky shot that had broken his rod, his assailant was a fantastic shooter and could easily have taken him there and then — he could have
taken his whole fucking head off. Unless he was playing with him… wanting Henry to know he was going to die. My rod! Henry thought savagely. The bastard. My lovely rod. He’s destroyed it!

  Anger roared into him, replacing the fear. It was like the devil taking over a human soul.

  This was the Mafia way with witnesses. Terrify them, or kill them. He remembered Hinksman’s silent threat on the first day of the trial. Now it was coming true.

  That bastard won’t beat me, Henry thought. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll see him rot in jail. Or preferably get fried in the States.

  He made a decision: he was going to win this afternoon, no matter what the cost. And winning, at that moment, meant taking the man with the gun.

  Carefully he turned round, crab-like, 180 degrees, keeping low. Having done this without mishap he drew his right leg up, placed his foot on a root, making sure he had good leverage for propulsion. He took a deep breath.

  He was ready.

  He shoved himself up and ran, zig-zagging, head down like a rugby player going for the line.

  The shooter let loose. The air around Henry’s body exploded with the crack! and whizzbang! of the bullets.

  He sprinted on. He felt like it was lasting for ever, that he was in some weird sort of time-warp.

  He was nearly there, keeping his eyes riveted on the place where he wanted to be, throwing himself the last couple of metres. The gunman kept firing remorselessly. It was while Henry was airborne that a searing hot pain shot up his back.