A Time For Justice (19 page)

‘
Fuck you,’ spat Hinksman. He reached out for the
gun.

And Henry shot him.

Chapter Twelve

Donaldson drew up outside Karen’s house, which was in
darkness. He switched off the engine, killed the lights and sat
there for a while wondering what his reception would be like if he
managed to pluck up enough courage to actually go to the door and
knock on it.

He had almost made the decision to drive away when he thought,
What the hell. He had nothing to lose. It had taken him long enough
and a bucket full of sickly charm to get the switchboard operator
at headquarters to give him the address, so there was no way he was
going to let that go to waste.

Added to that, he desperately needed someone to talk to. He
was very much alone in a strange land and the only friend he had,
had died in his arms earlier that day.

Plus he thought he was falling in love. And that was a very
odd, unsettling feeling - one he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
It
surprised him because when he’d first
met Karen Wilde not very long ago, he’d detested her.

Something fundamental had changed over the course of the day.
He’d seen a side of her after the Blackpool shootings that he was
certain no one else had. It had touched him deeply. Now he couldn’t
get her off his mind no matter how he tried.

He wanted to find out how she felt about him. If there was
something there, even the vaguest hint or possibility, he’d decided
he would stick by her through this traumatic period and try and
make things work out - professionally and personally - despite his
living in Florida and she in Lancashire.

Light-headedly, he’d thought, Love will find a way - a thought
that confused and disturbed him, but made him giggle at its
silliness at the same time.

He checked his watch. 10.45 p.m. Too late?
Naah!

He got out of the car.

It’s a nice house, he thought as he strolled up to the front
door. I could spend time here. He raised his knuckles, then saw
that the door was actually slightly ajar.

He pushed it slowly. It swung open to reveal a darkened
hallway. Donaldson tensed up, feeling his skin crawl. Something was
wrong.

‘
Karen?’ he called out from the threshold. ‘Karen, it’s me,
Karl Donaldson. ‘

There was no answer, just a creeping silence.

Puzzled, slightly worried, he stepped inside and called out
again.

No response.

Then he heard a sound from upstairs. A creak, a movement of
sorts; a murmur.

Instinctively his right hand slid under his jacket for his
gun, which, of course, wasn’t there. He cursed under his breath and
went silently up, one stair at a time, pausing on each. On the
landing he stood still, allowing his eyes to adjust to the
darkness, getting his bearings. He listened hard.

Four doors, all closed, led off the landing. Three bedrooms
and a bathroom, he assumed.

Cocking his head to one side, he attempted to pinpoint the
source of the noise, which was a cross between a muffled sobbing
and retching.

Where was it coming from? Not from behind the first door, nor
the second. He crept along to the third. A little sign made of
ceramic screwed to the door said
Bathroom.

Donaldson hesitated. He had visions of a killer dog, all fangs
and saliva, lying in wait for him, hungry for an
intruder.

He knocked.

The sound continued.

He turned the handle and eased the door slightly open,
prepared to slam it shut if necessary. Inside was complete
darkness. He fumbled, found the light switch and pulled the cord.
Bright lights from the six spots set in the ceiling lit the room;
an extractor fan whirred into life.

Inside was a large corner bath with shower, a bidet, toilet
and washbasin.

And the source of the noise.

Karen was curled up into a ball on her knees, her back, bottom
and soles of her feet towards the door, squeezed down into the
floorspace between toilet and bidet, her face pressed into the
carpet. She rocked slowly back and forth like a baby. Her sobs were
muffled, but they shook her body with violence each time one
erupted. She was completely naked.

‘
Karen?’ Donaldson said. ‘It’s me, Karl Donaldson. What’s
up?’

‘
Go away,’ she sobbed into the floor. ‘Go away, Karl. Leave me
alone.’

Donaldson swooped down to her level on one knee. He touched
her back with trepidation; she shrank away. ‘Karen, what the hell’s
the matter?’ He was painfully aware of her nakedness. ‘Come on,’ he
cooed. ‘It’s me, Karl. Look at me. Talk to me. Tell me what’s
happening. ‘

She rose slowly to her haunches, her hands covering her face.
She continued to cry; Donaldson continued to make reassuring
noises. Slowly he prised her fingers from her face. His mouth fell
open in shock at what he saw.

‘
Christ, Karen, what’s gone on? Come on, tell me.’

She almost choked as she said, ‘I’ve been raped.’

‘
I want a round-the-clock armed guard on this fella until we
get him to a police station. In fact, deploy one of the firearms
teams to do it; get them to work a rota out between themselves, get
them to live here if necessary. Fuck the expense. I’ll authorise
it.’

This was said by Fanshaw-Bayley while striding down a corridor
at Blackpool Victoria Hospital. It was directed at the Duty
Inspector from Blackpool Central police station who had already
posted two armed men at the bedside.

‘
And I want them here as of now!’

‘
Yes, sir!’ said the harassed Inspector, who began gabbling
instructions down his personal radio.

‘
Now where the hell is he?’ FB interrupted.

‘
Who, sir?’

‘
The killer, you idiot.’

‘
Just down to the end of this corridor, turn left, last door
on the left. . .’

FB increased his pace and left the Inspector standing. He
completed his sentence to FB’s back. ‘The one with the two bobbies
outside. . .’ His voice trailed off and he scowled at
FB.

As FB reached the door, a doctor emerged from the room. FB
introduced himself.

‘
How is he?’ he then asked.

‘
He’ll be OK. He’s got a hairline fracture of the skull - not
as serious as it sounds - a broken left tibia, and a certain amount
of bone damage to his left foot where your man shot him, but he’ll
walk again. Eventually. He’ll need surgery on it
tonight.’

‘
Thanks, Doctor. By the way, you do know who the man is, don’t
you? What he’s responsible for?’

‘
I have been informed, yes.’

‘
So you know he’s under arrest and in our custody. There will
be policemen with him every second of every minute of every day.
He’s highly dangerous, not to be trusted and never to be left
alone.’

‘
This man is ill,’ protested the doctor.

‘
Oh, he can have his treatment - but he’ll have cops with him
every inch of the way, even if it means cops with surgical gowns
on. They’ll be there to prevent his escape and to protect members
of staff. The man is a killer, a ruthless, bloody killer and cannot
be trusted. I can’t stress it enough. If I could, I’d handcuff him
to the bed.’

‘
That’s going a bit far.’

‘
If it’s necessary, I’ll do it,’ said FB, his words hanging in
the air. The doctor’s gaze locked onto his; FB’s won hands down.
‘Message received and understood.’

‘
Thanks, Doc. Knew you’d understand.’

FB went into the room where Hinksman lay in bed.

His head was bandaged; a drip fed into his arm. A cage held
the bedclothes off his feet. His eyes were closed and sunken. They
didn’t open when FB came in.

FB regarded him for a moment. Then he turned to the two
uniformed Constables who were in the room. Each had a gun holstered
at his side.

‘
Has he said anything yet?’

They shook their heads.

‘
He says anything, you remember to note it down, OK? And watch
yourselves. This man is a cunt. If he does anything you don’t like,
shoot him again - this time through the head, not the damned foot.
Got that? You have my express permission.’

‘
Yes, sir,’ they said in unison.

FB took one last look at Hinksman, nodded curtly at the
officers and left the room.

Out in the corridor, the two PCs who were guarding the door
from the outside were surprised to see a Detective Chief
Superintendent punch the air with a fist of victory and jig down
the corridor.

Henry walked back from the X-ray Department and handed his
X-rays to a nurse at the Casualty Department. He sat down wearily
on a chair in the waiting area and closed his eyes. He was
completely wiped out.

A few minutes later the casualty doctor called his name and
beckoned him into a cubicle where he hoisted himself onto the edge
of the examination couch.

His X-rays were pinned to a lighted panel on the
wall.

There were shots of his head and chest.

‘
Not too much damage,’ said the doctor. ‘Broken nose which
will heal in its own good time. There shouldn’t be a problem with
it. There won’t be any breathing difficulties and it won’t be
deformed.’

‘
Good,’ said Henry. ‘I’m ugly enough.’

‘
Two cracked ribs. . . and they’ll heal themselves too. A
couple of weeks and you’ll be as right as rain. I’ll get a nurse to
re-stitch that head wound and you’ll need a couple of stitches in
that bottom lip. You’ll have two cracking black eyes and plenty of
facial and abdominal bruising and swelling, but time and rest will
see it right. Take aspirin or Paracetamol for the discomfort.
You’ll be a hundred per cent again - in due course. Now, I’ll get a
nurse to do the business.’

‘
Cheers,’ said Henry, at which point his nose began to bleed
again, gushing forth in a torrent down his chest. He tipped his
head back as instructed. The bleeding stopped quickly.

‘
It may have a tendency to do that for a day or two,’ warned
the doctor.

‘
So how’s the girl?’ Henry asked the doctor, referring to
Ralphie’s ladyfriend who was in one of the other cubicles with a
policewoman for company.

‘
Fine, fine ... stitches and a sore head. Mentally very much
on the edge, I’d say. She’s witnessed some very heavy
stuff.’

‘
Know how she feels,’ said Henry bleakly.

‘
OK now? Bleeding stopped? Good. I’ll send that nurse along.’
The doctor slipped out between the curtains to be replaced a moment
later by FE.

Henry peered up at him. He knew FB well and had worked in
local CID under him some years before.

‘
Detective-Sergeant Christie,’ said FB.

‘
Hello, sir.’

‘
You look like shite, Henry,’ FB said truthfully.

‘
Feel like shite.’

A nurse came in and commenced to repair Henry’s
face.

FB said, ‘Once she’s finished, come and see me in the cafe and
let’s have a chat. I want to know everything that went on tonight.’
He shook his head in wonderment. ‘That was brilliant shooting,
y’know. In the foot! Absolutely a-mazing.’

‘
Thanks, sir,’ said Henry. He didn’t have the heart to tell
him he’d meant to shoot the bastard in the chest but his gun hand
had been shaking so much that he couldn’t aim properly. Still,
Henry thought philosophically, might as well perpetuate the myth
that I’m a dead shot, capable of winging suspects at
will.

‘
Proper little hero, aren’t you?’ said the nurse sardonically.
Then she dabbed something nasty on his cuts that made him
scream.

At a public payphone on the hospital, FB called the Chief
Constable’s home number to give him the good news. Mrs August
answered. The Chief wasn’t there. She’d expected him hours ago. FB
thanked her and said he’d try later. He looked up another number in
his Filofax and thought, I wonder. . .

Donaldson poured out two cups of instant coffee when he heard
Karen coming down the stairs. She had been in the bathroom for
twenty minutes and spent a further twenty in her
bedroom.

Her eyes were puffed up and swollen; a combination of being
slapped and crying.

Donaldson caught his breath when he saw her. Anger welled up
in him and all he wanted to do was exact some form of
revenge.

He handed one of the cups to her. She thanked him with a nod
of the head and sat down on the sofa. The front room was warm, cosy
and made her feel safe. Donaldson had drawn the curtains and put
the gas fire on. Karen held the cup in one hand and rested it on
the palm of the other, feeling the warmth of the liquid permeate
through to her skin. She stared blankly at the gas flames which
leapt up through imitation coals as though it was a real
fire.