Nightmare City (20 page)

There was a screech of brakes below, a dull thudding noise,
then the metallic crunch as cars collided. Donaldson stopped and
looked over the railings. It was hard to make anything out
properly. There was confusion on the road. He could just about see
the figure of Francesca underneath the wheels of a car. A hand
stuck out, seeming to be reaching for something. Then it stopped
moving.

Donaldson’s jaw was not broken, although it had swollen to
twice its normal size and was as hard as iron. A nasty-looking,
raised red-raw wheal ran from his right eye down across his chin
with indentations in it, into which the chain could have been
fitted perfectly. It looked as if someone had driven some sort of
wheeled kitchen implement across his face. His eye was swollen and
black too.

The painkillers prescribed by the doctor at the hospital were
not working. He didn’t want them to work. He wanted to feel pain
... because he was that way inclined at the moment.

He was listening to Detective George Santana who was talking
about the attacker in custody. Donaldson was not liking what he was
hearing.

‘
Romero is a well known tough-nut. Convictions for robbery and
violence. He works as a team with another no-good local criminal.
We are looking for that man now. It looks like robbery was the
motive, and it went wrong. They have robbed tourists
before.’

‘
So what you’re goddam trying to tell me is this incident has
no connection with Sam Dawber’s death. It was purely coincidental,
am I right?’

Santana shrugged. ‘What is the connection?’ he said evenly.
‘You tell me what it is and I’ll believe you and investigate
it.’

‘
Francesca was going to give me information about Sam’s death.
She’d already told me Sam had been murdered. We were going to my
room so she could tell me everything she knew. There’s just too
much of a coincidence, George.’ Donaldson counted on his fingers.
‘Sam writing Hamilton’s name down; my visit to the timeshare, his
reaction to me; Francesca turning up to see me and then those
bastards waiting for us on the bridge. It don’t take a genius to
see it all, so go on, George, you tell me there’s no connection,’
he concluded, challenging Santana.

Santana nodded and conceded. ‘You are probably correct. But it
is very circumstantial, even with the best intention in the
world.’

Donaldson breathed a sigh of relief. Ally-fuckin’-looya, he
thought.

‘
However,’ cautioned Santana, ‘unless Romero tells us
something, there will be a problem making a connection.’

‘
What has he said so far?’

‘
Absolutely nothing. He’s an old hand. We may never crack
him.’

‘
Fuck,’ uttered Donaldson. He was completely deflated,
frustrated and pissed off. It was the powerlessness, the lack of
control that was really irritating him. Being in a foreign country
made it all a million times worse. Everyone else spoke a language
he could just about say ‘Hello’ in, and their police force seemed
either unable or unwilling to run with the ball. God, he wanted to
scream. Unfortunately he could not open his mouth wide enough to do
so. He would probably be on liquids for a week until the swelling
went down.

‘
OK George, I know you ain’t impressed by my gut feelings
about this, but I ask you,
implore
you,
to keep an open mind about it. Keep
your ear to the ground - don’t just forget it once me and Sam get
on board that silver bird tomorrow. I’m sure Sam was onto something
and it obviously involved Hamilton. And if you do find anything
out, let me know soonest . . . and really give that Romero some
pain.’

Santana nodded. He laid a hand on Donaldson’s shoulder. ‘I
will, my friend. Trust me.’

Yeah, thought the American. What you’re really sayin’ is, ‘Get
off my island and leave me in peace, you Yankee busybody.’ Once
I’ve gone, you won’t give me a second thought, will you - and
whoever killed Sam’ll get away with it.

A jolt of pain leapt through his jaw. He cupped his face
gently in his hands and his thoughts turned to Francesca. The words
he’d said to her stuck in his craw and tried to choke
him.

You can trust me.

Liar.

‘
Right, people,’ said Henry, addressing the small team of
officers who were dealing with the Dundaven enquiry. It was 10.30
p.m. They were all raring to race off for a drink; Henry was ready
to go home and sink into bed, but not before he’d said one or two
things.

‘
First of all, well done re today’s work. We’ve started making
some inroads into this man Dundaven and I’m sure that if we stick
at it, we’ll turn up some real dirt and it’ll snowball ... if you
see what I mean. But there’s still a lot of questions need
answering. What was he really doing in Blackpool? What were his
intentions if he hadn’t got pulled? What was he going to do with
the guns? Where have they come from, where are they going to? Who
is the bastard answerable to? In other words, who is his
boss?

‘
From tomorrow I think the important thing is to get the
prosecution papers sorted out, get the file right, ensure there’s
no loopholes anywhere. In that respect each of you review the file
critically and then get me, then CPS to do the same. Let’s make it
watertight.’

There was a general nod and murmur of consensus.

Henry saw the female detective, Siobhan Robson from NWOCS at
the back of the room listening. She had a smile playing nicely on
her lips. Henry acknowledged her with a quick nod.

‘
At the moment, Nina is alive and making some progress, but
still critical. They’ve operated on her again today and she was in
surgery for four hours. The doctors say it was a success, but
there’s more to come. She’s young, strong and brave and there’s
every chance she’ll pull through.’ One or two of the detectives
showed by their faces they were relieved to hear the news. ‘So,
tomorrow, first thing, we’ll charge him with Attempted Murder on
her ... but if she doesn’t pull through, we’ll simply amend it to
Murder. He’s been charged with McCrory’s murder already.

‘
We need to start rooting around into McCrory’s background
too, which might be easier than Dundaven’s. So far we’ve only found
his mum, bless her soul. She thought he was an angel.’

‘
He is now,’ chirped one voice. There was a titter of
laughter.

Henry smiled too. ‘Let’s find out about his connection with
Dundaven. That could maybe open some chinks. . . So what I’m saying
is there’s a bloody long way to go with this yet. This is just the
start, OK? Right, thanks again, everybody. See you all in the
morning ... unless there’s any questions?’

‘
How’s Guy the gorilla?’

‘
Doc says he’s doin’ just fine.’

They had all been standing around the office. They shuffled
slowly out past the figure of Siobhan Robson, who looked at Henry,
gave him another smile, then left herself.

Henry watched her go with interest. She was very, very nice
indeed ... but he was above those sorts of thoughts. He sat down
heavily.

Whatever happens, mass murder, terrorist attack, suicide
bombing, I will not be coming into work one single minute before
nine tomorrow, he thought. Wild horses won’t even be able to drag
me out of my pit before 8.15.

He’d thrown his pager into a drawer and was thinking of the
delights of his duvet when one of the DCs who had been working on
the murder of Marie Cullen came into the office.

Her name was Lucy Crane. ‘Hi, Luce.’

‘
Boss,’ she said, chewing gum. She was a no-nonsense detective
with an air of toughness about her which belied her five-and-a-half
foot frame. She was also a lesbian. ‘Summat pretty interestin’,’
she said in her broad Lancs accent. ‘Could be summat, could be
nowt.’

She threw a piece of paper down in front of him with a name
scrawled across it.

‘
Locked up one year ago for kerb crawlin’ in Blackburn. The
prostitute who was showing her fanny for him was Marie Cullen,
arrested at the same time.’

‘
Very interesting,’ said Henry. He reread the name just to
make sure he hadn’t misread it. As if he didn’t have enough on his
plate. ‘Any up-to-date connection between the two?’

‘
Haven’t got that far yet.’

‘
Who else knows about this?’

‘
Just me.’

‘
Keep it that way for the time being.’

‘
Reet, boss.’ She was unfazed but she’d had longer to get used
to the idea than Henry, who now found he wanted a drink.

‘
C’mon, let me buy you a pint,’ he said. Kate and his bed
would have to wait just a little while longer.

Chapter Ten

Doctors are supposed to have a sensitive touch, but the
consultant who, at ten o’clock the next morning, was probing along
John Rider’s ribcage with fingertips like pieces of dowling must
have been the exception that proved the rule. Rider flinched each
time he was touched.

After the ribs the doctor moved to the skull, handling it like
a rugby ball. Equally roughly he pulled up Rider’s eyelids one at a
time with his thumb and shone a penlight torch into his pupils.
Then he listened to Rider’s heart and lungs by planting a
stethoscope on his chest which felt like it had been left in a
freezer. The doctor made a few muttered comments about giving up
smoking and drinking or death would not be far away. After this he
tested Rider’s blood pressure - which was extremely high - with a
tourniquet so tight Rider thought his arm might drop
off.

The consultant stood up and sniffed haughtily. A nurse handed
him a set of X-rays which he held up to the light and inspected. He
hummed, muttered to himself and handed them back to her.

Then he regarded Rider over the frame of his pince-nez which
were balanced precariously on the tip of his bulbous, pitted
nose.

‘
How do you feel?’

‘
Like shit,’ said Rider honestly.

‘
Only to be expected. You had a rather severe beating, but
although you’re black and blue, it doesn’t seem to have done any
permanent damage. Two of your ribs are broken, but they’ll heal in
their own good time. Your spine is bruised, but will improve once
you get mobile. And, of course, the cheekbone under your left eye
is fractured. The rest is superficial bruising. Your skull is OK.
The reason you were kept in was because you passed out. Basically,
you’re fine. The most dangerous thing for you at the moment is your
blood pressure and the state of your lungs. Give up smoking, Mr
Rider. It kills, especially at the rate you smoke.’

‘
I know, I know.’ Rider sulked like a schoolboy.

‘
You don’t wish to make a complaint to the police, I
hear.’

‘
No. Wouldn’t be any use. They had balaclavas on.’

‘
Your decision,’ said the consultant. ‘But you really must cut
back on the fags - that’s my medical advice to you.’

Rider nodded.

‘
You are now discharged from hospital.’

Isa and Jacko collected the invalid twenty minutes later and
helped him down the corridor to the car park where the Jag was
waiting. Rider rolled painfully into the back seat and Jacko drove
him back to the basement flat. Throughout the journey Isa leaned
back over the front seat and looked with concern at Rider who
winced with every bump they hit.

Between winces, he glared back at her accusingly.

‘
You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you,’ she said
bluntly. ‘I can see it in your face.’

‘
Depends on your definition of stupid.’

‘
My definition? OK - my definition of stupid is someone who
can’t control his emotions, someone who has done well for himself
and dragged himself out of the gutter of violence, but then steps
back into it at the first opportunity because he wants revenge.
That’s my definition of stupid - an idiot who wants revenge because
that’s all he understands. That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t
it? Get revenge.’

He said nothing with his voice, but his expression said
yes.

She closed her eyes in despair and held back the tears because
she didn’t want him to see her cry.

‘
Please don’t do it, John,’ she appealed quietly. ‘There won’t
be any winners from it.’

‘
Isa,’ he began with a dangerous tone, ‘those two guys nearly
fucking killed me. All they needed to do was say to me, “Don’t get
involved”, that’s all. I didn’t actually need telling, truth be
known. I wasn’t going to get into some fucking gang war that has
nothing whatsoever to do with me. But they went well OTT. They were
fucking out of order. There’s no way I’m gonna let this pass. No
way. Jacko - turn in here.’

‘
Eh? The zoo, you mean?’

‘
Yes, the fucking zoo I mean, you moron,’ he
growled.

‘
But why?’

‘
Will you just do what you’re fucking told to do! I want to
see if that gorilla’s OK - all right?’

‘
Anything you say.’ Jacko slowed the car and headed up the
driveway to the zoo. ‘Barmy if you ask me,’ he mumbled.