One Dead Witness (27 page)

Part of Tapperman’s mind begged Myrna to bag the one on the
left. He knew he could take out one of them but only one. There
would be no earthly hope of taking two.

Myrna had to act as quickly as he did - and go for the correct
target.

‘
Shoot, Myrna, shoot!’ he pleaded silently.

The pad of his right forefinger pulled the trigger
back.

The wind whooshed out of Kruger’s lungs as he thumped down
onto the concrete floor. For a brief moment he did not move, other
than to open his eyes and look underneath the car to his left where
he saw the bodyguard, who had decided that, come what may, he would
kill Kruger.

The man’s gun was pointed directly at Kruger’s face and his
finger was on the trigger.

Myrna wasn’t consciously going through any thought process.
She stood there, half her body protected by the cover provided by
the car she stood behind. Her feet were positioned shoulder-width
apart, knees bent, but flexible. The Sig was in her right hand,
supported in the palm of her left.

There was a blankness in her mind. Yet, simply, she was aware
- somewhere - that she had started to sweat from every pore in her
body. As Kruger dived away, she saw the injured man drop to his
knees, one of the bodyguards dive away too, and the other two start
to turn. . . but in her mind it wasn’t a fast twist because she
slowed everything down right into its component parts without even
realising she was doing it.

The two men as they pirouetted, their guns drawn from under
their jackets ... the weapons coming round to be pointed at her and
Tapperman ... the weight of the pistol in her hands ... the
high-contrast sights down the barrel. Her finger tightening on the
trigger...

Three weapons exploded simultaneously.

The ones in the hands of Mark Tapperman and Myrna
Rosza.

The one in the grip of the bodyguard who was aiming at the
prostrate body of Steve Kruger.

Within the confines of the parking lot, the noise of the
combined discharges was deafening. A huge reverberating,
eardrum-smashing roar.

Having to run made Claire Lilton’s cracked ribs hurt. When she
thought she was out of catching distance, she slowed right down,
dodged into a back alley and got her breath back. She reached into
her sports bag and grabbed a cold can of orange Tango which she
opened and gratefully gulped down. It was getting to be a hot
day.

When recovered she tossed the can over a wall and wandered
aimlessly around, until she was back on Dickson Road, about half a
mile away from the shop.

She doubted whether the shopkeeper would call the cops, so she
felt quite safe.

As it was approaching high season, Claire fitted in easily
with the thousands of other kids thronging the streets of
Blackpool, the single biggest holiday resort in the world. She knew
that if necessary, she could mingle for weeks and never be noticed.
All it required was a grain of common sense, some cunning and
courage, a bit of luck and she would be able to survive
indefinitely.

Within a few moments she had wandered onto Gynn Square, a
large roundabout on the promenade in North Shore.

Wearily she went into a small recreation ground only yards
away, off Warbreck Hill Road. She unhooked the bag and let it fall
to the ground, slumped on a bench and stretched her tired
legs.

She was dressed for the season in a cut-off T-shirt drawn
tightly over her small, developing bust; then there was a gap
showing her flat, white tummy; then there was a pair of Lycra
exercise shorts clinging to her thighs. Nike trainers finished off
her attire.

It had been Henry Christie’s intention to get the team turned
out onto the streets as soon as possible.

With Danny’s efficient help, he succeeded.

He watched the last officer leave the briefing room, then
turned to speak to Danny. ‘They’ll need all the luck in the world
to catch this guy.’ He nodded towards a window. ‘And this weather
won’t help us at all. Tourists will be flooding in today ... needle
in a haystack job.’

‘
At least we’re doing something. We need to catch him,
otherwise he’ll start again. Can you imagine what all those years
cooped up could do to a pervert like him?’

Before Henry could reply he heard an angry voice behind him.
‘DC Furness? Just what the hell do you think you’re playing
at?’

Jack Sands.

‘
My office - NOW!’ he shrieked.

Danny looked up at Henry for support, fear in her eyes. Henry
gave her a sly wink, and turned to Sands with a simmering anger. In
a measured tone he said, ‘Nobody calls people by their last names
these days, and nobody says "my office - now" unless they want to
come across as a real jerk.’

‘
Up yours, Henry,’ Sands snapped back. ‘She’s my officer, not
one of yours - not yet anyway - and I’ll speak to her any way I
want to.’

‘
Wrong on both counts,’ Henry said crisply. ‘Jack, we all need
to sit down and chat - like now, if possible.’

‘
I haven’t got time.’

Henry stepped up to him and snarled, ‘You’d better make
fuckin’ time, if you value your job.’

Trent saw her sitting alone, a faraway look on her face. He
knew instantly she was the one for him. She couldn’t have been more
than eleven years old, but looked older. Trent could see through
that. He was good at judging a youngster’s age and this one was
just right for him. The age he liked. Their bodies beginning to
develop, their womanhood not yet there. He looked again at this
girl and experienced that old sensation, like someone had drawn a
knife-blade down his back, triggering a sexual response in his
genitals.

She had long slim legs, wore a minimum amount of clothing and
was by herself. There was no one hovering nearby who could have
been with her. She looked vulnerable, just right for
plucking.

Trent seated himself at the far end of the bench. He opened
his newspaper, crossed his legs. His eyes watched her reaction to
his presence.

Initially there was no indication she had even seen him. He
coughed. That seemed to break her trance. She glanced at him. Her
face was painfully beautiful. Trent sneered inside himself as he
pictured her down on him. Outwardly he returned a smile.

She gave a wan, slightly pathetic grin.

‘
My name’s Louis.’ He folded down the newspaper. ‘What’s yours?
I’ll bet it’s a pretty one.’

She told him.

‘
Take a seat,’ Henry offered Jack. They were in Henry’s small
office where Henry had arranged three chairs on the ‘public side’
of his desk, ready for the encounter.

Sands sat with a great show of reluctance and impatience,
sighing heavily.

Henry indicated for Danny to do likewise. She chose the chair
furthest away from Sands which was also the one directly opposite
him. Instantly she regretted two things - taking the seat and her
choice of clothing.

She was in a pencil skirt which rode up her thighs as she sat
down and crossed her legs. Sands’s eyes homed in on the display and
a look of wickedness flitted across his face. She pulled the skirt
down and uncrossed her legs, sitting there with her knees pressed
tightly together. It felt uncomfortable and unnatural and Sands
knew it. She could tell from his face.

Henry hitched his trousers up with his fingers and thumbs on
the creases and sat in the vacant seat. He crossed his
legs.

Sands glowered cocksurely at him.

‘
As you know, Jack, Louis Trent did a runner from jail last
night and he’s almost certainly back in town. Obviously we need to
try and recapture him as soon as possible. I spoke to Mr
Fanshaw-Bayley this morning and he told me to use Danny to lead the
team because she knows Trent so well. No doubt you agree with this
thinking.’

Danny shot Henry a quick look of concern. To say he was
distorting the truth was an understatement.

‘
Because it was such a rush to get things pulled together,’
Henry added, ‘I didn’t have time to explain, so I apologise for
that. At least you know now.’

‘
Well, now that your team are up and running, I’ll have her
back, thanks.’

Henry shook his head. ‘As of now she’s on CID.’ He handed a
rolled-up fax to Sands, rather like a Biblical scroll. Sands
unrolled it and read it slowly. It was confirmation of what FB had
promised Henry that morning, written and signed by the man himself.
Danny was on CID as of now.

Sands’s face looked like it would burst. ‘This is completely
out of order. He can’t do this, not without consulting
me.’

‘
He’s an ACC. He can do mostly what he likes and usually
does.’

‘
I’m going to go to the Detective Superintendent and get this
blocked. She’s on my Department until next Monday.’ And Sands stood
up to leave.

‘
Sit down Jack, there’s more we need to discuss. . . I
said,
sit down.’

‘
All I’m doing,’ Henry concluded patiently, ‘is giving you the
opportunity to say, "Hey, yeah, got a bit upset, bit obsessive and
it won’t happen again." That’s all, Jack. Just hold your hand up,
say sorry and we’ll all walk out of here and that’s that.
Promise.’

‘
You can stick your promise right down your prick, Christie,
because I’ve done nothing wrong and I’m not apologising to a
paranoid bitch who can’t bear the thought of me finishing with
her.’

‘
We’re not in the business of name-calling, Jack,’ Henry said
softly. ‘We’re trying to solve a problem, adult to adult, and
swearing isn’t gonna help.’

Sands held his hands up. ‘Sorry... just got a bit up-tight.
Wouldn’t you? What you’ve alleged is absolute crap and you’ll never
prove a thing because there’s nothing to prove.’

Henry tutted. He hadn’t wanted it to go this far. To Danny he
said, ‘Last night you said you received several phone calls of a
distressing nature?’

‘
That’s right, from about eight o’clock onwards. But whoever it
was must have either dialled 141 before putting my number in to
ensure the call couldn’t be traced, or they were phoning through a
switchboard.’

‘
How many calls did you receive?’

‘
Four that I answered. I took my phone off the hook then, but I
checked with BT this morning. They told me I got twenty-five more
calls up to midnight.’

‘
How did you feel about the calls you received?’

‘
Frightened. Scared. As if I was being violated in my own
home.’

‘
Thanks, Danny.’ Henry raised his eyebrows at Sands. ‘Jack, did
you make those calls?’

His answer was short and to the point. ‘Did I
fuck.’

‘
Okay,’ said Henry, unflustered. ‘Danny, what else happened
last night?’

‘
Some creep,’ she shuddered at the memory, ‘stuffed a dozen red
roses through my letterbox about half-one this morning.’

‘
I’ll bet that had an effect on you, too?’

‘
I was absolutely terrified.’ Her breath came in steps now as
she thought about it. ‘Someone prowling round my house, watching
me, stalking me.’

‘
Jack - any response?’

He remained silent for a while, considering, lips pursing and
unpursing. He breathed in and sat up. ‘Yeah, just get to fuck, the
pair of you. This is absolute shite. I’m off.’ He pushed himself up
again.

Henry said evenly, but with a deadly tone, ‘You walk out of
this room, Jack, I’ll arrest you.’

The words struck Sands as heavily as a lorry. He sat slowly
back, eyes fixed firmly on Henry, who held the look, unwavering.
Inside, Henry’s heart was pounding dramatically. It was all he
could do to maintain his composure. His mouth was dry, but his
armpits were very wet. He knew he was in very dangerous
territory.

Sands was the one to break the gaze between the men. He
re-focused them immediately and savagely on Danny.

‘
Danny?’ Henry continued. ‘The night before last?’

‘
Someone smashed a window at my home, cut my face.’ She placed
the tip of a fingernail on the stitched cut on her cheek. ‘They
also damaged my car, scratched it and snapped the Mercedes badge
off.’

‘
Jack?’ said Henry, feeling like a facilitator.

Sands was tight-lipped. ‘Evidence?’ he snapped.

‘
I saw you holding a Mercedes star in your hand when I left
work last night,’ Danny accused him.

Sands uttered a short, barking laugh. ‘Your word against
mine,’ he said pityingly.

Henry reached for a folder on his desk. His hand slid into it
and extracted a piece of paper. ‘Our IT department ran this off for
me,’ he explained and handed it to Sands. ‘It’s a printout of all
the phone numbers dialled from the extension in your office between
5 p.m. and midnight last night. You’ll see that one number features
pretty highly, wouldn’t you say? In fact, it features twenty-nine
times, Jack, doesn’t it?’