A Time For Justice (23 page)

‘
I’ve nothing to say.’

Dakin guffawed. ‘Now that’s not altogether true, is
it?’

Reeve looked contemptuously up at his tormentor, his breathing
short, laboured. He remained defiant, said nothing.

‘
OK, have it your way,’ sniffed Dakin, ‘but I want to tell you
this, Gerry’ - he wagged a finger as though he was giving a
ticking-off to a schoolboy- ‘I know everything: you and Browney and
that stupid American. In
fact, you were
all stupid. Doing the deal without me was bad enough, but crossing
a Mafia godfather? Tut, tut. Now that strikes me as the very height
of stupidity, Gerry. Men like Corelli don’t forgive - whereas I do
have that capacity.’ He held his hands over his heart in an angelic
gesture.

‘
Bollocks,’ spat Reeve. ‘It’s fuckin’ obvious you’ve made your
mind up. You ain’t going to forgive me for
nothing. Otherwise why the sheet, eh? You cunt.’

‘
Gerry, I’m affronted. I was going to paint the room.’ Dakin
could hardly contain his own
laughter.

‘
Yeah, with my fuckin’ brains. I’ve seen
Lethal Weapon Two,
as well,’ said
Reeve. ‘So come on
then, how did you know?
I didn’t tell anyone, nor did Browney. It
was a fuckin’ secret.’

Dakin sighed, shook his head sadly. ‘Pillow talk. It’s amazing
what a man will tell a woman at his weakest moments, Rocket
Man.’

Reeve closed his eyes in despair as it all dawned on him.
Janine. The bitch.

‘
So now you know what it’s like to be double-crossed, don’t
you?’

‘
Well, I do have one thing to say,’ Reeve spouted. ‘It’s about
that slag there.’ He nodded in Cathy Diamond’s direction. With
satisfaction he saw her sit upright. A worried look crossed her
once-smug countenance.

‘
Browney screwed the arse off her - behind your back. They
were laughing at you. Best blow job ever, he said.’ Reeve raised
his eyebrows and gave a short laugh. ‘“Know what it’s like to be
double-crossed, eh?’" He mimicked Dakin’s Scottish
accent.

Dakin swallowed. His lips pursed. ‘Kill him.’

One of the gunmen stepped forwards, a silenced revolver in his
hand.

It was over in a second. Reeve’s body lay sprawled out on the
polythene, the back of his head virtually removed by the bullets, a
sea of hot blood lapping around him.

Dakin regarded the body a few moments prior to turning slowly
and walking towards Cathy Diamond. She sat rigid, terrified. She’d
dropped her nail file and polish at Reeve’s revelations and her
hands hadn’t moved since.

As Dakin approached her she shook her head desperately. ‘It’s
not true, Lenny. It’s not true.’

He leaned across the desk, grabbed her by the hair and pounded
her face repeatedly into the desk top, his anger overflowing. When
he’d finished his frenzied assault her features had been mashed to
a gory pulp. She was barely conscious, moaning. He let her head
drop onto the desk.

He looked at the gunmen, pointed at her and cocked his thumb
like the hammer of a gun, then left the room.

At the end of its journey the boat berthed back at Bayside.
Ritter was last off, pausing long enough to ensure that no one was
waiting to give him a reception. He watched the girl walk towards
the shopping complex. He’d made no effort to speak to her further
during the remainder of the trip, though he had watched her,
wondering who she was, why and how she was involved with Corelli.
Then he wondered how and why he himself was involved. Easy answer.
Greed.

He glanced up at the replica of the
Bounty
moored further up the quay,
the one used by MGM for the film
Mutiny on
the Bounty.
Quite appropriate, he thought
wryly.

Once on the quayside he made his way into Bayside, twenty-five
thousand dollars richer. One step closer towards a prosperous
retirement which he proposed to take as early as decency would
allow. His fund consisted currently of an apartment in the Caymans,
a small boat, and three hundred thousand dollars which was earning
steady interest in the Cayman Islands. As soon as it reached the
half-million mark he’d retire with a good pension, the interest on
the capital, and hit the Caribbean. It was all worked
out.

He failed to notice a happy couple sat on a low wall near to
the waterfront. They were very much engrossed in each other and the
picnic they were sharing.

As Ritter walked smartly past them the woman looked up purely
by chance.

Puzzled, she said, ‘Isn’t that..?’

‘
Who?’ said the man.

‘
Naah, can’t be. What would he be doing here?’

‘
Who?’ asked the man again.

‘
I’m sure that was Eamon Ritter.’

‘
Well, so what? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,’ said the man,
doing what he thought was a passable imitation of a Jew.

She burst into a fit of giggles, her big fat shoulders
shuddering with laughter. It was nice to be in love, laughing at
things that would have been blatantly unfunny otherwise. She took a
huge bite of her pastrami on rye sandwich, the mayonnaise dripping
delightfully down her double chin.

Chapter Fourteen

Four days later Hinksman was discharged from hospital into the
eager hands of waiting detectives.

The doctor said he was fit to detain, but must be allowed
frequent rest periods and breaks during interviews, and must take
his medication as and when prescribed. If he felt faint, complained
of dizziness or was physically sick, the police surgeon should be
called out or he should be brought back to hospital immediately.
The impatient detectives raised their eyes to the heavens, but
there was no way they were going to jeopardise this one by breaking
the rules. For a start, too many cases had been lost in recent
years by over-zealous cops bending the law and secondly, Hinksman
was accompanied by his solicitor.

Hinksman was taken under armed escort to Blackpool Central
police station.

Around the perimeter of the station were armed patrols who had
been detailed to guard the building twenty-four hours per day
whilst Hinksman was held there. Their MP5s were clearly visible,
held openly across their chests for everyone to see and be warned.
The police were taking no chances on this one.

At the station he was presented to the custody officer, who,
after hearing the circumstances of the arrest, authorised
Hinksman’s detention to secure and preserve evidence and to obtain
evidence by questioning. He booked him into the computerised
custody system and gave him his rights: the right to free legal
advice, the right to have someone informed of his detention and the
right to consult a copy of the
Codes of
Practice.

Because he was with his solicitor, Hinksman did not choose to
exercise his other rights at that time.

Fifteen minutes after arrival at the station he was taken to
an interview room where the first of a series of taped interviews
began. On and off, with breaks, the interviews would last all
day.

The legal process had begun.

Chrissy woke up about 10 a.m., which was quite early for her.
She worked behind a bar in a hotel in Fort Lauderdale which stayed
open until 3 a.m. She never generally hit the sack until gone four
which wasn’t as bad as it seemed because Kovaks often finished work
late (or early, depending on your viewpoint) and they often met
tired, yet horny, in bed and indulged in great pre-dawn sex, which
set them up for a long morning’s sleep.

That particular morning, though, Joe Kovaks was on office
hours.

He’d left the apartment at 7 a.m. and Chrissy had the bed to
herself.

Two things had woken her.

The first was her bladder, the second the thump of some mail
coming through the door.

She slithered out of bed and took care of the first problem
before traipsing naked down the hallway to sleepily retrieve the
mail.

It was a package addressed to her from
National Geographic,
the size and
weight of one of their excellent magazines. Which was all very
nice, except she didn’t subscribe to it.

She frowned, slipped a finger under the flap and started to
open it.

Sue was walking down a corridor in the FBI Field Office in
Miami, clutching a batch of mail underneath her crossed arms. She
was smiling sweetly to herself and humming as she contemplated
love, life and happiness. And more particularly, Damian’s penis.
Eamon Ritter was striding purposefully down the corridor in her
direction.

‘
Good morning,’ she said pleasantly to him.

He responded with a grunt; didn’t bother looking at
her.

‘
Did you go for a sail around the bay?’ she asked as they
passed, shoulder to shoulder.

‘
What?’ he said, stopping in his tracks.

‘
Yesterday,’ she went on innocently. ‘It was my day off. I
went down to Bayside - saw you walking up from the waterfront, near
to the
Bounty.
Just wondered if you’d been for a sail around the
bay.’

He looked coldly at her and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.
‘You’re mistaken!’

‘
I’m sure it was you,’ she persisted naively. ‘In fact, you
were wearing that suit.’

‘
I said you’re mistaken.’

‘
Oh,’ said Sue, belatedly realising from his tone of voice
that he wanted her to be mistaken. ‘Yes, I must be.
Sorry.’

He gave her a look which made her shiver, then turned and
stalked away.

She watched him for a mesmerised second or two, disgusted at
his abruptness, and went on her way towards Organized Crime with
the mail held more tightly to her bosom.

‘
Yeah, they’ve been interviewing him all day,’ Donaldson said
on the phone to Kovaks. It was 4.30 p.m., British time. ‘But he’s
said nothing whatsoever. Exercising his right to silence,
apparently. Won’t even state his name for the tape.’

Kovaks sighed. ‘Only to be expected,’ he said philosophically.
‘Is he represented by a lawyer?’

‘
Yeah. They call ‘em solicitors over here.’

‘
An appropriate name. What’s his history?’

‘
Connected to big-time local crims. Haven’t got any further
with him, though.’

Sue trundled into the office with a wave for Kovaks. Only a
couple of other agents were in the room, sat at their desks,
jackets off, deep into compiling reports. She distributed the mail
around various desks, concluding with Kovaks’. ‘Thanks,’ he mouthed
over the phone call and put his hand to his lips, forefinger and
thumb-tips touching, indicating that a cup of coffee wouldn’t go
amiss. She nodded and made her way to the machine in the
corner.

Kovaks slotted the phone in between his shoulder and left ear,
leaving his hands free to deal with the mail.

‘
So what’s your role now?’ he asked Donaldson.

‘
Background. Working with a Detective Sergeant called Henry
Christie . . .’

‘
Ain’t he the one who arrested Hinksman?’

‘
Yeah. Seems a good guy, but his nerves are shot to hell.
We’re putting together everything I know that’s of value for the
investigation over here. How’s Whisper’s murder enquiry coming
along?’

Kovaks was sifting through his mail as he talked. He flicked
to one side a couple of envelopes which he knew contained
intelligence bulletins, and opened another which contained a letter
requiring a quick response. He finally came to the biggest envelope
- one from the
National
Geographic.

‘
Wall of silence,’ he told Donaldson. ‘I’m not happy with the
doctor, though. He’s a creep and I don’t trust him. So, are we
going to extradite Hinksman?’

‘
All in good time.’

Kovaks picked up his letter-knife and slid it into the top of
the envelope. He was already looking forward to a free
magazine.

‘
We’ll let the Brits go through their legal process first,’
said Donaldson. ‘They’ve got enough to stitch him up and convict
whether he says anything or not. We’ll try and get him after that.
Anything new on Corelli?’

‘
Naw...’ The knife went in as if it was cutting butter. ‘Still
waiting for permission to tap his house down in Key West. I think
he does a lot of business down there.’

Sue appeared in front of him, holding two plastic cups of
steaming coffee.

The envelope opened as the knife came out the other side.
Kovaks saw the wires immediately. He shot out of his seat, dropped
the phone, shouted, ‘Oh Jesus shit - BOMB!’ and threw the envelope
across the room where it smacked on a wall and dropped to the
floor. He flung himself at Sue and forced her to the floor; out of
the corner of his eyes he saw the other agents in the room drop
instinctively down out of sight, taking flimsy protection from
their desks. The coffee Sue had been holding went everywhere as
Kovaks landed on top of her. She was too surprised and winded to
say anything other than,
‘Ungphf’