A Time For Justice (38 page)

It didn’t stop there.

There was also a piece about Henry and Karl Donaldson taking
Natalie and her friend out. Entitled
My
Night of Sex With FBI Man,
it detailed Donaldson’s exploits that night too,
including the mystery lady banging on his hotel door in the early
hours, demanding to see Donaldson and interrupting their
lovemaking. The woman wasn’t identified, but was described as a
‘high-ranking officer in the Lancashire Constabulary who was, at
the time, running a major investigation’. It went on to describe
Donaldson, naked, chasing her down the hotel corridor. Henry knew
it was a night Donaldson would rather forget, especially now that
he’d made his peace with Karen.

Then there was the photo of Henry’s two distraught-looking
daughters taken a few
weeks before,
following the shooting incident in the Lake District.

‘
Bitch,’ uttered Henry, shaking his head, reading
on.

It got worse.

The scorned cleaner Maureen had her say, too. Her story made
an ideally tacky footnote to the whole thing. Another ‘used and
abused after a night of sexual ecstasy, a night when I did things
for him I’d done for no other man’. For no other man
that night,
snorted
Henry. There was a picture of her in her overalls with a mop and
bucket, looking as ugly as sin. God knows how I ever fucked her, he
thought bitterly.

The worst of it was that he hadn’t told Kate.

Miss Lisa ‘Shit-Face’ Want had been very busy indeed. Some of
her

facts weren’t exactly spot on and there was a great deal of
literary exaggeration, but all in all it turned out to be a much
better profile than she’d promised.

Henry rushed to the toilet and vomited.

He hung over the pan, spitting and slobbering, almost crying.
This, once more, was where his life had gone.

Dave August spent a very subdued weekend, returning to work at
eight on Monday morning. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be on him, as
though they knew. He tried to shrug the feeling off: he was the
Chief Constable, after all. It was only natural that he should be
the centre of attention.

Jean was at her desk, sorting correspondence. He bade her a
jovial good morning and she was glad to see that her boss had
rediscovered some of his lost friendliness. His mood over the last
week had started to put a crisp edge on her nerves.

‘
Shall I make tea?’ she suggested before he reached his office
door.

‘
Most certainly, Jean. Best drink of the day,’ he
replied.

She got up, smiling, and left. He paused with one hand on the
door handle. Taking stock of himself, he turned it and confidently
shoved the door open.

Everything was as it should have been. There was nothing
untoward in the post or on his desk.

August sighed with relief.

He got the phone call at 9.05 a.m.

Henry Christie and Karl Donaldson arrived at Lancaster Castle
together. Donaldson was driving, even though Henry had had his
plaster removed first thing that morning and his wrist felt OK, if
a little weak.

They were greeted by a crowd of eager journalists and
photographers who’d been herded behind barriers by the police.
Questions and flashes assaulted the ears and eyes of the two
detectives. They held up their hands to shield their faces and said
‘No comment’ to all the enquiries.

Once inside the building, Donaldson turned to Henry and said,
‘Fame at last, pal,’ with a grin.

Henry couldn’t help but laugh.

They both submitted themselves to the search procedures and
entered the court.

Then they went to hunt for Lisa Want - but she was noticeable
by absence.

Henry entered the witness-box at 10.30 a.m. on Wednesday. He
took the Bible in his right hand and said, ‘I swear by Almighty God
that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing the truth.

My name is Henry James Christie. I am a Detective Sergeant
with Lancashire Constabulary, currently on the CID at Blackpool.
Previously I was seconded to the Regional Crime Squad, also based
in Blackpool. ‘

The QC for the prosecution stood slowly up. He shuffled his
papers.

The court was hushed and expectant.

Henry had a quick look round.

He saw that Lisa Want had suddenly appeared in the press-box.
He looked at the jury. They seemed to be good, decent
people.

Then his eyes locked with Hinksman’s.

Hinksman was fondling his chin thoughtfully with the fingers
of his gilt hand, gazing at Henry. As Henry looked at him, Hinksman
almost imperceptibly drew his first finger across his throat in an
unmistakable gesture.

Henry allowed himself a slight sneer.

The Judge had seen the exchange. She made no comment on it,
but noted it down.

The QC coughed and began to take Henry through his
evidence.

Henry felt he had done well. The jury were obviously on his
side, sitting there open-mouthed with anticipation and
sympathy.

As he drew to a close the prosecuting counsel thanked Henry
and said, ‘Would you please wait there, Sergeant. I’m sure my
learned friend will wish to ask you some questions.’

He sat down and handed over to Graham.

Graham, with his half-glasses perched precariously on the tip
of his nose, stood up slowly, adjusting his robes as he did
so.

Henry knew of his reputation - well paid, defender of rich
villains and celebrities, ruthless - and was on guard
immediately.

Graham pushed his spectacles up his nose to the bridge, then
allowed them to slide back down again to the tip. He pursed his
lips into a pucker. He nodded at Henry and said, ‘Sergeant,’ by way
of a greeting.

Henry nodded back apprehensively. This is not going to be
easy, he thought. Why don’t you just get on with it instead of
fannying around, you bastard.

Graham’s lips then went tight across his teeth, like a dead
man’s smile.

‘
I’m very pleased to see, as is the court, that you have
recovered from your injuries.’

‘
Thank you,’ said Henry. He realised that this would probably
be about as humane as Graham got.

‘
You certainly have been in the wars,’ he commented. ‘It’s a
wonder you made it here.’ A titter went round the court. ‘You have
been through a very traumatic time, physically and mentally.’
Though this was a statement it was phrased as a question - but
Henry chose not to answer it. If you want to ask me questions, he
thought, then ask and I’ll answer.

When nothing was forthcoming, Graham added, ‘Isn’t that
so?’

‘
Yes,’ said Henry simply.

‘
Right, Sergeant, if I may, I’d like to take you back to the
night in question - the night, in fact, when you shot my
client.’

Suddenly it was as though Henry was on trial.

Henry stood stock still. He avoided eye-contact with Graham;
he knew that would be disastrous. Eye-contact led to verbal
battles; once these battles were joined, the officer giving
evidence had usually lost the war, unless he was very experienced
and clever. Henry had given evidence many times, but was aware he
was no match for a devious, slimy barrister when it came to
word-games.

He desperately wanted to say, ‘And the night when your client
killed a whole bunch of people,’ but he didn’t.

He decided to stick to his usual courtroom strategy: keep it
simple, don’t stray from the written statement, don’t lose your
cool, don’t answer back. Tell the truth - but if a lie
has
to be told, remember
what you said.

‘
You were on a surveillance operation that night, you say,
tailing a man who was eventually shot in front of you.’

Henry said nothing.

Graham then knew he would have to ask direct
questions.

‘
Is that correct, officer?’ he asked stonily.

‘
It is,’ nodded Henry.

‘
And you followed this man into a public house in Blackpool,
the -’ and here Graham read out the name of the establishment from
his brief. ‘Did you drink any alcohol when you were in this
bar?’

‘
Er ... I can’t remember,’ said Henry.

‘
Wouldn’t you have stood out like a sore thumb if you’d been
in there without a drink in your hand? You were, after all,
undercover. ‘

‘
I may have had a soft drink,’ Henry admitted. ‘I was on duty
and I don’t drink on duty.’

‘
So, no alcohol?’

‘
No,’ said Henry. He actually remembered buying a bottle of
Bud but wasn’t going to reveal that.

Graham nodded, not impressed.

‘
When you followed this man and his associates out of the
public house, you stated that you lost sight of them and then were
dragged down an alley. Is that correct?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Can you describe the alley?’

Henry thought a moment. ‘It was about twenty feet wide and a
hundred and fifty feet long, coming to a dead end. The exact
measurements are on a plan, which I believe you have a copy
of.’

‘
It is your recollections the court is interested in, not a
map,’ said Graham haughtily. ‘Where exactly was this
alley?’

‘
Between the pub and the next building along, which is a guest
house, I think.’

Graham’s mouth pursed as he composed his next set of
questions. ‘What time of night was it?’

‘
About nine forty-five.’

‘
Remind the court, officer - what month was it?’

‘
October.’

‘
October,’ said Graham ruminatively, drawing out the word, as
though chewing the cud. ‘Quite late on in the year, wouldn’t you
say?’

‘
It is a fact,’ said Henry, deadpan, ‘that the twentieth of
October
is
quite
late in the year.’

A couple of the jury giggled. There was a slight release in
tension. Graham shot them a hard, warning glance. He did not like
it. But he took control of himself and smiled good-naturedly,
accepting the joke at his expense. He turned back to Henry, his
features assuming the look of a hunter poised to kill.

‘
So, getting on towards winter. Nights drawing in . .
.’

Impulsively, Henry cut in: ‘If you’d like me to say that it
was dark - yes, it was dark.’ He regretted his words immediately,
not only because he’d spoken otherwise than in answer to a
question, but because courts are very formal, traditional, patient
places and by his impatience he had just managed to rub everyone up
the wrong way, including Judge and jury. Not a good
move.

Graham allowed himself the flicker of a smile, just the
corners of his mouth twitching. Only Henry saw it.

Graham was back in charge of the interaction.

He said, ‘I would be obliged if you could refrain from jumping
the gun, Sergeant.’ He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head at
Henry, as if to say, ‘Do you understand, pal?’

Henry nodded. ‘My apologies,’ he mumbled.

Graham paused and perused his papers, allowing time for
everyone in the court to settle and for Henry to become agitated. A
pause can be a good weapon, if used correctly.

‘
So, it was a dark night,’ confirmed Graham. ‘What was the
weather like?’

‘
Clear and fine.’

‘
Could you see down the alley?’

‘
It was fairly poorly lit and there were a lot of
shadows.’

‘
Was there any actual lighting in the alley at
all?’

‘
No.’ At that point Henry began to see where this was leading
and his stomach lurched. He might just conceivably lose
this.

‘
So, you were dragged into the alley and a vicious fight
ensued between yourself and several men. You have graphically
relayed details of this struggle whilst giving evidence earlier,
and we are all very impressed by your bravery ...’

Just fuck off, Henry thought.

‘
... so I don’t intend to pursue that. But at the conclusion
of this fight, could you remind us what position you were
in?’

‘
Face up on the ground, surrounded by people who didn’t like
me very much.’

‘
You also mentioned that you’d received a blow on the head
prior to this and that you thought you’d passed out momentarily. Is
that correct?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
How did you feel?’

‘
Frightened. ‘

‘
No doubt,’ said Graham. ‘Were you pretty dazed too, from the
blow on the head?’

‘
Actually my head was very clear,’ he said. ‘My body was in a
mess physically - but I was thinking very clearly.’

Graham nodded. Then pounced.