Nightmare City (58 page)

Behind, in front, and around them, a team of expert watchers,
military and police trained so they understood all aspects of the
game, slotted unobtrusively into place.

The two men didn’t have a clue.

‘
Henry should have been in contact by now,’ Donaldson
announced to Kate and Karen. He looked at his watch. 9.30 p.m. He
eyed his wife worriedly.

‘
What’s going on?’ asked Kate. She knew that when her two
guests and husband had got into their secretive scrums the evening
before, something exceptional was taking place, but she couldn’t
begin to guess what it was. She wasn’t that interested, actually.
Policework bored her rigid.

Karen took a deep sigh. ‘I think you need to know that Henry’s
become involved in a police corruption enquiry, and there’s just
the remotest possibility he could be in some sort of danger. God,
it sounds corny even saying it, but it is remote,’ she tried to
stress. ‘We’re involved in it too, and just waiting to get updated
by Henry. He should have spoken to us by now.’

Kate’s mind homed in on the word ‘danger’. ‘Does it involve
Derek Luton?’

Karen nodded.

Kate closed her eyes. ‘Christ!’

‘
Kate, does Henry normally phone in when he’s working late?’
Donaldson asked.

‘
No, not really. Sometimes ... I mean, I usually see him when
I see him.’

‘
So we’re probably making a mountain out of a molehill,’
Donaldson said. ‘But just to put my mind at rest, will you phone in
and ask to speak to him, honey?’

She did. At the end of the conversation she put the phone down
slowly, a crease of puzzlement on her face. ‘They said he’s taken a
prisoner to Preston, but they sounded strange. Almost as if they
didn’t want to talk to me.’

On being alerted by the NWOCS, every available police officer
in the Preston area had descended on the industrial estate and a
search began. The officers were told they were hunting a suspected
murderer and the police officer who had engineered his unlawful
escape from custody. Both were considered to be very dangerous
men.

Raymond de Vere settled comfortably into his room at Conroy’s
country club where wine, sandwiches, fruit and coffee were
provided, followed by a high-class hooker who demonstrated an
imaginative use for a banana. De Vere gratefully devoured it
in situ.

In a ground-floor seminar room, Conroy, McNamara, Morton and
Hamilton met up.

‘
Before we begin, Rider and Christie have escaped from
custody,’ Morton announced with some trepidation. ‘And knowing what
they know, leaves us with a problem. Rider has decided to grass on
us.’

‘
I thought you were going to kill them,’ whined Conroy. He
tugged his pony tail agitatedly. He was heartily sick of Rider and
that damned detective who should have been wasted long ago instead
of all this pussyfooting around.

‘
They got away. It wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t
there.’

‘
You should have been more ruthless in the first place,’ said
McNamara, entering the bickering which looked set to spiral out of
control. All three men were on edge.

Hamilton stepped in, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. ‘These
two guys causing you heartache?’

‘
Heartache?’ muttered Conroy. He turned to Morton. ‘You’ve
made a complete balls of this.’

‘
Whoa, gentlemen,’ Hamilton interjected, raising his hands to
pacify. ‘What you need is a professional solution. If you recall, I
mentioned two friends of mine who specialise in such matters. They
work quickly, efficiently and cheaply. And they have a one hundred
per cent track record. They are very, very high class - exactly the
type you require to deal with these two people, I would
suggest.’

‘
But we need them now,’ said Conroy.

‘
Would tomorrow morning do? They’re in Paris as we speak. An
hour from Manchester by air.’

They all nodded.

‘
I’ll contact them,’ Hamilton said. ‘All you need to do is use
your resources to pinpoint the position of these individuals and
let my friends do the rest.’

An air of relief seeped through the room.

‘
That leaves us with the question of where the goods are going
to be displayed.’ Morton looked at Conroy.

‘
By midnight, Rider’s club will be staffed by my
people.’

Not having received any instructions to the contrary, Jacko
kept the club up and running. Unusually, even for a Saturday night,
the place was packed, doing a roaring trade.

Weekends were the only times doormen were employed - four
bruisers not renowned for their interpersonal skills. Two kept
door, two drifted around inside. They changed their roles on a
regular basis.

Conroy’s men swaggered up to the front door - six of them -
and confronted the two lounging by the till. There was an exchange
of words and gestures and Rider’s employees acknowledged defeat.
They slunk away from the doors and disappeared into the wet night,
now unemployed.

The other two were located in a strategic position overlooking
the dance floor. They had no qualms about joining their
pals.

A bloodless coup - so far.

Jacko was a different proposition. He was bundled into the
manager’s office and beaten into a messy pulp.

Almost
a bloodless coup.

Now Conroy ran Rider’s club, practically if not legally. Maybe
the latter would follow.

The man who had led the assault used the phone in the
manager’s office to convey the good news.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

They were out of the immediate area within minutes, working
their way cautiously through the industrial estate towards the
retail end which was nearer to the town centre.

Henry held his left hand over his ear which was bleeding
profusely through his fingers.

They skirted past a drive-thru McDonald’s and scurried through
the dark car parks of Texas Homecare and Morrisons, with what used
to be the docks on their right. They stayed in the blackest shadow,
ducking when a car approached, rising slowly when it
passed.

Henry Christie, fugitive. Unreal, surreal. He was floating
through a different world and was struggling to remind himself that
this was reality.

A few minutes later they were in the car park of the Ribble
Pilot, a modem pub right on the dockside. Rider crouched down,
pulling Henry with him. They worked their way around the parked
vehicles and Rider tested every door.

One opened.

It was an old Ford Granada.

‘
I loved these motors,’ Rider whispered. He slid in and
fumbled around in the wires underneath the steering wheel, until
his hands expertly found the ignition wires. He ripped them out,
yanked two apart to expose their metal ends, touched them and they
sparked and -
voila!
- the engine started first time.

Henry remained on his haunches outside the car.

‘
Get in.’ Rider reached across and flicked the catch on the
passenger door.

‘
We’re gonna steal a car?’ He could not believe it. This was
getting all too much.

‘
Yep, and if you don’t get in, I’m going to drive off without
you.’

‘
Oh my Christing God!’ Henry chunnered. He went round to the
other side of the car and got in.

It was an automatic. Rider slotted it into Drive. Moments
later they were back on the A583, heading towards Blackpool. Henry
cowered down in the passenger seat. Aiding and abetting the
unlawful taking of a conveyance. He was having grave problems
coming to terms with this additional responsibility, on top of
everything else. His brain was due for implosion.

‘
Let’s just hope the owner’s set in there for the night ...
give us a head start,’ Rider was saying.

Henry made a feeble attempt to pull himself together. He sat
up, tugged down the sun visor, flicked on the interior light and
inspected his ear. What he saw made him whimper.

It was hanging on by a thread of gristly skin, swinging like a
sign outside a pub. He moaned. Blood flowed onto his left shoulder
and dribbled down his chest.

‘
It’s a fucking mess,’ he blurted out
,
almost crying.

‘
It’ll be all right,’ Rider comforted him.
‘
So
long as
you get some medical treatment fairly soon. Better than a bullet in
your brain at any rate.’

‘
I don’t mean that,’ Henry said churlishly. ‘I mean everything
- the whole fucking shooting match. What the hell are we running
for? I’ve done nothing wrong.’ He was rambling a bit as he tried to
unscramble his brain. ‘Let’s just give ourselves up, John. We’ve
nothing to fear.’

Rider took
a left at Three Nooks and
headed towards Lytham.

‘
They’ve just tried to kill us, mate - that’s what we’ve
got
to fear. What we need is some
breathing space so we can reorganise ourselves and plan ahead.
Presenting ourselves at a police station isn’t the answer,
not
to my way of thinking. If we do that,
they’ll simply say we escaped from custody and we’ll be fucked
again.’

Christ, the pain.

‘
Right, OK,’ said Henry in an attempt to be positive. He was
thinking now. .. slowly, but
at least he
was thinking. ‘We need to get our act together, get the evidence
together and then hit the bastards with it. We could go to my
house-’

‘
Like fuck we could. They’ll be watching and waiting, just
like they’ll be watching and waiting at my flat. I have a better
idea - somewhere we can crash out
for the
night, then see how things look in the morning.’

Henry slumped back in the big comfy seat. ‘Whatever,’ he said
dejectedly.

They did more than watch Henry’s house. On the stroke of
midnight they raided it.

A mean-tempered Gallagher with a bandage wrapped around his
right arm and an ugly-looking swelling by his right eye, banged
angrily on the front door.

Tattersall and Siobhan were directly behind him. Three other
NWOCS detectives hovered behind them, looking hard and
uncompromising, like they’d never smiled since joining the
cops.

Kate raced to the door. She and the Donaldsons had been
sitting in the lounge, tense, awaiting any developments. Karl stood
with her at the threshold.

‘
Is Henry Christie here?’ Gallagher demanded.

‘
No, I-’

Before Kate could say anything more, Gallagher interrupted.
‘He’s wanted for assault, allowing a prisoner to escape and other
corrupt practices, including rape and sexual assault. We’re gonna
search the house.’

Donaldson stepped forwards. ‘Now hold on a moment,
buddy.’

‘
By force if necessary,’ Gallagher warned him.

‘
Where’s the warrant?’

‘
Under English law we don’t need one. Now step aside and let
us in, or we’ll gladly kick the fuck out of you.’

The officers poured in to the house. They pushed past Kate and
one went straight through to the back door which he opened to allow
three more detectives in. They had been watching the rear to
prevent Henry escaping out back.

‘
What do you mean, rape and sexual assault?’ Kate cried. She
was confused and on the edge of tears.

Gallagher sneered evilly at her. ‘Your husband can’t keep his
hands off other women, can he?’ he said with extreme
cruelty.

‘
Shut it, asshole,’ Donaldson warned him, and stepped forwards
menacingly. Gallagher and he were much of the same height and
build. It would have been an interesting conflict.

‘
Go on, do it,’ Gallagher invited.

Donaldson gritted his teeth and held back.

The moment passed.

‘
Now I suggest you get everyone in the house assembled in the
living room,’ said Gallagher.

They parked the Granada in a badly-lit street in South Shore,
and sat there hoping not to draw attention to
themselves.

Henry found an oily cloth in the glove-box and pressed it to
his ear. The bleeding had lessened. Coagulation was taking
place.

They had another brief argument about presenting themselves at
a police station. Henry’s instinct told him this was the way
forwards. Rider laughed at him.

‘
That’s what comes of never having been on the wrong side of
the law,’ he sneered. ‘You wanna look at it from a crim’s
perspective occasionally. When a cop’s out to get you, it’s a
godawful feeling when you know you can’t trust anyone. And for
some, that’s what it’s like. A police station can be a place where
everything you do or say is twisted.’

Which was hard for Henry to perceive. He had always - truly -
believed that if he was in trouble he could go to the law and be
dealt with fairly and justly. In a matter of days his world had
been up-ended. Now he didn’t know who to trust, who to turn to,
where to go. The badness of this squad seemed limitless, its
influence phenomenal. Who could he go to who wasn’t touched by
it?