One Dead Witness (53 page)

‘
Not far now,’ Tapperman informed her.

‘
Fine.’ They had not travelled far anyway.

Ten minutes later they pulled up in the driveway of a large
white house in a fairly exclusive development.

‘
I thought we’d be going to a cop shop.’

‘
Naw,’ drawled Tapperman, releasing his seat belt. ‘This girl’s
got an aversion to cops.’

Danny grabbed her holdall and got out of the car, which was
still bouncing on its soft springs from stopping. As they walked up
the drive, past another large vehicle, some type of people-carrier,
the front door opened and a black woman stood on the threshold,
right hand extended.

‘
Hi, I’m Myrna Rosza. You must be Danny Furness. I’m pleased to
meet you.’

‘
And I’m pleased to meet you, Myrna.’

They shook hands and appraised each other critically, both
liking what they saw. Somehow there was something between them
immediately. A connection. A closeness. Both sensed this would be a
harmonious relationship.

‘
Come in, you must be bushed.’

‘
I’m not too bad. Where’s Tracey?’

Myrna’s eyes flickered upwards. ‘Asleep, like she’s been for
most of the time. I don’t intend to wake her, if that’s okay. I
think she needs all the rest she can get. Maybe you’d like a
shower, get freshened up? Then I’ll do us a meal and we can
talk.’

‘
Sounds good.’

They smiled at each other.

Behind them Tapperman said, ‘I’ll leave you to it. If you have
any problems, bell me anytime.’

‘
Sure, thanks Mark.’

When he’d gone, Myrna said conspiratorially, ‘Bit soft
dumbass, but a heart of gold. Here, let me take your
bag.’

Henry barged his way through the tourists of the day,
unceremoniously heaving them to one side where necessary. He
arrived at the lift to find a long queue of people waiting to go up
the Tower.

‘
You a police officer?’ somebody shouted.

‘
Yeah.’ Henry turned. He recognised the manager of the
place.

‘
Come with me.’

He led Henry to the service lift which was ready and waiting
and empty. Henry peered through the window as the lift rose,
watching in case the jumper decided to fly before he got
there.

Felicity was standing in her underwear when the sales
assistant returned with a cellular phone. The woman’s mouth sagged
open in shock when she saw the bruises all over Felicity’s torso.
The gangster’s wife caught the expression and with a sneer said,
‘It’s how my husband shows affection.’

Stunned, the woman held out the mobile. Felicity banged in a
number and waited impatiently for the connection. The sales
assistant withdrew.

‘
Kruger Investigations? I want to speak to Myrna Rosza.
Urgently.’

It was wonderfully fresh, brilliant up here. The drunken man
was sitting on top of the mesh, looking at a view inland across
Lancashire, towards the Pennines. Then he looked down between his
legs and swallowed. There was a flat roof below on which he would
surely land.

For a split second there was hesitation. He wondered if he had
the courage to do this thing.

Someone on the platform shouted, ‘Don’t do it,
mate!’

But he had to.

For what he had done, he would never be able to live with
himself again.

Myrna, Felicity was informed, could not be contacted. ‘This is
a matter of life and death,’ Felicity pleaded. ‘It concerns the
girl she is protecting. Please let me speak to her. I
need
to speak to her.
It’s vital. . .’ And here Felicity made a guess. ‘Bussola knows
where they are and he’s going to kill the girl -
and
Myrna, if she gets in
the way. I’ve got to speak to her! I’m Steve Kruger’s ex-wife. It’s
imperative. . .’

‘
Just hold the line,’ the polite telephonist said.

‘
Fuck!’ Felicity closed her eyes, which flipped open when the
changing-room door clattered open.

Gus appeared, breathing heavily, the sales assistant behind
him, remonstrating. ‘You cannot barge in here like this!’ Gus
rammed the palm of his big hand into her face, scrunched it up like
a piece of paper and said, ‘Go away, please.’ He pushed her with
such force that she crashed through the closed door of the changing
booth opposite.

Gus lurched across to Felicity, a hurt and disappointed look
on his face. He pulled the phone out of her hand and threw it to
the floor, ramming his heel down on it.

‘
You shouldn’t ought to have done that, Mrs B. You lied to me,
so get dressed, please. I’m gonna take you home.’

The service lift doors opened, Henry stepped out and
immediately saw the man sitting on the overhead mesh.

All the way up Henry had been sifting through the possible
openings he might use to begin the process of talking the man
down.

He strolled to the left of the man, who looked down and showed
recognition in his face. Henry recognised him too.

Before Henry could open his mouth, the man gave himself a push
and went over the edge.

Chapter Twenty-three

‘
This is a lovely house,’ Danny commented to Myrna. They were
standing in the kitchen. The refrigerator was open and appeared to
be crammed full of Hurricane Reef Lager, row upon row of bottles.
Danny saw them. ‘Somebody seems to like this.’

‘
Yeah, try one.’ Myrna slid a bottle out, flipped the cap and
handed it to Danny. She took a drink.

‘
Gorgeous,’ she said approvingly.

‘
Come on, let’s walk out here.’

Myrna led the way to the terrace at the rear of the house
where they sat by the pool. The sun was bright and hot, the sky
crystal clear. Danny closed her eyes and tilted her face upwards.
‘Fantastic ... you don’t know how lucky you are.’

‘
Good weather, bad criminals.’

‘
Bad weather, bad criminals,’ Danny rejoined.

Myrna smiled. She let her eyes wander around the pool,
dreaming of the moment, not many days before, when Steve Kruger had
entered her whilst they balanced precariously in the shallow end,
her legs wrapped around him. She blinked away the beginning of a
tear. It had been wonderful, intense ... made her feel so alive.
She sighed.

‘
It is a nice house, belongs to my employer Steve Kruger who is
now dead, murdered. I think you know the full story.’

‘
Yes, I got a telephone briefing from Karl Donaldson before I
left. He filled me in on everything.’

‘
Why does Tracey wish to speak to you only, Danny?’

‘
Not sure. When the murdered girl went missing all those years
before, I interviewed all the friends we could find, but the files
I re-read before I came don’t have a Tracey Greenwood as being one
of them. So I don’t know why she wants to speak to me. She
obviously knows me, but I don’t know her.’ Danny sipped her lager,
revelled in the sunshine on her face. ‘If she can come up with what
she claims, we have a very good chance of nailing Mr Gilbert - but
we’ll have to protect her. The last witness we had against him has
ended up dead. Coincidence? I think not.’

‘
I’ve seen Gilbert in action. He was disgusting.’ Myrna
shuddered.

‘
And there are possibilities of more stuff from her once she
gets talking, I suppose. There’s the American angle, for example.
When we get back, Karl Donaldson will be coming up to interview her
about what she knows about Bussola - but that’s for the future. My
priority now is to get her home in one piece, get a statement from
her on the way, and get Gilbert charged with another murder before
he walks free. If I’m late returning and he’s out on bail, there’s
a good chance we won’t see him again. I don’t want that to
happen.’

Myrna looked towards the house.

A bare-footed Tracey plodded out of the French windows towards
them.

Danny’s eyes narrowed as she immediately recognised
her.

Twenty minutes after discovering Felicity making an illicit
phone call, Gus dragged her back to the Miami Beach mansion and
paraded her in front of Bussola.

‘
Who were you calling?’ Bussola demanded. ‘Tell me now, or I
bust you up again.’

‘
Just a friend, that’s all. A girlfriend - someone to talk to.
Women’s things. I’ve been like a prisoner in here. I need to get
out, I need some company. Honestly, that’s all. I wouldn’t do
anything stupid. Not again, not ever. I’ve learned.’

Bussola was unsure. He looked at Felicity with a deadly glint
as he considered what she had said. He spoke to Gus, the bodyguard.
‘You did well, very well. Now fuck off and have the rest of the day
off.’

‘
Thanks, boss.’

‘
And as for you, I’ll think about what to do with
you.’

He hovered and hesitated before eventually leaving Felicity on
her bed.

She held her breath and could not believe how fortunate she
had been.

She had another chance.

Better not blow it this time.

Maurice Stanway’s body had to be scraped off the roof with
shovels and put into a plastic bag. He had landed head first and
his skull was no more, other than a pulp of brain, skin, bone and
blood. His shoulders and the upper part of his body had also been
crushed to a mush; only his lower abdomen and legs remained
intact.

Henry thought it was a good job he had seen Stanway’s face
just before he jumped, otherwise there was a good possibility that
identification would have been a problem.

What the hell drives a man to this? Henry pondered, as he
watched the gruesome task of body recovery take place. Fortunately
it wasn’t a job for CID. Suicides were dealt with by uniform. Henry
was happy to hand it over to the patrol Sergeant.

Was it anything to do with Charlie Gilbert? Henry thought,
then dismissed the idea. Enquiries would probably reveal money
troubles, a complex personal life and a myriad of other things,
none of which were Charlie Gilbert-related. Henry imagined that
working for Gilbert would have been quite lucrative and not
something for which you’d chuck yourself off Blackpool
Tower.

‘
If you don’t mind,’ Danny said to Myrna, ‘I think it might be
worthwhile getting a few things down on paper now. The return
flight isn’t until later this evening and I might as well make use
of these hours, even though I’d rather be shopping in the
city.’

‘
Tell you what, then. You spend, say, a couple of hours doing
this. In the meantime, I’ll arrange for another member of my staff
to stand in for me and look after Tracey and later this afternoon
I’ll drive you into Miami, maybe do some shops, hit a restaurant
and then pick Tracey up on the way to the airport. How’s that
sound? Tight, I know - but possible.’

‘
Sounds great. It would be a sin not to get a feel of the
place, wouldn’t it?’

‘
It certainly would.’

They had been chatting by the French windows whilst Tracey
lounged on a chair by the pool.

Danny went over and sat next to her. She had decided not to
mince her words. ‘Your name is not Tracey Greenwood, is
it?’

Danny knew she was right. The girl in front of her was not
called Tracey Greenwood, but Tracey Higgins. She had been a
resident at Mowbreak Children’s Home in Blackpool some five years
earlier. Danny had reported her Missing from Home on several
occasions and she had always returned, until the last time when she
reported her missing and she never came back. On that occasion she
had gone missing with her best friend, Annie Reece, whose remains
had been recently discovered by two frolicking lovers.

Things began to slot slowly into place for Danny.

‘
No, you’re right,’ the girl admitted. ‘My last name isn’t
Greenwood, but I am called Tracey.’

‘
Tracey Higgins,’ Danny interjected. ‘I remember. But why the
name change?’

She shrugged. ‘Because Charlie Gilbert said it was the only
way to get me out of the country. I didn’t have a passport in my
real name and Charlie gave me a new one. I was only thirteen at the
time, but the date of birth on the passport said I was eighteen.
And I looked it. I could get away with that easy if I was dolled
up.’

‘
So Charlie obtained a forged passport for you?’ Danny asked,
wanting this confirmed in her own mind.

Tracey nodded. ‘And a US work permit, visa, all the
immigration crap you need to get into this country. Everything to
start a new life.’

Danny almost permitted herself a smile. So it hadn’t been too
far-fetched to claim in court that Gilbert could obtain forged
travel documents after all. She was relieved.

‘
A new life at the age of thirteen?’

‘
The old one was shit anyway and Charlie promised me loads of
things.’