Seizure (23 page)

‘OK, any questions?' Bill concluded. There were none. ‘In that case' – Bill checked the time – ‘let's chill for a few minutes before we hit the road. Firearms officers recheck their weapons please and MDS and motorcyclists carry out last-minute vehicle checks . . .' He glanced at Henry. ‘Anything you'd like to add, sir?' Henry shook his head. ‘OK, the prison's expecting us bob-on seven.'

The officers rose and sauntered to their tasks. Henry hovered in the classroom as Bill stowed away his gear.

‘You happy with this, Bill?'

‘As can be.'

‘I know the other escort team has Cain sorted,' Henry commented, referring to the security escort team bringing the defendant Cain in from Manchester Prison and depositing him at Preston Crown Court, then reversing the journey at the end of the day. They'd been doing this since day one of the trial, a high-profile, bells and whistles escort that would discourage any sort of rescue attempt.

‘Yeah – it should be clockwork. Our plan is to get Deakin to court before Cain arrives, then house him in the police room, under guard and secured, to keep him separate from Cain. That'll be the job of the officers in court, of course.'

Henry's mouth twisted at the thought of this. ‘I think that looks like a weak point. The police room isn't designed to be secure.'

‘He'll have armed cops for company and four support unit PCs and prison guards.'

‘OK, I see your point. But do not ever trust the bastard, Bill. He's a slimy rodent and if he got chance to go, he would.'

As those words were being spoken, the slimy rodent in question was just returning to his cell having had an early shower and shave prior to his court appearance. Deakin strolled casually along the landing and turned into his cell, where his clothes for the day had been laid out for him on his bunk. His two cell-mates watched him from their beds, saying nothing as he climbed into a well-tailored suit and patted himself down.

At ten minutes to seven, two prison guards appeared at the door.

‘Boys, nice to see you,' Deakin beamed.

One of the guards beckoned him with a crooked finger. ‘Out here, pal.'

They slammed the door behind him. One said, ‘Spread 'em, pal.'

Deakin turned to the wall and propped himself against it while one of the guards purported to search him. He made it look good, but in reality there was no body search at all.

‘OK, stand up straight,' the guard said, smirking.

‘You two'll get nice bonuses,' Deakin said just loud enough for them to hear. One pushed him along, keeping up the pretence.

‘That way, Mr Deakin.'

The prisoner smiled smugly and walked on as instructed. He failed to see the man hiding in the arch of a cell door a few feet away, a man who watched the little charade with burning, vengeful eyes, but with a feeling inside him that there was nothing he could do to stop Deakin in his tracks.

Wincing painfully, Jamie Last waited until Deakin and his escort had gone out of sight and then emerged from behind the cover of the door to walk in the direction of the kitchens, where he had secured a job as a trusty.

Henry watched the security escort roll off in formation: two motorcyclists to lead, an ARV with two armed officers on board plus an MDS driver, a second vehicle that would carry Deakin staffed by a driver and an unarmed PC; then the following vehicle containing another duo of armed cops and a driver. All the cars were liveried. They crept up the main drive at headquarters, past Henry. He nodded at Bill in the lead car, who returned a Yank-style salute. They turned right at the top of the drive and left on to the A59. It would take less than ten minutes to get to the prison.

Henry did not really envy them, although there was a healthy adrenaline rush associated with such jobs. Now all he craved was peace and quiet, but somehow that eluded him. He shook his head and returned to his office.

Something he'd said in anger over the weekend had stuck in his mind and he wanted to check it out. Then he wanted to get down to Preston Crown Court to be ready and waiting for Deakin's arrival. In the office he picked up a phone and dialled Jerry Tope's home number, a nasty little smile on his face.

‘Mornin', Jerry.'

‘Unph! Henry, are you making a habit of phoning me early? It's like having a stalker. Not funny . . .'

‘And nor is failing to get details of the whereabouts of two murder suspects and blabbing police intelligence to a third party,' Henry retorted.

‘You're not going to let that drop, are you?'

‘Not until you've paid your dues.'

‘What you want?'

‘Need you to do some digging for me.'

‘You mean unauthorized snooping in other people's or organizations' computer systems?'

‘How dare you . . . well, actually, you could be on to something there.'

Henry dodged his way recklessly through the early morning logjam of traffic from headquarters into the centre of Preston. He found a space in a municipal car park not far from the court and went down into the holding cells where the Operations Chief Inspector could be found. This was the person responsible for coordinating the security surrounding the Johnny Cain murder trial – the armed escort to and from Manchester Prison and the discreet presence of armed cops inside and outside the court building. As well as a sniper on the multi-storey car park opposite.

The guy looked jerky and nervous, continually checking his watch and cocking his ear to the two PRs on his desk. One was tuned into the channel used by Cain's escort, the other dedicated to Deakin's escort.

He had a hunted expression. The kind of face worn by a man who expected the very worst to happen – which was much to Henry's delight because the man was no other than CI Andy Laker, a brown-nosing git who had a massive downer on Henry. The feeling was mutual. Laker saw himself as a go-getter, a man with a future in the job, Association of Chief Police Officers potential. He saw Henry as an obnoxious dinosaur who for some unaccountable reason had his nose permanently up the chief constable's rectum.

Laker had once been the chief's staff officer but the chief had soon realized he didn't like the arse-licker one little bit and booted him out of post unceremoniously. Since then he had flitted between various operational roles before actually taking Henry's old job in the Special Projects Team, which no one else would touch with a bargepole. Henry had learned recently that Laker had made such a pig's ear of it that the team had mutinied and been disbanded, Laker being dumped on the Operations branch.

‘Andy, my boy,' Henry beamed.

Laker's scowling face turned to Henry. ‘It's you.'

‘The one and only. How's it all going?'

Laker's eyes surveyed his predicament. ‘You work it out.'

‘Exciting stuff,' Henry said, recalling a fairly recent occasion when Laker had collared Henry in a corridor at HQ when they were both chief inspectors, and given him a right royal dressing down for undermining his authority. Laker had expected to fly past Henry in the promotion stakes and Henry guessed that the fact he now sported the rank of superintendent rankled with Laker no end. He hoped it gave him heartburn. But Henry wasn't one to gloat.

There was an awkward pause, then Henry said, ‘Right, how are we doing?'

‘The pick-up at Lancashire Prison was effortless and they should be here within the next few minutes. Cain is en route from Manchester as we speak, no problems.'

‘Is everything in place for keeping the two parties apart?'

‘Yes.'

One of Laker's PRs blared out. ‘Lima Charlie to Chief Inspector, now Ring Way, two minutes from destination.' It was the voice of Bill Robbins.

Laker grabbed the PR. ‘Roger that.' He leaned out of his office and spoke to one of the private security guards in the reception area. ‘Doors, please.'

The guard sauntered to the roll-up door situated at the rear of the court and pressed a button. The metallic door clattered upwards just in time for the car containing Deakin to drive in and stop. The remainder of the escort vehicles pulled up and stayed in the compound.

The back door of the car opened and a manacled Deakin was helped out of the seat by a prison guard. He caught Henry's gaze.

‘Mr Christie,' Deakin declared. ‘Here I am, here to do my public duty.' He held up his bound wrists. ‘I hope these won't be staying on and that I'll be looked after.'

Henry turned his back and made his way through a series of security doors to the main court area on the ground floor. He emerged into the public mezzanine and immediately bumped into Naomi Dale, carrying a multitude of files. He thought of doing an about turn, but she spotted him and there was no escape.

‘Hello, Henry,' she said demurely if a little coolly. Since their encounter, Henry had kept her at phone's length. He'd been extra proud of himself that he hadn't succumbed to her on the night he called around on his way home, even though it had been a close-run thing. He was also just as proud that on the night he thought he needed someone like Naomi, the night when he thought about being on the verge of becoming an orphan and needed a refuge in meaningless sex, he'd gone home and had exactly the opposite with Kate. Henry knew this meeting was inevitable and that their extra-curricular relationship would have to be dealt with. Everything had been done by chilly conversations since. ‘Long time, no see.' She regarded him cynically. ‘It's still available,' she said. ‘And I still feel scorned by the way you left that night and the way you've not spoken to, or avoided me since.'

‘It's not happening. I'm married and happy with it,' he said unconvincingly.

Her look was similar to the one he'd given Andy Laker earlier. His feet seemed to turn to liquid in his shoes, but suddenly her face softened. ‘I'm not after a relationship, nor am I after busting up yours. I'm free, single and like having a bit of fun – and I'd like to have some fun with you, Henry. So there it is, out in the open. Now, let's move on to the real reason we're here, shall we?'

Relief flooded into Henry's shoes as though he'd wet himself. He tried not to show it, just in case she was messing with him. ‘That'd be good, thanks.'

‘Doesn't mean to say I won't be after you, though.' She gave him a wicked half-smile and her eyes twinkled mischievously.

Henry's feet went to lead this time. He wondered, with a hint of cruelty, how many bunnies Naomi might have stewed in her time.

‘Let's get a coffee and chat about Mr Deakin, shall we?' she asked. Henry followed her meek as a lamb to a coffee machine which dispensed two plastic mugs of grim-tasting liquid. They retreated to a consulting room where they could be alone. Naomi plonked herself on one side of a table, Henry sat opposite, about as far away as he could without seeming rude. ‘I take it he's arrived safely?' She slammed her court files on the table top with a hefty slap.

‘He has.'

‘That's a good start. No problems encountered, then?'

‘None.'

‘Will you be using the same route each day?'

‘I don't know. Not up to me, but I guess they'll vary it as much as possible. He's only likely to be here two or three days at most, isn't he?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why the question, then?'

‘Just curious.' She brushed some hair back from her face, then changed the subject. ‘I really thought you'd be back that night, you know?' she purred. He wondered what a tiger's purr sounded like. His mouth remained tightly clamped. ‘Don't worry,' she laughed, ‘just teasing.'

‘Mm,' he said, unconvinced. ‘Have you managed to slide Deakin into the scheme of things to have the best effect on the trial?'

‘The barrister thinks so.'

‘How's it all going?'

‘More up than down. Deakin's evidence will be critical, though – if he sticks to his statement, that is.'

‘I still can't work out what he's up to. There doesn't seem to be any mileage in it for him. If anything he'll just piss Cain off and get a bullet for his troubles. Even witness protection isn't one hundred per cent.'

‘Let's not be bothered by his motives, shall we? Let's just be thankful for what he's doing.'

Henry shrugged. It wasn't his problem, but he still didn't like it.

‘How's the wife?' Naomi asked suddenly.

Henry stood up from the table and walked out of the consulting room.

Once Johnny Cain had arrived at court, Henry left. There was a DCI in charge of the case and the presenting of the evidence was nothing to do with Henry. Having satisfied himself that Laker had all the security in place, he got back to his day job – trying to catch murderers.

His first stop was thirty miles due east in Rossendale, where he attended the briefing of the team investigating the double murder of Richard Last and Jack Sumner. Henry watched the proceedings with a cool detachment, realizing it was completely stonewalled even though it was now combined with the supermarket robbery-cum-shooting. This joint investigation was now focused on Manchester, the main hunting ground of the dead men. But the estates they frequented put up a wall of silence and no one seemed to want to stick their heads above the parapet.

Henry's thoughts turned to Steve Flynn, somewhere out in the Canary Islands. Attempts to recontact him had failed, but Henry remained intrigued as to why Flynn had suddenly been visited by Cromer and Jackman, two men renowned for their less than subtle ways of getting information out of people. Henry thought it through. Cromer and Jackman were basically information and debt collectors . . . Perhaps Last and Sumner owed a debt . . . perhaps Flynn owed a debt . . .

‘Money,' Henry said, coming to the same conclusion once again. That was the answer. It had to be. Owed money. Last and Sumner owed money and got visited. And maybe Steve Flynn also owed money . . . lots of it. He left the briefing and found an empty office, where he dialled Jerry Tope's internal number. ‘Get checking the flights to and from Gran Canaria from all north-west airports around the time Steve Flynn contacted you,' Henry told him without pleasantries. ‘If Cromer and Jackman went out, maybe they've come back, so speak to airline companies, immigration, CCTV at the airports, see what you can turn up. Also, get back in touch with Steve Flynn.'