Seizure (29 page)

‘No, it's you who needs to listen, Flynn. This is a simple scenario. I've got your kid and all I want is my money back. The equation's easy. Your kid for my million. It's that straightforward. I want the money you and your bent partner ripped off from me, couldn't be simpler. You have four days before I send you the first bit of him. And that'll be an eyeball.'

‘This is bang out of order, Deakin,' Flynn said, now certain it was him. ‘Bringing family into it. He's innocent in all this. Let him go now and let's negotiate.'

‘Fuck you, Flynn. This isn't honour among thieves, this is payback time. I just want what's mine and you can have what's yours. I'm not messing about here. I'll kill the little fucker, enjoy it and not think twice, and you know I will. And no cops . . . If I sniff 'em, he's dead.'

‘You're dead if you even touch my son. You know that, don't you?'

Deakin laughed harshly. ‘Shut it and listen. I'll contact you again in four days on this number. That'll give you enough time to get the money together.'

‘I don't have your money, don't even think it ever existed.'

‘Oh it fucking existed all right. So get it, or Craig gets his eyeball gouged out with a fork and sent to you first class.'

The line clicked dead. Flynn stared numbly at the phone in his hand, then looked at Faye. ‘Four days, then it starts,' he said hopelessly – and then it became all too much and his world imploded.

Faye swooped down on her knees to him, the sheet falling from her shoulders, and held him tightly as massive, shuddering sobs wracked his body. He held on tight until she took his face between her hands, wiped away the tears with her thumbs, then kissed them away before placing her lips on his.

When she drew away, she said, ‘We need this, you and me, we need this . . .'

Much of what then transpired was a slow-motion blur to Flynn. Rising to his feet, holding Fay's naked body to him, feeling himself harden, and then suddenly they were in bed. Holding her wrists above her head, her nipples in his mouth, entering her willing body and making desperate love as though he was in a parallel world while the real Steve Flynn watched disapprovingly from the sidelines. They shared joint orgasms and he stayed deep inside her; then, as he subsided, collapsing his weight on to her, completely drained, physically and emotionally. She ran her fingers up and down his spine, then clung to him and they cried together.

Eventually Flynn rolled off her. She fell asleep, while he sat on the edge of the bed before putting on a pair of shorts and padding back on to the patio, settling himself in the two butt-ended chairs. He picked up Craig's mobile and selected the video menu.

He woke early, stiff and chilled. He dressed quickly without disturbing Faye. He scribbled a brief note to say he'd be back later and went to see Adam Castle. Flynn knew that thanks to his ownership of a travel agency among his various other enterprises, Castle had a good ‘in' to plane tickets. He found Castle in his small office in the commercial centre and sat down in front of him.

‘Boss, I owe you a lot and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay all your kindness and generosity . . .'

‘The bullshit precursor to a favour,' Castle said amicably. ‘Or a kick in the nuts.'

‘Something's come up,' Flynn said hesitantly. He looked at Castle, knowing he had to tell him straight.

Half an hour later Flynn left the office having got a seat on the same flight as Faye, leaving Las Palmas at nine that evening and landing in Manchester four and a half hours later. Castle also booked a car for Flynn, to be picked up at Manchester Airport for a period of two weeks, refusing to take any payment for either purchase in spite of Flynn's pleas.

‘Sounds like you'll need all the dosh you can get,' Castle had said.

‘I'll pay you back,' Flynn promised.

‘I know you will. Just do what you have to, OK, then get back here in one piece and work like a Trojan for the next ten years. Then we'll be even.'

‘I will.'

They shook hands.

As Flynn emerged on to the shopping concourse, he had a full day of tension to get through before arriving at the airport a couple of hours before the flight. He needed to stay cool, but that was a big ask. A sensation of uselessness overwhelmed him. He needed to be doing something. He was a man of action and hated kicking his heels, and he knew the best medicine was moored and waiting for him down at the harbour.

A four-hour charter was booked, ten till two, and being out on the water was the best thing he could possibly do to keep his mind from the fact that when he stepped on to that plane later in the day, his life would never be the same again.

SIXTEEN

T
he high-level review of the Deakin case had not gone well.

A squirming Henry Christie – a butterfly on a wheel? – had been obliged to report on the progress or otherwise of the investigation into Deacon's escape and the violent death of a good cop who'd left behind, as they always seemed to do, a grieving widow, pregnant with their second child.

And Henry really had been squirming. Faced with what amounted to a panel of his contemporaries and peers, and chaired by Robert Fanshaw-Bayley, or FB, Lancashire Constabulary's chief constable. The head of Human Resources was also there, along with two chief superintendents, one being from out of the force to provide an objective view of the slaughter.

‘Can I just return to a point you made earlier?' one of these chief supers had said. He was a divisional chief superintendent with a long, undistinguished detective career behind him. Henry knew him well. Although the participants were sitting around an elliptically shaped conference table in a room at the training centre as though they were all equals, Henry was very much under the cosh.

He'd raised his chin defensively as the chief super spoke, with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach for this return to the point. No doubt it would be the point of a dagger.

‘You mentioned you had reservations about the wisdom of even allowing Deakin to attend court to give evidence. As it transpired, these were well founded reservations, if indeed you really had any at all.' Henry's face became tight at the allegation. ‘So, Henry, if you did have these reservations why were you not more vociferous in raising your doubts? Why no banging of the fists on the table?'

Henry tried not to rise to the slur. ‘Deacon's evidence was crucial to the case. It made a vital connection between murderer and victim, something the case lacked. It was a compelling reason to get him on the stand. Greater powers than me decided to take him to court. I voiced my opinion and if it had been my choice, he'd still be in jail.' There was no way Henry was going to take the rap for that decision, even if it made him look like he was passing the buck – which he was.

The chief super nodded. ‘Thanks for that, Henry.'

Henry reached for a glass of iced water. His throat was parched. He took a gulp, then said, ‘And of course it seems that the evidence was absolutely crucial to the trial. As we know, the trial collapsed yesterday and Johnny Cain is now a free man.'

‘OK, then,' the chief constable said, leaning his considerable girth forward, his large round belly creasing above and below the table. ‘So where are we up to with it, Henry?'

Henry shuffled his notes and gathered his thoughts. ‘We think there's every likelihood that Deakin is out of the country. He amassed quite a bit of money from a series of armed robberies he, er, masterminded from jail. Although the high court ordered the seizure of his assets, amounting to somewhere in the region of five million pounds, there's every reason to think there's a similar amount hidden away elsewhere. Our financial investigators are working on that.' He glanced around the table, seeing several heads with brains in them bigger than his shaking with disgust. ‘We're also making inquiries to trace the team who sprang him from custody. We think they're the same professional gang who sprang a prisoner en route from Lancaster Crown Court about a dozen years ago. They've assisted in escapes in London, Paris and Madrid.' The Lancaster escape was one Henry had been involved with, too, but it had been even more violent. ‘Anyway, there is a very big investigation under way and a lot of positive leads are being followed up. I'm sure we'll have the break we need soon.'

‘Henry,' the chief super who'd previously spoken leaned forward, ‘to be fair to you, you should know we are seriously considering replacing you as head of this investigation. It's a mammoth task, one requiring someone with vast strategic and tactical knowhow.' Henry's insides twisted again. ‘However,' he relented – and Henry's balls felt like they'd been released from a vice. ‘For the time being you will remain in charge, but do note that we are extremely concerned by the lack of progress with this and other inquiries you are currently heading. We feel that new blood may well be necessary to give fresh impetus. So basically, you've another three days to convince us and show some results.'

‘I'm doing absolutely everything that needs doing,' Henry responded pathetically.

‘Henry,' the chief super said with a smirk, ‘you might well be hitting all the right notes, but not necessarily in the right order. We need some out of the box thinking, something creative now.'

‘In other words, get your finger out,' FB cut in curtly. ‘OK, anything else to discuss?' He glanced sharply around the room, his look challenging anyone to come up with something. ‘OK, review closed. Henry, you're still I/C, but it's a dicey thing.'

Henry collected his things as though a little cloud was raining over his head alone. Everyone filed out except FB, leaving the two of them sitting opposite each other, staring silently for a few moments.

‘I headed off a vote of no confidence before this meeting,' FB told him. Henry nodded glumly. He and FB went back a very long way, knew each other well, though the relationship was very much biased in FB's favour. ‘Talk is that you've been promoted beyond your capabilities,' FB added for Henry's information.

‘So I'm no different to the rest of the other high-ranking officers in this force,' Henry said childishly.

‘Cutting.' FB's lips pursed. ‘A statement that doesn't make you sound good.'

‘Sorry boss. Just feeling it, that's all.'

‘As is every other cop in the force. It's fucking tough, pal – and when you stick your mush up over the parapet, you have to suffer all the slings and arrows with equanimity. Because every bastard is out to get you, especially your peers. Welcome to the jungle. I mean, I know you've taken a lot of shit historically, but it's just that you've now got much, much further to fall.'

Henry nodded.

‘Fact is I promoted you because you never give up, never have done, never will, which is why I fought your corner.' FB pushed himself and his chair backwards, raised his bulk up. ‘Having said that, I quite liked the Morecambe and Wise reference, the “all the right notes” thing.' He chuckled and walked to the door. ‘Let's have a bit more of the old Henry Christie on this one, shall we?' He gave Henry an exaggerated wink, then went out. Henry gathered his stuff and scuttled out after him, catching up as they walked across the training centre car park.

‘I want to bug Barry Baron,' Henry said.

‘The brief?' They reached FB's new car, parked on the disabled-only hatch markings. It was a huge, four-wheel drive monstrosity that could have single-handedly put a hole in the ozone layer. ‘Not a well thought out plan.'

‘I'm a hundred per cent he's involved.'

‘To get that authority would mean me talking to the Home Secretary, an ex-lawyer by the way. He could take some convincing.'

‘I don't have time. Three days, remember?'

‘OK, do an application and submit it through normal channels. If it makes sense, I'll talk to the Home Secretary, but it will take time. In the meantime, get the ball rolling, wink, wink. But don't embarrass me in the bargain.' He climbed into his spacious car and opened the window. ‘Truth is, Henry, even though those numb-nuts don't know it, you are the best detective for this job – so if you aren't going to play by the rules, at least make it look as though you have done. Get my drift?'

Open-mouthed, Henry watched him drive away, trying to get his head around the last five minutes. FB giving him a motivational speech and then the wink-wink go-ahead to get a result by whatever means possible, both of which the chief would deny if pressed.

He decided he needed some sustenance in order to do some serious cogitation. He sauntered to the training centre dining room and got himself a frothy coffee from the machine, carrying it to the far corner of the room. There he could sit facing out of the floor-to-ceiling windows with his back to the activity inside, and watch the genteel life pass by across the quadrangle, a bit like university – with uniforms instead of gowns. He placed his mobile on the table.

The coffee was surprisingly good, giving him a jolt of caffeine that seemed to energize him.

It had been a relentless investigation. Deakin escaping, the cop dying, Richard Last's wife being targeted (as well as Henry himself in the crossfire), plus the gruesome deaths of Last and Sumner. Not forgetting the security guard who'd been killed, probably by Last or Sumner. Henry had tried to bring all these threads together and it had been like spinning plates. The whole thing had taken its toll. The squad had worked hard, putting in long hours while knowing that only a fraction of the overtime worked would be paid. But they'd done so because a cop had been killed. Unfortunately it was effort that could not possibly be sustained. People were now drained, not at their best, losing momentum, particularly since no results had been forthcoming.

Henry was bitter about the message coming from the review team. Maybe he should have been more vociferous about not allowing Deakin to go to court, but beyond that everything else he'd done was watertight.