FB glowered at her. Then his lips pursed into the shape of a cat’s arse. He knew he was being railroaded. With dignity, he conceded defeat. ‘What must be, must be,’ he shrugged.
‘ If nothing else she deserves a bit of pampering after what she’s been through,’ Henry said patronisingly, wishing his words unspoken when he saw Danny’s angry face.
‘ When can we get her on a flight?’ FB asked, a note of resignation in his voice.
Henry consulted his notes, taken during a conversation with a travel agent with whom the Force often dealt. ‘There’s one tonight, arriving four a.m. our time, eleven p.m. theirs.’
Danny quickly worked that one out. ‘I don’t fancy that,’ she said disgustedly. ‘That means leaving here at eight tonight. No, thanks. I want a decent night’s sleep before I go.’
‘ Shit,’ Henry said under his breath. ‘That starts cutting things a bit fine then. There is an eight a.m. flight tomorrow, landing in Miami at 4 p.m. our time, eleven a.m. their time. That means you’d have to pick the girl up and do a quick turn around, catch a six p.m. flight back from Miami, which would land back in Manchester at seven a.m. our time on Thursday morning.’
‘ Jesus,’ Danny said. She closed her eyes and sighed. Sixteen hours, two eight-hour flights almost back to back. Not recommended for anyone in any condition. However, Henry’s promises about the days following made her decision. ‘I’ll do it. Just make sure that when I land back in Manchester on Thursday morning, you are waiting for me, probably with a hearse, because I’ll be all but dead.’
They both looked at FB whose face wore the mask of pain of a man who was having to fork out money from his own wallet. ‘Okay, get it booked.’
Henry reached for the phone.
‘ Oi! What do you think you’re doing?’
‘ I was going to use your tele-’
FB was shaking his head. He jerked his thumb towards the door. ‘Find another.’
Out in the corridor Danny remarked, ‘You don’t let FB walk all over you, do you? He usually flattens people.’
‘ He’s done that in the past, but since he pulled a particularly dirty trick on me a while ago, which nearly got me shot to pieces, I don’t take any shit from him, ACC or not. And that’s not meant to sound like bragging. He owes me a lot… now, where can I find a phone? I know, let’s go out to the Divers’ hut. We can get a brew there as well.’
‘ The Divers’ hut?’
‘ Yeah. I used to be a police diver donkey’s years ago. Did a couple of years on the branch when it was a part-time thing; there’s people on it I know well.’
Ten minutes later Henry had booked Danny on the flight to Miami and, over a cup of tea, was showing her the intricacies of some diving equipment, boring her to death in the process.
‘ I’m sorry to say bail was refused.’ Stanway’s voice was weak.
‘ On what grounds?’
‘ Likely to abscond, interfere with witnesses, but the Judge said the case must be reviewed on Thursday and every week thereafter if necessary.’
‘ What exactly does that mean, Maurice?’
‘ It means, Charles, that if the police have found no further evidence against you, you will be released, probably with bail conditions.’
‘ I sense a “but” at the end of that sentence.’
‘ I think they will have evidence, but not concerning Claire Lilton. It’ll be evidence about the body of the girl they found in Darwen. I did some checking on the way down, via the mobile in the car, with a friend I have in the CPS. They’re sending an officer to the United States to bring a vital witness back who will give evidence against you.’
Gilbert’s head dropped into his hands.
They were in yet another consulting room, this time at Risley Remand Centre. Gilbert’s big, round, football of a head rose. He stuffed a little finger up his nose, rooted around and extracted a ball of snot which he wiped underneath the table.
‘ Who is it?’
‘ Some girl or other. I don’t have details.’
‘ Fuck! I know who she is. It can only be one person.’
He gazed at the ceiling for inspiration. ‘This puts me right back to square one, because if she turns up, I’ll face a murder charge… and I don’t want that to happen, Maurice.’
‘ We’ll defend it,’ Stanway declared resolutely.
‘ No, Maurice. I said I didn’t want it to happen at all.’
‘ What are you going to do then? Have another witness murdered?’ Stanway’s voice rose. ‘I mean, she’s in America. It’s not as though we can send that dumb gorilla round we paid the other night, can we?’
‘ No, that’s true — and keep your voice down, Maurice. Walls have ears.’
‘ What do you intend doing, then?’ Stanway re-enquired. ‘I think we should defend it.’
‘ I will not appear in court on another murder charge.’
‘ Charles,’ Stanway breathed with exasperation, ‘she’s in America, presumably in police hands. She’ll be handed over to the Lancashire officer and brought straight back — in police hands. There is no way you could pull a stunt of any sort.’
‘ Maurice,’ Gilbert began in a tone of voice which was losing patience, ‘I want you to do something for me.’ He wiggled a forefinger to bring Stanway’s face closer and he whispered in the solicitor’s ear.
When he had finished, Stanway stood up and paced the room. ‘No, no, I will not do it — you cannot make me do it! First I meet and pay some bloody lowlife to commit a murder and now you ask me to do this. I am just digging myself in deeper and deeper… I will not do it. Ethically, morally, legally, it is against all my principles. The answer is no, Charles. A definite no.’
Gilbert listened to the tirade, almost expecting Stanway to stamp his feet.
‘ Finished, Maurice?’
Stanway nodded and licked his dry lips.
‘ You don’t have a fucking choice.’
Hyperventilation: breathing at an abnormally rapid rate, resulting in increased loss of carbon dioxide.
Maurice Stanway put the dictionary down with dithering hands. That was exactly what he was suffering from. His breathing was out of control; his heart rate astounding. His was light-headed; grey flecks were whizzing in front of his eyes. In fact, it was a miracle he had made it from Risley Remand Centre back to his office in the car. It was only sheer willpower which had prevented him from blacking out on the motorway.
The office was deserted. All the staff had gone home.
It was 7 p.m.
Stanway tried to control everything by sitting at his desk and getting a firm grip on his bodily functions. Without success. In the end he yanked open his bottom drawer and reached for the quarter bottle of scotch he kept there. Normally it languished unopened from Christmas to Christmas. He unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to his lips, gurgling down the fiery liquid. Almost half the bottle went down within seconds. He almost choked.
‘ Christ, Christ, Christ.’ His current predicament was beyond his comprehension, but he knew it was solely down to one thing — his weakness. From his experience as a solicitor he knew that weakness was the usual downfall of most people, whether it be a fondness for drink, drugs, money or power, or, as in his case, young boys. Preferably around the ages of seven or eight.
For the millionth time he asked himself why. Why did he like it? Something he knew was completely unnatural, immoral and illegal. But he did. He loved the texture of their soft flesh; he loved causing pain and loved holding them down whilst he completed the act. That too, was a power thing.
But why?
A married man, kids of his own who he would have defended with his life from the advances of someone like himself. A good, moderately successful career. Nice house, two decent cars, money not a problem.
Perhaps his longstanding friendship with Gilbert was one reason. They had known each other since Grammar School, where the brutish Gilbert had led him astray then… and the relationship had continued in the same vein for thirty odd years.