Begin ended the call.
Now he had everything he needed.
‘ Patrol to attend the Tower: report of a possible jumper. I repeat…’
Henry Christie, normally so poor at using the PR other than for his personal benefit, had actually tried to develop some good habits since becoming a Detective Inspector. He actually listened to it these days and even while he had been out eating shrimps, he’d kept one ear on the comings and goings of police activity around the town.
‘ DI Christie received. I am literally outside the Tower now. I’ll attend.’
‘ Roger. Thanks, sir. Any other patrols to assist?’
Several called up, by which time Henry was running across the Promenade, looking up as he did so.
It was a very long way up. And down.
It was one of the biggest cars Danny had ever seen in her life, and was like sitting in a mobile living room. Typically American, she thought; all the same, lovely and very comfortable. But not a patch on her beloved, now deceased, Merc.
She looked discreetly sideways at the big detective who was driving. His left elbow rested out of the window and he was steering using his left little finger, occasionally holding the wheel with his right when necessary. He whistled tunelessly, looked laid back and cool in his dark glasses. Danny had not thought to pack sunglasses, but did not mind the bright sun in her eyes. It made a change from Britain’s pathetic effort.
‘ 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.’