Dean sighed heavily. He shook his head with disgust. ‘I’ve been a fool,’ he admitted, and said no more.
‘Tell me.’ Henry’s voice was tough.
Dean’s head continued to shake. ‘You know I took that statement from Jack Burrows regarding the young girl who was murdered in one of her flats?’
‘I do.’
‘Shit.’ He screwed his eyes up, finding it hard to continue. ‘I slept with her. There! Said it. I slept with her.’
‘I thought as much,’ Henry said in a clipped tone. ‘What did you tell her?’
‘Nothing, nothing much.’
‘Pillow talk,’ said Henry. ‘Did you keep her up to date with the investigation?’ Dean nodded. ‘Did you know she was involved with the Cragg brothers?’
‘Er. . no.’ It was an unsure answer.
‘Tell me the truth, Rik.’
‘I had an idea.’ He winced.
‘Was the fuck worth it?’ Henry asked.
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘Oh, what was it like? Was it love?’ he asked harshly. ‘So during your post-coital chats you told her how things were going on with the investigation? Yeah?’
‘Suppose so,’ Dean said miserably.
‘And the fact that her boyfriend could have been a prime suspect didn’t enter your idiotic bonce?’
‘I didn’t actually know he was her boyfriend, did I?’
‘It doesn’t matter, Rik, because what you did was jeopardize a whole murder enquiry. Why the hell do you think she let you sleep with her? Because you’re a good shag? It was the woman who owned the flat where the girl was murdered, for God’s sake. Why? Ahh! Even she’s a fuckin’ suspect, Rik.’ Henry could have screamed. He threw his hands up. ‘Once this is sorted, I’ll deal with you,’ he said, bringing the conversation to a close. ‘And don’t think for a moment you’re going to get off lightly — you’re not!’
Miller had left the flat, gone to his own place and returned about half an hour later with a laptop computer. He flashed a CD-ROM. ‘Let’s have a look at this.’
Miller opened the laptop, plugged it in and booted it up. He perched it on his knees and the other two men got into a position where they could see the screen. They were intrigued. He opened the CD drive and inserted the disc.
‘What’s the cop’s name again?’
‘Henry Christie.’
‘And where do you think he lives?’
‘Somewhere in Blackpool, I guess. Definitely Lancashire,’ said Ray. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘It’s a CD-ROM which contains the names and addresses of every person in the UK who is on a voters’ list.’
‘Bloody hell!’
‘Very useful for tracking people down. Got it free with a computer magazine.’ He tapped a few keys and the disk set off on its memory search, whirring as it spun. Moments later all the people with the surname of Christie who lived in Lancashire were displayed. There was only one Henry James Christie. He tabbed down to it and pressed enter. Henry’s address appeared on the screen.
‘How about that, then? Not bad for a free gift, eh?’
Another corridor, another conversation. This time Henry and Jane Roscoe.
‘Chat to her and use this.’ He handed her Donaldson’s tape recorder. ‘Rik will go and get you a change of clothing and I’ll be back first thing. You okay with that?’
She nodded. She was exhausted.
‘Good lass.’
‘Henry! Oh, it doesn’t matter.’ She turned away and walked down the corridor. Henry watched, strangely drawn to her, but knowing that ultimately he was doing the right thing for himself and his family, although it was damned hard. Jane went into the TV lounge where Burrows was sitting. Donaldson appeared by Henry’s elbow.
‘She really has the hots for you, that one. I knew that when I met her last year. Plain as the day is long.’
‘I’m a new man now, though. In my formative years I would have done something very silly, but now, at my tender age, I know better.’ Henry smiled. ‘I just fuck ’em and leave ’em now.’
‘Hey, you’re growing up at last, Henry.’ Donaldson patted his back.
‘Yeah, Mister Mature, that’s me.’ Henry scowled and checked his watch. It was very late, or very early depending on viewpoint. ‘We can be at my house in under an hour if you like?’
‘I need to be back at the airport by seven thirty, but I would like to see Kate and the girls, however fleetingly.’
‘Good.’
‘And I have a confession to make to you.’
‘I’m a cop, so you can tell me anything.’
‘I overheard your conversation with DS Dean.’
‘Silly, silly man. Him, not you.’
‘People make mistakes. They often don’t realize they’re doing it at the time, but it has made me think of something.’
‘You’ve slept with someone you shouldn’t have?’
‘Not recently. . but I have a feeling I know someone who has.’
They left Crazy’s bike near the flat in South Shore and Miller drove them both to a housing estate on the outskirts of Blackpool, not too far from the motorway junction at Marton Circle. They drove past Henry Christie’s house just once, and returned to South Shore to pick up the motorbike. Ten minutes later they were parked up separately near the detective’s house, keeping in touch with each other by radio. Miller settled himself at the top of the avenue on which Henry’s house was situated, with a clear view of the house and driveway. He settled down low in his seat, reclined it and relaxed.
At 4 a.m. he was roused from a sort of sleep by a car driving past him. He sank further into the seat and watched it park on the Christies’ driveway. Two men got out.
‘He’s landed back,’ Miller said to Crazy over the radio.
‘In that Vectra?’
‘That’s the one.’
Miller watched the two men enter the house. He assumed the driver was Christie, not having seen or met him before. Both men were big and handy-looking and for the first time in a long time, Miller had an uneasy feeling inside him.
Sixteen
It was Kate who roused them. Henry in the same bed as her and Donaldson in the spare bedroom. They threw coffee and juice down their throats and said a quick goodbye to Kate, but not the girls, because they were still in the Land of Nod.
It was 6.15 a.m. when they reached the motorway and Henry knew that barring accidents or other travel delays, he would have his friend at the airport well in time for the shuttle.
‘Have I slept?’ said the bleary-eyed American.
‘Not really.’ Henry yawned once, then could not stop from yawning.
At least the day was fine and pleasant as the night gave way to dawn. The sky was lightly clouded with hints of blue beyond.
Miller and Crazy were following, Miller in his Granada and Crazy on the motorbike, each hanging back, occasionally one passing the other. The following was easy because Christie was driving fast and it is far easier to follow a quickly moving vehicle, not least because the driver is usually more concerned about what is going on in front of him rather than behind. At 90 mph, this was very much the case with Henry.
Henry made it to the airport for 7 a.m., dropping Donaldson off at Terminal 3. Traffic was busy around the airport roads and Henry knew he could not stop long. Donaldson leaned back through the nearside door.
‘Thanks, Henry. At least I know what’s happened to Zeke. I’ll inform his family as soon as I get back to London and start making arrangements to get his body back to the States. How soon do you think we’ll be able to have him?’
‘As soon as I can arrange it,’ Henry promised. ‘It might be that we’ll have to arrange an independent post-mortem to be carried out before the coroner will release him, but I’ll get on to it today.’
Henry leaned across and they shook hands.
‘Much appreciated,’ said Donaldson.
‘Take care,’ called Henry as Donaldson slammed the door and stood back to watch Henry drive off. His eyes narrowed when he saw a black-suited motorcyclist pull away and slot in behind Henry’s Vectra. He did not know why it made him feel uncomfortable. It just did. Fed instinct. He shook it off and strode into the terminal.