Nick Oldham - A Time For Justice

Henry gazed with mounting excitement tinged with trepidation at the tired but expectant faces in front of him. This was it. Somehow he knew it in his guts. This was going to be the real thing. No way could it turn out to be a wild-goose chase.

Karen had been tasked to do the briefing. When she asked for quiet, the room hushed immediately.

‘ Good morning, everyone. Thanks for turning out at such short notice. We are very impressed by your eagerness and I think that it will be rewarded today.

‘ OK… we all know about the escape from custody of a man called James Clarkson Hinksman three days ago after he’d been found guilty of the M6 bombing and the murders of several police officers and others. The escape was perpetrated by a ruthless professional gang who specialise in such jobs. It involved incredible violence, leaving many of our colleagues dead for no good reason. Obviously since then we have been working at full tilt to recapture Hinksman and apprehend this violent team.

‘ It’s no secret that netting the team will be a long and difficult process as we believe they’ve probably dispersed abroad by now. However, with regard to Hinksman we have had a major breakthrough. This is why you’re all here this morning.’

A murmur went round the room. Karen allowed it to settle before continuing.

‘ As most of you know, DS Christie and I have headed the part of the investigation aimed specifically at Hinksman. This morning DS Christie and Special Agent Donaldson of the FBI — who has been working closely with us on this — have received some Class A information which leads us to believe two things. Firstly, Hinksman is still in Lancashire. Secondly, he’s going to leave the country today. We know how and where, but we don’t exactly know when, other than it’s today sometime. So I’ll warn you now, this could be a very long day, but I’m confident that at the end of it we’ll have a result. Any questions so far?’

There were none. But there were plenty of smiles on plenty of faces.

On the wall behind Karen was a large-scale map of Lancaster and its environs. She stepped to one side and turned to it.

‘ The information we have received today is this…’

She pointed to the map and began to reveal the police operation that had been hastily put together.

Dave August had everything from the Lancashire police files on Lenny Dakin: intelligence reports, photographs, more up-to-date descriptions, known associates, suspected involvement in crime, estimated wealth etc. There were copies of several surveillance operations which had been run jointly between Lancashire and other forces, but all these had been unsuccessful. He was a very careful man, very surveillance-conscious. One detective referred to him as the ‘canny Scot’.

So, pondered August, he was a big-time criminal, of that there was no doubt. He read through an intelligence report submitted by Henry Christie, reporting that Dakin had picked up the American gangster Corelli at Manchester Airport. Christie surmised that the two were in cahoots, probably planning ways to bring drugs into the country. He also surmised that Dakin had probably set up Danny Carver and Jason Brown to meet their deaths at the hand of Hinksman — but he had no evidence to back that up.

He may be Mr Big, August thought, but more importantly, this morning I have identified him as the man behind everything that has gone wrong with my life recently. This is the bastard who preyed on my weakness and exploited it.

When August’s secretary Jean came in, he realised, much to his surprise, that it was 8 a.m. He was still sat there in the uniform he’d been wearing for the last twenty-four hours. He needed a shave and a shower.

Jean had a worried look on her face.

She walked across to August’s desk and placed a newspaper on top of what he was reading.

‘ I think you should see this, sir,’ she said without a smile. ‘And there’s a journalist outside asking to see you, an American called Lisa Want.’ She spun round and left.

August frowned. This was not a newspaper he had ever read or would ever consider reading. It was complete trash.

Then the headlines hit him.

Chief Constable In Sex-And-Drug Orgy With Hooker!

‘ Oh my God,’ he groaned.

A grainy colour photograph on the front page showed him facing the camera, standing naked with a woman kneeling in front of him. Her face and breasts, his privates and buttocks had been blacked out with a thick line, but the ecstasy on his face was horribly clear. It was a still taken from the video.

The article accompanying it was written by Lisa Want — again on ‘special assignment’. Readers were invited to turn to the centre pages for more sensational photographs and a transcript of the soundtrack.

With a heartbeat increased to epic proportions and a quivering hand to match, Dave August did just that. His world, which was crumbling away, began to avalanche down a precipitous mountainside.

And there would be more to come.

He looked out of his window towards the sports field. The day was overcast, clouds grey. Big spats of rain slapped loudly onto the panes.

The phone started to ring.

Both Henry Christie and Karl Donaldson received phone calls after the briefing which unsettled them. They were summoned down to the communications room on the floor below the gym and took their calls at the same time, but from different extensions.

Karen, standing in a position between the two, watched their reactions to whatever the news was.

‘ Daddy?’

Henry immediately recognised his eldest daughter’s voice and the strained tone which accompanied even that single word.

‘ Hi Jenny, what’s the matter, sweetheart?’

‘ I don’t know, Daddy.’

He could hear fear in her voice.

‘ What d’you mean, you don’t know?’ he asked, keeping his own voice purposely light. He sensed something catastrophic was wrong. It wasn’t like Jenny to phone him at all; she usually tagged onto Leanne’s calls.

‘ We got up this morning and… oh, Dad! Mum’s not here! She’s gone. We don’t know what to do.’

Henry felt something heavy drop in his stomach.

Meanwhile, in the same room, not six feet away, Donaldson was taking a transatlantic phone call.

‘ Just letting’ ya know outta courtesy, Karl,’ the faint voice 3,000 miles away at the other end of the line was saying. It was one of Donaldson’s former partners, still a good friend.

‘ Speak up a little, Jack. Can hardly hear ya.’

‘ Bad news, pal, bad news. It’s about Joe Kovaks… ‘

Henry and Donaldson hung up simultaneously. Each ran a hand over his own face.

‘ I can’t believe this,’ said Donaldson. ‘Joe’s gone missing. Last seen leaving the office ten a.m. yesterday, not called in since. Bucar’s gone too. Not like him, not like him at all. Chrissy hasn’t seen him. I know he’s a maverick, but he ain’t stupid. Don’t like it.’

Karen laid a worried hand on the back of his head.

Henry, stunned, said simply, ‘I think Hinksman’s got my wife.’ He closed his eyes, dropped his head and began to pray.

A light flashed on the switchboard. One of the comms operators answered the call.

‘ DS Christie? Call for you.’

FB burst brusquely into the communications room. ‘I’ve just brought the Chief Constable up to date with what’s happening and where this thing’s going. He didn’t half sound strange-’ He stopped midsentence and looked at the serious faces of everyone in the room. Karen put a finger to her lips.

All attention was focused on Henry who picked up the phone and slowly put it to his ear.

‘ Henry, you’re one hell of a lucky son of a bitch. That bomb was meant for you, but no doubt you know that.’