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Authors: Nick Oldham
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territory. He feels safe. He doesn’t have the same sort of respect
for British bobbies as he does for the FBI. He doesn’t expect to
get caught. He thinks it’ll all be easy for him - and if I hadn’t
been here, it would have been.’
‘ Agent Donaldson,’ said Karen, barely able to control her
temper, ‘we will catch this man, with or without your
help.’
‘ Maybe.’
McClure tried to defuse the tension. ‘What are we going to do
about the address on that form?’ He pointed to the hire
documents.
‘ I’ll send a pair of detectives round.’
‘ Is that wise?’ asked McClure.
‘ Why not?’ she shrugged. ‘He’s hardly likely to be there. The
licence he’s used is probably stolen or lost and the owner of it,
who happens to be this guy’ - she tapped the form - ‘probably
hasn’t noticed it’s gone or hasn’t bothered to report it yet.
Either way, he’ll be sitting at home without a care in the
world.’
‘ I don’t think we should take that chance,’ warned McClure.
‘He’s made a few mistakes so far, so maybe he’s given us the
address where he’s actually holed up. OK, I admit it’s unlikely but
sending two unarmed lads round is a risk we shouldn’t take.’ He
took a breath. ‘That’s my view, for what it’s worth.’
Had it come from Donaldson, she would have dismissed it out of
hand, but McClure’s argument was reasonable in the
circumstances.
‘ Go in with guns drawn and ready - is that what you’re
saying?
‘ Don’t take a chance - that’s what I’m saying.’
As McClure and Donaldson left the office, Karen picked up the
phone and dialled an internal number. It rang and was answered
quickly by the Chief Constable’s secretary.
‘ I’m afraid he’s busy just now, Miss Wilde,’ the secretary
said.
‘ He’s meeting a member of the police committee.’
‘ I need to speak to him urgently, Jean,’ Karen
said.
‘ He’s asked not to be disturbed,’ the secretary said. She was
one of the few who had hard evidence of Karen’s affair with her
boss and she disapproved of it.
‘ Jean,’ Karen said slowly, as though making a point to a
backward child, ‘put me through to him now or I’ll see that you end
up transferred to some poxy little backwater copshop in the east of
the county, typing up arrest reports for beat bobbies.’
‘ Very well. Hold the line.’
Joe Kovaks had spent the night cooped up in the back of an FBI
surveillance van parked opposite a nightclub in downtown Miami. His
partner for the take-out had been a fat detective with a body-odour
problem and a habit of breaking wind so spectacularly that their
position was often in danger of being compromised. It made it worse
that his partner was a woman. Had it been a man, Kovaks could’ve
said something - or shot him - but what do you say to a woman who
farts and stinks? He didn’t know, so he called the job off at 4.30
a.m. They were getting nowhere.
He crept through his apartment an hour later, so as not to
disturb Chrissy, his sleeping ladyfriend, and slid into bed,
dropping immediately into a heavy slumber.
An hour and a half later, Donaldson called him.
‘ Look, Karl, what the fuck d’you want?’ Kovaks hissed. ‘It’s
good to hear from you but I’ve been on a job all night. Only just
got to sleep, I’m shattered.’
Awoken, Chrissy rolled out of bed and padded naked to the
toilet.
Through his puffy eyes, Kovaks watched her.
‘ You been listening to the news?’
‘ On and off.’
‘ Hear about the M6 bombing?’
‘ Who hasn’t.’ Kovaks sat up, suddenly awake.
‘ Danny Carver took most of the blast. Or should I say, the
late Danny Carver.’
‘ You’re kidding me.’
‘ Absolutely not. I think Corelli had him hit.’
‘ Jeez. . . we’d heard some sort of whisper, hadn’t we?
Dog-feeder man, d’you think?’
‘ Can’t be sure yet. Forensics are still piecing things
together. Look, pal, I need you to do some digging for me.
territory. He feels safe. He doesn’t have the same sort of respect
for British bobbies as he does for the FBI. He doesn’t expect to
get caught. He thinks it’ll all be easy for him - and if I hadn’t
been here, it would have been.’
‘ Agent Donaldson,’ said Karen, barely able to control her
temper, ‘we will catch this man, with or without your
help.’
‘ Maybe.’
McClure tried to defuse the tension. ‘What are we going to do
about the address on that form?’ He pointed to the hire
documents.
‘ I’ll send a pair of detectives round.’
‘ Is that wise?’ asked McClure.
‘ Why not?’ she shrugged. ‘He’s hardly likely to be there. The
licence he’s used is probably stolen or lost and the owner of it,
who happens to be this guy’ - she tapped the form - ‘probably
hasn’t noticed it’s gone or hasn’t bothered to report it yet.
Either way, he’ll be sitting at home without a care in the
world.’
‘ I don’t think we should take that chance,’ warned McClure.
‘He’s made a few mistakes so far, so maybe he’s given us the
address where he’s actually holed up. OK, I admit it’s unlikely but
sending two unarmed lads round is a risk we shouldn’t take.’ He
took a breath. ‘That’s my view, for what it’s worth.’
Had it come from Donaldson, she would have dismissed it out of
hand, but McClure’s argument was reasonable in the
circumstances.
‘ Go in with guns drawn and ready - is that what you’re
saying?
‘ Don’t take a chance - that’s what I’m saying.’
As McClure and Donaldson left the office, Karen picked up the
phone and dialled an internal number. It rang and was answered
quickly by the Chief Constable’s secretary.
‘ I’m afraid he’s busy just now, Miss Wilde,’ the secretary
said.
‘ He’s meeting a member of the police committee.’
‘ I need to speak to him urgently, Jean,’ Karen
said.
‘ He’s asked not to be disturbed,’ the secretary said. She was
one of the few who had hard evidence of Karen’s affair with her
boss and she disapproved of it.
‘ Jean,’ Karen said slowly, as though making a point to a
backward child, ‘put me through to him now or I’ll see that you end
up transferred to some poxy little backwater copshop in the east of
the county, typing up arrest reports for beat bobbies.’
‘ Very well. Hold the line.’
Joe Kovaks had spent the night cooped up in the back of an FBI
surveillance van parked opposite a nightclub in downtown Miami. His
partner for the take-out had been a fat detective with a body-odour
problem and a habit of breaking wind so spectacularly that their
position was often in danger of being compromised. It made it worse
that his partner was a woman. Had it been a man, Kovaks could’ve
said something - or shot him - but what do you say to a woman who
farts and stinks? He didn’t know, so he called the job off at 4.30
a.m. They were getting nowhere.
He crept through his apartment an hour later, so as not to
disturb Chrissy, his sleeping ladyfriend, and slid into bed,
dropping immediately into a heavy slumber.
An hour and a half later, Donaldson called him.
‘ Look, Karl, what the fuck d’you want?’ Kovaks hissed. ‘It’s
good to hear from you but I’ve been on a job all night. Only just
got to sleep, I’m shattered.’
Awoken, Chrissy rolled out of bed and padded naked to the
toilet.
Through his puffy eyes, Kovaks watched her.
‘ You been listening to the news?’
‘ On and off.’
‘ Hear about the M6 bombing?’
‘ Who hasn’t.’ Kovaks sat up, suddenly awake.
‘ Danny Carver took most of the blast. Or should I say, the
late Danny Carver.’
‘ You’re kidding me.’
‘ Absolutely not. I think Corelli had him hit.’
‘ Jeez. . . we’d heard some sort of whisper, hadn’t we?
Dog-feeder man, d’you think?’
‘ Can’t be sure yet. Forensics are still piecing things
together. Look, pal, I need you to do some digging for me.
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