Read Online A Time For Justice by Nick Oldham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nick Oldham
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I’m
sending a fax for you to the office. Two photos of the guy we think
is the hit man. One’s reasonably good, the other has him wearing
some phoney disguise. And when I get ‘em - sometime today, I hope
-I’ll send you a set of dabs the fingerprint boys have lifted which
may be his too. Run ‘em through, will ya? See if they tie up with
our fella. With me so far, buddy?’
‘ Anything else?’
‘ I think I’ve seen this guy before, on a photo with Corelli .
. . sat in a bar or restaurant somewhere. When you get the fax, try
and root out the photo, will ya? It could be the guy we’ve been
after.’
‘ Oh, just like that? We’ve got over three thousand photos of
that fat bastard, most of ‘em feedin’ his face.’
‘ Just do it, Joe. It’s important.’
‘ Gotcha. No problemo.’
‘ What’s Corelli been up to?’ Donaldson asked.
Chrissy flushed the toilet and re-entered the room looking
dopey, bedraggled and completely fuckable. Kovaks watched her slide
in next to him.
‘ Nothing unusual,’ he answered, as Chrissy cuddled up and
squeezed him. ‘Business, eating, fishing, eating, et cetera, et
cetera. . . not always in that order.’
‘ Look, Joe, we really need to know who this hit man is. The
British cops want to get him before he leaves the country. What I’m
saying is, if the prints don’t come back positive, this may be
serious enough to approach Whisper.’
‘ Whoa! That’s a big step - a decision for the Director to
make.’
‘ Two dozen people are dead. A busload of little kids. I’d say
we need to pull out the stops, wouldn’t you? Plus, getting this
bastard could lead us right up Corelli’s ass.’
‘ Leave it with me, Kar!.’
‘ The fax is on its way.’
‘ So am I.’ Kovaks hung up and yawned hugely. Reluctantly he
prised Chrissy away from his lower body. ‘Got to go, sweetie.
Sorry.’
‘ Fuckin’ Fibbies,’ she murmured. ‘Hate ‘em.’ She turned over
and snuggled back down into the bed.
‘ I can’t make the decision for you,’ Dave August sighed. ‘No
one said it would be easy ... and I can’t authorise a firearms team
to turn out anyway. You’ll have to go through the proper channels
on this, otherwise things will start to stink even worse than they
do already.’
‘ What do you mean?’
‘ You know exactly what I mean.’
‘ So I’ll have to go creeping to that bastard Crosby for
authorisation?’
‘ No - you’ll have to put a reasoned argument to him and then,
if he’s satisfied, he’ll give you the go-ahead to use a
team.’
‘ You’re no use whatsoever.’
She slammed the phone down, fuming, but knowing he was
correct.
In Britain it wasn’t as easy as in the United States, or
anywhere else come to that, to deploy an armed police team. There
had to be good reasons for it and the authorisation had to be made
by an officer of at least the rank of Assistant Chief Constable. A
Chief Constable, being of higher rank, could give the authorisation
but procedure and protocol meant that, in practice, this would only
be done if an ACC wasn’t on duty. In this case an ACC was on duty.
Jack Crosby.
Feeling nauseated, Karen dialled Crosby’s number. Despite her
pleas, he refused the request.
She wasn’t surprised - it was fairly flimsy. Yet there was just the vaguest
possibility that the man they were hunting might be at the
address.
She frowned and pondered for a while.
The perfect compromise came to her in a flash.
After three phone calls she summoned McClure and Donaldson
back into her office.
From inside a nondescript car parked at the end of the avenue,
the two detectives watched the man drive past in his Audi. He
parked in the driveway of his house and let himself in through the
front door. He looked prosperous, not dangerous, but he lived alone
- that much they had gleaned - and any man who lived alone in such
a house (detached, four bedrooms, double garage) must have some
questions to answer.
They gave him
sending a fax for you to the office. Two photos of the guy we think
is the hit man. One’s reasonably good, the other has him wearing
some phoney disguise. And when I get ‘em - sometime today, I hope
-I’ll send you a set of dabs the fingerprint boys have lifted which
may be his too. Run ‘em through, will ya? See if they tie up with
our fella. With me so far, buddy?’
‘ Anything else?’
‘ I think I’ve seen this guy before, on a photo with Corelli .
. . sat in a bar or restaurant somewhere. When you get the fax, try
and root out the photo, will ya? It could be the guy we’ve been
after.’
‘ Oh, just like that? We’ve got over three thousand photos of
that fat bastard, most of ‘em feedin’ his face.’
‘ Just do it, Joe. It’s important.’
‘ Gotcha. No problemo.’
‘ What’s Corelli been up to?’ Donaldson asked.
Chrissy flushed the toilet and re-entered the room looking
dopey, bedraggled and completely fuckable. Kovaks watched her slide
in next to him.
‘ Nothing unusual,’ he answered, as Chrissy cuddled up and
squeezed him. ‘Business, eating, fishing, eating, et cetera, et
cetera. . . not always in that order.’
‘ Look, Joe, we really need to know who this hit man is. The
British cops want to get him before he leaves the country. What I’m
saying is, if the prints don’t come back positive, this may be
serious enough to approach Whisper.’
‘ Whoa! That’s a big step - a decision for the Director to
make.’
‘ Two dozen people are dead. A busload of little kids. I’d say
we need to pull out the stops, wouldn’t you? Plus, getting this
bastard could lead us right up Corelli’s ass.’
‘ Leave it with me, Kar!.’
‘ The fax is on its way.’
‘ So am I.’ Kovaks hung up and yawned hugely. Reluctantly he
prised Chrissy away from his lower body. ‘Got to go, sweetie.
Sorry.’
‘ Fuckin’ Fibbies,’ she murmured. ‘Hate ‘em.’ She turned over
and snuggled back down into the bed.
‘ I can’t make the decision for you,’ Dave August sighed. ‘No
one said it would be easy ... and I can’t authorise a firearms team
to turn out anyway. You’ll have to go through the proper channels
on this, otherwise things will start to stink even worse than they
do already.’
‘ What do you mean?’
‘ You know exactly what I mean.’
‘ So I’ll have to go creeping to that bastard Crosby for
authorisation?’
‘ No - you’ll have to put a reasoned argument to him and then,
if he’s satisfied, he’ll give you the go-ahead to use a
team.’
‘ You’re no use whatsoever.’
She slammed the phone down, fuming, but knowing he was
correct.
In Britain it wasn’t as easy as in the United States, or
anywhere else come to that, to deploy an armed police team. There
had to be good reasons for it and the authorisation had to be made
by an officer of at least the rank of Assistant Chief Constable. A
Chief Constable, being of higher rank, could give the authorisation
but procedure and protocol meant that, in practice, this would only
be done if an ACC wasn’t on duty. In this case an ACC was on duty.
Jack Crosby.
Feeling nauseated, Karen dialled Crosby’s number. Despite her
pleas, he refused the request.
She wasn’t surprised - it was fairly flimsy. Yet there was just the vaguest
possibility that the man they were hunting might be at the
address.
She frowned and pondered for a while.
The perfect compromise came to her in a flash.
After three phone calls she summoned McClure and Donaldson
back into her office.
From inside a nondescript car parked at the end of the avenue,
the two detectives watched the man drive past in his Audi. He
parked in the driveway of his house and let himself in through the
front door. He looked prosperous, not dangerous, but he lived alone
- that much they had gleaned - and any man who lived alone in such
a house (detached, four bedrooms, double garage) must have some
questions to answer.
They gave him
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