Hidden Witness

EIGHTEEN

‘ You know I won’t have a choice on this one,’ FB said. ‘It’ll be taken completely out of our hands. The IPCC will have a field day with it, as will the press, and we’ll just have to hunker down and take it on the chin.’

‘We have nothing to hide,’ Henry said. ‘It was a fast moving scenario, two people had been murdered and another life was at risk, and from all accounts a third person, the social worker was murdered trying to protect that person. I’ll go with it and take the flak about procedure and processes. It’s not about doing things right, it’s about doing the right thing and I’m happy we did the right thing. My concern is about Bill Robbins at this point. He needs complete protection here.’

‘I have no choice but to suspend him from firearms duties,’ FB said firmly, ‘including the delivery of firearms training and related matters. He won’t even be allowed to pick up a gun until all this has been dealt with.’

‘I know that, he knows and accepts that, but he still needs our support.’

FB nodded. ‘You have my assurance. We’ll be behind him all the way,’ he said without conviction.

‘In the meantime, I’d like to have him transferred on to FMIT, temporarily.’

‘Done.’ FB said without hesitation, surprising Henry with this move, although this was tempered when FB said, ‘I’d been wondering where to dump him.’

Henry breathed out and looked sideways at Karl Donaldson. It was gone midnight, the raging fires of the initial incidents had died down slightly and there was a slight calm in the proceedings. The three men had decamped to the office of the Divisional Chief Superintendent at Blackpool police station, which they had commandeered. They were trying to work out how best to handle the situation. The best idea they could come up with was to tell the truth. FB had taken up a lofty psychological position behind the Chief Super’s desk, separating him from the other two, as though he wanted to distance himself from the mess of three dead bodies in a children’s care home, two of which had been shot by one of his firearms officers. And two other bodies in a terraced house in the town, one of who was a police employee who had possibly been a thief in uniform, living with a known druggy, and had unfortunately stolen the item that got her killed, a mobile phone. There were going to be uncomfortable times ahead for the force.

‘And you, Mr Donaldson,’ FB said, turning sardonically to the American. ‘It looks as though your speculation that an FBI hit squad was involved in numerous killings was correct.’

‘It does.’ Donaldson remembered the slightly disbelieving remark FB had made in the earlier briefing Donaldson had started, but not finished, the one rudely interrupted by the fact that the mobile phone signal had been reactivated. However, Donaldson’s reply did not have any hint of triumph in it. He was completely and utterly devastated by what had happened and who was involved.

‘So, you’d better pick up where you left off — and then bring me up to the point as to why two FBI officers have been shot dead by one of my officers, and another one is in custody on suspicion of murder.’

Donaldson stirred uncomfortably, pursed his lips and said, ‘I’ll try my best, sir.’

FB raised his eyebrows. They went up in an inverted U-shape. It was the first time Donaldson had ever called him sir.

Fortunately for Henry, because everything had happened within the confines of Cleveley House, it was a relatively straightforward task, not an easy one though, to control the scene. Two bodies at the top of the stairs, another in the kitchen, one prisoner in the TV lounge, one terrified witness — and lots of resources on the way.

The first job was to keep a calm head and save life and limb, even if it meant compromising any evidence at the scene, but when it became obvious that three people were definitely dead and no one else was about to die, next on the agenda was securing the scene. There were many simultaneous things Henry had to think of.

The living prisoner, once secure, was the first to be dealt with. With his face swelling like a distorted balloon, he had been held firmly down until reinforcements arrived, and then dragged bodily out and thrown head first into the cage in the section van. He’d been thoroughly searched before this, by Henry and a Support Unit officer who’d been one of the first to arrive on the scene.

‘Don’t trust him an inch,’ Donaldson had chirped in as he watched the search. He was exhausted by the exertion of the fight and had stood well back when the uniforms came in, although the prisoner continued to look dangerously at him through his good eye. Once satisfied he’d been searched and everything that needed to be taken off him was, two burly SU officers took him to the van. He hadn’t put up any further resistance, but Donaldson had thought his warning was necessary, considering the prisoner’s background. He had followed the officers out of the house and watched his boss, Don Barber, being hurled into the van.

He tugged Henry to one side. ‘I want to go with him.’

‘What do you mean?’ Henry’s face scrunched up.

‘I want to go in the back with him.’

‘Not a good idea.’ Already Henry was thinking how he would explain a dead body in the back of a police van. He had enough to deal with, without a death in police custody. He knew Donaldson was eminently capable of doing something like that.

‘I won’t touch him.’ Donaldson held up his hands. ‘Honest — and he needs to have someone in with him. Getting out of those cuffs will be a doozy for him if he isn’t supervised. And as well searched as he was, I wouldn’t be surprised if you find more weaponry on him when he gets searched again. He’s ex-special forces.’

‘I’ll need to put someone else in with you.’

‘I need to talk to him, ask him why,’ Donaldson persisted.

‘Someone else has to be in there — and no funny business,’ Henry insisted.

Donaldson nodded. Henry turned to the support unit officer who’d assisted him with the body search. He looked a useful lad and he had already earwigged the conversation. ‘You up for this?’

‘Sure, boss.’

Henry gave Donaldson a meaningful look, then jerked his head to the back of the van, hoping to hell he wouldn’t regret this. ‘Everything off the record between you — and no thumping him.’

‘You have my word.’

The van pulled away. Henry watched it with trepidation, then went back into the house where he found Bill Robbins at the top of the stairs inspecting the two bodies he’d shot. Donaldson had looked at the deceased men, but had been unable to identify them — neither, surprise, surprise, carried any ID — although he pointed to the unmasked face of one of them which was very swollen underneath an eye. Maybe a broken cheekbone from a fight in Malta?

Robbins looked distraught. Only to be expected, Henry thought sympathetically. His mind must be in a dreadful state. Henry was keen to get Robbins off-scene, both for evidential reasons and also to get him into the clutches of his firearms bosses, for a debrief and perhaps the start of the counselling process. ‘Bill, you OK?’

Robbins glanced at Henry, who then found out why his old friend was looking so put out. Not, it transpired, because of the ‘Oh shit, what the hell have I done; what the hell’s going to happen to me and my pension?’ thought. Or the ‘I’m so deeply affected by having killed two people that I’m going to have post-traumatic stress,’ thought either.

Robbins said, ‘All that friggin’ training and it comes to this.’ He pointed disparagingly at the bodies of the two men. ‘I aimed for their chests, their body mass, their hearts. I intended to get two bullets into each of them, but looking at this — pah!’ He threw up his hands in disgust. ‘This one, not too bad. Chest shots, I’d say, one in the heart, the other a lung shot… so, so, but the grouping leaves a lot to be desired. But this one! Jeez — a neck and shoulder shot. What is that? Just plain bad shooting. It’s a wonder he’s still not breathing.’

Henry blinked at him in astonishment. ‘You’re bothered about your aim?’

‘Well it’s what I train for, innit? If I shot like this on the range, I’d suspend myself.’

His eyes were malevolent, yet dead. As he sat back with his cuffed hands uncomfortably behind him, he kept them unwaveringly on Donaldson sitting on the steel bench opposite, virtually knee to knee in the tight confines of the cage. They rolled with the movement of the police van as it slowed, rounded corners and accelerated. The tough-looking constable accompanying them sat tucked in one corner, watching the dangerous prisoner for any sudden moves.

Blood dribbled out of Donaldson’s nose. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

‘Talk to me off the record. Tell me why, Don. It’s over now and you’ve nothing to lose.’

Don Barber, Donaldson’s boss, tilted back his head on to the cage wall and continued with the intimidating stare. Then his mouth curved into a smile and, as often happens with prisoners caught in the act, he said, ‘Nothing to say and you’ve got it all to prove buddy boy.’

The smile mocked Donaldson who, still with adrenaline pulsing through him, held back the urge to pound his fist into the face of the man who, he was certain now, had taken the law into his own hands and murdered people purely as an act of revenge. ‘And anyway, why are you so bothered? You and me, we’re just the same. Wolves in sheep’s clothing.’

‘No, you got it wrong there, Don. My actions are always authorized and necessary and right, or they protect the lives of others in immediate, life-threatening danger.’

He snorted. ‘Wrong, you fucking simpleton.’ Barber laughed harshly and shook his head.

Donaldson regarded him in the darkness of the cage. The streetlights ran continuous bars of yellow across his face as the van travelled. Then he sat back. ‘I will prove it all, Don,’ he declared. ‘From the moment Shark was killed because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, through every revenge killing you and your little team carried out. Right up to here.’ Donaldson’s index finger jabbed downwards. ‘To this point where you went beyond all comprehension and started to kill innocent people simply to protect yourself, and would have killed another boy just because he saw your face.’

Barber shrugged confidently. ‘I’ll be protected.’

‘No, you’ll be thrown to the wolves,’ Donaldson said. ‘No one will come near you with a cow-prod, even.’

‘We shall see.’

The van slowed, turned and pulled into the yard at the back of the police station. The momentum caused the two men to rock forwards and for a moment, their faces were an inch apart.

‘So getting into the van was a waste of time?’ FB said, annoyed at having been denied a punchline. ‘He admitted nothing?’

‘Yeah — nothing.’

FB looked worriedly at Henry. ‘But the stuff here, on our patch, we can prove that?’

‘Yes.’ Henry was certain. ‘When everything’s bagged together, so long as we do it all slowly, methodically and professionally, we have him. From the moment he killed the old man to the point where he held a gun to Mark Carter’s head, and everything in between. We’ll match clothing, fibres, firearms and vehicles. We found a Volvo saloon on false plates in a street behind Cleveley House and that’ll be a treasure-trove for the scientists, I suspect. There’ll be bits of the old man all over it.’

‘Good — make bloody sure,’ FB said.

‘I will,’ Henry said.

FB rolled his heavy body up to his feet and emitted a sigh. ‘Looks like you’ve got a hell of a lot of shite in your organization.’

Donaldson took the remark silently, but it hurt him badly and he fumed as he watched the Chief leave the room. As the door closed and he was certain the man had gone, he said, ‘Hate that guy.’

‘He obviously touched a nerve,’ Henry said, feeling slightly defensive of FB for once and not enjoying the sensation, so he added, ‘but I get your drift.’

‘Jeez.’ Donaldson touched his battered face gingerly. ‘He didn’t half hit hard. I have a horrible feeling he would’ve beaten me if you hadn’t turned up and zapped him. I owe you one. You are a bit of a Taser expert, I take it?’

‘Never used one in my life,’ Henry admitted. ‘Lucky I didn’t electrocute you.’

Donaldson shook his sore head and chuckled.

‘Coming back to the subject, I take it that it was the computer thing that put you on to him? You haven’t really had chance to explain

…’

‘Yeah. Nothing else, no suspicions whatever. Until I couldn’t get on to files I knew I had the right to access. These were the ones with detailed information about the Camorra killings, with weapon details and everything. I’d looked at the general stuff that anyone can access and noticed, as I said, there were some that didn’t seem quite Mafia-like. Truly professional hits. I told Don I was looking into the patterns, which he didn’t seem overly keen on, and that was probably when his radar started shitting itself. There was something else, too.’

‘What?’

‘I never told him the witness you had was a teenage lad. I never described the witness at all, but he let it slip that he knew the witness was a lad. Are you counting the number of times I said the word witness?’ Donaldson paused with a grin. ‘Anyway, when he said this initially, I didn’t pick up on it straightaway, it just kinda seeped into my brain. I assume he may have realized he’d made a blunder, too. Because he’d seen Mark, of course.

‘I guess if I hadn’t had access to Jerry Tope, I still wouldn’t be sure about anything. But Jerry hacked into the authorization emails that Don had sent to the IT guys, telling them to deny me access to these files. Then I found Don himself wasn’t at the embassy. All the time I’d been talking to him on his mobile, I’d assumed he’d been in London. Wrong. We also found emails booking three rooms at cheap hotels in the Blackpool area…’

‘Which we’ll have to search,’ Henry said. A phone desk rang. Henry scooped it up. He listened, said a few yeps, hung up. ‘He wants to talk.’

Don Barber was in a white paper suit and matching slip-on boots. His skin had been carefully swabbed and hair combed by a crime scene investigator. Samples had been taken, he’d been photographed, fingerprinted and a swab of saliva taken for DNA purposes. He was sitting in an interview room, still handcuffed, guarded by the same officer who had accompanied him and Donaldson in the back of the van.

The detective and the FBI agent walked in. Henry gestured for the constable to leave, then he sat opposite Barber whilst Donaldson remained standing. Henry placed two sealed packs of tapes on the table, together with associated paperwork.

‘Off the record,’ Barber said.

Henry shook his head. ‘No, not now. You had your chance, blew it. No more off the record unless I say. You are well and truly in police custody and we’re not playing games. You want to talk, that’s fine, but it’ll be on tape, audio and video. If you don’t want to, that’s fine too, we still go through the motions. Your choice, but either way I’d recommend you talk to a solicitor — lawyer — so you know exactly where you stand.’

Barber took it in. ‘I want these off.’ He raised his manacled hands. ‘I want a drink, I want to see a lawyer, I want to see a doctor and I want my phone call, and I want some people telling of my arrest.’

‘No phone call, no one to be informed or your arrest yet.’

‘I have a right.’

‘Which has been temporarily suspended. Authorized by the Chief Constable.’

‘That means I’m being held incommunicado. That’s illegal.’

‘For the time being, that’s how it is. Until I’m satisfied no one else is in danger from you and that all outstanding suspects have been arrested. Your choice.’ Henry held up the tapes and waggled them enticingly.

Four hours later, Donaldson looked up as Henry entered the Chief Superintendent’s office where he had been waiting. He had not been allowed to stay as the two detectives — Rik Dean and Alex Bent — chosen by Henry, had interviewed Barber.

He stood up warily. ‘Well?’

‘Rik and Alex have just briefed me,’ Henry said. He checked his watch. ‘Unfortunately, we’ve had to get the police surgeon out to him, who has told us he needs to be taken to hospital. He’s suffering from head pains, apparently. Feels faint. Sorry. Fancy a coffee?’

‘Whatever.’

Henry led the American out of the station and down on to the promenade. It was a chilly dawn, the tide was way out, but the sky was clear. They walked to the McDonald’s on the promenade where Henry bought two black coffees. They sat in the deserted restaurant.

‘There’s a long way to go,’ Henry said apologetically. ‘He’s talking, but he’s not forthcoming, if you know what I mean? He has to be pinned down before he’ll admit anything and even then it’s not great.’

‘Where exactly are you, then?’

‘He blames the other two guys, the dead ones.’

‘Has he identified them?’

‘Says he doesn’t know their names but it was all their idea.’

‘He’s lying.’ Donaldson churned inside, like the rumblings of a volcano about to erupt.

‘We’ll keep on at him.’

‘You know I need to speak to him — alone.’

Henry nodded — his insides now churning.

‘I may have to visit him in hospital.’ Donaldson held Henry’s gaze until Henry broke off. ‘I won’t kill him — but I need my answers. Without them, it’s all speculation. Why did he want me to track down this, this American hit man? Why kill Fazil? Why did he let me live, then change his mind? How did he know Petrone was in Blackpool?’

Henry took a sip of the bitter coffee. ‘Because tracking down a professional hit man is hard, but killing a few Camorra Mafia dons who you suspect of ordering the murder of an undercover agent is more straightforward. My guess is that once you found and identified the American, he’d have been taken out, like Fazil was. Fazil only died after you confirmed to Barber that you were sure he was the guy who delivered the gun in Majorca.’

‘And he had someone waiting, ready to strike.’

‘Maybe one of those two dead guys, the one with the broken face? Given time, we’ll find out. As to how he found Petrone,’ Henry shrugged deeply, ‘who knows? Intelligence reports? Someone blabbed somewhere?’

‘Speculation, Henry.’

‘Can I speculate on something?’ Henry looked down his nose at Donaldson. ‘Would I be right in thinking the FBI can listen into encrypted police radio transmissions?’

Donaldson said nothing, but tried to look innocent.

‘Which accounts for the very state of the art radios found in their possession?’

‘Obviously, we’ll want them back.’

‘And mobile phone triangulation?’

‘Goes without saying. I’ll be able to backtrack everything he did in that respect, but don’t expect the FBI to admit to very much… and what became of that phone?’

‘Not found, as yet. Probably down a grate somewhere.’ Henry finished the coffee. ‘I need to get back, there’s a lot of shit to sort out and I don’t want to cock anything up. And I need to sort out Mark Carter. He’s been sitting in a waiting room for the last few hours, getting his head down.’ He stood, but leaned on the table. ‘Don’t do anything silly, Karl. I know you’re upset with the guy, rightly so, but we have him now. We’ll delve and delve and turn over all the shitty rocks necessary. Let justice take its course.’

‘Lecture over?’

‘And out.’

‘You might need these.’ He dropped a set of car keys into Donaldson’s hand. ‘My Mondeo — on the car park in front of the nick.’

Donaldson had a coffee refill for free, just by giving the young lady behind he counter one of his best smiles that, even so early, completely made her day. He sat back down alone at a window seat, and gazed across the promenade to Central Pier.

His mind was full of Don Barber. He hated what the man had done and yet Donaldson could see where he was coming from. Revenge was a very forceful emotion to contend with. Shark had been his responsibility as well as an old friend. And his over the top reaction had been his response to his death. Blood for blood. Donaldson had been there, however much he had denied it to Barber — who didn’t know half of what Donaldson had done over the years.

He fished out his phone. It was early, but he still called Karen’s mobile, knowing that she would be in bed and unable to take the call. He didn’t call the home phone because he didn’t want to wake her, but he wanted to leave a message she’d find when she got up because she always left her mobile down in the kitchen.

He walked back to the station, jiggling Henry’s car keys and thinking about what he would say to Barber. As he crossed Bonny Street, his mobile phone rang and he was surprised to see it was his home number.

‘Karen? I didn’t wake you, honey, did I?’

‘No, I was already up.’

‘You OK?’

‘Yes — how about you?’

‘Oh, it’s been a busy few hours, but I came through.’

‘Good.’ She sounded shaky.

‘You sure you’re all right?’ He was already wondering if she had found out about the Scandinavian sex-fiend he’d screwed.

‘I am, just feeling queasy, that’s all.’

‘Heavy night?’

‘No, not really… been sick that’s all… look, Karl, I’m really sorry if you think I’ve been a bit off with you for a few weeks. It’s just… look, I don’t really know how to put this.’

His heart was already sinking. He said nothing, expecting the worst.

‘It’s just, I didn’t know for certain, but I went to the doctor yesterday and he confirmed it.’

‘Confirmed what?’

‘Do you not listen? I’ve been sick this morning, yeah. Does that not tell you something?’

‘Are you saying you’re pregnant?’

‘Duh — yes, you big, dumb, wonderful Yank.’

Donaldson was speechless for a few moments, as his jaw dropped and he took in the news.

‘I wanted to tell you face to face, but seeing how you phoned this morning and declared your undying love to me in a voicemail, I thought I’d tell you so you can prepare yourself for when I get up there this afternoon. Maybe flowers at the ready? Chocolates? An expensive present of some sort?’

‘You’re pregnant?’

‘Yes… impregnated by your gallant sperm.’

‘When? How?’

‘About a month ago, I guess. How — I’ll draw you a diagram this afternoon, then tonight we can do a re-enactment if you like? But more to the point, how do you feel about it?’

Donaldson caught a sob in his throat. ‘Fantastic,’ he said, his eyes moistening. ‘Utterly, utterly, fantastic. What about you?’

‘Great — sick, but great. Just more icing on our cake.’

‘I love you, babe.’

‘Love you too.’

The conversation degenerated into several minutes of cooing and lovey-dovey words designed to make any eavesdropper poorly, before they hung up, desperate to see each other later in the day.

In the blink of an eye, Karl Donaldson’s world had a renewal of perspective. Suddenly, he was no longer bothered about Don Barber and what he had to say to him. He could wait for the answers now. They would come as he and Henry investigated the man. The two other men would be identified in time — and no doubt turn out to be FBI operatives with military backgrounds who both knew Shark. And as for the hit man known as the American, so what? He was still out there, plying his dirty trade, but again, so what? One day, Donaldson, or someone like him, would take the bastard down, but for the moment, he could stay out there. His time would come, probably in a hail of bullets.

Donaldson could not wipe the stupid grin off his face. He did an about turn, trotted across the promenade to the seafront and gazed at the horizon, his chest bursting with pride, almost unable to breathe, swallowing back his tears. This is what real life is all about, he thought. Sperm and babies.