One Dead Witness

Chapter Twenty-one

Two days later there was nothing further the police could do. Having charged Gilbert and Spencer with Claire Lilton’s murder they were not, by law, allowed to question them any further about that matter.

All they had for Gilbert was the material found at his home, which in the grand scheme of things was pretty insignificant. He was questioned at length about the dead girl in East Lancashire, but denied all knowledge when faced with the paltry evidence against him.

Finding two naked runaways in Spencer’s flat meant there were many long conversations with him, but nothing more on the murder front and he denied sexually assaulting Grace.

Forty-eight hours, therefore, failed to produce anything worthwhile.

All the while, Danny and Henry had vague hopes that America might be the key, but nothing happened on that score. Henry phoned Karl Donaldson, who in turn phoned Myrna, who had no further information.

So, two tired detectives, having spent all those hours in each other’s pockets, came to realise they would have to put the defendants back before the court before the three days was up. There was no way they could justify keeping them in police custody any longer. They had to go back to court, hopefully to get the two defendants remanded in custody and then commit the case to Crown Court.

Which is what they did on Monday morning.

And the magistrates went along with them and denied bail.

Stanway was astounded by the decision and immediately stated his intention to appeal against the decision to a High Court Judge in chambers.

Meanwhile, Gilbert and Spencer were transferred, like common criminals, to Risley Remand Centre.

On the next day, Tuesday, at 10 a.m., Stanway appealed to a judge in chambers — a course of action which often resulted in the magistrates’ decision being overturned.

Lancaster Crown Court was in session, presided over by High Court Judge Constance Ellison. At the age of seventy-two she was as quick and nimble in both brain and body as a forty-year-old, and unlike most other judges her age, she was very much in touch with modern trends and thinking. She would never have to ask who Oasis or The Spice Girls were.

She had scheduled the appeal before the start of the day’s court proceedings and was waiting in her chambers, dressed in full regalia, looking absolutely splendid and very imposing. She sat behind a large, highly polished mahogany desk.

A court usher led in Stanway and his opposite number from the CPS.

‘ Good morning, gentlemen,’ she greeted them. ‘Please be seated. I may have the full kit on, as they say, but let’s not be too formal in here.’ She smiled a warm, pleasant smile.

They both sat, shuffling their papers nervously. Both knew she had a formidable reputation for chewing up and spitting out solicitors and lawyers.

Stanway began…

…And outside in the chilly corridor, Henry and Danny waited tensely for the result.

Half an hour dragged by as slowly as creeping death.

Neither spoke.

Danny sat there unmoving, consumed with her innermost thoughts. Henry, on contrast, fidgeted constantly. Standing up, sitting down, patrolling the corridor. Bored to death by doing nothing.

It was a relief for both when Henry’s pager vibrated against his pelvic bone, summoning him to make a phone call. He wandered away to find the nearest one. Danny was glad to see him go. He was getting on her nerves this time.

He had been gone less than two minutes when the door to the Judge’s chamber creaked open. The usher poked his head out. ‘DI Christie? DS Furness?’ he called enquiringly.

‘ I’m DS Furness.’ Danny stood up.

‘ Where is DI Christie?’

‘ Gone to make a phone call. Why?’

‘ The Judge wants to see you both.’

Over the last few days, since Tracey had disappeared, the operatives of Kruger Investigations had been getting nowhere fast. The streets of Miami had been constantly combed, particularly the areas notable for street hookers and drug abusers.

They drew a blank.

Myrna had got the girl’s last known address from Mark Tapperman; two of her best investigators had visited it, but the place was empty. It looked as though she had done a quick getaway, leaving several items of personal belongings behind.

Myrna called her people off.

There was no guarantee Tracey was even in Miami. She could have been anywhere, or even dead, so Myrna resumed normality — or at least the normality of life without Steve Kruger and a gay husband.

Too much time chasing shadows would have been unproductive for a firm still reeling from its founder’s death. Myrna needed to devote herself to jittery customers.

That was what she did.

She worked from very early each morning until late into the night, calling customers worldwide, chatting, reassuring them in the same way she had done very soon after Kruger’s death. She spent most of her waking hours next to the phone in her office, feeding the fax and writing letters. It was a hell of a task, but needed the personal touch, she believed. She contacted, one way or another, every single customer and supplier, past and present, and the response she got was brilliant. She firmly began to believe that Kruger Investigations had a future, even without Steve, but it had to be driven by her.

And in the early hours of that Tuesday morning, she put the finishing touches to a couple of letters, slotted them into envelopes and dropped them into the out tray.

She was tired, yeah, but it was the fatigue which came through constructive hard work. She blinked the grit out of her eyes and yawned. What to do with the weekend was the question playing on her mind. She was adamant she would take Friday off and make something of it.

The prospect of heading down to the Keys with no particular aim in sight kind of appealed to her. Maybe she’d get the old Thunderbird out — the one her husband had so recklessly bought her a couple of years before, probably in a fit of guilt — and see how that performed.

Mmmm… She closed her eyes, imagined the warm wind in her hair, the straight road, a beachside guesthouse, a drink or two… she was almost asleep at the desk when the phone rang, loud and shrill in the stillness of the morning. She leapt out of her skin and fumbled to answer it.

It was Jake, the security man, down in reception. ‘Sorry t’ bother ya’ll Mizz Rosza, but I knew you wuz in or I woulden a rang…’

‘ It’s okay, Jake. What is it?’

‘ Like, normally, I’da thrown her out on her ear, but she sez she knows ya and wants t’see ya an’ apologise.’

‘ Who does?’

‘ Whazz y’name, gal?’ Myrna heard Jake ask. There was a mutter. ‘Sez she’s a-called Tracey Greenwood. Sez y’ve prob’ly bin lookin’ f’her.’

‘ Put her in the elevator, Jake and send her up.’

Myrna waited for the arrival of the elevator. When the doors opened Tracey was huddled in a foetal ball in one corner, big eyes staring up fearfully at Myrna, thumb in her mouth. She looked dreadful, just like a bunch of rags. Myrna helped her to her feet. She was pathetically light. Brittle.

‘ I’m sorry, I got scared — lost me bottle’ she said with a cough.

‘ Not scared enough to steal my purse, girl,’ Myrna rejoined with a snap.

When Tracey had been seated down in Myrna’s office and given a coffee, Myrna said, ‘You here to stay now?’ She nodded dumbly.

‘ Why the hell did you go off like that?’

‘ Don’t know. I was frightened. I needed a fix too.’

‘ And now you’ve run out of money, I suppose,’ Myrna said scornfully. She did not wait for a response. ‘Are you planning to leave again?’

‘ No.’

‘ In that case, sit there, don’t move. I’ve got a phone call to make.’

From Kruger’s office she dialled Karl Donaldson’s home number, having worked out it was only 8 a.m. in London and there was a chance he was still at home before setting off for work. Donaldson’s wife, Karen, answered. A baby screamed in the background. ‘He’s just about to leave. I’ll get him. Hold on.’

‘ This is Karl Donaldson.’

‘ Karl, she’s back.’

‘ You gonna keep hold of her this time?’

‘ I am.’

‘ Right, good. Call you back soon.’

Donaldson immediately phoned Henry Christie at home but was told he had already left for work. He then rang Blackpool police station to be told he had not yet turned in, but was expected to be in later after attending a special hearing at Lancaster Crown Court. Donaldson asked for a mobile or pager number, but no one could actually put their fingers on one at that moment. Cursing, Donaldson hung up and flipped through his organiser. The number of Henry’s pager was not there either. He knew he had it at work, so he decided to wait until he got there before trying to get hold of Henry.

Meanwhile, Myrna returned to her office, ready to get some answers from young Tracey, the girl who had stolen her credit cards.

‘ Hey, I’ve got some great…’

‘ Come on, Henry,’ Danny waved him urgently back down the corridor. ‘The Judge wants to see us — now!’

‘ Eh? Why?’

‘ How the hell should I know? Come on, hurry up.’ Danny knocked on the chamber door.

‘ Please, please, sit down,’ Mrs Ellison said to them. Two extra chairs had been brought in and placed directly in front of her desk. The two solicitors were sitting apart, on chairs at an angle to the corners of the desk. Henry and Danny sat in between. The Judge peered down her nose at Henry.

‘ Mr Christie — I thought I recognised the name. How are you?’

‘ Your Honour, I’m fine, thank you very much.’

Danny gazed incredulously at him. Stanway almost groaned. The last thing he wanted was for Henry Christie to be on intimate terms with the Judge.

‘ I seem to remember you were in pretty bad shape last time we met — dodging bullets and Mafia hitmen, as I recall.’ She recalled correctly, having presided almost four years before on a very high-profile trial, here at Lancaster Crown Court, in which Henry had been one of the main police witnesses.

‘ I’m well recovered from then, thank you, Ma’ am.’

‘ But still in the wars, I see.’ She chuckled, nodding towards his recent facial injuries.

‘ Trouble follows me everywhere,’ he shrugged modestly.

She gave him a tight smile which indicated the pleasantries were over and business was about to begin. ‘Now, you may be wondering why I’ve asked you both in here,’ she said, gearing smoothly into the meat of the day. ‘The fact is, I’ve listened to these two gentlemen arguing their individual points of view and it seems, overwhelmingly, that I should give the defendant, Gilbert, bail; Spencer, on the other hand will stay in custody. However, I don’t wish to rush any decision if there is a chance of getting more perspectives on it. I was aware you were out there and I believe it only right you should be able to talk to me about the matter.’

‘ Thank you. That’s very thoughtful,’ Henry said.

‘ Before we commence, though, I would like you both to take the oath.’

The usher moved in silently and handed Henry a Bible which he took in his right hand and swore to Almighty God to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Danny did likewise.

‘ Mr Christie, why don’t you want these men to get bail?’

‘ Firstly, they are charged with murder, an offence for which I believe bail should not be granted under any circumstance. Both men are wealthy people with huge liquid assets. I believe that if given bail, both would abscond and by abscond, I mean leave the country.’

‘ I object!’ Stanway interrupted loudly. ‘My clients would be more than happy to surrender their passports.’

‘ It’s very easy to get forged passports,’ Henry said patiently. ‘Your Honour, I know for a fact that the defendant Gilbert has connections with the underworld in the United States. He was recently arrested for indecent acts with a child whilst in Miami, but was released without charge. The person he was arrested with is an active member of the Florida underworld — a gangster in other words. The forgery of passports is common to such people. I believe we would never see either defendant again.’

‘ Is it true you have little evidence against them for the murder charge?’ the Judge asked.

Henry wondered how to flower it up. He decided to go straight for the jugular — and sod it. ‘It’s true our evidence, at this moment, relies substantially on a statement taken from a witness who is now dead. I do not believe it is a coincidence that this young girl was murdered as a result of giving the police a statement. I firmly believe Gilbert ordered her murder.’

It was the first time Henry had openly voiced such an opinion. He watched Stanway’s non-verbals and thought he saw the whole of his body wobble.

‘ This is an outlandish suggestion,’ Stanway retorted. His face was red. ‘My client has absolutely no connection whatsoever with this incident and to suggest it is so is preposterous and, were we not in a court of law, scandalous.’

‘ Quiet!’ Mrs Ellison snapped.

Stanway drew in his neck, like a tortoise into a shell.

‘ We believe,’ Henry went on, ‘that if released, Gilbert will continue, in whatever way he can, to pervert the course of justice. He’s a powerful man who rides roughshod over people to get what he wants. I am also sure he is involved in a paedophile network which may be international in its scope. Several items the police have seized point to this as being much more than supposition. There is no doubt he is heavily involved in child sex-abuse and his release will only allow him to continue his activities.

‘ Finally, there is the murder of another young girl. Her body was discovered recently in a shallow grave near Darwen. We suspect Gilbert to be involved in this.’

‘ Evidence?’ Mrs Ellison asked.

Henry coughed. He glanced at Stanway, then back at the Judge. ‘Could I speak to you privately, Your Honour?’

‘ This had better be good, Mr Christie. The fortunate thing for me is that I have the power to administer appeals as I see fit. Mr Stanway is not impressed at being ejected from the chamber.’

‘ I understand — but it is good.’ Henry went on to detail the story of the disappearing witness in America and the fact that if this witness could be found, Gilbert would definitely be facing another murder charge. Henry concluded the story by saying, ‘I have just received a phone call to say the witness has turned up again and is willing to give evidence.’

‘ So what are you saying?’

‘ I’m saying that if Gilbert gets bail, we have a good chance of never seeing him again. If he stays in custody — on remand — and we bring this witness back from America, we can arrest him and deal with him without any problems. From what I can gather, this witness is very jittery indeed. We need to act with due speed.’

Mrs Ellison nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ll give you until Thursday to get this witness back into Britain and accordingly I shall remand both defendants until that day… then it’s back to the Magistrates’ Court. If you haven’t got a witness by then, you will have to appeal to the lower court again… and there is a very good case for releasing Gilbert on bail.’

‘ That doesn’t give us much time,’ Danny observed bleakly. ‘Two days. How are we going to manage it?’

‘ It’s better than nothing.’

They were on the M6, Henry driving south towards Preston. The CID Mondeo was touching a hundred and beginning to reek of burning oil.

‘ You’re such a pessimist, aren’t you?’ he said.

‘ Just answer me this — how the hell are we going to manage it? A reluctant witness, one who’ll only speak to me… come on, how?’ Danny’s hands made a gripping gesture.

‘ That’s what we’re going to sort out now when we see FB at Headquarters. I’m going to put to him that we send you on a plane to Miami today and you can bring her back and at the same time take a statement off her in mid-Atlantic. We’ll get her into protective custody as soon as she lands and then slap Gilbert with a-’

‘ Hang on, hang on!’ The implications of what Henry had just said struck her. ‘So you want me to go to America? Drop everything — just like that! Henry… hold your horses!’

He swerved into the fast lane to avoid a lorry which pulled out unexpectedly.

‘ Henry, all I plan to do this week is crash out. I am absolutely knackered and the last thing I want to do is fly to Miami and back in a day. It’s an eight-hour flight each way!’

‘ Would you rather see Gilbert walk?’

‘ You know I wouldn’t. That’s not the point.’

‘ I’ll arrange first-class seats. You can stretch out and sleep all the way over. You might even get to do some sightseeing. It won’t be that bad.’

She shook her head, unimpressed. ‘I’m not going. Why don’t you just get her dumped on a plane at that end and we’ll meet her over here. That would make more sense and it would be cheaper.’

Henry fell silent. ‘You’ve got a point, I suppose,’ he said eventually. ‘We can’t make you go.’

‘ But I want to go.’

‘ What?’

‘ I really, really want to go and bring her back and charge Gilbert with another murder… part of me, a big part of me wants to do that. But I’m just exhausted. I’m probably on the edge of a nervous breakdown too and I don’t want to have it three thousand miles from home.’

‘ Tell you what,’ Henry began persuasively, ‘you go, bring her back, then leave her with me. Then take a few weeks’ leave from Friday. Go away — out of the country for a while. Crash out in Spain or the Bahamas.’

‘ But you’re short-staffed. Other people are on leave.’

‘ We’ll manage. Just do this last thing for me. I know you’re completely shell-shocked and I know you’ll be even more knackered with two long flights under your belt in quick succession, but do it and then take as much time off as you need. I’ll square it with FB. I would really appreciate it.’

‘ Shit! You could talk the knickers off a nun. I’ll do it.’

‘ Brilliant! Now all I have to do is convince FB to send you. As you said, it won’t be cheap.’

‘ You mean this conversation could have been for nothing? You don’t even know if he’ll pay for me to go?’

‘ Well, I certainly don’t have the authority to spend probably well over five grand in air fares, do I?’

‘ Henry, you are a real bastard.’ She punched him on the arm. Hard.

He came off the M6 at junction 29, and cut across south of Preston to Police Headquarters at Hutton.

He did not notice the grey Jaguar which shot past him, motoring south, driven by Maurice Stanway who was carefully rehearsing the words he would be saying to his clients down at Risley Remand Centre, near Warrington. He knew Charlie Gilbert would not be a happy man.

‘ That is one hell of a lot of money.’ FB read the figures again and again and did some calculations in his brain, subtracting the amount from some budget or other. ‘Anything cheaper?’

‘ Yeah.’ Henry’s lips were pursed like a cat’s bottom, his annoyance beginning to show with FB’s penny-pinching ways. ‘There’s no doubt a three-hundred-quid return on a charter flight, cramped up like a sardine, no legroom, no space to sleep, shit food, swollen ankles.’

‘ And there’s something wrong with that?’

‘ With respect, sir — yes, there is. This is, after all, a business trip, not a holiday flight.’

‘ But the price! We could buy another helicopter for this.’

Henry shook his head impatiently. ‘It’s either that — Business Class — or she won’t go. Will you, Danny?’ He turned unexpectedly to her, bringing her into the conversation.

Up to that point Danny had simply been a spectator. She was thrown for a few seconds. ‘No,’ she said finally.

FB glowered at her. Then his lips pursed into the shape of a cat’s arse. He knew he was being railroaded. With dignity, he conceded defeat. ‘What must be, must be,’ he shrugged.

‘ If nothing else she deserves a bit of pampering after what she’s been through,’ Henry said patronisingly, wishing his words unspoken when he saw Danny’s angry face.

‘ When can we get her on a flight?’ FB asked, a note of resignation in his voice.

Henry consulted his notes, taken during a conversation with a travel agent with whom the Force often dealt. ‘There’s one tonight, arriving four a.m. our time, eleven p.m. theirs.’

Danny quickly worked that one out. ‘I don’t fancy that,’ she said disgustedly. ‘That means leaving here at eight tonight. No, thanks. I want a decent night’s sleep before I go.’

‘ Shit,’ Henry said under his breath. ‘That starts cutting things a bit fine then. There is an eight a.m. flight tomorrow, landing in Miami at 4 p.m. our time, eleven a.m. their time. That means you’d have to pick the girl up and do a quick turn around, catch a six p.m. flight back from Miami, which would land back in Manchester at seven a.m. our time on Thursday morning.’

‘ Jesus,’ Danny said. She closed her eyes and sighed. Sixteen hours, two eight-hour flights almost back to back. Not recommended for anyone in any condition. However, Henry’s promises about the days following made her decision. ‘I’ll do it. Just make sure that when I land back in Manchester on Thursday morning, you are waiting for me, probably with a hearse, because I’ll be all but dead.’

They both looked at FB whose face wore the mask of pain of a man who was having to fork out money from his own wallet. ‘Okay, get it booked.’

Henry reached for the phone.

‘ Oi! What do you think you’re doing?’

‘ I was going to use your tele-’

FB was shaking his head. He jerked his thumb towards the door. ‘Find another.’

Out in the corridor Danny remarked, ‘You don’t let FB walk all over you, do you? He usually flattens people.’

‘ He’s done that in the past, but since he pulled a particularly dirty trick on me a while ago, which nearly got me shot to pieces, I don’t take any shit from him, ACC or not. And that’s not meant to sound like bragging. He owes me a lot… now, where can I find a phone? I know, let’s go out to the Divers’ hut. We can get a brew there as well.’

‘ The Divers’ hut?’

‘ Yeah. I used to be a police diver donkey’s years ago. Did a couple of years on the branch when it was a part-time thing; there’s people on it I know well.’

Ten minutes later Henry had booked Danny on the flight to Miami and, over a cup of tea, was showing her the intricacies of some diving equipment, boring her to death in the process.

‘ I’m sorry to say bail was refused.’ Stanway’s voice was weak.

‘ On what grounds?’

‘ Likely to abscond, interfere with witnesses, but the Judge said the case must be reviewed on Thursday and every week thereafter if necessary.’

‘ What exactly does that mean, Maurice?’

‘ It means, Charles, that if the police have found no further evidence against you, you will be released, probably with bail conditions.’

‘ I sense a “but” at the end of that sentence.’

‘ I think they will have evidence, but not concerning Claire Lilton. It’ll be evidence about the body of the girl they found in Darwen. I did some checking on the way down, via the mobile in the car, with a friend I have in the CPS. They’re sending an officer to the United States to bring a vital witness back who will give evidence against you.’

Gilbert’s head dropped into his hands.

They were in yet another consulting room, this time at Risley Remand Centre. Gilbert’s big, round, football of a head rose. He stuffed a little finger up his nose, rooted around and extracted a ball of snot which he wiped underneath the table.

‘ Who is it?’

‘ Some girl or other. I don’t have details.’

‘ Fuck! I know who she is. It can only be one person.’

He gazed at the ceiling for inspiration. ‘This puts me right back to square one, because if she turns up, I’ll face a murder charge… and I don’t want that to happen, Maurice.’

‘ We’ll defend it,’ Stanway declared resolutely.

‘ No, Maurice. I said I didn’t want it to happen at all.’

‘ What are you going to do then? Have another witness murdered?’ Stanway’s voice rose. ‘I mean, she’s in America. It’s not as though we can send that dumb gorilla round we paid the other night, can we?’

‘ No, that’s true — and keep your voice down, Maurice. Walls have ears.’

‘ What do you intend doing, then?’ Stanway re-enquired. ‘I think we should defend it.’

‘ I will not appear in court on another murder charge.’

‘ Charles,’ Stanway breathed with exasperation, ‘she’s in America, presumably in police hands. She’ll be handed over to the Lancashire officer and brought straight back — in police hands. There is no way you could pull a stunt of any sort.’

‘ Maurice,’ Gilbert began in a tone of voice which was losing patience, ‘I want you to do something for me.’ He wiggled a forefinger to bring Stanway’s face closer and he whispered in the solicitor’s ear.

When he had finished, Stanway stood up and paced the room. ‘No, no, I will not do it — you cannot make me do it! First I meet and pay some bloody lowlife to commit a murder and now you ask me to do this. I am just digging myself in deeper and deeper… I will not do it. Ethically, morally, legally, it is against all my principles. The answer is no, Charles. A definite no.’

Gilbert listened to the tirade, almost expecting Stanway to stamp his feet.

‘ Finished, Maurice?’

Stanway nodded and licked his dry lips.

‘ You don’t have a fucking choice.’

Hyperventilation: breathing at an abnormally rapid rate, resulting in increased loss of carbon dioxide.

Maurice Stanway put the dictionary down with dithering hands. That was exactly what he was suffering from. His breathing was out of control; his heart rate astounding. His was light-headed; grey flecks were whizzing in front of his eyes. In fact, it was a miracle he had made it from Risley Remand Centre back to his office in the car. It was only sheer willpower which had prevented him from blacking out on the motorway.

The office was deserted. All the staff had gone home.

It was 7 p.m.

Stanway tried to control everything by sitting at his desk and getting a firm grip on his bodily functions. Without success. In the end he yanked open his bottom drawer and reached for the quarter bottle of scotch he kept there. Normally it languished unopened from Christmas to Christmas. He unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to his lips, gurgling down the fiery liquid. Almost half the bottle went down within seconds. He almost choked.

‘ Christ, Christ, Christ.’ His current predicament was beyond his comprehension, but he knew it was solely down to one thing — his weakness. From his experience as a solicitor he knew that weakness was the usual downfall of most people, whether it be a fondness for drink, drugs, money or power, or, as in his case, young boys. Preferably around the ages of seven or eight.

For the millionth time he asked himself why. Why did he like it? Something he knew was completely unnatural, immoral and illegal. But he did. He loved the texture of their soft flesh; he loved causing pain and loved holding them down whilst he completed the act. That too, was a power thing.

But why?

A married man, kids of his own who he would have defended with his life from the advances of someone like himself. A good, moderately successful career. Nice house, two decent cars, money not a problem.

Perhaps his longstanding friendship with Gilbert was one reason. They had known each other since Grammar School, where the brutish Gilbert had led him astray then… and the relationship had continued in the same vein for thirty odd years.

Maurice Stanway, the man who was so easily led.

Now he was trapped in a cage of his own making.

Gilbert had such power and personal influence over him it was impossible to resist. For his own survival he had to help Gilbert again.

He pulled his briefcase onto the desk and snapped it open. In his notebook he turned to the page where he had jotted down the number Gilbert had dictated to him. The very private number of a very dangerous man.

Stanway squeezed his face in the palm of his hand, breathed in, held it and exhaled slowly. Then he picked up the phone and dialled quickly so he would not stop halfway through.

Despite the long distance, connection was made immediately.

On the second ring, the phone was answered by a woman.

Stanway quickly explained who he was and asked to speak to that man.

After the rain, Miami was boiling hot again.

However, Felicity Bussola, previously known as Felicity Kruger and before that, Jane Creek, was sitting in the shade of a large umbrella, laid out full-length on a sun lounger by the pool.

She answered the cell-tel as soon as it rang. It had been left on the drinks table next to her. After listening for a few moments, she pressed the ‘secret’ button and shouted across the pool.

‘ It’s for you, darling, she called. She held the phone out between her first finger and thumb.

Mario Bussola was sitting at a table in the full sunshine, working on a laptop. There was a fax machine by his side, a small copier, a shredder and two other phones, all within reach. He was stripped down to his boxer shorts and the heat of the sun was making his rippling fat glisten and perspire.

Bussola sat up. He frowned. Few people ever called him on this number because it was only divulged to selected and thoroughly vetted individuals. ‘Bring the fucking thing here,’ he said. There was no way he was going to get up.

‘ Okay, babe.’ She rose to her feet stiffly because the broken ribs had not really begun to heal, and shuffled around the edge of the pool. Not only did the ribs still hurt, but also the base of her spine which was sore and bruised. This particular injury meant she walked like an eighty-year-old.

On the way round the pool she had to walk past two of Bussola’s new bodyguards. One was on duty, sat up at a table, reading in the shade of a tree. The other was off-duty, laid out on a recliner in his boxing shorts, browning himself in the rays. Guns and holsters were very much in evidence. They both watched Felicity from behind the dark lenses of their Ray-Bans.

Even though she was injured and probably incapable of anything more than very passive sex, Felicity could not help noticing the bulge in the guard’s boxers. It looked a dangerous packet. She longed to reach out for it.

Her husband was gesturing impatiently with his fingers. She handed the mobile over.

‘ Why don’ you just fuck off inside? I’m sicka lookin’ at cha hobblin’ around like a witch all day long,’ Bussola suggested.

‘ Okay, babe,’ she murmured. ‘Anything you say.’

She shuffled away.

Bussola stuck the phone to his ear.

‘ Is… is that Mr Bussola?’ Stanway stuttered.

‘ You rang the number, you tell me.’

‘ I’ll assume it is… My name is Maurice Stanway and I’m very sorry to disturb you, I know you are a busy man.’

‘ How did ya get this number?’

‘ I… er, represent Charles Gilbert. I’m a solicitor — lawyer, if you like. He gave me the number and I’m phoning on his behalf.’

‘ In that case stop friggin’ about and get on with it. You’re right — I am busy.’

Felicity crept up the stairs which wound their way up the rear of the house. A first-level landing gave her the chance to rest. The window there looked over the terrace to the pool where she could see her husband on the phone.

Had her eyes been pistols, they would have shot Bussola to pieces. She perched the corner of her bottom on the low window-ledge and opened the window quietly. Just below her were the two bodyguards, unaware she was hovering above them. Bussola was talking gruffly on the phone. The bodyguards were whispering something to each other. Felicity craned her neck and strained to eavesdrop.

‘ She deserved it… no fucker pisses with Mario,’ the on-duty guard was saying.

‘ He made a classic mess of her,’ the other observed. Felicity knew his name was Gus. She did not know the other’s name.

‘ Yeah — she used to be a good-lookin’ piece a tail. Now her face is so outta line she couldn’t even blow a candle out.’

Felicity choked back a sob at the words. They were true. She was horrible to look at now. Face swollen, body bruised to hell and back — was she ever going to recover? Her husband had made a mess of her and she hated him for it.

‘ Shit!’ Bussola roared. He threw the phone down in a fit of temper and it smashed to pieces on the terracotta floor.

The bodyguards shot to attention, nerves showing.

‘ Ira!’ the Italian bellowed. ‘Get your stinking Jewish ass out here now.’

Bussola rolled up to his feet and waddled over to the bodyguards quicker than they anticipated. They jumped to their feet.

Felicity dodged behind the cover of the drape.

‘ Siddown, you assholes,’ Bussola instructed them. ‘Ira? You heard me, or what?’

‘ I’m here, I’m here, keep your big Italian mouth in check.’ Ira Begin, Bussola’s lawyer and adviser in all matters of law, strategy, finance and tactical operations, scuttled like a beetle out of the house, where he had been busy on paperwork. He was the only person who could get away with talking back to Bussola, but even he judged it carefully. Sometimes Bussola needed to be treated with kid gloves and Begin generally knew when. He had been with Bussola many years and though he was a small, insignificant-looking man, he wielded great power and influence in Bussola’s empire. He was ruthless when necessary, having cold-bloodedly murdered four people in his time and assisted Bussola to murder or dispose of eight others, including the Armstrong brothers; mostly, though, Begin liked to keep timidly in the background, using his various skills to assist in the acquisition of money and power for his boss. He slid his John Lennon style spectacles on and blinked in the sunlight. ‘What’s up?’

‘ Got an issue.’ Bussola perched himself on the edge of the table the bodyguard had been sitting at. He always used the word ‘issue’ rather than ‘problem’.

‘ Shoot.’

‘ Gilbert’s been arrested in England.’

‘ How is that an issue?’

‘ Let me finish, you twerp. In two ways. Firstly, the equipment we are shipping over to him — you know, the video games — need to be dealt with by him. He’s going to hand over the little extras we have secreted in them to our other contact in Manchester.’ Bussola was referring to the two kilos of cocaine that were going to accompany the arcade games; Gilbert was due to deliver them to a drug dealer who was handling Bussola’s North of England operation. If Gilbert was not there to receive the games, there could be major complications, not only of a financial nature. ‘And secondly, the English cops are coming across here to pick up a witness against him and take that witness back to testify. It’s about a murder five godamned years ago! I mean, who the hell gives a shit about something that old? Anyway, it’s that stupid little girl who spoiled some of our fun.’

‘ Tracey Greenwood — the English girl.’ Begin knew immediately; it was his job to know.

‘ Yeah — that junkie piece a shit. She could damage me — possibly,’ Bussola complained. ‘And not only that, Gilbert is a friend. I look after friends.’

‘ I take it you would rather she did not testify?’ Begin said fussily.

‘ It would simplify things all round. Make some enquiries, find out where she is and then just fucking waste her.’

In the window Felicity drew back again when Begin turned and walked back into the house.

She had heard everything that had been said.

Maurice Stanway replaced the phone. His hand shook. His palms were sweating. For the second time in a matter of days he had arranged the murder of an innocent individual.

He stood up, drained emotionally and physically, walked out of his office and found his way to the cloakroom, where he filled a wash-basin and ducked his face into the cold water until his lungs almost burst. He pulled up, spluttering, looking scornfully at his image in the mirror.

‘ You bastard,’ he breathed. ‘You absolute bastard.’