One Dead Witness

Chapter Twenty-two

Henry leaned across, flicked the handle and pushed the door open for Danny who walked down her short drive and dropped into the passenger seat. She was dead-beat and looked it. Her bleary eyes could hardly stay open even though she had slept well that night.

But five in the morning is no time for anyone to get up. It reminded her of days gone by when she worked shifts. On reflection she was amazed she handled them so well.

It was now 5.45 a.m., Wednesday morning, and Henry, as promised, was bang on time to pick her up. He estimated a good hour to get to Manchester Airport because even at that time of day, traffic around the city’s motorways could be horrendous.

He was wide awake and pretty buzzy. ‘Morning!’

‘ Urumph,’ Danny responded, smacking the recliner button and jerking backwards into a nearly prone position. She tossed a holdall into the back seat, then settled as comfortably as possible after turning up the heating a few notches. She was a very warm-blooded animal and needed heat, especially at this time of day, and particularly in her extremities, which were like blocks of ice.

Henry, perceptive as ever, picked up the body language: DO NOT DISTURB. He drove in silence and within minutes they were on the motorway. The radio was tuned into Jazz FM, so Danny closed her eyes, mentally rolled to the beat… and fell asleep.

‘ Here we are.’

‘ What?’ Danny shook her head and rubbed her eyes, unable to believe they had arrived at the airport already. ‘Is this a Tardis, or what?’

‘ No, just sounds like one.’

Henry handed her a package which contained a visa for Danny and an emergency passport for Tracey Greenwood. Both had been sent by courier, arriving at midnight at Henry’s house. He also handed her a wad of dollar traveller cheques. She stuffed the whole lot into her holdall.

‘ Got your own passport?’

She shot him a withering glance.

They walked to International Departures where Danny checked in without having to wait. She was told to go directly to passport control.

‘ Okay, Danny, try to get some sleep on the flight because you’ll need it if you’re going to do a quick turnaround. Grab the girl and get her back here for tomorrow. I’ll be waiting.’

She took hold of Henry’s lapels and dragged his face down to her. They kissed briefly.

‘ Look after yourself. See you tomorrow.’

Danny gave a quick wave and trotted away towards passport control. She didn’t glance back.

Thirty minutes later she was settled in the most luxurious airplane seat she had ever been in and was back asleep before the plane left the ground.

Following her rash decision to employ Steve Kruger to tail her husband, Felicity Bussola had learned some hard lessons.

The first was that no one messes with Mario Bussola without getting hurt… and that included his wife.

Bussola had beaten upon her remorselessly, enjoying every minute of it. He had smashed her face in, initially with his big fat fists and by pounding her on the edge of the grand piano, breaking her cheekbones. The instrument had subsequently to be cleaned to remove all the blood and snot and two teeth Felicity had dribbled into its workings.

Bussola had not been content with the face. Next he pummelled her body, but not with his hands or feet. He carefully selected a lamp-stand, and wielding it like a baseball bat, whacked her repeatedly with it, following her round the house as she cowered in terror behind any cover she could find. After this he dragged her back to the piano, forced her fingers onto the ivories and slammed the lid down at least a dozen times. But he only actually broke two of her fingers on her left hand.

Then, loving husband that he was, he arranged private medical treatment for her at a clinic he owned.

Very much linked to the first lesson was that it was in her interests not to take any more interest in her husband’s whereabouts. He ran businesses which operated twenty-four hours a day and he had to be in a position to supervise them appropriately. So of course he would be away nights. It didn’t mean he was being unfaithful to her.

Yeah, right.

The final lesson was that she should be grateful to be married to him. She should be grateful he came home at all and even more grateful if he deigned to fuck her. She learned this lesson, because he told her.

Those, at least, were the direct learning points from hiring Steve Kruger.

She learned a few indirect ones too. One was to never — ever — trust the staff. Whatever they said, she would never again take anyone of them into her confidence, like she had done with the two bastards who had kidnapped Steve Kruger for her. In the end, Mario employed them, and their first loyalty was to him, not her.

She had also become aware that the house was riddled with listening devices and miniature cameras, monitored from a control room at the gate-house, into which she had never been allowed. She had been under the impression the gate-house was simply a place where Bussola’s heavyweights just crashed out. Now she knew it was far more sinister.

Her personal objective now was to find all the surveillance devices and then never to say or do anything further to incriminate herself or any other person in any way. It might get someone killed.

She believed she had located all the bugs. The only rooms which appeared to be free of them were the bedrooms, Mario and Ira Begin’s offices and most corridors and landings. She had no idea why the bugs existed and did not dare ask.

The main lesson she had learned from recent events, though, was that she was a stupid, naive bitch who had been blinded by money and lifestyle and was now more unhappy than she had ever been in the whole of her life. She felt trapped, with no way out… and she still didn’t know if Bussola was cheating on her.

Not that it seemed to matter any more.

‘ It took a little time,’ Ira Begin said apologetically, ‘but he came through in the end.’

Bussola looked up from his desk at Begin who was leaning against the door jamb of his boss’s study. It was 9 a.m., on the day after Begin had been given instructions to start making enquiries into the current state of play and whereabouts of Tracey Greenwood.

‘ Sit down,’ Bussola nodded. Begin came into the office and took a seat on the couch, pushing the door to behind him, though it did not close properly.

‘ I had to pull in some goodwill on this one, Mario. It’ll cost.’

‘ Pay.’

Begin nodded. ‘Apparently Tracey Greenwood presented herself to Myrna Rosza at Kruger Investigations and stated she wanted to testify against Gilbert in some old murder case in England.’

‘ Why Kruger Investigations?’

Begin shrugged. ‘Maybe she doesn’t trust the authorities. Anyway, she’s now with that black bitch Rosza, who’s babysitting her until the English cops get here. There’s a detective due to land at MIA later today to escort the girl back to Britain — a guy called Danny Furness.’

‘ Where’s the girl now, as we speak?’

Begin heaved a sigh. ‘With Rosza, place unknown.’

Bussola gave his assistant a withering look. ‘Make it a place known.’

‘ Working on it as we speak.’

Bussola ran a hand through his hair. ‘I want her dead, Ira. If you can negotiate a hand-over with Rosza, then all well and good.’

‘ I have an idea, a leverage tool we might use.’

Bussola waved a hand dismissively. ‘I believe in empowerment, Ira. Do it your way, but if it doesn’t work, kill the girl and then kill anyone else who causes any obstruction, cops included.’

At the study door there was the faintest whisper of a sigh, a movement… Begin leapt to his feet and jumped to the door.

No one there.

He gave a short laugh and closed it.

Felicity had been watching and waiting for Begin to go in and see her husband, and had then sneaked up to the door and listened to every word spoken between the two men. She had remained still, completely rigid, during the conversation, her ear literally at the crack in the door. Then her ribs twisted slightly and she could not prevent the squeak of pain escaping from her lips.

She spun out of sight in the dog-leg of the hallway just a moment before Begin poked his head out of the door, amazing herself how quickly she could move when she needed to, despite the present condition of her body.

Now she needed to get to a phone which wasn’t wired up. Something easier said than done.

Felicity’s activities had been very much curtailed since her recent blunder, and getting out of the house alone was now a major operation. Bussola was deeply suspicious of her, wanted to know where she was going, what she was doing, who she was seeing; he also made sure she was accompanied all the time.

Had she not been almost crippled by his beating, slipping away from a chaperone would have been relatively easy. Now she had to think up some other strategy, and double-quick too, for if she could not get away from the house, she’d be unable to warn Myrna of Bussola’s plans for the witness and possibly Myrna herself.

Ten minutes after his conversation with Begin, Bussola was again working by the poolside, his laptop connected up to the Internet where he was surfing the pornography pages. Felicity hovered with a complete lack of assertiveness, just in his view.

‘ Yeah?’ he said at length, not raising his head from the screen.

‘ Sweetheart, I need to get out,’ she said humbly.

Bussola stopped tapping at the keys. He regarded her sternly and she prepared herself for the ‘why’ question.

It came. ‘Why?’

‘ I just wanna drift around a few clothes shops, cheer myself up a little, maybe try on a few things. I won’t buy anything.’ Not that she could. As part of her punishment, Bussola had chopped off all her credit. ‘Honey, please can I?’ she pined.

He then shocked her. ‘Yeah, you can. In fact, go and buy yourself something.’ He delved into his briefcase and extracted a wad of cash. He did not count it, just handed it over.

‘ Gee… thanks honey,’ she said genuinely, seduced by the sight of greenbacks. There must have been about fifteen hundred dollars.

‘ Pleasure, babe.’

Then she remembered who he was, what he had done to her and others, but nevertheless maintained her gratefulness. ‘You are really good to me.’

‘ Hey!’ he clicked his forefinger at her. ‘And don’t you forget it. Now get lost.’

His attention returned to the computer. Felicity limped painfully away, hearing Bussola’s voice call behind her. ‘Gus, you take my wife shopping, y’hear?’

Gus stood up. ‘Okay, boss.’ Felicity saw it was the bodyguard with the rather substantial appendages. It was horrendous to be horny and unable to do anything about it.

Ira Begin had not reached his exalted position in life without proper planning, taking into account all the imponderables of a situation, always making back-up plans for any contingency and ensuring they were in place should his initial course of action not succeed.

As was the case with the situation concerning Tracey Greenwood and Myrna Rosza.

He had quickly established how he was going to approach the problem. It would, as Bussola had suggested, be through a process of negotiation. If that failed, other tactics would drop into place. But what he needed to know before anything happened at all was the exact holding position of the girl.

Once he had that, he would swing into action. ‘Captain Crenshaw, Homicide, please,’ Begin said into the phone.

‘ May I ask who is calling?’

‘ I’m his chiropractor.’

‘ Thank you. Please hold the line.’

A series of clicks, a slight pause, then, ‘Crenshaw, Homicide.’

‘ Ahh, Captain, this is your chiropractor. I was just wondering if you’d made that appointment yet.’

‘ Hey, I haven’t forgotten.’

‘ It is urgent. You know how tight your spine is.’

‘ Yeah, I’ll get back to you soon with details.’

‘ And, of course, you will feel great benefit.’ Begin hung up, slightly frustrated. He desperately needed to know where Tracey was being held, otherwise he might start to look stupid.

He picked his phone up again and dialled a zero. He ordered someone from the gatehouse to bring a car up for him. He had to get out and see someone, pronto.

Gus was sticking to Felicity like a limpet, not difficult in her present condition. Dark glasses covering her bruised face, she was moving slowly around the Bal Harbor shops on Collins Avenue, Miami Beach, where high-class names were in abundance — Saks, Carrier, Hermes et al. Not much was priced below four hundred dollars and an average price in some shops was four thousand.

‘ Gus, why don’t you fuck of?’ Felicity suggested. ‘I’m staying in and around these shops, going nowhere else. What about you and me meet back here in an hour, say? I ain’t gonna tell Mario… but you’re going to be bored shitless because all I’m going to do is drift around dress shops.’

‘ Uh-huh. With respect, but no way, Mrs Bussola. Boss says I’ve got to stay with you and I’m going to do just that.’

Felicity shrugged.

Gus was a simple son of a bitch and she doubted if she could shake his dog-like determination to follow orders to the letter. She would just have to look for another opportunity and grasp it when it came.

Henry Christie’s early start that day did not deter him from going into work to catch up with everything. He drove from the airport, arriving at the station about seven-thirty. Accompanied by a wonderful cup of tea, he took full advantage of the early hour to get some clearance work done at his desk.

At 2 p.m. he was still busy, not having stopped for any refreshment other than of the hot liquid variety. He was really motoring on his paperwork and didn’t want to interrupt his momentum.

Blackpool is a town where nobody gets noticed. The extravagant and outlandish are the norm. The normal is the norm too. Being the worse for drink is not unusual; inebriates abound and unless they are fighting drunk, do not raise an eyebrow.

That particular Wednesday afternoon, no one noticed the unshaven, slightly smelly figure of a man who, stinking of booze, staggered and rolled through the streets. Occasionally he bumped into people but muttered apologies. He wasn’t looking for trouble. Sometimes he crashed into walls or shop fronts and apologised too. Though he was unsteady on his feet, he did not fall over.

The only thing which perhaps set him apart from the usual drunk was his standard of dress. Though tie-less, his suit was obviously expensive, his shoes too, and his silk shirt was definitely made to measure. Even so, he was paid no heed. People just tried to avoid him.

When he stumbled into the Tower complex, slapping down his cash at the pay desk, he wasn’t even acknowledged by the staff. Just another customer, just another drunk.

It was 3 p.m., British time. Henry sat back, interlocked his fingers behind his head and thought about Danny.

Seven hours since she had taken off. The plane, no doubt, would be staring its gradual descent into Miami International, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Henry did not particularly envy her, but thought that nevertheless it would be quite nice to have a taste, however brief, of some Florida sunshine. The weather in Blackpool had not been too bad for a couple of days, but didn’t have the warmth Henry remembered from his holiday in Florida a couple of years earlier.

He shook his head. His brain was slowing down now, becoming a nebulous mass after the morning’s marathon of paper shifting.

Time for a break. He peered out through the office window and decided on a brisk stroll up the Prom. Clear his head, maybe buy the kids something useless, maybe buy Kate something too. Now that would surprise her.

He slid his Barbour on, dropped his PR into a pocket and quit the office. A few minutes later he was on the Promenade. The sun was shining brightly, but it was still extremely chilly.

The drunken man reeled slowly through the Tower amusement complex. He dallied in the Hall of Mirrors, staring angrily at each reflection, particularly the one which made him look very small. He dawdled in the aquarium, staring up at the sharks, detesting the smug way in which they glided smoothly around with no effort whatsoever, masters of their environment, their small, piggy, emotionless eyes with a bead on him, like they were telling him something.

Well, fuck them! There was nothing they could tell him about himself he didn’t already know.

For half an hour he sat on the balcony overlooking the Tower ballroom, watching the dancers slide around the floor. He had a couple of large whiskies whilst he watched the, in the main, elderly couples dancing the afternoon away in a ritual more reminiscent of the thirties than the nineties. He went to the bar and gulped a further Scotch which really seemed to hit the mark.

Then he made his way to the lift which would take him all the way up the Tower.

With unusually helpful tailwinds, Danny’s plane touched down half an hour ahead of schedule at Miami International, 10.30 a.m. US time. She had been in the air seven and a half hours but it was only like the blink of an eye to her because, with the exception of devouring the rather delicious meal provided, she had slept all the way.

Very refreshed, she made her way off the plane, straight through customs with the only slight hitch being the diligent checking of her visa at passport control. In the arrival lounge she expected to be met, but not by Arnold Schwarzenegger. Or to be more accurate, Mark Tapperman, who bore a card with Danny’s name on it.

‘ That’s me,’ said Danny, approaching the big man.

Tapperman looked at the name on the card, then up at Danny.

‘ It’s short for Danielle,’ she explained.

‘ Oh, right, yeah.’ Tapperman was completely thrown. ‘They didn’t say I was going to meet a woman.’

‘ Is that a problem?’

‘ No, no, no.’ Tapperman regained some sort of control of himself and thrust out his right hand which Danny shook. ‘Welcome to Miami. I’m Lieutenant Mark Tapperman, Miami PD. Here.’ He flashed his badge.

‘ I’m Danny Furness, as you already know. Detective Sergeant, Blackpool CID.’ She showed him her warrant card.

‘ Lemme take your case. Come on, follow me. My car’s waiting.’

‘ I’ll carry it myself, Mark. Thanks.’

‘ So… good flight?’

‘ Excellent.’

‘ Blackpool? I heard of that place. Guess it’s pretty quiet. Not much going on — not much excitement cop-wise, I guess.’

Danny smiled inwardly. ‘I guess not.’

Henry Christie could not resist Robert’s Oyster Bar. He dived in and bought himself a tub of potted shrimps which he proceeded to eat whilst leaning against the sea-wall railings and looking across to the Golden Mile. The shrimps tasted wonderful.

Henry’s eyes followed the Tower upwards, 519 feet to the pinnacle. It was a clear day and the view from the platform would be superb.

The last of the shrimps went into his mouth. It was time to head back to the office and maybe have an early dart home.

‘ Gus, you cannot follow me in here, no matter what Mario told you. I am a lady, this is a ladies’ changing room and if you try to come in, I’ll scream the place down.’

‘ Uh, I dunno about this,’ he said dumbly.

‘ You’d have to shoot the security guards,’ Felicity said.

‘ Now, I’m going in there to try these two dresses on.’ They were folded across her arm. ‘And I’ll probably be about fifteen minutes, okay? There’s nowhere I can go, so relax and go choose something sexy for your girl from the lingerie department.’

‘ Lingerie?’

‘ Underwear to you — panties, brassieres, you know the kind of stuff. Over there.’ She spun him round and shoved him in the direction of the department. He tottered away unhappily, giving several backward glances. Felicity went into the changing area and chose the booth furthest away, locking the door behind her.

Once inside she sat down and relaxed. Then she began to undress.

Henry Christie was correct. The view from the platform almost at the top of the Tower was magical. No one was allowed to go to the very top these days, however; too many people jumped off. Now visitors were restricted to the covered platform at 380 feet, from which there was a 360-degree view of Blackpool and its environs.

The drunken man walked around the platform, feeling the fresh wind in his hair, looking at the view, not really appreciating either.

Above the head-high railings was a wire-mesh cage to dissuade people from climbing up and over and launching themselves into oblivion. The man walked round, inspecting the mesh above his head, noting the location of the joins, where the weak points were.

It did not take him long to find what he was looking for.

He clambered up the metal railings and reached for the mesh, pulling it apart at one of the seams. Within moments he had broken through and clambered up onto the cage, sitting on the edge with nothing now between himself and the roofs of the shops below. He shuffled right to the edge, dangling his legs over. One last push, and he would be over.

It would be over.

‘ What do you think of this one, Gus?’

Felicity emerged from the changing room, displaying the thousand-dollar creation she was trying on for size. And also to reassure Gus, who had spent no time in lingerie; he had been sitting on a chair at the entrance to the changing rooms, agitatedly tapping his feet, peering in for a sight of Mrs Bussola.

‘ It’s really nice, Mrs B,’ Gus said. He tried to sound enthusiastic.

‘ Thanks, Gus. You’re obviously a connoisseur.’

‘ A what?’

‘ A thick cunt,’ Felicity said under her breath. She twirled back into the changing area, accompanied by an attentive member of staff, to try on the next outfit.

Before she closed the door, she spoke briefly to the sales assistant. ‘Darling, do you have access to a cellular phone? I seem to have left mine at home and I need to phone my husband. Of course I’ll pay for any calls and any extras.’ She gave a knowing nod to the woman and crushed a fifty-dollar note into her receptive palm.

‘ I’ll see what I can do, Mrs Bussola.’

‘ Oh, and by the way, don’t let on to that goon, will you?’

‘ You can be assured of my discretion.’

Ira Begin was on edge. Everything was now ready. He had been to see the person who would act as the last line of attack if the worst came to the worst. Now all he needed to be told was where the girl was.

He was in the rear of a car being driven back to Bussola’s house in South Beach. His cell-tel was on his lap and he prayed for it to ring. If it didn’t, then a certain police officer would have more than just his annual retainer cut off.

He bounced the small phone in his hand, desperately holding himself back from calling Captain Crenshaw. From past experience, Begin knew it would not speed matters up.

Then it rang and Begin jumped. He fumbled to answer it.

‘ Yeah.’ He listened. ‘Got that. Consider your efforts to be a good investment.’

Begin ended the call.

Now he had everything he needed.

‘ Patrol to attend the Tower: report of a possible jumper. I repeat…’

Henry Christie, normally so poor at using the PR other than for his personal benefit, had actually tried to develop some good habits since becoming a Detective Inspector. He actually listened to it these days and even while he had been out eating shrimps, he’d kept one ear on the comings and goings of police activity around the town.

‘ DI Christie received. I am literally outside the Tower now. I’ll attend.’

‘ Roger. Thanks, sir. Any other patrols to assist?’

Several called up, by which time Henry was running across the Promenade, looking up as he did so.

It was a very long way up. And down.

It was one of the biggest cars Danny had ever seen in her life, and was like sitting in a mobile living room. Typically American, she thought; all the same, lovely and very comfortable. But not a patch on her beloved, now deceased, Merc.

She looked discreetly sideways at the big detective who was driving. His left elbow rested out of the window and he was steering using his left little finger, occasionally holding the wheel with his right when necessary. He whistled tunelessly, looked laid back and cool in his dark glasses. Danny had not thought to pack sunglasses, but did not mind the bright sun in her eyes. It made a change from Britain’s pathetic effort.

‘ Not far now,’ Tapperman informed her.

‘ Fine.’ They had not travelled far anyway.

Ten minutes later they pulled up in the driveway of a large white house in a fairly exclusive development.

‘ I thought we’d be going to a cop shop.’

‘ Naw,’ drawled Tapperman, releasing his seat belt. ‘This girl’s got an aversion to cops.’

Danny grabbed her holdall and got out of the car, which was still bouncing on its soft springs from stopping. As they walked up the drive, past another large vehicle, some type of people-carrier, the front door opened and a black woman stood on the threshold, right hand extended.

‘ Hi, I’m Myrna Rosza. You must be Danny Furness. I’m pleased to meet you.’

‘ And I’m pleased to meet you, Myrna.’

They shook hands and appraised each other critically, both liking what they saw. Somehow there was something between them immediately. A connection. A closeness. Both sensed this would be a harmonious relationship.

‘ Come in, you must be bushed.’

‘ I’m not too bad. Where’s Tracey?’

Myrna’s eyes flickered upwards. ‘Asleep, like she’s been for most of the time. I don’t intend to wake her, if that’s okay. I think she needs all the rest she can get. Maybe you’d like a shower, get freshened up? Then I’ll do us a meal and we can talk.’

‘ Sounds good.’

They smiled at each other.

Behind them Tapperman said, ‘I’ll leave you to it. If you have any problems, bell me anytime.’

‘ Sure, thanks Mark.’

When he’d gone, Myrna said conspiratorially, ‘Bit soft dumbass, but a heart of gold. Here, let me take your bag.’

Henry barged his way through the tourists of the day, unceremoniously heaving them to one side where necessary. He arrived at the lift to find a long queue of people waiting to go up the Tower.

‘ You a police officer?’ somebody shouted.

‘ Yeah.’ Henry turned. He recognised the manager of the place.

‘ Come with me.’

He led Henry to the service lift which was ready and waiting and empty. Henry peered through the window as the lift rose, watching in case the jumper decided to fly before he got there.

Felicity was standing in her underwear when the sales assistant returned with a cellular phone. The woman’s mouth sagged open in shock when she saw the bruises all over Felicity’s torso. The gangster’s wife caught the expression and with a sneer said, ‘It’s how my husband shows affection.’

Stunned, the woman held out the mobile. Felicity banged in a number and waited impatiently for the connection. The sales assistant withdrew.

‘ Kruger Investigations? I want to speak to Myrna Rosza. Urgently.’

It was wonderfully fresh, brilliant up here. The drunken man was sitting on top of the mesh, looking at a view inland across Lancashire, towards the Pennines. Then he looked down between his legs and swallowed. There was a flat roof below on which he would surely land.

For a split second there was hesitation. He wondered if he had the courage to do this thing.

Someone on the platform shouted, ‘Don’t do it, mate!’

But he had to.

For what he had done, he would never be able to live with himself again.

Myrna, Felicity was informed, could not be contacted. ‘This is a matter of life and death,’ Felicity pleaded. ‘It concerns the girl she is protecting. Please let me speak to her. I need to speak to her. It’s vital…’ And here Felicity made a guess. ‘Bussola knows where they are and he’s going to kill the girl — and Myrna, if she gets in the way. I’ve got to speak to her! I’m Steve Kruger’s ex-wife. It’s imperative…’

‘ Just hold the line,’ the polite telephonist said.

‘ Fuck!’ Felicity closed her eyes, which flipped open when the changing-room door clattered open.

Gus appeared, breathing heavily, the sales assistant behind him, remonstrating. ‘You cannot barge in here like this!’ Gus rammed the palm of his big hand into her face, scrunched it up like a piece of paper and said, ‘Go away, please.’ He pushed her with such force that she crashed through the closed door of the changing booth opposite.

Gus lurched across to Felicity, a hurt and disappointed look on his face. He pulled the phone out of her hand and threw it to the floor, ramming his heel down on it.

‘ You shouldn’t ought to have done that, Mrs B. You lied to me, so get dressed, please. I’m gonna take you home.’

The service lift doors opened, Henry stepped out and immediately saw the man sitting on the overhead mesh.

All the way up Henry had been sifting through the possible openings he might use to begin the process of talking the man down.

He strolled to the left of the man, who looked down and showed recognition in his face. Henry recognised him too.

Before Henry could open his mouth, the man gave himself a push and went over the edge.