The stills man bent down on the far side of the bed. His camera flashed. He stood upright and said, ‘Have you seen this?’ He pointed down to the corner of the room.
Kovaks walked over carefully.
A piece of thick, pink, blood-oozing meat lay on the floor skewered by a knife. The knife was thin, as long as a stiletto but with one jagged cutting edge. Kovaks had no doubt he was looking at the murder weapon.
He had no doubt, either, that he was looking at Whisper’s tongue.
The message it conveyed was not lost on him.
He turned to the local sheriff who was standing at the door. ‘I assumed he’d been killed out on the ward and his body moved here after. ‘
‘ Apparently not.’ The man shrugged. His thumbs were tucked into his gun belt. He seemed slow-witted, but Kovaks knew not to underestimate such people.
‘ I’ll be moving a team in here,’ Kovaks informed him, ‘but we’d sure appreciate your cooperation. I think that together — our skills and your local knowledge — we’ll crack this.’
The sheriff smiled. ‘Us and the FBI, working together? Sure thing,’ he said, pleased.
‘ And obviously we’d like to set up an incident room to run from your office, if that meets with your approval?’
‘ Yeah, sure. From my office. No problem.’ His smile widened even further.
‘ But first can you tell me where I can locate the nurse who found him?’
The sheriff cocked a thumb. ‘Down there. She’s pretty shook up.’
Kovaks strolled down the ward, muttering, ‘Keep ‘em sweet, keep, em sweet.’
The eyes of the patients were on him. Some sneered at the sight of the badge pinned to his lapel. None spoke. He doubted if any ever would.
The nurse was a middle-aged lady whom he’d seen earlier. She was sitting in an office, her head buried in her hands, being comforted by the bored-looking doctor whom Kovaks had also met before. As Kovaks came to the door the doctor immediately ushered him back out.
‘ She is in no condition to be interviewed yet,’ he said. ‘I’ve given her a tranquilliser to get her this calm. Her husband should be here soon to take her home.’
‘ When will I be able to speak to her?’
‘ Tomorrow at the earliest.’
Kovaks nodded. ‘OK. Can you tell me why Whisper was transferred to that side ward, doc?’
‘ To aid speedy recovery. He needed complete isolation, in my opinion.’
‘ Did you see anything that might be of use to us?’
‘ Such as?’
‘ Such as who stuck a knife into him a million times.’
‘ No, I didn’t and frankly, I don’t have the time to talk to you just now. I need to care for this nurse, then I need to get the hospital back to normal.’
‘ When can I see you then?’
‘ Ask my secretary. Make an appointment.’
Jack Crosby was still alive when he was slid on a stretcher into the back of the ambulance some fifteen minutes later, but only just. His heart and breathing had stopped at one point, but FB’s half-remembered first-aid training had saved him. For the time being at least.
Karen watched the ambulance race away, blue light flashing. She was standing at a first-floor window.
The small crowd of people who had gathered outside dispersed slowly, leaving only two standing there: a pale, shaken FB and a worried-looking Chief Constable. FB began talking animatedly, arms waving, fingers pointing, voice obviously raised.
Karen’s mouth twisted sardonically. ‘I wonder who he’s talking about,’ she said under her breath.
She watched them turn and walk into the HQ building, FB not letting up for a second.
Karen made her way to the Chief Constable’s secretary’s office and sat down to wait. A wave of tiredness enveloped her. This was the longest single uninterrupted period she had ever worked in her life. It was all she could do to prevent herself falling asleep.
Jean, the secretary, glanced up at her.
‘ I do hope he’s all right,’ she said.
‘ I do too,’ said Karen. She meant it.
‘ Is there anything I can get you? You look exhausted.’
Just a warm bed and a stiff drink. Karen shook her head, too tired even to speak.
‘ Don’t blame yourself,’ Jean said softly. ‘He’s been warned about his condition often enough. It was only a matter of time.’
Karen managed a wan smile.
FB and Dave August entered and the Chief went straight into his office without acknowledging Karen. ‘I’m not to be disturbed,’ he announced. ‘I’m going to call Mrs Crosby.’
‘ Boss…’ Karen began, getting to her feet.
‘ Disturbed by no one,’ he reiterated and slammed the door.
FB turned to Karen, ‘This is your doing,’ he said with vehemence.
‘ None of this would’ve happened without your incessant ambition.’
‘ Don’t become a bigger fool than you already are, FB. I wasn’t to know he had a dodgy heart.’
‘ It was common knowledge.’
‘ Common to whom, dickhead?’ she challenged. She sat back down and folded her arms, determined not to enter a no-win, no-profit argument.
The intercom buzzed on Jean’s desk. ‘Get a car to pick up Mrs Crosby from home and take her to hospital. Then arrange for mine to pick me up from the garage. I’m going to see him too.’
‘ Yes, sir.’
Karen came to an instant decision. ‘This is preposterous,’ she said, striding across to the Chief’s door. Jean opened her mouth to remonstrate, but Karen burst through the door before she could utter a word and crashed it shut behind her.
Blackpool Tower came into view. In ten minutes they would be at the central police station where the firearms team had been told to assemble for the briefing.
Karen sighed heavily as she thought back to her head-on confrontation with Dave August, Chief Constable and lover.
‘ I said I was not to be disturbed.’
‘ I still need a firearms team,’ she said. ‘There’s no ACC on duty now — only you can authorise it.’
‘ FB was right — you are a bitch. There’s a man lying near to death and-’
‘ And there’s also a killer on the loose who needs catching,’ she cut in. ‘Life goes on, especially in this job. So does death by murder. It doesn’t stop because someone’s ill. Now do I get the team or not?’
‘ Yes… now piss the hell off out of here.’
As she reached the door, August added: ‘And by the way, if this murder isn’t bottomed in twenty-four hours, you’re off the investigation and I’m handing it over to someone with more experience.’
They were slowing down now as the motorway narrowed into a two-lane road and they entered Blackpool.
Karen sat back and cleared her mind, concentrating on the task ahead.
Pepe Paglia mooched, hands in pockets, down the street on which his small hotel was located. He was still rather depressed at having handed a thousand pounds in cash over to Hinksman the day before. On the other hand he felt reassured that Corelli would reimburse him handsomely in the not-too-distant future. That was the good thing about family ties, however tenuous; a favour for a favour.
He entered a newsagents and picked up a copy of that day’s Sun. In the back room of the shop a TV was switched on, showing a lunchtime news bulletin. Paglia was not really paying it much attention. He was too busy choosing goodies for his sweet tooth. He glanced up by pure chance and saw the screen as he picked up a Mars bar. His mouth dropped open.
Paglia almost sprinted back to the hotel, arriving breathless and weak, in desperate need of a cigarette.
They commandeered the parade room at Blackpool Central police station for the briefing. The firearms team was already assembled when Karen, McClure and Donaldson arrived. There was one Sergeant and twelve Constables, including two women. All were dressed in lightweight blue overalls, ballistic vests and caps. Each wore a pair of Reebok trainers. They were checking numerous weapons between them as they waited: handguns, rifles, semi-automatic pistols, MP5s, stun grenades, CS gas launchers. They were like a small, well equipped army.