She had the particularly American way of speaking in short, punchy sentences.
‘ Hi, I’m Lisa Want. I’m from the Crime Bureau of the Miami Herald and I’m covering this here trial for that particular newspaper. I’d just love to do a piece about you, Sergeant Christie. Y’know the sort of thing — hero cop, dig a little into your background, et cetera. The American public just love reading about English cops, especially when they’re as good-lookin’ as you are…’
‘ Say no,’ said Donaldson, who had walked up behind him. ‘Don’t trust her — Joe Kovaks did and it nearly cost him his job.’
‘ Now don’t you go listening to that bitter an’ twisted ole FBI man,’ she purred to Henry with a pout. She flashed her eyelashes and he could have sworn he felt the draught. Her eyes moved momentarily to Donaldson and the look in them, just for a nanosecond, was pure hatred. Henry noticed it.
‘ It’s up to you,’ said Donaldson, ‘but I’d avoid her like the plague, scheming bitch.’
‘ I’m sorry,’ said Henry, and he truly was because the prospect of spending time with her was very appealing, ‘but I tend not to have a very good relationship with the media anyway.’ He shrugged sadly, and he and Donaldson walked out of the court.
Lisa clenched her teeth and stamped a foot on the floor, muttering ‘Karl Donaldson, you are a first-class cunt.’
Over in Dave August’s office, the discipline hearing was drawing to a close. The officer concerned had lost. August fined him heavily for discreditable conduct, severely reprimanded him and transferred him to another station. That would teach him to fuck the cleaner on the snooker table, even if he was now living with her. There was a time and a place for everything.
Forty minutes later August was driving through the streets of south Manchester, desperately trying to locate the house Janine had taken him to that night. But he couldn’t even begin to find it, even though he had driven there and back himself.
He pulled into the side of the road and parked, attempting to relive the journey in his mind. It was all a sexual haze — as no doubt it had been intended to be. He’d been driving the Jag, blindly following her directions while she masturbated him; at the same time his left hand was fumbling rather inexpertly with her clitoris. Both had been in moaning ecstasy. It was a miracle they hadn’t crashed.
When he’d left the house the morning after it’d been much the same scenario, except he couldn’t get a full erection. The journey from the house to central Manchester — where she had asked to be dropped off had once again been at her direction. And now, only a few days later, he couldn’t recall any of it.
His forehead dropped onto the steering wheel.
‘ You complete and utter idiot,’ he snarled at himself.
Janine settled back in the fishing boat and pulled off her long baggy T-shirt. Underneath she was wearing a skimpy bikini top and a pair of faded cut-offs. She reached down for a can of Diet Coke from the coolbox next to her and rolled the ice-cold can across her sweaty forehead. Key West was fast receding as the boat picked up speed on its way out for a morning’s fishing.
She was aware of the sidelong looks from the two crew members, both men of Hispanic origin, as they prepared the bait and rods. She was very pale and desirable to them.
The cabin door opened and the attention of the crew moved solely to their tasks in hand as the boss appeared from below, accompanied — as ever — by his bodyguard.
Corelli was carrying a bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses. Janine tossed the Coke can overboard and took the glasses from him. ‘This is good stuff,’ he said. ‘The best. Don’t want to spill a drop.’ He opened the bottle carefully.
The cork popped off and Janine held out the glasses, which he filled.
He took one and said, ‘This is by way of thanks for the part you’ve played in securing the eventual release of my friend, the plans for which, as you know, are well advanced.’
‘ It was a pleasure,’ she said. They touched glasses and drank. Janine thought it tasted wonderful.
‘ So I believe,’ he murmured, and winked. ‘I’ve seen the video…’
They burst out laughing.
Joe Kovaks stood on the quayside watching Corelli’s boat which was now nothing more than a speck on the horizon, even through powerful binoculars.
His face was grim as he lowered the glasses from bloodshot eyes. He felt like he had never laughed in his life.
This was not the Joe Kovaks of old. In the last six months he had aged considerably. He had lost weight and his grey skin hung loosely on his cadaver-like face.
Knowing it would be many hours before Corelli came back, he made his way to Le Te Da where he managed to secure a seat on the front balcony. It was here, in the 1890s, that the Cuban rebel Jose Marti had made speeches to raise money for the Cuban revolution.
Kovaks ordered a light meal, coffee and orange juice.
While waiting, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep forever.
The worry over Chrissy, the sleepless nights, the constant vigils and the ongoing campaign to get Corelli had all taken their toll out of his energy reserves. He’d kept himself going in the circle of home-hospital-work-hospital on a concoction of sweet black coffee and adrenalin.
And what good had it done?’
Chrissy’s recuperation had been a painfully slow process in more than one sense.
Although out of hospital now, she frequently returned for further treatment. She was still a mess, despite all the doctors had done. Her burned face and chest were a horrific sight, even to Kovaks, who had grown used to them. She herself wouldn’t even look in a mirror. The pain she endured was dreadful and she could only sleep under the influence of drugs.
However, the medical side of it wasn’t the only problem. The mental side was worse.
This once bubbly, confident and delightfully naughty lady was now a shell of fear. She was terrified of going out, of picking up the post, of doing almost anything. She spent most of her waking hours slumped in front of the TV, flitting aimlessly from channel to channel, avoiding the mainstream of life.
Kovaks had been warned it would take a long time. Surely, though, he pondered, there should be some improvement by now?
It was wearing him down; he couldn’t deny it. He knew he had to be strong for her, but the strain was telling on him and it was bubbling over into anger.
Because through it all Corelli sailed on. Untouched. Untouchable.
Kovaks knew he was dealing drugs in the UK now with the guy called Dakin. Could he prove it? Could he fuck. Just like he couldn’t prove that Corelli was behind the bomb that maimed Chrissy.
Kovaks was tired and frustrated. Corelli was simply telling him to go to hell. And slowly but surely, this is where Kovaks was headed.
Even the Bureau had whittled down the operation on Corelli. The team now consisted solely of him and Donaldson, Sue having been transferred to other duties.
The waiter brought his meal.
He opened his eyes.
Something would have to be done; it was a desperate situation all round, requiring a desperate solution.
It was about time to administer some justice.
Agent Ritter was also planning his own desperate solution.
Having made the decision to kill Sue, he had now decided where the demise would take place. So many unfortunate accidents happen in the home, he thought.
There were only two more questions to be asked.
When would it happen?
How would she die?
Soon, he thought, in answer to the first one.
In great pain, was his answer to the next.