Henry blinked dumbly, waiting for her to continue.
‘So the information that’s come to us is very late and caught us on the hop because things have already started to happen on the streets.’
‘The disturbances you’ve been quelling tonight,’ Kramer said.
‘Yes.’ FB grunted. ‘They’ve already kicked off on our patch.’
Makin said, ‘The information we have received is that this new splinter group has decided to use conference week to bring their cause to the streets and in their words — “Blackpool is gonna burn this week”.’
Makin wrapped her fingers around her left knee and smiled at Henry.
Occasionally he had a flash of clarity, usually accompanied by extreme anger. Like for instance, just then, just for a moment. Everything up to that point had been a meaningless jumble. A whirl of multi-layered, slow-moving images, colours and pain. Nothing seemed to make any sense. Even his own voice had sounded strange to him: deep and inhuman as it responded to the distorted sounds coming from other people’s mouths. It had been awful.
Suddenly it cleared. Like a gate opening. Like the beam of a searchlight in the night sky. Almost like the light of God.
And here he was, knowing exactly what had happened over the last few hours, where he was, why he was here and how long he had been waiting for treatment, flanked by two burly uniformed cops in the A amp;E department of Blackpool Victoria Hospital.
‘Hours!’ he blurted unexpectedly, making both cops jump. He twisted round and tried to get to his feet. ‘I’ve been waiting friggin’ hours — yet that bastard cop got treated right away. All patched up and nice, the twat! Not me. Nooo! A second-class citizen, me. Kit Nevison — cunt and troublemaker. You don’t care about me, do you? A junkie. Out of work. Out of fuckin’ money!’
The two cops hauled him back down to his seat.
‘Siddown y’tosser!’
Kit Nevison thudded back into the chair, feeling weak and ineffective. He knew he needed more dope, more booze. . a fag, even. Something to tide him over. He spoke pleadingly to one of the cops. ‘True, though, innit? He got treated an’ I didn’t. Me? Nowt — fuck-all except for this.’ He indicated a temporary bandage on his head by means of his two hands which were bound by a rigid pair of handcuffs. ‘I need stitches puttin’ in.’
‘You need a humane killer, Kit,’ one officer said.
‘Well fuck you,’ Nevison hissed, feeling it all welling up again. He hacked up and spat into the officer’s face. He stood up again, screaming, ‘I want treatment, I want my fuckin’ head doin’ now! You set of twats. .’
Everything became blurred again. Blood seemed to pump into his head, clouding his vision, thumping, thumping — he was aware of movement, aware of a tumbling sensation, heavy weights on him, some sort of slow-motion struggle, all clarity gone.
Basil Kramer adjusted his tie and got into his stride as soon as Makin finished.
‘As you know, Inspector Christie,’ he said, ‘this government is one hundred per cent committed to the maintenance of law and order and ensuring equality for all, regardless of race, creed, religion, whatever. We have pumped literally millions into the police service and thousands of new recruits are due to come off the production line soon, so to speak. Lancashire has had a generous allocation of both money and bodies, so it would be extremely ironic if, during our conference, when all policing in Blackpool is of a high profile, the streets were taken over by petrol-bombing yobbos — wouldn’t you agree? The press would have a field day.’
Henry waited for the punch line.
‘This is where you come in,’ FB cut in. Henry’s face remained immobile. His eyes slid sideways to take in the ACC. ‘You have to keep a lid on it all. Tighter than a duck’s arse.’
Kramer recoiled visibly at the poetic turn of phrase. Makin allowed herself a minor smile. Donaldson shook his head sadly.
‘My instructions are that you will police the streets hard.’ FB slammed a fist into a palm. ‘You will police high profile and you will take no shit from anyone. You will nip all trouble in the bud and crush it.’ He tightened his fist.
‘From all viewpoints,’ Kramer said, ‘if the streets are not seen to be peaceful during a week when the PM will be making one of his strongest pro-law speeches, we will all lose credibility.’
‘What about the likelihood of public-order situations developing around the Winter Gardens, the conference venue? Surely that’ll be the flashpoint?’
‘Not your problem,’ FB answered. ‘The Police Support Units drafted in will deal with any disturbances during the day. You are the night shift and that’s what we’re interested in here. Keeping Blackpool quiet.’
‘Are you expecting trouble like we had tonight all week?’ Henry wanted to know.
‘That’s what the information suggests,’ Makin said.
‘Obviously I’ll do what I can-’ Henry began.
‘No!’ FB stopped him. ‘You will do as instructed. This is not a half-hearted instruction, Henry. I want you to make some plans, go out there and do a job — OK?’
Henry tensed up. Could this be stress surfacing, he asked himself. What would the bastard do if I just got up from here and walked out, went back to my doctor and got signed off again? Just get some other poor sod to do it, most probably.
He stayed put, nodded tightly, cleared his throat and said, ‘I won’t be able to do what you say with the staff I have. How many more officers are you going to give me?’ He expected zero for an answer and was slightly wrong-footed when FB said, ‘I’ve arranged for one full PSU to assist you from Blackburn until Friday morning, but you can’t have any more. The budgets have all dried up. They’ll be here from eight p.m. to four a.m. each night.’
Bloody hell — one PSU, Henry thought jubilantly, that was astounding. One inspector, three sergeants and eighteen constables, plus van drivers and the vans themselves. Better than a kick in the guts. He accepted with good grace.
‘There is one thing nagging at the back of my mind, though,’ he said slowly. The others waited for him to continue. ‘And that’s the trouble between the Khans and the Costains. I was led to believe it was a dispute between two families. How is it linked to what you’ve told me?’ He looked at Makin for a response.
‘Call me Andrea,’ she said in a friendly but businesslike way. ‘We think the whole thing was pre-planned.’ She sighed and said, ‘Joey Costain is a member of this new splinter group.’
Henry tried to keep a straight face but ended up guffawing.
‘What’s the joke?’ FB demanded.
‘Well, it’s pretty rich, isn’t it? I wouldn’t mind so much if Joey could claim pure Anglo-Saxon heritage, but he’s a gypsy through and through. Even got the curly black hair to prove it — like a character from D. H. Lawrence.’
‘It’s a good point,’ Makin conceded. ‘The kind of group we’re talking about hates anyone who doesn’t fit in with their white-male criteria. Joey isn’t a great thinker. My guess is that he’s been used by the group as an in to the streets of Blackpool. Once they’ve used him, he could well be dumped.’
Henry nodded. ‘Interesting. If you’re right, then someone must know about the problems between the Khans and the Costains and the fact that there was trouble waiting to happen. .’ Henry’s musings brought silence to the room. He glanced round at the four of them. ‘There’s the distinct possibility of loads more trouble. The Khans won’t let things lie and the Costains are likely to keep pushing the white kids on the estate to keep rioting. . could be a bloody hectic week.’ And suddenly twenty-one extra cops did not seem very many. Added to the few he had, who also had the rest of Blackpool to look after, it was an inadequate number.
He swore under his breath, uttered a short laugh and smiled in Karl Donaldson’s direction. The American had said nothing for some time. ‘But what makes me even more worried,’ Henry admitted, ‘is what you’re doing here, Karl. I presume you have more to tell me?’