Instinct (19 page)

‘Then that other guy, the older one, came out of the flat and the geeks introduced her to him.'

‘And you saw all this?'

‘Uh-huh. I was hid behind a wall. I'd got pretty good at stalking her.'

‘Then what?'

‘She went back into the flat with Rahman and the bloke, and Sadiq set off walking in my direction. I just slid off then. Bet they were all fucking her,' Mark snorted.

‘And you're certain this was the man?' Henry held up Akram's photograph.

Mark nodded. ‘Who is he?'

‘A very bad man.'

Henry's coffee had gone cold. He looked at Donaldson and Rik Dean, who themselves were looking pretty stunned. They had watched the whole thing on the AV feed.

‘Well?' Henry said.

‘Pure gold,' Donaldson said.

‘I've never been impressed with him,' Rik said. ‘He's a little shit and could be lying to save his own backside. He only knows Sadiq and Rahman because they went to the same college as him.'

‘You really are a cynic,' Henry said.

‘You mean you're not?' Rik exclaimed. ‘You must be going soft in your dotage.'

Henry grinned. ‘Whatever  . . . that said, we now need to interview Sadiq down in London. I promise I won't lose sight of the fact that Mark's sperm was inside Natalie  . . . but I know he wasn't her killer.'

‘I think he's clean,' Donaldson said.

‘And I suspect everyone,' Rik said.

‘You remind me so much of a younger me,' Henry said.

‘Ugh!'

‘Where do we go from here, then?' Donaldson said. ‘I only ask, because if you can get to interview Sadiq, I'd like to sneak in on the back of it, particularly after this little revelation.'

Henry pouted. ‘It's unlikely they would allow you into Paddington Green even if they let me in, especially if they've already blocked you.'

‘Maybe we could get him back up here?' Rik suggested. ‘That's what we'd do normally.'

Henry pondered for a moment, then said brightly, ‘I know – let's go and annoy the chief constable.'

For a brief second he took stock of himself and found he was unaccountably happy. He was having an interesting time at work, his personal life was also  . . . interesting. Actually, both areas were quite fun and he thought he might just delete his ‘Intention to Retire' report. And the prospect of winding up FB was also highly appealing.

Three quarters of an hour later Henry entered the office on the middle floor of the headquarters building at Hutton that housed the staff officers and admin team for the chief constable and the deputy chief constable. The room acted as a firewall and had to be negotiated like a level in a video game if one wanted to get in front of the chief or the dep. Their offices – inner sanctums – were accessed from here, a door at either side of the room; to the left, the chief, to the right, the dep.

The chief's staff officer had changed recently. The role had been taken by a female chief inspector that Henry knew quite well, but from whom he did not expect any quarter. She glanced up from her computer as he breezed in and plonked himself down next to her on the chair positioned at the end of her desk.

‘Morning, Henry,' she smiled.

‘Deb,' Henry said, returning with one of his best lopsided boyish smiles, designed to soften the heart of any woman. At least that was what he hoped. ‘How are you? Settling into the job?' She had only been in post a couple of months.

‘Fits like a glove.'

‘Pity about the boss?' he said. She smiled.

‘What can I do for you?'

‘Need to see him.'

She shook her head. ‘Zero chance.'

‘It's very important.'

‘The dep might be free – in about three days.'

‘Has to be the chief.'

She leaned her chin on her hand and studied him. ‘Which bit of “no” don't you understand? I can make an appointment, but it'll be next week now.'

‘He is in, though?' Henry jerked his head at FB's thick office door.

‘All the divisional commanders are in with him, the finance director and the head of HR. Apparently the government has decided to cut our budget by twenty percent and they're brainstorming how. Long, long session.'

‘I can feel the brain heat emanating from the room.' Henry held out his hands, palms out, as if he was warming them on a coal fire. ‘All those dendrites zapping across their grey matter.'

The chief inspector laughed. ‘I can't interrupt, Henry. I'm sorry. They're hunkered down for the day, lunch and everything.'

Henry's mouth curled thoughtfully. ‘Shove a piece of paper under his nose for me?'

Henry had abandoned Rik and Donaldson in the ground floor dining room. He walked back to them with a shrug and sat down.

‘He's busy, but I've left a message.'

Henry had his back to the door, so he was facing out with a view of the headquarters social club, known colloquially as ‘The Grovellers' Arms'. The eyes of the two men with him looked back past him as FB entered the room, waving a piece of paper in his hand with irritation.

‘Brief me. You've got five minutes, then I'm going back to that meeting where, I'm sure, my brain's going to implode.'

FB took the spare seat at the table, big, rotund, mustachioed, like Buddha's fifth cousin twice removed but much more wrinkly. He and Henry had known each other many years and their relationship was complex. FB had used Henry on many an occasion, mainly for his own ends, and there was no love lost between them. However, when things went to the wire FB had actually backed up Henry, which is what Henry was hoping for this time. But he wasn't banking on it.

Henry explained everything succinctly, as instructed. FB hated superfluous detail. The chief looked suspiciously at Donaldson, then back to Henry.

‘You need to speak to the lad in custody because you have information linking him to a murder victim. Fair enough, and it should be possible to achieve. But why the Yank?' He thumbed at Donaldson.

‘He could do with speaking to the lad, too,' Henry said, making FB snort derisively.

‘But not about the murder of a girl in Lancashire?' FB said.

‘No.'

‘I'd guess it would be about Jamil Akram,' FB said. He looked at Donaldson again. ‘They're freezing you out, aren't they?'

Donaldson nodded. ‘I don't think the security services have grasped the implications of Akram turning up on the scene. And now with Mark Carter's identification, we have him clearly linked to Sadiq and Rahman, if he wasn't before.'

FB snorted again. ‘Think you're wrong there, pal. They know it all and that's why they want to be the ones trying to squeeze every last drop of information out of that poor misguided youth.'

Donaldson's face fell. It was something he had suspected, but having it confirmed by a third party was like being hit by a truck.

Then Henry said, ‘They want Akram for themselves.'

Donaldson's body slumped.

‘Yep,' FB sighed. ‘You'll not get a look in.'

‘I know more about Akram than any of them,' Donaldson whined weakly. ‘I've been after him for over ten years. Sadiq might know something extra that I can slot into the other pieces of my jigsaw. Something that will lead to his front door.'

‘They won't let you talk to him.
You
might not get to him either,' FB said to Henry.

Henry's voice was indignant. ‘I have every right.' He knew instantly he sounded like a probationer constable who only saw the world in black and white, right and wrong, not a grizzled old-timer who knew the world was as murky and grey as 1950s' London smog. ‘Sorry,' he said, as all eyes turned to him.

FB went into deep thought, eyes a squint. ‘How quickly can you get the DNA profiles done on the outstanding sperm samples?' he asked Henry.

‘I managed to get Mark Carter's fast-tracked through a personal contact. I doubt I can repeat that.'

‘Try,' FB said. Then his attention turned to Donaldson. FB's mind was also grinding hard on the subject. FB had been a career detective, rising up through the ranks in plain clothes, so he thought like one still. ‘It would be helpful if the DNA profile from the blood on the plane could be fast-tracked, too, don't you think? I know  . . .' he said, before Donaldson had the chance to point out that this was completely out of his hands because the sample had actually been taken by a Merseyside CSI and had been submitted through that force's channels. He leaned forwards. ‘Can I just give you my line of thinking? We need power to our elbows if we're to have any chance of getting to interview Sadiq. First off, all the DNA samples taken from her body have to be profiled and ready for comparison. Four profiles, four comparisons. Mark Carter's is done, that leaves three – so what if the three belong to Sadiq, Rahman and Akram? What if all three of those guys had sex with her?'

Henry, Rik and Donaldson exchanged excited glances.

‘The first thing we need to do is get Sadiq's and Rahman's DNA analysed.'

‘We still have Rahman's body in the mortuary,' Henry said. ‘And his DNA would have been taken as a matter of course.'

‘But he's dead – and you can't speak to him,' FB said. ‘But, yes, his DNA needs cross-checking with the samples. Then, if we get Sadiq's DNA analysed  . . . if that comes back positive, then there's no way we should have any problems in getting to see Sadiq. And—'

Donaldson intercut, ‘If Akram's DNA matches one of the samples from Natalie's body, then we're whoopin'.'

‘That's only if these things match up  . . . but if they do, then perhaps you can shoehorn yourself into Henry's slipstream.'

‘I also think we need to have another look at Sadiq's flat,' Henry said. ‘If Natalie was seeing the two lads as Mark suggests, it might be possible to find something in the property that relates to her. That'll help our cause, too.'

‘Mm,' FB said dubiously. ‘You might be too late on that score. That place is being gutted, packed and then sent off for detailed examination by MI5 and CT as we speak. You'll need to move quickly, otherwise it'll all go, then you'll have no chance.'

‘Shit,' Henry said.

‘Anything else I can solve for you?' FB asked. ‘I need to get back to my budget meeting. We're just discussing FMIT, actually. Need to cut that budget by thirty percent.'

‘What budget would that be?' Henry said. The Force Major Investigation Team operated on a minuscule budget, the money to run long inquiries coming from other sources as necessary, not from the FMIT pot.

‘We're wondering whether four superintendents isn't a bit OTT,' FB said. ‘Two could probably be enough, so we could easily lose two of you  . . . and as two of you could retire if pushed  . . . just a thought.'

Henry's guts churned. Maybe quitting the job wouldn't be down to him after all.

‘Anyway,' he muttered, ‘thanks for your input, sir. Very valuable.'

‘Happy to help. Once a jack and all that. Actually, I'm happy to help anyone, even the security services, but I was, and still am, miffed by the fact that they seemed willing to put my officers into danger without briefing them properly.' His eyes turned to Donaldson. ‘You know what I mean.'

‘Yes sir,' Donaldson said.

FB nodded then revolved away towards the door.

There was silence at the table.

Then Henry said, ‘As it appears I have nothing to lose, I'm going to hijack any evidence from that flat and get a tame scientist to look for any traces of Natalie.'

Flynn had fished all the time that Boone had been away. Mainly from the beaches south of Banjul, on safari from early each morning to evening, using Boone's beat up Land Cruiser for transport. It had been a wonderful time. Being alone throughout the days was quite therapeutic.

After the fishing he returned to
Faye2
and following a long shower, shave and cold beer, made his way to Boone's houseboat to be cooked for by Michelle. It was worth watching her glide about the place in her loose flowing African dresses; sometimes the breeze blowing the fine fabric taut against her breasts or between her legs made it obvious that she wore nothing of note underneath and had shaved everything. She seemed oblivious to Flynn's sneaky peeks, but as each evening progressed and she drank a little wine, inhaled good quality weed, she became more flirty with him.

But that was as far as it went. From their conversations – deep and meaningful – Michelle seemed to have an almost spiritual insight into Flynn's soul, but not so much as to make him feel uncomfortable. It was obvious she was completely sold on Boone, and Flynn had no wish to spoil that. He was slightly envious, though, because he, Flynn, had no one. An ex-wife, a son he hardly ever saw and a woman he had loved who was now dead. That was his emotional footprint. He was seeing someone in Gran Canaria, but it was a relationship based on animal lust and he knew it was going nowhere. In the years following his divorce and his exit from the cops, he thought he would never want anyone to need him ever again, and vice versa. But as he aged – he was only a few years short of fifty now – he knew he wanted to spend his life with someone else, but that person eluded him.

Michelle had been reassuring on that point.

‘Seek and you will never find. Just rest, relax, and the world will come to you,' she predicted over beer and cannabis. ‘You are a good man, Steve Flynn. I can feel it here.' She placed a hand on to her groin. Flynn gulped. Then she removed it and put her palm on to her chest. ‘And here.'

Flynn calmed down, but his hand was dithering slightly as he drew his beer to his lips and sipped.

They had eaten one of Michelle's wonderful chicken dishes, hot, spicy, aromatic, when the short wave radio in the galley squawked and Flynn heard Boone's voice calling.