A Time For Justice (43 page)

The jury reached its verdicts at lunchtime on Tuesday. The
Crown Court was reconvened and the elected foreperson was asked to
read the verdicts out, whether the accused was guilty of murder,
manslaughter or not guilty as the case might be.

Henry was sitting in court alongside Donaldson and Karen. FB
sat in the row of seats in front of them, surrounded by all the
detectives directly involved in the case.

The court was full to the brim; Henry noticed that Lisa Want
was among the journalists. She’d been noticeable by her absence
recently. Henry held back the urge to leap across the court and
break every bone in her beautiful body.

The foreperson was a lady in her mid-thirties. She spoke in a
shaky, faltering voice.

The court clerk led her through the charges.

Hinksman was found guilty of the M6 murders.

A murmur of approval chunnered around the room.

Then he was found guilty of the murder of Ken McClure. Someone
almost clapped. The Judge looked sternly at that person.

Henry had a quick glance at Donaldson. A tear was running down
the American’s cheek. Henry saw that his and Karen’s hands were
intertwined. He felt happy for them. He turned his attention back
to the court proceedings.

Henry began to grow tense. He wasn’t sure how he’d react if
Hinksman was found not guilty of the charges he had brought against
him.

Manslaughter verdicts were brought for the killings of the
police officers who had raided Pepe Paglia’s guest-house to arrest
Hinksman.

A stony silence greeted these verdicts.

He was found not guilty of the murder of Pepe
Paglia.

That drew a gasp of disbelief.

He was also found not guilty of the murder of the arms dealer
in Rossendale.

A few shrugs went round the court. That had been
half-expected, but was a disappointment nevertheless.

Then, much to Henry’s relief, he was found guilty of all the
murders in the alley.

A roar of approval went up from the court. Donaldson, next to
Henry, patted his knee.

It took the Judge a few minutes to bring order to the
courtroom. She was clearly annoyed at the disruption.

The foreperson resumed and found Hinksman guilty of the
manslaughter of the woman on the promenade who had unfortunately
stepped into the line of fire between Henry and
Hinksman.

Hinksman had also been charged with numerous firearms and
explosives offences, most of which were proved.

He was going to go to prison for a very long time.

The foreperson sat down, relieved to have done her duty in the
spotlight. She looked like she was having a hot flush.

Hinksman stared over at Henry and shook his head
sadly.

Then the Judge said, in her most authoritative tone, ‘The
accused will stand.’

Hinksman didn’t move. He looked at the vaulted ceiling and
whistled. It was something the Judge had been counting on.
‘Officers,’ she said to his guards, ‘bring the prisoner to his
feet.’

Henry whispered to Donaldson, ‘The administration of justice
is a wonderful thing, don’t you agree?’

‘
Sure do,’ said Donaldson. They shook hands.

Karen, who had heard the remark, leaned across Donaldson and
said, ‘There’s more justice to be administered yet.’

‘
What do you mean?’ asked Henry.

She tapped her nose. ‘Wait and see.’

They looked to the front of the court as the Judge began to
comment on the case and then to pass sentence.

‘
It’s over,’ Henry said down the phone to Kate.

‘
I’m glad,’ she said.

‘
Life sentences. Judge recommended that he never be
released.

And on top of it, two months for contempt of court for some of
the gestures he made during the trial. It was highly amusing. And
the Judge commended me for bravery - and others. She said some good
things.’

‘
So
what happens now?’

‘
Well, he gets taken to Strangeways and we’re all going for a
knees-up.’

‘
I didn’t quite mean that.’

‘
Oh.’

There was a sudden silence as if the line had gone dead, as if
someone had pulled the plug.

‘
You still there?’ Kate asked.

‘
Yeah,’ he gulped nervously. ‘How’re the girls?’

‘
Fine. They’ll see you at the weekend.’

‘
Excellent. Good. Look ... er, did you mean what happens next
to us?’

‘
That’s exactly what I meant.’

‘
I do love you, y’know.’

‘
Do you?’ she sighed.

‘
Yes. And I miss you like mad. And I need you.’

‘
I love you too, Henry.’

‘
Can I come home?’

‘
We need to talk about it. I’m still not sure. I need some
reassurances, some promises. You hurt me very badly. All my faith
was rocked when you betrayed me. Everything I valued counted for
nothing. I want you to come home, but I am frightened by the
prospect.’

‘
Me too,’ he admitted. ‘I’m sorry. . . Look, I’m having a day
off tomorrow. Perhaps I could come round in the evening; we could
talk then.’

‘
The girls would be in the way. I have a better
idea.’

‘
Go on.’

‘
I’ll take a day off too. Then we’ll have all day to chat, see
how we feel, what we can resolve.’

Henry’s heart leapt.

‘
Yeah, yeah, good idea,’ he said eagerly. ‘What time should I
come round?’

‘
Ten?’

‘
I’ll be there.’

The pips started to go.

‘
I love you, Kate,’ he managed to say before the line went
dead. He hung the receiver up slowly with a wide smile on his face,
juxtaposed with a feeling of trepidation in his guts.
At last,
he said to
himself.
At last.

As he turned away from the payphone which was in the Crown
Court building, he bumped into Lisa Want who was standing directly
behind him. His smile dropped; his face became a mask of contempt.
He tried to shoulder past her but she stood her ground.

‘
Look, I’d like to say I’m sorry,’ she told him. ‘I heard you
giving evidence - I hadn’t realised what you’d been through,
OK?’

He snorted in disbelief. ‘I have no doubt in my mind that you
do not have a conscience, and if you ever get the opportunity to
shaft someone, you’d do the same thing all over again. Goodbye,
Miss Sleaze-bag.’ And he edged carefully around her, as if to avoid
contamination, and strode towards the exit.

‘
Ungrateful son of a bitch!’ she uttered, and stamped her feet
angrily like a child.

Outside the court building the victorious team of detectives,
including FB, but not Donaldson and Karen, were waiting for Henry.
They cheered as he appeared. He modestly acknowledged this with a
bow, then they all moved off towards the city centre, where it was
their intention to take over a pub and get riotously pissed out of
their heads.

Just as they reached the prison gates, they encountered a
crowd of journalists and sightseers. A buzz of expectation went
through them as the prison gates were flung open and the convoy
taking Hinksman to Strangeways roared out and sped down the
hill.

Some of the detectives gesticulated rudely at the rear of the
prison bus.

Henry merely stood there, hands thrust deep in his pockets,
staring at the back window. He was sure that Hinksman would be
looking at him through the one-way glass. He allowed himself
another smile and thought, Goodbye, you bastard. I hope you rot in
hell.

Henry had probably smiled more times that day than on any
other in the last six months.

The bus and escort were out of sight within seconds, the
sirens accompanying them becoming less distinct.

Henry then shivered with a sense of foreboding. Something was
wrong. His smile dropped. What was it? He looked up into the sky.
The force helicopter clattered overhead, moving with the
convoy.

The gang of detectives surged down the road. Henry caught up
with them and tapped FB on the shoulder.

‘
Boss?’

‘
Henry, what is it?’

‘
Er ... nothing, I hope. It’s just ... I’ve suddenly had a
very bad feeling. ‘

‘
You’ll be all right,’ said FB, slapping him on the shoulder.
‘C’mon, you just need a drink inside you. There’s a lot to
celebrate.’

‘
Yeah, sure,’ said Henry. But as much as he tried, he couldn’t
rid himself of that feeling of impending doom.

Lisa Want watched the detectives strut down the hill like a
group of lager louts. She was utterly furious with Henry: it was
the first time
ever
that she’d apologised to anyone for a piece she’d written,
and the last.

But she did have to admit that the guy was right: she would do
it again. It was in her blood.

A nondescript man approached her.

‘
Lisa Want?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘This is for you.’ He handed her a package; she
noticed that he was wearing gloves. ‘The man in it is the Chief
Constable of Lancashire. The woman is a hooker. You don’t need to
know her name.’

Then he was gone, leaving Lisa holding the tape.

The police convoy - two cars to the front and rear of the
caged prison bus containing Hinksman - sped down the hill away from
Lancaster Prison and the crowd of onlookers. The traffic-lights at
the bottom of the hill next to Waterstone’s bookshop were set on
green for them. The convoy should have turned left and gone into
the one-way system which rings Lancaster; however, a few minutes
before the convoy had left the prison, the last police operation
for the trial had come into effect. Officers had stepped into all
relevant junctions and stopped all traffic, enabling the convoy to
turn right against the flow of traffic.

It worked smoothly.

Within a minute the convoy was travelling south towards
Galgate along the A6. Once south of Galgate, the plan was to get
onto the M6 and drive like the clappers to Manchester and
Strangeways.

A grim-faced Hinksman sat sullenly in the back of the van,
subdued and angry. His hands were secured in front of him by rigid
handcuffs. The inane chatter of the two officers who sat in the
cage with him only served to fuel his anger. Captured by a pathetic
detective whom he had grown to hate and vowed to kill, then beaten
by British justice, Hinksman was a killer with a grudge.

He rocked back and forth as he thought about his
predicament.

Sent to prison for life - and no one had made any attempt to
free him. What the hell was going on? What had happened to Corelli,
and to Lenny Dakin - the two men who had most benefited from his
skills and abilities at causing mayhem and death? Where were they
now, he asked himself.

Lenny Dakin was actually parked up in a stolen Jaguar XJS with
false number plates on the slip road leading up to Lancaster
University.

He was contemplating how easy it had been to snare August. The
manager of his casino in Blackpool always kept him abreast of
‘interesting’ people who used the facilities on a regular basis,
and August had been a regular for about four months.

Not being one to miss out on any opportunity, Dakin had set
him up twice with women. If he’d wished, he could have had pictures
then, but he hadn’t bothered. He’d simply put August on the back
burner for when he really needed to exploit him.

Then it had been very easy indeed.

Dakin sniggered and peered out of the front windscreen of the
Jag.

He had a fairly good view from that position up the A6 towards
the city. Suddenly the convoy came into view. He glanced up into
the air: the chopper was there. A handset from a CB radio was
resting in the palm of his hand. He pressed the transmit button and
said coolly, ‘We’re on.’

The village of Galgate lies astride the A6, south of
Lancaster. There is a set of traffic-lights at a crossroads in the
centre of it, where a country road crosses the A6 at right-angles.
A pub is situated on one corner, shops on the others.

It is a quiet place, not particularly picturesque and to be
honest, not somewhere you’d normally stop for anything.

But it is a place where, with a little thought and planning, a
gang of professional criminals who specialise in springing
prisoners from custody could ambush a police convoy if they so
wished.

Dakin watched the convoy speed by from his position near the
University. His heart began to beat quickly and he became very
excited. He’d heard about this team, read about their exploits in
the newspapers and now - after a great deal of difficulty in
actually tracking them down through intermediary after intermediary
- had hired them himself. And they didn’t come cheap. He hoped they
were worth their fee. He was about to find out.