A Time For Justice (55 page)

August loaded the revolver and pocketed the remainder of the
bullets from the box.

The instructor had risen to his hands and knees, shaking his
stunned and cut head, flicking spats of blood everywhere. When
August left the armoury and locked the door behind him, the
instructor was flat out again, this time for the count. Blood
poured out of another nasty gash on the back of his
head.

Turning away from the door without looking meant that August
collided with a woman who was walking from the direction of the
canteen, bearing a precariously balanced plate with a cream cake on
top of a cup of coffee. The contents of both plate and cup went
flying into the wall. The crockery smashed into little
pieces.

‘
Godamnit!’ the woman shouted. ‘Why don’t you watch where
you’re go-’ She then saw who had bumped into her. ‘You ... you’re
Dave August.’

August frowned at her and made to walk away. She wrenched him
back to face her by his sleeve, yanking him to a
standstill.

He brushed her hand off him, glowered angrily at her and said,
‘I’m in a hurry, if you don’t mind.’

‘
And I’m waiting for an interview with you.’

‘
And who might you be?’

‘
Lisa Want.’

‘
Oooh, the bitch who wrote that sleaze about me.’ August was
in two minds whether or not to punch her very, very hard when he
had another avenue of thought. His eyes narrowed. ‘How’d you like
another exclusive?’

No hesitation. ‘Yes.’

‘
Come with me. Quick, quick. Haven’t got time to hang
around.’

‘
What about this mess?’

‘
Leave it.’

He set off towards the garage at a fast pace. Lisa tagged on.
‘What’s all this about?’

‘
Just stay with me and you’ll see,’ he said.

In the garage he made straight for his official Jaguar. The
keys were in the ignition, as always. He dropped into the driver’s
seat and told Lisa to get in the other side.

The engine fired up beautifully. He accelerated out through
the garage doors, round the one-way system, passed the HQ social
club and bowling green, and seconds later he was out on the dual
carriageway which ran by Headquarters.

‘
So what’s this about?’ she asked again.

‘
You got a tape-recorder?’

‘
Yep.’

‘
Well, put it on. I’ve got a story to tell: the downfall of a
Chief Constable.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was a dreadful morning. Thick grey cloud had scurried in
from the Irish Sea and settled low over the Lancashire coast. Rain
swirled and danced like a menacing spirit in the twisting wind,
heavy and very wet. Not a day to be caught out in.

Henry wrapped his hands around the mug of coffee on the table
in front of him. Donaldson was sipping slowly but continuously from
a mug of his own. Both men, deep in their own thoughts, were
sitting in a cafe called Lantern o’er Lune, staring out at the
small port of Glasson Dock in front of them.

Glasson Dock is situated on the mouth of the Lune estuary, a
few miles downriver from Lancaster. In former days it acted as
Lancaster’s port, but now most of its trade centred on pleasure
boats.

All vessels coming in from the sea have to pass through the
outer dock gates from the river into the main, deepwater anchorage.
This is a manoeuvre which can only be carried out at high tide.
Once inside, with the gates closed, they either tie up in the main
dock to unload their cargoes, or in the case of pleasure boats,
pass through a lock which lifts them to the level of the yacht
basin. This process involves closing the main road in Glasson which
actually passes over the lock. Once in the yacht basin - a large,
square-shaped area of water with a marina in one corner - the boats
either moor on the wall of the basin or in the marina
itself.

Lenny Dakin owned a large sea-going motor-cruiser berthed at
the marina. And if - a big IF - the information Henry had received
was correct, he would be coming out to catch the tide; this meant
that when he passed into the lock, he would be trapped for at least
fifteen minutes.

But if Hinksman wasn’t aboard, there wasn’t much point in
having him trapped.

Henry and Donaldson were wearing earpieces so they could
listen to the radio transmissions from the various police officers
who were hidden around the dock. Some were armed, but the main
firearms team had been put on standby at a caravan site next to the
road leading into Glasson, about a minute away from the
dock.

So far they had been unable to say which boat belonged to
Dakin. There were several good class cruisers and it could be
anyone of them. They didn’t want to get in too close for a nosy
just in case Dakin was spooked and the operation was
spoiled.

Henry shook himself out of his reverie and consulted his
watch.

‘
Not long before the tide turns,’ he commented. ‘If he doesn’t
go out on this one, then we’ll be here another twelve hours. Makes
me wonder if this is really going to happen.’

‘
It’s all we’ve got,’ said Donaldson.

‘
I feel so fucking useless just sitting here,’ Henry said
bitterly. He wasn’t too far from tears. ‘If Kate’s injured or hurt
or worse, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it. I feel like
cracking now.’

‘
Look, if this information is good,’ Donaldson tried to
placate and motivate him, ‘this is the best place to be. He’ll turn
up and we’ll grab him. I’m sure of it.’

Their earpieces crackled into life.

‘
Charlie Delta Two to control.’

‘
Charlie Delta Two, go ahead,’ came the voice of Karen in the
communications room at Lancaster. She had taken over the helm with
FB by her side.

Henry and Donaldson listened carefully. This was the voice of
the officer hidden in a hedge near to the roadside entrance to the
marina.

‘
Target One approaching site. Three on board. Repeat: Target
One approaching site, three on board.’

‘
Yes!’
said Henry triumphantly,
clenching a fist.

This meant that Dakin had arrived at the marina in his Bentley
with two other persons.

There was silence on the airwaves for another two minutes.
Then: ‘Charlie Delta Six to control.’ This officer had an elevated
view of the marina from binoculars on a hillside.

‘
Go ahead.’

‘
Confirm Target One on site in company with two others, both
male ... cannot ID them but fairly sure not Target Two, repeat NOT
Target Two.’

‘
Damn,’ said Henry. This meant that Hinksman wasn’t either of
the two others.

‘
Don’t worry,’ Donaldson said. ‘He’ll come.’

‘
Charlie Delta Six - all three men have left the vehicle
parked up and have climbed on board a motor-cruiser. Can’t see the
name. Now all out of sight.’

Karen acknowledged him. The radio went silent
again.

Dakin was on board.

Henry rubbed his temples with the base of his thumbs. ‘This is
doing my head in.’

‘
Mine too,’ Donaldson confessed ruefully.

Five minutes of radio silence passed. The weather seemed to
worsen. Rain started to drive down.

‘
Charlie Delta Six to control.’ He sounded quite excited. ‘A
motor-cruiser has moved off from the marina and is headed towards
the lock.’

Instinctively Henry reached underneath his anorak and touched
the butt of his revolver with his fingertips.

‘
Patrols are reminded to keep well out of sight of the
incident area,’ Karen warned sternly over the air. ‘I repeat...’
This was a warning that everyone involved should keep well away
from, and out of sight of, the lock - with the exception of Henry
and Donaldson who were running the show.

From their position in the cafe the two detectives had an
uninterrupted view of the lock, some 100 metres away.

The lock-keeper came out of his cottage. He dropped the
barriers across the road to stop all traffic, though there was none
at that time. He then got to work on swinging the section of
single-track road, which bridged the lock, to one side and securing
it with chains. It wasn’t as hard a task as it seemed as the bridge
was geared and on well-oiled runners.

As he was busy doing this, a motor-cruiser appeared at the
lock gates.

‘
Here he is,’ said Henry, sliding down low on his chair and
pulling up his collar. ‘Looks like Dakin’s at the helm.’ He wasn’t
particularly
au fait
with nautical terms. ‘I don’t recognise the two
others.’

‘
Gofers,’ Donaldson said dismissively.

The lock-keeper had secured the bridge and now began to push
open the upper lock-gates. They opened slowly and the boat slid
majestically into the lock.

Donaldson whistled appreciatively. ‘Nice boat.’

Henry agreed. ‘He’s in a profitable business - and if I can
prove he bought it from the proceeds of crime, I’ll get it
seized.’

The boat was a Trader 50 which Dakin had owned since new, and
was laid out with four double cabins. The twin Caterpillar 210
engine gave it a good long range at IS knots. Its specification was
excellent and included a generator, air conditioning, 48-mile
radar, autopilot, galley equipped with three fridges, a freezer,
washing machine and microwave, plus a dinghy, life-raft and
awnings.

Dakin’s two gofers - dressed totally inappropriately in
T-shirts and jeans - wrapped ropes around the bollards on the side
of the lock opposite to where Henry and Donaldson were sitting.
Dakin seemed to be shouting obscenities at them. Their faces, when
Henry could see them, registered apathy, as though they didn’t want
to be there.

The lock-keeper closed the upper lock-gates.

In a few moments he would transfer his attention to the lower
gates, when he would open the gate paddles to allow water to flow
out into the dock, out of the lock chamber.

Dakin was trapped. It would be an easy task to board the boat
now. ‘Well, shall we?’ Donaldson turned to Henry, eyebrows raised.
‘You’re in charge, pal. Everyone’s waiting on you.’

Henry gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘If I knew he was on board,
I’d say yes. But I don’t want to blow it, because if he isn’t,
we’ve lost a good job for when Dakin comes back in loaded to the
nines with drugs.’

‘
Yeah. I understand the quandary-’ Donaldson was stopped in
mid sentence by Henry’s hand clamping on his arm. A van had pulled
up on the far side of the lock. The driver got out and walked, head
bowed against the wind and rain, towards the boat. It
was virtually impossible to make out his
features.

Henry said, ‘It’s him,’ hoarsely. ‘It’s Hinksman.’ He was
sure. He felt his heart rate increase. ‘Where’s Kate? What the
hell’s he done to her?’

‘
You sure it’s him?’ Donaldson questioned, peering through the
window.

‘
Positive.’

Hinksman stepped across onto the boat.

‘
Let’s give him a second or two,’ Henry said. He spoke into
his radio to appraise everyone of the situation, telling them to
hold back for his word.

Hinksman went into the cabin and started talking to
Dakin.

A second car stopped on the other side of the road, near to
where Hinksman had parked his van. The horn blared angrily. A man
climbed out and walked to the edge of the lock.

‘
Jesus Christ,’ uttered Henry in disbelief. ‘It’s Dave August,
I’m sure it is.’

‘
What in the name of damnation is he doing here?’ Donaldson
said.

‘
Dakin!’ August shouted. ‘Lenny Dakin!’

‘
Fuck off,’ one of the henchmen replied.

Dakin stepped out of the cabin with Hinksman just one pace
behind him. ‘What do you want?’

‘
You Lenny Dakin?’

‘
Aye.’

‘
You know who I am?’

‘
Should I?’ he replied, though he did know very
well.

‘
I’m Dave August. Chief Constable of Lancashire Constabulary.’
‘Congratulations. ‘

‘
You have ruined my life, Lenny Dakin.’

August’s right hand pulled out the revolver which had been
tucked in his waistband underneath his jacket. He pointed it at
Dakin.

‘
Now I’m going to ruin yours.’

‘
Let’s move - now!’ shouted Henry down the radio. The
intention had initially been to give the firearms team a couple of
minutes to race into position from the caravan site. That idea had
gone right down the tubes. Things had definitely
changed.

‘
I don’t know what’s going on,’ he said to Donaldson, standing
up and running towards the cafe door, ‘but I think we’d better
intervene.

He drew his gun as he went through the door.

August yelled something completely
incomprehensible.