YES,
YES!’
Joe Kovaks leaned back in his chair and interlocked his
fingers behind his head. He chuckled in disbelief, but consoled
himself that even the best brains sometimes failed to see simple
solutions to complex problems. He couldn’t believe they’d never
checked the military file, yet all it had taken was the press of a
button on Damian’s magic fingerprint machine and - hey presto! Mr
James Clarkson Hinksman, Mafia killer extraordinary, was exposed.
Jeez, how could they all have been so dumb, he thought. That
bastard could have been fried over a year ago. If that harpy Lisa
Want ever got hold of this, she’d have a field day exposing the
inefficiency of the FBI.
He sighed at the stupidity, but wasn’t too upset because it
wasn’t normal procedure to cross-check the military
files.
Just then, Sue appeared in the doorway, virtually filling it.
She’d just showered in the ladies’ rest-room and changed into a
jogging outfit which she kept in her locker. At least she would
smell all right for a while, Kovaks thought cruelly, but then
regretted it. She’d more than proved her worth today.
‘ Good result,’ he said pleasantly, his voice carefully
low.
‘ Yep,’ she agreed.
‘ Good ole Damian. Workaholic, that guy.’
‘ I like him,’ she admitted.
Kovaks took a deep breath and consulted his watch. ‘Look, I
know it’s late and all that, but would you like a drink on the way
home? Just a quickie, by way of celebration.’
‘ I’d love one,’ Sue said, ‘but. . . I’ve made other
arrangements.’ As if on cue, Damian appeared at the office door.
Hair combed, jacket brushed, tie straight. Like a nervous teenager
on a first date.
‘ Damian’s offered to take me home,’ Sue said
apologetically.
‘ Raincheck?’
Relieved somewhat, Kovaks nodded. ‘Raincheck.’
Sue danced as lightly as was possible towards Damian, breasts
bouncing uncontrollably, lighting up Damian’s eyes with lust. She
gave Kovaks a salacious wink, then disappeared with the slightly
built fingerprint expert, arm threaded through his.
‘ Rather you than me, pal,’ Kovaks said under his
breath.
As he pulled on his jacket the phone chirped. It was the
switchboard operator. ‘Joe?’
‘ I’m just on my way home.’
‘ Dade County Correctional Institute left a message for you.
You went to see one of the inmates earlier.’
‘ Yeah?’ Kovaks’ stomach dropped.
‘ He’s been knifed to death.’
It was 11 a.m.
The unmarked police car raced at 120 mph down the motorway
towards Blackpool. The driver was a PC from the motor driving
school. McClure and Donaldson sat silently in the back of the car
rereading the faxes from America. Karen Wilde sat in the front
passenger seat, brooding, staring intently ahead. Angry.
The confrontation she’d recently undergone with Crosby and
Fanshaw-Bayley had set the whole thing back several hours, although
in the end she’d got her own way and a firearms team had been
deployed to Blackpool for a briefing.
After receiving the information from America, Karen had
decided to see Crosby face to face to ask for a team this time. She
walked straight into his office. Fanshaw-Bayley was also
there.
‘ Ahhh,’ said Crosby looking up from his desk. ‘I was just
about to summon you, miss.’
‘ I need authorisation for a firearms team,’ she began
breathlessly.
‘ We think we’ve located-’
Crosby slashed his right hand through the air as if he was
executing a karate chop, stopping her in mid-sentence.
‘ You deliberately disobeyed my orders yesterday, miss, and now
you want me to sanction another team?’
‘ What d’you mean, sir?’
‘ I said “No” to your request yesterday.’
‘ You did, yes.’
‘ Yet you utilised the Blackpool ARV,’ he stated.
Her mind whizzed. What was going on here? ‘It was a
compromise,’ she said defensively.
‘ It was disobedience of a direct order,’ he shouted. ‘Implicit
in my “No” was the fact that
YES!’
Joe Kovaks leaned back in his chair and interlocked his
fingers behind his head. He chuckled in disbelief, but consoled
himself that even the best brains sometimes failed to see simple
solutions to complex problems. He couldn’t believe they’d never
checked the military file, yet all it had taken was the press of a
button on Damian’s magic fingerprint machine and - hey presto! Mr
James Clarkson Hinksman, Mafia killer extraordinary, was exposed.
Jeez, how could they all have been so dumb, he thought. That
bastard could have been fried over a year ago. If that harpy Lisa
Want ever got hold of this, she’d have a field day exposing the
inefficiency of the FBI.
He sighed at the stupidity, but wasn’t too upset because it
wasn’t normal procedure to cross-check the military
files.
Just then, Sue appeared in the doorway, virtually filling it.
She’d just showered in the ladies’ rest-room and changed into a
jogging outfit which she kept in her locker. At least she would
smell all right for a while, Kovaks thought cruelly, but then
regretted it. She’d more than proved her worth today.
‘ Good result,’ he said pleasantly, his voice carefully
low.
‘ Yep,’ she agreed.
‘ Good ole Damian. Workaholic, that guy.’
‘ I like him,’ she admitted.
Kovaks took a deep breath and consulted his watch. ‘Look, I
know it’s late and all that, but would you like a drink on the way
home? Just a quickie, by way of celebration.’
‘ I’d love one,’ Sue said, ‘but. . . I’ve made other
arrangements.’ As if on cue, Damian appeared at the office door.
Hair combed, jacket brushed, tie straight. Like a nervous teenager
on a first date.
‘ Damian’s offered to take me home,’ Sue said
apologetically.
‘ Raincheck?’
Relieved somewhat, Kovaks nodded. ‘Raincheck.’
Sue danced as lightly as was possible towards Damian, breasts
bouncing uncontrollably, lighting up Damian’s eyes with lust. She
gave Kovaks a salacious wink, then disappeared with the slightly
built fingerprint expert, arm threaded through his.
‘ Rather you than me, pal,’ Kovaks said under his
breath.
As he pulled on his jacket the phone chirped. It was the
switchboard operator. ‘Joe?’
‘ I’m just on my way home.’
‘ Dade County Correctional Institute left a message for you.
You went to see one of the inmates earlier.’
‘ Yeah?’ Kovaks’ stomach dropped.
‘ He’s been knifed to death.’
It was 11 a.m.
The unmarked police car raced at 120 mph down the motorway
towards Blackpool. The driver was a PC from the motor driving
school. McClure and Donaldson sat silently in the back of the car
rereading the faxes from America. Karen Wilde sat in the front
passenger seat, brooding, staring intently ahead. Angry.
The confrontation she’d recently undergone with Crosby and
Fanshaw-Bayley had set the whole thing back several hours, although
in the end she’d got her own way and a firearms team had been
deployed to Blackpool for a briefing.
After receiving the information from America, Karen had
decided to see Crosby face to face to ask for a team this time. She
walked straight into his office. Fanshaw-Bayley was also
there.
‘ Ahhh,’ said Crosby looking up from his desk. ‘I was just
about to summon you, miss.’
‘ I need authorisation for a firearms team,’ she began
breathlessly.
‘ We think we’ve located-’
Crosby slashed his right hand through the air as if he was
executing a karate chop, stopping her in mid-sentence.
‘ You deliberately disobeyed my orders yesterday, miss, and now
you want me to sanction another team?’
‘ What d’you mean, sir?’
‘ I said “No” to your request yesterday.’
‘ You did, yes.’
‘ Yet you utilised the Blackpool ARV,’ he stated.
Her mind whizzed. What was going on here? ‘It was a
compromise,’ she said defensively.
‘ It was disobedience of a direct order,’ he shouted. ‘Implicit
in my “No” was the fact that
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