A Time For Justice by Nick Oldham Read Free Book Online

floor belonging to some pen-pushing nonentity
admin inspector who’d moaned pathetically when she’d turfed him
out. Silly little sod.
    She straightened her suit then made her way towards the lift
and pressed the button. The gym was several floors up. She tapped
her feet as she waited for the lift to arrive.
    It came. The doors creaked open. Two men she did not know
stepped out. They peered at her office pass which was clipped onto
the lapel of her new jacket.
    ‘ Chief Inspector Wilde,’ one of them said.
    ‘ Acting Superintendent,’ she corrected him, bustling past into
the lift. ‘Acting Detective-Superintendent, actually,’ she said,
pressing the button.
    But the lift did not move. The man had stepped across the
threshold, preventing the doors from closing.
    ‘ I believe you’re running the investigation into the M6
bombing?’
    ‘ Correct.’
    ‘ Big job for a little lady like you,’ said the other man.
Karen noticed his American accent.
    She said stonily, ‘I don’t know who you are, but I don’t care
for your attitude or approach. Now, I have a briefing to give, so
if you wouldn’t mind ...?’ She waved away the man who was impeding
the lift.
    ‘ We have some valuable information for you regarding the
bombing,’ he said.
    ‘ Can’t it wait?’
    ‘ No.’
    ‘ Then you’d better be quick about it, hadn’t you?’
     
     
    Earlier that day, McClure had driven north up the M6. He’d
had to detour round Preston because the
motorway was still closed, but within an hour they were in
Lancaster. He drove into the Posthouse Hotel car park.
    Donaldson was mystified. McClure had refused point blank to
answer any of the American’s
queries.
    ‘ This better be fucking good , ’ said the
FBI man, clambering out of the car.
    McClure just smiled.
    The two men stood side by side.
McClure, still silent, pointed up at the hotel.
    Donaldson’s mouth dropped open.
    Video cameras. Two of them. Each one
positioned on a front corner of the
building, recording views of the car park
from different angles.
    He spun round to McClure, grinning.
‘You brilliant bastard! How in hell did y’know about
these?’
    McClure shrugged modestly. ‘Just recalled seeing them
yesterday, but didn’t think much of it at
the time.’
    ‘ Let’s hope they work.’
    The management were as helpful as on the previous day,
allowing the detectives to view the tapes
in a private room . It took only ten minutes to find
what they wanted. Then McClure claimed the relevant tape for evidence and gave the manager a
receipt.
    ‘ May I ask what all this is about?’ the manager
asked.
    ‘ Did the man we’ve just seen on the tape book a room?’ McClure
enquired, ignoring the question.
    ‘ Yes - he paid two days in advance.’
    McClure looked quickly at Donaldson. ‘Is he still in
it?’
    ‘ I don’t know. We’ll have to ask Reception.’
    ‘ Let’s do it,’ snapped
Donaldson.
    ‘ But what’s it about?’ the manager demanded.
    McClure said, ‘The M6 bombing.’
    ‘ Oh my God,’ the man breathed. Then
he pulled himself together. ‘Right, come this way.’
    Reception confirmed that the man had booked and paid for Room
111 but hadn’t returned to it since yesterday, unless he’d sneaked
back without their knowledge. The key had not been returned
yet.
    McClure and Donaldson conferred hurriedly.
    ‘ He could be in there, then,’ McClure said. ‘In which case we
could do with an armed
back-up.’
    ‘ He won’t be there,’ Donaldson said
with certainty. ‘And anyway, you gotta
gun. Don’t be a cissy.’
    McClure paused, then made a decision. He nodded and turned to
the manager. ‘Give us a pass key to the
room, please.’
    The corridor was quiet and empty. A laundry basket on wheels
was part-way along it, the room itself three quarters of the way
down. The two detectives edged slowly along. McClure held his gun
in his hand. Sweat beads began to form on his head.
    Donaldson grinned. ‘You ever used that thing