Facing Justice Read Online Free PDF Page A

the judge had adjourned proceedings when he would hear further bleating from Calcutt’s defence. Then he would sentence him to life imprisonment, the only available option in the case of murder.
    â€˜You guys go ahead.’ Henry delved into his jacket, extracted his wallet and pulled out fifty pounds, which he gave to one of the jacks. ‘Have a round on me. I need to—’ He was interrupted by the arrival of a court usher.
    â€˜Detective Superintendent Christie?’
    â€˜That’s me.’
    â€˜Message from the holding cells . . . Mr Calcutt wishes to speak to the senior investigating officer before he’s taken on remand.’
    Henry looked blankly at the black-smocked man. ‘You mean the defendant, Calcutt?’ The other detectives had become silent.
    â€˜Yes sir, his brief asked me to pass on the message.’
    Henry squinted, then looked at Rik Dean. ‘You’re the man,’ he said. ‘Take one of the other guys with you. Your job, I’ll leave it with you.’
    Henry strode out of the court and stood on the mezzanine. It had become brutally cold outside and he shivered as he slid himself into his Crombie. His first impulse had been to grab Rik and head down to the cells and see what was behind this turn-up for the books. But he would have been butting in. It was effectively Rik’s investigation and Henry was happy to leave it to him. He had been angling to get Rik on to the Force Major Investigation Team (FMIT), which he jointly headed, and it had taken some persuading to get the nod for Rik to run this investigation. Now that it had proved to be successful, Henry hoped he would be able to convince the chief constable that Rik should have a permanent position on the team. If something came out of speaking to Calcutt, then all the better.
    He pulled out his mobile phone, switched it on, called home. ‘Has Karl landed yet?’ he asked Kate, his wife.
    â€˜Just this minute pulled up outside.’
    â€˜Great. Hey – see you soon. And we got a result here, by the way.’
    â€˜Ooh, you are such a good detective,’ Kate cooed mockingly. Henry didn’t pick up on the lack of sincerity and said, ‘I am, aren’t I?’ without a trace of irony.
    Flynn took the decision to avoid the Irish bar when he turned out late that afternoon, suspecting that an encounter with Janey might lead to complications he could well do to avoid. After showering and dressing in the tiny terraced villa he rented, he wandered back down to the harbour and trotted down the steps into one of the bars in the complex at the back of the beach itself, wearing his beloved Keith Richards T-shirt and three-quarter length pants. It was still early and quiet, but Flynn knew it was unlikely to get any busier. Many bars were struggling to survive in the economic downturn as tourists kept their own heads down and shied away from foreign holidays. This was one of Flynn’s regular haunts and had managed to keep going by providing bargain booze and inexpensive but good food. The manager smiled at Flynn’s arrival and immediately filled a half-litre glass with Estrella Damm, placing it in front of Flynn, together with a small plate of olives, as he nestled up to the bar. Flynn nodded and sipped the ice-cold beer.
    â€˜You eating, Señor?’
    Flynn had intended cooking the red snapper caught earlier by Hugo, but couldn’t be bothered. It was in the fridge, would keep until the day after.
    â€˜I think so, Manny.’
    A menu appeared in front of him as if by magic. Flynn chose paella for one, which he knew would take about twenty minutes to prepare. He slid off the bar stool and said, ‘I’ll eat outside.’ He took his beer and olives and walked to one of the tables on the decking erected over the sand.
    It was still warm, twenty-eight degrees, and Flynn settled into one of the big, comfy chairs and soaked in the heat. He loved it. He