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When Degsy reached the doorway of the DCI’s office Lizzie was just leaving. She turned back to face Thurstan, “So, Sunday then?”
“Yes, definitely,” he replied, standing up behind his desk before confirming. “A normal Sunday lunch with the family. Just a small, informal, sort of thing.” He paused. “How many exactly?”
Lizzie laughed, catching his concern. “Well, there’ll be me, my Mum and Dad, my Nana and Gramps, my three sisters and three of my brothers. My brother Melvin is still in Afghanistan.” Then she added, “Oh, and Auntie Lydia.” She flashed him a sparkling smile, noticing he seemed to have lost some colour from his cheeks.
“Oh, good. Nothing to worry about then?”
“No, nothing to worry about,” she laughed. “Just a normal Sunday lunch.” She turned, smiled at Degsy and strolled across the main office to her desk.
Having waited patiently for the interaction to come to a natural end, somehow he couldn’t help but join Thurstan in watching her progress.
“You want to see me, Derek?” Thurstan said, breaking the spell.
“Er... yes, Boss! I’ve just been speaking to a mate in the canteen. He works at the Airport. SB...”
Thurstan let him talk then said: “So, you think it’s Nickson leaving on this flight?”
“Yes, Boss. It’s got to be, surely! Officially he’s not in the country, so this is how he did it. Your being there at the same hotel probably spooked him and he’s taking the first opportunity he could to do one.”
Thurstan looked thoughtful. “I’m not so sure, but...” He rubbed his chin. “I think you’re right. It could be him and it’s too good an opportunity to waste. If we can lock him up on the passport offence we can, at the very least, get his bloody DNA and keep him in custody.” He looked at his watch. “You said the flight’s around six?”
Degsy nodded. “I could phone the Airport and check?”
Thurstan shook his head. “No. It’ll take too long. The traffic’s going to be bad this time of day. We need to get up there now, Derek. Right now!”
“I’ll get the job’s car, Boss. It’s got blues and twos and I’ll see you in the top car park by reception.”
Thurstan pulled on his jacket and grabbed his mobile from the drawer. “Somebody get me a radio with a fresh battery, please,” he called from the doorway of his office before returning to his desk and phoning the Control Room. Requesting a doubly manned patrol to meet him in front of Liverpool Airport terminal he then strode out of his office, snatching the Airwaves radio Arthur presented to him.
“Book me out, Arthur, will you? Speke Airport,” he told him and walked briskly to the office exit just as the SB Superintendent entered, impeding his progress.
“Baddeley, I want a word with you, in your office!”
Without pause, Thurstan looked at him disdainfully and brushed past. “Not now!” The SB man was left flapping in the wind.
Once in the passenger seat, Thurstan wound down his window and deposited the small but powerful, blue, magnetic strobe light on the roof. Driving down the ramp and out onto the main road, Degsy switched on the yelp siren and with alternating flashing headlights began to weave his way through the traffic.
“Have you used these sirens before, Boss, or just the two tones?” Degsy shouted over the noise as he accelerated away from an intersection.
“It was just two tones in my day, Derek. I must admit this looks confusing,” Thurstan confessed loudly, perusing the emergency equipment control box.
“No problem, Boss. Ignore everything else and just press wail when we’re on a straight run, the sound carries better, and yelp when we’re approaching and going through a junction, it’s an attention grabber.”
At each set of red traffic lights they encountered, Degsy manoeuvred to the front, checking right, left and ahead before accelerating through the junction when safe to do so. At green lights, he was looking for pedestrians, cyclists and random thinkers.
It’d been a long time since Thurstan had experienced the thrill of a ‘blue light run’ and it was only after some challenging and inventive manoeuvres on Degsy’s part that he felt able to relax as they eventually turned into Speke Hall Avenue, the dual carriageway leading to the industrial estates and JLA. As they shot down the near-empty road, he turned off the sirens.
Less than two minutes later they pulled up behind the marked Police car parked on the ‘Emergency’ hatchings in front of the first entrance to the Terminal. Thurstan took the blue light from the roof and stowed it in the footwell; two uniformed Officers got out of their vehicle and donned their hats. Thurstan slammed the door behind him, slapped the smaller of the Officers on the shoulder and told him: “You mind the vehicles, son.” The other Officer was muscular. “You come with me, big fella,” he added, racing towards the entrance.
Nicks popped an earphone into one ear, leaving the other dangling. He pressed play on his iPod and settled back in his seat, glancing briefly out of the emergency door window. Beyond the wing, he could see his fellow passengers walking from the Terminal towards the aircraft. He wondered how many more there would be. Buckling his seat belt, he perused the emergency instructions read ‘a thousand times’ before and inspected the emergency door confirming it agreed with what he'd seen on the card. Satisfied, he closed his eyes and leant his head against the cabin wall.
Walking briskly through the concourse, Thurstan located the airline desk and flashed his badge. “Detective Chief Inspector Baddeley. I’m after a person wanted for questioning in connection with a murder and I believe they’re booked onto your flight to Berlin today. His name’s Ackermann. Dieter Ackermann.”
The woman behind the desk stabbed a few keys on her computer.
“Yes, he’s on the flight. But you’ll need to hurry. They’re boarding now, Sir, Gate five. I’ll get security to take you through.” She called and waved to a security guard who was standing by the check-in desks opposite. He ambled over towards them.
As Thurstan impatiently watched his progress, he instructed the woman.
“Contact the gate and let them know we’re on our way. And if need be, you’ll have to delay the flight. Do you know what seat he’s in?”
“Ten F, extra leg room. As you go in from the front it’s the first row on your left over the wings.” He lost patience and strode off to meet the security officer strolling towards them. She shouted after him: “He should be in the window seat.”
Thurstan showed the guard his badge, took the man by the arm, spun him round and guided him towards the departures gates whilst explaining the situation. The former lethargic attitude changed in an instant and the security man set off at a fast pace, gabbling into his radio, causing Thurstan, Degsy and the uniformed Officer to jog after him to make up ground.
At the departure gate, they were joined by other security officers and Thurstan quickly briefed them. “I want all exits to the plane covered and no one, absolutely no one leaves that plane until I or DS Drayton here okays it first. Clear?” Nods all round.
They stood and watched the last of the passengers exit the main building and walk across the apron towards the plane. As they ascended the stairs, the security officers took up their positions. Thurstan, Degsy and their colleague joined the last passengers as they entered the aircraft. After a few quiet words with the cabin crew, Thurstan looked over in the direction they indicated. Between passengers stowing their luggage, he caught fleeting glimpses of an arm and then the top of the head of the person sat in seat 10F.
Beckoning the others, he weaved his way towards his prey, feeling the rush of adrenalin he always felt when making an arrest. “Police,” he said to the man sitting next to the window. “Dieter Ackermann?”
From underneath a baseball cap, the man looked up at him and replied: “Yes, I’m Dieter Ackermann.”