‘Just so you know — Freddy’s not well.’
Henry stared cynically at her, but desisted from saying, ‘He never was.’
‘He kind of comes and goes, but for the last few years his medication’s kept him stable. But if he doesn’t get it he becomes very paranoid and unstable and he can be quite nasty.’
‘But why has he been reported missing?’
‘He had a big fallout with Dad last night and stormed off into town. He hadn’t taken his pills that morning and it doesn’t take him long to revert to type. And he definitely hasn’t taken any today, either.’
‘So he could be chewing carpets somewhere?’
Janine looked fiercely at him. ‘Not funny.’
‘I didn’t know Terry had a daughter.’
‘I’m the black sheep of the family. University and a proper job. Never got involved in any of the. . you know.’
‘Shenanigans?’ Henry chewed his bottom lip for a moment. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘In there.’ He thumbed at the house. ‘Bill Grasson, some more salty-looking dudes and guns.’
Janine’s face constricted. ‘Don’t know, don’t want to know,’ she said, sounding offended. ‘I just want to get Freddy back in one piece. Yeah, he could end up eating carpets, as you so colourfully put it, but he could also end up doing someone some harm — or himself. He needs finding.’
Henry recalled Freddy’s hands squeezing his windpipe. He sighed. ‘Where do I start looking?’
‘I could show you. I know some places he hangs around.’
Henry nodded. ‘Are we taking the dog?’ It was tempting to set off with the beast attached to the car.
‘Wait here. I’ll sneak Damian back in and be back in ten minutes.’
While he waited, he selected a Miles Davis track on the car’s iPod. He’d been trying to get into jazz, but was so far failing. He liked jazz and blues singers, but couldn’t quite get to grips with instrumentalists, though he did appreciate their talent. He was becoming convinced it wasn’t for him.
He was considering what he should do about the firearms he’d seen, which, he now assumed, would be hard to find. It wasn’t practical to go back mob-handed with a bunch of his hairy-arsed colleagues, at least not on Christmas Day, nor Boxing Day. Getting enough police staff together to do anything on these particular days would be almost impossible.
The best thing to do, he concluded, was to hold on to the knowledge, because it might come in useful at some future date — if he needed a warrant, for example. Deep down he did feel he should be bursting in, kicking down their door, just for the hell of it. He hadn’t kicked a door down for ages and he was going through withdrawal symptoms. Maybe it was unbecoming for a man of his years — bursting into people’s houses was a young cop’s game — but it was addictive. However, it was now his job to step carefully over the resultant carnage after entry had been gained, not to lead the charge.
The passenger door opened. Janine dropped in alongside Henry, no dog in tow.
‘You sure about this?’
‘Yeah — it’ll be all right.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Head for Blackburn.’
‘So — home for Christmas?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Where do you live and work?’
‘Manchester,’ Janine said. Henry waited, but she made no attempt to give him any further information.
‘What is work?’
She shrugged. ‘A law firm, dealing mainly with accident claims. Boring but necessary for the time being. I’d like to get into corporate law.’
‘You’re a solicitor?’
‘Yep.’
‘Well, good for you. Criminal law?’
‘No,’ she said strongly.
‘Good for you,’ he said again, not sure if he believed a word of it, though she did seem genuine. That could have something to do with the fact she was a Cromer. As far as Henry was concerned, they were all pretty much liars.
‘Go right here,’ she instructed him. He scooped around a roundabout onto Shadsworth Road. ‘There’s a club in Knuzden he likes,’ she explained.
Henry knew that Shadsworth Road dropped down into the area called Knuzden, on the eastern outskirts of Blackburn.
‘So what happened to Freddy?’ he asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘In between the time he almost killed his aunt by dropping her out of a window, strangled me, and got sent to mental institutions, and now.’
‘Just that.’ She kept her face forward. ‘All I know is what I’ve been told, really. . I wasn’t even born when that happened.’ She gave Henry a sly, amused look. ‘Which must make you really old. . I mean, were you really the cop he tried to kill?’
‘I was.’ Henry could have said it proudly, but he didn’t. It was a long time ago and it still mortified him that a teenager had pinned him down. Even a big one.
‘Mm, I’ve heard about it, obviously. But he got moved from place to place. Got better, got out, went mad again, got locked up again. Vicious circle. Eventually they stopped taking him back when the secure units became more scarce with cutbacks and the drugs got better. He’s just another care in the community stat, I guess.’
‘How long has he been home?’
‘Couple, three years. Gran wanted to have him back, but he’s too much of a handful when he goes off the rails. And Dad doesn’t have any time for him. Usually just beats him up — Dad beats Freddy, that is.’
‘Out of curiosity, which one of those ladies I just saw was your mother?’ He tried not to put too much of an inflection on the word ‘ladies’.
‘None. . she went years back,’ she said, but did not elaborate.
Henry drove on. To his right was the huge Shadsworth council estate, a grim sixties throwback that Henry remembered well from his early days as a uniformed cop, and subsequently on a few murder enquiries. And sat alongside him was the daughter of one of Lancashire’s best crims. He couldn’t resist asking again, ‘Come on, what’s going on? All the guns ’n’ stuff?’
Janine remained silent as they reached the traffic lights at the bottom of the hill, at the junction with the main road that connected Blackburn with Accrington. She said, ‘Do a right here and the club’s on the right. . just called The Moss.’
Henry knew it. It had been there for as long as he could remember and didn’t look as though it had ever seen any decoration. It was a single-storey, detached premises, constructed of Accrington brick with metal grilles on all the windows which were never removed, and a roller-shutter that covered the door when the place was closed. Henry knew it must have been refurbished at least a couple of times over the years because it had been firebombed twice. It was basically a very grotty working men’s club.
He pulled into the almost empty car park.
‘Freddy likes this place. They don’t mind giving him booze, but they know when to stop — mainly because he trashed it single-handed once after too much.’
‘OK,’ Henry said and reached for the door handle.
Janine laid a hand on his arm. ‘Mr Christie, whatever my family is involved in, I can’t help. I don’t have any part in it, but I’m not going to grass on them either. They’re my family and I care about them. I won’t betray them.’
‘Fair do’s.’
Henry got out and, with Janine beside him, he walked to the front door of the club and entered.
He stood inside the threshold and surveyed the geography and clientele. One long bar served the whole place. There was a small raised stage in one corner with a tatty-looking drum kit on it. Bench seats clung to the outside walls and battered-looking brass-topped circular tables and chairs were scattered throughout. Music played from speakers hung up high and there were eight middle-aged men, in four pairs, sitting either at the bar or the tables, or playing the gaming machine. They all looked to be drinking mild, a type of beer Henry hadn’t tasted for a long, long time. For good reason.
Smoke hung in the air. It appeared that the non-smoking legislation did not apply to this particular enclave of society, and each man, without exception, was smoking. That included the barman, who watched Henry and Janine approach with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.