‘Bad, bad tidings,’ he whispered again. He leaned back in the rickety office chair that some thieving bastard had left behind in place of the half-decent chair that used to be there. He chugged back through the day he’d just worked, almost twenty-four hours of it.
His mobile phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. It was Rik Dean calling from Blackburn, updating Henry on the hospital shootings, which Rik seemed to have well under control.
From all that Rik said, it was Bill Robbins that bothered Henry the most. Rik said that he’d sent Bill home despite having spoken to some ‘stuck-up bint’ from the IPCC who insisted that Bill should be arrested on suspicion of murder.
‘I told her to fuck off,’ Rik said crossly. ‘Poor sod’s gone home in a bloody Michelin Man suit because all his other stuff’s been bagged up for forensics. He’s formally had his firearms authorization revoked, he’s been swabbed for gunshot residue and DNA and the bitch wanted him locked up to give her the chance to travel up from London. Stuff that! I’ve arranged for him to come into FMIT at three this aft with a brief, to be interviewed there.’
‘Sounds good. How is he?’
‘Broken,’ Rik sighed bleakly. ‘You know, you shoot and kill once — that’s OK-ish, if you did the right thing, which Bill did. But do it again, whatever the circumstances, it’s the high jump. The force was bad enough with him last time. This time they’ll make Pontius Pilate look like the Good Samaritan.’
‘I won’t let that happen.’ Henry was absently spinning a full three-sixty degrees on his chair and as he looped back to face the office door, he jerked to a halt when he saw that Fanshaw-Bayley was filling the door frame.
‘Everything else sorted?’ Henry asked Rik.
‘Yeah. . Home Office pathologist has been for a look, but it’s unlikely the PMs will get done today. . public holiday and all that.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Henry said.
FB entered the office and helped himself to a mug of coffee from Henry’s filter machine, then parked himself on an office chair. His weight made the pneumatic workings drop down a level with a fart-like thud. He spilled his coffee on the carpet and shot Henry a dagger-like look as he pumped himself back up, muttering, ‘Shit.’
Henry didn’t want the phone call to end. ‘Anything else I need to know about?’
‘No. . is someone taking this over from me?’ Rik wanted to know.
‘No.’
‘How does that work, then?’
‘We stay on duty.’
Rik guffawed uncertainly. ‘Good joke.’
‘No — seriously.’
There was a beat of absolute silence.
‘Gotcha,’ Henry said. He was feeling a bit light headed. ‘I’ve arranged for someone to keep track of things so we can get home and grab some sleep — but I want us back this afternoon, probably for another long day.’
‘Um, all right,’ Rik said. ‘What’s the point of having a personal life when you can be a cop, eh?’
Henry glanced at FB. ‘Talking of which, have you heard from Lisa?’
‘No.’ It was a blunt reply. Only one syllable, Henry thought, but it was incredible what could be read into it. Anger. Hurt. Frustration. Fear. . Henry’s heart, unusually, went out to Rik, who had a lot of years womanizing behind him but then had found someone to really love — someone who, with years of man eating behind her, had rapidly reverted to type.
‘OK,’ Henry said, not having time to go there. ‘DCI Leach should be with you soon. Brief him, then get to bed and be at FMIT at Hutton about one this afternoon. We’ll have to run this thing from there for the time being.’
‘Eh?’
‘Don’t ask. I’ll sort out some staffing, but it’ll be all our people, not division’s at the moment. . It’s all about the money, money, money,’ he said with sad cynicism. ‘Pushing bodies across boundaries.’
‘Yeah, understood.’ Rik knew what Henry meant. In days gone by, when dead bodies — usually old alcoholics — seemed to turn up face down in canals much more regularly than they did in the present day, the officer who found the ‘floater’, if it was close enough to a divisional or force boundary, would often spend hours launching rocks into the water in the hope that the ripples would send the body over the border. Then the police over there could deal with it, though occasionally the reverse happened and somehow, mysteriously, the body would be found in its original location. The good old days, when bobbies really were bobbies, skilled at ducking, diving and avoiding work.
‘It’ll be cheaper all round if we can run it from FMIT, at least until New Year kicks in. We’re a bit of a halfway house here, between Blackburn and Blackpool.’
He ended the call and smiled at FB. After a pause of consideration, FB said, ‘What I don’t get, Henry, is how I give you a simple cold case to deal with and next thing I know, you’re in the middle of a real shit storm.’
Henry could have argued the point. He hadn’t done any of the stirring, but he was definitely at the centre of a vortex.
His last phone call, using the hands-free in the car, was to Bill Robbins. Unable to sleep, Bill was out walking his dog in the woods close to where he lived in the countryside at Hurst Green, between Longridge and Clitheroe, near the River Hodder.
Bill sounded thoroughly depressed.
‘You know, when that bastard swung around with his gun, I actually thought twice about pulling the trigger. I also thought, should I just try and wing him? That was the worst part. In that fucking microsecond, all the shit went through my noggin, as well as the implications of shooting him. Knowing I was right, that I didn’t have a choice, that I had to shoot to stop him, not try and be fancy by just shooting him in the shoulder. I knew there would be months and months of shite to come.’
Henry listened, feeling very sorry for him. It was a tough call being an authorized firearms officer, but when it came to that moment, the one when the trigger had to be pulled, lives had to be saved, lives had to be taken, the resultant fallout had to be lived with. Authorized Firearms Officers were under no illusions about that, but no amount of training could prepare anyone for it.
‘Like I said, though,’ Bill went on, ‘it was the hesitation that was a problem. If that dickhead had been any good, we could both be dead, Henry, and it would’ve been my fault.’ He sounded totally distraught.
‘Bill, you did exactly the right thing. I’ll back you up one hundred per cent, like I did last time. I’ll give a statement to IPCC, too. I’ve just had a long discussion with FB and he promises the full backing of the force.’
‘Excuse me if I vomit disbelief,’ Bill said.
‘It will be OK,’ Henry insisted.
‘Yeah, right. . I know you’ll be there for me. . it’s the other twats that worry me. I need to go, Henry, get my dog. . it’s got something horrible in its mouth.’ He finished the call abruptly, just as Henry drew up on the driveway of his house.
Parked on the road, much to his relief, was Lisa’s Mercedes. On one side of the drive was the tiny SmartCar that Leanne had inherited from Kate. Also on the road was Jenny’s car. But best of all — and completely unexpected — was the sight of Alison’s newish, sporty Hyundai.
He was coming home to a houseful of women.
TWELVE
With a nice, thick, fluffy bath sheet wrapped around his middle, Henry stepped out of the shower, then walked through to the bedroom from the en suite. Alison sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. The shower had cleansed him of a full day of grit and sweat and he felt almost human. Tired, sleepy, but better, even if the blow to the side of his head was still open and bleeding.
Alison tapped the bed next to her. ‘Let me have a look at that.’ On the bed was the small medical kit she always carried in her car.
Henry sat beside her and angled his head. ‘Again, thanks for coming. . a wonderful surprise,’ he said as her fingers went to the cut and she peered closely at it. She had worked hard at the Tawny Owl until past midnight but had left the clean-up to Ginny and her boyfriend. She had driven to Henry’s knowing without having to be told that he wouldn’t make it to Kendleton.