The person with enough determination in this case was Bill Robbins, who not many hours before had shot someone to death in the line of duty. Bill had scaled or managed to shuffle around the gate with his dog and was now sitting at the middle of the central arch, his feet dangling in mid-air, some twenty feet above the rushing water below.
With a double-barrelled shotgun laid across his lap, his dog by his side.
There was enough light in the day now for Henry to see Bill clearly. He jumped over a low wall and trudged up to the gate, which had been unlocked by the landowner and was guarded by the patrol sergeant.
‘Boss.’
‘Mornin’, Sarge.’ Henry gave a desolate shrug.
‘He wants to talk to you, but I’ve also turned out the on-call negotiator, if you don’t mind.’
‘No probs.’
They were far enough away from Bill to have a conversation he could not overhear because of the running water below.
‘Has he threatened anyone?’
‘No — just insisted on talking to you, face to face. But he did tell us to keep back or he’d do it.’
‘Do what?’
The sergeant pressed the fingertips of his first two fingers of his right hand up into the soft flesh underneath his chin.
‘Oh shit.’ Henry knew then that, whatever the outcome, Bill really had had his last day on firearms. There was no pulling back from a suicide threat. ‘Whose gun is it?’
‘His own. He’s a licensed shotgun holder. Does a lot of rough shooting around here, I believe.’
Henry glanced across to the road, where an ambulance arrived and stopped behind his Audi. ‘Block the road, divert all traffic. I don’t want any gawkers or distractions, Sarge.’
‘Will do.’ The sergeant hesitated.
‘Now,’ Henry urged him, and he set to his task. Henry peered through the gate at Bill. Since he’d arrived, Bill had not looked over once, so Henry didn’t even know if he realized he had arrived. He simply sat there, head bowed, peering down at the river through his legs.
Henry settled himself about four feet away from Bill on the edge of the bridge, the stone cold and damp, legs dangling. It may not have been the highest bridge in the world, but sitting on it, looking at the water, it seemed a long way down.
Bill had not moved or acknowledged him. The dog, a black Labrador, watched him suspiciously, however.
‘Bill,’ Henry said.
‘You came.’ Bill still didn’t move, his gaze fixed at a point on the water below.
‘Course I did.’
‘I’m not sure if I can take this again.’
Henry watched him. The profile of a man he had known for a long time, who he’d always thought of as rock steady. Clearly Henry had no idea of the secret turmoil Bill had been through after the last occasion he’d pulled a trigger and taken someone’s life. Henry believed he had done everything in his power for his old friend, but the closed door of Bill’s mind, now ajar, revealed that Henry hadn’t seen a fraction of what had been going on in there. He was under the impression Bill had coasted through it, that all he had been bothered about was not shooting well enough.
‘You have no idea how shitty it was,’ Bill said. He looked sideways at Henry. ‘Completely out on a limb, everyone always suspecting you were lying, everything you said being challenged and that you were covering up the truth.’
‘You were exonerated, Bill. I know it was a tough time.’ Henry had also been through the ringer. ‘But you hung in there like you had to, and the truth did come out. You used your weapon lawfully, as you did this time. No one said it would be a walk in the park if you ever had to use your gun, nobody promised you that.’ Henry knew he was being blunt. He hoped it was the best way. ‘And you were reinstated, Bill, which showed how much faith the force had in you.’
‘Doesn’t stop it being the shittiest part of my life, Henry. It turned me into an arsehole at home, nearly split me and the missus up. I ended up on bloody Prozac, for fuck’s sake. Two weeks of that and you could watch a bulldozer flatten your house and you’d just shrug your shoulders and say so what.’
Henry did not know about the antidepressants. Nor, he thought, did anyone else.
‘I can’t go through it again, H. Not least because I’ve killed another man. He was a shit, but he was still a bloke. . what was it Clint Eastwood said? Uh, when you kill a man you take away everything that he ever had and everything he’s gonna be. . something like that. He could’ve turned out to be a community worker.’
‘You can’t go down that road, Bill. He would have shot you and me and that was the equation at the time. He’d already killed one man, then another in front of us. His blood was running hot and he got what he deserved, and you acted lawfully.’
‘Honest, I never thought I’d ever have to face a gunman again,’ Bill went on wistfully, as if he hadn’t heard Henry. ‘Not really. I mean, what are the odds? Loads of firearms jobs come in, but they’re mostly crap. .’ His voice trailed off.
Henry squinted at him.
Bill said, ‘You know what it’s like, don’t you? The weight you have to carry around with you. .’
‘Yes, I know. Taking a man’s life is the toughest call of all, but your life goes on and you have to deal with it professionally and emotionally.’
Bill’s head snapped around. ‘Are you saying. .?’
‘I’m saying I know how it feels. I know the temptation is to let it all go to rat shit because the effort to keep on an even keel is so very hard. But, Bill, it’s happened. You did the right thing. I saw you do the right thing. I heard you do the
right thing. There was no alternative. He gave you no choice. Now it’s down to you to deal with it. OK, yeah, you go through shit up here’ — Henry tapped his head — ‘and at work and in the justice system, but you keep your focus, your dignity, your belief, your professionalism and your life. You seek help if you need it — me, the welfare department, counselling, whatever. . and you look ahead.’
‘I know the IPCC already want to stitch me up. They said I should be locked up.’
‘Yeah, and guess what? The force said bollocks.’ Henry paused. ‘We will be with you, Bill, I promise. I’ve already spoken to the chief constable and he’s completely supportive-’
‘Oh, yeah, right. . until the politics get too tough.’
‘Nah.’ Henry shook his head. ‘As much of a twat as FB is, he’ll stick by you. He will,’ Henry affirmed gently. ‘And so will I, so will your department.’
‘Which I’ll get booted off.’
Henry could not argue that one. ‘I’ll see you right,’ he promised. ‘And I’m not just saying that to get you off here, though my bum is wet and cold. You know me. I keep my word.’
‘You struggled last time. You couldn’t get me a full-time job on FMIT.’
‘That’s because of how the department is set up,’ Henry came back, slightly cross despite himself.
Bill nodded. ‘OK.’
‘And I won’t promise to get you on this or that department this time. You know I can’t. . but I’ll do my best for you.’
Bill continued to nod.
‘So what are you going to do now?’
‘I’m screwed with guns, aren’t I?’
‘Do you want the truth or a fabrication?’
‘I can handle the truth.’
‘Then yes. . and that includes your own shotgun certificate.’
A huge sigh rattled through Bill’s chest. He raised his face to the dawn sky.
‘Give me the gun, Bill.’ Henry reached over for the shotgun and took it from Bill’s grip.
THIRTEEN
Consummate professional that he was, no one would have guessed that Detective Superintendent Henry Christie had only had two hours’ sleep in the last twenty-four.