His mother looked like a shadow in the bed. After a brief resurgence of health, she had gone downhill fast and life was something she now clung onto only tenuously.
Lisa crossed over and gave him a hug, then kissed Rik.
‘How is she?’
Lisa shook her head, unable to find words. Henry touched her shoulder tenderly. ‘You go, I’ll stay for a few hours. Not a problem.’ A day earlier Henry had pinned her down and they’d had the unpleasant DNR conversation, sadly concluding that their mother’s wishes should be followed. Henry thought with a hint of cynicism that Lisa had reached that decision a bit too quickly, but immediately chastised himself, for being mean spirited and judging her as the old Lisa, the selfish, self-centred Lisa who only cared about herself, the daughter who saw her mother only as a pain in the neck. Even though it was early days, a great change seemed to have come over his sister since making peace with Rik and rekindling their relationship. She was much more serene and laid back now, as if she accepted that her unstable past was over and her future was with Rik. For ever. And she was happy about it.
Henry sat next to his mother, who lay there as if she was already in her coffin, hands folded across her chest, legs out straight. She wore an oxygen mask, but her breathing was ragged and unsteady. Before he settled down, he decided to buy himself a coffee and a sandwich, returning a few minutes later with his goods and laying them out on the bedside cabinet. He ripped open the sandwiches, a noise that seemed to wake his mother, who opened her eyes as though she’d been prodded and ripped the mask off her face in a panic.
‘Hey, Mum, it’s all right.’ Henry gently helped remove the mask and plumped up her pillows to raise her slightly. He could hear her chest rasping as she breathed.
‘Not long now, eh?’ she said.
He stayed with her until nine that evening and left her sleeping. As ever he made certain the nurses had his phone numbers — that of the Tawny Owl and his mobile — on their information sheets. Then he drove back to Kendleton and entered the crazy world of New Year’s Eve at the Tawny Owl, where at midnight he allowed himself a small glass of champagne and bawled out ‘Auld Lang Syne’ without any thought for melody.
He and Alison stepped away from the crowd in the bar and went outside into the chill of the night, where most of the population of Kendleton were singing and dancing and a bonfire and fireworks were lighting up the New Year.
They stood side by side, watching the flames and the rockets, Henry’s arm around her slender waist. He said a few romantic words to her, which had the desired effect, and they shared their first proper public kiss, although hardly anyone saw it.
Not long afterwards he was in bed, alone. Alison slid in about 2 a.m. after shooing out the last of the revellers.
At 03:48 the bedside phone rang.
Henry walked a few metres after he had ducked under the cordon tape, then stopped and breathed in the cold New Year’s Day air. Further down the track he could see the side of a factory unit and the car park next to it, the police cars drawn up, blue lights rotating unnecessarily.
The phone call that had awakened him just over an hour earlier could have been either one thing or the other — his mother, or work. It could easily have been from BVH informing him of the worst.
But it had been the FIM — who, having been on duty for most of the previous week, knew what was happening and what Henry was interested in. Hence her opening gambit, ‘Boss, I think this could be one of yours.’
It was now that Henry found himself standing in the en-suite shower room, half-wondering if the FIM was visualizing him naked.
He hunched down into his jacket — a surprise extra Christmas present from Alison, one that was of immediate use — and was about to set off towards the unit when he heard another car pull up on the main road. He turned to see that Rik Dean had also arrived and parked behind the Audi, and was now walking quickly towards him, flashing his warrant card at the PC guarding the entrance and ducking under the tape.
Rik was wrapped up in a thick outer coat.
‘Henry,’ he said in acknowledgement. ‘Looks like you were right. What’ve we got?’
‘I probably know as much as you,’ Henry said. ‘Let’s see.’
They started to walk. Rik said, ‘How was your New Year’s Eve?’
‘Nice, but short of alcohol. Yours?’
‘Ditto — no sex either.’
Henry and Rik were making their way to a light industrial unit at the bottom of the village. Though disused it wasn’t old; built of breezeblock and panelled metal, it was the end one of four units. The other three were in use: one as a garage, another by a storage company, the third by a manufacturer of window blinds. All, though, looked dilapidated.
The night duty detective emerged from a personnel door in the wall of the unit, adjacent to a roller shutter, and walked across the car park to meet Rik and Henry. They all knew each other. DC Oxford was a steady detective in the middle years of his service who had the possibility of making DS if he wanted. He briefed them, they fitted their latex gloves and snapped elasticated paper coverings over their shoes, then followed him inside.
It was quite a large unit — Henry would have to be told its cubic area, he couldn’t even begin to guess the figure. But as he entered the unit proper through the door, then a small vestibule, he stopped, astounded and almost overwhelmed by the thick aroma that seemed to clog the steamy atmosphere.
‘Bloody hell,’ he said.
‘Just had a quick count-up and I reckon there’s about eight hundred,’ said Oxford.
Henry and Rik blew a low whistle each.
There were rows and rows of them. Eight hundred cannabis plants, all very healthy-looking, with overhead lighting and heating and a sophisticated hydroponics set-up to water and feed them.
Henry was no great whizz at maths, but he knew that the street value of each plant was somewhere in the region of five hundred pounds. Multiply eight by five and add the zeros — that meant he was looking at somewhere in the region of four hundred thousand pounds’ worth of illegal drugs. He blinked. Good money.
‘Who found them?’ he asked.
‘Local couple came down here in a car for a bit of nookie,’ Oxford said. ‘Parked up outside to get down to business, security lights came on and they noticed that the door we just came through was open. . through their steamy windows. They called it in, and the lad says they didn’t even look inside, which I’ve no reason to doubt.’
Henry nodded, his eyes scanning the jungle of leaves, his head shaking at the enormity of the find.
Which was not the reason he was here.
‘One of the Oswaldtwistle patrols eventually made it up here to check it out and wandered through and poked his head in the office down there.’ Oxford pointed to the office at the far end of the unit, door open, light on. ‘And that’s where he is. This way.’
Oxford led the two detectives around the perimeter of the unit, using the route that everyone attending would now have to follow. Reaching the office door, he stood aside and let Henry and Rik sidle past him.
Henry stood at the threshold and let his eyes do the walking, as he experienced the strange feeling of dread and excitement that always engulfed him at such a scene.
In terms of an office, there was a desk and a chair and a laptop computer but little else. The walls were bare. His eyes roved. He saw the rucksack propped against the wall, a stack of clothes, the Primus stove with a small saucepan on top of it. There was half a loaf of bread, some cans of soup, a cheap- looking kettle, a carton of milk, a jar of coffee and a mug. Two newspapers were folded up next to two pillows. There was also a small two-bar electric heater of a type he had not seen for years, and a couple of raggy-looking blankets and a stack of clothes.
Someone had been living here, hiding out.