He was enjoying the process. Mind-mapping, flow-charting, jotting down single words to spark ideas, all designed to foster the thought process. It was a stage of the investigation he loved; those few moments when it was all his; the time before everyone else and their dogs stuck their noses into the pie; the stage when it was all pure and untainted. He felt a bit like a kid at school with a colouring book and crayons, writing with one hand, the other hand curled around to stop anyone else looking at his work.
It was engrossing work, too, and thirty-odd minutes later, he was sitting there staring into space seeking to get some inspiration from the wall in front of him.
There was a noise as the door opened behind him. This brought him back to reality. He twisted in the chair, half hoping to see Professor O’Connell — purely for professional reasons, of course — but caught his breath and sat bolt upright when he saw who it was …
Henry grunted and jumped out of his skin. He had dropped off to sleep, his chin bouncing down on to his chest, and had woken with a start and a shake of the head.
A ripple of giggles came from the back of the van as he sucked back the dribble from the corner of his mouth with a slurp. He looked sideways at the sergeant.
‘You might be mistaken for thinking I dropped off then,’ he said.
‘No probs, boss, we all need power naps occasionally.’ She yawned and stretched in the confined space. ‘Is this going to happen or not?’ She peered at her digital watch. ‘We should’ve gone in twenty minutes ago,’ which made Henry realize he’d actually been zonked-out for at least ten.
His eyes drooped with fatigue. ‘Dunno,’ he said, which was not the most earth-shatteringly incisive thing to say, but was about all he could muster at that time of day as he found himself suddenly very knackered. His brain was becoming spongy, starting to shut down.
In the personnel carrier the tittle-tattle had also waned as tiredness drew a veil over everyone. Which was not good, he thought; raiding a house with a possible terrorist connection should be carried out by officers who were on the ball, not ones who were dim-witted and sloth-like because they had become fatigued from waiting around. That bred mistakes.
He inhaled and exhaled deeply in the hope of getting some fresh oxygen into his bloodstream.
Dawn was creeping in more quickly. Soon it would be a gallop. The sky was starting to turn a pale grey; spots of rain clicked on the windscreen.
Unable to help it, and assisted by the slightly hypnotic effect of the rain, Henry’s heavy eyelids slid slowly closed even though he fought it valiantly …
It wasn’t Keira O’Connell entering the office. It was the bluff, angry figure of Detective Chief Superintendent Dave Anger and his sidekick, a DI called Carradine who had been seconded to FMIT recently and who, Henry knew, was the man that Anger wished to replace Henry with. All three of them went back a long way, but it was Anger and the DI who were best mates.
Behind them trotted a helpless Rik Dean, making tiny gestures to Henry with his hands and shoulders, which said, ‘Sorry.’ He looked pained.
Anger barged in, Carradine by his shoulder like a parrot.
‘Almost pulled a fast one there, Henry,’ was Anger’s opening gambit.
Henry swung the desk chair round, instantaneously on the defensive. ‘What do you mean?’
‘How did you get this job?’ Anger demanded.
‘What job?’
‘This murder!’
‘I was called out to it — it is on my patch, after all.’ He was responsible for covering Blackpool Division, on which the body had been found.
‘Well, you shouldn’t have been.’
‘Not my problem.’
‘You’ve been relieved of the job.’
The chair flew backwards on its casters as Henry shot to his feet. ‘What?’
‘You heard. DI Carradine is taking it on, so you can hand over everything to him.’
‘What?’ Henry was flabbergasted.
‘But there is some good news in it for you,’ Anger smirked. Henry waited, not daring to open his mouth lest what came out of it totally destroyed his career. ‘You’ve been transferred off FMIT as of today,’ Anger said, and let the words hang there for effect. Henry’s mouth dropped open with a little bubble of spit on his lips. ‘Yeah — transferred on to Special Projects at HQ.’ Anger smiled winningly. ‘Hadn’t you heard? No? I’m surprised FB hasn’t called you.’
Admittedly Henry knew he had a series of missed calls on his mobile which he had been studiously avoiding. One of them could have been FB.
‘But then again, why would he call you? It’s usually your divisional commander or department head who gives you that sort of news these days.’ Anger’s smile turned into a snarl. ‘Unfortunately, the transfer comes with a promotion to chief inspector, which completely mystifies me.’ He shook his head and looked as though this news was enough to make him vomit. ‘So you can get lost.’ The smile returned — venomously. ‘DI Carradine is now temporary DCI and despite the fact that I said you’d never make chief inspector as long as I’ve got a hole where the sun don’t shine, I’m a happy man. You know what I think of you, so I won’t go over old ground.’ He gave Henry a little wave.
Henry was tempted to knock the beam off Carradine’s face as he crossed the room, and was glad to see the DI cringe back slightly as he came within striking distance. Obviously Henry’s body language was pumping out ‘beware’ vibes. However, he did nothing nor said anything, but pushed past the three of them, getting a muted ‘Sorry, mate’ from Rik, and stalked into the corridor. He had only gone a few yards when Anger called, ‘Henry.’ He stopped abruptly and revolved slowly as Anger strolled up to him, a half-smile on his twisted lips.
‘You don’t seriously think you’d have won, do you?’ he said derisively. ‘I’m part of a gang, you know.’ His eyebrows arched. ‘You, on the other hand, are just a minion, a nobody, nothing.’
‘Whatever,’ Henry said.
‘So let’s let bygones be bygones, eh? There’ll be no need for us to cross paths any more. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Anger’s face froze. ‘I’ll fuckin’ crush you, Henry,’ he said almost conversationally, ‘if you don’t let this go. I promise you.’
‘Your little army going to do your bidding?’
‘I will destroy you if I have to.’
‘Oh, stop talking like Lex Luther. What you need,’ Henry said, ‘is an anger management course.’ It was something he’d been longing to say to the DCS, but when it came out it sounded limp and pointless under the circumstances.
‘I haven’t heard that one before,’ Anger said mirthlessly.
Even so, Henry made himself laugh as he turned and set off down the corridor again, head held high, feeling the pierce of Anger’s blazing eyes burning like lasers between his shoulder blades.
Outside in the car park it was cold and dark and all he wanted to do was scream at the moon.
Instead, he went and sat in his car, engine idling, heater blowing, churning it all over, wondering how best to progress. He wasn’t certain how long he sat there, but it was a good length of time — long enough for him to watch Anger, Carradine and Rik leave after, Henry guessed, their briefing from the pathologist.
A knock on the driver’s window made him jump. In his reverie, Keira O’Connell had somehow approached his car without him seeing her. She had tapped on the glass. He opened the window and she bent down to speak.
‘I noticed you sitting there.’
‘Yep.’
‘I can’t believe you drive a Rover 75,’ she mocked him. ‘Bit stereotypical, isn’t it?’
‘I used to be Mondeo man before this.’
There was beat of silence.
‘I believe you’ve been replaced.’
With a sigh, he nodded.
‘That was short lived.’
‘I’m afraid if I open my mouth I’ll say something I’ll regret and shock you. I’m presently biting my tongue so hard it might bleed.’