He walked as casually as he could, trying to give the impression he was out on a morning stroll. He could not get rid of the feeling that everyone who drove past him was looking at him and knew he was a villain.
There were no other pedestrians on the bridge.
He stopped half-way across, leaned on the parapet and gazed down the river toward the meandering right-hand curve on which the Blackpool and Fylde Yacht Club was situated. He then stared directly down at the water below him. It was a muddy brown colour, as ever. He had passed over the Wyre hundreds of times during his life and never seen the water any different colour. He would not have liked to swim in it. It was not the least inviting.
From the direction of the flow, he could tell it was on the ebb.
Several cars drove past. Then there was a gap in the traffic. He scanned around furtively. No one in sight. No cars, no people.
He acted quickly, opening the bag and tipping out the contents into the river.
The gun dropped into the water with a splash and sank immediately.
The bag of drugs fell on to the surface and kind of settled there, floated away like a tiny boat towards the sea. He watched it sail away, then sink.
A big sigh of relief made his body shudder.
‘She’s still asleep,’ Kate whispered to Henry on his return home. ‘She had a shower then went straight to bed. She’s exhausted, poor soul. Just what has been going on, Henry?’
‘Don’t really know where to start,’ he said, ‘other than I would really like a massive hug.’
There was no need for a second request. She needed one as well. Kate fell into his arms and they both squeezed tight.
It felt very, very good.
Henry needed his bed too, so following a long, hot power shower, he fell on to the kingsize, closed his eyes and was instantly asleep. He was deep out of it for about four hours but when he woke to visit the loo he could not get back. He tossed and turned for an hour, thoughts and plans tumbling through his brain, some jumbled, some very clear.
In the end he gave up and got up.
Kate was downstairs, pacing the house on pins. ‘She’s still asleep,’ she answered Henry’s question. She gave him another hug and then held him out at arms’ length. ‘Now are you going to tell me what’s happened? It’s all over the TV news. It sounds horrible.’
‘It is, was,’ he confirmed. ‘I’ll tell you over a brew.’
They sat in the conservatory and he told her what she needed to know, stunning her with the violence of the night. Her mouth regularly drooped open as he recounted the grim details.
When he had told her enough, she asked, ‘And how are you, love?’
He thought about it for a long time, then nodded. ‘I’m OK, actually,’ he said, surprising himself. He knew that not long ago he would have been very deeply affected by the night’s events, that they could have sent him over the edge, but now he was a much stronger man. He looked into Kate’s eyes and knew why. He felt like he could face anything with her behind him. She was his rock and it had taken him a long time to realize it. Kate and the children. They were all he needed.
‘I love you,’ he said simply.
‘And I love you.’
They leaned forwards and kissed each other, pulling apart when a noise from the dining room make them look up. It was the pathetic figure of Charlotte, wearing Leanne’s dressing gown.
They were back at the hospital at 5 p.m., wending their way through endless corridors to the ward on to which Tara had been transferred. It was not official visiting time, but they were allowed in. She had been placed in a side room and Henry stiffened when he saw a uniformed cop on the door. A barrier because Henry knew him and he knew Henry. But did he know that Henry was suspended? He braved it, nodded at the officer and ushered Charlotte in ahead of him. ‘It’s her daughter,’ he whispered into the officer’s ear as he went past.
‘OK,’ he whispered back.
Tara was propped up in bed, awake, tired, but looking much better than she had done. The big wrap-around bandage had been removed from her head and replaced by a more practical-looking dressing. Most of the left side of her head had been shaved and Henry could see how swollen it was.
She was overjoyed to see Charlotte, who rushed into her arms.
‘My baby,’ Tara cried, hugging her closely.
Henry hovered in the background, shuffling, letting them have their moment. Finally they parted and looked at him.
‘Thanks for looking after her,’ Tara said.
‘She was almost well behaved,’ he laughed. ‘How are you?’
‘Better. . sore. . still a bit dazed.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘Ready to face the music, I think.’
‘Have you been seen by the police yet?’
‘Briefly. They’re coming back to see me later this evening.’
Henry scratched his head whilst he thought things through, something that required him to make a decision that went totally against the grain of his career as a police officer.
‘Charlotte, would you give me and your mother a few minutes alone?’
Tara and Charlotte exchanged glances. It was apparent Charlotte did not want to leave, but Tara squeezed her hand. ‘Please, love.’
She left the room and sat in the corridor outside.
‘Do you feel up to talking?’
‘Think so.’
‘Do you remember everything that happened last night?’
‘Up to a point. The point where I shot Jake and tried to shoot John. Everything after that is a mess.’
‘Do you feel strong enough to be told?’
Tara swallowed, nodded. Henry gave her the facts very succinctly, not glossing over anything, but not going into great detail. There was silence at the end whilst Tara digested the information. She sighed and tears formed on the edges of her eyes.
‘John’s dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does Charlotte know?’
‘Only that he is dead, not how he died. Someone’ll have to fill in the gaps for her at some stage,’ Henry said.
‘Yes. So now I’ve got to be questioned about Jake Coulton’s death.’
‘You’ll be questioned about the whole night. The police are going to need a lot of answers.’
‘I’ll get charged with murder, won’t I? Then I’ll lose Charlie for good. I’m only just clinging on to her as it is.’ A note of panic crept into her voice.
‘Well,’ Henry said hesitantly, going down his chosen road at last, ‘that remains to be seen.’
Tara’s eyes flicked open. Henry took a deep breath and said again, ‘That remains to be seen.’
Next morning Henry sat in an interview room at Blackpool Central Police Station. He was on one side of the table and on the other was Jane Roscoe and Detective Superintendent Anger. Both had frustrated faces of stone and were not particularly impressed by Henry. Henry had spent some of the time looking at Jane, assessing how he felt about her, puzzled by the conclusion he came to.
They had worked their way through Henry’s statement fairly superficially to start with and were now going through it with a detective’s toothcomb. Anger was asking the questions. Jane was looking as hard as she could. Hard cop, hard cop, Henry thought. Good combination.
‘So you arrive at the Wickson house, having had this frantic phone call?’
‘Yep.’
‘Tara Wickson saying that she thought there was a prowler around the house and stables?’
‘Yep.’
‘Why didn’t she call the police?’
‘As I’ve already explained, I was looking into some shenanigans at the stables involving the mutilation of some of her horses. She thought the prowler, if there was one, might be connected with this. Jane knows all about my connection with the Wicksons, don’t you, love?’
Her face did not change.
‘You arrive there and make your way to the kitchen. . What did you see?’