That was when the arm went around his throat.
‘Got yu, yu little bugger.’
For a moment Mark expected to feel the muzzle of a gun at his head, to have his brains blown out, to die in the middle of the streets, never having achieved a damn thing in his life.
Instead, beer-loaded breath wafted into his face from Billy Costain’s mouth.
‘Cops’re after you — an’ so am I,’ Costain growled. ‘You were with my Rory when he got murdered, weren’t you?’
Mark gagged. The crook of Costain’s arm crushed his windpipe and he could not have answered if he’d wanted to. Costain bent Mark double in a chokehold and it was as if his head was trapped in one of those seaside exhibits where punters poked their faces out through some cartoon character or other. He gurgled. Costain held tight as Mark attempted to prise his head free — without success. Billy was a big, strong guy and he’d battled and held bigger brutes than Mark.
Without much of a problem, Costain fished out his mobile with his left hand and made the first of three calls to the police. The first was to Henry Christie, which the detective didn’t get because he was in the lift. Costain had pre-programmed Henry’s number and that of the MIR phone line into his mobile.
Mark continued to struggle valiantly, gouging and kicking, but old man Costain was impervious to his assaults and clung easily to the lad.
After he’d spoken to Alex Bent in the MIR, then to Henry, Mark had sagged with the effort of trying to escape. His energy drained out of him and he hung in the crook of Costain’s arm like a bonfire night Guy.
Henry tutted at his PR, but held his tongue. Comms had told him there were no patrols available to make to Shoreside, all were busy. Sorry. There wasn’t much Henry could say to that. If the town was lucky, there might be about four patrols out there firefighting, and Blackpool was a busy place for cops.
Bent screwed the CID Ford Focus through the gears and streets, and only a few minutes after leaving the cop shop he was turning on to Shoreside, then on to Shoreside Drive which was the main spine running through the estate.
Henry spotted Costain and the figure of Mark Carter about fifty metres ahead. Bent drew the CID car in alongside them. Both detectives climbed out, Henry with a triumphant grin on his face. He shone the beam of his penlight torch into Mark’s face as he looked up from the headlock.
‘It were only a matter of time before I caught him,’ Costain said.
Henry put his hands on his knees and looked at Mark. ‘Now then, young fella me lad, I’m going to ask Mr Costain to let you go free, OK? And if you even think of doing a runner, I’ll flatten you. Got that?’
‘Get this ugly git off me,’ Mark growled.
‘Only if you say you won’t run.’
‘I won’t bloomin’ run, OK.’
Henry raised his head to Costain and out of the corner of his eye he spotted a car cruising down the road towards them, but did not give it much credence. He gave Alex Bent a ‘Grab him’ gesture and the DS took hold of Mark’s right arm. Costain slowly released his grip when he was certain that Bent had got hold of the lad.
‘I found out who Rory was hanging about with,’ Costain said, sticking a roll-up into his mouth and lighting up. ‘Then it were just a matter of nabbin’ him.’ He chuckled. ‘Make a good cop, me.’ He inhaled then brew out acrid smoke.
‘What d’you want me for?’ Mark protested, still squirming in Bent’s grasp. ‘I’ve done nothing. This is not fair.’
Henry sighed. ‘Fair? Fair is a place where you go to ride on rides, eat cotton candy and step in monkey shit, and, as corny as it sounds, Mark, you can do this the hard way or the easy way. Whichever you choose, you’ll be coming with us.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Mark responded impertinently.
‘Don’t give me a hard time.’ Henry wagged at finger at him. ‘I need to talk to you about some serious crimes, don’t I? Not least of which are two street robberies.’ Henry gave him a pointed look.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘And the fact you’ve witnessed two murders, one being that of your mate, Rory.’
‘Crap. Still don’t know what you mean.’
The car that had been crawling along accelerated. Everyone’s head jerked in its direction as the engine screamed.
It was a Volvo. With the passenger side nearest to the kerb.
Henry ingested it all in a split second.
The big car hurtling towards them. Two dark figures in the front seats, both bulky, definitely male, their features unrecognizable because of the main beam of the headlights putting them in shadow. And the man in the front passenger seat leaning out of the fully open window with the evil black shape of a Skorpion machine pistol in his hands, aimed at the foursome.
Henry, Mark, Bent and Costain were on the footpath, maybe ten metres ahead of where the CID car had been parked. Immediately behind them was a pair of semi-detached houses, both unoccupied and boarded-up.
Even then, a simultaneous thought in Henry’s head said, ‘Thank God for that. At least no residents will be caught in the shooting. No innocent person sat watching TV will get shot by accident.’
Henry knew they were about to be the victims of a drive-by shooting.
The car was closer now. It was a big, heavy estate, but no slouch. It was moving fast, now almost level with the CID car.
Henry twisted to Mark and Bent. With a yell, ‘Get down, get down,’ he powered into Mark, tearing him from Bent’s grip and drove him over the edge of the low wall that formed the boundary of one of the boarded-up houses. He heard the rake of gunfire, saw the flicker of flame from the muzzle of the Skorpion as the two of them went head first over the wall.
He saw Bent drop like a stone where he was. In another thought he hoped his colleague hadn’t been shot. But the same could not be said for old man Costain. He hadn’t reacted, other than to jerk his head from side to side, wondering what the hell was happening, his roll-up still between his lips.
There was a second burst of fire, a quick ‘Drrrrh’ sound and a line of four bullets sliced across Costain’s chest, flicking him like a demented puppet, driving him backwards.
Then a third burst. Henry kept Mark pinned down. The bullets ripped into the low wall that protected them and just above their heads. Henry felt them go by, their slipstream almost parting his thin hair. He knew that if the car stopped and the shooter got out, they would all be dead.
But the Volvo accelerated past and was gone.
Henry raised his head cautiously. He saw Alex Bent kneeling over Billy Costain. Henry crawled over the wall to them. Bent’s face rose, terrified.
‘He’s dead,’ the DS said, a wobble in his voice.
Henry bounced down on to his haunches. Costain had been wearing a white tee shirt, now soaked in blood. Amazingly, the cigarette was still wedged at the corner of his mouth, bent double but still lit, smoke rising from it. Henry removed it.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked Bent, who nodded.
Then Henry stood up and looked over the garden wall for Mark.
But the teenager wasn’t there.
ELEVEN
‘ Yeah, yeah, I’m OK, Don.’ Karl Donaldson paced the hotel balcony, his phone to his ear as he spoke to Don Barber, his boss. ‘We musta surprised each other. I don’t think he was expecting me and I got lucky and managed to trap him behind the hotel room door… yeah, an empty room opposite… no problem for a professional to get into… hmm, he’s been a busy guy, first Fazil, then the cop, then me. I just got lucky, as I said.’ Donaldson paused and listened. ‘Yeah, the locals have got cops crawling everywhere, but I doubt if we’ll see him again. No, I didn’t get a look and no he didn’t utter a word…’ He looked out across the harbour, breathed in the warm night air. ‘There’s two cops outside in the corridor now, so I’ll be fine… Yeah, still returning to the UK tomorrow, at least that’s my plan… No, I’ll do it, don’t send anyone else. I’ll liaise with the SIO up there… Yeah, the witness to Petrone’s murder intrigues me. I’ve no doubt there’ll be some connection with what’s going on here… OK, Don, see ya pal.’ He ended the call, breathed out, massaged his temples and mentally worked thorough his injuries. His head still had a lump on it the size of an egg and it throbbed, but the skin wasn’t cut. His nose had stopped bleeding and wasn’t broken, thank God. Other than that, just minor cuts and grazes. It could have been far worse. He’d left sports fields with nastier injuries.