Rik complied, drove across, pulled in to the side of the road and parked about twenty metres along the next avenue, doused the lights and turned off the engine. Henry wound down his window — electric ones not being standard on the old Nissan — and adjusted his door mirror manually to give him a view back up the road.
‘What is it?’
‘That plain car from Poulton is parked back there in that line of cars.’
Rik jerked his head and squinted at Henry. ‘Your point being?’
‘What’s he doing there?’
‘Don’t know. Maybe he lives there. Maybe he’s popped home for a brew. Maybe he’s shagging, maybe-’
Henry held up his right hand. ‘Stop. Too many maybes. Whatever he’s doing, he’s off his patch.’
‘But he has to come off his patch to do the corrie run.’
‘I know that, but he’s taking the piss here, isn’t he?’
‘Henry — why are you bothered? You’re not his sergeant. Did you never sneak off for a brew now and again — or something else?’
‘All the time. But I’m a superintendent now. I have double standards and I’m therefore above that sort of thing.’ Henry wasn’t actually too bothered what the PC was up to, simply curious.
Rik’s mouth snapped shut, then he sighed. ‘Do you want me to talk to the inspector at Poulton tomorrow? I’d kind of like to get that nightcap now, you know? I don’t get paid overtime.’
‘Nor do I.’
‘But you earn almost twice as much as me.’
‘Stop bickering, will you?’
Rik murmured something incomprehensible, but was annoyed.
Henry finely adjusted the mirror, slumping in the seat for a clear view back up across the junction, enough to see if anyone approached the car along the pavement, but not necessarily if they came at it from any other direction. Rik also slid down his seat and adjusted his door mirror, so between them, they pretty much had it covered.
‘This just seems absurd,’ Rik said.
‘Have you got the number of Lancaster comms in your mobile?’ Rik muttered that he had. ‘Then call them and ask them to radio PC Driver and ask him for his current location.’ Although geographically adjacent to Blackpool division, Poulton-le-Fylde was actually in Northern division, the HQ of which was Lancaster, where the divisional control room was situated. Logically it would have made more sense for Poulton to belong to Blackpool as it had much in common with the resort, but such were the vagaries of political boundaries on which policing areas were more or less based.
Rik found the number and dialled.
As he was speaking, Henry’s own mobile bleeped with a text landing. It was Alison. Nervously he tabbed it open.
It said, ‘TIME DONT MATTER. THINKING OF YOU. LOVE YOU. WANT TO TALK. XX’.
Oh my God, Henry thought, and a shudder ran through him.
Rik was speaking to Lancaster comms room. ‘Yeah, uh, can you tell him that DI Dean wants to see him at Poulton police station?’ Rik gave Henry a desperate what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-say expression. ‘OK, I’ll hold.’ Rik then snatched up his PR from the door pocket next to him and tuned it over to the radio channel used by Lancaster just in time to hear an operator call PC Driver’s collar number and ask for his location.
There was a long pause, then the operator repeated the call.
Then Driver responded. ‘Yeah, just leaving Blackpool nick, en route back to Poulton, correspondence run.’ Henry and Rik exchanged a surprised look. ‘Can I ask why?’ Driver said.
‘DI Dean on the line, would like to see you at Poulton.’
‘Any reason?’
‘Stand by.’
The comms operator came on to the line and asked Rik the question. He said, ‘It’s a slightly delicate matter, not suitable for the airwaves. Just tell him I want a quick word on a personal matter.’
This was then relayed to Driver, who came back, ‘I’ll be about half an hour. I have a job I need to attend to on the way back.’ His voice was cool and not harassed.
‘I’ll pass that on,’ the operator said, and did so.
Henry pouted and said, ‘Fibber. Vinegar strokes.’
There was no guarantee that the man would even leave the club. He seemed pretty comfortable, lording it at the bar. Nor was there any guarantee that if he did leave, Flynn would be able to follow him anywhere of interest or without being sussed. As much as he wanted to confront the guy, he also wanted the other men involved in Boone’s death. That was the problem with life: no guarantees. As Boone had found out. As Flynn had once discovered when he lost the woman he loved. Life was the dealer of a pretty shitty hand sometimes.
The club door opened. Flynn leaned back in the doorway opposite, deep into the shadows. Several customers tumbled out, laughing. But not the man who interested him.
Flynn exhaled. The Glock, silencer fitted, was uncomfortable in his waistband.
A police Land Rover rolled slowly down the street, past the club, past where Flynn stood. Two uniforms on board. He tensed but the officers were more concerned with eyeballing women on the street.
A further stream of customers stumbled into the club exuberantly.
Flynn had been waiting forty-five minutes now.
He did not really have a plan. Yes, he wanted retribution against the men who had killed Boone and destroyed Michelle’s life, and almost killed him in the process. But beyond that he wasn’t certain. Really he wanted to find all the men together, the two who’d survived unscathed, and the one who’d been shot in the arm by Boone. The fourth one, Flynn assumed, had perished in the explosion caused by the bullet being fired into the fuel barrel. Flynn also wanted Aleef, who he was sure, was behind the whole incident, middleman or not.
Three killers, one businessman.
Flynn relived the killing on the quayside, the faces of the gunmen seared into the front of his brain for ever.
And he waited patiently.
He was good at that. Having been a soldier, then a detective, he was accustomed to watching and waiting without getting bored, then leaping into action. It was a learned skill, but one that had been absolutely necessary in the way he’d chosen to live his life.
The club door opened.
Several people surged in front of Flynn along the pavement at that exact moment, obscuring his view. He did not want to break cover, but he caught a glimpse of the one man who came out of the door, then turned quickly left, then left again into the narrow alleyway that ran along the gable end of the club building.
A single figure. A big guy. That was all he saw. It was enough. It was the man.
Both detectives slouched well down in their seats, so their shapes could not be seen, other than by close scrutiny.
Rik muttered, ‘So what, he’s been for a quickie.’
‘Yeah, well, let’s put the shit up him.’
Looking back by using the door mirror, Henry spotted a figure walking towards them in the distance. The figure — it was a man — stopped on the footpath. Henry could not make out any of his features using the mirror, so he looked over his right shoulder between the seats. The man had stopped next to the unmarked police car, a Vauxhall Astra, then took a step sideways so he was standing behind the vehicle.
Rik, too, had turned to look over his shoulder. His head and Henry’s were side by side, ear to ear.
It was impossible to ID the person, but the assumption they both made was that it was PC Driver returning to his car, having been rudely interrupted by comms and the fake summons to go and see the DI who was waiting for him at Poulton nick.
The hatchback of the Vauxhall opened and the man bent down out of sight behind it, obscuring him and what he was actually doing.
‘What’s he up to?’ Henry whispered.
‘Can’t tell.’
The hatchback closed with a thud. The figure got into the car. They heard the engine start up. The headlights came on and the car pulled out from between the other parked cars.
‘Get down,’ Henry said.
He and Rik quickly slid low into their seats, their heads under the level of the windows. The Astra zoomed quickly past them, up to the next junction, and turned left without stopping, heading away from Blackpool.