So that was the situation. Nothing he could do about it but wait, cross his fingers and pray. No point thinking If only… Too damn late for that.
Disgusted with himself he tried to put it to the back of his mind and concentrate oil the day ahead.
The screen on the custody office computer — coupled with screams and shouts from the cell complex — told him the cells were full. He was relieved to be informed that there was only one overnight prisoner for the CID to deal with, although he would not be fit until he sobered up — conservative estimate being midday. Sounded like a good job for the detectives coming on at two.
He left the custody office and drifted up to the communications room where he read the message pad which logged all incoming calls and deployments. It had been a busy night in Blackpool. Henry was glad his days as a patrol officer were long gone. It was a dog’s life at the sharp end.
After this he had a quick cup of tea and a piece of toast in the canteen before descending to the CID office and his cluttered desk, where he began to draft out a careful statement regarding his interaction with Shane while it was fresh in his memory.
Throughout the morning he was disturbed by a stream of detectives who had been brought on duty to form the murder squad. Many were old friends from across the county.
The first briefing was to be at 11 a.m. in the incident room.
Henry decided, if he had time, he would go in and listen. He had not yet heard who the dead body dressed in police kit was, and curiosity nagged away at him.
Conroy’s big fat Mercedes was the only car in the zoo car park.
Rider drove his Jag past, made a big loop and pulled alongside with a scrunch of tyres on gravel. By this time Conroy was out and standing there, awaiting Rider who climbed creakily out of his car.
Conroy was a vision in cream, with a woven silk three-piece suit by Hermes, off-white T-shirt, and a pair of white canvas trainers by Converse. He’d seen the outfit in Esquire and decided he liked the look. It was him. It had set him back over a thousand pounds.
The two men shook hands. Conroy gave an almost imperceptible nod to his driver and the Mercedes moved away.
‘ I’ve told him to come back in an hour. That OK?’
‘ Fine by me,’ Rider said indifferently, ‘but what’ll we talk about for that length of time? Your fashion sense?’
Conroy laughed guardedly and patted Rider on the shoulder. ‘We’ll think of something… but John, how are you? Nice to see you. You look bloody rough actually and you smell like a fuckin’ brewery. Did you drown in a bottle of gin last night? Christ, it’s a good job the cops didn’t pull ya — you’d still be over the limit.’
Rider glared at him through narrowed eyes, already wound up by a man he hadn’t seen for five years, although he’d tried to keep abreast of his nefarious activities.
‘ And you look like some pathetic ageing rock star in that suit and with that pony tail,’ he retorted.
‘ Whoa, come on, John,’ the other said placatingly. ‘Let’s have a walk and a talk, take a look at some animals, maybe do some business
… yeah?’
Rider didn’t really want to be here with someone who represented much of what was bad about his past, yet his innate curiosity had been aroused. What did this bastard want? He nodded reluctantly.
‘ Good man.’
They walked towards the zoo entrance.
A lone car pulled onto the far side of the car park, catching Rider’s eye. A white Jap thing. Two people on board — men, staring in their direction. They looked as out of place as Conroy and Rider. But although he noticed the car and experienced a vague disquiet, Rider didn’t pay it much heed. He wasn’t a gangster any more, so why should he?
Henry found himself in exalted company, sharing a lift with a dying breed of officer. Two Chief Superintendents, the rank being one of those abolished in police shake-ups of recent years. There were a few left, but not many.
One was Fanshaw-Bayley, Henry’s ultimate boss. The other was the Head of the North-West Organised Crime Squad generally referred to as the NWOCS, Detective Chief Superintendent Tony Morton.
The NWOCS were an elite team of detectives whose sole brief was to investigate organised criminal activity in the north-west of England, from Cumbria to Cheshire. They were based in Blackburn, Lancashire. The squad had been in existence for just over ten years and under Morton’s direction had been responsible for some of the biggest, most spectacular busts and arrests ever seen in the north-west.
Morton — his home force was Greater Manchester — was a very sharp detective indeed. Henry knew he had begun his career on the hard, mean streets of Salford and Moss Side, and worked his way up the ladder of promotion through sheer hard work and uncompromising thief-taking. Henry had a great deal of respect for the man, who was in many ways a role model for him.
When Henry stepped into the lift, the two Chief Supers glanced quickly at him and resumed their conversation. They talked in hushed tones but were not trying to hide what they were saying.
Morton was speaking. He was clearly upset.
‘ I am totally fucking devastated, Bob… so all I’m saying is that you can have every single member of my squad for this job for as long as it takes. Me too. We’ll drop everything and give this priority. Catch the bastards — catch’ em and crucify’ em! It’s a real blow to us, I can tell you. Christ, I can hardly think straight.’
FB placed a reassuring hand on Morton’s shoulder.
‘ I understand, Tony. If it’d been one of mine, I would’ve felt the same — gutted.’
‘ Yeah, thanks, Bob.’
The lift came to a halt on the floor where the incident room was located. FB gestured for Morton to step out ahead of him. Henry stayed in, finger on the doors-open button. When they were clear he took his finger off.
The last thing he caught was Morton saying, ‘What I don’t understand is what the hell he was doing there by himself, all tooled up. It doesn’t make sense, though he was a bit of a loner.’
By which time the doors had closed and the lift was ascending towards the canteen.
With interest, Henry mulled over what he’d just heard.
At least it confirmed one thing: it was a cop who’d been gunned down — a member of the NWOCS.
Next question for Henry: Who?
‘ I think sometimes you should revisit your past, don’t you? Does you good. We get so caught up with ourselves as grown-ups we forget simple pleasures like zoos.’
Conroy was doing the talking as they walked around, pausing briefly at each cage or enclosure to examine the exhibits. Other than themselves, the zoo was empty, and it seemed a cheerless place on that fine, but cold morning.
Rider was actually mildly impressed with the place. Though small and unspectacular, it was well tended and the animals seemed in good health.
He wasn’t really taking in what Conroy was saying because most of it was drivel. But then he moved up a gear and got Rider’s attention.
‘ I hear you bought a club recently.’
‘ You heard right. Doesn’t news travel fast?’ It was only last week he’d completed the full transfer, though he’d actually been operating the place for about a month.
‘ It’s a small world we inhabit,’ Conroy commented.
They leaned on the outer rail of the lion enclosure and looked through the wire mesh at the sleepy inhabitants. One of the big cats rolled onto its back. A lioness glared at the two humans and licked her lips.
‘ You inhabit,’ Rider corrected him. ‘A small world YOU inhabit. So, yeah, I’ve bought a club.’
‘ What sort of place is it, exactly?’
Rider started walking again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the lioness stand up, stretch and pad towards them.
‘ Exactly? A grotty rundown disco with a bar and a late-night food licence… and if I put some money in it I might make some back. Eventually. What’s your interest?’