‘Intuition.’ Henry stared into his coffee. It was a muddy-grey colour. ‘I’m back home now, you know.’
‘I’d heard. How are things?’
He held out his right hand and waggled it from side to side. ‘So so. Not brilliant, but we’re working at it. I suppose I should consider myself lucky to be allowed to have another chance.’
‘But. .?’
It was his turn to snort. He looked squarely at Jane Roscoe and wondered about himself. He had found himself deeply attracted to her during the short time they worked together, yet they had never got further than a brief kiss, not even a suggestive conversation. But there had definitely been something electric between them.
But she had gone back to her husband and he had gone back to Kate and was trying to get his life on to some sort of even keel. Though things were far from perfect, the comfort, lifestyle and stability Kate offered him were very real. . and yet, and yet. . here was Jane Roscoe back on the scene, obviously with some deep feelings for him and all of a sudden, here he was again, considering destroying his life. . for what?
His head told him he had to be strong here. He had made too many mistakes in his private life over the past few years and could not afford to make any more. He should tell Roscoe that he and Kate were a rock-solid item; that although things might be hard at the moment, the future looked good and he was going to stick with it.
‘I’ve still got a couple of months’ lease remaining on the flat over the vet’s,’ he said stupidly.
‘Oh, the vet. Fiona. That was her name, wasn’t it?’
‘Yup.’ Henry had been seeing Fiona at one stage during his separation from Kate, but it had not worked out. Somehow they had managed to resume their former formal relationship of landlady and tenant without too much acrimony.
Henry ate some cake and sipped his coffee. They did not speak for a while and then simultaneously opened their mouths, each over-talking the other. They laughed.
‘You first,’ said Henry.
‘I think you know what I’m going to say.’
‘Maybe, maybe not.’
‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, Henry. I’m confused. I want to love my husband, yet you are on my mind all the time.’ She shook her head again. ‘I mean, bloody hell! I’m nearly forty, been married over eleven years, never ever been unfaithful to Tom and you come into my life and all I can think about is being unfaithful with you. . ahem. . there, said it.’
‘Wow,’ said Henry. ‘Mm,’ was all he could think to add. Then, ‘Bugger!’
She grinned. ‘But I’ll understand if you’re not interested because I can see you’re trying hard with Kate. I don’t want to spoil that.’
Once again they held each other’s gaze. Henry speculated as to why people became attracted to each other. What was it? What was the spark? Really, he knew very little about Jane Roscoe, yet he knew there was something extra special between them.
‘Is it because I saved you from certain death?’ he asked lightly, though he knew that she would surely have been mutilated and murdered had he not found her first. ‘That sort of thing does tend to play havoc with your emotions. I know I am a hero figure to many women.’
‘I knew even before that,’ she said simply.
‘Bugger,’ he exclaimed again, feeling deep water approaching.
Jane’s mobile rang. Henry was pleased to hear that the ring tone was the riff from ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’.
‘Gotta go,’ Roscoe said, ending the call and downing the last of her coffee and stuffing the Eccles cake into her mouth. ‘Been a shooting down on South Shore,’ she mumbled through a mouthful of currants. She stood up and collected her belongings. ‘Sounds like there might be a dead ’un. . want to come?’
Henry shook his head. ‘Call us if you need us.’
‘Bye. . speak later.’ She left the cafeteria. Henry watched her disappear.
‘Bye,’ he whispered. He took his time finishing his coffee, then made his way back to the mortuary.
No one followed them, Crazy was sure of it, but only after making double sure did he drive back to the garage from where they had first collected the Golf GTi and transfer them into the back of the Transit van which was waiting for their return.
The garage owner immediately went to work on the Golf. He removed the number plates and replaced them with a fresh set for the journey to the scrap yard over in east Lancashire. The car would be crumpled metal within the day.
Ray, Marty and Crazy were driven to a new address in the van, this time to a terraced house in the north of town. Here they undressed and bagged everything up they had worn for the job. The guns and mobile phones were wrapped separately and everything was then handed to the driver of the Transit whose job it was to arrange for their complete disposal and destruction. This included the van, which would be burnt somewhere out of the county.
The three showered and changed back into their original clothes.
Crazy had ensured that there was a car waiting for them near the house. When they were ready, they left discreetly and got into the car.
Although all three were hyped up, there was very little conversation between them. Ray intended to debrief the whole thing later to make sure that no holes were left in the way the job had been handled, that they had covered their tracks as professionally as possible.
He knew it would be impossible to stop rumour from spreading among the criminal fraternity that Ray Cragg had taken out a business rival. But he was happy for the message on the street to be read and understood by all, the message being that Ray Cragg controlled this town and if you got in his way, you suffered.
He also knew there was a good chance of being arrested, but because he believed he had left no physical evidence behind, the police would have to rely on a confession, which would not be forthcoming under any circumstances. He was absolutely certain nothing could be pinned on him and that, even if they did lock him up, he would be free within hours.
‘Well I don’t know about you,’ Ray announced, ‘but I need to fuck just now.’ He eyeballed Crazy.
‘Don’t look at me,’ the driver laughed, ‘you ain’t gonna bum me.’
Ray looked over his shoulder at Marty who, for some reason, looked severely infuriated.
‘What’s up with you, half-brother?’
‘Nowt,’ he snapped.
‘You did fuckin’ well today. We need to talk about it later, need to talk about bonuses.’ He laid a hand on Crazy’s left arm. ‘You did good, too. Big bonus. But first I need to have some hot sex to cool me down. . you know where to drop me.’
Jane Roscoe was trying to focus on the job which lay ahead. It sounded deadly serious. A shooting. Another run of the mill job in the lovely town that was Britain’s biggest, brashest holiday destination. Murders were frequent and cops were run off their feet all the time with big, nasty incidents which were ten-a-penny in this town. But even so, she was still pretty new to the post of detective inspector and sometimes the enormity of the job was a little awe-inspiring.
She drove quickly through the traffic, using skills she had picked up on an advanced driving course. She was in her own car, not equipped with a blue light or two-tones, so when she hit the backlog of standing traffic where Lytham Road joined the promenade, she could not make any further progress, stuck in a line which she assumed existed because of the incident she was attending.
She thought quickly, but did not know any way to circumnavigate the traffic, so she pulled off the road, rode her car up on to the pavement and abandoned it. She was going to have to walk the rest of the way, which was perhaps no bad thing.
The King’s Cross was about quarter of a mile down the road and it took her about ten minutes to get there. When she reached it she found out why the traffic was backed up all the way to the promenade and in every other direction too: there was a body in the road and the uniformed cops had sealed the scene. Now they were desperately trying to get the traffic moving somehow.