All anyone could see was the result. The so-called protected witness was currently still in intensive care and unlikely to pull through; an injured ARV officer who would be okay was already talking about suing the force; and there were two dead offenders. Added to that DS Rik Dean off sick with stress, also planning to sue the county.
Only one good thing had happened to Henry over the preceding forty-eight hours. He had received the results of the DNA test taken from Marty Cragg’s dead body which matched the DNA from one of the semen traces found inside the body of the dead prostitute. Henry pulled together a few disparate pieces of information such as Marty’s involvement with bringing asylum-seekers into the country, some for the purposes of prostitution; Marty’s association with Jack Burrows, which gave him access to the dead girl’s grubby flat; his penchant for beating up women, his sperm inside her, of course, and the fact that Marty had a scald mark on his arm, which Henry had noticed while inspecting his body before sliding it into the mortuary fridge. At the time Henry had not thought anything about the scald, but it tied in with the scald mark on the girl’s body nicely. Henry believed he probably had enough there to get a conviction if Marty had still been alive. When he got the chance, he would put pen to paper and write off the murder.
It still troubled him deeply that the girl, Julie from Albania, remained unidentified.
He felt a journey to Albania coming on. He knew the police out there were keen to work alongside other European forces, and maybe he could use them to help find her family. If, indeed, she did come from Albania.
So that was the only good thing.
And now he was going for Ray Cragg, although he did not know how much good would come from sweating him in interview. Ray was a seasoned criminal and would say nothing and probably get away with everything, particularly if Jack Burrows died, which was a distinct possibility. An interview was about all Henry had. Ray was so forensically aware it was frightening. If only he had made a mistake somewhere along the line.
Henry looked at the assembled faces of the firearms and support-unit teams. He thought they looked pretty mean and would not like them coming through his door at any time of day.
Next to him was Jane Roscoe who was co-running the operation. She had taken the bulk of the briefing with Henry chipping in where appropriate. He had watched her talk and had been impressed.
The briefing was over at 6.30 a.m. Everyone was then given the chance to have a quick brew before turning out to be ready and in position to hit Ray Cragg’s house at seven on the dot. Henry knew Ray was in because he’d had a surveillance team tracking his movements for the last thirty-six hours.
Henry and Roscoe had a cup of tea each, but said little to each other. He finished first and with relief said, ‘Time to go.’
They left the back door of the station together and were approached by a man bearing a large bouquet of flowers. Henry held back the urge to say, ‘For me?’
The man went up to Jane.
‘Tom!’ she said, taken aback. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I needed to see you, needed to sort things out with you.’
‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’
Tom glanced at Henry and the corners of his mouth turned down, as though he knew something. Henry’s breathing constricted for a moment. Tom looked back at his wife. ‘Please.’
Jane shook her head in disbelief and looked pleadingly at Henry.
‘You talk,’ Henry said. ‘I’ll sort this job out and you catch up later. Not a problem.’ He jumped into his pool car, a rather tatty Astra which had temporarily replaced his Vectra, and set off behind a support-unit carrier. He saw Tom hand the flowers over to Jane. He wished them well.
Henry, wearing a ballistic vest, with two armed and dangerous officers standing behind him, was towering over Ray Cragg at five minutes past seven. Ray was in such a deep sleep he had not heard the front door being battered down, nor the thud of heavily booted coppers wading into his house, clearing each room with a shout as they went. Neither did he hear his mother’s screams, or the grunt of her latest lover, as the firearms team entered her bedroom and pointed their machine pistols at them.
Henry shook Ray by the shoulder, thinking, The sleep of a man with no conscience.
He took a lot of rousing. Henry wanted to slap him — hard — but knew it would only backfire.
‘Come on, Ray. Come on, sleepy head.’
Eventually his eyes flickered open. Henry thrust his warrant card and badge in front of them and introduced himself, although introductions were probably unnecessary. He immediately cautioned Ray and told him he was under arrest on suspicion of murder, conspiracy to murder and supplying controlled drugs. ‘And whatever else I can think of in due course, but that’ll do for now,’ Henry finished.
Ray smiled mockingly. ‘Whatever. I’ll be back here in an hour.’ He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
‘This is a nice bed you’ve got,’ Henry commented. ‘Very comfy.’
‘Had it since I was ten — it’s brill.’
‘Unfortunately I don’t think you’ll be sleeping in it again — ever.’
Ray glared sharply up, a touch of concern on his weasel-thin face. It quickly disappeared to be replaced by an expression of contempt. ‘Don’t think so.’
‘Get dressed.’
Ray stumbled to the wardrobe, eyeing the two armed officers. He removed his ragged underpants and began to clothe himself. He sat back on the bed as he pulled his socks on and glanced round for his footwear.
Henry bent down and picked up a pair of trainers tucked under the bed.
‘These?’
‘Yeah, give ’em here.’
Henry smiled and handed them over.
‘Nice ones. Had them long?’
‘Few months, why?’
‘Nothing,’ Henry said innocently. ‘Let’s go, pal.’
They conveyed him to Blackpool central police station where the pre-warned custody sergeant and gaoler were waiting to receive Ray with open arms.
‘Bag up his clothing and shoes,’ Henry told the sergeant.
‘You let me get dressed, you twat,’ Ray said to Henry. ‘Now you want me to strip again!’
‘I know. I’m like that.’
‘Why do you want my clothes?’ Ray demanded, a sneer on his lips.
‘Forensics.’
‘As if,’ Ray said cockily. He undressed and was given a paper suit in replacement. He then called his solicitor, who said he would be there in half an hour. Ray was led to the cells by the gaoler. Henry instructed the sergeant to ring when the solicitor landed. He then made his way up to the MIR to prepare for a tough interviewing session. It was 8.30 a.m.
He was surprised to see Bernie Fleming in the MIR. Henry’s mouth twisted. Fleming was not his bestest friend at this moment. In fact, Henry had struck him off his Christmas card list.
Jane was also there, sitting on a chair at the allocator’s desk. She looked pretty uncomfortable. Henry wondered if she and her husband had made up and were now united against the world together.
‘I need to talk to you,’ Fleming said ominously.
‘What about?’
‘Not here, eh? DI Roscoe’s office.’
As there was no one else in the room at that moment, Henry said, ‘Here’ll do fine.’
‘As you wish.’ Fleming shrugged.
He cleared his throat and Henry thought, Oh, fuck! He experienced a tightness across his chest and found he could hardly breathe. Somehow he knew what was coming.