‘ Hello, Henry.’ She held back the desire to say, ‘Bloody long Healthline check, wasn’t it?’ Instead, she said, ‘I need to speak to you.’
‘ Ahhh… what about? Work’?
‘ Yes.’
He shook his head and curled his lip. ‘Tell you the truth, I’m off sick, Danny. I… er…’ he said absently, unable to complete the sentence.
‘ I know you’re off sick, but I’d really like your help.’ She laid a fingertip on the back of his hand, and despite herself and despite Henry’s wretched appearance, a thrill ran through her. She caught her breath. ‘It’s this job in Blackpool, the triple murder.’
‘ I don’t know the first thing about it,’ he said quickly. ‘I have been away, you know.’
‘ I’d still like some advice.’ She took her finger away.
For the first time Henry looked squarely at her. ‘I don’t know.’
Then he looked away, fumbling for his car keys.
‘ Please, let’s go and have something to eat at Headquarters canteen. I really would appreciate it,’ she said coaxingly, but actually against her better judgment because Henry looked very, very ill.
‘ OK.’ He swallowed.
They walked up to the main Headquarters building, past the rugby pitch on which the Force helicopter now squatted like a huge insect. It had arrived mid-morning from its operating base at Warton aerodrome, and barring any call on its services, would be there until mid-afternoon for display to some police authority members and other visiting dignitaries.
The HQ canteen was quiet, most people having dined by that time. They bought sandwiches and a cup of tea each and sat down near to a window.
Hawker and Price had earlier been dispatched to buy fish and chips and cold drinks for everyone. The greasy wrappings were spread around the office. They had all finished eating when the call came into Smith’s mobile. It was a short conversation. ‘Yeah… yeah… thanks.’ Smith looked around from Crane, to Thompson, to Drozdov, Elphick, Hawker and Price. ‘Here we go,’ he said.
Normally Danny found it very easy to talk to Henry. They were on the same wavelength, had the same sense of humour and above all, fancied each other like mad. Her efforts to engage him in conversation that afternoon failed miserably. He was vague, distant… troubled. She started to think this whole idea of hers was a waste of effort and time, and in the end she simply wittered on about the investigation whilst munching her way through her sandwich, trying to think of a withdrawal strategy without causing him offence because he wasn’t giving her anything here at all.
He gazed past her shoulder into the middle distance as she talked. She could tell he was only quarter-listening, but then he turned to her and it was as if the old Henry had come home and switched the lights on.
‘ Repeat that name,’ he said.
‘ Cheryl Jones?’
‘ No, no, no… the other one; did I mishear it?’
‘ Malcolm Fitch?’
‘ Yes, Malcolm Fitch.’
‘ You know him?’ Danny chewed her sandwich quickly, becoming animated.
Henry pursed his lips. ‘Not personally, but I do know that he was an RCS snout before I went on the squad. In fact,’ Henry leaned forwards, bright-eyed if not bushy-tailed, ‘do you remember that night Terry Briggs got shot and Billy Crane turned up at BRI? Nineteen eighty… six?’
The image dazzled Danny’s mind immediately. ‘How could I forget?’
Henry tapped his temple to make himself concentrate. Danny felt the cheeks of her bum squeeze together with excitement. This was exactly why Henry, or someone like him, should have been on the enquiry from the word go, instead of a bunch of inexperienced jacks who had no history to them — not their fault, of course — and who probably hadn’t even been in the police in 1986. But Henry was one of those detectives who had ‘it’ — that certain something which sets them apart from the pack. Yeah, all those things like knowledge, experience, a prodigious memory, but also the ability to piece things together, to give attention to detail and above all, be there for others to learn from.
‘ You probably won’t remember the guy, and there’s no reason why you should, but the detective who set that whole operation up that night, the Building Society break-in…’
‘ Barney Gillrow,’ Danny offered.
‘ You do know him?’ Henry was surprised.
‘ Yeah — I haven’t come to that bit in my story yet, but you go on, Henry.’ Danny’s eyes flashed at him. God, she wanted to grab him there and then and have him across the dining table.
‘ If you think back, you’ll remember that — strangely enough — only two of the three offenders were arrested for the burglary. Billy Crane and Don Smith. We got Billy at the hospital and Smith got pulled coming out of the back door of the shop next to the Building Society.’
Danny’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the second name, Smith. She had heard it recently, but could not say where.
‘ The third guy got away. I heard it was Malcolm Fitch. He did a runner from his arresting officer, who happened to be Gillrow.’
Danny screwed her nose up. ‘I didn’t know that, but I didn’t really know very much about the job anyway. RCS didn’t tell anyone. I just remember getting a prisoner taken off me — the one who blew up the police cars in Northgate.’
‘ I only know more about it because I was on that job as an AFO and I knew a few of the RCS guys because I’d been a detective. I was only back in uniform to get myself promoted to Sergeant. The rumour was that Fitch was Gillrow’s snout and that he gave Gillrow the gen about the burglary and then participated in it on the understanding, firstly he got paid and secondly he managed’ — here Henry tweaked the first and second fingers of both hands to accentuate the word ‘managed’ — ‘to escape at some stage, which he did. Gillrow let him do a runner on the way back to the nick. Smith got locked up and so did Crane — after he’d shot Terry and Terry had winged him… and the money was never recovered.’ Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘Could have been a fourth man, maybe. Just rumour, though, I hasten to add.’
‘ Hang on, hang on,’ Danny said, holding up her hands, palms out. ‘Let me get this straight. Malcolm Fitch was an RCS informant and was handled by Barney Gillrow?’
‘ Yes.’ Henry sighed. His energy seemed to be dissipating. ‘Fitch was one of the best sources the RCS ever had in the early 1980s. He was well in touch with a number of individual crims and some major crime gangs.’
‘ That’s odd, then,’ Danny observed slowly.
Henry waited for her to continue.
‘ I’ve recently spoken to Barney Gillrow, now retired, living the life of Riley in Tenerife. He told me he hardly even recalls Malcolm Fitch.’
‘ Unless he’s suffering memory loss, he’s not telling the truth.’
Danny scratched her head. She told Henry about her visit to Gillrow, subsequently being warned off and the manner in which it was done.
‘ Then the Tenerife link needs pursuing.’ He sat back. ‘As does the link with Billy Crane and Don Smith. Crane and Smith go back a long way. They were partners in crime, served time together; real hard cases. Guys like them bear grudges for a long time. If they found out, say, that Fitch had ratted on them to the RCS, they wouldn’t be averse to putting a bullet or two in his head, even now, years later. It could be a revenge killing, tied in with drug-related murders.’ Henry shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe Crane and Smith deal drugs now, too.’
‘ Shit!’ Danny rocked forwards and pointed excitedly at Henry. ‘I know where I’ve heard that name — Don Smith. Henry, will you hang fire here for a few minutes while I make a phone call?’
‘ Nothing better to do.’
‘ You know something? I love you.’ Danny stood up, leaned over and pecked his cheek. ‘Where have you been all my life?’ She rushed out of the canteen to find a phone.
Henry touched his face where her lips had brushed him. He could feel the heat. His fingertips stayed over the spot for a long time.