Bad Tidings

EIGHTEEN

‘I heard a breath and then I saw his chest move,’ Henry explained to the A amp;E consultant. This was the same doctor who, a week before, had come to meet Henry at the hospital on Christmas Day — it seemed so long ago now — when Freddy Cromer had taken the poor nurse hostage. Then, physically at least, Freddy had been in excellent health. The same doctor was now battling to save Freddy’s life. ‘Just barely,’ Henry continued. ‘I didn’t know if it was just a death rattle, to be honest — you know, the last expulsion of breath, that sort of thing. Then I heard it again, felt a pulse in his neck and realized there was life still in there.’ He did not add, tempting though it was, ‘But not as we know it.’

‘You did well to notice it,’ the doctor said. He had spent the last two hours treating Freddy, whose condition was described as critical. ‘I’m surprised he’s still alive, actually. . the X-rays show that the bullet in the brain lodged’ — here the doctor touched the back of his own head, just behind his right ear — ‘somewhere in this vicinity. Obviously there’s massive swelling and bleeding and until we have control of both, it’s impossible to say what the prognosis is. At the moment he’s in a coma, which is a good thing because it’ll give his body an opportunity to settle. . but to be fair, I don’t hold out much hope for his recovery. As corny as it always sounds, the next twenty-four hours will be critical.

‘Anyway’ — he clapped Henry on the arm — ‘you did well, you saved his life for the time being at least. Get yourself a brew. That machine’ — he pointed to a hot drinks dispenser — ‘does a great filter coffee, believe it or not.’

‘Thanks — and I will.’

The doctor pulled his surgical mask over his face and turned away into the maze of the A amp;E department.

Henry took a deep breath, then followed doctor’s orders.

It was now past eight in the morning. He carried the steaming coffee out into the dawn and stood on the paved area outside the A amp;E entrance at Royal Blackburn Hospital, sipping the surprisingly good brew, taking in the view across to the motorway and up the hill beyond towards Belthorn. He thought, Who could have believed I could have had so much fun in such a small place?

Daylight had only just crept in, but it was still grey. At least the threatened snowstorm had not materialized, yet as Henry searched the sky, the possibility still existed. There seemed little chance that the sun would shine on the beginning of this brand new year.

He phoned Rik, who was still up at the factory unit in charge of the murder scene. The circus had arrived en masse and got to work. It was only a short conversation — as he talked, he was focusing on an Astra van being driven up the curved driveway to the hospital. He ended the call and sipped his drink whilst watching the occupant park, pay and hurry in his direction.

He took a long swig of the coffee, then dropped the plastic cup into a waste bin and prepared himself to meet and greet Janine Cromer, daughter of Terry, niece of Freddy. He was already thinking this was going to be fun.

She halted abruptly in front of him, challenge in her manner.

‘Janine, I’m so sorry.’

She blinked away her disbelief and said cynically, ‘I’ll bet you are.’

‘Oddly enough, I don’t like people dying.’

She surveyed his face with hard-edged eyes. He could almost see the turmoil inside.

Henry had to agree that this wasn’t the way he would have chosen to deal with the relative of a murder victim and an (attempted) suicide. But he had wanted to stay with Freddy when the ambulance turned up fifteen minutes after being rousted and he did not really want anyone else to deal with them. When Freddy had been rushed into casualty, he had called Janine, using the mobile number he had logged in his phone, but there had been no reply. He’d left a message and then had a uniform PC to go up to the house in Belthorn — but there had been no reply there, either. And as the surveillance team had been taken off the house a day before (because of the cost), there was no way of knowing if there was actually anyone in or not. According to the patrol, the place seemed completely empty.

So Henry had left another message for Janine. And another.

And eventually she called him, sounding tired and irritated.

He had asked her to come to the hospital to meet him. His idea had been to tell her face to face what he had found in the factory unit, but she had insisted that he tell her over the phone.

So he did. To silence. Not the best way to deliver the news of a death, and Henry was very uncomfortable with it — but that was what she wanted. So she got it.

Finally she’d said, ‘My dad’s dead, but it looks like Freddy might live. Is that what you’re saying? Freddy might live?’

‘Yes — so I need to speak to you, please. And also to your grandmother, their mum.’

‘I’ll come,’ she said. And hung up.

And here she was standing in front of him. Suddenly her hard shell cracked and she said, ‘Can I see my uncle, please?’

‘Yes, I think so. . I’ll come if you don’t mind.’

‘I do, actually, but I need to know what’s going on, what’s really happened, and sadly you might be the only person who can tell me.’

It would have been easy for Henry to shrug and say ‘Whatever.’ Instead he bit his tongue and remained professional. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

‘Yes, we do.’

She stalked past Henry through the automatic doors, but once inside the reception area she stopped unexpectedly and spun on him. ‘I don’t even know where he is. You take me.’

‘Follow me,’ he said softly, walked past her touching her arm, leading the way to the A amp;E wards. He was sympathetic to her mood — something as enormous as this was hard for anyone to deal with and get right in their head. She had only just learned some terrible news about her family and Henry understood that she would probably hate him, love him, despise him, pretty much all at the same time. That’s the way it went, whether people were members of crime families or not.

As they entered the A amp;E wards, he bumped into the consultant again. A busy man.

‘This is Janine Cromer, the patient’s niece. Can she see him, please?’

The doctor looked at her. ‘We met last week. I’m very sorry about your uncle, but yes you can see him.’ To Henry he said, ‘You know where he is.’ To both he said, ‘We’re going to have to take him to Preston Royal Infirmary. They have the surgical facilities and expertise for this kind of thing. .’

‘What kind of thing exactly?’ Janine demanded crossly. ‘I’ve only got part of the picture here. . The police haven’t been very helpful, to be honest,’ she said with feeling and gave Henry that hostile look again. ‘But that’s not surprising as they hate and harass my family.’

‘OK, look, I’ll tell you what,’ the doctor suggested, sensing the aggression, ‘let this officer take you to see your uncle first. I’m afraid you won’t be able to touch him, or anything like that, but you can speak to him if you so wish. He’s been seriously wounded, he’s in a coma and critically poorly. When you’re ready, come up to the office and I’ll tell you everything I can. And I’m sure that Mr Christie’ — he looked pointedly at Henry — ‘will tell you all he can.’

Henry nodded helpfully.

Henry then led her to the single treatment room, in which Freddy lay spreadeagled on the bed. His clothes had been unceremoniously cut from him and a single folded sheet was laid across his lower stomach and upper legs. A machine was helping him to breathe steadily, making a sucking noise, and he was attached to two drips running into the veins in the back of each of his hands. He was connected to a monitor that showed the weak blip of his heartbeat and his dangerously low blood pressure. The head wound was covered by a dressing and bandage and although the area around it had been shaved, cleaned and disinfected, there were still streaks of dried blood down his cheek and neck.

He was a huge, hairy man, Henry saw. A massive barrel of a chest, enormous biceps and thick legs. Although Henry knew that Freddy had mental problems, he wondered why he’d allowed Terry to dominate him so. Terry was a big, tough guy, but he didn’t have Freddy’s physical presence. Henry knew the answer was psychology not brute strength. A powerful, evil personality was all that was required to cow others into submission, and Terry had certainly had that. Until now.

Janine’s hand went to her mouth, stifling a squeal of shock. ‘My God,’ she said into her palm. ‘My God.’

Henry, standing behind her, managed to catch her before she pivoted forwards and hit the hard tiled floor.

‘Seriously, I’m OK,’ Janine said, waving off the attention and taking a sip of water from the glass Henry had provided for her.

Henry had caught her and dragged her gently to a chair in the corridor before lifting her onto it, again gently. The nurse who had been attending to Freddy swooped across to assist and it was established that Janine had simply gone woozy and lightheaded, not actually passed out, although Henry had seen the whites of her eyes as her eyeballs rolled right back into their sockets.

She sat with her head well forward, breathed and fanned herself. The nurse had checked her blood pressure, which was low but OK.

‘It’s just this whole week, what’s been going on, then this morning. . Dad, Uncle Freddy. . just too much to bear,’ Janine explained. ‘But I feel all right now.’ She smiled feebly at Henry. Her face was the colour of ash, but a healthier-looking tinge was creeping slowly upwards.

The consultant came out of Freddy’s room and bent down in front of Janine, checking her pulse and eyes, nodding as everything seemed to be in order.

‘Do you want to come up to the office?’ he asked. ‘I’ll tell you what I know.’

‘Please.’

He helped her to her feet and the three of them went to the office further down the corridor. Henry stood to one side whilst the doctor explained Freddy’s wound to Janine, using the X-rays, laying out the possibilities for recovery (slim, but miracles did happen) and what would be happening to Freddy in the immediate future. The air ambulance had been requested, he said, would be on site within an hour and Freddy was going to be flown to the trauma clinic at Preston Royal Infirmary.

There was a little shock in Janine’s face that Henry didn’t quite understand. She said, ‘So quickly?’

‘Within an hour and a half he should be being operated on,’ the doctor claimed. ‘I will accompany him, of course, and assist in the procedure.’

Janine shook her head at the news. ‘I just thought that if someone shoots themselves in the head, they’d die.’ She sounded a tad disappointed.

‘Every gunshot wound is different, every body different,’ the doctor explained. ‘It all depends on angles and the condition of the weapon used and the ammunition. From the X-ray, as you can see, the bullet entered his head at a very acute angle and was not fired directly into the brain. Had that been the case, the injury would certainly have been fatal and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But we are. Mr Cromer is still alive, we’ll do our very best to save him. Maybe he will live and talk again.’

‘Thank you, thank you, doctor,’ Janine said. Henry thought that rather than being elated or hopeful, she looked mortified by the news that he might survive.

‘For the moment we need to concentrate on keeping him stable and preparing for the arrival of the helicopter, which is based in Preston. I need to do that now.’ He rose from his chair, gave Henry a glance and left.

Janine blew her nose on a tissue she found in her shoulder bag. She wiped her red-raw eyes. Henry perched on the corner of the doctor’s desk.

‘How you doing?’

‘Not good.’ She looked up at him. ‘Are you going to tell me what you know?’

‘As much as I can.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘It means as much as I can.’

After giving him another antagonistic gaze, Janine relented. ‘OK — fire away.’

Due to his conditioning as an SIO — and the fact that informing the relatives of murder victims was always fraught with difficulty — Henry kept it as brief as possible. Not least because there was always the chance that the ‘live’ relative might also have killed the ‘dead’ one.

He wasn’t to know, yet, if Janine had killed her father and put a bullet into her uncle’s head. It was always possible. Not that he thought this was the case here, but he always had to keep it in mind. There was a lot of work still to be done at the scene to piece together exactly what had happened.

First glance gave the impression that Freddy had killed Terry, who had been hiding out in the factory unit, and then turned the gun on himself in a fit of remorse. Henry didn’t phrase it in those terms for Janine, though. All he did was state facts.

He was interested in her conclusions, though. And he had a lot of questions to ask her, but they would have to come later. The first priority was to get Freddy treated and until the result of the surgery at Preston was known, Henry doubted if he could morally pin her down. He did wonder where Freddy’s mother was. Janine said she had gone to the Canary Islands to get away from all the ‘shite’ that was going on and that she, Janine, would speak to her later.

Janine snuffled and wiped her eyes. ‘So it looks as though Freddy killed my dad,’ she said, catching a choke in her throat, ‘and then shot himself. Is that what you’re saying?’

‘I’m not really saying anything just yet, Janine. The scene needs very careful analysis before we reach any conclusions and that may take a while. And, hopefully, Freddy will recover enough to be able to tell us exactly what did happen.’

Henry saw her reaction to this idea and did not quite know what to make of it. It was like a cloud had scudded across her face, then it was gone.

‘I know this is a tough time for you, Janine, but at some stage I’m going to need a formal identification of your father.’ She inhaled sharply at this in terror. ‘Unless we can do it some other way,’ Henry relented quickly. ‘You know, dental records, fingerprints, DNA. . but you may have to, yeah?’

‘I know.’

‘And we will have to sit down and have a chat. . but for the time being, I realize you have to be with your family and be there for Freddy,’ Henry said, all heart.

‘I don’t suppose they’ll let me fly in the helicopter with him?’

‘I doubt it.’

Once more she exhaled long and hard. ‘This is unbelievable. My dad and my uncle.’

‘They weren’t the best of buddies.’

‘No — but murder and suicide? That’s so extreme.’ She stood in front of Henry. ‘I need to get up to the house, sit down and try to contact Gran. Then I’m going over to Preston and be there when they operate on Freddy.’

‘I could give you a lift.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll manage. I’ll just have a quick look in at him.’

‘OK.’

‘What’s going to happen with Dad. . his body, you know?’

‘When we’ve done what needs doing at the scene, he’ll be brought to the public mortuary here, but that could be a few hours yet.’

‘I understand.’

Henry asked, ‘Did you know about the cannabis factory, by the way?’

‘No. . no, I didn’t.’ Suddenly she moved to Henry and hugged him unexpectedly. He patted her shoulder and she seemed to relax into him. He inhaled her aroma, which made his nose wrinkle. Then she drew away and wiped her eyes. ‘I’ll go and see him, then go.’

Henry walked her to the room and stood back as she entered and went to Freddy’s side. All Henry could think was, ‘I hope you recover, you bastard.’

After touching his arm, Janine left the room and made her way towards the hospital exit.

Henry folded his arms and considered Freddy for a few moments, visualizing Janine standing next to him. He frowned. Then he spun away as a nurse entered the room, and headed out. He passed the consultant’s office and saw the doctor was speaking to the nurse who had been with Freddy a little earlier. He was briefing her, Henry guessed, as to what would be happening to Freddy.

As he reached the hospital foyer, Henry’s mobile rang and he stepped outside to answer it.

‘Henry. . it’s Lisa.’ Her voice was strained.

In the distance Henry heard the clatter of a helicopter and saw the air ambulance approaching from the west. But he wasn’t really thinking about it as he walked towards the car park where he’d left his Audi, and only part of his mind clocked that the small van Janine had arrived in was still parked where she’d left it — and that she wasn’t in it as he would have expected. He was concentrating on Lisa’s words.

‘Henry. . you need to come. . it’s Mum. They reckon she’s only got a little time left. . she’s really deteriorated overnight. . Henry, what should I do if. . if. . you know?’

Henry upped his pace to his car. ‘Do exactly what we’ve decided and what she wanted, if it comes to it. The hospital know.’

‘Let her die?’ she sobbed.

‘Yes,’ Henry said firmly, an answer he truly did not want to give. He wanted his mother to live for ever and his instinct was that the doctors should do everything in their power to save her, but it wasn’t the right thing. He almost vomited on the word.

‘Oh God, Henry.’

‘I know, I know, sweetheart.’

‘Is Rik with you?’

‘He’s at a crime scene.’

‘Can he come, please? I think I need him.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. . are the girls there?’

‘No.’

‘Phone them, get them there, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

‘OK.’

Henry hung up and approached his car, noticing there was a missed call on his phone which must have landed at the same time as he talked to Lisa. He got into the Audi and started the engine to heat it up before returning the call,

He sat back in the comfortable driver’s seat and waited for the connection, again noticing that Janine’s van was still parked — she must have gone to the loo or something, maybe to wash and freshen up. He cricked his neck and peered up through the windscreen to see the air ambulance up above, manoeuvring over the big H of the helicopter landing pad about a hundred metres from the entrance to A amp;E. Standing on the edge of the circular pad were the consultant and the nurse, ready to greet the crew.

‘Jerry — you called?’

‘Yeah,’ the DC said gruffly. ‘Another public holiday.’

‘I haven’t called you out — yet.’

‘No — but I know what’s happened and you were going to ruin another day off, weren’t you, so I got in first. .’

‘And ruined your own day, all by yourself?’

‘Something like that. But you were going to call me, weren’t you?’

‘Hard to say,’ Henry teased. ‘This could just be a murder/suicide and a lot of things will be sorted by the deaths, unless Freddy lives, that is. . So why call me? You should’ve gone out for the day, made yourself unavailable.’

Henry’s mind wasn’t really engaged in the conversation. He was thinking about his mother, how long it would take him to get to Blackpool. Would she still be alive when he got there? How would he deal with it all? His eyes wandered lazily from the always spectacular arrival of a helicopter, landing with just a little bounce, back to the hospital, where he thought he saw Janine Cromer entering the A amp;E department through the sliding doors.

Tope was saying, ‘I don’t know if this is of any interest, but I’m telling you anyway. . just some things I got back late yesterday, was going to tell you tomorrow when we all rolled back in.’

He started to explain.

Less than thirty seconds later Henry leapt out of his car and sprinted fast and hard to the hospital entrance, a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as his arms and legs pumped. His vision was blurred from the exertion and his hearing distorted by the whump-whump of the copter rotor blades.

The automatic sliding doors opened with agonizing slowness, but then he ran through the reception foyer and into the A amp;E department, his eyes jerking left at the reaction of the startled receptionist and down towards the treatment room in which Freddy Cromer was located.

He swerved into the room.

The nurse who had been treating Freddy was on her knees, clutching the back of her head, and Henry was too late.

The drips had been ripped out of Freddy’s hands.

The sticky pads that connected the wires from the machines monitoring his vital signs were torn off and dangled uselessly by the bed.

The soft pillow that had been used to smother and suffocate the comatose Freddy lay diagonally across his chest.

Henry bent by the nurse, and she glanced up at him and gasped at the pain in her head. ‘Somebody hit me,’ she said and swooned. Henry caught her, twisted her round so she was sitting on her backside and pulled her back to the wall, where he propped her up.

‘Did you see who?’

‘No.’

He went to Freddy and checked for a pulse in his wrist. Nothing. Then he pushed his thumb and forefinger into the soft flesh underneath the jaw and felt for the jugular vein, but could find no pulse there either.

This time Freddy was dead.

‘Shit.’

Henry spun out of the cubicle and stood in the corridor. Which way?

He chose left and ran, coming to a T-junction in the corridor, his head jerking both ways. Seeing an arrow that pointed towards an exit to the left, he ran in that direction, knowing that Freddy’s killer had maybe a minute, maybe ninety seconds on him. Not long, but plenty long enough to make an escape.

He set off and passed an emergency exit which was still secure.

The corridor ahead of him had a ninety-degree turn in it. He rounded the corner, skittering on the polished floor, pushing himself off the wall and using his momentum to power on.

At the next turn Janine was fifty metres ahead of him, hurrying but not running down a deserted corridor. She must have sensed or heard him. She stopped, turned and faced him for the briefest of moments, then hared off down a corridor to the left. Henry upped his pace and as he came around the corner, he found he had her trapped — the corridor she had shot into was a dead end with a fire door which had halted her. She was rattling the bar desperately, unable to get it to open.

Henry stopped, caught his breath. ‘Janine,’ he called.

She stopped instantly, stood upright, revolved slowly. ‘Henry,’ she whispered, defeat in her voice.

‘That’s far enough, love,’ he said and walked towards her, his chest rising and falling. He made a calming gesture with his hands, palms down, patting thin air. ‘You’re going nowhere now.’

He took four more steps, then her right hand slid into her shoulder bag and emerged gripping a small revolver, snub-nosed, six rounds.

Henry stopped. ‘Put it down.’

She shook her head.

‘Let’s talk.’

‘What’s to say?’ There was that hostile, unforgiving look in her eyes again.

‘All sorts of things.’ Henry’s hands still made the calming gesture, but they were now rigid. His eyes flickered between the gun and her face as he spoke. ‘Come on, talk to me, Janine.’

‘I have nothing to say, Henry.’

‘Really? Nothing?’

‘Not to you.’

‘Not even about Terry Cromer not being your real father?’

The gun came up slightly. It was in her right hand, supported by her left, which was cupped underneath it, steadying it. It was pointed at the centre of Henry’s chest.

‘How do you know?’

‘DNA. . you were arrested a few years back in Manchester, weren’t you? You’re not the sweet innocent you make yourself out to be, are you? Doing a bit of dealing, I believe. Anyway, your DNA was taken. I took Freddy’s DNA last week, if you recall, and we already had Terry’s on record. One of my staff fast-tracked a comparison.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I told him to investigate your background. I’m a cop — that’s what we do. I mean — the more I thought about it — a member of the Cromer family being a solicitor! Christ — you’ve never been near a university, have you? Just what have you been doing?’

The gun wavered. Just a little. Henry saw her forefinger tighten on the trigger. He was still ten metres away from her, and he knew if he had any sense he should be reversing not advancing. Let her go. Let her run. That was the intelligent thing to do.

‘You are Freddy’s daughter, aren’t you? Not Terry’s. I saw the resemblance a couple of times, just thought it was a general family thing, but it’s striking in some lights. Like I said,’ he shrugged, ‘I never thought about it. But you don’t look anything like Terry when I do think about it.’

‘Well spotted.’

‘And I saw the way you were with Freddy.’

‘And how was that, Henry? Do tell.’

‘Loving,’ he said truthfully, and saw the word hit the mark — at least for a second. Then she refocused her ire.

There was a door on either side of her down this dead-end corridor. She edged sideways to the door on her left and tried the handle. The door opened, so she pushed it wide and glanced quickly inside before stepping back and jiggling the gun.

‘In here, Henry.’

‘Why?’

‘Because when I shoot you in here, it’ll take longer to find you and that can only be good for me. Not that anyone knows what I did, or saw me. I hit that nurse from behind.’

‘You might be surprised.’

‘Get in,’ she ordered him, waving the gun, keeping him covered, keeping her distance.

‘If I don’t?’ he challenged her.

‘Then you’ll die in a dead-end corridor as opposed to a storeroom.’

‘You’re clearly not the best of shots, though, are you? I assume you put the gun to Freddy’s head?’

‘I did — but he pulled the trigger. It just sort of slipped, which is why the bullet didn’t go straight through his ear, which it should have done. IN! I won’t say it again, Henry.’

Henry, still with his hands out flat, but not so much in a calming gesture now, more a ‘please don’t shoot’ one — slid past her and into the room, which was simply a store with stacks of chairs. He walked in, turning to face her as she came in behind him, closed the door and leaned against it, the gun up, aimed at his body.

He swallowed, amazed at how effective adrenalin was at drying up throats. He folded his arms and tried to look casual and unafraid, when in reality he felt as though someone had rammed a broomstick up his arse, he was so tense and terrified. He wondered if it had come to this: a thirty-odd year career as a cop ending in either a corridor or a storeroom.

Thing was, he knew for certain it would end here if Janine was truly as ruthless as she had to be in order to leave no witnesses behind.

‘Let me tell you something, Henry,’ she said rapidly. ‘This isn’t confession time. I’m not going to tell you about my freakin’ childhood, the abuse, the terror my mother had to endure because of one stupid mistake she made — getting shagged by Freddy.’

‘Sounds like a confession to me,’ Henry observed.

‘Don’t be a smart arse — doesn’t suit you.’

‘But you must have a tale to tell,’ Henry said. He needed her to talk, he needed her to blab, to get emotional, to drop her guard. ‘All that stuff that drove you to self-harm. . yes, I saw the scars,’ he said, responding to the surprise in her face. ‘And I know the pain that drives someone to mutilate their own body. .’

‘You know fuck all, Henry,’ she growled in rage. Her breath came in short gasps. ‘You know nothing about shitty family secrets and having a mother who suffered at the hands of a. .’ She uttered the worst word in the English language. Her face contorted into a hideous mask of anger and pain. Tears cascaded down her face. ‘You know nothing,’ she said weakly. ‘Nothing about loving a man who couldn’t be called Dad or taking revenge with him for the wrongs he suffered as a kid — and as a grown-up. Yeah, yeah,’ she sneered, ‘we killed them all one by one. Each year on the day they almost burned my father alive. . and the last one, the pinnacle, was always going to be Terry. My dad — Terry,’ she almost spat. Her face glistened with flowing tears. ‘Not my fucking dad, actually. . trouble was a gang war kinda screwed it up. . so we improvised. Just sad we didn’t get the chance to make him eat feathers. That would’ve been a real trump.’

‘But why kill Freddy? Or try to kill him?’

‘Because he was a nutter. . isn’t that what you called him? The medical term? Didn’t you snigger at him? Nutter! You arrogant, fucking, uncaring bastard, Henry Christie. Phh!’ Her voice had risen almost out of control, but now she calmed herself, though Henry saw the gun was shaking with her fury. ‘Freddy couldn’t have lived with what he’d done. . to the others, maybe, but not to Terry, because really he loved him. He was his brother, but he had to kill him. . a story as old as the hills.’

‘And you manipulated him into doing just that, didn’t you? I should have realized as soon as I smelled weed on you,’ he said, recalling the aroma he had sniffed when she had hugged him earlier. ‘It was obvious you’d been in the factory.’

‘He wanted to do it. So we took Terry some food and a gun and killed the fucker where he was hiding out from you. . saved you a job, didn’t it? Saved the taxpayer a lot of money. . least it would’ve if Freddy had died too, like he was supposed to have done.’

‘Whoa.’ Henry held up his right hand. He gave a short laugh. ‘I think you’re the nutter here, Janine. Freddy was the most sane man in the world compared to you. You’re a sick, twisted individual.’

‘And guess what? This sick, twisted individual is about to take over the family business. How’s about that!’

‘Oh, now it starts to make sense.’

‘That cannabis factory? There’s ten more of them. Four million quid in the making. And they’re mine.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I bided my time, then I struck. And by the way — all the shit you cleared out for me this week, cheers. Good policing. Some good arrests. Real dross.’

‘So there is a family business after all and you just want the money.’

‘I want everything, actually.’ She winked conspiratorially at him and his heart skipped a beat, because he knew then that he had lost. He had somehow hoped that he could talk this young woman down, drive a wedge into her emotions and make her crack, fall apart and sink down the wall, sobbing her heart out, seeing the error of her ways, overwhelmed by the enormity of her awful life. That was not going to happen, Henry knew. She was mad, and she was determined that no one would be a witness to her crime — and she would kill Henry right here, right now.

‘Just so you know. . I’m going to pay a little visit to the security office before I leave. . just to check the CCTV cameras. Wouldn’t like to get caught, would I?’ She gave a playful, childish shrug and a wrinkle of her lovely nose at the exact moment Henry’s mobile phone rang.

Her eyes flickered down, momentarily distracted — and Henry launched himself at her.

In his mind he knew exactly where he intended to take her. In the midriff. It would be a bone-crushing, organ-compressing tackle, underneath the gun, slamming her back against the door and using his shoulder to heave upwards, at the same time pinning her right arm against the wall. He had it all worked out in that micro-second. Visualized the point of impact, driving the breath out of her lungs, crushing and disarming her.

He dived like the rugby player he had been many years before.

Difference was that when he was nineteen or twenty, he hadn’t weighed almost fifteen stone and had been fit, agile and super-fast. Thirty plus years ahead, too much spread, too much weight, had slowed him right down. For his age he knew he was pretty fit, could still run three miles a day, visited the gym regularly. . but it was all relative. In fact he was older and slower than his brain led him to believe.

Janine reacted instantly.

Whilst Henry was in mid-air, she pulled the trigger. In the confines of the small room the sound of the discharge was ear-shatteringly loud, accompanied by a spectacular muzzle flash and a bad recoil that jerked her hand up.

The bullet still connected, hitting Henry with such force that he felt like he’d slammed into a brick wall. The impact stopped him, spiralled him off course, threw him back and he landed face down in an untidy heap, almost at the point from where he’d jumped.

There was no pain. Just a huge, spreading numbness radiating out from somewhere around his neck and right shoulder. He tried to move but his limbs didn’t respond to any of his brain’s demands. With a great effort of will he pushed upwards, but then his hands slipped in something thick and oily and warm and went from under him, and his face hit the floor in the wetness.

With a surge of panic he realized he was lying in his own blood and that he had been shot.

His eyes were open. He saw Janine’s feet. His mouth popped like a stranded fish and he tried to speak.

She was standing over him.

More immense effort. He moved his head slightly and looked up through the corner of his eye to see her pointing the gun down at his face. The black circle of the muzzle was maybe four inches away from him. Her finger curled around the trigger. The cylinder started to revolve. Henry could just about focus on the tips of the bullets seated in their chambers, fitted snugly like mini-missiles.

It rotated.

The hammer went backwards. The trigger was pulled. Henry didn’t even have the energy to wince, to prepare himself for the impact into his brain. There was a metallic clunk as the firing pin smacked down onto a dud. It didn’t fire. In anger, she yanked the trigger back twice more — both duds.

‘Shitty fucking ammo,’ she said.

Henry’s eyes closed slowly. His face relaxed into the spreading pool of his own blood. He heard footsteps, a door closing. . then blackness.