Dead Heat

TWO YEARS LATER
One

Henry Christie wondered what sort of reception would be waiting for him on his return to work. There would certainly be no celebrations. It would, he guessed, be a muted affair at best. The banners and the bunting would not be out. There would be no party poppers or streamers and no champagne would be opened. More likely there would be cautious, sideways glances; one or two nods and maybe, if he was lucky, the Chief Superintendent would say hello. The main thing would be that he would have a tattered reputation to repair and to do so would be an uphill struggle of massive proportions. After all, who wanted to work for a supervisor whose judgement had been deemed very, very suspect?

He parked his car on the secure police-rented level of the multi-storey car park adjacent to Blackpool Central Police Station and climbed out, ensuring he locked it. He walked to the door which opened out on to the public mezzanine which stretched between the front of Blackpool Magistrates’ Court and the front entrance of the police station. Once through the door, he paused for a moment to savour the ever present chilled sea breeze. He looked upwards at the monstrosity that was the cop shop. Eight floors of concrete ugliness. He had spent many years of his police service here and was returning after an enforced absence — a suspension from duty, actually — having lost his temporary rank of Detective Chief Inspector, back to Detective Inspector — and also his coveted role as a Senior Investigating Officer based at Headquarters in the team responsible for investigating murders and other serious crimes. It had been his ideal job.

To his left he glanced at the steps leading up to the court. A few early arrivals for the day’s proceedings had gathered in a motley group, smoking roll-ups, hunched miserably together. They peered up from their huddle and scowled at Henry, who recognized each and every one of the little toerags.

He waved and smiled at them.

They did not respond. Not one of them was brave enough to give him a middle finger or even a lazy ‘V’.

‘Shitbags,’ Henry mumbled to himself. ‘Nice to see the faces haven’t changed.’ He walked to the police station, feeling eight sets of eyes burning into his back.

A few very depressed and grey-looking people were waiting at the enquiry desk.

Henry slid his swipe card through the scanner, half expecting it not to work. But it did. He pushed open the door which led into the innards of the station. With a certain degree of trepidation, he stepped across the threshold and let the door click shut behind him.

It was the first time he had set foot in a police station in four months. It gave him a strange, queasy feeling. He had been to Headquarters on several occasions recently, the last time being for the full hearing into his disciplinary case when he was cleared of any wrongdoing. But other than on those closely supervised visits when he had been treated like a terrorist, he had not been allowed on police property.

But now he was back with a warrant card, swipe card and full police powers.

He allowed himself the faintest flicker of a smile. Then the enormity of the situation hit him like a sock full of pennies. He blew out his cheeks and, avoiding the elevator because he wasn’t going to risk getting trapped in a confined space with possibly someone he did not want to be with, began to climb the stairs. .

‘. . Daddy, Daddy!’ The harsh shrieking voice cut sharply into Henry Christie’s daydream. He had been well immersed in his thoughts, so deep he had totally lost track of everything in his pipe dream of returning to work totally exonerated by the disciplinary panel. He shook his head and twisted in the direction of his youngest daughter, Leanne. She was standing at the conservatory door, her body language expressing complete impatience with him.

‘Oh, OK, love. . are you ready to make tracks?’

‘Dad, I have been so ready for an age. I couldn’t find you.’

‘I’ve been sitting here, reading the papers like I do every Sunday, while I wait for you to get ready.’

‘Dad,’ Leanne said pointedly, ‘you weren’t reading the papers, you were in a trance. . and now it’s time to go or we’ll be late.’

‘OK.’ He pushed himself out of the low cane sofa and looked at Leanne. She was growing up very quickly now, blossoming out of childhood into a beautiful young woman. As ever, Henry’s ticker jarred a little at the thought of his little babykins and at how much he had missed her development over the years because of his misguided dedication to being a cop. His other, eldest, daughter, Jenny, was now in her late teens and he had seen virtually nothing of her growth, other than remembering being surprised and stunned from time to time at her progress.

Not good. Even if he did get back to work, in future the job would come well down on the list from now on. First and foremost was his family.

Leanne was dressed for her new hobby. Tight jodhpurs, riding boots and a sleeveless fleecy top, finished off with a short riding crop, thin leather gloves and a hard hat. She was now into riding horses each Sunday morning. Since Henry’s suspension from duty he had been able, and willingly volunteered, to take her to the riding school and pick her up. It was one of those fatherly type of duties he had never been able to carry out. It had always been Kate who had taken the girls to Brownies or to swimming lessons, or to birthday parties. Henry was trying to make up for lost time. . and whereas most other parents he met whinged and bleated about the dreary tasks, he found he loved every minute of it, could not get enough.

‘So what were you thinking about?’ Leanne asked as they went out to the car.

‘Going back to work,’ he admitted. ‘If it ever happens.’

‘Oh,’ she said, knowing how delicate a subject it all was. She knew he was nowhere near going back yet; that the date for the discipline hearing had not been set and that the court proceedings surrounding it all had not even been listed. ‘Anyway,’ she said, changing the subject with the subtlety of a sledge hammer, ‘I hope I get to ride Silver today.’ She sighed longingly. ‘He’s a wonderful horse. . so responsive. . I’ve heard he might be up for sale.’ She looked slyly at her father, who was reversing the car out of the drive.

‘Not a chance,’ he said without even glancing at her, keeping his chin firmly on his right shoulder as he manoeuvred into the road.

‘I didn’t mean we should buy him,’ Leanne lied.

Henry rammed the car into first. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘But if we did, I’d look after him, Dad, honest.’

It was Henry’s turn to sigh. It was a short, irritated sigh, accompanied by the word, ‘Nope.’

Leanne folded her arms and stared directly forward, jaw rotating crossly.

‘Maybe I’ll get you a hamster,’ Henry offered.

The jaw ceased its rotation.

‘How about a pet rat?’

‘Dad — shut it,’ she told him, but a smile flickered on her lovely lips and suddenly her cross mood changed. ‘I hope Kelly’s there and Charlotte. . if they are, can we go for a McDonald’s after?’

‘We’ll have to see.’

‘Oh good,’ she beamed and clapped her hands at the thought.

It was about four miles to the riding stables, which were situated in the countryside in the Marton area of Blackpool. As Henry slowed down at the stables, Leanne leapt out of the car almost before it had stopped because she had spotted Kelly already. Henry drew to a halt on the rough area of hard ground they called the car park and chuckled to himself as he watched Leanne run off. She was totally happy. Doing well at school. Brilliant at home and great company to be with. Kate had told Henry that both girls were more content than they had ever been for years. Henry knew that implicit in that remark was that their happiness was directly related to his regular presence at home.

A big Mercedes coupe pulled in alongside Henry’s Mondeo. It was driven by the mother of Charlotte, one of the girls mentioned by Leanne, whom she had met through riding.

Charlotte was in the front passenger seat next to her mother. Henry saw that the youngster was looking pretty morose. She got out and sauntered towards the stables, dragging her feet, watched by her mother from the car.

Henry smiled at Charlotte’s mother as he got out of the car. She gave him an eyes-to-heaven look.

With a couple of sections of the Sunday Times under his arm which he’d brought from home, Henry went to the indoor riding school. It had become his practice to watch Leanne begin her hour-long session, then mosey out to the portacabin-cum-cafe near to the main stable block where he would consume copious amounts of cheap coffee and a sausage sandwich and read the paper until Leanne showed up, usually red faced, exhausted and exhilarated after the lesson.

There was a small seating area down one side of the school with two tiers of benches. He sat himself down, shivering in the chill, blowing out his breath in spurts, trying to make smoke rings.

Riding was not for him. Horses did nothing for him. Not since the time when, as a young, headstrong police constable, he’d thought that life in the Mounted Branch looked glamorous, controlling football crowds and attracting young ladies who swooned over huge sweaty beasts — and horses too. He had managed to get a place on the coveted sixteen-week equitation course, where he then discovered it was not as pleasant as it seemed from the outside. The course was held in deep mid-winter and stables are harsh, unforgiving places to be when the temperature drops below zero. He found he detested the hard work involved, nor — and more fundamentally — did he particularly like horses either. But he stuck it until the eighth week, when he came a cropper. During a lesson on a particularly stroppy horse, it bucked and threw him. He broke his right wrist and bruised his lower spine. And that was the last he ever saw of the Mounted Branch. He had learned enough about riding to see him through the occasional holiday escapade when the girls wanted an hour’s cross-country, but that was all. No regrets about not becoming a mounted officer.

Leanne’s class came into the indoor arena and began to work out.

His daughter was proficient on the back of a horse. She had been riding about six months — longer than any other interest she had ever had — and worked hard to progress her ability. She seemed good at the basics and her balance was near perfect.

Not that Henry knew much about things like balance and the seat, but she seemed to be a natural.

He watched the lesson for a while, then decided it was time for food and drink. He edged his way across the bench, past Charlotte’s mother, who was perched at the end. She moved her knees for him. He said thanks and smiled again. He did not ever remember her staying to watch her daughter ride in the past.

The portacabin cafe was a haven of heat. He settled down at a Formica-topped table in one corner with a chipped mug of coffee, toasted sausage sandwich and newspaper spread out in front of him.

There were a few people in the cabin, mostly young girls giggling in huddles, discussing boys, pop stars and horses, in that order.

Again, Henry was slightly surprised to see Charlotte’s mother buying herself a coffee at the counter. He had never seen her in the cabin before today. He thought nothing of it and began to read the headlines about the police in London discovering deadly poisons in the hands of Middle Eastern terrorists. It was an ongoing story, one he had been following with relish and not a little envy.

He was, he had to admit, beginning to miss being a cop. He felt like he was in limbo, trapped and unable to do anything. If only he had a crystal ball and could forecast his future — one way or the other — he would be a whole lot happier.

As he read the story he became aware of someone standing in front of him. When he looked up, for some reason it was not unexpected that it was Charlotte’s mother.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Mind if I join you?’

He shuffled uncomfortably in the plastic chair. ‘Er, not at all,’ he frowned.

She sat opposite, cradling her mug of steaming coffee in her hands. She placed a plastic lunch box down by her feet. She blew on the hot liquid. ‘I’m Charlotte’s mum,’ she said. Henry nodded. ‘And you are Leanne’s dad.’ He nodded again. He closed his newspaper. He had moved on to a story about Blackpool and its planned regeneration as the Las Vegas and gambling capital of Europe, which he doubted would ever happen. He folded the paper to one side and gave his attention to the lady sitting opposite, who, he noticed for the first time at such close range, was extremely attractive.

She had well-cared-for, shiny, bobbed blonde hair, wide blue eyes, a slightly flat, elf-like nose and a full mouth which looked very biteable. Her chin was the feature that, if anything, let her down. It was slightly square and jutting, giving her face a hard edge that, as Henry appraised her more, took away the first impression, but only to a few degrees. She was dressed sloppily in loose sweatshirt and jeans.

It was the first time he had ever been so close to her. He had been aware of her dropping Charlotte off in the past and picking her up again an hour later, but he had only seen glimpses of her in one of several classy motors. He got the impression she was good looking (and knew it) and was obviously loaded, but had thought no more about her. In his newly adopted role in life of being a devoted husband and loving father — as opposed to his former mantle of adulterer and absent parent — he had surgically cut out registering the presence and possibilities of other women. All he wanted now was a simple life without complex entanglements and he never thought about other women any more. At least that had been the case for the last four months and it was his intention for it to be so for the rest of his life.

He assumed that, for whatever reason, Charlotte’s mum was having to stay on site to wait for her daughter today instead of dumping her and collecting later, and all she wanted was to pass the time by chatting with someone caught in the same situation.

‘Your daughter’s riding is coming along well.’

‘Thanks,’ said Henry. ‘She’s really keen.’

‘Charlotte’s been riding for some years now and wasn’t getting any better. That’s why we decided to bring her here so she could see how other girls were getting along, maybe help her get better.’

‘Oh,’ said Henry, uncomprehending.

‘Since meeting Leanne she has improved.’

‘Good,’ said Henry, still puzzled about what was going on here. ‘She was at another riding school, then?’ he probed.

‘No, we gave her lessons at home.’

‘In the living room?’

‘No,’ she laughed. ‘We have stables and a small indoor arena.’

‘Oh, right, of course you do.’

‘You’re confused. .’ The woman held out her hand. Henry shook it. It was hot from holding the coffee. ‘My name’s Tara. . Tara Wickson.’

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Henry Christie.’

She had shrugged when she said her name, in a gesture which seemed to suggest Henry should know who she was.

He did not and knew she would have to reveal more if anything further was likely to dawn on him. ‘Wow. . you’ve got your own stables,’ he said for something to say, trying to sound impressed.

‘Yes, we have a couple of race horses and some jumpers.’

Henry’s face showed shock and distaste. He could no longer hold back his feelings.

‘You don’t like horses,’ Tara said with a lop-sided smile.

‘Can’t think of one horse on my Christmas card list. I suppose they’re a necessary evil, especially if you’re learning to ride.’

Tara Wickson’s nice smile continued unabated. She looked into his eyes. He gulped and glanced quickly down at his hands and coughed uncomfortably. He checked the time. Twenty minutes to go. Then he thought that maybe he was being stupid and arrogant. Just because a woman looked directly at him did not mean she was gagging to go to bed with him. You arrogant bastard, he thought about himself and raised his eyes. She was far too young for him anyway.

She was sipping her coffee, her eyes still on him over the rim of her mug. Nice eyes.

‘You’re a policeman, aren’t you? Charlotte said Leanne had told her. A detective? Am I right?’

‘Sort of.’ He suddenly felt quite awkward. What else had Leanne told Charlotte?

‘Are you on special leave, or something?’

Henry guffawed. ‘Or something,’ he confirmed coldly.

‘Oh sorry, I’m treading on thin ice here, aren’t I?’

Henry opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, shut it and grinned.

‘Leanne hasn’t actually said very much, in case you’re worrying and planning to beat her soundly later.’

‘Kids talk,’ he said philosophically. ‘I wouldn’t want to gag her.’ Then he made a snap decision and didn’t know why. He said, ‘Yes, I am a policeman. I am a detective, but it’s not special leave. I’m suspended from duty. I’m being investigated, you might say.’

Tara leaned back and eyed him thoughtfully. ‘For dishonesty?’ she asked bluntly.

He shook his head. ‘Stupidity. . lack of judgement. . disobeying a lawful order.’ Then he quickly clammed up. Why was he telling her this crap?

‘To be honest, I already know,’ she said.

‘Oh.’ He put his mug to his mouth and swigged from what was an empty receptacle. ‘Mm,’ he murmured, glaring into the mug.

‘You’re very prickly about it. I can understand that. It can’t be an easy time for you.’

‘No, but I’ve had lots of holidays out of it.’

‘So Leanne said.’

‘I will beat her soundly after all,’ Henry decided.

‘Are you bored?’

‘What? Here and now? Or with the situation I’m in?’

‘Bored by the amount of time you now have to kill.’

‘It is getting to me. Good at first, all that time to loll about, then it begins to pall somewhat. A bit like retirement, I would think.’

‘How do you fill your time?’

Henry looked at her square on. His expression told her that enough was enough. Even he wasn’t sure how they had got here, but he felt it was time to call a halt to the conversation. He had said enough to someone who was just a stranger. ‘How do you fill yours?’ he asked.

She blinked and said openly, ‘Shopping. Dining out. Sex. The usual, you know? When you’re rich, that is. Oh, horses, too.’

‘You’re rich then? You wanna tell me?’

‘Not really.’ Her voice was suddenly as tight as a closed drawbridge.

‘Shall we talk about the kids?’ Henry suggested, picking up on her vibes.

‘No,’ she snapped, then relaxed. ‘Look. . time to come clean, Mr Christie. I’m actually not just here for personal chit-chat, as pleasant as that may be. I’ll tell you my problem and I wonder if you could help me.’

‘Tell you what, let’s do it over a new cup of coffee each. I’m old-fashioned like that.’ He picked up the mugs and bought two new brews.

‘Thanks.’ She curled her fingers around the mug again like it was a comfort blanket. Henry noticed her nails were beautifully manicured and wondered if caring for her body was in her list of activities. She looked exceptionally well groomed. ‘I’ll be honest, I have asked around a bit about you before coming to see you. You come highly recommended.’

‘By who?’

She tapped her nose. ‘Can’t say. . but what it is, we have a few problems up at the stables and I wondered if you’d investigate them for me.’

‘I’m a cop on suspension. Stripped of all powers. I don’t investigate things any more. . and if it’s something the police should be looking at, why don’t you call in the local bobbies?’

‘They have been in but they’re not interested. Things to do with horses are obviously not on their priority lists, or whatever they call them. The first time I called the police, they took three days to come.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ he said, having heard far worse stories, ‘But I take it it’s a fairly minor matter then? Why not employ a private investigator?’

‘Could do, I suppose — but here you are, a cop without portfolio and you’ve got time on your hands. I’d really appreciate it.’

‘It would be remiss of me, at this point, if I didn’t ask what the problem is,’ he said, trying to show some interest. Whatever it was, warning bells were ringing in his ears, because it would cause further complications in his already overcomplicated life, particularly if what she was asking him to do conflicted with him being suspended from duty.

Tara leaned down by her side and reached for the small sandwich box she had earlier put on the floor. She placed it on the table between them and prised the lid off. Inside was something wrapped in tin foil. She opened whatever it was whilst it was still in situ in the box, folding back the corners of the foil to reveal its contents.

Henry did not know what he was looking at. Even so, his guts churned and a shiver shot through him. It looked like a piece of minute steak, but with hairs on it and was triangular in shape, and deep brown, almost black in colour.

‘What the hell’s that?’ he recoiled.

‘A horse’s ear.’

It was a long time since Henry had felt queasy at the sight of anything. The job of being a cop had seen to the complete desensitization of his psyche, but a severed horse’s ear had certainly hit the mark.

The offending item was back in its tin foil, back in the sandwich box and out of sight. He and Tara Wickson were outside in the fresh air, walking back to the stable blocks. The lesson was due to finish shortly and the girls would soon be reappearing.

‘Do you carry that with you all the time? It’s certainly an effective calling card.’

‘No, I don’t.’

They walked on in silence until they reached a corner of a stable block where they paused. Tara leaned against the wall, drawing up one foot.

‘It belongs to Charlotte’s favourite horse, Chopin. A big, bay gelding. Soft as the day is long. When she went to see him this morning, first thing, she found him with his ear cut off and knife slashes across his rump and his tail chopped to pieces. There was blood everywhere. Poor animal, he was terrified.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Henry.

‘Yeah, he was in a real state — and so was Charlotte.’

‘I can imagine. . yet she came riding?’

‘I thought it best. She enjoys it and it stops her dwelling on it for a while.’

‘She did look unhappy,’ Henry recalled.

‘She was — is — but I know the other girls will drag her out of it.’ Tara pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket and offered one to Henry, who shook his head. Smoking was one of the few bad habits he did not have. She lit one and took a deep drag, exhaling the lungful of smoke with obvious relief. Henry watched her smoke. ‘It’s the third horse we’ve had mutilated.’

‘All in the stables overnight?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s your security like?’

‘Good. At least I thought so.’

‘Do you have staff at the stables?’

‘Yeah — but not on site.’

Henry suggested, ‘Have you upset anyone recently?’

‘Not that I know of.’ She shrugged and smoked some more. ‘I’ll pay you if you come and investigate for us. A grand up front, even if all you do is come along and ask a few pertinent questions of different people. Then, if you stay longer charge me whatever you want to charge. I need to get this sorted and the local cops or our own security people don’t seem interested or capable.’

‘Your own security people?’

‘Mmm. . tossers.’

‘What do you mean, your own security people?’

‘My husband’s businesses need security on the sites he owns. We use them for the stables, too.’

‘What does your husband do?’

‘Mainly he’s a building contractor. Has other interests, too.’ She looked unimpressed as she spoke. ‘Haulage, import and export, all sorts of boring crap, building-site clearance. It’s the building sites that need security to stop pilfering.’

‘Who is your husband?’

‘John Lloyd Wickson.’

Now things made more sense to Henry. Pieces were slotting into place. He did not know Tara Wickson, but knew of John Lloyd Wickson, certainly by reputation.

Suddenly, interrupting his thoughts, came a burst of laughter as the three girls, Kelly, Charlotte and Leanne, appeared from the stables. They were red-faced, breathless and happy.

Quickly, Tara said, ‘If you come along and take a look at things, the payment will be discreet. Nothing official. Cash in hand. A grand, minimum.’

‘Dad! Dad!’ Leanne shouted, running towards him. ‘What about McDonald’s. . please, please, pleeeease!’ The other two girls were right behind her.

‘What about it, Mum?’ Charlotte said to Tara.

‘I don’t mind, but where’s Kelly’s mum or dad? I’ll take you all, then drop you all back off at home — if you don’t mind, Henry, and if Kelly’s parents don’t have a problem.’

‘Sure,’ said Henry. ‘No probs.’

‘Here’s my mum,’ Kelly exclaimed and ran off towards her. Charlotte and Leanne drifted away, chattering excitedly. Leaving Henry and Tara.

‘So. . will you do it?’ Her eyes pleaded with him and he went weak. Women did that to him: one look and he was hooked. He was a tart.

‘I really don’t think I can promise anything,’ he said with a new-found inner strength, which immediately wilted under Tara’s saddened gaze. ‘OK, OK, I’ll come and have a look round, but as much as I’d like a thousand pounds in my back pocket, I’ll have to forego any payment, thanks very much. It could make things a bit. . difficult,’ he said, screwing up his face. ‘These things are apt to get out.’

‘You are too honest for your own good,’ Tara smiled. She handed him a card with her phone numbers on it. ‘Mobile and home,’ she said, her eyes holding his again. She also described exactly where she lived and how to get to the house. ‘Maybe I could pay you in kind,’ she said mischievously.

So Henry was right after all. She did want to go to bed with him.