Substantial Threat

Two

Ray Cragg surfaced from sleep with a storming headache, but did not have any time to brood about it. He had some serious work to do, a busy day ahead. He groaned as he rolled out of the same bed he’d been sleeping in since the age of ten: single, narrow, with a deep indentation down the centre of the mattress into which his thin, wiry body fitted perfectly. It was the only bed he could ever sleep comfortably in.

Once on his feet he staggered a little to keep his balance until the blood made it up to his brain. He kicked some discarded clothing out of the way and lurched out on to the landing dressed only in the ragged, loose underpants he slept in. On the way to the main bathroom he passed his mother’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar.

Cragg paused outside, listening. Then, unable to resist, he peeped in.

Deep asleep, his mother lay splayed on the king-sized bed, naked, the duvet only half-covering her. There were numerous roach ends in the ashtray on the bedside cabinet and the sickly-sweet smell of stale cannabis hung in the air. Cragg shut his eyes momentarily as the sight of his mother’s pubes made him shudder. Next to her was the bulk of some sleeping guy, breathing deeply but not quite snoring. On his bedside cabinet were two used condoms half-wrapped in tissue. Cragg had no idea who the man was. Didn’t particularly want to know. Didn’t actually care either, because he loved his mum. So far as he was concerned she could do anything, or shag anyone, so long as it made her happy.

The only thing Cragg would not tolerate was any bastard who dared slap her round. Two guys had suffered for doing that in the past. One had even thought he could do the same to Ray Cragg.

A knife plunged into the guy’s left buttock had made him squeal and think differently.

Cragg closed the bedroom door quietly. He padded barefoot along to the bathroom, had a piss, a power shower, then shaved, although there wasn’t very much to shave off, even at the age of thirty. His almost pure-white blond hair, cropped right back to his skull, frustrated the life out of him. Sometimes he thought he would never get any facial hair other than odd tufts here and there which reminded him of Shaggy in Scooby Doo.

He left the bathroom annoyed by this thought and also because he had razored the head clean off a big yellow pimple on his chin which refused to stop bleeding. Holding a tiny triangle of pink toilet tissue to his face he stomped angrily back to his bedroom to get dressed.

Transformation time. He tossed his less than clean underpants across the bed and opened the wardrobe. Inside was an array of designer everything. His pulled on a pair of boxer shorts, CK T-shirt, jeans, trainers, and set them off against an Omega wristwatch, a line of single diamond studs in his pierced ears and a state of the art mobile phone (pay as you go, so therefore no records of calls made) slotted on his black leather Gucci belt.

‘I am the fucking biz,’ Ray Cragg said to his reflection in the mirror while hunching his shoulders in a threatening way. ‘The effin’ biz,’ he said again. ‘I think I might just shoot some bastard today.’

He was ready to operate.

His half-brother Marty was in the kitchen waiting for him. He had let himself into the house earlier, was munching toast and listening to Oasis on a portable hi-fi placed on top of the fridge, while perusing the racing pages of the Sun. He was dressed similarly to Ray but was more sturdily built.

Ray turned the music off immediately. ‘Stuff that for a game of soldiers,’ he said, complaining at the noise. ‘Got a shaggin’ headache.’

‘I was listenin’ to that,’ Marty whined half-heartedly, turning to appraise his half-brother for the first time.

Ray batted his eyelids blandly, daring Marty to challenge him. Though Marty was bigger and physically more powerful than Ray, no aggression from the younger man, he knew his place in the hierarchy.

Marty sneered secretly and looked back down at his racing tips for the day, hiding a smirk at the little pink dab of toilet tissue with the red dot of blood in its centre stuck on Ray’s chin. Marty took a huge, rude-sounding slurp of tea from his mug.

Ray rubbed his head, feeling slightly faint again. He dropped a couple of Nurofen Meltlets into his mouth and washed them down with ice-cold orange juice from a carton in the fridge.

‘Heavy night?’

Ray shrugged. ‘So-so.’

‘You wanna keep off that Pils. Fuckin’ kills you.’

‘Thanks for the crap advice.’ Ray slotted a couple of slices of thick white bread into the toaster and re-boiled the kettle. He trimmed the crust off the toast and spread it thickly with butter and seedless raspberry jam (he hated food with bits in it and bread with the crust on, had done since childhood). He sat next to Marty and snatched the Sun away from him. Marty let it go without a murmur of protest. Ray ate in silence while leafing through the tabloid.

‘What time’s Crazy coming?’ Ray asked. He turned to the back page. Now that he had some sustenance inside him he was coming to life.

‘Should be here by now,’ muttered Marty, checking his watch.

‘Tosser’s always late,’ Ray commented. His thin-lipped mouth twisted distastefully. With a ‘tut’ of annoyance he unhitched his mobile from his belt and punched in a number. With the phone to his ear he crossed to the sink, dropping his cup and plate into the washing-up bowl, already brimful of dirty crockery, water, scum and food particles.

‘Crazy?’ Ray demanded. ‘It’s me, yeah, now where the fuck are you?. . Yeah, right,’ he said, sneering at whatever the response was. ‘Not fuckin’ good enough. . we’ve got things to do, a bloody busy day ahead, so put your foot down, will you?’ Ray folded the mouthpiece of his mobile back into place and shook his head.

‘If that twat’s on his way like he says, I’m a fuckin’ Dutchman,’ Marty said. ‘Marty van-fuckin’-Cragg’s my name. I’ll swing for the unreliable tosspot.’

‘He’ll be here,’ Ray said.

‘Still up t’maker’s name in that slag of his,’ Marty surmised.

‘He’ll be here.’

They migrated into the living room and watched the best bits of a slasher-type movie while waiting impatiently for Crazy’s arrival. He was the driver for the day, Ray’s number-two man after Marty. Hopefully he would turn up in a fairly nondescript, clean and reliable motor which would not draw any undue attention to them.

Half an hour later he pulled up outside, honking his horn as though he was the one who had been kept waiting.

‘Fuckin’-hoo-ray,’ Ray said, jumping up. He pulled a baseball cap on, peak twisted backwards, a denim jacket, and fitted a pair of Full Metal Jacket sunglasses on. He was ready to roll. ‘C’mon.’ He brushed past Marty who, also clad in sunglasses, was at the front door, opening it for his brother. They trotted down the driveway, past the Mercedes and the BMW, and jumped into the waiting Astra GTE. Ray went in the front passenger seat next to Crazy. Marty hunched in the back.

Ray twisted side-on to Crazy, made the shape of a gun with his first finger and stuck it against Crazy’s temple. ‘Bein’ late pisses me off.’

‘Hey, hey,’ Crazy’s voice creaked nervously. ‘I been working, sorting stuff out for you.’

‘Yeah? More like screwing that bint of yours,’ Marty interjected, his mouth curling.

Ray removed the pretend gun from Crazy’s head and sat properly on his seat, allowing Crazy to look disdainfully over his shoulder at Marty. ‘No — actually, no.’ He turned back to Ray. ‘Sorting out today for you, that’s what I’ve been doing, and checking this area real careful, like, for cop surveillance, just in case.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Good.’

‘So what’s first on your agenda?’ Crazy asked, gripping the wheel tightly and revving the engine.

‘JJ needs a visit first. Needsa bit of geeing up, doesn’t he, Mart?’

‘Sure does, skimming bastard,’ Marty agreed, a wicked smile expanding across his mean face.

‘Then after we’ve had some fun with him, let’s really get down to business.’ Ray clasped his hands behind his head. ‘Because today is the day when Ray Cragg puts his foot down and steps on some shite.’ He glanced at his driver. ‘Let’s go, Crazy.’

Joe Sherridan’s court appearance was over almost before it began. It took two, maybe three minutes at most. The clerk of the court read out his name and Sherridan nodded when asked if the details were correct. He made no response to the charge against him. He then sat down in the dock, a morose expression on his face, his eyes staring unfocused at the floor.

Henry Christie watched his prisoner thoughtfully, wondering what was going through the man’s mind. Turmoil, despair, Henry guessed. Remorse about what he had done — perhaps. Uncertainty about the future? His head must be spinning like a washing machine.

The defence made no application for bail. Seconds later the magistrates remanded Sherridan in custody and without a backwards glance he was led down to the holding cells below by his Group 4 jailers.

Henry stood up wearily. He chatted about the case for a few minutes with the pretty lady prosecutor from the Crown Prosecution Service, knowing it was best to keep her sweet, then left court and headed to Blackburn police station, which adjoined the court building. After ironing out what still needed to be done post-charge with the local DI, such as the case file, custody remands, the inquest, reviews and family liaison, he phoned his own office to see if there was anything outstanding for him to deal with. There was nothing that needed immediate attention, so he jumped into his car and decided he fancied a trip to Blackpool.

He could do some work on the cold case he had been given to review, then he could have lunch with Kate. Surprise her.

Johnny Jacques had been in bed with Carrie, his lady friend, when the knock came on the door. He had been awake, but groggy and bleary-eyed, still sluggish from the effects of the night before’s drink and drugs binge. It had not been anything too dangerous. Lots of lager, one ecstasy tab and a nose full of coke, or two or three. He’d lost count. But it was all having its hangover effect now and not for the first time. He thought that at the age of forty-five he was getting a little old for it, his body did not seem to have the resilience it once had.

The sound of hammering on the door made him roll over and pull a pillow over his head. The knocking persisted.

‘Shit,’ Carrie said. She was suffering equally.

The knocking went on. Carrie heard the letterbox flap open with a clatter and a voice shouted through it. She recognized it immediately.

‘Fuck!’ she said this time, shooting bolt upright, shaking JJ by the shoulder. ‘It’s Marty Cragg,’ she hissed.

‘Wha?’

‘It’s fuckin’ Marty, and if it’s Marty, it’s Ray too.’

‘Shite.’

The knocking grew into pounding.

Carrie’s breathing was short and desperate, her heart pounding. ‘They must know you’re here.’ Suddenly, with a clear head, she jumped out of bed, grabbing her towelling dressing gown and wrapping it tightly around her. JJ stayed in bed, having removed the pillow from his head. He stared up at her, eyes wide as a bunny caught in the glare of headlights on main beam. ‘I’ll do my best to keep them at the front door. You get dressed and scarper out of the back window.’

‘Yeah, yeah, right.’ JJ twitched, but still lay there as if stunned.

Carrie leaned over him and spoke as though he was retarded. ‘Get fuckin’ moving,’ she said, exaggerating her lip movements so he would understand.

Marty shouted something obscene through the letterbox.

JJ shot upright, jumped out of bed and began to scrabble for his scattered clothing as Carrie left the bedroom and walked into the hallway, shouting, ‘Keep yer friggin’ hair on.’

Dressing quickly was no picnic for JJ. He managed to find his underpants and slotted one leg through a hole, then put his second leg down the same hole, only to discover they were not his underpants at all, they were Carrie’s knickers. He ripped them off as fast as he could and threw them furiously across the room. He dived for his jeans and hopped into them, pulling a grubby T-shirt on at much the same time. Picking up his trainers, he dashed through to the living room at the exact moment Carrie opened the door on the security chain.

JJ ran to the window, slid it open and peered out.

‘C’mon,’ he panted to himself, trying to get it together. It looked a very long way down to the ground, which was a large, asphalt kids’ play area, though with no equipment left in it. It would hurt.

He heard the sound of Ray Cragg’s voice at the front door. A motivator to action if ever there was one.

Ray Cragg kept the tone of his voice reasonable, calm and dangerous.

‘Just let us in, Carrie,’ he said. Ray could see just one fearful eye looking through the narrow gap allowed by the security chain. He knew she was bricking it. ‘We just want to have a chat with him, that’s all Carrie,’ he said smoothly.

‘No, just get to fuck. You’re not coming in here, you set of twats,’ she said, now wishing she had not been so foolish as to open the door in the first place because Ray was leaning on it and she doubted she had the strength to close it on him. ‘Anyhow, he isn’t here, so you might as well piss off and leave me in peace.’

Ray inhaled and breathed out through his nose. His temper was starting to go but he held on to it. He leaned into the gap, his face only inches away from Carrie’s. He could smell her breath and the dank flat beyond: sweat, cannabis, spermicidal lubricant. ‘Listen, you cunt,’ he said evenly, ‘if you don’t open up, we’ll kick this door down and then I’ll get really annoyed with you. I’ll smack your face in, just for fun. . and I don’t have any axe to grind with you, love. It’s JJ I want.’

Carrie desperately fought for time so that JJ could get out of the window, shin down the drainpipe, along windowledges, drop to the ground and leg it, even though it was four floors up. He was an agile guy and had done it before when the cops came calling.

‘I said he’s not here. You deaf or summat?’ she stalled brazenly. ‘Now piss off.’

Ray moved back quickly and with a flick of his head towards the door said, ‘Crazy, Marty.’ He leaned against the wall and folded his arms.

The two had been waiting for the moment with keen anticipation. Marty went first, going for the gap in the door. His hand shot through it and reached for Carrie’s face, or whatever he could grab. Crazy, just behind, shouldered the door with all his weight.

Carrie was expecting the move. She slammed the door on Marty’s wrist.

He howled like a demon in pain and rage, but it didn’t really matter because it meant the door was still open and Crazy, who had stepped back, braced himself and flat-footed the door. It flew open on the second whack, releasing Marty’s trapped limb and sending Carrie stumbling and screaming backwards as the badly fitted security chain snapped and splintered off the door frame.

And they were in.

‘You cow,’ Marty yelled. He went straight for Carrie’s cowering form, enraged by having his wrist trapped. He powered into the hall and kicked her in the face with as much force as he could, breaking her jaw. She rolled away, blood pouring out of her mouth, trying to protect herself. Marty continued to lay into her, overcome by anger, as Ray and Crazy strode past, their minds focused on catching JJ.

JJ heard the crash, the scream, the shouts as the front door was booted in.

He had to move now.

He lifted his body and sat astride the windowledge before twisting round and lowering his feet blindly until his toes touched the ledge which jutted out from the wall about three inches, several feet below.

This was the position in which Ray and Crazy found him as they burst into the living room.

JJ panicked as Crazy strode across the room towards him, a menacing look on his countenance, Ray Cragg behind him. JJ reached out his right hand for the soil pipe, which he knew he could shimmy down if he could just get to it. But before he could even touch it, Crazy grabbed the front of his T-shirt in his fists and pushed him outwards away from the wall. JJ screamed. His arms flailed like a demented windmill but he managed to grab the window frame, though his fingers slipped as Crazy threatened to push him away again.

The two men were focused on each other’s faces, both with determined expressions. Crazy’s look was one of sheer glee at what he was doing; JJ’s, by total contrast, was a look of terror. The thought of hitting the ground headfirst reeled through his mind, the prospect of his skull splintering through his brain.

‘This is gonna hurt you.’ Crazy grinned twistedly.

JJ’s fingers slipped even more on the window frame. He knew that all Crazy had to do was push and let go of his T-shirt and he would go plummeting down.

‘Your head’ll smash like a tomato. What d’you think, Ray?’ Crazy looked back over his shoulder. ‘Push the thieving fuck or what?’

‘It’s a tempter.’ Ray leaned out of the window, judging the distance to the ground below. ‘Pull him in,’ he said. Crazy looked disappointed. Then with a shrug he hauled JJ back into the flat.

‘I need words,’ Ray Cragg said to JJ.

The murdered girl’s flat was on the sort of grubby street where Henry Christie had done so much of his police work in the past. Same old story, same old people, he thought jadedly as he gazed out of the car window up at the five-storey terraced block of flats, each one probably inhabited by a dolie or a junkie or a loser. Henry prodded himself mentally for forgetting that there were also many good people caught up in it as well. It just seemed that he did not meet them that often.

The house was structurally solid, having stood the test of time on the outside. It was its innards and inhabitants that had changed.

He climbed out of the Vectra and made sure it was locked before leaving it unattended.

He wanted to get a feel for the scene of the murder. He walked up to the front of the house and stood at the bottom of the steps leading to the main door. To his left was the flight of steps which descended to the basement flat.

He looked around. The street was pretty quiet. A couple walked down the other side. A car waited at the junction to pull out. He could easily have stepped down to the flat without being seen. . or could he?

If nothing else, Henry’s experience as a detective had taught him that very few crimes are committed without witnesses. Somebody always sees something. The trick was to find that somebody and bleed them white. In the nicest possible way, of course.

Henry stood where he was and rotated slowly on his heels, allowing his eyes to rove, to try and spot someone watching him. He saw no one.

It was very tempting to go down to the girl’s flat, but he wanted to keep that experience for later. First things first. He would check out the owner of the property who, he remembered from the file, lived in Lytham, in a very desirable location.

He got back into the Vectra and thought seriously about going into the property rental business.

JJ made himself a roll-up. Though his hands were shaking, he put the cigarette together expertly.

Ray Cragg leaned forward eagerly with a lighted match and a smile. ‘Calm down,’ he said as JJ chased the flame with the end of his cigarette. ‘There’s no need to worry.’

‘No need to worry? How d’you work that one out?’ JJ retorted, inspecting the lighted end of his cigarette and blowing gently on it. He put the thin stick between his lips and drew deeply on it. Almost one half of it disappeared with the drag. ‘You’re gonna kick my head in and you tell me not to worry?’

JJ’s narrow eyes darted nervously around the room, taking in each face, then, looking at Carrie, his face creased in pain. She was huddled in one corner, whimpering pathetically, cradling her busted face in the palms of her hands, nursing her shattered jaw.

‘She needs a hospital, Ray,’ JJ wheezed through a cloud of smoke.

Cragg shrugged. ‘As and when.’

JJ tried to hold his eyes to Ray Cragg’s, but they flinched fearfully away from the confrontation.

‘So what do you want?’ JJ asked.

‘I think that’s fairly fuckin’ obvious, don’t you?’ Cragg grinned. ‘Otherwise, why try and leg it?’

JJ shrugged his thin shoulders, looked down between his knees and flicked ash on the carpet. He took another drag on the cigarette and blew smoke out through his nose. It was all but gone now. Sitting there, head bowed, eyes blinking at the floor, his jaw rotating, JJ did not see the blow coming.

Cragg put almost all he had into it and really JJ should have expected it because he had witnessed Ray do it several times before. It was his trademark, a long, powerful, open-handed smack across the side of the face, the palm of his hand cupping over the ear. It lifted JJ off the seat and dumped him in a sprawl on the carpet. The pain in his ear was so severe, he wondered if the drum had burst. The butt of his cigarette rolled away underneath the settee.

Before JJ could react or even scream, Marty and Crazy dragged him off the floor and flung him back across the settee.

‘When I ask you a question, you answer it,’ Ray Cragg said mildly. ‘Are you with me?’

‘Yeah,’ JJ answered quickly. A booming, painful sound ricocheted around his cranium.

‘Right. Now we’ve got that settled, let’s get down to business,’ Ray said. ‘I’ll let you have it right between the eyes, figuratively speaking,’ he went on. ‘I don’t give you much to do, do I? Bit o’ this, bit o’ that. Enough to pay for your dirty little habits and keep the wolf from the door — and then some. Carry this, deliver that.’ He swayed forwards again. He could smell JJ’s fear. It smelled dank, but he liked it. ‘All in all, nothing very arduous, and I trusted you JJ.’

JJ closed his eyes for a long moment.

‘Trusted you for a long time. . but why is it that people get greedy?’

‘I don’t know.’ JJ’s words were barely audible.

‘Fuckin’ astounds me.’ Ray shook his head sadly and pulled away from the stench of JJ’s terror. ‘I keep tight books, JJ, and I know for a fact you’ve lifted two grand off me?’ JJ opened his mouth to protest. ‘Ah, ah, ah.’ Ray wagged a warning finger at him. ‘I know you have, okay? I am not stupid.’

Ray glanced at his two companions, who stood one behind each shoulder, then stared back at JJ. ‘You gonna tell me about it?’ Ray’s head twitched in a gesture of encouragement.

JJ nodded. He felt nauseous. It was all he could do to stop fear from squeezing his entrails and forcing him to vomit.

‘Good man,’ Ray acknowledged.

The landlord’s house was on a recently built exclusive development of executive-style homes in Lytham. There were about a dozen houses on the estate, all detached, each with five or six bedrooms and double or triple garages, but not much land for the half million or so they cost to buy. Henry, an aficionado of the property pages in the glossy Lancashire Life magazine, recalled reading the adverts for the development. They were very nice houses, well out of his price bracket, but he could dream.

He parked at the end of the driveway and gazed at the house, which was a far cry from the class of property the landlord rented out in Blackpool. A totally different world. Not even on the same planet. There was a canary-yellow Mercedes sports car in the driveway, which seemed slightly incongruous to Henry. Not that the car did not belong, it was just that he’d expected to see a Jaguar or a big Lexus there, as these were often the cars that the local well-heeled landlords tended to use. There was something effeminate about the neat yellow Mercedes which did not sit right with Henry’s, admittedly, stereotypical view of the greedy landlords he knew and despised so much. He shrugged. Maybe it belonged to the guy’s wife.

He checked his notes then climbed out of the Vectra and meandered up to the front door, past the car, his eyes missing nothing. His finger pressed the doorbell and he heard chimes inside. He waited, handed clasped behind his back, humming tunelessly to himself. After a few moments someone appeared at the other side of the door and opened it.

Henry took a step back, caught his breath, then introduced himself.

The collections were going well that day. Harry Dixon trotted away from the council house and eased himself into the passenger seat of the car waiting for him at the kerbside.

‘Done,’ he said to the driver. ‘Next one. . should be a fun one,’ he murmured under his breath.

‘Yeah,’ agreed the driver. ‘Want me to come in with you?’

Dixon smirked. The driver was a big guy called Miller. He was as tough as anyone Dixon had ever met and, allegedly, had a certain way with a carving knife and a cheese grater, the thought of which made Dixon shiver. Miller had been driving Dixon for a couple of months on the weekly collection runs, but there had never yet been any need to call on his skills, much to the big man’s disappointment as he was eager to show them off. Dixon did not want to start now. Though he was smaller in stature than Miller, Dixon preferred to use his charm and tongue as opposed to brawn. But he knew the next address would be a toughie. It always was, but he felt he could handle it himself.

‘Nahh, you’re okay — just be ready if I need you.’

‘Sure. I will be,’ said Miller.

Dixon reached for the sports bag slotted tightly behind the driver’s seat and pulled it on to his knees. He unzipped it and dropped his latest collection into it. He had a wicked grin on his face as he thought about the word ‘collection’. It had a kind of religious tinge to it, sounded like something done at church on Sundays. There was actually nothing religious about the?500-roll of banknotes he dropped into the bag, each one of which he knew would have traces of cocaine on it.

He totted up the total in his notebook. That made just short of five grand he had collected that morning. Dixon’s heart began to beat a little faster at the thought of the amount of money he would have in his possession at the end of the day. The palms of his hands began to sweat. By 5 p.m. there would be about twelve thousand stuffed in the sports bag. He shook his head to rid his mind of impure thoughts — twelve Gs was not enough to go out on a limb for — and replaced the bag behind the driver’s seat, and in so doing his eyes caught those of Miller.

Miller smiled. It was as though he had been reading Dixon’s mind.

Dixon coughed and pulled himself together, swallowing nervously. ‘Let’s go,’ he said to Miller.

As the car moved away from the roadside, Dixon leaned forwards and, for luck, touched the barrel of the sawn-off shotgun which was tucked out of sight underneath his seat.

Ray Cragg was sitting next to JJ on the settee with an arm around his shoulders, talking in little more than a whisper, almost reassuringly.

‘It’s always best to tell the truth, JJ, because you always get caught out when you lie, don’t you?’ Ray cooed.

JJ nodded his head painfully, the pounding, searing pain from Ray’s open-handed blow across the side of his face was making each movement horrendous.

‘So, c’mon, pal.’ Ray hugged him like a brother. ‘Spill the beans. We can only move forwards when we know where we’re up to, can’t we?’

‘Yeah,’ breathed JJ. He looked at Carrie, who was still curled up in a ball on the living-room floor, whimpering.

Ray glanced at her, too. ‘I know you’re concerned about her, but I promise that if you tell me the truth and we work this mess out, I’ll take her to casualty myself. Okay?’

‘Right, right,’ said JJ, wondering if Ray would be good enough to do the same for him because he was certain his eardrum had exploded with the impact of Ray’s blow.

‘So, come on, pal,’ Ray said again.

‘Yeah, I have been skimming a bit, Ray. But not two grand, nowhere fuckin’ near two grand.’

‘Well,’ said Ray, ‘that’s a start. How much would you say you’ve stolen from me, then?’

‘I’m looking for Jack Burrows,’ Henry said to the very pretty woman who answered the door.

‘That’ll be me,’ she said with a slightly crooked smile. ‘Jacqueline Burrows, but everybody calls me Jack, even me.’

A fleeting thought crashed through Henry’s mind — Am I destined to meet women with men’s names? — as he remembered Danielle Furness, known as Danny, the woman he had once loved and who was now dead, murdered by the most dangerous man Henry had ever met. He cleared his mind of the last image he had of her, lying dead in an hotel room in Tenerife, her head twisted at a gruesome angle because of her broken neck. ‘Do you own some flats in Cheltenham Road, Blackpool?’

She nodded. ‘And Dixon Road, Coronation Street, Hornby Road, and others.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Henry thoughtfully. He kicked himself for expecting to have to deal with some seedy landlord. This one looked far from seedy dressed in a jogging top and a pair of black lycra shorts which looked as though they had been pasted on to her slim thighs, her blonde hair tied back in a pony tail, exposing an area of seriously touchable neck. She was sweating lightly and Henry could just smell her fragrance. . but then again, he warned himself, she might be just as seedy and deceitful as all the rest. Because she did not reek of cigar smoke and whisky, and looked terrific, did not mean she was any different from the others. Henry knew his weakness for a pretty face, but was determined not to let it cloud his judgement. ‘I’m DCI Henry Christie and I’m investigating the murder of one of your tenants in those flats about a year ago. . a young girl?’

Jack Burrows’ face fleetingly creased with annoyance. But Henry had noticed it and filed it away for future reference. She recovered her composure quickly and smiled that lop-sided smile, pushed a stray wisp of hair away from her face and looked at him with wide blue eyes. It was a look, Henry guessed, designed to make his stomach go flip-flop. ‘I was interviewed about that ages ago, made a statement and everything. Have you caught the killer yet?’

It was at that moment she realized the conversation they were having was taking place on the doorstep. ‘Ooh, sorry.’ She grinned. ‘Manners! Come on in and I’ll make a drink or something.’

Henry followed her inside. She led him into the lounge, which was furnished in such a way that he thought it looked like it might once have been the show house. It was a through lounge and in the dining room Henry saw an exercise bike and a rowing machine side by side.

‘Tea, coffee. .?’

‘Tea’ll be great.’

‘Tell you what, come through to the kitchen and we can keep talking, though I doubt I’ll be able to help you any more than I already did. It was a real tragedy, but it was a long time ago.’

She walked through to the spacious fitted kitchen and clicked on the kettle.

‘We haven’t caught the killer yet,’ Henry admitted, harking back to her question at the doorway. ‘I’ve been given the job of reviewing the case again to see if I can open up any new leads, that sort of thing, y’know?’

‘Oh.’ She leaned against a worktop, her hips thrusting forward. ‘I always thought that if a case wasn’t solved, it got closed down.’

‘No, not with a murder.’ He locked eyes with her — and he had to admit she had pretty eyes — but something grabbed his heart with icicle-like fingers and made him go on to say, even though he did not necessarily believe his own words, ‘I think there’s a good chance of rooting out the killer in this case.’ He squinted thoughtfully at the ceiling and added, ‘Particularly as it’s been given to me to investigate. It’s a matter of pride, you see. I’m very good at catching murderers.’ He came eye to eye with her again.

Jack Burrows nodded. Henry thought she looked a tad uncomfortable at the news. This pleased him no end because for no other reason than she was the owner of the property in which a brutal crime had been committed, he had made her his first suspect.

‘Two-fifty and certainly not more than three hundred quid at the outside,’ JJ had to admit. ‘Honest, that’s all it was. I skimmed a bit here and a bit there, and I’m sorry, but it were never two grand. Nowhere fuckin’ near. That sorta figure is one you’d’ve noticed, Ray. That would’ve been stupid.’

Cragg guffawed. ‘Two-fifty or three hundred is pretty bloody stupid,’ he observed, ‘and I think you’re a stupid person, JJ. Stupid enough to have a bad habit which clouds your judgement, makes you think you can steal from me, and now you’re stupid enough to expect me to believe you only took a fraction of what you really took.’

‘I’m being honest with you, Ray,’ JJ insisted, opening his arms.

Cragg snorted a laugh of contempt through his nose and stood up.

Carrie was still doubled up on the carpet in one corner of the room, moaning and shivering. There were streaks of blood on the wall next to her.

Marty and Crazy lounged by the door, hands in pockets, waiting for Ray to come to some sort of decision. Crazy was the more relaxed of the two, chewing gum and picking at a large spot on his face. Marty seemed restless, more eager for something to happen, his foot tapped agitatedly.

Ray crossed to the window out of which JJ had tried to escape. He folded his arms and gazed quietly out across the rooftops of a nearby housing estate, then down to the deserted play area four floors below. It was tempting to lean on the windowsill but he did not. He was always careful to leave as few traces of himself anywhere as possible.

‘You could’ve come to me and asked for cash,’ he said eventually. ‘We could’ve sorted something and you wouldn’t now find yourself in this. . pickle, would you?’

Despite the shakes and the booming sound still rattling around his cranium, JJ had managed to roll a replacement cigarette, which was now lighted and affixed to his bottom lip.

‘I didn’t think, man,’ he wailed plaintively. ‘It won’t happen again. I swear it on my goddaughter’s life.’

‘Bloody right it won’t happen again,’ Marty interjected, taking a step towards JJ, who cowered back in the settee. He knew Marty was a dangerous, sometimes uncontrollable bastard.

Ray spun on his half-brother, pointed at him and shot him a stare which stopped him in his tracks. He did not have to utter a word. Marty’s face creased angrily.

‘Normally,’ Ray said to JJ, half an eye on Marty, ‘I deal very harshly with people who shit on me.’

JJ tore his eyes from Marty. ‘I know.’ He swallowed.

‘But I’m actually feeling a bit lenient today — with you, that is.’

JJ held his breath, his lungs full of the harsh smoke from the filterless roll-up.

‘You’re not going to let him get away with this, are you, Ray?’ Marty said. ‘He needs dealing with good and proper.’

Ray ignored him and smiled briefly at JJ.

‘This is the first and last time, JJ. You skim from me again and you’re a dead man.’

JJ closed his eyes, relief flooding through him.

‘Jesus! You’re letting the twat off!’ Marty wailed, shaking his head despondently. ‘He’s fuckin’ stolen from you.’

‘My money, my decision,’ Ray said, ‘so shut the fuck up.’ He spoke to JJ again. ‘If you need any extra dosh, ask me, don’t just take it. We’ll work something out.’

‘Thanks, Ray, oh God, thanks.’

Ray sat down next to JJ again, placing an arm around his shoulders — again.

‘I do not believe this,’ Marty tutted.

‘Y’see,’ Ray said, his lips only inches away from JJ’s bad ear. ‘I’m not that bad.’ He gave him a squeeze. ‘There is one thing I’m curious about, though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘If you didn’t skim two grand off me, who did?’

Henry had followed Jack Burrows back through her house into the lounge. He sat on the expensive soft leather settee, sinking so quickly into it he was caught off balance and almost spilled his tea.

Burrows smiled. ‘Always gets people, that.’

‘Mm,’ murmured Henry doubtfully and sipped the hot drink while studying her face carefully, but surreptitiously. There was something familiar about her. He had an exceptional mind when it came to recalling names and faces, rarely forgetting either, but his recall of her was slightly skewed and out of all context. He frowned. ‘I know your face, but I’m struggling to place you,’ he admitted.

‘Sounds like a chat-up line.’

‘If I wasn’t investigating a murder, it would be,’ he said. Then he made the connection in his mind: murder. . body. . death. . ‘I’ve got it,’ he said with a hint of triumph. A sudden death, two, no, three years ago. . a suicide. The deceased had taken a shed-load of pills and not been discovered for about a week or so and had started to rot nicely, thank you. Henry had gone to the death as a matter of routine, but there had been nothing for the CID. Nothing suspicious in it. Henry had happened to be at the scene when the body remover arrived. ‘You’re an undertaker,’ he declared.

‘I’ve had enough of this shit now,’ Ray Cragg said bluntly. ‘You can go.’

‘You mean it?’ JJ said in disbelief.

‘Oh, c’mon, Ray,’ Marty whined. ‘You’re not gonna let him go, are you? Let’s break a few fuckin’ fingers at least. Twat deserves it.’

Ray scowled at Marty. ‘Yes, you can go, JJ,’ but then he pointed to the open window. ‘But you’ve got to go that way. I want to see you climb down the wall. You must be just like Spiderman.’

‘Eh?’ JJ said suspiciously.

‘You heard. I said you can go, but you’ve got to climb out of the window, just like you were doing when we came in.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘Never joke. If you want to go, that’s the way you’re going to have to do it, otherwise I’ll let Marty and Crazy give you a few digs and a few broken bones.’

The Adam’s apple in JJ’s scrawny throat rose and fell. He pushed himself slowly to his feet, stubbing out the butt of the hand-rolled cigarette in the overfilled ashtray. With a terrible sense of foreboding he approached the window, cautiously eyeing the three men, seeing if there was any possible way out past Marty and Crazy. There wasn’t. They had the door blocked. No chance of doing a runner. Even Carrie had stopped her sobbing and moaning and was watching transfixed from behind her bloody fingers.

‘Go on, don’t dilly-dally,’ Ray urged him. ‘Giving me a display of your climbing prowess is the only way you’re going to leave this room.’

JJ hesitated, then swung his right leg over the window and sat astride it.

‘Go,’ said Ray. ‘I want to see you climb down.’

JJ eased his left leg over and lowered his toes down to the ledge.

Suddenly Ray crossed the room and faced JJ. ‘Actually no one skims from me. Two hundred quid or two grand, it doesn’t matter. Principle’s the same. You stole from me, committed theft.’

On the last word, Ray’s right hand shot out palm first, but landed softly on JJ’s chest. JJ clung on to the window frame. His eyes pleaded with Ray’s, but got nothing back in return, just ice.

‘Fuck. . Ray. . Don’t!’

A look of utter contempt twisted on to Ray’s face. Then he pushed and said, ‘Fly, you bastard.’

JJ could not hold on. His fingers lost their grip and he was out in mid-air in freefall. He knew there was nothing he could do, just wait for the impact and maybe hope to survive it somehow. There was a whooshing sensation past his ears as he hurtled down. It lasted only momentarily and then he hit the ground. But there was nothing. No pain. No feeling. No blackness.

Ray had leaned out of the window to watch the fall. To him, JJ seemed to be in the air for a long, long time, it was as if everything had slowed down. JJ’s arms flailed like a broken windmill, his mouth opened in a silent scream. Time then clicked back to normal and he smashed into the ground. Ray plainly heard the dull whack as the top of JJ’s head struck. His body twitched a jig, his eyes came open, then he did not move anymore, his eyes staying open, staring up at Ray accusingly.

Ray pushed himself away from the window, a grim, wild look in his own eyes.

‘First one of the day,’ he announced. ‘Let’s get a move on.’

He made towards the door. Carrie, who had watched him murder her boyfriend, forgot her own fear and pain and pounced at Ray’s feet, screaming, ‘You bastard!’

Ray smartly side-stepped and rammed the sole of his trainer against the side of her face, kicking her away. She sprawled across the room, but wasn’t finished. Jumping to her feet, she went for him again.

Marty put himself between her and Ray. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and dug his fist into her stomach. He dragged her sideways and threw her to the floor.

This time she did not move, just lay there sobbing and choking.

‘No witnesses, Marty,’ Ray said. ‘Take care of her and see us down in the car when you’ve done.’

The words were bliss to Marty’s ears. ‘It’ll be a fuckin’ pleasure.’

It was a mess underneath the settee. There were discarded cigarette packets, matchboxes, a couple of pizza boxes (one with a half-eaten Margarita in it), numerous cigarette and roach ends, some scrunched-up free newspapers and a pair of knickers. All in all, a tinderbox.

The cigarette end which had fallen from JJ’s fingers did the trick.

It burned slowly and almost died, but re-ignited when a waft of fresh air rolled through the flat when Marty left the premises after he had finished with Carrie. A tiny ember blew on to a rolled-up fish and chip paper and started to burn. The little flames crackled and licked the underside of the cheap settee, immediately melting the plastic-like fibre and spreading to the foam-filled insides.

In less than sixty seconds the fire had engulfed the piece of furniture and was reaching towards the curtains.

The old man who found JJ’s twisted body on the playground did not think to call the police. A paramedic unit was first on the scene. Once they were certain JJ’s life was extinct — not a difficult thing to work out — they called the cops and covered the body from the prying eyes of the crowd which had started to gather.

While waiting for the arrival of the boys/girls in blue, they saw the flames begin to pour out of the open window of the flat four floors above.

So they called the fire brigade.

It was going to be a full turn-out for the emergency services.