Nick Oldham - Dead Heat

On returning home with Kate that Monday morning, he had spent the rest of the day recovering by chilling out, dozing and generally doing nothing. Kate took the day off work and pandered to his every need whilst also taking every opportunity to get digs into him about how foolhardy he had been. She did not let it rest, was relentless.

When he heard nothing more from the police or Karl Donaldson that day, Henry decided his life should return to the ‘normality’ it had assumed during his suspension.

So the next day, Tuesday, even though he was stiff, sore, and patched up, he dragged himself out of bed and went for his morning constitutional, a run that was a limp as much as anything. He did not push himself hard, just took it easy and arrived at the newsagent’s five minutes later than usual, buying a copy of the Mail . He leafed through the pages as he walked out of the shop, trying to find some coverage of yesterday’s incidents.

Page 6. Two cops and a nurse dead. Page bloody 6, he thought. It only made page 6. It had been all over the early evening TV news the night before, but by the time the later bulletins came on, it had been superseded by more pressing matters concerning the adoption or not debate surrounding the euro.

He stood outside the shop, holding the newspaper up whilst he glanced quickly through the item which told him little more than he already knew. A massive manhunt was under way and that was about it. He closed the paper, his thoughts with the families of the two dead cops, and folded it tight. He was about to resume jogging when a car drew in alongside him.

It was a big Lexus with smoked windows and a personalized number plate.

Henry had seen the car at the hospital yesterday and knew who it belongd to.

The driver’s window opened smoothly.

‘Henry — get in — need to talk.’ It was FB.

He stopped running, the car slowed with him and halted.

‘About what?’

‘I think you know.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Get the fuck in,’ FB insisted.

The rear door opened, revealing the presence of Donaldson in the back seat, a big smile on his wide-jawed face. Henry bent down and looked past FB. In the front passenger seat was Jane Roscoe. In contrast to Donaldson’s face, hers was stern and glacial. ‘Hello, Henry,’ she said.

‘Come on, pal,’ Donaldson said, shuffling across the grey leather seat to make room.

Henry’s resistance crumbled. His shoulders fell and a sigh went out of him. He climbed in, a sense of foreboding surrounding him, but nevertheless he climbed in.

Because he was excited.

It was impossible for Henry to avoid Kate’s razor cut of a stare as he rushed round the house to get ready — shower, shave and dress — whilst Donaldson, Jane and FB sat outside in the Lexus waiting patiently for him.

‘You mean you haven’t actually asked them what it’s all about?’ she demanded of him while he hopped around the bedroom, trying to get his underpants on and over-balancing.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘They said they’d tell me over breakfast.’

‘Is it something to do with this Wickson business?’

‘I don’t know, but I assume so.’

‘Don’t let them railroad you into doing something stupid.’

‘I won’t,’ he lied.

‘Surely,’ she said, opening her arms, ‘surely they can’t want you to get involved? You’ve made a statement, you’ve done your duty and now you’re back to being suspended. They can’t want you to get involved, can they?’

‘Love, I just don’t know.’ He fastened his jeans and slipped a T-shirt over his head. ‘Let me go and find out, eh?’

‘I don’t trust them,’ she said, her pretty mouth turning down at the corners. ‘Especially that FB. He’s used you before. Don’t let him do it again. And Karl! I thought he was trustworthy, now I’m not so sure. And Jane Roscoe. .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Look, love,’ Henry said, this time more soothingly. He sat next to her on the bed and draped an arm across her shoulders. ‘It’ll be OK. I’ll watch my back. They probably just want to pick my brain, that’s all.’

‘Henry, all I want is for you to clear your name and get back to work.’ She looked really sad, very close to tears. ‘I don’t want things to get complicated. . and that Jane Roscoe’s there too.’ She looked at Henry. His guts catapulted, even though he was certain Kate knew nothing about his brief affair with Roscoe. . but he also knew that wives just know things.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked innocently.

Kate shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

FB hooted impatiently on his horn, a sound which seemed to reflect the affluence of the Lexus.

‘Better get going.’ Henry gave Kate a quick hug and kissed her cheek, then set off downstairs, already questioning his own reasons for accepting the invitation. Was it because he saw the chance to get back into doing some detective work? Did he see it as a chance to get back into the firm’s good books? Or was it because Jane Roscoe was involved? Or a combination of all those factors?

Kate was close behind him on the stairs and at the front door. She made a point of embracing and kissing him goodbye, then glaring into Jane Roscoe’s eyes as Henry walked to FB’s car. When Henry turned to wave, Kate’s expression morphed from dagger into flower and she gave him a loving smile.

Roscoe turned away from her and folded her arms defensively.

Henry slid into the back seat next to Donaldson, behind Jane.

‘A very touching display,’ FB said sarcastically, knocking the gear stick into ‘D’ and smoothly moving away.

Jane muttered something under her breath. Henry leaned forwards. ‘What did you say?’ he asked angrily.

‘Nothing,’ she said, deliberately not looking round.

‘Yes, you did,’ he persisted.

‘No, I didn’t,’ she said.

Henry was about to say something he would clearly have regretted, but a hand on his shoulder — a big, American hand — gently eased him back into the seat. Henry bit his lip.

‘I know where we’ll go for brekkie,’ FB announced.

Known as the White Cafe, it was situated on south promenade, amongst the sand dunes, on the seafront at St Anne’s. It was in a fabulous position and even had free parking for patrons. Business was always brisk.

Henry had been many times over the years, but had never taken anyone there other than Kate and the girls and, though this was a working breakfast, it felt peculiar to be sitting opposite Jane Roscoe, bearing in mind their recent history.

‘I’ll buy,’ FB announced grandly, stunning Henry. FB was legendary for his tightness, but it all slotted into place when he boasted, ‘seeing as I now earn more that a hundred grand a year and get a huge car allowance. I reckon it’s my treat.’ Henry’s stun turned to repugnance, reminding him why he disliked the small man’s character so much.

‘I never got a chance to congratulate you on your new job,’ Henry said, picking up a menu. Against his better judgement and present diet, and because FB was paying, he decided that he was going to order the most expensive, greasy breakfast there was. He was going to get his money’s worth out of the new Chief Constable whilst he could.

‘That’s very nice of you, Henry.’

They all fell silent and chose their food. None of the freeloaders chose cheap options. When FB came back from the counter after ordering, he was as white as the bill in his hand.

‘Bloody nearly cleaned me out,’ he moaned, sliding a tray of drinks and cutlery on to the table. Henry wondered how long FB would keep to-ing and fro-ing for other people. Not long, he suspected.

FB sat down. ‘To business,’ he declared. His face turned granite. ‘I want to know exactly why you are involved with John Lloyd Wickson and his family and what you were doing up at his house and stables. No bull allowed.’