Nick Oldham - Dead Heat

‘Totally out of it. I’ve never seen anyone like this before. She’s really, really ill, I think.’

‘She’s been through a lot.’

‘Henry, what happened? What was it all about? Where’s my dad?’

She didn’t know and Henry found himself at a loss. ‘Look,’ he said, not wanting to duck out of the responsibility of telling her, but believing it was the better course of action at this moment in time. ‘I’m not completely sure myself. Don’t worry your head about anything at the moment, other than looking after your mum, eh? She needs you right now.’ Charlotte looked devastated and unable to cope with that. He lifted her chin. ‘How are you?’ he asked tenderly.

She raised her chin off his fingertips and then stared at the floor, making no reply.

‘Your mum’s going to get looked after in here, but you need to be looked after too, Charlotte, at least for a few hours.’

‘I’m staying here,’ she bristled. ‘I’m staying with my mum.’ Her eyes watered. ‘Is Dad dead?’

Henry nodded. ‘Sorry.’

She took that initial blow well, looking more puzzled than anything. He knew that sooner or later, no matter how bad the situation had been at home, Wickson’s death would hit her hard. No matter which way it was looked at, he had been her father all her life, even though he wasn’t biologically. She would be unable to think of him differently, ever, Henry guessed.

‘Your mum’s going to get transferred on to a ward shortly and all she’ll be doing is sleeping all day. There is nothing you can do to help her here. You really can’t stay. They’ve nowhere to put you.’

‘I want to,’ she protested.

‘You need to get some sleep yourself. You need somewhere to crash out, because when your mum wakes up, she’ll need you to be strong and if you’re a wreck, you won’t be strong, will you?’

Even through her bewildered thinking, Charlotte could see the logic of this. ‘I don’t want to go home, though. . I saw Jake,’ she said. The expression on her young face made Henry want to get hold of her, hug her and reassure her that it would be all right, that the memory of the horror would fade in time.

He hoped he did not live to regret his next offer. He hoped also that it did not sound perverted. ‘Would you come to my house? You could crash out on Leanne’s bed. She wouldn’t mind. My wife’s there. You’d have a good sleep, some food and then get back here refreshed. That’s what your mum will need.’

‘Please. .’ Charlotte started to crumble. ‘That would be nice.’

Henry led her out of the hospital via Dr Caunce. Henry gave her his home and mobile numbers and told her to instruct staff not to let the police interview Tara before Henry had had a chance to speak to her.

Caunce gave him a strange look, wondering what was going on. ‘But you’re a cop, aren’t you?’

Henry winked. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘I won’t,’ said the doctor, ‘because I now have your mobile phone number.’

There was no natural-looking way of disposing of a gun and a bag of drugs, Henry realized. He had driven out past Poulton-le-Fylde and over Shard Bridge, which spanned the River Wyre, which flows into the Irish Sea at Fleetwood. He was relieved to see that the tide was in and the river, consequently, was high. Just what he needed. He parked the Astra on Old Bridge Lane, just on the northern side of the river, and strolled back along the bridge with a plastic bag in his hand containing the said illegal items.

He walked as casually as he could, trying to give the impression he was out on a morning stroll. He could not get rid of the feeling that everyone who drove past him was looking at him and knew he was a villain.

There were no other pedestrians on the bridge.

He stopped half-way across, leaned on the parapet and gazed down the river toward the meandering right-hand curve on which the Blackpool and Fylde Yacht Club was situated. He then stared directly down at the water below him. It was a muddy brown colour, as ever. He had passed over the Wyre hundreds of times during his life and never seen the water any different colour. He would not have liked to swim in it. It was not the least inviting.

From the direction of the flow, he could tell it was on the ebb.

Several cars drove past. Then there was a gap in the traffic. He scanned around furtively. No one in sight. No cars, no people.

He acted quickly, opening the bag and tipping out the contents into the river.

The gun dropped into the water with a splash and sank immediately.

The bag of drugs fell on to the surface and kind of settled there, floated away like a tiny boat towards the sea. He watched it sail away, then sink.

A big sigh of relief made his body shudder.

‘She’s still asleep,’ Kate whispered to Henry on his return home. ‘She had a shower then went straight to bed. She’s exhausted, poor soul. Just what has been going on, Henry?’

‘Don’t really know where to start,’ he said, ‘other than I would really like a massive hug.’

There was no need for a second request. She needed one as well. Kate fell into his arms and they both squeezed tight.

It felt very, very good.

Henry needed his bed too, so following a long, hot power shower, he fell on to the kingsize, closed his eyes and was instantly asleep. He was deep out of it for about four hours but when he woke to visit the loo he could not get back. He tossed and turned for an hour, thoughts and plans tumbling through his brain, some jumbled, some very clear.

In the end he gave up and got up.

Kate was downstairs, pacing the house on pins. ‘She’s still asleep,’ she answered Henry’s question. She gave him another hug and then held him out at arms’ length. ‘Now are you going to tell me what’s happened? It’s all over the TV news. It sounds horrible.’

‘It is, was,’ he confirmed. ‘I’ll tell you over a brew.’

They sat in the conservatory and he told her what she needed to know, stunning her with the violence of the night. Her mouth regularly drooped open as he recounted the grim details.

When he had told her enough, she asked, ‘And how are you, love?’

He thought about it for a long time, then nodded. ‘I’m OK, actually,’ he said, surprising himself. He knew that not long ago he would have been very deeply affected by the night’s events, that they could have sent him over the edge, but now he was a much stronger man. He looked into Kate’s eyes and knew why. He felt like he could face anything with her behind him. She was his rock and it had taken him a long time to realize it. Kate and the children. They were all he needed.

‘I love you,’ he said simply.

‘And I love you.’

They leaned forwards and kissed each other, pulling apart when a noise from the dining room make them look up. It was the pathetic figure of Charlotte, wearing Leanne’s dressing gown.

They were back at the hospital at 5 p.m., wending their way through endless corridors to the ward on to which Tara had been transferred. It was not official visiting time, but they were allowed in. She had been placed in a side room and Henry stiffened when he saw a uniformed cop on the door. A barrier because Henry knew him and he knew Henry. But did he know that Henry was suspended? He braved it, nodded at the officer and ushered Charlotte in ahead of him. ‘It’s her daughter,’ he whispered into the officer’s ear as he went past.

‘OK,’ he whispered back.

Tara was propped up in bed, awake, tired, but looking much better than she had done. The big wrap-around bandage had been removed from her head and replaced by a more practical-looking dressing. Most of the left side of her head had been shaved and Henry could see how swollen it was.