Nick Oldham - Dead Heat

Henry slowly replaced the phone on the hook with a feeling of horror. ‘Shithead,’ he said.

At 6.50 a.m. next morning Headquarters was quiet, it being a place where, generally, nobody started work before eight. He had no trouble parking Kate’s car at the front of the building, having been allowed access on to the campus through the security barriers with no fuss whatsoever, which surprised him somewhat. That had felt rather good, like old times. He looked across the playing fields to the new major-crime unit building — known as the Pavilion as it had been constructed on the site of the old cricket pavilion — behind which was the block that housed the SIO team. Henry’s heart juddered as he thought he would dearly have liked to have a job in either of the buildings. Fat chance of that, he thought.

He went into HQ, was given a visitor’s badge to pin on, and made his way up to the Chief Constable’s office on the quiet middle floor. He knocked on the outer door and entered the secretary’s office, as it was impossible walk straight into the Chief’s office from the corridor these days. In times gone by, not very long ago, each chief officer had their secretary and that was it. Now there were desks for an assorted bunch of people as the police service desperately tried to modernize. The Chief now had a secretary, a staff officer, an assistant to the staff officer and an assortment of administrative staff. A clan of people ministering to his every whim.

The Chief’s staff officer, a chief inspector called Ray Collier, who Henry knew reasonably well, was already at his desk, obviously already cute to the new bosses’ working arrangements. He looked up when Henry came in and gave him a pleasant nod. ‘Go straight in, Henry,’ he said brightly.

‘Cheers, Ray.’ How could anyone who worked directly for FB seem so happy? Henry wondered.

Henry bore left to the Chief’s office, finding the door propped open and FB inside behind his desk. He knocked and stood on the threshold.

FB did not look up from his paperwork. ‘Come in, shut the door, grab a coffee and siddown.’

Not surprised by this manner, Henry did as bid, taking a seat opposite the wide, leather-topped desk, more suited to a Victorian industrialist than a 21st-century police chief. He had poured himself a coffee from the filter machine, no milk. He sipped it, his hand shaking ever so slightly, either from nerves or the alcohol he had imbibed the night before. He could not be sure.

FB continued to read some important document or other and Henry almost chuckled. FB’s psychological games continue, he thought.

Git.

Finally he looked up as though Henry’s presence was a surprise.

‘Good news or bad news?’ he said.

‘Er. .’ Henry hesitated.

‘I’ll start with the good news,’ FB decided for him. ‘As from Monday you’re officially reinstated and disciplinary proceedings have been dispensed with.’

Henry was gobsmacked. He quickly put the coffee down on FB’s desk before he spilled it.

‘Pick that up,’ FB said, glaring. ‘It’ll mark the wood.’

‘S. . sorry,’ Henry was bewildered. He picked up the mug and held it with both hands. ‘How?’

‘I’ve spent the last two days, pretty much, reviewing the case as I promised and got to the bottom of it. I’ve spoken to several people at length, not least Detective Chief Superintendent Bernie flaming Fleming, who I put the screws on.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Basically he stitched you up to save his own sorry hide, didn’t he?’

‘I would say that — but I’m biased.’

‘And so would I, actually, having looked at the balance of probabilities. I weedled it out of the miserable little toad that you had requested a full-blown firearms operation and he turned it down. That’s why you did what you did, isn’t it?’

Henry nodded, but kept quiet. He was not one to look a gift horse in the gob.

‘Anyway, big sods, little sods, you’re back on Monday and he’s decided to retire.’ FB gave him a leerful smile.

‘So he really is going to suffer?’ Henry could not help but blurt sarcastically, thinking that a chief super’s pension was worth about twenty-five grand a year with a lump sum of about?150,000.

‘Just be thankful I’m batting for you, Henry. You just don’t appreciate me, do you? Anyway — but — and it is a big BUT, I don’t have any sway at all in the trial and inquest that’re coming up, so expect a very rough ride there, Henry. You were suspended because you disobeyed a lawful order and your judgement was called to account, so don’t expect any defence lawyers to give you an easy time.’

‘I won’t.’

‘My history with you, a very long and tiresome one, means I supported you, but don’t expect that your return to work will be heralded with flags and celebrations. A lot of people in this force are putting a very big question mark over your head. You will have your work cut out to regain any credibility whatsoever.’

‘I know,’ Henry said glumly. ‘Thanks. But what’s the bad news? PACE inspector at Burnley? Best Value Inspector?’

‘Worse than that.’

‘Go on.’ Henry’s heart sank.

‘When you come back you’ll be working directly for me. You’ll be retaining your temporary rank of Chief Inspector.’ That same leering smile was on his face again. ‘I have a job for you. When you’ve finished it, then you might go to Burnley on shifts.’

By 7.15 a.m. Henry was back in his car, too dithery to start the engine, elated but wary of FB’s motives. The future sounded slightly menacing. He tried a few deep-breathing exercises to bring him down from the roof.

‘Calm. . keep calm. . Phone Kate, tell her the news. . Don’t gabble.’

He reached for the mobile which he’d left on the top of the dashboard. As soon as he picked it up, it rang, making him jump. He could not really get used to the little sods.

‘Henry, it’s me, Karl.’

‘Early bird.’

‘Been up working all night. Called you at home, but Kate said you were seeing FB at HQ. Everything all right? Anything to tell me?’

‘No, everything’s OK and I’ve nothing to tell you.’ He wanted Kate to be first to hear his news.

‘I have news for you, but I’ll be brief. You asked me to make some checks with my source in Spain?’

‘Yeah.’ Henry had asked Donaldson if he could speak to his informant in Mendoza’s organization to check to see whether he knew anything about the Spaniard who had been operating in the north of England two years ago, who had met Andy Turner on the night he and two surveillance cops disappeared. Henry hadn’t held out much hope of any result. ‘Is this OK for a cellular line, Karl?’

‘I’ll keep it mysterious. The person you enquired about is actually my source. He says that he was working for the big man — ’ Henry knew Donaldson was referring to Mendoza here — ‘at the time referred to. He was seeking new business for him and he had to deal harshly with your local criminal for stepping out of line, making threats.’

‘Harshly?’

‘He put our dead friend on to him.’ Henry knew that was a reference to Verner. ‘He dealt with the local man, but also with two officers of the law who stumbled across him in the act.’

‘Jesus,’ Henry said. ‘They found him doing the deed?’

‘Affirmative. He was forced to deal with them in the only way he could. All three are buried. . somewhere. . source doesn’t quite know where. He helped our friend to dispose of their car to a scrap dealer, as well as getting rid of our friend’s car, which was extremely wet.’

‘Wet’, Henry knew, referred to blood. He was slightly annoyed at Donaldson for talking about Verner as a friend. Henry was stunned by the news. It meant that Jo Coniston and her partner had been killed and buried by Verner. Henry thought about Jo’s mother, the distraught woman he had met in the White Cafe. Hard though it would be, there might be some possibility of closure for her now. Depending on how Donaldson allowed the information to be used, it could be that Greater Manchester Police would be able to re-open the investigation into the disappearance of their two officers properly. At least that is where Henry’s thoughts took him in those moments. When he was reinstated, he would push it, he decided, no matter what Donaldson said. The problem was that it could possibly compromise the source and Henry would have to think about the greater good. Was it more important to bring down Mendoza, or to bring to an end the suffering and agony of a mother? Discuss.