Nick Oldham - Critical Threat

‘Obviously not.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘Called him on his mobile — didn’t answer.’ That answered one thing for Henry. Daley had been in possession of his mobile phone, but it wasn’t at the scene of his death. Whoever had killed him must have taken it. Kippax went on, ‘I called the office — no reply. Then I went round, thinking he’d snuck off to the pub.’ She winced and clutched her stomach.

‘Jackie, are you all right?’ Angela asked.

‘Yeah, yeah … God, I wish he had gone to the pub.’

‘What time did you go round to check on him?’ Henry asked.

‘It was after midnight, that’s all I know.’

Angela Cranlow smiled and said, ‘Wow.’

Henry eyed her. ‘Wow — exactly.’

‘You seem to have rattled her cage.’

‘With good reason.’

‘So what’s the Eddie Daley story? Fill me in,’ she said excitedly.

She and Henry were sitting in the front seat of her Mercedes. Henry himself had driven Kippax back to her flat on Fishmoor, ensuring he gave her his card, then met Cranlow back at the scene of the murder to check on progress, which was good. Everyone who should have been there was, and the well-oiled machine chugged merrily away. The only person who had not yet materialized was a Home Office pathologist, who was due at any time. Whilst Henry checked on everything, Cranlow had remained in her car writing up notes and generally being efficient.

Henry had tapped on the window and she motioned him to get in beside her.

‘So, how am I performing?’ he’d asked as he settled in.

‘If you think I turned up here to check on you, think again, Henry. As I said, you’re paranoid. No, the reason I’m here is because it’s fun and interesting and it’s my responsibility — and yes, actually you’re performing OK, which is what I expected.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’

He gave her a sly look and, not for the first time, realized he liked what he saw — a very attractive, well-groomed woman in her mid-forties, on top of which she was a high ranking police officer who seemed friendly and approachable and, yes, unless he was mistaken, unless his ridiculous male ego was playing its usual tricks on him, there was something of a spark between them, but he wasn’t going to be foolish enough to stick his match anywhere near it.

‘I’m going to follow this one through as best I can,’ she told Henry. ‘See how this force compares to my last on murders.’

‘I think it’ll be favourable.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ she said, smiling … then added, ‘Wow!’

‘Mm, Eddie Daley,’ Henry said ruminatively in answer to her question about the Eddie Daley story, which sounded like the title of some fifties bio-pic. ‘Not that much to tell, really. Just before I went on Regional Crime Squad, as it was, in about 94, I did a short spell as a DS in Blackburn, just filling in really, kicking my heels until my transfer came through.

‘I ended up working on Eddie Daley’s team. He was a DI based in the old nick in town. We were pretty good mates, actually, had a ball. He was seeing Kippax following his two failed marriages, but the thing about her is that she’s related, somewhere down the line, to a big-time Blackburn crim whose name escapes me …’ He thought for a moment, then it came. ‘Terry Burrows, who incidentally used to co-own the Class Act, spookily enough. It was called something different back then.’ Henry paused, arranging his thoughts. ‘Burrows was being investigated by RCS for drug-dealing and importation and I literally stumbled on Eddie passing intelligence to him about police operations. He got suspended, it went to trial, but a witness came to a sticky end and the whole thing fell apart.’

‘You mean murdered?’

Henry nodded.

‘Did you suspect Daley of the murder?’

Henry exhaled a long sigh. ‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘but I think Burrows had a hand in it, but you know, shit sticks. The trial might’ve collapsed, but Eddie was tarred for life and he had to go. Internal discipline got him for all sorts, from checking PNC and passing details on, to getting free curries. In fact I found out he was leaning on local curry houses and Asian taxi drivers, running a sort of protection racket. Needless to say, I featured heavily in the trial and the internal discipline hearings.’ He looked at Cranlow. ‘It was hard, believe me. I’m no snitch and I’m no angel, but Eddie was rotten to his core and he had to go, mate or no mate. Hence Jackie’s reaction to me. Me and the wife had been out with them a few times. Burrows got his further down the line in a drive-by shooting in Nottingham.’

‘A complex web. Wow,’ she said again.

‘Aye, so it doesn’t surprise me Eddie’s fallen foul of the underworld.’

‘You reckon the Class Act is involved in this?’

‘It’s a bloody good starting point.’

‘Don’t get blinkered.’

‘Would I?’

They smiled at each other.

‘So,’ Cranlow said hesitantly, ‘what’s the Henry Christie story?’

‘Something along the lines of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, just on a smaller scale: sex, debauchery, adultery — rock ’n’ roll, even.’

Cranlow chuckled and his eyes met hers at the complete opposite of the spectrum to when they had met Jackie Kippax’s.

‘I’m looking at a 1 p.m. briefing for this,’ he said quickly. ‘We’ll use the MIR at Blackburn nick. I’ll arrange for personnel to be drafted in and hopefully we’ll be knocking on doors by three. How does that sound?’

‘Good,’ Cranlow said coolly, recognizing when she had been cut dead and obviously feeling a little embarrassed by it.

A car drew in behind them, headlights reflecting in the rear-view mirror. The occupant climbed out and Henry recognized who it was.

‘Pathologist’s here,’ he said, opening the door of the Mercedes. ‘Just one thing, boss,’ he added. ‘When I dropped Jackie off, she told me something … she’s just been diagnosed with stomach cancer.’

‘I never thought I’d see you again,’ Keira O’Connell, the Home Office pathologist said as she carefully removed what was left of Eddie Daley’s brain from its cranium and carried it with equal care over to the stainless steel dissecting tray on which she laid it. Henry Christie followed her, standing just by her right shoulder like a henchman. They were in the mortuary at Blackburn Royal Infirmary and O’Connell was about an hour into the post-mortem. ‘You’d been given the boot.’

She was clearly referring to the time Henry had been ousted from the murder of the female who had just been featured on Crimewatch , when Dave Anger had ignominiously tossed him off the case and replaced him with DI Carradine.

‘It was a pretty public sacking,’ O’Connell said, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘So how come you’re on this one?’

He gave her a stupid grin. ‘They needed me more than I needed them, only they just didn’t realize it.’

O’Connell wiped her blood-streaked, latex-gloved hands on a paper towel and picked up a digital camera, taking a few choice shots of the damaged brain.

‘Did you catch Crimewatch last night?’ O’Connell asked.

‘Hm,’ Henry affirmed.

‘They phoned me yesterday to ask if there was anything more from my point of view they should say on the programme.’

‘Who phoned? Dave Anger?’

‘Yeah.’ She turned away from the workbench and returned to Daley’s body on the mortuary slab. He was now naked, his clothing having been removed and bagged for forensic examination. His body was overweight and pathetic and sad, and the blood that remained in him had settled although he had lost a lot from the head wound and bled profusely on to the floor of his office. She dropped on to her haunches and peered into Daley’s scooped out cranium.