Nick Oldham - Bad Tidings

Henry jerked away from the door and dropped low again, but nothing happened.

‘Police,’ he said again. There was no harm in making sure that everyone knew, he wouldn’t like to have anyone arguing in court — either Crown or at an inquest (including his own) — that they had not been clearly informed the police were there. ‘I’m a police officer and I’m going to come in through the door,’ he said clearly. ‘I am not armed and you will be able to see my hands. . OK?’

He had passed the point of expecting feedback. He rose to his full height again and sidestepped into the doorway, his muscles tense, expecting the whack of a bullet.

It did not come.

The office was devoid of any furniture, bare — with the exception of the second body of the night, another male, wedged in the far corner of the small room.

As at the first door, Rik came up behind Henry and peered over his shoulder. ‘Jeepers,’ he said again.

Even though Henry could not clearly see the face, he knew it was Freddy Cromer sitting there, legs splayed out, head lolling forwards on his chest which was drenched with blood from his head wound. In his right hand his fingers were loosely holding a snub-nosed, six shot revolver. Henry could see the entry wound in his right temple, half an inch in front of his ear. There was no exit wound this time, the bullet having lodged inside Freddy’s head.

Henry edged forward, carefully watching where he placed his bootee-clad feet. Rik stayed at the door.

Henry squatted down again in front of Freddy, peering closely at him, angling his own face into a position to see him clearly.

‘Definitely Freddy,’ Henry said.

Then Henry blinked and uttered urgently, ‘Get an ambulance. . I think he’s still alive.’

‘I heard a breath and then I saw his chest move,’ Henry explained to the A amp;E consultant. This was the same doctor who, a week before, had come to meet Henry at the hospital on Christmas Day — it seemed so long ago now — when Freddy Cromer had taken the poor nurse hostage. Then, physically at least, Freddy had been in excellent health. The same doctor was now battling to save Freddy’s life. ‘Just barely,’ Henry continued. ‘I didn’t know if it was just a death rattle, to be honest — you know, the last expulsion of breath, that sort of thing. Then I heard it again, felt a pulse in his neck and realized there was life still in there.’ He did not add, tempting though it was, ‘But not as we know it.’

‘You did well to notice it,’ the doctor said. He had spent the last two hours treating Freddy, whose condition was described as critical. ‘I’m surprised he’s still alive, actually. . the X-rays show that the bullet in the brain lodged’ — here the doctor touched the back of his own head, just behind his right ear — ‘somewhere in this vicinity. Obviously there’s massive swelling and bleeding and until we have control of both, it’s impossible to say what the prognosis is. At the moment he’s in a coma, which is a good thing because it’ll give his body an opportunity to settle. . but to be fair, I don’t hold out much hope for his recovery. As corny as it always sounds, the next twenty-four hours will be critical.

‘Anyway’ — he clapped Henry on the arm — ‘you did well, you saved his life for the time being at least. Get yourself a brew. That machine’ — he pointed to a hot drinks dispenser — ‘does a great filter coffee, believe it or not.’

‘Thanks — and I will.’

The doctor pulled his surgical mask over his face and turned away into the maze of the A amp;E department.

Henry took a deep breath, then followed doctor’s orders.

It was now past eight in the morning. He carried the steaming coffee out into the dawn and stood on the paved area outside the A amp;E entrance at Royal Blackburn Hospital, sipping the surprisingly good brew, taking in the view across to the motorway and up the hill beyond towards Belthorn. He thought, Who could have believed I could have had so much fun in such a small place?

Daylight had only just crept in, but it was still grey. At least the threatened snowstorm had not materialized, yet as Henry searched the sky, the possibility still existed. There seemed little chance that the sun would shine on the beginning of this brand new year.

He phoned Rik, who was still up at the factory unit in charge of the murder scene. The circus had arrived en masse and got to work. It was only a short conversation — as he talked, he was focusing on an Astra van being driven up the curved driveway to the hospital. He ended the call and sipped his drink whilst watching the occupant park, pay and hurry in his direction.

He took a long swig of the coffee, then dropped the plastic cup into a waste bin and prepared himself to meet and greet Janine Cromer, daughter of Terry, niece of Freddy. He was already thinking this was going to be fun.

She halted abruptly in front of him, challenge in her manner.

‘Janine, I’m so sorry.’

She blinked away her disbelief and said cynically, ‘I’ll bet you are.’

‘Oddly enough, I don’t like people dying.’

She surveyed his face with hard-edged eyes. He could almost see the turmoil inside.

Henry had to agree that this wasn’t the way he would have chosen to deal with the relative of a murder victim and an (attempted) suicide. But he had wanted to stay with Freddy when the ambulance turned up fifteen minutes after being rousted and he did not really want anyone else to deal with them. When Freddy had been rushed into casualty, he had called Janine, using the mobile number he had logged in his phone, but there had been no reply. He’d left a message and then had a uniform PC to go up to the house in Belthorn — but there had been no reply there, either. And as the surveillance team had been taken off the house a day before (because of the cost), there was no way of knowing if there was actually anyone in or not. According to the patrol, the place seemed completely empty.

So Henry had left another message for Janine. And another.

And eventually she called him, sounding tired and irritated.

He had asked her to come to the hospital to meet him. His idea had been to tell her face to face what he had found in the factory unit, but she had insisted that he tell her over the phone.

So he did. To silence. Not the best way to deliver the news of a death, and Henry was very uncomfortable with it — but that was what she wanted. So she got it.

Finally she’d said, ‘My dad’s dead, but it looks like Freddy might live. Is that what you’re saying? Freddy might live?’

‘Yes — so I need to speak to you, please. And also to your grandmother, their mum.’

‘I’ll come,’ she said. And hung up.

And here she was standing in front of him. Suddenly her hard shell cracked and she said, ‘Can I see my uncle, please?’

‘Yes, I think so. . I’ll come if you don’t mind.’

‘I do, actually, but I need to know what’s going on, what’s really happened, and sadly you might be the only person who can tell me.’

It would have been easy for Henry to shrug and say ‘Whatever.’ Instead he bit his tongue and remained professional. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

‘Yes, we do.’

She stalked past Henry through the automatic doors, but once inside the reception area she stopped unexpectedly and spun on him. ‘I don’t even know where he is. You take me.’

‘Follow me,’ he said softly, walked past her touching her arm, leading the way to the A amp;E wards. He was sympathetic to her mood — something as enormous as this was hard for anyone to deal with and get right in their head. She had only just learned some terrible news about her family and Henry understood that she would probably hate him, love him, despise him, pretty much all at the same time. That’s the way it went, whether people were members of crime families or not.