Nick Oldham - The Last Big Job

Drozdov, magazine in his right hand, useless Uzi in his left, stopped instantly and looked up at the menacing figure of Billy Crane. He held up the separate parts with a shrug and a smile of resignation and hurled them at Crane, crabbing away backwards.

Crane dodged the metal. He aimed deliberately at the retreating Russian and pulled the trigger six times, blasting 9mm holes into his chest and stomach until Drozdov lay there without moving, probably dead.

Crane stood over him like a Colossus and put another two into his head.

It was midnight. Danny emerged from her bathroom smelling of Johnson’s body wash. She had a robe wrapped tightly around her and was rubbing her short hair with a hand towel. She felt refreshed after the shower. It had been a long day. She went into the back bedroom and settled down to dry her hair at the dressing table.

A curiously pleasant feeling came over her as she went downstairs into the lounge and drew the curtains. She switched on a couple of table lamps, keeping the lighting subdued, and inserted a CD into the stereo and waited for the first track to start playing. The serene, deep and uplifting music of Ladysmith Black Mambazo filtered out of the speakers and sent a tingle down her spine. It was wonderful, atmospheric stuff and Danny hated herself for not discovering it many years before. She adjusted the volume so it was just right to fill the room, yet not intrusive or overpowering, then wandered into the kitchen.

She opened the new fridge and poured an ice-cold glass of Chablis and found an unopened tube of Pringles in a cupboard. Before leaving the kitchen she hesitated at the door, looking around. A half-smile came to her face. She thought, Good. He’s not here any more. Jack Sands has gone.

Back in the lounge, she flopped down on to the settee, legs stretched out, glass of wine within arm’s reach on the coffee table. She leaned back and fed a few crisps into her mouth, followed by a few slurps of wine. Then it was time to light up. Although she was breaking a rule — never to smoke in the house — Danny didn’t give a toss. The first drag of the B amp;H Special felt so-o-o good.

She relaxed and closed her eyes, about to review the day in her mind. It had been unusual and eventful — extraordinary, even — but before she could begin to dissect it, the front doorbell chimed. At first Danny thought she was hearing things. She hit the mute button on the stereo remote… then it chimed again. She shot bolt upright. It was ten after midnight. Who the hell could be calling at this hour? Her stomach churned.

Suspiciously she got to her feet, sliding them into her fluffy slippers. She was not happy answering the door at this time of night. In the hallway she stood behind the front door, hand hovering over the panic alarm button.

‘ Who is it?’ she called.

‘ Henry Christie.’

She exhaled and slid the chain off, drew back the two bolts and unlocked the double mortice.

‘ What are you doing here?’ She eyed him from the light of the hallway and the security light set above the door. He looked tired and unshaven. His eyes were deep in their sockets, his skin pale, loose

… ill-looking.

‘ Sorry… sorry to bother you,’ he stuttered. Danny could smell booze on Henry’s breath, though he clearly wasn’t drunk. ‘I want to explain something to you. I need to apologise for the way I was earlier. Can I come in?’

Danny waved her visitor to a seat in the lounge. She sat on the settee and curled her legs up underneath her, tucking her robe in tightly. Henry took a sip from the can of lager she had given him. The sip became a gulp and lasted until half the can had gone down.

He wiped his mouth. ‘What a day!’

Danny agreed with a gentle nod. It certainly had been one to remember, right from her disagreement with Henry to the very real possibility of a big crime having been committed somewhere in the north of the county. She and Henry had stayed on duty until 10 p.m. killing time, waiting for something to come in. Just as they decided to cal it a day, a phone call came through to their little incident room from Control Room: Staffordshire Police had contacted Lancashire to say that a security company based down there had reported that one of their vans had not completed its journey. It had been carrying twenty-odd million pounds in used notes.

Danny was the one who had taken the call. She felt the pit virtually drop out of her stomach at the news. This had to be it. She asked the Control Room Inspector to fax a copy of the message to the incident room ASAP, which he did.

She and Henry read it together as it churned out.

‘ Could well be the one,’ Henry said, the corners of his mouth turning down. ‘Until the van turns up, or the people inside it, we won’t know for sure. I know it says Staffs have circulated obs for the vehicle, but I think we should reinforce it with another message to all our police stations and ask Control Room to circulate details a few times over the air tonight.’ He studied the fax again. ‘Get some bobbies round to check the addresses of the drivers, see what that turns up too. They’re all Lancashire ones. That’s probably all we can do for now, other than to give FB a quick ring and keep him informed. We’d better keep him sweet, otherwise he’ll have our guts for garters.’

Danny arranged to have these instructions carried out. When finished, Henry said, ‘Let’s go home.

They left Headquarters separately in their own cars. Danny did not expect to see Henry again until the next morning. Yet here he was, looking very much the worse for wear.

She smiled sweetly at him. ‘If I get a chance tomorrow, I’d like to get some estimates for the repairs to my car, and let my insurance company know.’

‘ Yeah, I don’t have a problem with that.’

For a few long moments they did not speak. Ladysmith Black Mambazo moved into the haunting ‘Love I’ve Come to You’. They listened to it together. Danny’s eyes looked softly at Henry.

‘ Why have you come here?’ she asked gently.

Henry had another swig of the lager as though he was avoiding answering the question. He rolled the liquid around his mouth before swallowing. ‘I suppose I was completely pissed off at myself for the way I behaved earlier. I wanted to say sorry. I was out of order.’

‘ You had a right to be upset. After all, I was meddling. I should have checked it all out first.’

‘ I overreacted.’

‘ It’s OK, Henry.’ Danny watched him carefully. He stared blankly into the middle distance, licking his lips. His breathing seemed to become laboured. He touched a hand to his forehead and emitted a short gasp from the back of his throat, then gritted his teeth. His eyes evaded hers. His lips started to tremble slightly and his shoulders rose and fell. He wiped his eyes with the thumb and finger of his left hand, shaking his head angrily at the same time. Danny could see he was wrestling with himself, that he was in turmoil. She put her wine glass down and sat up.

‘ Was is it, Henry?’ She thought back to his extended visit to Occupational Health that very morning and also his wasted, fleshy appearance coupled with mood swings and his inability to concentrate. She did the sums in her mind and came up with the dreaded answer. Henry had cancer. ‘Are you unwell?’ she probed, stomach tingling, fearing the response. His actual answer threw her completely off-balance.

‘ I’ve had all the tests and there’s no trace of infection, thank God. And that’s a miracle, that is.’ His face set firm, then he closed his eyes and tilted his head backwards. ‘I haven’t told Kate. I haven’t told anyone, to be honest — but I think Terry has a good idea.’ His head dropped forwards and he looked straight at Danny.