Nick Oldham - Instinct

On the landing outside the tiny flat, Henry and Donaldson stared blankly at each other. Rik hovered close by.

Donaldson broke the silence. ‘Where do we take it from here?’

‘Talk to a murderer for a start,’ Henry replied.

Ten minutes later Henry was entering the custody suite at Blackpool police station, Donaldson close behind. Henry walked straight past the custody officer into the cell complex.

Driver’s cell door was open. A uniformed gaoler sat on a chair outside, keeping a suicide watch on the prisoner, who, still in the billowy forensic suit, was sitting up on the bench bed. The gaoler stood up, but Henry waved him back down, and stepped into the cell.

Driver looked up, his eyes raw. ‘Come to interview me in a cell?’ he dared. ‘Out of order, isn’t it?’

‘I want to clear something up. Where exactly did you pick up Natalie Philips?’

‘I don’t know. I picked her up and killed her, isn’t that enough?’

‘Where, exactly, did you find her in the first place?’ Henry insisted.

Driver held a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. ‘I don’t know. Somewhere just off the town centre. Not sure of the street name. I don’t really know Blackpool that well.’

‘If I showed you a street map, could you pinpoint it?’

‘Maybe, why?’

‘I think the time for you asking why is long gone, don’t you?’

Driver glared insolently at Henry, then his expression altered slightly and he dropped his arrogance. ‘Springfield Road,’ he said.

Just on the northern edge of the town centre.

‘And what exactly did she have to say about shaving her boyfriend?’

Driver shrugged. ‘Dunno. Sounded sexy, though. Shaved him and his two mates, apparently.’

There was a street map underneath the custody officer’s desk. Henry and Donaldson inspected it, Henry putting his finger on Springfield Road, which was about a quarter of a mile from where Donaldson had first spotted Sadiq on the prom, clean-shaven and ready to explode. It was at least a mile away from the flat further north that had been under police observation, the one Sadiq and Rahman were believed to have been in.

‘She went with Sadiq to an address somewhere around here,’ Henry said, his finger circling the street map. ‘Had sex with him and Akram, then they ditched her after she shaved them from head to toe — is what I think. Which is when Driver found her.’

‘OK,’ Donaldson said. ‘So they had access to the apartment under surveillance, but they sure as hell did not prepare for their last journey there.’

‘Bingo,’ Henry said. ‘You said your insider found out there were three of them, not two — which fits. They used someone else’s flat to prepare, and to have sex with Natalie.’ He mulled it over, his mind suddenly alive again. ‘We caught two of them, and you almost nailed Akram, which put a spanner in their works and obviously bomber number three was aborted.’

‘And if what Flynn says is true, that Akram has come back to finish what he started, then there will be another one of them waiting for him. Akram himself won’t be the third one, because he’s the one who sends others to their deaths. So we were right — it’s not over. He could be back in town right now, strapping explosives on to another poor schmuck. He needs to be there to push the buttons, metaphorically and literally.’

‘Then again,’ Henry said, ‘we could be completely wrong.’

‘I’d rather have egg off my face, H.’

‘Me too,’ Henry agreed. Henry led Donaldson back through the station corridors to Rik Dean’s office, both wondering how best to come at the problem. Rik was in his office, and so was an exhausted looking Chief Constable Robert Fanshaw-Bayley. He had felt it his duty to turn out because of PC Driver’s arrest.

‘Morning, boss,’ Henry said, his enthusiasm waning.

‘And Mr Donaldson, too,’ FB said. ‘Sometimes I think you guys are joined at the hip. Anyhow, come in and grab a seat. DI Dean is just bringing me up to speed with PC Driver. Good arrest, Henry. Shame it’s a cop. And you thought she might’ve been murdered by our terrorist friends.’

‘Not a bad guess, based on the fluids inside her.’

‘I know all that, but it wasn’t them.’

‘No, but I’m sure she was with them in the hours before her unfortunate meeting with PC Driver.’

FB nodded, then looked at Donaldson. ‘And why are you back up in this neck of the woods?’

‘Our terrorist friends.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Akram is back on UK soil,’ he stated, then turned to Henry. ‘I know this guy, Henry. I’ve been on his tail since 1988. He’s here in town, I feel it. He finishes jobs, and whether it’s today or next week or next month, a lot of people in Blackpool are going to die en masse, but my guess is sooner not later. He’s a quick operator. It would have all been set up until we spoiled it. He won’t hang around. He’s a busy guy, lots of people to kill the world over, and, according to my sources, there is someone else involved.’ He paused — a little too dramatically for FB, but it was to good effect — and turned to the chief, ‘You need to launch a manhunt — sir.’

‘Bastard laughed at me,’ FB said. The chief had made a call to Beckham at MI5, while Henry and Donaldson went up to the canteen to order breakfast. He’d then climbed the stairs to the dining room, arriving red-faced and breathless and not a little annoyed.

A coffee and bacon sandwich were waiting for him and he dived on to them with gusto, tore a few mouthfuls from the sandwich, wiped his mouth and then declared Beckham’s reaction to him.

Henry said, ‘What did he actually say?’

‘I told him we suspected another person was involved and he said, “What, three?” I said, “Yes, is that correct?” He said no, but wanted to know where my information had come from, and I told him I wasn’t at liberty to reveal my source.’ FB looked pointedly at Donaldson, who experienced an unsettling quiver through his intestines, and not from the look or the food. ‘He laughed and said, “From a Yank, I’ll bet” — then he clammed up.’

‘Did you press him on that?’ Donaldson asked. FB shook his head. Donaldson fell silent and Henry watched him working through this new piece of information.

‘Two things,’ Donaldson said at length. ‘I think I’ve been fed a hook, line and sinker here. They ensure that Edina — ’ Donaldson held up his hand to stop FB’s question ‘- hang on a minute… they ensure Edina comes across some information that might be of value to me. In other words, they feed her what they think is false information to see if it surfaces somewhere, then they can backtrack it. And now it has surfaced — ’ he looked at FB — ‘and now she’ll need to really watch her ass. She thought they were on to her, now it’s for sure.’ He shook his head at the enormity of the situation.

‘You said two things,’ Henry reminded him.

‘Oh yeah. Thing is, therefore, MI5 don’t actually know there’s a third party involved. They don’t know. They made it up, like spies do, to feed the “enemy” — me — a line. They don’t know. They knew about the two lads and about Akram, but they haven’t yet worked out that they set off from another location, just assumed, like us all, they managed to get out of the flat without the cops seeing them. Shit like that happens. They didn’t even check the drains. I’ll bet their scientists haven’t found any traces of explosives or anything in that flat — because the lads simply lived in it, but didn’t operate from it.’

‘Half-baked Intel,’ FB spat. ‘And if it hadn’t been for you guys, Blackpool would have been blown to smithereens.’

Henry blinked. FB handing out accolades. Almost unheard of.