Tom Weaver - The Dead Tracks

We backed up and returned to the courtyard. Immediately right, on the opposite side to the safe house, was a long patch of shadow. We moved into it, crouching - and waited. Thirty seconds later they appeared, heading off to their left. We watched them disappear out of view.

And then Healy made a break for it.

I tried to grab him, tried to pull him back, but he was already off, using the darkness as cover. It was a stupid, desperate move. He didn't want to get caught, not now, not by them — but if he'd waited another couple of minutes, we would have been in the clear. I glanced in the direction of Hart and Davidson. Healy had been quiet — but not quiet enough. Gravel scattered. A loose paving slab rocked in its bed. The two detectives came back into view—and saw him.

'Healy!' Davidson shouted.

They both broke into a run, Hart immediately moving faster. I glanced at Healy. His bulk was holding him back. He was built for strength, not pace. He stumbled. Lurched towards one of the walls inside the archway. When he looked back, he could see they were gaining. Could see they'd be on him before he even got to the car. He looked frightened, angry and guilty. Eyes wide. Breath rasping.

He was watching his plan collapse.

I've got to do something.

I stepped out of the darkness, just as Hart was about to pass me. He slowed up, stopping about five feet from where I was standing. Davidson was three or four seconds behind. I held up both hands. 'It's okay.'

Hart glanced at Healy. I looked back over my shoulder and saw him slowing up, then come to a stop. When I turned to Hart again, he was staring at me.

'It's not okay, David.'

'Raker?' Healy's voice.

'Take the car and do what you have to do, Healy,' I said, without taking my eyes off Hart. Davidson was alongside him now, but could hardly breathe. He was almost doubled over, hands on hips, his gaze flipping between Healy and me. 'Just do what you have to do.'

Hart's eyes wandered back to Healy, surprise in them.

I looked over my shoulder.

Healy was moving back towards us, his eyes fixed on Hart and Davidson, hands in his pockets. 'Healy, I said take the car and do what you have —'

And then he did something stupid.

He pulled a gun.

It took everyone by surprise. I hadn't glimpsed it on him at all, hadn't even thought to look for one. And yet, in that split second, I wanted to rewind to the moment he'd first picked me up that morning because now it made complete sense. I should have known. Should have seen it. He was a man at the mercy of his demons, a lonely figure hunting with no plan other than revenge. It burned in him. Fed on him. And now he stood facing two of the men he saw as culpable, the weapon out in front of him, his finger drifting across the trigger. Guns express their owners: they either show your opponent you are in control - or they show him you are completely out of it.

'Back up, Hart,' Healy spat.

Hart took a step back with his hands up in front of him. His eyes drifted between the two of us. 'For fuck's sake, Healy,' Davidson muttered from beside him.

'Healy,' I said gently.

'Shut up.'

'Healy, this isn't the way to —'

'Shut the fuck up ? he screamed at me.

Hart nodded at the gun. 'Colm, just calm down.'

'I'm calm,' he said.

'This isn't the way to find Leanne.'

'Which way is the way to find her then?' Healy replied.

' Your way ?' He paused, snorted. 'Phillips already gave me this little talk.'

I watched as Hart raised his hands into the air a bit further. 'I don't know what it feels like to lose a daughter like you have, Colm. I don't. But this isn't the way to do it, I promise you. If you have evidence about the man who took her, then you need to present it in the right way. This…' He stopped, looked at the gun. This isn't the way to do it.'

Hart glanced at me and I knew what he was saying: Step up to the plate, David . He wanted me to stop Healy. He wanted me to grab the gun and put him down. Part of me knew it was the right thing to do. Healy was most of the way down the slippery slope now. Unreliable and dangerous. If it wasn't Hart and Davidson who got in the way, it would be someone else. Sooner or later, someone would get caught in the crossfire.

But I realized, in that moment, I couldn't turn on him.

In a weird way, somewhere deep down, I felt a kinship for him, even as he waved a gun around. He believed he'd been abandoned by the people he worked with, the people he'd spent his life alongside — and I agreed with him. He hated Hart and Davidson and Phillips and all the rest of them because, despite all the cases they'd worked together, all the bodies they'd looked at and the crime scenes they'd stood in, they'd still treated Leanne like just another victim. And some days, he didn't even feel like they'd done that much. By not tying her fully to the other women, they'd just left her as a faceless victim somewhere, anchored to nothing. Part of me understood the sense of injustice he felt because of that. And all of me understood his need to face up to what had happened to the person he'd loved most in the world.

'Colm,' Hart said. 'Just put the gun down and —'

'And what ? Healy said, inching towards them, one step at a time. I looked at Hart, who seemed to acknowledge the decision I'd made with another tiny movement of his eyes. 'You're going to find Leanne for me?' Healy continued. You're going to admit you were wrong and fit her into your investigation the same as the others? Forget it. I don't need you now: you, Phillips, your robots back at the station. I've found out more about her in the last day than I found out in nine months working with you.'

'Colm,' Hart said, trying one last time to reel him in.

'Don't call me "Colm". Don't call me anything.'

'We're going to have to come after you.'

'Come after me, don't come after me, it makes no difference to me. But you better be clear on this: I will kill the bastard who took my girl. There's not going to be an arrest. There's not going to be an interview. This isn't going to court. There's going to be me putting a bullet in the middle of his face and leaving his body to the fucking flies. And if you want to get in the way, you better make sure your coffin fits, because I swear to you: I will kill you too.'

Something moved in the faces of both Hart and Davidson, and we all knew what it was. Healy had just crossed a line, one he didn't have a hope in hell of retreating back across. His career — everything he'd worked for — was over. He was done. An unspoken conversation passed across the space between us, a silent confirmation that this was the end. And then I grabbed Healy's arm and we made a break for the car.

Chapter Sixty-two

We headed east through empty city streets, rain hammering down, street lights and shopfronts just smudges against the night as Healy carved his way along Commercial Road.

Our homes would be off-limits now. Phillips and Hart had both their task forces on our trails, and they'd have men stationed outside the places we slept. Until this was over — whenever that was, and however it ended — we had to keep ahead of them without being caught. We had to find Glass. If we didn't, the next time we saw daylight was going to be when we were doing circuits in a prison yard.

'How much of what Sona told us tonight do the task force already know?'

Healy shrugged. 'Not much. That's the most she's ever talked.'

'She never mentioned anything about the place she was kept?'

'She said that it looked like some sort of sewer tonight. I remember reading that in the statement too. But definitely nothing more. Obviously they know where she ended up, so Phillips and Hart have had teams doing on-foot searches of the rivers.'