Crunch Time (10 page)

When this was done, now with Mitch squashed in behind the wheel, the car set off west again, Henry increasingly uncomfortable that they were very nearly back on his home turf of Lancashire, dramatically increasing his chances of an encounter with someone who might blow him out, intentionally or otherwise.

They journeyed in silence as Henry watched the familiar countryside flash by, dropping down from the M61 on to the northbound M6.

‘Just going somewhere for a chit-chat,' Ingram said eventually as they shot over the River Ribble, motoring in the fast lane at about 85 mph. It might not have been the best looking of cars, but the Peugeot was fast and comfortable.

‘Where might that be?' Henry enquired.

‘A room with a view.'

Which turned out to be another service station, this time the Lancaster South one at Forton on the M6, the one with the huge water tower-like structure opened in the 1960s shortly after the M6, Britain's first stretch of motorway. The structure, reached by a lift, housed a restaurant and Mitch led Ingram and Henry up to it, then queued up at the serving hatch and helped himself to an all-day breakfast. Ingram and Henry made do with a coffee, seating themselves by a window overlooking six lanes of motorway.

Henry felt reasonably relaxed now. He was unlikely to be recognized here. Even so, he kept his face low but watched all the comings and goings keenly.

He waited for Ingram to begin as Mitch inserted himself on to the seat of a table behind them and began to devour his feast noisily.

‘OK, Frank, spill the beans.'

‘Er, don't really know where to begin.' He rubbed his eyes and they squelched. ‘I'm usually a middleman, mostly fags, booze, that sort of stuff. It comes my way, I dispose of it, take a cut. Still do, but I saw a window for some diversification, but it went kind of awry, y'know?'

‘Awry? Nice word.'

‘Yeah, y'know, down the shitter,' Henry said hurriedly, realizing that Jagger would be unlikely to use a word such as awry. His vocabulary would be far baser, at ground level. Point noted, he thought: take care. Ingram is watching, ready to pounce on anything that doesn't hold up. ‘Anyway, I saw this opportunity but I needed some upfront cash because of cash-flow problems, if you know what I mean?'

‘What was it for?'

‘DVDs.' He closed his eyes appreciatively. ‘Do you know how big the porno market is in this country? Worth fucking millions. Well, I'd come across this guy on my travels, a Paki or an Indian or summat … got chatting, hit it off and he said he could supply if I could find the dosh and that was that.'

‘What was what?'

‘It was an opportunity I couldn't, didn't want to miss … I'd seen the samples …' He shook his head in awe. ‘Awesome, real hard stuff, and kids too.' As he said that, he tried to gauge Ingram's reaction to the last revelation and thought he saw some spark of interest in the eyes. ‘But,' Henry added, drawing himself back slightly, ‘obviously not to everyone's taste, I admit.' He peered quizzically at Ingram. ‘It might be something you're not interested in, I dunno.'

‘From a business point of view, I might be,' he suggested. His eyelids hooded over.

Henry sipped his coffee, which tasted rather good, and sniffed. His cheekbone was starting to throb, affecting his nasal passages, causing his nose to run.

‘What went wrong?'

‘The guy I'd set up to take the stuff got nicked and banged up,' Henry said with melancholy. ‘The guy I bought them from wouldn't take 'em back sale or return. Guy who stumped up the cash for me wants repaying … and I don't know what to do with the fucking things.'

‘Good market research, then?' Ingram smirked.

Behind them, Mitch belched, drawing looks of disgust from other customers nearby.

Then Henry's pulse began to pound when he looked across the café and saw two motorway cops enter and tag on to the queue at the self-service area. He knew both of them. They had not spotted him. He squirmed in his chair, turning edge-away from them.

‘What's wrong?' Ingram glanced over his shoulder and saw the officers. He turned back slowly. ‘They spook you?'

‘So-so,' he said blandly, swallowing something the size of a brick. ‘Anyway,' he ploughed on, as though nothing was amiss, ‘the bottom line is the guy who bankrolled me wants his cash for something else and now he's snapping at my heels, know what I mean?' Henry pulled a pained face. ‘So I'm up bollock street. No liquid assets.'

‘Why don't you go to Ocean Finance?' Mitch guffawed over the remnants of his hash browns, making it clear to Henry that whilst he was not at the table, he had picked up every word.

Henry grimaced at Ingram, part of his gaze clocking the two cops moving along the self-service bar with their trays. They were in deep conversation, probably discussing their latest multi-fatal pile-up.

‘I might be able to help out,' Ingram declared.

Henry Christie experienced a wave of guilt and shame as he picked up the phone. He was back in his flat on Salford Quays, overlooking the Imperial War Museum. He was about to call home and give Kate the bad news: he would not be coming home tonight.

He felt so tight, especially after his earlier promise, but he knew it had to be done. The opportunity to get close in on Ingram was unfolding and if he didn't take it, the whole operation could fail.

He swore, braced himself, then tabbed in his home number.

There was a ring at the front doorbell.

Keeping the cordless phone cupped to his ear, he crossed to the door and peered through the security spyhole.

‘Shit,' he breathed: Andrea Makin.

‘What?' Kate said as she answered and heard Henry's expletive.

‘Sorry, nothing, love.' He opened the door and, placing a finger to his lips, stood aside to allow Andrea to enter, which she did with a very serious expression on her face.

‘I thought you were coming home tonight,' Kate said. ‘It's gone eight thirty.' Her voice was full of resignation.

‘I know, love …' He followed Andrea into the apartment. She went to the wall-sized plate glass window looking down on to the basin of the Manchester Ship Canal and the museum beyond. ‘Look, something came up. I need to deal with it. You know how it is.'

A very annoyed silence greeted his words.

‘I'm sorry, love … I will be back, but it'll be later … early hours?' he added hopefully.

The line went dead when Kate cut him off.

Andrea Makin turned to him. ‘Something came up? In your dreams, Henry.'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘I was worried about you.'

‘Well, you've got to go because I'm off to see Ingram again.'

‘Shouldn't you have reported in? I am your controller, you know.'

‘Andrea, let me do my job.'

‘Can you actually do it when you're being harassed by a needy ex-wife?'

‘None of your business.'

‘Yes it is. I can't have officers operating under cover who are having pain on the home front … it tends to skew the perspective, makes them vulnerable.'

‘Everything's fine.'

She breathed down her nose, flared her nostrils. ‘OK,' she relented, ‘but I want a quick update.'

‘OK. He is very careful, as you'll have picked up from this afternoon's meeting. He even downloaded the info from my SIM card. It's a damned good job I went in there sparse. If I'd been wired, he would've found It. If the car had been kitted out, he would have sussed that too. And I think he would've sussed a tail. So, he's very wary, but interested. I could see it in his eyes and I think I can build a rapport, but I don't need hassle.'

‘Just basic health and safety.'

‘Fair enough … did you manage to get anything from the roof of the biscuit factory?'

‘Yeah, but nothing of value.'

‘For the time being I won't be going in wired or anything, but I will try to keep in touch, promise. Now I need to shoot, got some DVDs I need to watch with my new pal. It's a man thing. He's having a look at the merchandise.'

‘A pervert thing, you mean.'

‘And don't come here again. He knows this address now and I wouldn't be surprised if he gets someone to keep an eye on it occasionally – at least until I get thrown out of here.'

The children had gone to bed and settled quickly as always. Good kids, polite, brainy and good-looking like their mother, occasionally showing the reckless streak of their father.

Donaldson pulled a suitcase down from the loft and carried it quietly into the bedroom. He began filling it with his clothes, then took it downstairs and placed it in the hallway by the front door.

Next he went to the kitchen where he grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel's, threw some ice cubes into a glass and slumped back into an armchair in the lounge before almost filling the glass with the bourbon.

He gazed around the room, feeling empty yet full of pain, constantly replaying Karen's words over and over in his brain.

She had been right, of course. No one had forced him to go head-to-head with a terrorist. It had been his choice alone, his desire, obsession – call it what you will – and he had nearly died because of it and nearly left his family fatherless.

‘Reckless, idiotic fool,' he said, and took a big mouthful of the whisky. And now Karen couldn't take any more. She had been by his side throughout the dark, touch-and-go days, stayed with him throughout his recovery, done her duty and now he was fit enough, she was splitting them up.

The problem was, he thoroughly deserved it.

He drank another mouthful.

Henry relaxed. He was sure he had not been followed, had made certain by careful driving, looping back on himself, stopping without warning, constantly checking on traffic and people – not that there was too much of either on the roads after midnight. He worked his way out of Manchester and by the time he hit the motorway in the Nissan, he knew he was alone and his whole metabolism shifted down a gear. He settled back and put his foot down just to see how much he could get from the lively little engine.

Thirty minutes after leaving the city, via a short detour up the M65, he pulled up to the gates of an industrial unit on the eastern side of Blackburn, near to the Blackburn Rovers' football ground at Ewood Park. He let himself through the gate using the keypad and into the unit itself using a combined keypad and fingerprint recognition system. The shutter door clattered open, revealing the interior of the unit. There was an array of motor vehicles inside, including the XJS he had been arrested in, and his own car, the Rover 75.

The unit had been inherited by the Serious and Organized Crime Agency from the NCIS, who had in turn inherited it from the Regional Crime Squad. It was one of the bases of operations for undercover officers in the North-West region, its location known only to a few people.

He dumped the Nissan, dropped the keys in the office, collected his own car keys and reversed the Rover out of the unit. He ensured everything was locked up and then drove back on to the M65 to resume his journey home.

He would be there within the hour.

T
he house was lit up, a police patrol car parked outside.

A nauseous feeling of dread coursed through Henry as he pulled on to the driveway and jumped out of the car, entering the house to face two uniformed constables in the hallway, Kate behind them, looking very small indeed. Her dressing gown was pulled tightly around her middle.

On seeing Henry, relief flooded her pale face.

‘What's going on?' he demanded of the officers, neither one of whom he recognized.

‘Hello, sir, are you Mr Christie?' one asked.

‘I am.' Henry's eyes rolled between the three characters in front of him like balls in a bagatelle. ‘What's happening?' he asked nervously.

‘You've had a prowler,' the officer said. ‘We've searched the area and he or she is now gone.'

‘Are you all right?' he asked Kate, standing between them.

She nodded, looked scared and shaken. ‘Yeah.' Her eyes were dark, tired.

Henry's attention turned to the officers. ‘What happened?'

‘Someone in the back garden playing silly buggers, banging on the kitchen window … did a runner when the house lights came on,' one said. The other continued: ‘We were here within five minutes, searched the garden … no trace.' He turned to Kate. ‘You sure you're OK now, Ma'am?'

‘Yes, I am now. Thanks for your quick response.' Some colour flowed back to her face. ‘I'll be fine now my husband is back,' she added, Henry noticing the verbal slip.

‘We'll be off, then.'

Together they watched them leave, closing the door to the world as the police car drove away. Kate immediately fell into Henry's arms, clutching him tight and burying her forehead into his chest. She was shaking. He held her tightly, his nose in her ear.

‘It's all right, love.'

She raised her tear-stained face. ‘I was so scared.'

‘You would be.' Henry did not like prowlers. The word itself always sounded scary to him. It was so descriptive, had an ugly, nasty feel to it. He felt Kate relax, so he steered her gently into the living room, sitting her down on the settee. ‘I'll get you a drink.'

She nodded. ‘Firewater would be nice – on ice. The good stuff, not the cheap.'

‘Sounds good. I'll join you.'

He went into the kitchen, but instead of getting the drinks, he opened the back door and looked down across the garden to the big open field at the rear, which was just blackness, the only light on it filtering from a lane a few hundred metres to the left. He walked across the lawn to the wire fence and peered towards where he knew there was a large pond on the opposite side of the field. It was a magnet for bird life and he could hear some muted night-time clucking, but saw nothing.