From their position in the cafe the two detectives had an uninterrupted view of the lock, some 100 metres away.
The lock-keeper came out of his cottage. He dropped the barriers across the road to stop all traffic, though there was none at that time. He then got to work on swinging the section of single-track road, which bridged the lock, to one side and securing it with chains. It wasn’t as hard a task as it seemed as the bridge was geared and on well-oiled runners.
As he was busy doing this, a motor-cruiser appeared at the lock gates.
‘ Here he is,’ said Henry, sliding down low on his chair and pulling up his collar. ‘Looks like Dakin’s at the helm.’ He wasn’t particularly au fait with nautical terms. ‘I don’t recognise the two others.’
‘ Gofers,’ Donaldson said dismissively.
The lock-keeper had secured the bridge and now began to push open the upper lock-gates. They opened slowly and the boat slid majestically into the lock.
Donaldson whistled appreciatively. ‘Nice boat.’
Henry agreed. ‘He’s in a profitable business — and if I can prove he bought it from the proceeds of crime, I’ll get it seized.’
The boat was a Trader 50 which Dakin had owned since new, and was laid out with four double cabins. The twin Caterpillar 210 engine gave it a good long range at IS knots. Its specification was excellent and included a generator, air conditioning, 48-mile radar, autopilot, galley equipped with three fridges, a freezer, washing machine and microwave, plus a dinghy, life-raft and awnings.
Dakin’s two gofers — dressed totally inappropriately in T-shirts and jeans — wrapped ropes around the bollards on the side of the lock opposite to where Henry and Donaldson were sitting. Dakin seemed to be shouting obscenities at them. Their faces, when Henry could see them, registered apathy, as though they didn’t want to be there.
The lock-keeper closed the upper lock-gates.
In a few moments he would transfer his attention to the lower gates, when he would open the gate paddles to allow water to flow out into the dock, out of the lock chamber.
Dakin was trapped. It would be an easy task to board the boat now. ‘Well, shall we?’ Donaldson turned to Henry, eyebrows raised. ‘You’re in charge, pal. Everyone’s waiting on you.’
Henry gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘If I knew he was on board, I’d say yes. But I don’t want to blow it, because if he isn’t, we’ve lost a good job for when Dakin comes back in loaded to the nines with drugs.’
‘ Yeah. I understand the quandary-’ Donaldson was stopped in mid sentence by Henry’s hand clamping on his arm. A van had pulled up on the far side of the lock. The driver got out and walked, head bowed against the wind and rain, towards the boat. It was virtually impossible to make out his features.
Henry said, ‘It’s him,’ hoarsely. ‘It’s Hinksman.’ He was sure. He felt his heart rate increase. ‘Where’s Kate? What the hell’s he done to her?’
‘ You sure it’s him?’ Donaldson questioned, peering through the window.
‘ Positive.’
Hinksman stepped across onto the boat.
‘ Let’s give him a second or two,’ Henry said. He spoke into his radio to appraise everyone of the situation, telling them to hold back for his word.
Hinksman went into the cabin and started talking to Dakin.
A second car stopped on the other side of the road, near to where Hinksman had parked his van. The horn blared angrily. A man climbed out and walked to the edge of the lock.
‘ Jesus Christ,’ uttered Henry in disbelief. ‘It’s Dave August, I’m sure it is.’
‘ What in the name of damnation is he doing here?’ Donaldson said.
‘ Dakin!’ August shouted. ‘Lenny Dakin!’
‘ Fuck off,’ one of the henchmen replied.
Dakin stepped out of the cabin with Hinksman just one pace behind him. ‘What do you want?’
‘ You Lenny Dakin?’
‘ Aye.’
‘ You know who I am?’
‘ Should I?’ he replied, though he did know very well.
‘ I’m Dave August. Chief Constable of Lancashire Constabulary.’ ‘Congratulations. ‘
‘ You have ruined my life, Lenny Dakin.’
August’s right hand pulled out the revolver which had been tucked in his waistband underneath his jacket. He pointed it at Dakin.
‘ Now I’m going to ruin yours.’
‘ Let’s move — now!’ shouted Henry down the radio. The intention had initially been to give the firearms team a couple of minutes to race into position from the caravan site. That idea had gone right down the tubes. Things had definitely changed.
‘ I don’t know what’s going on,’ he said to Donaldson, standing up and running towards the cafe door, ‘but I think we’d better intervene.
He drew his gun as he went through the door.
August yelled something completely incomprehensible.
Hinksman threw himself to one side at the first sight of the gun, but Dakin froze momentarily. A moment too long.
August fired.
Dakin was propelled back against the cabin; he slithered down onto his knees, facing August, clutching his right shoulder which spurted blood. Once again the gun in August’s hand cracked — smack! — the sound almost deadened by the heavy rain. A bullet burned its way through the air to Dakin’s chest, burying itself deep in his heart, tearing it to shreds.
This all happened in a matter of seconds.
Henry and Donaldson ran across the grassed area between themselves and the lock, unable to see exactly what had transpired because of the boat obstructing their line of sight.
They bounded over the footbridge spanning the lower gate of the lock and onto the opposite side where they were confronted by the scene.
August was standing there with the revolver hanging loosely in his right hand by his thigh.
Dakin’s body was sprawled out on the deck, blood and rainwater mixing. He was twitching.
Dakin’s two men were crouched down behind the wheelhouse, both quivering wrecks.
Henry and Donaldson came to a halt.
A couple of steps behind August was Lisa Want, drenched, a camera in her hand but not being used.
Henry was confused, to say the least. He couldn’t work any of this out at all.
August turned and looked at him, a distant faraway deadness in his eyes. His face was streaming wet, his hair plastered down on his forehead. He had no particular expression on his countenance as he levelled the revolver slowly at Henry.
Henry went low, bringing his own gun up, prepared to fire to defend himself. But it was not necessary. He watched in fascination as August, in what seemed like slow motion, drew the tip of the revolver into his own mouth cavity and pulled the trigger.
It was almost like his hat had been blown off in the wind — but it wasn’t a hat — it was the top of his head.
For several seconds the newly dead man remained standing. Then his body realised it was no more and collapsed.
Lisa Want screamed hysterically and began frenziedly trying to wipe August’s brains off her chest.
Henry frantically looked round. ‘Hinksman!’ Where the hell is he?’ he screamed.
