acceptable for a police officer to be seen by the public with hands in pockets. That occasion was at the scene of a crime. It was OK because it prevented an officer touching and possibly tainting evidence which is all too easy to do.
Let your eyes do the walking, he’d been told. Take it all in for a few minutes, then take your hands out.
It was a piece of advice which had stood him in good stead for many years. Apart from anything else, it was a way of preventing panic rising at a particularly violent or messy crime. Like this one.
He stood just inside the door of the newsagents. Luton was one pace behind him.
‘ Christ!’ breathed the young detective into Henry’s ear.
Henry pursed his lips and gave a silent whistle. It was an effort to keep his hands pushed in his pockets. He wanted to rub his eyes because they could not believe what they were looking at.
‘ Do you see what I see, Degsy?’ he asked Luton.
‘ Er — yep, think so,’ he replied unsurely.
‘ You stay here and don’t move,’ Henry told him. ‘And make sure no one else comes through that door.’
‘ You got it.’
Taking care not to step in the blood — difficult because there appeared to be gallons of the stuff — he moved around the body of the female shopper covered in birthday cards. He took a couple of long strides to the counter where he squatted down briefly to look at the bodies of the two customers. Both still clutched their lottery slips. Some jackpot, Henry thought.
He stood up, walked behind the counter.
The bodies of the two shopkeepers were lying in an untidy pile, one on top of the other. They seemed to be clinging to each other in a final embrace. Both had massive head wounds. They had obviously been blasted against the shelves behind the counter and the contents had tipped over them. Packets of cigarettes, cigars, matches, were scattered everywhere.
At first Henry did not spot the other body lying in the semi-gloom of the hallway which connected the shop to the living area beyond.
Carefully he stepped over the shopkeepers and went to inspect what he truly hoped was the last body.
Once again he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.
He found a light switch, turning it on by pressing it with his thumbnail.
Fluorescent lights pinged on, flooding the hallway with eerie brightness.
He saw the police firearms cap.
He saw the body armour with the word Police stamped across the chest. He saw the 9mm Sig next to the body.
And the face blown away beyond recognition.
In that instant Henry knew that, as bad as it had been to begin with, this whole crime had taken on a much darker, murkier complexion.
He blinked.
Somewhere in the distance, getting closer, was the wail of an ambulance siren.
Not much point in you coming, he thought bitterly.
Henry stood on the pavement outside the shop, watching the uniformed cops push the public back and begin to string out a cordon.
‘ Right back,’ he shouted, confirming his words with a sweeping gesture of his hands. ‘Right back. That’s it.’
Derek Luton appeared by his side.
‘ What’ve you got so far then, Degsy?’ Henry knew Luton had been asking questions.
Luton consulted the scrap of paper he’d used to write on. ‘Two witnesses saw three big guys leaving the shop armed to the back teeth. Got their names and addresses here…’
‘ Oh good, let’s go and arrest them.’
Luton looked at Henry slightly nonplussed for a second. ‘No, no.. I mean the witnesses’ names and addresses.’ He didn’t quite see the joke and carried on. ‘All wearing white hats, masks, T-shirts. They piled into a car which could’ve been a Peugeot 405 or Cavalier, something like that, colour uncertain. Drove off without undue haste. Cool bastards. Sounds like the crew who’ve been hitting the newsagents for the last couple of months.’
Luton was referring to a vicious armed gang who had robbed six newsagents in the last nine weeks, all in the Fylde area of Lancashire. They were getting to be a real headache for the police who had warned that it was only matter of time before someone got killed.
‘ Mmm, sounds like,’ Henry agreed.
‘ And apparently it looks like they blagged another shop in Fleetwood before doing this one.’
‘ Oh?’ Henry perked up. ‘Where did you hear that?’
Luton cocked his thumb at the female officer who’d been first on the scene. ‘Just came over the PR when I was chatting to her.’
‘ Any details?’
‘ Round about seven-ten, seven-fifteen. A newsagents. Discharged a shotgun, but no one got shot. Helped themselves to the contents of the till, seven hundred quid or so. Usual MO. Usual dress. Same lot, I’d say.’
‘ Then they’ve been busy,’ commented Henry. He considered what Luton had told him. His eyes narrowed while his brain chewed it over. ‘Hang on… like normal, they rob a shop and fire the shotgun, like they’ve done on every job, then they tear-arse eight miles down the road like shit off a shovel to do this one? They steal money from up there, like they normally do, yet murder everybody in sight here — and apparently leave all the cash in the till. Fucking odd, if you ask me. And if that guy in the body armour really is a cop, what the fuck was he up to?’ Henry shook his head. ‘I’m not saying it’s not possible, Degsy, but…’
Several cars were pulling up outside. Henry’s boss, a Detective Chief Inspector, got out of one; the others disgorged a mixture of policemen including Detective Chief Superintendent Robert Fanshaw-Bayley, known colloquially as FB, Head of Lancashire CID, and Brian Warner, Assistant Chief Constable (Operations).
Henry’s gaze returned to Luton. ‘Looks like the circus has arrived and here come the clowns. Let’s give’ em what we’ve got and retire with good grace. I doubt if I’ll be involved in this investigation, which is a shame. Looks like being a juicy one. But you might get a shot. I’ll see what I can do.’
Chapter Two
Henry and Luton spent another two hours at the scene before finally handing everything over and returning to Blackpool Central to book off duty.
Henry was correct: he would not be forming part of the team assembled to investigate the murders. He’d been told by FB to continue with the reactive CID work which was his normal job. This was no surprise. Someone had to hold the fort. Other crimes did not stop being committed and they had to be dealt with. In truth he did not mind too much. As Acting DI he had the responsibility for running the CID office whilst the real DI was off sick. Henry intended to apply for promotion later in the year; his proven ability to manage a busy department was something positive to tell the Board.
Luton, however, was told he would be going on the squad. Henry smiled when he saw the young detective’s reaction. Although he had been involved in a couple of domestic murders and one night-club stabbing, this was Luton’s first major enquiry. Henry was pleased for him. It would be invaluable experience.
Henry patted him on the back and congratulated him. Inside he was envious. Having been on many major murder enquiries himself, he knew what a real buzz it was to be part of such a team.
In the car on the way back to the office, Henry asked Luton to keep him abreast of all developments. Luton promised he would.
Back at Blackpool, Henry declined Luton’s offer of a quick drink in the club on the top floor. He wanted to get home, shower, put his feet up and watch Match of the Day with the assistance of a large Jack Daniel’s and his wife, Kate.
Luton waved good night and left. Henry was alone in the deserted office. He sat down at his desk and quickly
