interviewing suspects but all his energy had drained out.
Gallagher told them how difficult Anderson was being, but he wasn’t worried. ‘He’ll be well stitched-up by the time we’ve finished,’ he said. It transpired that a search of Anderson’s flat had produced a Dolce amp; Gabbana T- shirt, a pair of two-tone shoes and a white pork-pie hat. Exactly the gear the gang had been wearing on the robberies.
The term ‘stitched-up’ left Henry somewhat cold. It had ominous overtones and wasn’t a world away from ‘fitting-up’. Falsifying evidence and other such illegal practices was a road that Henry would never go down. He believed it was his job to find evidence, root it out, even if the way he found it was occasionally off-centre. He had never resorted to anything underhand. He was just too straight.
Maybe ‘stitched-up’ was simply one of Gallagher’s favoured phrases and meant nothing. Henry let it pass. It would soon come back to haunt him.
‘ Right, Henry, time to go home now,’ said Gallagher. He swapped a quick glance with Siobhan which Henry caught but did not comprehend. A furrowed brow, a questioning look, a brief nod to each other, then the DI said, ‘Oh, I forgot. That surveillance van needs to go back to Blackburn. Siobhan, do you mind? Henry — sorry, pal. The other team’ll need it tonight. Pick up one of the other cars to get you home.’
‘ Sure, boss,’ she said.
‘ Henry?’
‘ No problem,’ he said wearily. However, the prospect of a trip all the way to Blackburn before heading home to Blackpool was fairly daunting. It would add at least ninety minutes to the journey time — on a good day — and this was a Friday, rush hour. Yuk! He was beginning to need his bed desperately.
‘ I like that one, I really do,’ she said admiringly, a thoughtful finger on her chin, pretty head tilted to one side. ‘It makes you look sexy.’
Munrow said, ‘Good, let’s get it.’
It was a nice suit and fitted him perfectly. He liked it. At two hundred quid, he loved it.
‘ Yes, let’s,’ she said gleefully, but grabbed another one from the display, ‘and try this one too. It’s lovely.’
She handed it over to him.
He turned the beginning of a scowl into a smile of acceptance and reluctantly took the suit. ‘Then we go — and fuck,’ he said. And you give me plenty money.
Her eyes sparkled. ‘Yes, darling.’
Munrow went back into the fitting room and reversed into a cubicle, drawing the curtain behind him.
He tugged the jacket off and dropped it deliberately onto the floor in a little display of petulance. He unzipped his trousers and let them slither down his legs and kicked them off over his shoes.
The curtain was yanked back.
He was about to tell whoever it was to fuck off out of it and maybe give the bastard a push in the chest for invading his privacy, but he didn’t get the opportunity to do either.
‘ No John,’ he gasped instead, terrified. He stepped backwards against the wall and raised his hands defensively. ‘No, don’t.’
They were the last words he spoke.
The gun in John Rider’s hand roared twice and deafeningly in the confined space of Debenhams men’s fitting rooms.
The first of the. 357-calibre bullets left the barrel of the revolver and flashed its short way through the air, entering Munrow’s face by way of his top lip, blowing a huge hole below his nose, destroying the upper set of teeth, tearing through the back of his throat and exiting through the base of his skull.
The next one whacked into his cranium, above and to the right of his left eye. This one did not exit, but remained inside the skull, ripping his brain to shreds with the glee of an angry bull in Debenhams China shop.
Rider was gone before Munrow’s twitching body shimmied to the floor. A mass of blood, deep red, almost black blood, full of oxygen, and particles of bone were smeared down the cubicle wall. A fine haze of pink spray hung in the air, mixing with the smoke from the gun.
His new suits were ruined.
Chapter Eighteen
Henry was never completely sure how it started. He didn’t think he was responsible, nor did he think he did anything to further it. There was a blur, then he found himself almost at the point of no return before his senses clicked into gear.
Siobhan drove from Lancaster, all the way to the NWOCS offices in King Street. It was a fairly uncomfortable journey in the high-seated Transit but Henry, well strapped in, dozed off quickly. His head rolled and jerked with the motion of the van and his partly opened mouth allowed spittle to dribble down his chin and jacket. He was away with the fairies and would have been no use in an emergency.
Before he knew it, they were in Blackburn, pulling into the secure yard.
Siobhan parked in one corner whilst Henry shook himself into wakefulness and rubbed the dried saliva from his face with a sheepish glint at Siobhan to see if she had noticed. She had.
‘ Ole sleepy head,’ she said with a soft chuckle.
He had a painful crick in his neck from his sleeping position and a heavy sensation behind his eyelids, as if grains of sand had been surgically implanted. His eyes were gritty and sore, his chest was throbbing and his ear screaming.
He was not in good shape.
Siobhan unbuckled her seat belt and dropped lightly out of the van. Henry duly followed suit. His movements were like an old man’s. His injuries had tightened him up and the pain in his chest on moving was initially like a heart attack until he straightened up. He was also beginning to appreciate how hard Anderson had punched him in the face during their fight.
A couple of minutes later, having negotiated the alarm system, they entered the deserted offices and signed their guns and equipment back in. Henry was switched on enough to see that Morton had not countersigned the firearms log-sheet. Siobhan told him not to worry. It was something that often happened. He would do it later.
Henry was holding his bulletproof vest in his hand. He proffered it to Siobhan, who was holding hers.
‘ Come on, I’ll show you where we keep stuff like this.’
‘ I thought the other team would be on duty,’ Henry remarked.
Siobhan just shrugged.
They went back downstairs and walked across the car park to a door to the right of the garage doors. She keyed in a number on the pad and opened it. They entered a small vestibule. The main garage was through a door to the left. A staircase was dead ahead. Siobhan went straight up in front of Henry. He glanced into the garage which housed three saloon cars. He assumed they belonged to the unit. Then he was right behind her, with her compact bum at his face level, her flesh packed into the tight jeans she’d been wearing all day. Henry attempted not to notice. And failed.
Upstairs there were two offices. The larger was a store-room-cum-equipment room with shelving and large metal cabinets lining the walls. An old settee and table were also in the room, probably remnants from previous occupants, Henry guessed.
Siobhan unlocked one of the cabinets and hung up the body armour. Henry stifled a yawn.
‘ Am I boring you?’
‘ Far from it.’
A wave of deja vu skittered through him as once again he found himself within inches of her face. Inexplicably he became weak and open for offers.
‘ Henry,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I was terrified today — when Anderson opened up and Dave got shot right next to me. I thought I’d be next.’ The words tumbled out, becoming increasingly shaky. ‘I’ve never experienced anything like that. It happened so fast, too. I mean, suddenly I was on the ground and Anderson was firing. It was all so
