there.
They ran out to their cars. Henry to his Mondeo, FB to his massive four-by-four Lexus, Bill Robbins to the Ford Galaxy belonging to the ARV unit, Bent to his VW Golf, Donaldson and Jerry Tope to the Fiat 500, and Rik Dean to the Mercedes Coupe that actually belonged to Henry’s sister.
Henry stopped mid-track, seeing the Keystone Kops side of this surge of manpower. ‘I think this is a bit of overkill, don’t you fellas?’ He gestured with a shrug and his hands.
FB said, ‘You guys get on with it — I don’t do operational,’ effectively withdrawing himself from the job, much to Henry’s relief.
‘Bill, Jerry, Alex and Rik — you jump in the Galaxy. Karl, you come with me.’
The relief in the American’s face was evident. He had given Jerry Tope a ride to the mortuary in the Fiat 500 and the shoehorning of the two men into it had not been a pretty sight.
‘We can come back for the other cars as and when,’ Henry said and they all piled into the allocated vehicles. Henry flicked open the glove compartment and grabbed his PR, switching it on. He called into comms. He told them who was in each vehicle and said, ‘Please go ahead with the directions from the phone company. And I want a dedicated operator on this for the time being,’ he ordered loftily. The power of a superintendent.
‘Roger, that will be me,’ the operator responded.
‘Update, please,’ Henry said.
‘At the moment the phone signal is still moving northwards, still in Blackpool.’
‘Roger that,’ Henry said.
‘DI Dean, I also received that,’ Rik said over his PR on behalf of the crew in the Galaxy.
‘Superintendent Christie to DI Dean, let’s get moving then, please.’
The two cars sped off the mortuary car park and headed towards Blackpool.
‘You OK,’ Henry asked Donaldson as the Mondeo shot through a set of lights outside the hospital.
‘So-so… shaken and stirred,’ Donaldson admitted. ‘I can’t believe what I think I know… and that e-fit, hell, that made me shiver… the likeness. That lad Carter must have good eyesight.’
‘To see and remember, and be able to describe a face in such detail… he must have eyes like a shithouse rat.’
‘Hey, babe,’ Lee Clarke slurred as Ellen Thompson entered the living room of their tiny house on north shore. She pulled off her coat and tossed it across the dining table on top of a pile of other clothes. ‘I knew you’d come… babe, I missed you. I hate you working.’
‘Well if I didn’t, we’d have nothing at all, would we?’ She sat down, unzipped her tight boots and peeled them off with gratitude. They were killing her feet.
Clarke was smoking a joint and Ellen sniffed appreciatively. ‘Good shit,’ she said and waggled her fingers at him in a ‘gimme’ gesture.
‘Last one,’ Clarke said sadly, inspecting the spliff. She waggled her fingers more urgently. ‘Oh, babe,’ he whined.
‘Give.’
Reluctantly, he handed her the joint and she took the last drag, holding the smoke deep in her lungs, feeling the wonderful euphoria of the drug seep into every part of her body. She exhaled slowly and sat back.
‘You got some dosh?’ Clarke asked.
‘Few quid.’
‘Enough for a few pints and some more good shit?’
‘Dunno, dunno.’ The cannabis had made her feel out of it already.
‘Nobody handed any cash in today for you to take a percentage?’
‘No… oh, I did get something…’ She crossed unsteadily to the dining table, rooted in her coat and found the mobile phone. She handed it to Clarke. ‘You can get something for this, can’t you?’
Clarke inspected it. He had stolen and fenced many a mobile phone and knew their worth. ‘Found property?’ he said with a knowing chortle.
‘Our property,’ Ellen said.
‘Hey, this is a good phone,’ he said appreciatively.
‘How much?’
‘Forty quid, I guess. It sells in the hundreds.’
‘Can you get that tonight?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘So we can party, party, party?’
‘Oh yeah.’
She stood in front of him, still dressed in the knee length, but tight, skirt and white blouse of her PEA uniform. She hitched up the skirt and straddled him. ‘Let’s start how we mean to go on,’ she said, slowly unbuttoning the blouse.
Clarke’s eyes misted lustfully over as he reached up and grabbed her generous boobs. She leaned into him and mashed her lips on to his, forcing her tongue into his mouth.
The pounding on the door was a rude interruption.
Clarke pulled his head away and gasped. ‘I hope that’s not Tweedy,’ he said, referring to his dealer. ‘I owe him some money, but coming round here is bang out of order. Ignore him.’
But the knocking persisted in an authoritative way. Whoever it was, wasn’t going to go away in a hurry.
‘Shit,’ Clarke said and pushed Ellen to one side, extracting himself from underneath her. She moaned with annoyance as Clarke got up and said, ‘I’ll piss him off.’
‘How much do you owe him?’
‘Dunno. Twenty, I guess. Not a lot.’
For Mark Carter it might as well have been another police cell. Out of one, into another, the only difference being this one was en-suite and the bed looked half-comfortable and inviting.
‘You’re lucky,’ the social worker had told him on the way.
‘And why would that be?’ he asked harshly. The social worker, God bless him, came across as a decent kind of guy, trying his best to do a thankless job with a stroppy teenager. However, Mark had no intention of making anything easy for him.
‘You’re the first guest. The place doesn’t officially open until next week after being refurbished. People haven’t started filtering in and out yet.’
‘Inmates, you mean?’
‘I mean young people with serious needs.’
‘So there won’t be anyone else there tonight?’
‘Nope — just you. But I’ll be in a room down the corridor if you need anything. I won’t be far away.’
‘Like bumming, you mean?’
‘Eh?’ Then the guy got it, reddened and laughed nervously. ‘We’re not all raving perverts, you know,’ he chuckled with a tinge of hurt.
‘Well that’s reassuring,’ Mark said. ‘I feel as if I’m being bum-fucked anyway. You might as well just do it for real. I don’t give a toss.’
‘Now then, Mark. We’re simply interested in your welfare, that’s all. You’ve been through a lot and we’re trying to do the right thing for you.’
‘Oh? And do I get to have a say in what the right thing is?’
‘Of course you do, Mark, of course you do.’
Mark had been handed over to the care of the social worker after he had spent some time with Alex Bent making a witness statement and then with the police artist at the computer, compiling an e-fit of the guy he had seen murder the old man. When finished, Mark had been spooked by the likeness. It was spot on.
He had then protested he didn’t need social services and could easily look after himself, and would answer bail and not do a runner. Unfortunately, by virtue of the fact he’d been arrested doing a runner was just one of the things that negated his argument. He had money in his pocket and the police thought he would probably never be seen again. He was also a juvenile who had just lost a parent, did not have any other immediate family, and there was a responsibility to ensure his safety. That meant, for the short-term at least, Mark would be put in a home.
