'Charlie…' he began.
'Mmm.'
'When you interview her… what's the chances of being in on it?'
I looked at him and said: 'I wouldn't have it any other way, Dave.'
He gripped his knees and said: 'Thanks.'
'But just remember she's co-operating with us.'
'I will,' he replied, 'but I still reckon she's in this up to her ears.
She's gonna get away with murder, probably literally.'
'I think you're right,' I replied, 'but it's the only way we'll get Kingston, and he's the senior partner.'
'I've been thinking about Kingston,' he told me. 'If he killed Fox to silence him, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't kill Danielle whatsername, the hooker, too, for the same reason. In the past he killed, or caused people to die, for financial gain. Now he's killing to save his skin. He's in a panic, thinking on his feet.'
'And that will be his downfall, Dave. Do you think he might have a go at Melissa?'
'Possibly. Does he know she's over here?'
'We haven't told him.'
'But she might, if she knows where he lives. Just for old times' sake.'
'Great,' I said. 'We'd better keep an eye on her.'
We booked a DC into the Station Hotel, posing as a travelling Punch and Judy man, and Annette went round to introduce herself to our guests.
Friday afternoon she took Melissa and Jed Clampitt to the hospital to get for free what would have cost them a fortune back home. It was a cloudy day and I spent it in the office, typing my notes and memories into a more accessible format. Six of us had pie and chips for lunch in one of Heckley's more traditional pubs.
Nine o'clock in the evening Annette rang me to say that Melissa had been through the wringing machine and they'd decided to keep her in overnight. She'd be discharged in the morning, no problem, but an interview might be asking too much of her.
'In that case,' I decided, 'tell her Monday morning, at Heckley nick.
You make sure she's there, please, Annette.' I rang the others to tell them that they could have the weekend off after all.
Saturday I did an hour in the office, then went home to finish the Jackson Pollock painting. It took me until ten at night plus two visits to B amp; Q for materials, but it looked smashing. If JP had done it you'd be talking above five million for it. I'd ask for fifty quid, for the kids' ward, and probably not get it. Sunday I completed the one that had originally been inspired by the tapeworm drawing done by Janet Holmes. It was ragged blocks of oranges and yellows, with a jagged flash of lime green coming up from the bottom left corner that danced before your eyes. I was pleased with that one, too. They'd look great surrounded by all those scenes of Malhamdale in autumn.
She still hadn't sent me a postcard.
Monday morning I rose early. I hadn't slept very well, worrying that Melissa might be taking us for a ride. After a cup of tea I decided that it was unlikely. We were, after all, offering her immunity from prosecution on charges of God-knows-what. I was just running the shower when the phone rang.
'It's Jeff,' it said, breathlessly. 'The Transit's on the move.'
'It can't be,' I complained, looking at my watch. 'I've an appointment at nine.'
'We can manage. I've scrambled the chopper and alerted the ARV. Now I'm just rounding up the troops.'
I was going to miss this, and I was annoyed. 'OK,' I said. 'Take everybody you need, plus a few more, but not Sparky and Annette; and alert our neighbours. We can't afford to lose them, so the more the merrier. Lift them whenever it's convenient. In the garden but before they enter the house would be ideal, but on no account let them get in the house. It would be nice, though, to know what their target was.
Nobody hurt, that's the priority, Jeff, unless, of course, it's them.
No, I didn't say that. Anything you want me to do?'
'Not at the moment, boss.'
'Get on with it then. I'll be in the control room if you need me.'
Dammit, I thought. Dammit. I'd wanted to scramble the chopper. Jeff had decided that the best thing was for him to ring Mr. Nelson at seven o'clock every morning. If the boys were there, he'd say wrong number; if they'd come home and left the house Jeff would tell him to report the van stolen and give him a crime number. Mr. Nelson then had to ring the Tracker people and report it missing. They would double-check with us before activating the transponder in the van, enabling the receivers in our vehicles to pinpoint it. Tracker only acted after a report of theft; we didn't have carte blanche to follow anyone who had the device fitted.
I had a hasty shower and nearly broke the speed limit on the way to the nick. The car park was surprisingly devoid of police cars but Dave's Escort was in its usual place.
He was in the control room, listening to the action. 'We could put Melissa back an hour,' he suggested, temptingly.
'No,' I replied. 'They can handle it.'
The radios were on talk-through, so we could hear everything. 'Target heading south,' someone said, which was bad news, because everyone had gone straight to the motorway, which was north. Jeff came on and directed all the unmarked cars in the right direction, sharing them out between the different routes. At this stage they just wanted to be close. The pandas and the ARV were told to take their time.
'Zulu ninety-nine, we have contact with target,' came over the airwaves, against a background of the chum- chum-chum of the chopper's blades. 'On A616, just beyond Debberton, travelling slowly.'
Jeff asked for the positions of his cars, and rerouted where necessary.
We studied the big map and the duty sergeant made a guess about some posh houses between Debberton and Holmfirth. I told him to pass it on to Jeff.
Zulu ninety-nine told us that the van had stopped in a lay-by and they were veering off to avoid being spotted.
'Lima Mike. Just passing target.' That was Maggie.
'Ten twenty.'
'Lima Oscar, we have target under observation. Zulu ninety-nine stay away until they move again.'
'Ten twenty. Do you copy, Zulu ninety-nine?'
'Zulu ninety-nine, ten twenty.'
'Lima Mike standing by.'
Gilbert came in and asked for an update. I showed him where they were on the map. 'Unlike you not to be out there, Charlie,' he said.
'Oh, you know how I like to delegate,' I replied.
'Lima Oscar, target on the move.' We all turned to the control desk, as if looking at the loudspeakers would give us a picture of the scene.
The Transit drove about a quarter of a mile and turned up a gravel track. 'They probably stopped to put their masks on,' Dave suggested.
'Zulu ninety-nine, we have them. T2 out of vehicle, opening gate to a house. Suggest you go-go-go.'
Accelerators were flat to the floor, tyres were squealing, but we could see none of it. 'Zulu ninety-nine, T2 has seen us. He's back in the van and they're aborting.'
'Lima Mike, I'm turning into the lane, Lima Oscar behind me. We'll block the lane.' A silence, then: 'Lima Mike, they're out and running.
Giving chase.'
We all laughed and relaxed. Gilbert went up to his office and I rang Annette at home, in case she'd forgotten what day it was. Five minutes later a breathless Maggie panted: 'Lima Mike to XL.'
'Go ahead, Maggie,' the controller told her.
'We have a ten twelve. Will bring Tl and T2 to Heckley, out.'
Jeff came on, saying: 'All units ten three. Thank you and good morning.'
'Let's go,' I said to Dave. 'We can't stand here all day listening to them playing cowboys and Indians. What's all this ten twenty stuff?'
They were half an hour late. Annette brought them in, apologising, and Dave set eyes on Melissa for the first
