Hard Landing

'If you leave with me now, you won't be able to come back. Too many people will know. But if you let me arrange it, we can get you out of here for a few hours, then get you back in.'

'A few hours isn't going to cut it. Liam has lost his mother. I've lost . . .' Shepherd couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

'I know,' said Hargrove.

'I can't believe you're asking me to do this. Anyone else would have taken me straight to see my son.' He paused. 'I've never asked you, but have you got kids?'

'Two. Girl and boy. Charlotte's married with a daughter of her own and James is off to university next year.'

'Liam is seven,' said Shepherd.

'I know.'

'He needs his father.'

'And you need time to grieve. I know that.'

'It's not about me. It's about my son.'

'It's about both of you. You need each other. I know what I'm asking, Spider, and I wouldn't if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary.'

'He's one man. We put him behind bars and someone else will take his place. Just because Gerald Carpenter goes down it doesn't mean the drugs business will grind to a halt.'

'He's a murderer.'

'He's not charged with murder, though, is he?'

'If you stay undercover, he might be.'

Shepherd cursed.

'I am sorry about your wife,' said Hargrove.

Shepherd closed his eyes and more images of Sue flashed through his mind. Curled up on the sofa, watching EastEnders as if her life depended on it. Testing the heat of the iron by patting it with her fingers, then yelping when she burned herself. The expression in her eyes when she told him she wanted him to leave the Regiment because he was going to be a father and a father's place was with his family, not fighting wars in distant lands. Her pride the first time she'd seen him in his constable's uniform. And the despair when he'd told her that he was being seconded to the undercover unit. From a soldier's wife to the wife of an undercover policeman. Out of the frying-pan into the fire, she'd said. That he'd never be happy until he'd been shot again. That he had a death wish. It wasn't fair, he thought bitterly. He'd put his life on the line time and time again after joining Hargrove's unit, taking risks he'd never told Sue about, but she was the one who'd died in a stupid, meaningless accident.

'Okay,' he said. 'Let me think about it.' There was something he'd meant to tell Hargrove. Something about Carpenter. Then he remembered. 'Carpenter's pally with Ronnie Bain,' he said. 'Marijuana importer who got eight years a while back. They were pretty tight in the prison chapel. Bain's in another block but he might be helping Carpenter get messages out.' He felt disloyal to his wife. He'd just been told she was dead and now he was talking shop with Hargrove.

'We'll check him out, Spider. Thanks. And we got your message about Stafford.' The superintendent hesitated, then stood up and came round the table to put a hand on Shepherd's shoulder. 'One more thing,' he said. 'I know this is shit timing but we've got the Walkman ready. Do you want me to send it in?'

Shepherd didn't know what to say. All he could think about was that his wife was dead.

Hargrove stood up and pressed the button by the door. Hamilton opened it and stood to the side to let Hargrove out. The superintendent's feet echoed on the tiled floor, then faded. Shepherd heard the rattle of keys and a door being opened, closed, and locked. Then silence.

'Chop-chop, Macdonald,' said Hamilton. 'We haven't got all day.'

Shepherd stood up slowly and walked out of the room. Hamilton sneered at him. 'Bad news, I hope,' he said.

Shepherd stopped and turned. He took a step towards the officer, his mouth a tight line, his hands tensing into claws. He was barely breathing as he stared at Hamilton. He knew of a dozen different ways he could kill him. The heel of his hand into the nose. A chop to the bobbing Adam's apple. A finger-strike into the eyes. A back-fist to the throbbing vein in his temple. A foot-sweep to the floor followed by a stamp on the neck. Shepherd had been trained by experts, and had followed up his training with on-the-job experience that few men could match. He knew what it was like to kill and knew, too, that he could take the officer's life without a moment's regret or guilt. Hamilton swallowed and took a step back, his right hand clutching for his radio. Shepherd took a deep breath, his eyes still boring into the other man's. All he had to do was make the decision. The second he decided that Hamilton should die, the training would take over and the man would be dead before he hit the ground.

There was panic in Hamilton's eyes and his hands were shaking. The colour had drained from his face and his Adam's apple was bobbing up and down as if it had a life of its own. He took a step back.

He wasn't worth it, Shepherd decided. If he killed Hamilton he'd spend the rest of his life behind bars, undercover cop or not. No man was worth that. He turned away and headed back to the wing. By the time they reached the barred door to the main corridor, Hamilton had recovered some of his composure but he still kept a watchful eye on Shepherd as he unlocked and locked the doors on the way back to the remand block.

Hamilton took Shepherd along to his cell and unlocked the door. Lee was sitting at the table, writing a letter. 'I heard they pulled you out of the gym,' said Lee, as Shepherd lay down on his bunk.

Shepherd waited until Hamilton had locked the cell door. 'My brief wants more money,' he lied. 'I've got to get it transferred from overseas.'

'Leeches, all of them,' said Lee. 'How do you spell miscarriage?'

Shepherd told him, then rolled over and turned his back. Lee took the hint and wrote the rest of his letter in silence.

The prison officer threw the stick high into the air. The spaniel yelped and gave chase, its stub of a tail wagging furiously. The man loved being out in the open, breathing fresh air, grass under his feet, hearing the wind blow through the trees.

The mobile phone in his pocket warbled. He took it out and looked at the caller ID. It was Carpenter's man. Not that the officer was surprised. The phone was a pay-as-you-go and only Carpenter's man used it. The officer had insisted that the phone was the only way that Carpenter's man contacted him. If the shit ever hit the fan he could dump the mobile and no one would be any the wiser.

'Yeah?'

'Where are you?'

'Walking the dog.' The officer had never met the caller and had often wondered what he looked like. The voice had a trace of West Country in it and a slight lisp. It was deep and resonant, which suggested he was a big man. Possibly in his forties.

'When are you inside again?'

'Tonight. Night staff.'

'Can you get a message to the boss?'

'Not until the morning.'

'Fuck that.'

'The cells are locked by the time I get there and they're not opened until seven forty-five.'

'You've got a fucking key, haven't you?'

The spaniel came running back with the stick in its mouth. The officer pulled it from the excited dog and threw it as far as he could. 'I can't just go opening cell doors at night. I need a reason.'

'Well, find one.'

'If I open a door it's got to go on the incident sheet.'

'You're going to have to do what you've got to do. I have to get a message to the boss - and soon.'

The officer cursed under his breath. 'If you want me to get the message to him tonight, it'll cost you a monkey.'

'Fine,' said the man. 'Tell him he has to call me. Urgently.'

'Okay. When do I get the money?'

'Tomorrow. When he's called me.'