was referring to the prisoners — ‘then really get into their ribs in the morning, after I’ve had some proper sleep.’
‘You think Sunderland killed his wife?’
‘Maybe, maybe not… but that’s not the point. You were once a detective… what’s the approach for any sudden death, even if it appears straightforward?’
‘Think murder.’
‘Bread and butter — and another mistake Barlow made, not treating it as murder to start with. Anyone else would have been hauled in if their missus had ended up drowned, but not his mate Sunderland.’
‘So, back to me.’
‘What do you want to do? You can stick with me if you want.’
‘Mm, maybe I’ll check out the searches with you… but after that, I’ll get back to why I’m here in the first place. So far I’ve not delivered on that. Should have let Mrs Sunderland drift away.’
‘You couldn’t have, could you?’
‘Guess not.’
‘The bedroom offer is still open, by the way.’
‘Thanks, Henry… I almost said you’re a pal.’
‘Let’s not get slushy… how about some fast food? My blood sugar has dropped to a dangerous level and only a KFC will remedy it.’
FIFTEEN
It was 8 p.m. Henry and Flynn had been on the go for almost twelve hours that day, plus all the hours from the preceding night and day, so they were perilously close to empty in terms of adrenaline and energy. That despite the KFC meal bucket they’d shared, plus a coffee each. The energy rush was short-lived and though both men had full bellies, all the food did was make them want to crash out like lions after a kill.
Henry led the way out of Blackpool in the HQ pool vehicle, passing close to his house on an estate near to Marton Circle, the roundabout at the end of the M55. He hadn’t been there in about a week and he hoped it was still standing. His youngest daughter, Leanne, had access and Henry envisioned her entertaining a series of boyfriends, following her fairly messy break up with her long-term bloke.
He was tempted to call in and drop into his own bed. That would have to wait. The duties and responsibilities of an SIO outweighed this need.
His plan was to check out how the search at Harry Sunderland’s house was progressing, then wind them in for the night, securing and guarding the property, and recommencing in the morning. After carrying out this task, he intended to hare back to Blackpool and crash out at home so he wouldn’t have a long journey to Blackpool nick when he got up. Both he and Flynn had discounted staying at headquarters.
It was all very well having the landlady of a country pub as a lady friend, but when the pub was so far out in the sticks, it was sometimes inconvenient geographically. The benefits did outweigh this minus point, though… and his mind drifted to Alison as he drove.
Behind him, driving Alison’s car, was Flynn.
He realized he was supernumerary, just a bit of an annoyance to Henry, and whilst he was keen to stay involved, he knew he had no right to be under Henry’s feet.
The decision he took was that when they reached Lancaster, he would flash Henry to stop and tell him he was taking a step out of it. He was going to go to the hospital to visit Colin, catch up with Diane, apologize for all the crap that had dogged him since he’d landed — not least the complete and utter destruction of their beloved narrowboat.
He had an idea that he would actually bed down in the chandlery itself. When he’d had an initial mooch around the place, he had found that upstairs, apart from the room used to store goods that had probably once been a bedroom, there was also a functioning bathroom with an old sink and a loo. It would be good enough for him, should keep him out of mischief and ensure he was right on the shop to look after it.
Damn, he thought… he was pining for the simple life he’d carved out for himself in Puerto Rico… sun, fishing, uncomplicated sex, more fishing… his mind drifted to the Canary Islands as he drove.
Flynn followed Henry up the M6 northbound and they exited at junction 34, north Lancaster, and turned towards the city. It was on this stretch of road that Flynn flashed Henry to pull in and stop. He could have used the mobile, but wanted to speak face to face.
‘What is it?’ Henry growled irritably by the roadside. It was getting cold and a bit unpleasant and he was shivering.
Flynn grinned and decided not to rile Henry any further.
‘Look, Henry, I’m gonna cut and run here. I’m just a pain in the arse to you — no, don’t say anything, I know you don’t think that. I need to do what I came here to do. I keep saying it and then doing something different. Diane’s going to need someone to sort out the salvage of the canal boat and I need to run that shop properly. I’m going to be here for the next week, if you actually need me, then I’m on the big silver bird back to the sunshine — where I belong.’
‘So you’re going to trust me to do my job?’ Henry said sardonically.
‘Yup.’ Flynn again held back the urge to have a dig.
‘Thanks.’ Henry tried not to show his relief, because even though Flynn had basically saved his life twice, having him hanging around the investigation was pushing it, ex-cop or not. ‘We still need to sit down and get your statements sorted and speak to CPS about stuff.’
‘As to whether I’m going to get charged with two murders, you mean?’
‘That won’t happen.’ Henry shook his head. ‘Trust me, I’m a superintendent. Are you going back to the Owl?’
‘Naah, but thanks. I’ll crash down at the chandlery.’
‘You know you’re welcome…’
‘I know and thanks. If I could keep hold of Alison’s motor for another night that would be good.’
Henry nodded an OK. ‘We’ll speak tomorrow. I’ll let you know what’s happening.’ They shook hands hesitantly.
Henry got into his car and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank G for that.’
Flynn got into Alison’s car and again followed Henry as he drove into Lancaster, but as Henry bore right across the River Lune, Flynn carried on up through the one-way system to the hospital.
Sunderland lived in a luxurious seventeenth-century converted barn just outside Halton on the north bank of the Lune. It was about twice the size of Joe Speakman’s house and fitted out much more expensively. It was clear that Sunderland had made real money. Henry estimated the house was probably worth in excess of a million, particularly as its location was magnificent, set high on a hill with a great view of a curve in the river.
Henry drew up just inside the gate, stopping at the side of a wide gravelled driveway that swept up to the front of the house. Parking in front of him were several police vehicles and it was apparent that the search teams were already busy.
Henry flashed his warrant card at the constable controlling the comings and goings to the property, then walked on, his eyes taking in the darkening building, including two large detached garages, a stable block and a detached workshop.
‘Nice,’ he found himself saying.
He found the sergeant in charge of the search, directing operations from the huge kitchen, the house crawling with overall-clad bobbies.
‘Boss,’ he greeted Henry.
‘Hi, Dave,’ Henry said, knowing the guy well enough. ‘How’s it going?’
The sergeant shrugged. ‘We’ve found a lot of documents which relate to various things: the haulage company, property, vehicle hire and purchase and the usual household stuff. Quite a lot of it I don’t understand. The financial analysts will love it, I guess.’
Henry nodded.
