What Henry wanted to do was sit at his desk, get his feet comfortably underneath it, take his time, get up to speed with the investigation, see where it was going, see where it was blocked, then get onto Trent’s tail. It had been three days since Danny’s horrific experience and Henry knew the trail was getting colder by the minute. It needed hotting up — but only after he had got himself up to scratch.
Henry had a pretty good idea that FB’s presence would preclude the first part of the action plan.
‘ Henry, about time you got in here, for fuck’s sake!’ FB snorted, making a great show of looking at his watch and the wall clock.
Danny had followed Henry up to the office and was standing behind him. ‘I’ll catch you later, sir,’ she said to Henry. She nodded at FB. ‘Morning, sir.’
‘ No — you get in here too, young lady,’ FB beckoned regally. Danny bristled, but came in and eased the door shut.
FB made no effort to vacate Henry’s chair. The two lower-ranking officers sat on the seats opposite the desk.
‘ What’s all this going off sick shit, Henry? Haven’t I told you before it’s a nancy-boy’s trick?’
‘ I think you have, sir.’
FB grunted. His head reared back. ‘Anyway, you both look like shite.’ He glared at Henry. ‘What’s the story behind it?’ He pointed at the DI’s head. ‘Who walloped you?’
Henry shrugged. ‘No idea. Could’ve been anyone of a number of people.’ Deep down he believed he knew exactly who was responsible, but was not about to share it with FB. This was something personal.
‘ And how are you, missy?’ FB directed the question to Danny.
She bristled again and bit her tongue. ‘I’m fine.’ She smiled primly.
‘ Good, good. Couple of days enough to get over it, I imagine?’ It was a rhetorical question.
Henry regarded FB across the desk and thought he had become even more insufferable since his promotion to ACPO rank. He had been bad enough before. Now his management style resembled a steam-roller, riding roughshod over everyone in his path, making no allowances for people’s feelings.
Henry knew FB had recently been the subject of two grievances, one on the grounds of sexism, the other racism.
‘ You wanted to see us, boss?’ Henry asked politely.
‘ Yeah, to make sure you don’t do your normal thing, Henry — sit around all morning farting about getting nowhere. I want you to remember that besides a little girl being murdered by this bastard, he killed a cop too.’ Danny winced visibly at the memory. ‘And I am telling you that if you don’t have this cunt — please excuse my French,’ he said to Danny who winced again, ‘in custody by the end of this week, questions will be asked in the big house. Get my drift? Jobs are on the line here, Henry — yours in particular. Remember, it gets bloody cold in uniform.’
Henry opened his mouth to utter something about being unfair, but thought better of it. FB was known for making rash statements before thinking them through, and not really meaning them; however, this did not stop his words from being unsettling.
‘ What I want you to do is come back to me in an hour and tell me exactly where this investigation is up to. I’m sure you can manage that. Right — that’ll do for now. I’ll see you later, back here, one hour.’ He rose and left the room.
Henry slumped back and mouthed the word ‘bastard’ to himself, bitterly regretting coming back into work. He could, quite legitimately, have taken the week off. The discordant tunes in his cranium had escalated to full volume by FB-induced stress. He looked sideways at Danny.
‘ Is he always such a dick-brain?’
‘ That was his good side,’ Henry said. ‘You should see him when he really gets uppity.’
There was a knock on the door. Danny answered it. Two men came into the office and introduced themselves. They were detectives from Blackburn. Henry knew them by sight, not name.
‘ What can I do for you?’ he asked. He sidled behind his desk and sat on his chair, noticing how warm it was from FB’s sweaty backside. He swept his hand towards the chairs and the detectives sat.
One spoke. ‘A body was found in a shallow grave a couple of days ago. Young girl, decomposed. We’ve managed to ID her from dental records and an MFH report.’ The detective handed Danny a photograph of a family group with the face of the girl circled in red pen. Danny felt a chill. She handed the photo to Henry who saw the look on Danny’s face. The detective carried on talking, revealing the girl’s name as Annie Reece, aged fourteen. ‘She went missing about five years ago, never turned up. Another girl disappeared at the same time. She never turned up either. You might recall?’
Henry did — but at the time he had been out of the country in Holland, on an operation with the Regional Crime Squad. There had been a big hunt for the two girls which eventually fizzled out. No clues, no leads.
‘ Does this mean something to you, Dan?’ Henry asked.
Her face was bleak. ‘I reported them both missing.’
‘ Does it link to Trent?’
‘ No. He was in prison by then.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Funny how the past always seems to catch up with me.’
Henry’s phone rang, cutting short any further time for Danny to reflect.
‘ Yep?’ Henry answered it bluntly, nowhere near to Force instructions on how a phone should be answered. It was one of the officers from the incident room. Henry listened, his eyes on Danny.
‘ Yeah, right, thanks for that… Where exactly… What condition is it in?… Scenes of Crime, forensics on their way? Right, I’ll be in shortly. Thanks again.’ He hung up. ‘Guess what? They’ve found your car,’ he told Danny. This was a major leap forwards in the investigation because Trent had stolen Danny’s car from Knott End after he had tried to kill her. Its description and registration had been circulated nationwide, but it had only just been found.
Danny perked up. ‘Where?’
‘ Stoke-on- Trent, appropriately enough.’
‘ Stoke? What the hell’s he doing going to Stoke? And the car?’ She desperately wanted it back.
‘ I’m sorry… it was found by a couple of amateur divers in a flooded quarry just outside Stoke. Looks like it was torched before it went into the drink. I’m told it’s a complete write-off.’
Danny wilted visibly. Despite its recent injuries, it was still her beautiful car. Treasured possession. Lovingly cared for, manicured weekly. First she was abducted in it, then it was stolen, now destroyed.
‘ Sorry, Dan. Look — oh, damn!’ Once more the phone interrupted things. Henry picked it up, but continued talking. ‘Why don’t you go and get a brew for these guys and I’ll join you in a few minutes to discuss how we can help them… Yep?’ he said into the phone.
A voice he recognised instantly, but had not heard for about six months, said reprovingly, ‘Is this always how you answer the phone, you godamned son of a gun?’ Henry brightened. ‘Hey, Yank! How the hell y’doing?’
It was Karl Donaldson, former FBI Special Agent, now working in the FBI London Office as a Legal Attache. He was a good friend of Henry’s.
Henry shooed Danny and the two visiting jacks out of the office, leaned back in his chair, hoiked his feet onto the desk and said, ‘What can I do for you, pal?’
‘ Remember Corelli?’ the American’s voice boomed.
‘ How could I forget?’ was Henry’s response. Indeed, how could he have forgotten the man who had dispatched a highly trained and paid assassin to do some dirty work in the North of England, and with whom Henry had become personally and professionally involved, nearly losing both his wife and life in the process. Henry knew Corelli had since been murdered. ‘So what’s this about? Surely he hasn’t come back to life?’
‘ Not exactly, but he’s been reincarnated in the guise of another Italian low-life, name of Mario Bussola. You know how it is: stamp on one cockroach and another one slithers out of the wall as a replacement? That’s what Bussola’s done, taken on the mantle of numero uno honcho in Florida’s swampy underworld… but he’s ten times worse, if that’s possible.’
‘ Karl — all very interesting, but why tell me this?’
‘ Stick with me, you impatient git. Is that the right word, git?’
‘ Yeah — one of those quaint olde English expressions.’ Henry smiled. He knew Donaldson liked to tryout
