‘Then I dozed off and when I woke, she’d skedaddled.’
‘ Just keep me posted.’
‘ Yeah. Hey, Karl, thanks for phoning. I’ve felt such a barf.’
‘ Forget it.’
‘ Got him! Target Two in sight, walking down the Promenade. Dressed in a pale blue suit. Grey shoes. Completely un-fucking-mistakable. Stands out like a prick in a nursery.’ Danny grabbed the radio before Henry could.
‘ Good job. But remember there’s more than just you and your team listening, so maintain strict radio discipline. Received?’
‘ Roger,’ grunted the glum reply, knuckles rapped.
‘ Whereabouts on me Prom?’ Danny asked.
‘ Just outside Tussaud’s, walking north. There’s a two-man follow behind him now on foot. We’ve got him. He’s not going anywhere without us knowing, especially in that suit.’
‘ Keep us informed.’
Henry gestured for the radio.
‘ Arrest squad two,’ he transmitted over it. ‘CID office, two minutes, ready to roll, please.’
‘ Already there, boss,’ came the reply.
‘ I’ll see you later.’ Henry pointed at Danny, stood up, and clicked his thumb.
‘ Henry?’ She rose slowly and looked at him.
Another of those stomach-churning, ‘Do we? Don’t we?’ moments flipped between them. Both caught it, both held back. Instead, Henry squeezed her hand and less than romantically said, ‘Next time I see you, make sure it’s in the custody office.’ It was probably destined to be one of the great romantic lines of all times. They laughed, parted and Henry was gone.
The Promenade was bitter cold, the usual icy wind driving in from the Irish Sea. Henry danced a jig and rubbed his hands to keep warm. His jacket collar was turned up high around his ears, his shoulders hunched low. He was near the entrance to North Pier, looking across the wide Prom towards a row of amusement arcades on the opposite side of the road, just south of the junction with Talbot Square. He was chatting to a member of the Surveillance Unit.
Ollie Spencer — Target Two — had been seen to enter ‘Ollie’s Amusements’ and go into the back room of the arcade. As arcades went in Blackpool, it was one of the less salubrious ones, fairly grotty, but still able to attract the penny-droppers. From the short opportunity Henry had had to do some research into Charlie Gilbert, he knew the fat man owned this business.
The front and rear of the arcade were covered by the surveillance team. At anyone time, using a tried and tested rotation system, there could be up to three members of the team in the premises, playing the bandits and video games. All on expenses, of course.
Once Henry had been briefed as to the situation, he walked back to his car parked a safe distance away. A member of his arrest team was driving for him.
The surveillance officer he had been talking to rejoined his team.
Henry crashed back into the passenger seat and smiled at his companion, a Detective Constable named Dave Seymour. Henry turned up the heater and said, ‘We wait.’
Seymour nodded. Waiting suited him. He didn’t like moving unless absolutely necessary.
The other members of the arrest team — two uniformed officers driving an unmarked police car — were parked nearby.
‘ He’s coming out of his office now,’ a voice came over the radio. ‘Leaving via the rear door. Get ready guys, ‘n’ gals, he’ll be with you in fifteen seconds.’
There was a silent delay on the airwaves. It seemed interminable.
‘ Got him,’ came the next voice eventually, ‘heading towards Talbot Square.’
Henry breathed out, not realising he had been holding his breath in the first place.
They followed him unobtrusively, sometimes even brushing past him, even actually making eye-contact with him on occasion. So Spencer actually saw members of the surveillance team, yet never once suspected remotely they were cops and he was being tailed.
‘ Up Talbot Road, away from the Prom.’
‘ He’s going to take them to his flat,’ Henry mused out loud. Where, if their information was correct, Claire had been murdered.
‘ Turning left onto Dickson Road.’
Henry looked at Seymour. Yes, Ollie Spencer was taking them home.
The other surveillance team were not having quite the same measure of success. The whereabouts of Target One, Charlie Gilbert, eluded them. They set up an ob-point near his house in Poulton-le-Fylde, but no one was home. Another ob-point was at his usual place of work — a grand, restored building, formerly a warehouse of some sort which had been refurbished as offices and storage facilities. But Gilbert could have been anywhere. He owned a chain of arcades down the Golden Mile on the sea-front, restaurants, cafes, shops selling cheap tack; and not only in Blackpool. There probably wasn’t one large town in the Northwest of England which did not have one of Gilbert’s arcades in it. They were everywhere. His other recent business moves included out-of-town developments where, several years before, he had bought cheap land and then as the out-of-town shopping boom burst open, he began to develop the land, making vast amounts of money in the process.
In Henry’s office, Danny grew impatient, wanting to get going. She tapped her teeth with the tip of her pen as she listened to the movements of the team tracking Spencer.
Her PR crackled. ‘Target Two now entering the flat above the electrical goods shop.’ She heard Henry acknowledge this piece of information. Then: ‘Unit One interrupting!’
Whoa! Danny’s heart quickened.
‘ Target One’s vehicle now pulling into the driveway of his home. DS Furness received?’
She jumped for the radio. ‘Sit on him, don’t let him see you and wait for support… Arrest Squad One, meet me down in the garage.’ She spun out of the office into the corridor and collided, body to body, face to face, with Jack Sands.
She tried to heave him out of the way.
He took hold of her, his big powerful arms circling her body, and he literally carried her back into Henry’s office, slamming the door behind him with his heel. Danny squirmed and wriggled herself out of his grasp.
‘ I haven’t got time for this shit, Jack,’ she snarled angrily. ‘Just get out of the way.’
His tongue ran along the inside of his lower lip, like a reptile was slithering about in his mouth. ‘You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you?’
‘ Jack, I need to get out fast. I’ve got important work on. Please.’
‘ That’s exactly what I mean. You think you’re some high-fuckin’ — falutin’ detective now, working on some very important cases.’ He mimicked Danny with these last three words, shaking his head and sounding like some kind of Hooray Henry. ‘But you’re not.’ He poked his finger right in the middle of her cleavage so forcefully she staggered backwards against the desk, holding it for support. ‘You’re just a fuckin’ no-good bitch that doesn’t know anything except what I’ve taught her, and what have you done to me? Eh? Dumped me — like that.’ He clicked his fingers with a snap and a jab forward of his face.
‘ Let me go, Jack.’
She pushed herself away from the desk and tried to walk round him. He took hold of her again and pulled her to him.
‘ No — I won’t let you go. Ever. I love you. Don’t you see what you’re doing to me?’
Her eyes softened for a moment. Jack released some of the power of his grip, giving her space to manoeuvre. Just enough room to twist slightly and, once again, drive her knee up into his testicles.
He roared in agony, released her, doubled up in pain, and reeled away, clutching his privates, cursing and swearing. His eyeballs were ready to pop out.
Danny left him hobbling around the office, no backward glance.
