measure and two pairs of white cotton gloves. He had only ever used the chalk once and had lost the tape measure and gloves. He was thinking about this because he was watching a traffic officer dutifully marking the position of the vehicles in the road with her piece of trusty yellow chalk. Subsequently she would measure up the scene and draw a plan of the accident.
The road was closed in both directions, completely blocked, probably for several hours to come. The traffic department, now renamed the Road Safety Department, had moved in and taken control. The Fire Brigade were busy disentangling the gnarled wreckage of the tractor/trailer unit and the Ford Escort. It was proving a difficult thing to achieve and was made all the more distasteful by the ghost-like presence of the headless body trapped in the driver’s seat, still gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
Henry and Danny stood a little way back, leaning on her scratched and battered MX-5.
Henry’s euphoria at the chase had dissipated; his excitement gone. He was starting to feel cold and not a little dithery. Maybe shock was setting in. His hands were thrust deep into his trouser pockets.
Next to him, Danny stood there arms folded, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. She was slightly disgusted with herself in that she was more concerned with her damaged car than a fatal road traffic accident victim. She was about to remonstrate with Henry but stopped when she caught sight of FB approaching, purpose in his stride and a bundle of something in his hands.
‘ Yours, I believe,’ he said, presenting Danny with two smashed side mirrors. She took them from him and tossed them into the back of the MX-5. To Henry he said, ‘Is this the guy who did the ‘copter?’ He jerked his thumb towards the carnage.
Henry looked down at FB. He was much taller than him. ‘I think so.’
FB chortled with disbelief. ‘You think so? Fuck me, that’s brilliant. You chase some poor fucker and chop his friggin’ head off — and you think so? For your sake, it better be right, otherwise you’ve some real hard explaining to do — because I won’t be doing it for you when the press come snapping, understand?’
Henry shrugged. He had expected nothing more.
‘ What a bleedin’ mess, this and the bomb scare at Control Room.. ’ FB was saying to no one in particular when one of the traffic officers came from the crash scene and said, ‘Excuse me — found this tucked down between the dead guy’s legs.’ She held up a revolver between finger and thumb. A blob of blood dribbled off the end of the barrel.
FB eyed Henry, who allowed himself a wry, slightly victorious smile. ‘You’re a lucky bastard,’ FB said, licking his lips.
‘ Aren’t I just?’ said Henry. To the traffic officer he said, ‘Get someone from an ARV to check it over, make it safe, then get it bagged up for evidence.’ The policewoman moved away.
Henry perched a cheek of his backside on the edge of the front wing of Danny’s damaged car. ‘There’s another thing,’ he said to FB. ‘The guy’s got previous for damaging police property.’
‘ How do you know that?’
‘ I recognise him, what’s left of him — the head, that is.’ Unusually, FB was lost for words. Danny swivelled, snatched her cigarette out and looked at Henry, awestruck.
‘ You recognise him! You didn’t tell me that,’ she said, almost stamping her feet.
‘ Yeah, well… you should know him, too,’ Henry told her. ‘Something we’ve already been talking about today. 1986 — remember?’
‘ We were talking about Billy Crane, weren’t we? That’s not him, is it?’
FB’s ears pricked up at the mention of the name.
‘ No, it’s not,’ Henry said. ‘You mentioned you locked someone else up that night, didn’t you? A police dog bit him after he’d set fire to a few cop cars in the yard at Northgate.’
‘ You mean that’s..?’ She couldn’t remember his name. ‘But I’ve had a look. I didn’t recognise him.’
‘ It’s not that easy to recognise a head, especially when it’s been sliced off at the neck, flattened and bounced down the road like a football. Go and have another look,’ Henry suggested.
‘ I will.’ Danny walked towards the ambulance.
FB stepped close to Henry and pointed at him thoughtfully.
FB was one of the few ACCs in the country who had served in only one Force, having risen from PC to his present rank in Lancashire. He knew that if he aspired to become a Chief Constable he would need to do some ‘butterflying’ around a couple of other Forces, but for the present he was happy. Having remained in one Force, though, meant that he had a good knowledge of the villains operating in the county — pretty unusual for an ACC in the modern police service. He stuck his finger on Henry’s chest. ‘Billy Crane… correct me if I’m wrong… big time crim, operates mostly with small teams. He shot Terry Briggs, didn’t he?’ Henry nodded. ‘And he had an unusual MO, didn’t he?’ Henry nodded again.
FB pulled his finger off Henry’s chest and sniffed. Slowly, he said, ‘He creates diversions.’
‘ Keeps the cops busy while he does his own business.’
‘ Such as blowing up police cars.’
‘ Or helicopters.’
‘ Sending bomb threats to Control Room. And also to the Comms Room at Lancaster police station.’ FB shook his head in wonderment. ‘Taking a risk doing that helicopter, though.’
‘ Tch,’ Henry guffawed. ‘How many operational cops are there at the dream factory likely to stop such a thing happening? How good is the security?’
‘ Point taken,’ FB conceded.
‘ Anything else been happening in the last hour that’s unusual?’
‘ Not that I know of.’
Danny had reached the ambulance. She asked one of the paramedics if he would show her the severed head of the deceased, which had been put into a plastic bag and sealed. Hoping to make her jump, the paramedic picked it up from the floor of the ambulance and swung it towards her with a laugh. She did not respond, but shot the man a pitying glance and tilted the head up to the daylight. It was a very gruesome sight, floating in thick, setting blood, and she did feel slightly queasy, but maintained her composure. She peered closely at the features. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and returned to Henry and FB who were deep in conversation. They drew apart as she approached.
‘ You were right,’ Danny told Henry. ‘It’s Callum Riley, I remember his name now — the guy I arrested all those years ago. Not a pretty sight.’
‘ Never was,’ remarked Henry.
FB turned on his heels and strutted away, fingering his chin, his decision-making process in action. Then he pirouetted and strode back. Henry and Danny watched him, wondering what masterplan was about to be unleashed.
‘ I want you to get into this now — something big could have happened somewhere in the county and when it comes in I want us to be ready for it. I want us to be ahead of the game — got me?’
‘ I’m off sick,’ Henry stated.
‘ In that case get yourself back on duty,’ FB ordered him. ‘You look all right to me.’
‘ And I’m working on the triple murder at Blackpool.’
FB gave one of his deep, pissed-off sighs which seemed to beg the question, ‘Am I the only one committed here?’ ‘Not now you’re not, Doris,’ FB told Danny. ‘Now get on with it,’ he added quickly and walked away before Danny could respond to the jibe, ‘Doris’ being an old-fashioned, derogatory term for a policewoman.
‘ One day,’ she hissed through gritted teeth, ‘I’ll punch that bastard’s lights out.’
Crane reversed the fully-laden Sherpa into the warehouse loading bay and Smith closed the roller doors. The Audi containing the other three drove into the warehouse through the smaller door. They all got out and bustled eagerly to the back doors of the Sherpa which Smith was unlocking.
He opened them slowly, but with a flourish, and could not resist punching the air at the sight of all the money boxes.
‘ Brilliant!’ Gunk uttered enthusiastically. He lunged to grab one. Crane stepped in front of him, barring his way.
‘ Come on, let’s get ‘em opened,’ Gunk whined. ‘I want to see some dough.’
‘ No, not yet,’ Crane said quietly. ‘You start messing with these and an indelible coloured dye gets released all over the cash and you — which is neither use nor ornament to anybody. You’ll be walking around with a pink
