Psycho Alley (19 page)

‘OK, boss.' He stood up, sensing he was dismissed and walked back to a free desk.

‘How was Harrogate?' Jane asked frostily, doing her famous cat's bum disapproval impression with her pursed lips.

‘Interesting.'

‘And how did you get on with Debbie?' A cold question.

‘Well enough,' he nodded, not being drawn into dodgy territory. ‘Anyway, I need to bring the policy book up to date. There's a lot to put in it. I'm going to retire to my telephone box if you don't mind.'

She opened her mouth to say something, but thought better. Henry gave a quick smile, collected his belongings and headed off.

Dogged persistence, routine police work, procedure, careful analysis, problem solving, use of the National Intelligence Model, diligent enquiries, leaving no stone unturned – all good stuff, Henry thought. The way most murder investigations are solved, without a doubt. But when all those things failed, it was always nice to have a stroke of luck, that piece of good fortune that made everything else fall into place … that anonymous phone call, the informant who came good, the guy arrested on some other matter who goes, ‘Oh, by the way, I also murdered so-and-so.'

‘Lady Luck, where the fuck,' Henry muttered, ‘are you?'

He put down his pen, having reread the long entry he'd just made in the policy book, clasped his fingers behind his head and swivelled in his chair. The killer shark stared up at him, a cruel glint in the eye.

‘Hi, Dave,' he said.

There was a horrible feeling in his gut that despite all the good work going on, the mystery man would remain a mystery unless something broke soon. If his identification dragged on for a long time, it would get harder and harder.

An urgent rap on the door made him spin round. A flustered and breathless Jane Roscoe stood there.

‘Have you got your radio on?' she demanded.

‘No, should I?'

‘There's been an attempted abduction in North Shore.'

Lady Luck
, he almost screamed, surging to his feet.

‘Come on, let's go,' she said. ‘I'll tell you on the way.'

He virtually leapt over his desk and he scurried out behind her, grabbing his switched-off PR as he went. She hurried to the stairs – ‘We'll be waiting for the lift forever,' she called over her shoulder – and began to descend them two at a time, Henry right on her heels like an obedient dog. She talked as she went. ‘Kid walking home from school … car pulls up alongside … male occupant tries to drag her inside …' She jumped four steps, twisted and hurled herself down the next set. ‘Screamed, fought, kicked …' She took a breath. ‘Got free … ran off … passer-by got a partial registration number and vehicle colour … patrols making their way now …' They landed on the ground floor, hurried into the garage. ‘I've got some keys,' she said, dangling them for Henry to see. She ran across to a blue Ford Focus and seconds later they hit the street. By this time Henry had managed to switch on and tune in, listening to the deployments from comms.

‘Alpha Four, with the complainant,' one officer called up.

‘Roger,' the operator replied. ‘Alpha Six, current location?'

‘Dickson Road, en route to scene.'

‘Alpha Nine – dog van – also en route … any further details?'

‘Alpha Seven, also en route.'

‘Patrols stand by,' the comms operator said coolly. Obviously everybody was eager to get there, particularly as there was a possible link to the murder, but it would be a Keystone Kops type mess if they all descended on the scene like wasps round a can of Coke. Jobs like this needed a firm hand, because bobbies, being bobbies, loved to rush to the action, often losing sight of the bigger picture. Which is where supervision came in.

‘DCI Christie,' Henry shouted up.

‘Go ahead.'

‘Current position with the PNC check, please?'

‘We're running the partial number through now. Could take a few minutes.'

‘Roger – please recirculate all you've got, for my benefit as much as anything, then get a grip on deployment; two patrols to the scene is enough for now. Everyone else to static points and structured patrol, please. You decide who – and also get on to the motorway and let them know what we've got on.'

‘Roger, sir.'

‘Ahh, power,' Henry cooed, listening to the operator follow his instructions. ‘Obviously none of that applies to me. I'll go wherever I want.'

Jane raced the car up the promenade, past the tower, jerking as she changed gear, whizzing past horses and carriages. ‘I still need to speak to you,' she said, niftily pulling in front of a double decker.

‘Right, shall we sort this first?'

‘Alpha Four to Blackpool,' came a welcome interruption over the radio. It was the officer at the scene.

‘Go ahead.'

‘Some initial details … offender described as white male, fifty years, wearing white shorts and tee shirt. Speaks with local accent, maybe five ten, six feet tall. Brown hair cut short, glasses … and further to the car, it's grey, could be an Audi … might help refine the PNC search.'

‘Roger – any direction of travel?'

‘Towards the prom from the scene, but that's all I have.'

‘Roger … all patrols,' the operator said and relayed the details again for the benefit of everyone.

Jane slowed, to Henry's relief. ‘What bit do you want to do, boss?' She glanced at him with irony. They were still on the prom, heading north.

‘I'm feeling lucky … let's keep going for the time being.'

‘Think it could be our man?'

‘Who knows, but as I said, I feel lucky.'

One hour later there had been no sightings of a possible suspect vehicle. Henry felt dejected, hoping that the breakthrough might have come. He and Jane patrolled as far north as Fleetwood, then criss-crossed their way back, eventually arriving at the home of the young girl who had been approached and almost abducted. He and Jane spent some time with her and her parents, checking the story, soothing them down, before leaving them in the capable hands of a female DC to obtain a statement. More paperwork to add to the growing mountain.

‘Still feel lucky?' Jane asked.

‘It's a state of mind, positive mental attitude,' he said grandly. ‘I'm always feeling lucky.'

‘I need to tell you something,' she said worryingly.

The atmosphere in the car altered palpably.

‘What would that be?' he said after a nervous pause, totally aware that his own lips were now pursed like a cat's behind. He had a horrible premonition that what he was about to hear was not very pleasant. ‘Dave Anger wants to bin me from FMIT? I know that,' he said, trying to take the lead. ‘You'd like to see the back of me, too. I know that.'

‘Both true,' she agreed.

‘But you don't want to tell me those things?'

‘No.'

‘Fire away, then.'

‘I had an argument with my husband. A real humdinger. Said some things I shouldn't have. Hurtful things, y'know?'

‘Sorry to hear that.'

‘We'd – I'd – probably had too much to drink.'

‘It's always the case, isn't it?' Henry's body was turning slowly to ice. It crept up from his feet, up his shins, just about reached his groin and squeezed. A curious sensation. One you get when you know the hammer's about to fall.

‘Things haven't really worked out between us,' she exhaled sadly. ‘The child thing never happened and sometimes I think that was just a ruse by both of us to save a failing relationship. Y'know, have a kid, save the marriage crap?'

Not deliriously happy about the way this was heading, Henry's left hand sneaked automatically to the door handle, wondering if he could perhaps eject himself at the next junction and run like hell, never to be seen again. Fight or flight, the latter won hands down.

‘I really didn't want to hurt him,' she continued, now on a roll, constantly checking on Henry as she drove. Henry braced himself and pointed urgently through the windscreen.

‘Lights!' he said, the word emitting strained from his constricted throat. Not only did he not like what he was hearing, they might be the last words he ever heard unless she concentrated on her driving.

She slammed the brakes on. Henry jerked forwards, his hands slapping the dash, seatbelt ratcheting on.

The screech to a halt did not seem to affect Jane's verbal momentum. ‘Oh God, Henry,' she blabbed on, ‘it was an awful row, one of those you never want to have. He was mortified.'

‘Right.'

‘I couldn't stop myself.' She inhaled, then exhaled heavily, a huge sigh, shaking her head. ‘I was so wound up. Too much to drink, tired, pissed off, unhappy,' she concluded softly, and looked Henry in the eyes again, peering straight into his soul, terrifying the life out of him with a stare that made him quiver. Here it was again, he thought: emotion. The thing I do not do any more.

‘Sorry to hear it,' he said inadequately, then pointed urgently ahead again. Traffic had started to move, and Jane was oblivious to the fact. She was fast becoming a hazard.

‘I wish I hadn't said it, honestly I do.'

‘Oh?'

‘You know what I mean, don't you?'

This time Henry stared at her, waiting for the bombshell. ‘No,' he squeaked.

‘It just came out.' Henry saw a tear form on the lip of her eye, then tumble down her cheek. ‘But I was so unhappy … and all because of you,' she accused him.

He scratched his forehead, feeling as inadequate as Stan Laurel.

‘I told him about us,' she announced.

‘You did what?' he spluttered, though he suspected this was what was coming.

‘Told him we had an affair.'

Suddenly he felt emptier than the Gobi desert – and frightened – but before he could respond in any meaningful way, two things happened, one immediately following the other.

They were approaching the roundabout at Gynn Square from the north. Jane slowed, her attention veering from Henry, as she waited for his reaction, and the road ahead, a split of about eighty/twenty in favour of Henry.

‘Blackpool to all patrols … regarding the earlier incident of attempted abduction, the PNC check run against the partial number plate has come up with one possible match with a grey Audi A4, no current keeper, previously registered to a male from the Manchester area. The full registered number is …' The operator reeled off the number. ‘A further PNC check reveals that the driver of this vehicle is suspected of indecency offences in the Greater Manchester area. Details of stop-checks to be forwarded to CID in Rochdale.'

‘Ooh, could be our man,' Henry said.

‘Could be,' Jane said with disinterest.

Henry looked up. ‘Slow down, we're coming to a roundabout.'

‘I am doing, I am doing,' she cried, and slammed on the brakes.

‘And my lord, there it is,' Henry said, pointing to a grey Audi saloon ahead of them, pulling off the roundabout and heading down Dickson Road towards town, one occupant on board. ‘Yep, I'm sure it is,' he confirmed, ‘before you ask.'

‘Shit,' she uttered, and sped after the vehicle.

‘DCI Christie to Blackpool,' Henry said into his PR. ‘Regarding the circulation, this vehicle is now heading along Dickson Road towards the town centre, just passing the rear of the Imperial Hotel.' He ended the transmission, then said to Jane, ‘Come on, speed up, lass.'

She emitted a snarly growl and jammed her foot on the gas.

Henry gave an update: ‘Passing Claremont Community Centre.'

The comms operator was deploying patrols to the area.

In a few seconds the car would be in the one-way system which threaded around the old cinema which was now Funny Girls nightclub.

Henry rubbed his hands excitedly. ‘Told you I was feeling lucky.'

‘After what I've just told you. You must be nuts.'

‘Mm, OK, not lucky in that respect.' Once again Jane looked square-on at him. ‘Watch the bleeding road,' he yelled.

‘Sorry.'

The Audi drove round on to Talbot Road, stopping at the red lights by the bus station, Henry and Jane two cars behind. Henry updated comms whilst peering through the windows of the car ahead in an effort to get a better view of the Audi driver. He was speaking into his PR when he saw that the driver of the Audi was adjusting his rear view mirror. The lights were still on red, one car between them. The Audi driver adjusted his mirror again.

Then, lights still on red, the Audi surged through them.

‘He's clocked us,' Henry snapped.

Jane recovered some of her composure, her cop instincts slotting back into place. She pulled out and sped past the car in front, coming up behind the Audi, which swerved through another red light, left into King Street, then a tight right, followed by a right-angled left into Edward Street, shooting past the Post Office into Cedar Square. Without stopping, the Audi screeched across the very congested thoroughfare that was Church Street, angling across into Leopold Grove, the massive Winter Gardens complex on the right.

Henry held tight as Jane, now concentrating on her driving – or so Henry thought – pursued the Audi.

‘He's definitely clocked us,' Henry confirmed into his PR, giving comms the details of the chase.

‘The pursuit policy must be adhered to,' the operator warned Henry. ‘You should back off now.' Which was all very well, but by the time an advanced driver, pursuit trained, in a fully-liveried traffic car appeared on the scene, the Audi would have disappeared.

Henry said, ‘Roger,' but to Jane he said, ‘Like hell … shit!' He ducked instinctively as she swerved across Church Street into Leopold Grove, causing a bus to anchor on and two old biddies to call on all their reserves and leap out of the way, using Zimmerframes for purchase.

‘Don't for a moment think you can forget what we were talking about,' Jane said through grating teeth. She held the steering wheel tight, foot to the floor, and cornered into Adelaide Street, right up the Audi's ‘chuffer', having no regard for the pursuit policy. This was one suspect who wasn't going to get away because of bureaucracy and Health and Safety.