Screen of Deceit (28 page)

Henry had been faced with a dilemma.

He could easily have flooded the court with hi-viz uniforms and done a preventative op, but that would have meant that catching Danny would have been much harder … and the thought of catching him with a gun in his pocket was a very strong motivator for Henry. Just arresting him because his fingerprints were on Mark Carter's window would not necessarily have been enough to prove that Todd was the shooter hired by the Grice family. He would be able to come up with all sorts of excuses as to why his prints were there – but if he were arrested with a gun, that would put a whole new complexion on the matter. Henry could use that as a negotiating tool with Todd to get to the Grices.

A chance Henry did not want to miss.

And, amazingly, with his reassurances that no one would get hurt, that Danny Todd would be lifted as soon as he showed his face at court, his bosses and the court had said give it a go.

The chief magistrate leaned forward on his elbows and said to the prosecutor and defender, ‘Are you gentlemen set?'

Both nodded.

‘Jack Carter,' the clerk said, raising his voice for the benefit of the court ushers who would pass the name down to the gaolers below.

Then the court room door opened and one final member of the public joined the others in the gallery. A young man, dressed in jeans, trainers and a hoodie (hood down) with short-cropped hair with a swastika zigzag cut into it. His eyes were mean, his face pockmarked and his bloodless lips thin.

Danny Todd.

‘Shit!'

The clerk gave Henry a look.

Henry ran his forefinger across his throat, then he was up on his feet, crossing quickly to where Todd had taken a seat, right next to Mark.

‘He's in court,' Henry uttered over his PR. ‘How's he got this far?'

Todd had seen Henry coming towards him straight away. Sensing something amiss, he rose to his feet, vaulted over the railing and legged it towards the door, his animal instincts not deserting him, his innate sense of self-preservation kicking in as soon as he saw Henry approaching.

‘Stop!' Henry yelled as Todd ducked out of the door. Henry was only feet behind him, as the man speeded up in the corridor outside. ‘Stop, police!' Henry shouted, and saw the black shape of a gun in Todd's right hand, which he was holding against his outer thigh.

The people hanging about in the corridor whirled around at the noise.

Henry had fished out his warrant card, which was in his left hand; in his right he had his extendable baton, which he wrist-flicked open with a crack that sounded like a gunshot in the confines of the court and its echoey corridors. The noise made Todd jump and spin around, his gun hand coming up and letting Henry see clearly for the first time the revolver he was brandishing. Henry would have put money on it being a replica which had been converted into a real gun so it could shoot real bullets. It wouldn't be as efficient as a properly produced one, but at short range he did not doubt it was just as deadly. The fact he was wearing a ballistic vest didn't make him feel much better.

Henry held out his warrant card.

In the periphery of his vision he was aware that lots of things were happening. People were scurrying away, there were warning shouts, pounding feet approaching him, but he remained blinkered on Todd, in the zone, the one in which he had to stay focused to stay alive.

‘Drop the gun, Danny.'

Again, behind him he was aware of more running, more bodies, and instinct let him know this was the firearms team deploying.

Todd looked beyond Henry, a hunted, desperate expression on his face, confirming this. Henry knew that MP5s and Glocks were now out, but he didn't want to look round, needed to remain right on Danny.

‘Don't be a fool, lad,' he said to Danny. ‘Just drop it.'

Todd's eyes zeroed in on Henry. They were wild eyes, the type Henry had seen on so many disaffected kids over the years, because that's all that Todd was, a kid. Nevertheless, he was a kid with a gun.

Henry saw Todd's forefinger wrap around the trigger.

‘That will make this a million times worse,' Henry said.

‘I've always wanted to kill a cop,' he sneered. The gun jerked up and Todd aimed it at Henry's head.

Henry felt a chill, then flinched away as Todd pulled the trigger and things happened all at once.

The gun, which later was shown to be a badly converted replica, loaded with badly home-made bullets – backfired in Todd's hand, sending an explosion back down his arm and into his chest. This in itself would have been enough to flatten and seriously injure him, but what did the most damage was the double-tap from the Glock of the firearms officer who'd stepped up to Henry's side. Two commercially produced bullets from a superbly maintained weapon slammed into Todd's upper chest and hurled him backwards against the wall, which he slithered down, a look of complete disbelief on his face.

‘Henry, Henry, are you all right?'

Mark Carter was by his side, having ducked and weaved through the melee behind him.

‘Yeah, I'm OK …' Henry looked at the ashen-faced firearms officer not three feet away from him, holding his pistol in two hands, pointing it at the floor. He looked at the body of Todd on the floor, partly propped up against the wall, air rushing out of his chest wounds, blood bubbling obscenely as he fought for life.

For a moment, the world stood still.

‘Ah, Jeez,' Mark said, as he looked at Todd and the blood.

Henry pulled him away, back through the throng of people surging towards Todd.

Henry closed his eyes, held the tip of his thumb and forefinger on his eyeballs and rubbed. The office door opened and Rik Dean entered.

‘He'll live,' the DI said, dropping into his seat at his desk. ‘And he'll blab … already has done a bit.' Rik rubbed his leg, which was feeling very sore.

Henry raised his eyes.

‘Said a distant member of the Grice family works at the court, would you believe? Secreted the gun in the bog for him.'

‘That's a start, then,' Henry said.

‘So we can move on the Grice family.'

‘Y'know, we could probably go on for ever with this, spend the whole of our careers investigating this.' Henry scratched his head. ‘It's like looking under rocks, always finding something more lurking there.'

‘Like dominoes falling,' Rik added, tossing in his own metaphor.

Henry blew out his cheeks and put down his pen. He'd been writing his statement, got bogged down, needed a drink. ‘Drugs,' he said disgustedly.

‘Yeah … keeps us in business, though. Fancy a pint?'

Henry tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘Alcohol's a drug – did you know that?'

‘Aye, but it's legalized and that means I can have as much as I want.'

‘Me, too,' Henry said enthusiastically.