The Last Big Job (45 page)

‘
Bam! Bam!’ He fired his planned two shots and launched
himself, hit the ground hard, jarring his left shoulder and morphed
what should have been a single forward roll into a
double.

Drozdov reacted immediately, rising and raking the blurred
figure of Crane with fire from the Uzi, but all the while shooting
just a fraction behind him - until Crane disappeared behind the
Audi and half a dozen of Drozdov’s slugs slammed into the tough,
Teutonic bodywork.

The gunfire was deafening. But Crane still managed to hear the
metallic click of the hammer on the empty chamber and the muted
curse from Drozdov’s lips as the Uzi dried up. A competent gunman
would have the new magazine slotted in within seconds. Crane had no
illusions that the Russian was anything less than competent, but at
the same time knew that the moment had come and he had to grab it,
or die.

He scrambled to his feet, his toes losing purchase on the
concrete floor for a precious moment before they gripped. He ran
across to the BMW veered around to it far side, handgun ready to
fire. He found the Russian leaning against the car, fumbling to ram
in the new magazine.

Drozdov, magazine in his right hand, useless Uzi in his left,
stopped instantly and looked up at the menacing figure of Billy
Crane. He held up the separate parts with a shrug and a smile of
resignation and hurled them at Crane, crabbing away
backwards.

Crane dodged the metal. He aimed deliberately at the
retreating Russian and pulled the trigger six times, blasting 9mm
holes into his chest and stomach until Drozdov lay there without
moving, probably dead.

Crane stood over him like a Colossus and put another two into
his head.

Chapter Eighteen

It was midnight. Danny emerged from her bathroom smelling of
Johnson’s body wash. She had a robe wrapped tightly around her and
was rubbing her short hair with a hand towel. She felt refreshed
after the shower. It had been a long day. She went into the back
bedroom and settled down to dry her hair at the dressing
table.

A curiously pleasant feeling came over her as she went
downstairs into the lounge and drew the curtains. She switched on a
couple of table lamps, keeping the lighting subdued, and inserted a
CD into the stereo and waited for the first track to start playing.
The serene, deep and uplifting music of Ladysmith Black Mambazo
filtered out of the speakers and sent a tingle down her spine. It
was wonderful, atmospheric stuff and Danny hated herself for not
discovering it many years before. She adjusted the volume so it was
just right to fill the room, yet not intrusive or overpowering,
then wandered into the kitchen.

She opened the new fridge and poured an ice-cold glass of
Chablis and found an unopened tube of Pringles in a cupboard.
Before leaving the kitchen she hesitated at the door, looking
around. A half-smile came to her face. She thought, Good. He’s not
here any more. Jack Sands has gone.

Back in the lounge, she flopped down on to the settee, legs
stretched out, glass of wine within arm’s reach on the coffee
table. She leaned back and fed a few crisps into her mouth,
followed by a few slurps of wine. Then it was time to light up.
Although she was breaking a rule - never to smoke in the house -
Danny didn’t give a toss. The first drag of the B&H Special
felt so-o-o good.

She relaxed and closed her eyes, about to review the day in
her mind. It had been unusual and eventful - extraordinary, even -
but before she could begin to dissect it, the front doorbell
chimed. At first Danny thought she was hearing things. She hit the
mute button on the stereo remote ... then it chimed again. She shot
bolt upright. It was ten after midnight. Who the hell could be
calling at this hour? Her stomach churned.

Suspiciously she got to her feet, sliding them into her fluffy
slippers. She was not happy answering the door at this time of
night. In the hallway she stood behind the front door, hand
hovering over the panic alarm button.

‘
Who is it?’ she called.

‘
Henry Christie.’

She exhaled and slid the chain off, drew back the two bolts
and unlocked the double mortice.

‘
What are you doing here?’ She eyed him from the light of the
hallway and the security light set above the door. He looked tired
and unshaven. His eyes were deep in their sockets, his skin pale,
loose ... ill-looking.

‘
Sorry ... sorry to bother you,’ he stuttered. Danny could
smell booze on Henry’s breath, though he clearly wasn’t drunk. ‘I
want to explain something to you. I need to apologise for the way I
was earlier. Can I come in?’

Danny waved her visitor to a seat in the lounge. She sat on
the settee and curled her legs up underneath her, tucking her robe
in tightly. Henry took a sip from the can of lager she had given
him. The sip became a gulp and lasted until half the can had gone
down.

He wiped his mouth. ‘What a day!’

Danny agreed with a gentle nod. It certainly had been one to
remember, right from her disagreement with Henry to the very real
possibility of a big crime having been committed somewhere in the
north of the county. She and Henry had stayed on duty until 10 p.m.
killing time, waiting for something to come in. Just as they
decided to cal it a day, a phone call came through to their little
incident room from Control Room: Staffordshire Police had contacted
Lancashire to say that a security company based down there had
reported that one of their vans had not completed its journey. It
had been carrying twenty-odd million pounds in used
notes.

Danny was the one who had taken the call. She felt the pit
virtually drop out of her stomach at the news. This had to be it.
She asked the Control Room Inspector to fax a copy of the message
to the incident room ASAP, which he did.

She and Henry read it together as it churned out.

‘
Could well be the one,’ Henry said, the corners of his mouth
turning down. ‘Until the van turns up, or the people inside it, we
won’t know for sure. I know it says Staffs have circulated obs for
the vehicle, but I think we should reinforce it with another
message to all our police stations and ask Control Room to
circulate details a few times over the air tonight.’ He studied the
fax again. ‘Get some bobbies round to check the addresses of the
drivers, see what that turns up too. They’re all Lancashire ones.
That’s probably all we can do for now, other than to give FB a
quick ring and keep him informed. We’d better keep him sweet,
otherwise he’ll have our guts for garters.’

Danny arranged to have these instructions carried out. When
finished, Henry said, ‘Let’s go home.

They left Headquarters separately in their own cars. Danny did
not expect to see Henry again until the next morning. Yet here he
was, looking very much the worse for wear.

She smiled sweetly at him. ‘If I get a chance tomorrow, I’d
like to get some estimates for the repairs to my car, and let my
insurance company know.’

‘
Yeah, I don’t have a problem with that.’

For a few long moments they did not speak. Ladysmith Black
Mambazo moved into the haunting ‘Love I’ve Come to You’. They
listened to it together. Danny’s eyes looked softly at
Henry.

‘
Why have you come here?’ she asked gently.

Henry had another swig of the lager as though he was avoiding
answering the question. He rolled the liquid around his mouth
before swallowing. ‘I suppose I was completely pissed off at myself
for the way I behaved earlier. I wanted to say sorry. I was out of
order.’

‘
You had a right to be upset. After all, I was meddling. I
should have checked it all out first.’

‘
I overreacted.’

‘
It’s OK, Henry.’ Danny watched him carefully. He stared
blankly into the middle distance, licking his lips. His breathing
seemed to become laboured. He touched a hand to his forehead and
emitted a short gasp from the back of his throat, then gritted his
teeth. His eyes evaded hers. His lips started to tremble slightly
and his shoulders rose and fell. He wiped his eyes with the thumb
and finger of his left hand, shaking his head angrily at the same
time. Danny could see he was wrestling with himself, that he was in
turmoil. She put her wine glass down and sat up.

‘
Was is it, Henry?’ She thought back to his extended visit to
Occupational Health that very morning and also his wasted, fleshy
appearance coupled with mood swings and his inability to
concentrate. She did the sums in her mind and came up with the
dreaded answer. Henry had cancer. ‘Are you unwell?’ she probed,
stomach tingling, fearing the response. His actual answer threw her
completely off-balance.

‘
I’ve had all the tests and there’s no trace of infection,
thank God. And that’s a miracle, that is.’ His face set firm, then
he closed his eyes and tilted his head backwards. ‘I haven’t told
Kate. I haven’t told anyone, to be honest - but I think Terry has a
good idea.’ His head dropped forwards and he looked straight at
Danny.

‘
I’ve been raped,’ he admitted and started to cry.

The CD had finished playing. Danny was kneeling in front of
Henry. He was leaning into her and she had embraced him for the
last twenty minutes, feeling utterly useless, murmuring words which
meant nothing, but sounded reassuring ... and all the while he had
cried. Sometimes his body had shaken with huge, bone-jarring
tremors; other times he was in control, but basically he cried,
moaned and wailed and poured out huge tears like a baby.

Now the big crying had subsided. He had become motionless and
his breathing was more controlled. Danny kept her arms wrapped
around him and his forehead rested on her shoulder. Her cool hand
was on his neck, gently massaging. At last, she thought, I’ve got
hold of Henry Christie ... but for all the wrong reasons. Yet she
felt deeply emotional and was on the verge of breaking down
herself. He’s come to me, she thought. I’m the one he’s told. But
even as these words filtered through her mind, she thought, Whoa!
Big, BIG responsibility. What the hell am I going to do with this?
Where is it likely to end? What does he want from me?

Henry sat up slowly, wiped his face. He was totally wrecked.
The skin around his eyes was blotchy and puffed-up.

‘
I’m sorry,’ he burbled. ‘You don’t need this, not with the
Jack Sands thing as well. This is unfair. I’d better go.’ He made
to stand.

Danny’s arms were still around him. She held on and did not
let him move. Their faces were only inches apart. She looked
squarely into his eyes and made a decision. ‘Don’t go,’ she
whispered. ‘You were there for me. I’ve lost count of the number of
times I cried on you. You even cleaned up the mess for me. You
never ducked and you never quit on me when I needed someone. So I’m
here for you now, Henry.’ She smiled brightly. ‘After all, fair’s
fair. What are friends for?’

She drew him to her and held him tight, feeling his heart
pounding in his chest. For the first time, his arms encircled
her.

‘
Thanks,’ he breathed into her ear, lips nearly brushing her
lobe.

A shiver zipped down her spine and finished somewhere between
her legs.

He was all over the place, his mind racing here and there as
everything poured out. Danny sat there quietly, listening and
nodding in the appropriate places, making occasional comments,
asking a question now and again.

‘
I couldn’t believe what was happening to me,’ he stated
forcefully. ‘I’m not sure, even now, that I believe it has happened
to me, though I know it has. It’s like a dream - a
nightmare.’

‘
I can imagine,’ Danny responded softly.

Henry had a vodka on ice in his hand. He was sitting on the
settee, jacket and tie discarded, cuffs unfastened, sleeves rolled
up, shoes pushed off. He’d had a quick face wash and looked
fresher, more with it.

‘
I’ve dealt with dozens of rape victims,’ he continued, the
level of his voice monotone and, at that moment, unemotional. ‘All
female and - curse me if you want - but I always had the thought at
the back of my mind: Why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you just
keep your legs closed tight? What stupid, naive thinking that was.
There
is
no
choice in the matter. It’s death or rape and it really does mean
death, doesn’t it?’ He sipped his cold, Russian spirit. ‘At the
time I didn’t want to die ... but now I wish I had.’

He closed his eyes and fought against
hyperventilation.

Danny, on the other end of the settee, glass of wine in hand,
reached across and touched him.

‘
I’m OK,’ he said, opening his eyes. ‘Honest.’

‘
There I was, strapped to a bloody Black and Decker Workmate.
I mean, talk about DIY! That’s taking it to the extremes, isn’t
it?’ He laughed without humour. Danny could not find it in herself
to raise even a false smile. She was visualising the scene,
repulsed and frightened by the thought of it. ‘And the bastard
stood right next to me and showed me exactly what he was going to
shove into me. Rock hard, ugly. He pushed it into my face. It was
damp. I thought ... he was going to make me give him a blow job. I
would’ve spewed up if he had, but he just wafted it about and slid
it across my face and over my lips. . . I can still smell it, taste
it . . . then he went behind me. . .’