‘You should have called us.’ Henry was going to lay it on thicker than butter, then thought better of it. It was plain that the night porter wasn’t the brightest star in the constellation and that he was petrified and very tired. Henry relented. ‘We need to speak to you in detail about what happened, before you go to bed, if possible.’
‘Why, has something else happened?’
‘Yes.’ Henry nodded, but did not elaborate. ‘I want details of the couple who were in the room.’ He glanced hopefully at the duty manager.
They were crammed into a small office behind reception, Henry, PC Garry, the night porter and the duty manager, a Mr Bendix — who had been the one who had called the police on behalf of the reluctant night porter.
‘We only have details of the male guest. Here.’ Bendix handed Henry the reservation form filled in on arrival. He snorted when he saw the name, John Smith, and tutted when he read that it had been a cash transaction, and that no vehicle details were recorded.
‘Has the room been cleaned yet?’
‘No — I told the ladies to hang fire with that one.’
Henry turned to the PC. ‘Get up there now and don’t let anyone in. I’ll arrange for a team to come and dust the place.’
The PC stood up and left.
‘Okay,’ Henry said, rubbing his hands. ‘I need you to be interviewed and I’d also like to get a statement from the receptionist who booked the couple in. We’ll need a good description of them. They could be a key to this incident.’
‘Do you think this has anything to do with the bodies discovered near to the park?’ the manager asked.
‘How do you know about that?’
‘Radio Lancashire.’
Exasperated, Henry stood up and pointed at the night porter. ‘You stay here. Someone’ll be along very soon to speak to you. If you need a kip, use one of the rooms.’
Only when he was satisfied that everything had been done correctly at the scene did Henry finally allow the two bodies to be conveyed to the mortuary at Chorley. He followed the hearse and its body-bagged contents all the way so as to ensure continuity of evidence. He was already thinking of the possible future court case, even at this early stage. All bases had to be covered from the word go because he knew that defence lawyers would systematically try to tear the prosecution evidence to pieces. It was his job, as SIO, to put together a case which was built on solid foundations, which included the simple things that are often forgotten in the aftermath of a spectacular death and which are often the chink in the armour of a good case.
The bodies went to the mortuary at Chorley hospital, deposited side by side on metal trolleys. Henry stayed while all their clothing was removed, listed and bagged up by a local DC.
Marty Cragg had some ID on him: a driving licence and credit card; his wallet contained?135 in assorted notes. Henry included the mobile phone in Marty’s property. It was an Orange, pay-as-you-go type. Henry checked it carefully to see what the last ten calls made and received were. It revealed nothing, nor did its phone book, which was empty. Henry was not surprised.
Once the corpse had been stripped, Henry inspected Marty for anything more unusual than gunshot wounds. All he could see was an old scald mark on his right forearm. He thought nothing of this and slid him into a fridge.
Henry supervised the stripping of the second, unknown man. He had nothing on him to ID him, which Henry found peculiar. It was as though the man travelled incognito, unless he had been made to hand over all forms of identity before being blasted.
Once stripped, the unknown man was fingerprinted and photographed, then slid into the fridge alongside Marty.
The post-mortems were scheduled to start at seven that evening and Henry wanted to be there for them if possible. First, he had to do some more mundane things, such as contact the coroner, arrange resources — if any — and get a murder investigation up and running. And there was something else he wanted to do, too.
Ten
Henry was back in Blackpool within the hour, pushing the police Vectra hard and fast, braking dramatically at each roadside speed camera, crawling through at the required speed and then hitting the gas once he was beyond the white markers. It was an advantage being a cop who travelled around the whole of the county: you got to know where each and every speed trap was.
He hurried to Jane’s office, knocked and entered without waiting for a reply. She was going through some paperwork with Rik Dean.
‘Need to speak,’ Henry said briskly, noting her big smile on seeing him.
‘Okay, Rik, we’ll finish this later.’ She handed the detective a binder. He stood up and left, nodding warily to Henry as the two men passed one another. Henry closed the office door. Jane stayed seated at the desk, resting her chin on her forefinger. ‘Have you been trying to avoid me, Henry?’ she asked reproachfully.
‘Naah.’ He dismissed the notion with a wave of the hand. ‘Just dead busy.’
‘Right,’ she said, drawing out the word. ‘Okay.’ She was not satisfied but realized from the tone of his voice that the subject was going no further. . yet. ‘What do you want?’ Her voice had an icy edge to it now.
Henry sat down opposite and explained what he had actually been doing that day. Roscoe listened intently, the personal baggage stored away for the time being.
He kept the juicy news until the very last.
‘Whuh!’ she said. ‘Marty Cragg? You sure?’
He nodded. ‘I’m good at identifying dead bodies.’
‘So Marty Cragg is dead? We were just beginning to think that he and his brother, Ray, were responsible for the King’s Cross shootings, weren’t we? Are we into some turf war, or something?’
‘Could be.’ Henry squinted at the thought of it. The only thing that did not sit straight with him about this possibility was the incident at the Premier Lodge. What was all that about? And who was the unknown body? What was that connection?
‘I think it is a turf war,’ Jane said forcefully, ‘because something else has turned up which is pretty interesting — that’s why Rik was in here. The shooting incident at McDonald’s?’ Henry nodded he knew what she was talking about. ‘The two guys in the hospital are running partners with another couple of Manchester low-lifes who were found shotgun blasted in a flooded quarry just over the border. The two in hospital could have come looking for retribution. Maybe they had something to do with Marty’s death?’
‘Not them personally, because the time frame doesn’t fit. They were definitely in hospital, under guard, when Marty got whacked, but their other connections could have done Marty and the unidentified guy. We need to get close with Greater Manchester on this, I suspect.’ Henry checked his watch. ‘I need to get a move on. The PMs will start soon. How are you fixed to deliver a death message?’
Evening was fast approaching as Henry and Jane drove out to see Ray Cragg at his detached house in Poulton-le-Fylde. It was going to be a cold night and a bitter wind gusted over the incoming tide.
They rode silently, but there was a palpable and electric tension between them. Henry could tell she wanted to talk. She could tell he wanted to avoid it. Eventually she could stand it no more.
‘Are we going to discuss us?’ she blurted.
Us? Oh shit! Henry thought. ‘I’m lost for words,’ he said.
‘I’m not. Just tell me if what we did was a big mistake. If it was I’ll pull up my bloomers and get on with things. If it wasn’t a mistake, I’d like to know.’
Henry’s heart thudded noisily, his mouth went dry.
‘Er, I enjoyed it. . no regrets there,’ he said feebly.
Roscoe’s eyes burned like lasers into his temple. He really could feel their heat.
‘Right,’ she said, tearing them away and folding her arms. ‘I get the message. How many people have you bragged to that you’ve shagged me?’
‘Hey, look,’ he began to protest just as he caught sight of a car with four dark shapes on board, pulled into the kerbside. They were just a couple of turnings away from the avenue in Poulton on which Ray resided. ‘Interesting,’ he said, smoothly changing the subject. He slowed and clocked the registration number.