by Nick Oldham
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t let you in just at the moment. She’s being treated by the doctor and is very poorly.’
‘Did she … did she lose the baby?’ Charlie asked, his voice cracking with emotion.
‘I’m so sorry; she did.’
‘Oh God,’ he moaned. ‘Such a tragedy.’ The nurse’s face changed then, because he’d said those words as though he was laughing. He realized his error, breathed heavily and said, ‘That’s really awful.’ He hung his head and shook it so she could not see the look on his face. He wanted to laugh and dance and cheer, and then stamp on Annabel’s dead body, because that’s what it would be very shortly. ‘Why can’t I see her?’
‘We’re just getting her ready to be taken over to Bury General, where they have the facilities to care for her. An ambulance is on the way now; do you have a car?’
He nodded.
‘Maybe you’d like to make your way over to Bury? I can give you directions. Once she’s over there I’m sure you’ll be able to see her.’
Again, Charlie had to hide the smile that swamped his face as he mumbled, ‘If possible, I’d like to see her be put into the ambulance and then I’ll follow it, if that’s OK.’
‘I’m certain that would be fine,’ the nurse said understandingly and laid her hand on his right forearm, squeezed and gave him that smile again, the one he would have liked to smash off her face. That would have to wait.
She left him and he sat back to be patient.
If it was a long wait, then so be it.
The firearms team leader came out of the flat shaking his head, then trotted down the steps and walked up to Henry who was standing with his arms folded behind the police cordon tape.
‘All clear,’ he said. ‘The place is empty and there’s nowhere in it to hide even a hamster.’
‘So he’s gone?’
‘Afraid so.’
Henry nodded numbly and said ‘Thanks, sarge.’ He inhaled, closed his eyes momentarily and then, literally dragging his feet, walked slowly back to his car, which was parked on Wallbank Drive amongst all the other police vehicles. He watched the firearms team climb aboard their personnel carrier and drive away.
He gave the Audi a sad visual once-over, sat in it, turned the engine on to generate some warmth and slumped back in the comfortable leather seat, allowing exhaustion to engulf him. He tried some deep breathing to generate some energy, but it had no effect.
Without warning, as if he was being ambushed, his breathing actually became short and ragged, and his chest tightened up as agony arced through him. He doubled up, clutching himself with a groan, crossing his forearms over his chest, his fingers bunching into fists as the events of the night began to take their toll on his body and his mind. He writhed and ground his teeth as though he was struggling to free himself from a straitjacket. He forced his fingers to open and unlock and grabbed the steering wheel to try and control this bastard of a demon that had invaded and taken over his whole being. A demon that laughed contemptuously at his failure, his lack of judgement, his utter incompetence. His knuckles turned white with the power of the grip as he tried to overpower this … thing that was intent on tearing him apart, this thing that had the face of Charlie Wilder; it then morphed into Robert Fanshaw-Bayley’s face and finally became his own, as if he was staring into a distorted mirror.
In a parallel thought, he knew he wasn’t having a heart attack, but that he was possibly on the verge of a nervous and physical breakdown.
The tears streaming down his face confirmed this and he emitted a long, awful wail as pain and despair racked his body and helplessness invaded his mind. For what seemed like an age he submitted to this inner carnage until, at last, it dissipated and he raised his eyes to look forwards, through the car windscreen, as a realization struck him. His mind cleared and the pain in his body became just a background ache.
What am I playing at? he demanded of himself. You complete and utter selfish twat, wallowing in self-pity. This fucking thing isn’t over yet, not by a long … (he pulled the gear lever down into reverse and the Audi shot backwards and hit the police car parked a few feet behind with a crash; then he selected drive, yanked down the steering wheel and put his foot down on the accelerator) … chalk.
He sped around on to Eastgate and reached for his newly acquired personal radio, which beeped at the moment he picked it up, indicating that someone was calling him via the mobile phone application within it.
‘What?’ he demanded.
He was driving with one hand, skidding the car around and back on to Wallbank Drive.
‘Henry, it’s me, Rik – we just heard about the raid. Me and Jerry are sat in comms listening to the op – sorry, he’s not there.’
‘What do you want?’ Henry said.
‘We have some information that you need, could be crucial.’
‘Fire away.’
‘We just spoke to Luke Wilder on the QT, gave him a bit of a Hobson’s choice, I think – something along the lines of, “Grass on your big brother, or take a very big rap yourself.”’
‘Ahh, my tactics,’ Henry purred. ‘You’re learning at last.’
‘Knew you’d be impressed – but you won’t want to hear the next bit, I don’t think.’
‘Which is?’
‘Luke thinks Charlie’s going to go for Annabel.’
‘Well, funny you should mention that,’ Henry said as he turned on to Hall Street and sped towards the main road. ‘It just occurred to me, too … and I’m on the way to Rochdale Infirmary now.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. Get on to GMP now and tell them to get someone there and that they need to exercise extreme caution – you know why – and get on to our firearms team that’s just left Wallbank and turn them round and tell them to make for the infirmary, too; I know it’s cross-border, but unless GMP have a team within minutes of the hospital, then it has to be done. So tell them it’s happening and make sure the high-ups are aware in Lancs and GMP. I haven’t got time to do that.’ The political ramifications of sending a Lancashire firearms team to operate in Greater Manchester, Henry knew, could be a real problem, but it was one he was prepared to deal with head on. If he ended up deploying a Lancashire team, then he would take all the flak quite happily.
He reached the junction with the A671, turned right and hurtled his battered car south towards Rochdale, the dark feelings that had almost overpowered him now buried deep at the back of his mind.
He had a killer to catch.
‘She’s still on A&E,’ Rik informed Henry. ‘But they’re going to transfer her over to Bury General … hang on, Jerry’s on to the infirmary now … Jerry?’
Henry heard some muffled noises. He was almost at the hospital.
‘What about cops?’ Henry shouted.
‘GMP informed. They’ve got a patrol on the way, but no armed officers within striking distance. I’ve spoken to our deputy chief constable and he’s on to GMP’s chief now; in the meantime, our firearms team is only a few minutes behind you, Henry.’
‘OK.’
‘What, Jerry?’ Henry heard Rik ask the DC. More muffled voices, then Rik said, ‘They think the ambulance to convey her across to Bury is there now.’
‘They think?’
‘Best we’ve got,’ Rik said. ‘The shit’s hit the fan with all this.’
An ambulance drew up in the emergency vehicle parking bay outside the A&E unit. Charlie could see it through the window and that the two paramedics seemed to be in no particular rush. The driver climbed out and sauntered around to the back doors of the ambulance and opened them, pulled out the ramp and then a stretcher, which he handled expertly. The other paramedic, a woman, entered A&E and Charlie lost sight of her.
He stood up and went through the double doors into the corridor beyond and saw her walk into the emergency reception area of the unit at the far end of the corridor. Charlie hovered by a snack machine – the one at which Henry had earlier ag
onized whether he should have a Mars bar or not – pretending to choose something, and saw the male paramedic push the stretcher through the same doors into the unit.
Charlie was certain they were here to collect Annabel.
‘Thank you, God,’ he said.
He sauntered out and leaned on a wall near to the back of the ambulance from where he could see into the waiting vehicle.
He was still waiting twenty-five minutes later when there was a flurry of activity beyond the doors and a moment later the two paramedics came out pushing the stretcher, with a nurse walking along either side, one steadying a drip on a frame, the other consulting a clipboard. On the stretcher was the slight frame of Annabel Larch, a sheet drawn up to her chest, the drip being fed into the back of her right hand and an oxygen mask, linked to a bottle fixed to the head of the stretcher, covering her nose and mouth.
Charlie pushed himself upright from his lounging position at the wall.
The paramedics rolled the stretcher up the ramp, its wheels collapsing as it went into the back of the ambulance. The nurse with the clipboard gave it to the female medic. There was a quick discussion, then the medic climbed into the back of the ambulance and sat next to Annabel whilst her partner closed and secured the double doors of the vehicle.
Charlie hung back, waiting.
The nurses did not even glance at him as they headed back into the unit.
The male paramedic walked down the side of the ambulance to the driver’s door, opened it and stepped up behind the wheel.
It was at this point that Charlie moved.
He ran along the side of the ambulance, opened the driver’s door just as the paramedic was starting the engine. He looked at Charlie, suspecting nothing, so when the shotgun slid down Charlie’s sleeve into his hands and was shoved into his face, his hands rose slowly. Charlie said, ‘Out, now, and don’t do anything heroic or I’ll blast the fuck out of your face.’ He juggled the shotgun to emphasize his promise.
‘OK mate, OK.’ He was an experienced medic and this was not the first time his ambulance had been hijacked. The guidelines were that all staff complied with any threats of danger and did not put themselves in harm’s way.
‘Out, now.’
He swung his legs down. Charlie took a pace sideways and then drove the butt of the shotgun into the back of the paramedic’s head, flooring him instantly. Charlie did not give him a second glance. He climbed into his seat, slammed the driver’s door, slotted the shotgun between his legs and put the ambulance into gear.
This had worked out better than he could have anticipated. He had visualized having to kill Annabel in the hospital, but being able to drive her away and take his time with her somewhere was simply off the scale as far as Charlie was concerned. The fact that there was another paramedic in with her did not put him off. He was quite happy to deal with her however she wanted. He guessed she would be happy to run away.
‘All right back there?’ Charlie called through the gap in the cab wall. He looked over his shoulder at the shocked face of the female and smiled. ‘We’re going for a ride, girls.’
He turned back to face the front, but the driver’s door opened and he was hauled bodily out of the seat and thrown to the ground.
Henry drove the Audi fast down Whitworth Road towards Rochdale, screeched into Mizzy Road, then left into Whitehall Street which ran along the front of the infirmary, parking his car illegally on a grass verge that also had double yellow lines alongside it.
He walked quickly towards the Accident and Emergency unit, not really taking too much notice of the ambulance parked under the canopy in the area reserved for such vehicles. He walked behind it and glanced with disbelief at the paramedic spreadeagled on the tarmac, bleeding from a massive head wound, and the driver’s door just closing with a clunk.
He stopped – but only for the briefest of moments – trying to make sense of this, particularly hard in view of the way his mind was currently working, then sprinted down the side of the ambulance, saw that Charlie Wilder was in the driving seat and just about to release the clutch and engage the engine. Henry almost ripped the door off its hinges, reached in with a roar of pure rage and grabbed Charlie’s coat, pulling him out of the seat, twisting painfully as he threw him down.
Henry saw the sawn-off shotgun skitter away from between Charlie’s legs.
Charlie landed heavily on his hands and knees, his backside up in the air facing Henry, who could not resist.
He kicked him hard and accurately in the balls, hoping he had driven the testicles all the way up through his body and into his throat. Charlie leapt away with a scream, then rolled on his back, cupping his balls, rocking from side to side, groaning.
Henry walked to him, towered over him, his face thunderous in its ire. As the blood pounded through him, every scrape on the side of his face had started to bleed again, droplets of red rolling down his cheek, pushed out by every pulse in his head.
‘Hello, Charlie,’ he said, ‘It’s me again.’
This spurred Charlie into action. He was a tough street fighter and a kick in the balls was not going to prevent him achieving his aims. His right leg shot out and caught Henry on the right knee, hard. Henry felt it go slightly and he rocked back a couple of feet, by which time Charlie had flipped into a crouch and launched himself at Henry, smashing his shoulder into Henry’s lower guts, pounding him against the side of the ambulance and wrapping his arms around Henry’s middle.
Henry punched down hard on the side of Charlie’s head, striking his ear which seemed to squelch sickeningly under blow after blow, then burst crimson, but Charlie held on remorselessly, trying to manoeuvre himself into an advantage, the blows not seeming to have any effect on him.
Suddenly he let go and dropped to his knees, confusing Henry.
It was a ruse and Charlie rolled away and scampered towards the shotgun.
Henry saw it, moved more quickly, and as though he was converting a try at rugby he kicked the gun away and it whirled off across the ground like a spinning top, well out of Charlie’s reach. Then he fell on to Charlie’s back with his knee right on his spine between his shoulder blades, crushing the man’s lungs and forcing all the air out of them.
Henry pinned him there for a moment, gasping for his own breath.
He glanced at the paramedic, who had only just managed to get on to his hands and knees, his face covered with blood.
He could see the female paramedic’s terrified face looking out from the rear of the ambulance.
He thought about FB, Johnny Asian, the horribly injured girl in the back of the ambulance, a dead baby, the murdered prison guard, the shopkeeper and the other lad, Jake, who had been about to help Henry and FB.
‘Fucking let me up, you bastard.’ Charlie squirmed under Henry’s knee, trying to look up at him. Henry released the pressure, but continued to hold Charlie on the floor with his hand at Charlie’s collar.
Then Henry stood up and let him go.
‘Should effin’ think so. I’ve got my rights,’ Charlie said, rising on to all fours.
Henry took a step back. He raised his foot and slammed it into the side of Charlie’s head, knocking the whole of his head out of shape.
From that moment on nothing else in the world mattered to Henry other than delivering justice to Charlie Wilder in the only way he truly understood.
