Crunch Time

by Nick Oldham

  He gasped, not realizing he had been holding his breath. He tabbed quickly to the number of the sender, but it wasn’t one he recognized. He dialled it immediately but it went through to voice mail. Next he phoned Kate, who would be at work.

  ‘Hello, lover,’ she giggled in a whisper.

  ‘Hi, sweetie.’ His voice was clipped.

  ‘What’s the matter, love?’ she asked, instantly picking up on his tone.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Fine … why?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing …’ He was almost going to say nothing about the text, but changed his mind. It was probably better she knew. ‘Look, I’ve had a strange text …’ He explained it to her and heard her intake of breath.

  ‘Someone’s following you,’ she said.

  ‘I’m pretty sure I wasn’t followed.’

  ‘That means …’

  ‘Someone followed you.’

  The door buzzer sounded. ‘I’ll call you back shortly,’ he said, and crossed to the door. Through the spyhole he saw Andrea Makin on the other side.

  ‘Shit,’ he breathed, and opened the door for her.

  ‘Henry,’ she said in a crisp, businesslike manner. He stepped aside and she brushed past him, no eye contact, just a chill factor. She was carrying a briefcase which she heaved on to the coffee table, before peeling off her jacket and draping it over the back of the couch and facing him.

  ‘I thought you were in London.’

  ‘Been there and back,’ she said. ‘Progress?’

  ‘He’s taken the bait. It went well with Costain, and I’m in if I want to be, I reckon. But he wants to own me.’

  A smile cracked across her face. ‘Seriously?’

  He nodded. ‘But the question of the debt is a problem.’ He moved into the kitchen, separated from the living area by a drawer unit. He flicked the kettle to re-boil, took out a coffee jug and placed a filter on it, spooning some fresh ground coffee into it, which smelled wonderful. ‘Where do we stand if he pays the money over? It could be looked on as fraud on our part – a very grey area.’

  She screwed up her face. Henry came back and handed her a mug of coffee. ‘Let’s just put it on hold for a moment and see what happens. Tell me in detail how today went.’

  He filled her in.

  ‘So Costain did a good job?’

  ‘On the face of it. I’ve yet to speak to him. He needs a proper debrief.’

  Andrea perched on the edge of the sofa, cupping her mug in two hands, contemplating things.

  ‘Ingram said he might be able to use you?’

  ‘Un-huh.’

  ‘Wonder what that means.’

  Henry shrugged. ‘Hate to think.’

  He looked at her and experienced a twinge of sexual regret. He’d had the chance – two chances, actually, the first blown because of mechanical reasons, the second because of guilt. He thought he had probably taken the best course of action, even if he hadn’t actually had a choice on the first occasion when Mr Stiffy had failed to materialize.

  ‘However,’ Henry began slowly, ‘I want to pull out.’

  The words seemed to fell Andrea like a tree. Stunned, she stared at Henry, completely lost for words. Her lips popped soundlessly. She placed her mug on the table, then found her voice.

  ‘You are fucking joking?’

  ‘No.’ Henry set hard. ‘Something’s come up.’

  ‘And …?’ she said with a sneer. ‘Like what? You can’t just drop out when you feel like it. Has Kate got something to do with this?’ she demanded. ‘Does she know about us?’

  ‘Us? There is no “us”, Andrea.’

  She glared at him, then deflated ever so slightly. ‘What is it then?’

  ‘Remember I mentioned the prowler? It’s kind of moved up a gear, got really scary, and I think it might compromise this job, so I’d rather bow out before there’s anything to be spoiled. The fact is, I need to be at home, or at least within striking distance.’

  ‘Why, what’s changed?’

  ‘I think Kate may be in danger.’ He then went on to reveal all – the ex-car and the road rage, the prowler and the text message. ‘I’m a hundred per it’s not connected with Ingram … but I’m sorry,’ he concluded weakly.

  A deep, thoughtful sigh racked her body, her chest rising and falling quite mesmerizingly. ‘I’m very, very disappointed.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  She consulted her nails.

  ‘You have to understand that it’s my place to be at home.’

  ‘Yeah, I do … but I need to explain something about Ingram, too.’ She raised her face again. This time the aura of the good-looking, brusque, professional woman was replaced by a moist-eyed, vulnerable one. At first Henry thought she had dropped into another role, one designed to manipulate his heart strings. This view changed dramatically when she spoke.

  ‘I have a sister,’ she said, almost inaudibly. ‘She lives in London, married to a doctor, two daughters. She’s a midwife, by the way. Her daughters are ten and twelve, Laura and Shona.’ She broke off, chin quivering.

  She slithered down on to the sofa and Henry sat next to her. He took her hands and held them on his knee.

  ‘Which one?’ he probed gently.

  ‘Laura, the ten-year-old.’ Andrea swallowed. Her chin continued to shake. ‘Same old story, disappears on a trip to the local shop, less than two hundred yards from home. Not been seen since. That’s six months ago, six fucking months!’ she said furiously. She pulled her hands away from Henry’s grip and rubbed her eyes with the palms. When they came away, the mascara had been completely spoiled. ‘Ingram was, is, the only suspect, but can I prove it? Like hell, the snivelling, slimy bastard. A car belonging to him was seen in the vicinity. A man fitting his description, too.’ She made eye contact and a genuine tear rolled down her cheek, which she wiped away with the back of her hand. ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘She was an angel,’ Andrea said, choking back further sobs. ‘I was very close to her and she was like the daughter I never had, nor will have … the whole family is devastated.’

  Henry nodded sagely. He had seen and lived with families affected by similar tragedies.

  ‘I promised my sister I would get him one way or the other.’ She looked squarely at Henry. ‘Then he moved north with his running mate and I thought that would be the best chance of getting someone undercover whilst he was meeting new faces … that’s where you came in.’

  Henry stood up, took his coffee, crossed to the window and looked at the building that was the Imperial War Museum. He had two daughters and, thankfully, touch wood, no harm had ever befallen them. They were now young ladies on the verge of adulthood, both on the cusp of moving away and forging their own lives, something Laura would never have the opportunity of doing. He turned back to Andrea after a little consideration.

  She waited expectantly.

  ‘It doesn’t change anything,’ he said. ‘I’m worried about what’s going on at home. I don’t understand where it’s coming from and I need to find out …’ Andrea opened her mouth to protest. ‘However, I’ll give it a few more days with Ingram, see what he wants me to do, see if I can worm anything out of him, or uncover some evidence and then I hand it back and pull out.’

  A big sigh of relief rose and fell in her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully. ‘Er, now I need to clean myself up. I must look a terrible mess.’ She got to her feet and they found themselves standing close to each other. Henry was holding his mug in front of his chest, a barrier. Andrea took it from him and placed it on the coffee table, stepped in close, slid a hand around the back of his neck and drew him towards her. They kissed, then abruptly she pulled him away and gave him a sad look.

  ‘It’ll never be, will it?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m trying to go straight.’

  ‘Then good luck.’

  She went into the bathroom, leaving Henry at the window, deep in thought and knowing
he needed to phone Kate back. It would have to wait until Andrea had departed.

  A few minutes later a freshened version of Andrea Makin emerged, make-up – eyeliner and mascara – back in immaculate place. She opened her briefcase and took out a thick file which she laid on the coffee table. Henry sat beside her, leaving a gap of a couple of inches.

  ‘This is why I went to London,’ she said. ‘I know you don’t want to know too much about Ingram, lest you drop yourself in it by giving something away you shouldn’t know …’

  ‘True.’

  ‘However, I thought this might be of interest. I have an intelligence cell constantly working on him and we’ve found out that he’s actually sold, or is selling, all the property we know he owned in and around London. He had lots – houses, flats, warehouses, a farm – all owned indirectly by him through third parties. The estimate is that he’s got about three million sloshing about somewhere by now …’

  ‘And he’s living in a bloody Travelodge.’

  ‘That’s all we know about. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s already bought something up here.’

  ‘He hasn’t mentioned anything yet.’

  The intercom buzzed, making both of them jump. They looked at each other, puzzled.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Andrea said.

  Henry didn’t speak, but crossed to the wall by the door and spoke into the intercom which was linked to the main door of the building. ‘Yep?’

  ‘Ingram.’

  Henry mouthed ‘Shit!’ to Makin, who quickly shoved the file back into her briefcase and snapped it shut.

  ‘Not a good moment,’ Henry said into the intercom.

  ‘Open the fuckin’ door.’

  ‘Come up.’ Henry pressed the door release button and turned in a slight panic to Andrea, then had a thought. ‘Rub your eyes,’ he said quickly. ‘We’ve just had a barney and you’re storming out, with your briefcase … lover,’ he added ironically.

  She nodded, going with the flow immediately. She hitched her jacket on, then scrunched the palms of her hands into her eyes, mussing up the newly applied make-up, making her look like a panda again.

  There was a knock on the door: Ingram.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, you can just get stuffed,’ Henry raised his voice as he made his way to the door.

  ‘You bastard!’ she shouted, storming up behind him and, just as he unlocked the door, pushing past him on to the landing. ‘You can stick it.’ She turned like a vixen and snarled, ignoring the presence of Ingram and Mitch. ‘You make me want to vomit!’ Her eyes blazed through the black smudges that surrounded them. She swivelled to face Ingram, who she sneered at. He looked askance at her, stepping back. ‘You can fuck off, too,’ she told him with a snarl, then gave Henry the middle finger and stalked haughtily away without a backward glance.

  Ingram and Mitch regarded Henry with knowing smiles.

  ‘Touchy bitch. You fallen out?’ Ingram said.

  ‘Told her to fuck off, basically,’ Henry said, ‘then she gets all catty and accuses me of using her.’ He grinned. ‘Which I was,’ he added conspiratorially, like blokes together.

  ‘Are you lettin’ me in?’ Ingram asked, now bored with the domestic chit-chat.

  ‘Aye, come on.’ Henry stood aside.

  They sauntered into the apartment, hands in pockets, both making to the window to admire the view, which was pretty stunning.

  ‘Wouldn’t mind one of these pads myself,’ Ingram ruminated, appraising the interior.

  Henry’s eyes did a worried rove, too. Was anything out of place? Was there anything here not belonging to Frank Jagger?

  He was feeling OK about things up to the point where he spotted his own, not Frank’s, mobile phone on the coffee table. His own personal property, the one he’d used to call Kate only minutes before. Mitch slobbed down on to the sofa and plonked a foot on the table, his ankle right next to the offending device.

  Henry’s mouth dried up. ‘Coffee?’ he croaked. ‘Just brewed.’

  It had been Mitch who had downloaded the SIM card information from Frank Jagger’s phone, and the one only inches away from his foot was a completely different make and model. Frank Jagger’s phone was in his jacket at that moment.

  ‘I’ll have one.’ Mitch twisted to look at Henry.

  The mobile phone seemed to grow in size to that of a brick. Henry expected it to ring at any moment.

  ‘Sugar, milk?’

  ‘Black, no sugar.’

  ‘How about you?’ Henry asked Ingram, who turned from the window, hands thrust deep in his pockets. ‘Sugar, no milk.’ His sharp eyes scanned the room continually.

  Henry hesitated. Going into the kitchen meant putting a little bit of distance between him and them, something he was loath to do. But, with trepidation, he went in.

  ‘I thought you said a day or two?’ he said, finding a couple of mugs.

  ‘I did.’

  Henry looked up. Ingram was leaning against a kitchen cupboard, scrutinizing Henry.

  ‘What?’ Henry asked.

  ‘Just looking at you … you’re a bit familiar, which is always slightly worrying.’

  Henry shook his head. ‘I thought you were, too, but I’ve wracked my brains and … nothing.’ He looked squarely at Ingram, unfazed by him. ‘Milk, you say?’

  ‘Just sugar.’

  Henry handed a mug to him and he moved back into the living area. Henry came in with Mitch’s coffee.

  The big man had not moved. Still slouched on the couch, feet on the coffee table, mobile phone still there.

  How would it look if I moved it? Henry thought. Can’t do anything too unusual or obvious. If I give him his coffee, then pick up the phone and pocket it, how would that come across? Henry agonized as Mitch sat up and took the mug in his big, chubby hands.

  He decided to leave it, take the chance.

  His visitors sipped their drinks.

  ‘Nice,’ murmured Mitch appreciatively, sitting back and putting a leg on the table again, resting his coffee on his chest below his ample neck.

  ‘Something I can do for you, then?’ Henry faced Ingram. He was familiar, Henry had to admit. He prided himself on never forgetting a face or a name, one of his greatest gifts as a detective, yet he could not quite place Ingram and he cursed himself for not having delved into the guy’s antecedents a little more deeply – but that was part of the balancing act with undercover knowledge. Too much could be too dangerous. Not enough could be fatal.

  It was also obvious that Ingram thought he knew Frank Jagger from somewhere. Henry’s worry was that if he did make the connection – if there was one to be made – things could get very hirsute for Henry.

  Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he just thought he did.

  Such were the ambiguities and dangers of working U/C. You could never tell when it might all come crashing down around your ears.

  ‘How are you fixed for a bit of travel?’

  ‘Depends what, where, when, how long … stuff like that.’

  ‘Let me rephrase that. You’re going on a journey.’

  ‘And if I don’t want to?’

  ‘Your wishes don’t come into it, Frank, mate. I fuckin’ own you now, so don’t forget it.’

  A horrible creeping sensation tightened Henry’s skin.

  His bag was packed. He threw it into the back of the Jeep, then reversed the big car out of the narrow parking bay in the underground lot beneath the apartment building. He manoeuvred his way out of central London, always heading north, until he joined the M1, which was mercifully clear of traffic. He stepped on the gas and moved the vehicle up to eighty, set the cruise control and sat back to enjoy the drive. He had a full tank of gas, a cool car, a pair of shades, Otis Redding on the CD player and just for once in a long time, he felt chilled and relaxed. The bullet wound ached, probably would for ever, but that was all.

  He was on the road now, about to right some wrongs, about to reset his whole life, make some positive decisions.


  It felt good.

  He flicked off the cruise control and pushed the car up to ninety.

  ‘My name is Karl,’ he said to himself.

  ‘Just fancy.’ Her voice was cynical, pissed off.

  Henry flounced back in the chair and folded his arms, face set like a rock.

  Back home that evening, he had told Kate more than he should ever have done: about Ingram, about Andrea Makin, about the job he was involved in. He knew that cops were reluctant to discuss their work with their partners at the best of times and it was a complete no-no to say anything about U/C work to anyone not involved, but Henry had made an exception. The hope was that Kate would understand his reasons for staying at it a few more days.

  She was not convinced.

  He felt as though he was in a TV cop drama, one of those telling the tale of the dedicated cop who gave his all to the job at the expense of his family.

  Ironically, that was the position he was in.

  Something he had done all his working life, put his family second even though he had resolved on many occasions to do otherwise. It was just that the job ensnared him, had him in its grip, seduced him. But he was trying to break free from its shackles, but by saying yes to an undercover operation it would not have taken the brain of Britain to tell him it was decision he’d come to regret, because it was bound to tear him in all directions.

  ‘I knew this would happen,’ Kate confirmed it all. ‘I always come second.’

  ‘Listen, I promise I’ll do this one thing,’ said Henry, well on the back foot now, ‘then I will pull out and come home, work nine-to-five in the office and be there for you … how does that sound?’

  It must have sounded reasonably OK because that evening they jumped on the sexual bandwagon again. Kate, a couple of glasses of Blossom Hill red inside her, very much took charge, whilst Henry lay back and took it like a man. They drifted off afterwards in each other’s arms, his mind already moving on to what the next few days might bring.

  He was asleep soon … until a flickering brightness slowly played over his closed eyelids. Unable to believe it was dawn already, Henry opened his eyes and looked across at the curtains, puzzled by what he was seeing for a few moments – until it hit him.

  ‘Shit!’ He leapt out of bed and ran to the window, pulling back the curtain.