by Nick Oldham
Henry blew out his cheeks. ‘Yeah.’ He stepped back and looked along Ambush Alley. ‘Well, we’ve got the florist. I wonder if there’s an undertaker down here?’
Twenty
The inquest into the death of John Lloyd Wickson, husband of Tara Wickson, and others was convened four weeks later. The proceedings were held at Fleetwood Magistrate’s Court. It was a warm day, very clear, with fine views across Morecambe Bay towards the twin nuclear reactors at Heysham and further north to the hills of the Lake District.
Henry parked his car in the police-station yard and walked round to the court buildings situated on the seafront at Fleetwood. He paused and took in the view. It was not often this clear and he savoured the moment, wishing he was walking or fishing in the hills, instead of having to go through the agony of explaining Wickson’s death to the coroner, as well as the associated deaths which were even more difficult to describe and all quite gruesome: The death of the hitman, Verner, who had also killed Wickson and then been assassinated by the unknown sniper. Also in there was the death of another man, Wickson’s driver. This was the one that really worried him, because this was the death he had attributed to Verner when, in reality, Tara Wickson had pulled the trigger of the shotgun which had blasted the guy’s head off. He had done this for what he thought were the best of reasons – the man, Jake Coulton, had raped Tara’s daughter and it had been the anguish of that which had unhinged Tara’s mind. On reflection he had acted hastily – to say the least – and now he was going to have to go public with the story he had made up to cover the killing.
To say that he was nervous was an understatement.
If Tara cracked under pressure, all hell would be unleashed.
Dave Anger and Jane Roscoe appeared round the corner, walking from the direction of the car park. Both had been deeply involved in the investigation and their input into the inquest would be vital and telling.
They acknowledged Henry with curt nods and walked past him into the court, leaving him gazing at the view. He could feel his right leg twitching and something building up inside him as powerful as a volcano.
‘Henry!’
He had not noticed her approach. He jumped, looked round and saw Tara Wickson approaching, dressed demurely and appropriately in a black suit. She looked stunning, the skirt clinging to her thighs, stopping just above her knees, the heels on her shoes accentuating the shape of her slim legs. Henry’s heart seemed to miss a beat as he thought back to the night he had slept with her. He forced the memory out of his mind and waited for her to get level with him.
He hadn’t spoken to her since the night he had left Rawtenstall police station and rudely ended a phone call with her. Something he was not proud of, but she had him running scared. That said, she had not tried to recontact him since.
‘Hello,’ he said stiffly. ‘How are you?’
She nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’m OK,’ she said at length. ‘You?’
He shrugged and admitted, ‘Worried.’
Her face softened. She reached out and touched his face with her fingertips, something she had done once before. Then it had led to sex. A warm sensation shot down his spine, in spite of himself.
‘You needn’t be,’ she said, looking him squarely in the eye. ‘When I phoned you and you hung up . . . It was just to say I’d got my head together, that I was fine, that you’d helped me put things into perspective. I was going to thank you.’
He blew out his cheeks as though he was trying to get a sound out of an imaginary trumpet.
‘I’m a big girl now. I realized that Charlotte needs me out here, not in prison, and if I’ve got to tell a few lies, then so what? She’s the bigger picture and Jake Coulton got what was coming to him.’
‘I’ll have that,’ Henry said, feeling relief sluice through him.
‘Just a pity we’ll never be able to get it together after,’ Tara said. ‘I know you value your home life and I respect that. I won’t be hounding you, or anything. I’ll just be out of your life.’ Henry saw tears form in her glistening eyes. ‘But the love-making was wonderful.’
‘It was,’ he agreed.
‘So, after the inquest, you won’t be hearing from me again.’ She touched his face. ‘See you in court.’ She spun on her heels and walked into the building without a backward glance.
Before Henry could feel any regret, he got a whack between the shoulder blades. He staggered and twisted round with an ‘Umph!’ of breath driven out of him.
‘Thought I’d watch the start of proceedings,’ FB said with a laugh. ‘Come on, let’s go and get some good seats.’
The chief constable, now fully recovered from the road accident and more obnoxious than ever, put his arm around Henry’s shoulder like he was an old mate and pushed him toward the courtroom doors.
