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  ‘Very nice. Look, Molly, I need to get a shower and a change of clothes … Could we meet back here in an hour?’

  ‘You could shower at mine,’ she offered hopefully.

  ‘That’s kind of you, but I’ll be fine. One hour?’

  She looked crestfallen but said, ‘OK.’

  Flynn jumped into the car as Molly walked back to her flat. He drove back to Faye’s house in South Shore, not too concerned about concealing himself from neighbours this time. He heaved the money-laden rucksacks and his holdall into the house. Then he went up for a long, hot shower to cleanse out the grit which seemed to be in every pore, crease and orifice. Being in custody was a grimy affair. He changed into the clothing he had in his holdall and went back to the kitchen to make a brew, which he supped while tipping money out of the rucksacks.

  He divided it into eight equal piles and put one of the stacks into the paella dish on top of the kitchen cupboards. He would contact Faye sometime in the near future to thank her, let her know he had paid for his unauthorized stay at her home and ask her to give half the money to Craig. He trusted her to do this.

  Finding a couple of plastic supermarket carriers in a drawer, he split the remaining money into them, deciding he would try and get one of the bags through customs, but he had a plan for the other bag.

  He was then about ready to move.

  He replaced the door key where he’d found it under the plant pot, then drove back to Bispham. He would text Sue Daggert to tell her where to pick up the car and that there was payment in it for her troubles (and to send someone trustworthy to collect it for her). The revolver wouldn’t be in it because he had disposed of that piece by piece in various drains throughout Blackpool.

  A few minutes later, he was knocking on Molly’s door.

  She drove him to Manchester airport in the Mini Cooper. The journey took about an hour and a half and she parked on the short-stay car park at Terminal 2. It was here she handed him the e-ticket and boarding pass for a flight leaving in a couple of hours for Ibiza.

  ‘You don’t have to come in with me, you know,’ he told her.

  ‘I know. I won’t. I just didn’t want to feel rushed by pulling up on the drop-off point.’

  They regarded each other in silence, their faces half-hidden by shadows thrown by the fluorescent lighting.

  ‘It’s funny when you meet someone and you just kind of know,’ she said.

  Flynn smiled.

  She went on, ‘I know this couldn’t possibly go anywhere and it would be nuts to think it would.’

  ‘Completely nuts.’

  ‘You’re grieving. I’ve just ditched a bastard …’

  ‘I’ve just punched that bastard’s lights out.’

  ‘That, too.’ She smiled. ‘I’m very young,’ she teased him, ‘and you’re very, very old.’

  ‘Mm,’ Flynn murmured dubiously at that one.

  ‘And you’re going to go up against a highly dangerous criminal gang without a plan. You could be dead in two weeks.’

  ‘That, too.’

  ‘But, like I said, it’s funny when you meet someone and you just kinda know.’

  ‘Maybe when this reaches its conclusion we could … see how the land lies.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Once more, they looked at each other. A kiss could easily have happened but both knew it would be a mistake as neither was really ready to plunge into anything yet, despite the temptation for reckless abandonment.

  ‘I’ll be going then.’

  Flynn climbed out of the Mini, walked to the car park exit opposite departures and did not look back.

  The plane was delayed about an hour, giving Flynn plenty of time for a meal and a drink and then time for reflection, although this wasn’t one of his strengths. However, he did think how short a time had passed since he had arrived at Manchester airport, coming in the opposite direction from Ibiza with Maria Santiago at his side, all revved up to do something about the murders of his former colleagues and current friends.

  That had been the end of a magical summer for Flynn and Santiago.

  She had taken extended leave from her job as a cop in Gran Canaria and joined him for long days taking out tourists and exploring the bays and inlets of Ibiza, followed by long nights and a lot of lovemaking.

  Flynn’s almost perfect lifestyle: a boat, a beautiful woman and a steady income from day trippers.

  He acknowledged he was a simple man at heart.

  It had all been destroyed.

  Part of him wished he was the sort of man who could be philosophical about it, let it go, let the cops get on with it.

  But he wasn’t.

  FIFTEEN

  Alan Hardiker had been admitted to hospital for observation. Although his head X-ray had showed no fractures or problems, the doctor treating him wanted to be safe rather than sorry, so he was kept in overnight and well into the following day when, after a further X-ray showed all was fine, he was discharged.

  He was amazed at how hard Molly had managed to punch him.

  He didn’t have any recollection of the swing, nor the impact.

  Just sheer panic, then blackness, then a vague recollection of being in an ambulance with darkened windows, yet able to see the street lights whizzing by.

  He had been glad to remain in hospital. If necessary, it would be good evidence that he had been assaulted if it came to him having to defend himself from an allegation from Molly that he had attacked her. He could say he simply went round to collect his phone from her flat, she became instantly violent … no, he did not touch her … but she managed to strike him quite a devastating blow which had put him down. He had done nothing to deserve it. He had been completely reasonable and non-threatening.

  And she had lamped him without provocation.

  First, he needed to see which way the wind was blowing.

  He was about to find that out when he went to see Detective Superintendent Rik Dean in his tiny FMIT office first thing that morning.

  Hardiker tapped on the door and was called in.

  Rik was behind his desk, head down in paperwork.

  He did not look up, but beckoned Hardiker in and to the chair in front of the desk in the way superintendents did.

  ‘Mornin’ boss,’ the DS mumbled.

  Rik held up his left hand for quiet. He was scribbling something and trying to keep his concentration.

  He finished with a flourish of the pen and a gasp of relief, placed down his pen, looked at Hardiker and said, ‘Sorry about that. Just needed to finish it before my mind crashed.’

  ‘No probs, boss.’ Hardiker surveyed Rik, seeing his facial injuries from the assault inflicted by Steve Flynn – which, if anything, looked worse than before. ‘I know there’s a lot going on at the moment, I mean, if I can help?’

  ‘No, all fine, Alan.’

  Alan. That was good. ‘Alan’ was informal. ‘Sergeant’ less so.

  ‘OK, you obviously know why you’re here.’

  Hardiker tried to look penitent. ‘Molly Cartwright?’ he ventured.

  Rik nodded. ‘Look, d’you fancy a brew or something? Up in the dining room. I know you must still be feeling a bit groggy.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m OK. Bit tired. Sore head … and a brew would be good, boss.’

  ‘My shout,’ Rik said. ‘We’ll find a little table for a chat.’

  Hardiker nodded. This was, so far, going much better than he’d anticipated and already he was thinking, Maybe I’ll get a chance to put one over on the bitch after all.

  The men stood up and headed for the lift.

  It was that time of day when there was a bit of a lull in business and for a short spell the dining room was almost deserted.

  Rik bought two large coffees, getting both smiles and sympathetic grimaces from the ladies behind the counter on seeing his and Hardiker’s injuries. He led the DS to a table at the far end of the room and they sat across from each other.

  ‘You going to tell me what happ
ened, Alan?’ Rik began. He knew he had to keep the conversation non-threatening because he wanted to scam Hardiker, but also knew the DS was no fool. It was hard to do this because Rik wanted to reach out, grab his head and smash it to a pulp on the tabletop. Maybe he would get the chance in the not-too-distant future.

  ‘Am I under caution?’

  ‘No, why should you be?’

  ‘I just want to know how the land lies, that’s all.’

  ‘And I want to get to the nub of the matter with as little shit flying as possible.’

  Hardiker nodded. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘No, Alan, I want your version of events and then I’ll balance the two. But, just so you know, my gut feeling is this is a nothing job, OK? Not going anywhere.’

  ‘All right.’ Hardiker leaned back and marshalled his thoughts. ‘Has she made a complaint against me?’

  ‘I have her story. Her side. I want yours, then I’ll make a decision.’

  ‘How come you’re involved anyway, if you don’t mind me asking? Surely it should be a local boss, not an FMIT super.’

  ‘Comes with the territory,’ Rik said.

  ‘Right, right. OK, here we go … You probably know me and Molly were seeing each other. Well, we split up, bit acrimonious, sad and all that, but hey, relationships,’ he said, being all worldly. ‘Anyhow, big do’s, little do’s, I realized I’d left my personal phone at her flat and went round to get it. She sort of taunted me that she had it and I went for it.’

  ‘At that time of night?’

  ‘Well, y’know, boss, emotions running high, that kind of shit.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, ’course. And when the door opened, what happened?’

  ‘I dunno, it’s just a blur. She went for me as soon as she saw me and that’s all I remember.’

  ‘You didn’t attack her first?’

  ‘No, no way. I’m a DS. I have a career and a pension to think of. I realize it was a silly time of night to be going round, but I did need my phone and I’d never lay a finger on her. I’m pretty sure she was pissed, actually.’

  Rik nodded. He was quite liking this.

  ‘Er, did she allege anything else?’ Hardiker asked delicately.

  ‘Such as?’ Rik sipped his coffee, which was pretty good.

  ‘Oh, nothing, nothing.’

  ‘So, she opened the door and went for you … and then?’ Rik prompted.

  ‘A lucky punch, I suppose. Next thing, ambulance and A and E. A hell of a lucky punch to be precise, to put me down like that. Right on the nail.’ He touched the side of his head tentatively while Rik thought, You don’t know the half of it, matey.

  ‘OK, that’s what I thought, to be honest,’ Rik lied. ‘I’ve spoken to PC Cartwright and between you and me and the gatepost’ – Rik winced and leaned forwards conspiratorially – ‘I’ve got to say it’s a hysterical female thing.’ A look of sheer relief flitted across Hardiker’s face, the ‘I’ve bloody well got away with this’ look. ‘I do think your judgement is in question for going round to her flat at stupid o’clock, but she definitely overreacted and things got messy. My view, as it stands, Alan, is that it’s probably six of one, half a dozen of the other. Couples breaking up can be messy but police involvement is something that should be a last resort, even if it’s cops involved … get my drift?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said too eagerly.

  ‘You know, if you made a complaint and she made a complaint and it went to court … very messy in my opinion. No winners. Not you, not Cartwright, not the constabulary. You can if you wish but I’d really advise against it. What are your thoughts, mate?’

  Mate! Hardiker liked that. He pretended to consider the option before him. One thing for sure would be that if he made a complaint, all the shit would surface. People like Rik Dean would start to delve into his life and uncover crap. He could not afford for that to happen.

  ‘I won’t make a complaint if she doesn’t.’

  ‘Best way,’ Rik agreed. ‘It’ll have to be recorded in some form, but to me it’s just going to be verbal advice given to both parties. How does that sound? And you’ll have to keep away from each other.’

  ‘Sounds good to me, fairest all round. One thing, though … I’ve still not got my phone back.’

  Rik fished the offending device out of his jacket pocket. ‘This, you mean?’

  He laid it on the table between them. Hardiker visibly tensed up and nodded cautiously.

  With the tip of his forefinger, Rik slid it towards the DS.

  ‘Don’t leave it behind again.’

  Hardiker was desperate to know if Rik had been into it, or if Molly had said anything about what could be found on it.

  Instead, with shaking fingers, he took it and slipped it quickly into his pocket.

  ‘Thanks, boss.’

  ‘No probs.’ Rik took a drink of his coffee, eyeing Hardiker over the rim of the mug, despising the sleazy creep of a man more with each passing moment. To keep the conversation going, he said, ‘Got much on? I’m presuming you’re back in work?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, busy, busy, busy … stuff stacking up, but not like you. Christ, what a shitload you have on at the moment,’ he said, glad of the subject change. ‘If you’ll pardon my French.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, very busy, too.’

  ‘That ambush!’ Hardiker whistled in awe. ‘That was some violent thing. Was it all about that Steve Flynn guy?’

  ‘That’s the assumption still.’

  ‘Hell, two dead bodies! And two offenders escaped … But at least you got Flynn back in custody, I hear.’

  ‘Didn’t you know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘He’s back out.’

  ‘Really?’ Hardiker was genuinely astounded, but a predatory look came over his face. ‘How come?’

  ‘Long story, hard decision,’ Rik said mysteriously, ‘but I’ll be seeing him again.’

  ‘On bail? With conditions?’

  Rik shook his head.

  ‘Isn’t he a flight risk?’

  ‘He’s under no illusions about where he stands. In some respects he’s peripheral to the whole shebang and I’ve made an appointment for him to come back with a brief in about a month. Told him to bring an overnight bag and no expectations about going far.’

  ‘Think he’ll turn up?’

  Rik nodded.

  ‘Where is he in the meantime?’

  ‘Left the country. Gone to pick up his boat from Ibiza, by all accounts.’

  ‘He’s got a boat in Ibiza?’

  ‘So I believe.’ Rik was trying to sound disinterested. He really did have a lot on his plate and wanted to get on with it after having sown these seeds. ‘Anyway, Alan,’ Rik drank the last of his coffee, ‘I need to get back to the grindstone.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah … Look, boss, thanks for sorting this thing with me and Molly.’

  ‘That’s OK, but you need to keep your distance from her.’

  ‘Got it, boss. Thanks again.’

  Delay followed delay for Flynn’s flight to Ibiza. Though impatient to get there, he took the opportunity to crash out at the airport while keeping one eye on the departure monitor and, when the flight eventually took to the sky, he wedged himself tightly in an economy seat, flipped the seat tray down, leaned on it with his elbows, wedged his face between his hands and, in that position, slept for most of the two-and-a-half-hour flight.

  He wasn’t exactly refreshed when he landed but the aroma of the island and the late summer warmth, even at six in the morning, served to revitalize him. As did his bag full of cash in his hand, which had made it unscathed through immigration.

  Just before he jumped into a taxi, a man approached him and handed him a padded envelope, which he tore open to find two iPhones and two chargers, Donaldson being as good as his word. The man nodded, jumped into a waiting car and was gone. Flynn hailed a taxi from the rank and told the driver to take him to the marina at Santa Eulalia, a journey of about twenty minutes at that time of day.
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br />   As the taxi pulled away from the road by the marina after depositing him, the sun was beginning to rise and he blinked in its rays. He looped his holdall over his shoulder and walked out along the jetty against which his boat – Maria – was moored.

  He almost cried when he saw her. Beautiful, sleek, forty-five feet long and a dream to drive, as it were. He flipped the light steel gangplank across and walked over, unzipped the protective awning covering the rear deck and stepped back into the life he loved, conditions attached.

  He was in no hurry to make contact with the friend he’d been helping out that summer with the day boat charter business. He’d left him in the lurch, slightly, having thought he would be back quickly from his excursion to the UK, so he wanted to keep a low profile on the day he arrived back, just to reacclimatize, before going into the office on the quayside, grovelling and saying he was available for charters for another week before setting sail back to Gran Canaria to resurrect his fishing business. Ibiza was wonderful and classy, but the waters of the Mediterranean held hardly any fish that interested him, whereas the Atlantic around the Canaries teemed with big fish.

  It had been his intention to sail back straight away but, during a period of reflection, he thought he owed it to his friend to offer to do a few more day cruises to make it up to him.

  The first thing he did, after having a long mooch around the boat to see that everything was OK, was to split up his newly acquired cash reserves. He hid half deep in the engine room and the other half almost literally under the mattress in the main cabin, in a small compartment he had himself built within the framework of the bed, well-hidden enough to be missed by a cursory search, although a concerted one probably would find it.

  That done, he unhooked and folded away the plastic awning, began to clean the boat and run the twin Cummins 715 horsepower diesel engines. They sounded sweet, burbling away like happy babies.

  He spent a couple of hours making sure everything was all in order before locking up and wandering down to the Mirage café on the quayside for a prawn sandwich, so full of delicious sauce that most of it ended up on his face. It tasted wonderful with a pint of local lager, although sitting there alone watching the boats in the marina and tourists walking past felt strange. He and Maria spent a lot of time at this place in its excellent corner position. It wasn’t that Flynn was averse to being alone in bars, but he had got used to her presence.