Fighting for the Dead by Nick Oldham

seriously. ‘But I will go . . . I’ve some mouths to look into, but I don’t see me doing Jennifer Sunderland’s post-mortem until tomorrow at the earliest.’
    â€˜That’s fine. I need to speak to the coroner anyway and she needs to be formally identified.’
    Baines rose, then hesitated. ‘That was pretty frightening, Henry. Y’know – the guys with the guns thing?’
    Henry’s good eye squinted at him, which meant both eyes squinted. ‘Soft fucker.’
    â€˜Knew you’d understand,’ Baines grinned.
    â€˜I’m sure I would’ve been frightened too.’
    â€˜If only you’d been awake.’ Baines touched Henry’s shoulder, in a tender, but still manly gesture, turned and left, passing DI Barlow shoulder to shoulder through the swing doors.
    Barlow regarded Henry’s bashed-up face. ‘Jeepers – you OK?’
    â€˜Exactly how do you want me to answer that one?’ Henry winced.
    â€˜Uh, sorry. Hell of a thing . . . everybody’s running around like blue-arsed flies at the moment.’ Barlow leaned against the wall. ‘What do you reckon it was all about?’
    â€˜No idea, Ralph, other than to guess . . . and then go and ask the grieving husband what the hell his dead wife had in her possession that it took two armed men to try and find.’
    â€˜Do you think they found what they were after?’
    â€˜Again, I don’t know. Maybe.’ Henry indicated the file Barlow had in his hand. ‘Is that Sunderland’s MFH file?’ he asked. Barlow nodded. ‘Does everything match up, file to body, et cetera?’
    â€˜It’s definitely Jennifer Sunderland.’
    â€˜Right, we need to speak to hubby, then.’
    â€˜Leave that to me, eh, Henry?’ Barlow swept his hand around to indicate their present location. ‘I can sort him.’
    Henry glanced at the scrolling LED sign above the X-ray reception desk. It informed him, and the other people in the waiting area, that there was a three-quarters of an hour wait for the next X-ray.
    â€˜No, I’m coming,’ Henry said, seeing Barlow’s face fall.
    â€˜But, Henry, I’m quite capable of . . .’
    â€˜I know you are. That’s not the issue.’
    â€˜What is, then?’
    â€˜I’ve got a fresh shirt in the back of my car and if I wear my anorak instead of my jacket, I can get away with my appearance.’
    â€˜What’s the issue?’ Barlow persisted.
    â€˜I want to look Mr Sunderland straight in the eye and tell him we’ve found his wife – dead. Well,’ Henry amended this, ‘look him in the eye as straight as possible in the circumstances. My curiosity has been aroused.’

FOUR
    F lynn jolted awake, feeling worse than he had done before, cursing for having made the fatal error of falling asleep in the middle of the day.
    He groaned, shrouded by the warmth thrown out by the canal boat’s central-heating system, which was proving far more efficient than he could have imagined. His eyelids flickered heavily and even though he wanted to wake up, he could not seem to stop himself from dozing, his brain mushed by the mid-afternoon nap.
    Combating the urge, he inhaled deeply and forced himself to stand up. He glanced at the wall clock.
    â€˜Oh –
what
?’ He could not believe that more than an hour had slipped by.
    From their box, he pulled out the sturdy new boots he’d acquired from the chandlery, quickly threaded the laces and slid his feet into them. They were a good, comfortable fit.
    â€˜Shit,’ he uttered, extremely annoyed at himself.
    He was late for the arranged meeting with Diane, who had enough on her plate to contend with, without an unreliable friend who had promised to help out. He switched the heating off, locked up and jumped off the barge onto the canal side. He jog-trotted back to the shop, his mind still not