Judgement Call by Nick Oldham Page A

was never seen again – at least not in working order. It turned up in Salford, Greater Manchester, having been set alight on a recreation ground and burned to nothing more than a blistered shell, of no forensic use whatsoever.
    It also transpired that the fire Henry had been driving to investigate on the industrial area was the getaway car from the robbery. By the time the fire brigade arrived, it too was just a blackened shell. That car had also been reported stolen in Manchester earlier that day.
    Henry peered over the cracked rim of his mug of tea. The DI had taken a seat opposite, his wide frame only just supported by the plastic chair. The two men eyed each other suspiciously.
    â€˜What I don’t get,’ the DI said, as though it was painful to say, ‘is why you were in Edenfield in the first place. If my memory serves me correct, you should’ve been on a checkpoint in Queens Square.’
    â€˜Ahh,’ Henry said. Rumbled. This was the question he had thought he would not face – why did you leave your checkpoint?
    â€˜And remember this, PC Christie,’ Fanshaw-Bayley waggled a stubby finger at him, ‘you can’t kid a kidder.’
    â€˜I got bored,’ Henry admitted. He placed his mug down on the table. The two men were in the refreshment room on the first floor of the police station. Henry had stolen a teabag and liberated someone else’s milk from the fridge to make himself the brew. He had wanted to sit down alone for ten minutes, just to pull himself together, to regroup.
    He had charged into the incident without any thought, really, and it was only on reflection – and ‘reflection’ wasn’t something the young Henry Christie did willingly – he realized he should have backed off. Maybe. Most car chases don’t end up with a shotgun being stuffed up the nose and he would argue that he wasn’t to know it would culminate like that.
    â€˜I got bored and went to check out any likely areas where they might dump the getaway car. I thought that if they were going to pass me at the checkpoint, they would have done so … so I went for a mooch.’
    â€˜Against explicit instructions.’
    â€˜If that car had driven past me at the checkpoint, the result would have been the same. I’d’ve gone after it.’
    â€˜There’s a flaw there.’
    â€˜I know,’ Henry admitted. ‘The Rover wasn’t the one they used as a getaway from the scene. It was the Vauxhall Ventora burned out down Holme Lane. But that car did not drive past me, which also means they had some local knowledge because they must have come off the main road and found their way to Holme Lane via the back roads – and that isn’t a straightforward journey. You need to know your way around to do that.’
    Fanshaw-Bayley considered Henry. ‘You think they have a local connection?’
    â€˜Probably.’
    The DI nodded, then changed the subject. ‘I’ve had all the top brass ringing me to see how you are.’
    â€˜I’m deeply moved. None of the calls seem to have found their way to me, though.’
    â€˜That’s because I want any credit for catching these bad guys,’ Fanshaw-Bayley said and blinked like a reptile. ‘Not a jumped-up PC with attitude.’
    â€˜At least you’re honest,’ Henry said.
    Fanshaw-Bayley smirked as though he had heard something mildly amusing. ‘I’m a detective.’
    Henry nodded knowingly. Some, not all, of the detectives he had so far encountered in his short career were not especially honest, other than in their quest for self-aggrandisement and plaudits. They seemed manipulative schemers only interested in themselves and were held in poor regard by other members of the constabulary. But the CID was a very powerful branch and had very influential people right up to the top of the organization who wielded a lot of clout. Henry wasn’t sure how