There’s a booze-up in the pub, whole station’ll be there. Kitty’s over a hundred and fifty quid already.”
Tennison squatted to peer inside the photocopier. “Fucking thing’s jammed all right, look at the mess! How do you open it up?”
Havers knelt beside her to read the instructions on the side of the machine. “It says here, lift lever A, release spring . . .”
Tennison pushed her aside. “I’ll do it, get out of my light . . . Now then, pull what where?”
She yanked the lever and the machine split itself in two. “Oh, shit, now what?”
“How about waiting for the mechanic, ma’am?”
Tennison froze her with a look. “I’ve started, so I’ll continue . . .”
For what seemed an age, the only sounds in the office were the ticking of the clock and the flick as Kernan turned the pages of Marlow’s file.
“Christ, what a stroke of luck, John, bloody marvelous. What about the blood on the jacket?” He looked from Shefford to Otley, approvingly.
Shefford grimaced. He had a weird tingling in his left arm, all the way to his fingertips. He flexed his hand, rubbed the wrist.
“Willy’s working his butt off. Should . . . should come through any time now . . .” The pain was shooting down his arm now, and his chest felt as if it was being crushed . . . “It was the size of a pinprick, they’re waiting for it to expand at the labs, then we can check . . . Oh, Jesus . . .”
The pain was so bad it made Shefford fight for air. Kernan looked up, concerned. “Are you OK, John?”
“I dunno,” Shefford gasped, “I’ve got . . . like a cramp in my arm . . .”
He went rigid as a new spasm of pain hit him. He snorted, and Kernan saw blood oozing from his nose. There was a terrible look of fear in his eyes.
The pain seemed to be blowing him apart, like the bomb he had felt ticking inside his head. It was blowing up, he was blowing up! Rubbing his arm frantically, he snorted again and the blood poured down his chin. Then he pitched forward, cracking his head on the edge of Kernan’s desk.
The Super was already picking up the phone, shouting for a doctor, an ambulance, as Otley grabbed Shefford and tried to ease him back into his chair. But the man was so big that Otley staggered under his weight.
Shefford’s body suddenly relaxed and his head lolled on Otley’s shoulder. Otley cradled him in his arms, shouting hysterically for an ambulance . . . Kernan ran round the desk to help him lower Shefford to the floor. They loosened his tie, opened his shirt, and all the while Otley was saying over and over, “S’all right, John, everything’s OK, just stay calm . . . Don’t move, guv, it’s all being taken care of, ambulance is on its way . . .”
The photocopier throbbed into life and shot out three crumpled sheets of sooty paper. Tennison gave a satisfied sigh and stood up, brushing at the black specks on her hands.
“Right, Maureen, try it with a sheet we want to shred, just in case it eats it.”
It seemed that a herd of elephants suddenly charged down the corridor outside. Tennison opened the door and stepped back to avoid being trampled as the stretcher-bearers raced along. They passed too swiftly for Tennison to see who their patient was under the oxygen mask.
The corridor suddenly filled with people, propping doors open, running to follow the stretcher. Word went round like wildfire; John Shefford had collapsed.
Tennison hurried into her office to watch the ambulance in the street below, but found the window space already occupied by two WPCs. She slammed the door.
“Get away from the window, come on, move it!”
WPC Hull whipped round. “Sorry, ma’am, but it’s DCI Shefford . . .”
“Well, peering out of the window isn’t going to help him! Come on, move over, lemme have a squint!”
Tennison could see the ambulance with its doors open, the stretcher being loaded. She turned back to the room.
“OK, back to work. The
Tennison squatted to peer inside the photocopier. “Fucking thing’s jammed all right, look at the mess! How do you open it up?”
Havers knelt beside her to read the instructions on the side of the machine. “It says here, lift lever A, release spring . . .”
Tennison pushed her aside. “I’ll do it, get out of my light . . . Now then, pull what where?”
She yanked the lever and the machine split itself in two. “Oh, shit, now what?”
“How about waiting for the mechanic, ma’am?”
Tennison froze her with a look. “I’ve started, so I’ll continue . . .”
For what seemed an age, the only sounds in the office were the ticking of the clock and the flick as Kernan turned the pages of Marlow’s file.
“Christ, what a stroke of luck, John, bloody marvelous. What about the blood on the jacket?” He looked from Shefford to Otley, approvingly.
Shefford grimaced. He had a weird tingling in his left arm, all the way to his fingertips. He flexed his hand, rubbed the wrist.
“Willy’s working his butt off. Should . . . should come through any time now . . .” The pain was shooting down his arm now, and his chest felt as if it was being crushed . . . “It was the size of a pinprick, they’re waiting for it to expand at the labs, then we can check . . . Oh, Jesus . . .”
The pain was so bad it made Shefford fight for air. Kernan looked up, concerned. “Are you OK, John?”
“I dunno,” Shefford gasped, “I’ve got . . . like a cramp in my arm . . .”
He went rigid as a new spasm of pain hit him. He snorted, and Kernan saw blood oozing from his nose. There was a terrible look of fear in his eyes.
The pain seemed to be blowing him apart, like the bomb he had felt ticking inside his head. It was blowing up, he was blowing up! Rubbing his arm frantically, he snorted again and the blood poured down his chin. Then he pitched forward, cracking his head on the edge of Kernan’s desk.
The Super was already picking up the phone, shouting for a doctor, an ambulance, as Otley grabbed Shefford and tried to ease him back into his chair. But the man was so big that Otley staggered under his weight.
Shefford’s body suddenly relaxed and his head lolled on Otley’s shoulder. Otley cradled him in his arms, shouting hysterically for an ambulance . . . Kernan ran round the desk to help him lower Shefford to the floor. They loosened his tie, opened his shirt, and all the while Otley was saying over and over, “S’all right, John, everything’s OK, just stay calm . . . Don’t move, guv, it’s all being taken care of, ambulance is on its way . . .”
The photocopier throbbed into life and shot out three crumpled sheets of sooty paper. Tennison gave a satisfied sigh and stood up, brushing at the black specks on her hands.
“Right, Maureen, try it with a sheet we want to shred, just in case it eats it.”
It seemed that a herd of elephants suddenly charged down the corridor outside. Tennison opened the door and stepped back to avoid being trampled as the stretcher-bearers raced along. They passed too swiftly for Tennison to see who their patient was under the oxygen mask.
The corridor suddenly filled with people, propping doors open, running to follow the stretcher. Word went round like wildfire; John Shefford had collapsed.
Tennison hurried into her office to watch the ambulance in the street below, but found the window space already occupied by two WPCs. She slammed the door.
“Get away from the window, come on, move it!”
WPC Hull whipped round. “Sorry, ma’am, but it’s DCI Shefford . . .”
“Well, peering out of the window isn’t going to help him! Come on, move over, lemme have a squint!”
Tennison could see the ambulance with its doors open, the stretcher being loaded. She turned back to the room.
“OK, back to work. The
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