Crunch Time by Nick Oldham Page A

was fit enough, she was splitting them up.
    The problem was, he thoroughly deserved it.
    He drank another mouthful.
    Henry relaxed. He was sure he had not been followed, had made certain by careful driving, looping back on himself, stopping without warning, constantly checking on traffic and people – not that there was too much of either on the roads after midnight. He worked his way out of Manchester and by the time he hit the motorway in the Nissan, he knew he was alone and his whole metabolism shifted down a gear. He settled back and put his foot down just to see how much he could get from the lively little engine.
    Thirty minutes after leaving the city, via a short detour up the M65, he pulled up to the gates of an industrial unit on the eastern side of Blackburn, near to the Blackburn Rovers’ football ground at Ewood Park. He let himself through the gate using the keypad and into the unit itself using a combined keypad and fingerprint recognition system. The shutter door clattered open, revealing the interior of the unit. There was an array of motor vehicles inside, including the XJS he had been arrested in, and his own car, the Rover 75.
    The unit had been inherited by the Serious and Organized Crime Agency from the NCIS, who had in turn inherited it from the Regional Crime Squad. It was one of the bases of operations for undercover officers in the North-West region, its location known only to a few people.
    He dumped the Nissan, dropped the keys in the office, collected his own car keys and reversed the Rover out of the unit. He ensured everything was locked up and then drove back on to the M65 to resume his journey home.
    He would be there within the hour.

Seven
    T he house was lit up, a police patrol car parked outside.
    A nauseous feeling of dread coursed through Henry as he pulled on to the driveway and jumped out of the car, entering the house to face two uniformed constables in the hallway, Kate behind them, looking very small indeed. Her dressing gown was pulled tightly around her middle.
    On seeing Henry, relief flooded her pale face.
    â€˜What’s going on?’ he demanded of the officers, neither one of whom he recognized.
    â€˜Hello, sir, are you Mr Christie?’ one asked.
    â€˜I am.’ Henry’s eyes rolled between the three characters in front of him like balls in a bagatelle. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked nervously.
    â€˜You’ve had a prowler,’ the officer said. ‘We’ve searched the area and he or she is now gone.’
    â€˜Are you all right?’ he asked Kate, standing between them.
    She nodded, looked scared and shaken. ‘Yeah.’ Her eyes were dark, tired.
    Henry’s attention turned to the officers. ‘What happened?’
    â€˜Someone in the back garden playing silly buggers, banging on the kitchen window … did a runner when the house lights came on,’ one said. The other continued: ‘We were here within five minutes, searched the garden … no trace.’ He turned to Kate. ‘You sure you’re OK now, Ma’am?’
    â€˜Yes, I am now. Thanks for your quick response.’ Some colour flowed back to her face. ‘I’ll be fine now my husband is back,’ she added, Henry noticing the verbal slip.
    â€˜We’ll be off, then.’
    Together they watched them leave, closing the door to the world as the police car drove away. Kate immediately fell into Henry’s arms, clutching him tight and burying her forehead into his chest. She was shaking. He held her tightly, his nose in her ear.
    â€˜It’s all right, love.’
    She raised her tear-stained face. ‘I was so scared.’
    â€˜You would be.’ Henry did not like prowlers. The word itself always sounded scary to him. It was so descriptive, had an ugly, nasty feel to it. He felt Kate relax, so he steered her gently into the living room, sitting her down on the settee. ‘I’ll get you a