For someone with such an ingrained fear of hospitals, Jo seemed to have spent an inordinate amount of time in them over the last couple of years. Her phobia stemmed from when her dad was dying from prostate cancer and spent weeks withering away in Brighton’s main one.
She’d visited the sick, the dying and even had a spell as a patient following a car crash, but this incessant exposure had only heightened her aversion. The Pavlovian sweats came on the second she walked through the door and she knew if she didn’t keep going, she’d bottle it.
She followed the signs to Keymer Ward, and slowed as she walked past the desk. As the only nurse there was on the phone, Jo didn’t trouble her but walked straight through to Bob’s bay. When he’d been admitted the day before she had posted an officer by his bedside just in case someone came back for a second go, but Bob had sent them away, using his rank to reinforce his order. As a compromise the ward agreed to move him to a private room and to monitor people coming in and out. She’d just discovered how empty that promise had been.
Jo tapped on the door. ‘Are you decent?’ 65
‘Luckily for you I am,’ came the reply.
She pushed the door and stepped in. Bob’s fractured arm was immobilised in a brace and the bruises gave him the look of a street brawler, but other than that he looked like he’d had a lucky escape.
‘I brought you some biscuits,’ said Jo.
‘Ah, Bahlsen’s. Your favourite.’
‘Well, you can’t eat them all, what with you being stuck on your arse for the next few weeks. Think of your waistline. Steve would kick you out.’
‘You’ve just missed him. A ball of sympathy he was too, saying how he could get used to having our bed to himself.’
‘He’s too good for you anyway.’ She opened the biscuits, took one then offered the pack to him.
He shook his head. ‘Can’t stand them, as you well know. Anyway, haven’t you got better things to do on a Saturday evening?’
‘Not really. Let’s say Darren and I are getting on better when we’re apart at the mo.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘It’ll blow over. Just work stuff. His, for a change. Anyway, have you remembered any more about the driver?’
‘No, but he was definitely masked up. That says to me it wasn’t some joyrider with shit driving skills.’
‘You still think you were targeted?’
‘That’s the only explanation. Why else follow us along the road then hit the gas as I’m crossing?’
‘But why?’
Bob looked at her as if she were simple. ‘I’ve not exactly been running shoplifting enquiries over the last few years. There’s probably a queue of people waiting to bump me off.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ said Jo as she took another biscuit. ‘Most of those are dead or in prison. Oh, sorry.’ She kicked herself for such crass insensitivity, remembering Bob’s brief period of incarceration. 66
‘It’s OK. No, I think it’s more what I’m doing now than anything from the past.’
‘What, Eradicate?’
‘Sure. It follows. Lizzie gets killed the day we lock up the city’s recent batch of drug dealers, then someone tries to wipe me out just after my meeting with CPS.’
‘Why not take Luke out too?’
Bob shrugged, then winced. ‘Maybe that was the intention but they could only get one of us.’
‘It’s a bit two and two equals five, isn’t it? We don’t know why Lizzie was killed but it could be a hundred reasons, including her affair with Scotty.’
‘You knew about that?’
‘Of course, it’s common knowledge,’ said Jo.
‘Just me then. But why kill her on an arrest day in front of two cops?’
‘You’ve got a point but, as you say, you are universally hated so it doesn’t have to be connected.’
‘And you came here to cheer me up, did you?’
‘Yep. How am I doing?’
Just then Jo’s phone rang. Unknown Number. That usually meant it was the force control room or someone from the intelligence world. ‘Jo Howe.’
‘It’s the Ops room inspector, ma’am. Are you free to speak?’
‘Yes, sure.’
‘Are you on your own?’
Jo frowned. They never usually asked that. ‘Give me a minute.’ She shrugged at Bob and stepped out of the room to find a quiet corner. It took a minute but she pushed a door and stepped into a linen cupboard. ‘I am now. Go ahead.’
‘Ma’am, there’s been a double shooting on the Drove near the Amex stadium.’ A chill washed through her.
‘Fatalities?’
‘Yes, two dead in a car. It’s early days but it seems the gunman shot 67through the windscreen while it was moving. Killed the driver and passenger outright.’
‘That’s no mean feat. Sounds like a hit.’
‘That’s what the duty DI says.’
‘Suspects?’
‘Not yet but the driver was Nathan Challenor. He’s a National Crime Agency target, I’m told.’
Jo paced the room. She’d put Challenor away a couple of times when he was a small-time dealer and had featured in the Op Eradicate intelligence. ‘Sad for his family but no great loss. Any ID on the passenger?’
‘That’s why I’m calling you. His name is … was, Pete McElroy.’
‘Not ringing any bells.’
‘No it wouldn’t. He’s a Cheshire detective. But he’s also an undercover officer down here working on Operation Eradicate. His pseudonym was Ged.’
Jo’s world slammed to a halt. She could barely hold her trembling phone. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, ma’am. His cover officer has identified him. ACC Mills is making his way to HQ and asks if you can join him.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll be there in half an hour.’
Thoughts crashed through Jo’s mind as she thought first of the officer’s family, and then what this all meant. The shakes kicked in almost straight away and she took some deep breaths to settle herself down. She stepped out of the cupboard to quizzical looks from a healthcare assistant, headed out of the ward then turned, remembering Bob.
When she walked in, Bob was staring at the door, phone in his hand. He did not react to her arrival but looked totally stunned. ‘You’ve heard then?’ she said.
He gave the faintest of nods. ‘How could it happen? Where was his protection? Christ, what have I done?’
Jo went over to the bed and put her arm round him. ‘We’ll find all that 68out but don’t blame yourself. I promise we will get to the bottom of this.’
‘But he was due to go off on paternity leave when I asked him to have one last go.’
‘Paternity leave? Oh my God. It’s still not your fault. But I’ll tell you something.’
‘What?’
‘I was wrong earlier. Two and two definitely equals four.’
Living with Jo was becoming impossible. From the moment he met her in the Liberian hospital camp when she was helping rebuild an amoral police service and he was reporting on the West’s complicity in supporting the corrupt government, he’d been head over heels in love with her.
After the week and the rows they’d had, she’d promised him a family day, taking their boys, Ciaran aged six and Liam aged five, swimming and then piling all the calories back on at their favourite Greek restaurant, Archipelagos, in the city centre. Then came yesterday’s call about Bob being mown down in Hove. Jo owed Bob more than her career. Darren got that, but the way she broke the news this morning that she’d have to work today, before they’d even got out of bed, was brutal.
Even when she was head of Major Crime, she’d at least tell the boys herself if she had to renege on a promise, even if then they were too young to understand. This morning she’d been out of the door before they had so much as stirred. So, once again, it was down to Darren to burst their balloon.
They took the news with a shrug of inevitability, Ciaran spinning it into a positive with an arm around his bereft brother, building him up for a lads’ day out. This perked the sportier sibling up, so Darren added a kick-around into the mix and found a live stream to watch the Albion game on. They didn’t even baulk when he traded the restaurant visit for the promise of a pizza courtesy of Deliveroo.
‘I’ll get it, I’ll get it,’ screamed Liam, as he jostled with his older brother when the doorbell rang. They used to save such elation for when 69Jo came home but, as that was becoming a rarity before bedtime, the fast-food delivery boy received both barrels.
‘Calm down,’ said Darren, understanding that the promise of a Meat Feast and garlic bread on top of Brighton’s last-minute win against Liverpool could never induce serenity. Liam opened the door and he and Ciaran just stared at the glum-faced pizza-bearer.
‘Thanks, mate,’ said Darren, as he edged past the boys. He slipped the man a fiver and took the boxes through to the kitchen.
‘Are we saving some for Mummy?’ said Ciaran.
Darren thought for a second. ‘I think Mummy might be late, so maybe I can cook her something else when she gets in.’
‘Will she be sad?’ said Liam, his face a picture of worry.
Miserable yes, but sad? Probably not. ‘She’ll be fine, darling. Come on, let’s get these in the lounge and watch the late kick-off.’ They settled down, three abreast on the settee, pizza boxes set out on the table in front, Cokes by their side.
The Wolves v Chelsea game was twenty minutes in and no score. Darren enjoyed watching as a neutral but, if pushed, he’d prefer to see the home team edge a 6–0 victory. He was halfway through his second slice when his phone rang from the kitchen. Hoping it was Jo to say she was on her way home, he sprung up. ‘Won’t be a second, boys. Make sure Chelsea don’t score while I’m gone.’
Ciaran and Liam chuckled in a way that melted Darren’s heart. Whatever he and Jo were going through, he couldn’t sacrifice this beautiful family.
Spotting the phone on the island unit, he swore under his breath. Sam Parkin, the display announced.
‘Hi Sam,’ said Darren, with more glee than anyone could believe was genuine.
‘Dazza, glad I got hold of you. Are you in Brighton?’
‘Well, Hove actually.’
‘Great. Listen, I need you to get across to near the football stadium. There’s been a double shooting and I want it covered. The trains are all to 70fuck this weekend so I can’t send anyone else down. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Well, to be honest, Sam, it’s not great timing.’
‘I don’t reckon it is for the two geezers lying on slabs in the morgue either, but some things you just can’t plan for. Be a good mate and pop over there, see what it’s all about.’
‘But I’ve got the boys.’
‘Not my problem, Dazza.’
Darren wandered into the lounge and saw the boys snuggling up, glued to the football.
‘Look, are you sure there’s no one else? I thought I was on features these days.’
‘Like I said, it’s you or you. Anyway, talking of your feature, this is your opening paragraph on a plate.’
‘Eh? Is it gang related?’
‘In a manner of speaking. One of the stiffs is some big-noise villain called Nathan Challenor. Ever heard of him?’ Darren had, but said nothing. ‘Nah, me neither. The other though, and this is where it gets sexy.’
‘Go on?’ Despite himself, Darren’s interest was piqued.
‘Now this ain’t confirmed and certainly not for publication yet, but the other one, we are told, is a copper.’
‘A police officer? What, a corrupt one?’
‘No, the opposite. We’ve had this from more than one source that he’s an undercover detective from up north somewhere.’
Suddenly Darren was all ears. If this was what it seemed, he could be on the verge of the most explosive scoop of his career. His mind raced. There was no way he was missing this. He reassured himself that the boys would love a sleepover at Nanny’s.
Darren sighed. ‘Send me the details. I’ll sort the boys out and be over there within the hour.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Oh, just to let you know, there’s a press conference at police HQ at 7.30 p.m. Make sure you’re there after 71you’ve snapped some pics at the scene. I better tell you also, it’s being led by your missus.’
He was about to protest but Sam interrupted with a question he must ask Jo, come what may. Suddenly everything fell into place.