As Lucy rode back towards Robber’s Row police station, there was plenty to occupy her mind. One might assume she would mainly be thinking about the new lead. Or perhaps might be feeling self-conscious about the nun riding pillion, clinging on for dear life, her voluminous skirts and cloak tucked carefully underneath her, her veil billowing out behind the spare helmet.
But it wasn’t either of these.
Yet again, it was the Frank McCracken situation.
In purely practical terms, her mother’s phone-call had changed Lucy’s plans for the remainder of that night. She still needed to get back to the nick to book the forensic evidence in and request a fast-track analysis. But that was a mere matter of filling a form. However, it was no longer possible for her to sit down and interview her new star witness. That would take far too long, and so would need to be rearranged. She still had Sister Cassie with her, though – because now the woman was Lucy’s excuse for going to the hospital. On pulling up in the Robber’s Row personnel car park, she told the ex-nun to wait by the bike, entered the building through its personnel door and headed straight for the CID office. But her mind was still awhirl with this new development in their lives.
Frank McCracken didn’t mean anything to her.
She told herself this repeatedly.
He shared her blood, yes, but he was still an enemy of society. There was no denying that she’d seen things in him a person could like. He had a smoothness about him, and a charm, and, for some reason Lucy couldn’t pin down, she felt sure that his affection towards her mother was genuine. But at the same time he was violent, slept with whores and headed up a major department inside the Northwest’s pre-eminent crime syndicate.
And yet the news that he’d been shot had hit her like a punch.
The possibility that he was dying blew an icy breath down her neck. As she booked in the evidence, Lucy realised that she was desperate to know more about what had happened.
‘Bloody ridiculous,’ she muttered.
It was like he mattered to her, like he was a real relative.
I don’t feel anything for him. I hate him … or at least I hate everything he stands for.
But he was her father. The only one she’d ever known – albeit for a short amount of time.
How often, when she was little, when she’d believed her mum’s white lie that her dad was a happy-go-lucky bus driver who’d ditched them both at the first opportunity, had she yearned for more information about him. Anything would have done – a faded photograph, a letter he’d written. She still had an overpoweringly emotional memory of how, when she was about seven, she ran away from home and used her Christmas money to travel the bus routes of Greater Manchester for two whole days, looking for any driver whose facial features she might vaguely recognise. Her mum was beside herself with worry, and apparently fainted with relief when Lucy was found safe and well, fast asleep in a bus shelter in Rochdale on the other side of the city.
Afterwards, Lucy solemnly promised herself that she would never go looking for her father again. But that wasn’t just because she regretted upsetting her mother. It was also because her previous knowledge of her father, such as it was, had always been tinged with the excited belief that he was out there somewhere; only now she knew that if he was out there, he wasn’t hers any more. She could have met him on any one of those buses she’d ridden, and it wouldn’t have made any difference. He’d have looked straight through her, much as she’d have looked straight through him. There was nothing left between them; they had no connection at all.
And so she’d gone on with her life, happier, accepting that she had only one parent, which, after all, didn’t make her much different from lots of other British kids at the end of the twentieth century.
Until now.
‘Sister, I’m going to take you to St Winifred’s,’ Lucy said, coming back out into the personnel yard.
‘The hospital?’ The ex-nun was puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘Your hand needs looking at.’
‘My child, it’s only a cut.’
‘It’s not only a cut. You’ve lost the whole fingernail, and that was a dirty place – the wound could easily have got infected, so I’m taking you to A&E.’
‘Don’t you have a first-aid kit here?’
‘We do,’ Lucy said, ‘but I haven’t got time for that. Likewise, I haven’t got time to take a statement from you. So, once I’ve dropped you off at hospital, I’m going to have to ask you to come back here tomorrow morning. Can we say ten o’clock sharp?’
Sister Cassie sighed. ‘Well … if you really think it’s important.’
‘I really and honestly do.’
‘Very well. But do we have to ride over there on that awful bike again? I was terrified. I almost fell off three times.’
Lucy held up a key. ‘No worries. We’ll take one of the CID cars.’
She didn’t bother to add that this time it was only likely to be dangerous when they actually got there.
‘It’s very kind of you to be doing all this,’ Sister Cassie said from the back of the battered old Ford Mondeo. ‘I always knew you were a good soul.’
‘You’ve got to promise you’ll get that finger seen to,’ Lucy said over her shoulder. ‘I won’t have time to sit with you and make sure you do.’
‘Do you think I’ll be waiting a long time?’
‘I don’t know.’ Lucy glanced at the dashboard clock. ‘It’s a Wednesday, so I doubt there’ll be as many in now as you’d get at this time on a weekend.’
‘I sincerely hope not. I have places to go and people to see.’
Lucy again wondered about the wisdom of making such a person a key witness, not that she had much choice. Though it would be less of an issue if the DNA came through.
For the moment she had other things to think about.
She dropped her passenger at the entrance to A&E and looked for a parking space. As she’d surmised, St Winifred’s wasn’t bustling, and there was lots of room.
Her suspicion was that, if Frank McCracken was still here and not in the mortuary, he’d likely have been operated on and so would be in Intensive Care. A minute later, this suspicion was all but confirmed when she rounded the corner beyond which lay the entrance to the ICU and saw a patrol car parked by the door with a couple of uniforms standing next to it.
She thought about going straight up to them and asking what was happening; she’d already devised herself a cover-story for being here, so it wouldn’t look too odd. But a higher priority than finding out what state Frank McCracken was in was discovering where her mother was. She scanned the car park and eventually located Cora’s yellow Honda Civic about sixty yards away. That settled it; Lucy had to go in, and she had to do it now.
She strolled nonchalantly forward, heading for the IC entrance, trying to ignore the two officers, whom she recognised as PCs Tooley and Brentwood, divisional lads from Crowley.
It occurred to her, somewhat belatedly, that she perhaps ought to be more nervous about this than she was. She wouldn’t have expected a couple of beat cops to know who her mother was; Lucy had only had occasional contact with them herself. But that didn’t mean there weren’t others around here who would recognise Cora Clayburn, and maybe engage her in conversation. Priya Nehwal, for example. Lucy could only hope that if Serious Crimes were here, and if they weren’t it would only be a matter of time, they’d send someone other than their bolshy DSU.
She reached the entrance and glanced around. Tooley and Brentwood were too engrossed in conversation to even notice her, their chatter punctuated by bouts of raucous laughter. It was a good night for the cops when a high-end scrote like Frank McCracken got taken out of commission.
She walked inside and was confronted by a waiting room area, more of a corridor really, running twenty yards to the next door, its walls adorned with NHS posters, padded seating arranged down either side.
Her mother was sitting there alone, zipped tight into a blue anorak, hair mussed, white-faced with weariness, one hand clutching a tissue.
Lucy walked quickly towards her. By the look of it, the next door, which was glazed and closed, was the unit’s actual entry point. Presumably it was locked at this time of night, and if you wanted access you had to use the bell-push on its left to attract the night nurse behind the desk at the other side. That night nurse, a young black woman with braided hair, who was writing some kind of report, glanced up as Lucy entered the waiting area, but when Lucy sat down, her eyes flickered back to her work.
‘Apparently, they dumped him outside,’ Cora said, her voice weak, strained. ‘Just like that. Like he was a sack of rubbish or something.’
‘Who did?’ Lucy asked tensely, not knowing which door to keep an eye on most, the locked inner glass door or the open outer door.
‘Whoever they were. I’ve not asked anyone, obviously … but I heard two policemen talking. It was someone driving a van.’
‘Mum … you have to come away from here right now.’
Cora looked slowly round at her. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Look!’ Lucy whispered. ‘You know the situation. You can’t hang around. There are police everywhere. If someone sees you—’
‘For Heaven’s sake!’ Cora made no effort to lower her voice. ‘I’ve told you before: no one knows I’m your mother.’
‘You’d be surprised. I know most of our lot give the impression they know nothing at all but trust me, that isn’t the case.’
‘I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere. Not till I find out how bad he is.’
Lucy leaned towards her, one hand tight on her mother’s wrist, eyes constantly straying to the entry door. ‘Mum, why on earth do you care? You didn’t see the guy for thirty years. You’ve only seen him recently because his criminal activities have brought him into contact with us.’
Cora still made no effort to lower her voice. ‘Are you telling me you don’t care, Lucy?’
‘That’s irrelevant.’
‘Really? Because that’s not what your body language is telling me. You’re coiled like a spring.’
‘Yes, because if someone sees us … oh, God!’ Lucy lowered her head and covered her face with a hand, because a short, squarish figure with familiar white hair and a scruffy tweed jacket had appeared on the other side of the glass door, talking to a doctor wearing scrubs. ‘That’s DI Beardmore. I’m telling you, Mum, if he sees us—’
‘Would you get your hand off me!’ Cora raised her voice. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Lucy released her; she had no choice. At the same time, she risked another glance at the glass door, but Beardmore had moved out of sight again.
‘Mum, if you don’t care about my career, that’s fine,’ Lucy hissed. ‘But maybe you care about Dad’s. Because I’m telling you now, you won’t be doing him any favours if you get spotted here.’
Cora stared defiantly at the opposite wall. ‘I need to know how bad he is.’
‘I can’t ask questions like that. I’m not even supposed to be here.’
‘And yet you came.’
Lucy had no immediate answer for that. It was true that she’d mainly rushed over here to try and lead her mother away, but at the same time, she too had wanted to know.
‘No need to try and hide it, Lucy. I know things have started changing between you and Frank.’
‘Erm, excuse me. Nothing’s started changing—’
‘You’ve accepted that he’s your father. You just called him “Dad”, for God’s sake. On top of that you’re well aware that he’s done favours for both of us in recent times.’
‘They weren’t really favours, Mum. He was acting to help himself. Christ …’ Beardmore had reappeared, still in conversation with someone. She dropped her head again.
‘I’ve told you,’ Cora said, ‘I’m not leaving until I know Frank’s condition.’
‘They’re not going to let you see him. Even if you shout from the rooftops that he’s the father of your child, they still won’t let you in.’
‘We always do things your way, Lucy!’ Cora glared at her. ‘It’s always your viewpoint that carries, your decision that counts. Well, not this time. Not till I know how Frank is.’
Lucy stole another glance at the glass door. Beardmore was still chatting to the doctor in scrubs, but now DS Dave Baker, who was currently working Night Crime, had appeared alongside him. Neither had noticed Lucy as yet, but clearly they were about to come through. Lucy had no options left.
‘Okay … all right.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll ask. Can you at least wait outside?’
Cora shook her head. ‘I do that and the next thing you’ll be bundling me into your car.’
‘Stay here then. But keep your head down.’ Lucy moved towards the glass door. ‘You know … his girlfriend’s probably lying in the next room. His real girlfriend. The woman he shares his life with. The woman he has sex with every night.’
‘She’s a jumped-up little madam. Frank’ll realise that in due course.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ Lucy said – as Beardmore finally spotted her through the glass.
He hit a button, the door opened and he came through, though Dave Baker lingered behind, still in conversation with medical staff.
‘Lucy?’ Beardmore said.
‘Stan,’ she replied with a stiff smile.
He glanced behind her, registering Cora’s presence. He didn’t know her and hadn’t noticed that Lucy had been with her, but he lowered his voice anyway. ‘What’s going on?’
She shrugged. ‘Just got a sniff of something. I hear there’s been a shooting.’
‘That’s correct. Do you have an interest in it?’
‘Not really.’ Now that she was face to face with him, she struggled to think of anything to say. Just claiming that she’d been dropping an assault victim off at A&E didn’t feel remotely strong enough. ‘But, I hear, erm … oh, I heard there was a van involved. That it was an attempted abduction by van.’
Beardmore shook his head. ‘No. Who told you that?’
‘Just gabbled messages on the radio.’
Rather unexpectedly, though perhaps because he was tired – he’d almost certainly been called in and he looked haggard – he seemed to accept this. ‘Well … there was a van involved. But there was no attempt at abduction. It was a double shooting in the car park at Crowley Old Hall.’
‘Fatal?’ she asked, attempting a casual air.
‘Not yet.’ He scratched his bristly chin. ‘One of them could turn fatal. The girl.’
‘Anyone we know?’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘I thought you didn’t have an interest in this?’
‘Like I say, I heard about the van … I was over here anyway, dropping a mugging victim at A&E.’
‘We haven’t traced the van yet,’ Dave Baker said, joining them. He was a big, heavily-built bloke in his mid-forties, though his thick hair and bushy beard were running to grey. He too spotted Cora, who was tactfully absorbed in her phone. He didn’t know her either and had no reason to assume that she was earwigging but spoke more quietly anyway. ‘It brought the two casualties here. Dumped them on the hospital car park, rocketed off again.’
‘Wasn’t a black or blue transit anyway,’ Beardmore put in. ‘As far as we know, it was brown. We’ve got the VRM, but it was stolen months ago. We’re going through footage from the surrounding streets to see if we can pick up its trail.’
‘Did the CCTV catch sight of anyone in particular?’ Lucy asked.
‘No.’ Beardmore shrugged. ‘Whoever it was, they knew where the cameras were and where they weren’t. They chose a blind spot to dump the wounded.’
‘No way to treat celebrity crims, to be honest,’ Baker said. ‘Frank McCracken, would you believe?’
‘No?’ Lucy replied. ‘That nutter from the Crew?’
‘And his girlfriend, Carlotta Powell,’ Beardmore added. ‘Think you’ve had dealings with both of them, haven’t you?’
Lucy nodded. ‘Powell was briefly a suspect in the Jill the Ripper case.’
‘Well, the boot’s firmly on the other foot tonight. She’s being operated on as we speak. Sounds like it’s touch and go … the slug went through her left lung.’
‘What about McCracken?’ Lucy asked.
‘Not as bad in his case,’ Baker replied. ‘He’s already come out of surgery. Sounds like the bullet bounced off the top of his left shoulder. Soft tissue damage and a broken collar-bone, but that’s about it. He’s going to be okay … which is hard lines for us, because it most likely means we’re going to have to look after him while he’s in here.’
‘You mean in case the shooter comes back?’ she said.
Baker shrugged. ‘It’s a possibility. We’ve scrambled a Trojan, but they’re not here yet. The nearest available unit was at the airport.’
Before they could say more, the doctor reappeared in the doorway behind them and called Beardmore back in. Baker shuffled after him, and Lucy took the opportunity to head for the main entrance. Cora got up and scuttled after her.
They strode across the car park, bypassing the two uniforms, who again didn’t seem to notice them.
‘Well?’ Cora asked.
‘Just keep walking,’ Lucy said tightly.
‘I overheard some of that, but I need to know the rest.’
‘I’ll tell you when we get away from here.’
Cora fell silent until they were alongside her Honda.
‘Sounds like he’s going to be okay,’ Lucy said.
‘Thank God.’
‘Look! For Christ’s sake, Mum … you’ve got to get a grip on this! Dad is not your husband, he’s not your boyfriend, you’re nothing to him.’
Cora blinked in surprise but held her ground. ‘Did he tell you that? You lie to me, and I’ll know.’
‘He’s a hoodlum … okay? He’s on every police watch-list there is.’
‘That’s not what I asked you.’
‘Even if he didn’t say you’re nothing to him, all these things …’ Lucy made a strenuous effort to calm herself down. ‘All these terrible things he does for a living are relevant, because they display a total absence of morality, a vileness of spirit …’
‘Lucy … you know that’s not the whole man.’
‘Even if it wasn’t … his partner’s lying at death’s door. If she dies, or is left in a coma, or survives but is crippled, what happens then? Do you think he’s just going to push her aside and get someone else?’
‘He’ll need to find comfort somewhere.’
‘Oh, you can’t be serious.’ Lucy felt like ripping her hair out, not to mention her mother’s. ‘Look, I know you’re lonely, Mum. I know there hasn’t been any kind of romance in your life for a long time. But this path you’re walking is fraught with danger for both you and him.’
‘I don’t think Frank’s the sort who worries too much about danger, Lucy.’
‘And what about me?’ Lucy asked.
‘You?’ Cora shook her head. She took her keys from her anorak pocket and opened the driver’s door. ‘You need to learn to live with the fact that your father’s a criminal. For the last two years, you’ve been running from that.’ She climbed in behind the wheel. ‘For all our sakes, Lucy, why don’t you just put it right?’
The door slammed, and the Honda rumbled to life. Lucy stepped back as it swung around and accelerated across the car park towards the exit gate.
As she walked back to the CID car, the whole thing seemed utterly surreal. It was impossible to imagine that something so improbable had emerged in her life. Like she didn’t have enough to concern herself with. It wasn’t purely about Frank McCracken getting shot and neither her nor her mum wanting him to die – Lucy couldn’t help but admit that she’d been somewhat relieved to learn that he’d live – it was the ongoing problem of conflicting interests. How many times was she going to have to be evasive and deceitful with her colleagues? How long could she keep ducking and diving? How much damage was being done all the time this went on and she continually refused to admit the truth?
She’d rounded the corner and was away from the ICU and the cops standing guard there, when from out of nowhere a huge vehicle screeched to a halt in front of her. It was a black Bentley Continental saloon.
Its driver leaned over and pushed open the front passenger door.
‘Lucy!’ Mick Shallicker said, looking tired and unkempt. ‘Get in. We’ve got to talk.’