Backlash Read Online Free PDF Page A

towards the nick. ‘This is my. . . er . . .first day back for a while . . . here, here. . .’ He rooted through his pockets and produced his warrant card from his wallet, flashing it to the officer. ‘DI Christie,’ he said unthinkingly, then lamely corrected himself. ‘Inspector Christie . . . I’m the night cover inspector this week.’
    The PC scrutinised the laminated card – a document which invested an individual with incredible power – comparing the photograph on it with the reality of the bearer. Satisfied, he nodded at Henry, stepped to one side and said, ‘There’s somebody dealing with emergency accreditation inside . . . you’ll need to get yourself a pass.’
    â€˜Yeah, right.’ Henry found his swipe card and went towards the pedestrian entrance next to the shuttered garage door. He did not have to use it because the garage door itself clattered upwards and open. As it rose on its rollers it revealed two CID Ford Mondeos, waiting to leave, two detectives in each motor, engines revving dramatically.
    The first car accelerated past him, followed by the second. Henry caught fleeting glimpses of the detectives in both cars, but it was one person in particular in the second car who caused him to draw breath; the one in the front passenger seat. It was the officer who was now doing the job of the detective inspector, Henry’s old role. The officer did not look up, or acknowledge Henry in any way, just stared dead ahead. The second car tailgated the first, as they tear-arsed down to the end of the street.
    They were in a hurry. On their way to a job.
    A pang of bright-green envy hit Henry in the solar plexus, making him wince.
    He ducked under the already descending door, and walked through the dimly lit garage to the rear entrance of the police station. As he entered, the custody office was to his left. He glanced quickly through the bars and, with relief, saw that the place looked reasonably quiet. A major part of the job of the reactive inspector was responsibility under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act for what went on in the custody office. It was a duty he had never performed before, having been promoted directly into the DI’s job from detective sergeant. He knew that he would have to swim rather than sink and by the end of this first night, he intended to be doing the butterfly. The custody office had to be got right straight away if he was to survive with any degree of credibility in his new role.
    Shaking his head at the prospect, he walked to the lift and took it up to the level where the CID office was situated. He needed to get a few things from his locker before taking over.
    Henry slid his key into the padlock and twisted. The lock did not snap open. He tried again. Nothing. He peered at the key, wondering if he was using the correct one. Yes – the only one of its type on the fob. He put it back into the lock. Again it failed to open. Only at that moment did he notice that his name was not on the locker as it always had been. It had been scrubbed and replaced by the name of the new DI who had superseded him. The next thing he saw was the bulging black bin liner on the floor next to the locker with his name on a tag. He bent down and opened the bag, an acerbic expression on his face. All his gear had been taken out of the locker and dropped into the bag. Now, like a cuckoo, the new incumbent ruled the roost.
    The message could not have been more obvious: Henry Christie’s days as a detective were over.
    The illusion that the day-shift inspector, who had been on duty for twelve hours, would be pleased to see him was shattered as soon as Henry walked through the door of the inspectors’ office.
    Burt Norman gave him one nasty glance, looked pointedly at the clock on the wall, then returned to the report he was reading on the desk in front of him, giving Henry a view of the top of his balding head. Before Henry could say