Critical Threat Read Online Free PDF

‘What’s next? Completely forgotten.’
    â€˜Erm …’ Laker consulted his computer, tapping on the keyboard to bring up the chief’s electronic diary. Henry’s eyes zoomed in on the screen and even before Laker had seen it, Henry said, ‘It says “office”, sir,’ over his shoulder. ‘Next appointment half an hour.’
    â€˜Right, ta.’
    â€˜Henry,’ Laker growled warningly under his breath, sensing the next move.
    â€˜So could I possibly bob in and have a quick word? Sir? If that’s not too presumptuous?’
    He was unimpressed.
    â€˜Downright bloody cheeky, not presumptuous,’ the chief constable corrected Henry, pointing him to the low leather sofa in his office with a flick of the finger. ‘This’d better be quick. I don’t do unannounced visits. Sit.’
    The sofa was just comfortable enough. Not too soft so as to let someone sink into it, but just enough to lull them into a false sense of security. Henry sat, but didn’t lean back. Instead, his elbows were dug into his knees, his fingers loosely interlocked in front of him.
    The chief sat on the arm of the leather chair opposite: management body language for ‘You’re not staying long, mate.’ A large, beech-framed, glass-topped coffee table divided the two men.
    â€˜Well?’
    There was a slight hesitation as Henry gathered together his thoughts, staring at the carpet. He hadn’t actually expected to be sitting across from the chief constable so PDQ and he didn’t want to blow it through lack of preparation. He pursed his lips and looked up.
    Robert Fanshaw-Bayley – known as FB – was the chief constable of Lancashire Constabulary. FB was an affectionate term used by the people he hadn’t yet wronged. ‘That ’effin’ bastard’ was a phrase often bandied about by those leaving his company less than pleased with the result, ensuring that FB also stood for something not very nice. He had been a career detective who had risen surely through the ranks within Lancashire, clinching the helm of the organization following a short stint out of force.
    He and Henry went back a long way and they had always maintained a less than healthy relationship, biased in favour of FB, who used Henry’s skills, often ruthlessly, to achieve results, then discarded him when it suited. Henry had once believed that FB quite liked him and he definitely had some good things to thank him for, but that belief had just been another example of Henry’s naivety. Since the incident with Dave Anger, when Henry had expected FB to be ruthless, the chief constable had actually dropped Henry like a handful of hot cat shit.
    FB waited.
    â€˜I just want to know what’s happening, that’s all.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜With me and Anger, of course,’ he said irritably. ‘I’m still holed up as a temp DCI in FMIT and he’s still the department head. He’s still running the show like nothing’s happened and I’m sat there with my thumb up my ring piece. My life is a bloody misery and I’ve done nowt to deserve it, except stand up to a bully. The only thing that’s kept me sane is the Trent trial.’
    â€˜Well, you know’ – the chief twisted his head as though his neck was hurting, but Henry recognized it as a monstrous nervous tic – ‘these things move slowly.’
    â€˜Boss – I’m the victim in all this and I’m the one on the ropes here. The guy who harassed me, damaged my car, is still my boss and now I’m starting to pick up the vibes that I’m the baddie in all this and that no one wants to know me.’
    â€˜Henry – I feel like flicking your fat, blubbering bottom lip and making you go, blub, blub, blub like a babykins.’ FB’s face hardened. ‘You’ve got a whiney voice and you feel sorry for yourself – snap out of