Free Low Profile by Nick Oldham Page B

complication.’
    â€˜I like the word “dead”. I don’t like the word “complication”.’
    â€˜It shouldn’t be a problem for you, it’s one I have to sort.’
    â€˜Make certain of that.’
    After hugging the coastline – but not too closely – in a slight north-westerly direction, they rounded the Punta de las Tetas where the island met the sea dramatically in rugged cliffs plummeting into the ocean. Costain emerged from the stateroom and asked Flynn for their current position.
    â€˜This is where you wanted to be.’ Flynn pointed towards the harsh landscape.
    Costain shaded his eyes. The sun was well up into the morning sky now and the heat was beginning to sear. ‘The Punta de las Tetas?’
    â€˜That’s the one. Wanna go in, take some photos or something?’
    â€˜Nah, carry on sailing, pal. Up the coast, then tell me when we reach Puerto de la Aldea.’
    Flynn sighed. ‘OK.’ He settled back and decided simply to enjoy the ride. It was quite rare for him to come this far north, as most of his fishing was concentrated in the deep waters south of Puerto Rico.
    Costain flopped on the sofa bench in the cockpit and laced his fingers behind his head as he surveyed Flynn critically.
    â€˜Do you know who I am?’ Costain asked at length.
    Flynn did not even glance at him. He took a sip of his coffee, then said, ‘Should I?’
    Costain shrugged and said, ‘Because I know who you are.’
    Flynn’s mouth dried up instantly. His skin crawled. ‘Really – and who am I?’
    â€˜A bent cop,’ Costain said with a supercilious smirk.
    The grounds of the house were being searched by a team of support unit officers; other cops had been dispatched to do a house-to-house in the vicinity, although there were few houses around to knock at; and a couple of police divers were at the small jetty, about to drop in and trawl the area around it.
    Henry hoped they would find the remnants of the flare and maybe some of the killer’s skin with it.
    He walked with DCI Woodcock around the big garden, retracing the steps of his pursuit, reliving it and cursing himself for getting old and past it.
    He spent a few moments looking at the height of the garden wall and gates, shaking his head at the thought of not being able to scale them last night, although as he weighed them up he was fairly sure that even in daylight, with a good tail wind, he wouldn’t be able to do it … which was a slight comfort.
    Age, along with the gunshot wound to his shoulder and the general deterioration of his fitness: not a good combination. Maybe five years earlier he could have given it a go, but not now. His career in the cops, the batterings he’d received, the injuries, seemed to be coming home to roost in the decline of his physical abilities.
    â€˜You OK, boss?’ Woodcock asked him.
    â€˜Oh yeah … just feel like a knackered old fart these days … I just know that I should be pulling pints, not being bloody shot at.’ He glanced knowingly at the DCI. ‘Retirement is imminent.’
    â€˜Surely you’re too young yet, sir?’ Woodcock quipped.
    Henry gave him his best Clint Eastwood stare. ‘Brown noser, eh? You’ll go far.’
    â€˜Who, me? Just an honest viewpoint.’
    The two men chuckled. Henry said, ‘Let’s keep walking.’
    Flynn kept altering course fractionally to stay parallel to the coastline until they reached Puerta de la Aldea, the little harbour town tucked under the mountainous cape to the north, almost the very western edge of Gran Canaria.
    He eased back the power and announced their position to Costain who was still on the sofa, watching Flynn through slitted eyes.
    â€˜OK, you can turn around, let’s go back much closer to shore now. I want to see everything from a short distance, especially the beach at GuiGui.’ He pronounced it