Free Fighting for the Dead by Nick Oldham Page A

into the system with just a mild reprimand.
    Barlow had accompanied him back to A&E and hung around for a few minutes whilst Henry worked his frazzled charm. Then they walked back to X-ray – no wheelchair this time, that boat had sailed – whilst Henry ran through a few points he wanted Barlow to cover with Harry Sunderland, the ID and the subsequent statement. He also told him he wanted to get an update on how the operation had gone to find the robbers.
    Barlow nodded patiently until Henry realized he was being a bit patronizing to a seasoned detective who knew his job. So he stopped yapping.
    They had reached the double doors to the X-ray department.
    â€˜OK, boss, I’ll go and sort him out and see what’s happening elsewhere.’
    â€˜Thanks, Ralph.’
    The DI turned away, but Henry said, ‘Oh, just one thing.’
    Barlow paused. ‘Yeah?’
    â€˜How well
do
you know Harry Sunderland?’
    â€˜Not at all . . . like I said, just in passing at golf club events and such.’
    â€˜But you have talked to him at these events?’
    Barlow shook his head. ‘Not specially.’
    â€˜Mm, OK . . . just wondering,’ Henry said airily. He put a hand on the door. ‘See you later.’
    Barlow looked at him for a second, then walked away down the corridor. Henry half-stepped into the doorway, watching the back of the DI, who fished out his mobile phone and put it to his ear, then turned out of sight.
    Henry’s mouth screwed up. He would have squinted thoughtfully, but his left eye was now as good as closed and he would have blinded himself had he done so. He shrugged, then peered at the warning sign on the door forbidding the use of mobile phones in the X-ray department.
    Before he went through he had to make a personal call of his own.
    Flynn drove Diane up to the hospital in her tiny Smart Car, into which he had to fold himself tightly, his knees almost under his chin. He walked with her to the post-operative unit in which Colin was being cared for and monitored following the surgery. He was in a poor and drowsy state, hardly aware of what was going on around him.
    Flynn was shaken by Colin’s appearance. They had known each other for many years as cops. Flynn had taken the detective route, but Colin, keen on all things motor vehicle, had gone on to traffic and motorcycles. Despite this divergence they had remained good friends. In fact Colin was one of the few people Flynn had been able to confide in when his own career went down the toilet. During the time when he was suspected of stealing a million pounds of drug-dealer’s money, when the whole organization treated him like a pariah – including Henry Christie, who Flynn had thought hammered the final nails into the coffin that was his career – Colin had remained a good mate.
    They shared a passion for sea fishing and boats and it was the least Flynn could do to help out in this hour of need.
    Flynn also knew Diane well. Also a retired cop, she and Colin had hooked up on their initial training course over thirty years before and been inseparable since.
    â€˜Someone here to see you,’ Diane whispered to Colin, who stirred and opened his eyes, which were opaque and unfocused. He was attached to various machines, pumps and drips. The bed clothes were drawn back almost as far as his groin and a large dressing covered the lower half of his stomach where the operation had been performed.
    Flynn swallowed at the sight, as Colin looked blankly across the room, Flynn thinking he couldn’t see at all and was surprised when he said, ‘Hey, Steve,’ and raised a dithery right hand off the bed, which Flynn shook, feeling the bones.
    â€˜Hey, man, how’re you doing?’
    â€˜Another day above ground,’ he said croakily. ‘Gotta be good, eh?’
    â€˜Can’t argue with that.’
    Colin exhaled painfully and closed his eyes. Flynn and Diane exchanged