Danish, and carried them across and up the shallow steps into the station.
Millington was moments ahead of him, entering from the rear car park and waiting for Resnick at the foot of the stairs.
“Morning, Graham.”
“Aye. For some. Came by way of the hospital, thought I’d see how the casualty list was shaping.”
“And?”
“Ellis, lucky bastard, bullet passed right through without as much as touching a vein. Damage to the jawbone, nothing major. Some plastic surgeon working on him right now, patching up his face with the skin off his arse.” Millington laughed: “Be talking out his backside for real. But he’ll live. More’s the pity, maybe.”
Resnick shot him a look, but said nothing.
“As for the rest of ’em,” Millington continued, oblivious. “Feraday’s out of intensive care, making good progress, apparently.”
“And the chap from the prison service, Wesley?”
“Patched up pretty good, on his way out today.”
Millington pushed open the door to the CID room and stepped back to let Resnick through. Sharon Garnett and Carl Vincent were at their desks; Naylor and Fowles sleeping off their apparently wasted night on observation.
“Sharon,” Resnick said, “how d’you get on with that woman from outside Burger King, reckoned she got a good look at one of the suspects when they ran past her?”
Sharon made a face. “Went through all the likely faces down at Central. Didn’t recognize a single one.”
“Worth trying her again?”
“I don’t think so.”
Resnick sighed. “How about the other witnesses? Anything there?”
“I’ve been going back over the statements,” Vincent said. “There’s a few it might be worth talking to again. We ought to be able to get more on the car, at least.”
“Okay, keep working on it. It’s all we can do.” Two phones rang almost simultaneously, and Garnett and Vincent moved to answer them.
“How about Preston, Graham? Any news?”
Millington shook his head. “Nothing at the sister’s place last night. Quiet as the proverbial. There was one report come in late on, looked useful, bloke trying to charter a private plane, Tollerton Airport. When we checked it out, it was just some chap from Trent Water, executive, looking to fly to Guernsey for a bit of rest and relaxation. Worn out from carrying his wallet, I don’t doubt.”
Resnick grinned. “No follow-up to the sighting at Leicester station?”
“Nothing from the Met. Arranged for leaflets to be given out to passengers making the same journey today, the London train.” Millington arched his eyebrows. “I shouldn’t hold your breath.”
“We’re checking his old running mates?”
“I’ll set Kev and young Fowles on to it when they come in.”
Carl Vincent was on his feet, one hand over the mouthpiece of his phone. “One of the prison officers, sir. Evan. Wants to know can you spare him ten minutes before he shoots off back to London?”
Resnick glanced at his watch. “Tell him he stops by in half an hour, I’ll give him five.”
Lorraine had sent Sean back three times to change what he was wearing, Sandra sitting there in her school skirt and blouse, kicking her heels against the living-room carpet, waiting.
“Why can’t you take us?” Sean asked. “Why do we have to go now? Take us on your way to work like you always do.”
“Your mother’s not going to work,” Derek said, buttoning his jacket. “Not today, anyway.”
“Aren’t you, Mum?” Sean said. “Why not? Why not?”
“Are you okay, Mum?” Sandra asked. “You’re not ill or anything?”
“No.” Lorraine smiled, pushing the fringe back from her daughter’s eyes. “I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”
“After yesterday?”
“Yes, I expect so. I might go in later, anyway.”
“You’ll meet us after school?” Sean asked.
“Yes, don’t worry, I’ll meet you after school.”
Derek was standing with his briefcase in one hand, car keys in the other, stranded between the
Millington was moments ahead of him, entering from the rear car park and waiting for Resnick at the foot of the stairs.
“Morning, Graham.”
“Aye. For some. Came by way of the hospital, thought I’d see how the casualty list was shaping.”
“And?”
“Ellis, lucky bastard, bullet passed right through without as much as touching a vein. Damage to the jawbone, nothing major. Some plastic surgeon working on him right now, patching up his face with the skin off his arse.” Millington laughed: “Be talking out his backside for real. But he’ll live. More’s the pity, maybe.”
Resnick shot him a look, but said nothing.
“As for the rest of ’em,” Millington continued, oblivious. “Feraday’s out of intensive care, making good progress, apparently.”
“And the chap from the prison service, Wesley?”
“Patched up pretty good, on his way out today.”
Millington pushed open the door to the CID room and stepped back to let Resnick through. Sharon Garnett and Carl Vincent were at their desks; Naylor and Fowles sleeping off their apparently wasted night on observation.
“Sharon,” Resnick said, “how d’you get on with that woman from outside Burger King, reckoned she got a good look at one of the suspects when they ran past her?”
Sharon made a face. “Went through all the likely faces down at Central. Didn’t recognize a single one.”
“Worth trying her again?”
“I don’t think so.”
Resnick sighed. “How about the other witnesses? Anything there?”
“I’ve been going back over the statements,” Vincent said. “There’s a few it might be worth talking to again. We ought to be able to get more on the car, at least.”
“Okay, keep working on it. It’s all we can do.” Two phones rang almost simultaneously, and Garnett and Vincent moved to answer them.
“How about Preston, Graham? Any news?”
Millington shook his head. “Nothing at the sister’s place last night. Quiet as the proverbial. There was one report come in late on, looked useful, bloke trying to charter a private plane, Tollerton Airport. When we checked it out, it was just some chap from Trent Water, executive, looking to fly to Guernsey for a bit of rest and relaxation. Worn out from carrying his wallet, I don’t doubt.”
Resnick grinned. “No follow-up to the sighting at Leicester station?”
“Nothing from the Met. Arranged for leaflets to be given out to passengers making the same journey today, the London train.” Millington arched his eyebrows. “I shouldn’t hold your breath.”
“We’re checking his old running mates?”
“I’ll set Kev and young Fowles on to it when they come in.”
Carl Vincent was on his feet, one hand over the mouthpiece of his phone. “One of the prison officers, sir. Evan. Wants to know can you spare him ten minutes before he shoots off back to London?”
Resnick glanced at his watch. “Tell him he stops by in half an hour, I’ll give him five.”
Lorraine had sent Sean back three times to change what he was wearing, Sandra sitting there in her school skirt and blouse, kicking her heels against the living-room carpet, waiting.
“Why can’t you take us?” Sean asked. “Why do we have to go now? Take us on your way to work like you always do.”
“Your mother’s not going to work,” Derek said, buttoning his jacket. “Not today, anyway.”
“Aren’t you, Mum?” Sean said. “Why not? Why not?”
“Are you okay, Mum?” Sandra asked. “You’re not ill or anything?”
“No.” Lorraine smiled, pushing the fringe back from her daughter’s eyes. “I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”
“After yesterday?”
“Yes, I expect so. I might go in later, anyway.”
“You’ll meet us after school?” Sean asked.
“Yes, don’t worry, I’ll meet you after school.”
Derek was standing with his briefcase in one hand, car keys in the other, stranded between the
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