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worryingly – in and out of consciousness. Jo Coniston stayed with him throughout, comforting and reassuring him, until two very apologetic paramedics eventually carried him into the ambulance. He was rushed to hospital, accompanied by one of the other team members, thereby further reducing the numbers for the surveillance job on Andy Turner.
    Jo’s knee joints had almost seized up by remaining folded in one cramped position for such a long length of time. She stood up stiffly, hopping painfully as blood surged back into her lower legs.
    Al Major moved in and assisted her to keep balanced.
    â€˜Thanks,’ she said begrudgingly, easing her elbow out of his fingers.
    â€˜You were very good there,’ he told her. ‘Showing you care for someone – but you haven’t shown you care about
me
, have you?’ His voice was tinged with anger.
    â€˜Don’t start Al, just DO NOT START,’ she warned him.
    â€˜You ready to roll now?’ Dale O’Brien piped up from the garage door.
    â€˜Coming,’ she chirped and walked away from Major.
    Major hissed two words into her ear as she passed. ‘Selfish bitch.’
    Stern-faced, she ignored him and made her way back to the car, in which O’Brien waited, engine idling. She dropped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. ‘Let’s friggin’ go,’ she growled. ‘And you can run that bastard down if you want.’
    They drove out. Major stepped aside and, bowing like a matador, waved them through. Jo stared dead ahead, but she could feel Al’s piercing eyes burning into her temple. Only when they had turned out of the compound did she realize she was holding her breath. She exhaled with relief, turned brightly to O’Brien with a wide smile, happy to be out on the road, tracking a crim.
    â€˜I don’t know about you, Dale, but I could murder a brew.’
    For Andrew Turner that evening was about matters of credibility. So that there would be a record of events, the driver who picked him up from McNally’s garage was equipped with a digital camera to keep a contemporaneous record. At the end of the day, once credentials had been established, the camera and its contents would be destroyed completely.
    Turner was driven from Salford, edging around the city centre, out to Crumpsall, to the area around North Manchester General Hospital – a building, Turner thought with an evil smirk, which might just come in useful. Especially the A & E unit.
    Sitting there in the passenger seat, he started to get twitchy with anticipation.
    â€˜Got me a “whacker” then?’ Turner asked the driver, whose name was Newman.
    â€˜Under the seat.’
    Turner reached down between his legs. His fingers alighted on a wooden baseball bat, which he drew out and tested for weight and balance by smacking it firmly into the palm of his hand. It felt good.
    â€˜Nice,’ he commented.
    â€˜It’s got a lead core,’ Newman said.
    Turner slid it back, then reclined the seat, closing his eyes for a few moments. His mind slipped back to the night before, thinking about the woman he had picked up at Tokyo Joe’s nightclub. She had been a good fuck – twice – but what a silly, pathetic bitch! Hanging around outside the apartment like a love-struck teenager. Immature, that’s what she was. Why did it have to be anything other than a good shag?
    His eyelids clicked open. His inner warning bells – an instinct he had grown to trust – clanged a few times.
    The prospect of her hanging around after he had gone made him feel slightly wary. Maybe he should have picked her up and dumped her in town . . . got her away from his pad . . . too late to worry now.
    â€˜Is Goldy likely to be at home? We’re not going to end up chasing round like a pair of blue-arsed flies, are we?’
    â€˜He’ll be there,’ Newman assured him. ‘He’s expecting a delivery from his