As he entered his office, he suddenly felt a weight of apprehension. Constantly having to look over his shoulder, having to anticipate what might be coming, was something he had become used to over the years but the recent spate of panic attacks was beginning to worry him. The biggest concern was making sure no one else got to see him in that state but Nicholas could feel something building from his stomach as he collapsed into the chair behind his desk. He was panting for breath, and grabbed at the bottle of gin on his desk, leaning back and swigging until he began to cough. He could feel the effects of the alcohol going to his head, his heart continuing to race.

Nicholas had been telling himself that he should visit a doctor but he wasn’t the type to bother talking about anything. The useless bastard would probably instruct him to lose weight and stop drinking anyway, as if that was the magic cure to everything. He’d take a pill over that any day, although he knew what he really needed was someone new and exciting to keep him interested. There were a few girls in the club who were potential candidates but it wasn’t as if there was a shortage of others who would be happy with the initial money on offer to come and work for him. That had always been the way.

Finally, Nicholas began to feel his body returning to normal, the gin apparently doing the trick in settling his nerves. He opened his eyes to take in the room and, as the small voice in his head told him he shouldn’t be paranoid, he realised there was no one there.

He had been grasping the money bag tightly in his free hand and emptied it onto the table, concentrating as he stacked the notes into piles.

As he reached the end, Nicholas heard a banging from somewhere nearby. Holding his breath, he slowly opened the top drawer of his desk, sliding out the pistol he kept there. Although he had a licence for it as part of his constant efforts to keep everything above board, he was supposed to keep it somewhere secure. Still, if he were ever raided, that would be something that could be argued in court; he was more concerned about his immediate safety.

The noise had made Nicholas’s head clear completely, his vision as sharp and in focus as it had been forty years ago. He bounced the metal in his hand, feeling the weight of the gun as he quietly slid his chair backwards and edged across the room towards the hallway. He put one hand on the doorframe and poked his head out, quickly glancing each way at the empty stretch of concrete, before withdrawing back into the office.

His office was almost opposite the door which led into the club. On the left was a small cupboard where the cleaners kept their things, while on the right was one door which led into the girls’ changing room and a second where the toilet was. At the far end of the corridor was the fire exit.

Nicholas peered around the corner again, noticing a crack between the fire door and the frame. He once more withdrew to his office, trying to think of any legitimate reason why it might be open. He exited through it every night but, as far as he could remember, had closed it fully the night before.

As another bang sounded, Nicholas peeped around the frame to see the fire door clattering into place, seemingly blown by the wind. He stepped into the hall, holding the gun, flicking his eyes from side to side looking for movement but reaching the end without noticing anything. Nicholas rested one hand on the fire exit and realised it had popped back into place. He pressed down on the bar across the centre and pushed it open, instantly feeling the wind rushing across his face. Stepping out onto the path that ran along the back of his club, Nicholas checked both ways, but it felt like a gale whipping through his clothes, making him shiver.

Realising he was holding a weapon outside the club and that he should be sensible, Nicholas stepped back inside, closing the door behind him, waiting and listening. At first he couldn’t hear anything except for the wind, but then he realised his heart was pounding and the hairs were standing up on his arms. He straightened himself, and it dawned on him that the burst of adrenaline had been refreshing – he hadn’t felt that edge of excitement since the old days.

Nicholas flipped the gun’s safety device back into place and pushed it into the waistband of his trousers before nudging the toilet door open with his shoulder.

He washed his hands first, something he had done since he was young, and then unzipped his trousers as he stood over the bowl, thinking about which of his girls would make a good Mrs Long the third.

Lost in his thoughts, Nicholas didn’t hear the steps of the intruder rushing behind him. Before he knew what was happening, there was something wrapped tightly around his face as he gasped for breath. He swung his elbows back, but the person shoved him sideways, smashing his skull against the side of the sink.

Nicholas felt his head spinning as he hit the ground but the impact had at least given him a moment when whatever was around his face came loose, allowing him to take a breath. He was still facing down, desperately trying to turn around, but could feel the person’s knee hard in his back, the material tightening around his mouth.

He tried to kick his way free but Nicholas knew he was beaten. Pink stars formed around the edges of his eyes, leaving him with the sole thought that someone was going to have a good laugh when they found him dead in a puddle of his own piss.

22

Jessica stared at Rowlands not knowing what to say. She took another step backwards, nearly tripping over the outstretched leg of a chair.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dave mumbled, staring at his own feet.

Jessica tried to reply but her thoughts weren’t clearing quickly enough for her to process any words. Before she could compose herself, the silence was broken by her phone ringing. She collapsed backwards into the chair she had almost fallen over and pulled it out of her jacket pocket.

‘Hello.’

At first, she couldn’t register who was trying to talk, the person’s words a cluttered mismatch of stops and starts. Jessica stood and stepped back towards the window to get a better reception, physically pushing Rowlands away from her.

‘Can you repeat that?’ she asked.

After hearing Cole tell her the news that had just come through, Jessica dashed across the room, grabbing her coat and shouting over her shoulder as she fumbled for her keys.

‘Nicholas Long is dead, let’s go.’

Jessica couldn’t remember the last time she had driven so recklessly. She broke every speed limit and eased through every traffic light, green or not, as she sped from Worsley towards the centre of the city. The rain wasn’t helping but she was as focused on the road as she possibly could be, looking for gaps in the traffic and opportunities to gain a few seconds, using the concentration to block out the double hit of information.

Dave Rowlands loved her.

It was no wonder he’d been so awkward over the past few months. Those knowing looks from Izzy suddenly made sense. Jessica didn’t know how she had missed it.

If that wasn’t enough, Nicholas Long was dead; the man she had spent the past few days hearing horrific stories about, the person she had vowed would be taken down one way or the other. Someone else apparently agreed with her.

Aside from swearing under her breath, the journey to Nicholas’s club was completed in silence. If Rowlands had dared say a word, she would have stopped the vehicle and made him get out, rain or no rain.

By the time they arrived, half of Albert Square was cordoned off, along with the streets around the club. Jessica parked behind one of the marked police cars and got out, not waiting for Rowlands to follow. She took out her identification and was waved towards the scene by an officer in uniform she didn’t recognise. There were four officers standing outside the front of the club, but they let her through. Jessica knew the inside layout all too well, walking along the dark corridor towards reception and then cutting through into the main area. A few officers were milling around and one pointed her towards the back offices.