He cleared his throat as he approached the bus stop, spat fast onto the street. He raised his head to look over at the windows of the flat he shared with Angela; he didn’t want to return there but knew he had no choice. Crawley had fled, but he couldn’t have gone far; Henderson knew he wouldn’t have gone far. There was no point: what would it take, a call? One call, that was all that was needed to put Crawley away. Henderson knew he had him; the beast would be back, had to be back, had to return to his home and face him. Henderson held all the cards, there was no question of that, the only thing he wondered about now was just what the hell Crawley thought he was playing at. Henderson waited for a gap in the traffic, picked up his pace as he ran between a Lothian Bus and a blue Micra; the small car started to roll forward as he stepped in front of it and he stopped in his tracks. ‘What the fuck you playing at?’ he roared. He raised up his hands then slammed them down on the bonnet of the car; it was an old man behind the wheel, he looked at Henderson over the dash and shook his head.
