Driving Dead

by Stephen G Collier

  DRIVING DEAD

  Stephen Collier

  Copyright © 2019 Stephen G. Collier

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, eventsand incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Matador

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  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

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  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  For Sarah

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  Epilogue

  1

  Jake Jordan sat up.

  Instantly awake.

  Soaked in sweat.

  Rain hammering on the bedroom window.

  The images of his exploding police Volvo receding under a vale of departing sleep.

  05:40.

  2

  Lisa

  ‘Come on James, put your shoes and coat on or we’ll be late for school again! Look, Olivia’s ready. Why are we always waiting for you?’

  Lisa was standing by the front door, tapping her foot, waiting for her son.

  ‘Don’t shout at him love,’ said Richard, as he came out of the kitchen, at the same time brushing the arm of his suit to remove some unseen fluff. He took his overcoat from the coat stand and threw it over his arm, as he made his way into the hallway joining his wife and children.

  The keys to the family car were sitting in a bowl on the side table. Richard casually collected them, then threw the jangling bunch at his wife, which she just about caught. ‘You’d better drive after the skinful I had last night. I think I’ll probably still be over.’

  ‘Really?’ Retorted Lisa. ‘And I’m not, I suppose?’ She grinned, mocking him.

  ‘You didn’t have as much as me, that’s for sure. Come on James, hurry up! Anyway, you seemed to spend most of the night trying to get rid of Darren, who didn’t want to stray too far from you.’

  ‘Yeah, and you weren’t much help fending him off either, because you were three sheets to the proverbial wind,’ Lisa said without any real rancour, smiling at her husband.

  ‘I told you that you shouldn’t have worn that short dress, you know what my work mates are like when they’ve had too much beer.’

  ‘I wore it for you hun, not your leery mates.’

  Richard chuckled. He smoothed his hair in the hallway mirror. ‘Being pissed didn’t do my chances any good for… well… you know.’ He gave his wife a wink.

  ‘Indeed.’ Lisa returned her husband’s smile, and shook her head slightly, glancing towards the children. ‘It was a good night, though, wasn’t it? But I can’t for the life of me remember how we got home.’

  ‘Come on you two, let’s go.’ Richard said, his son having stood after putting his shoes on.

  With that, he opened the front door, ushering the two children outside. Lisa saw the bottle of water she’d had the previous night and grabbed it from the hallway table, as she closed the door to their family home.

  As they left the house, Lisa felt a cool breeze caress her, bringing with it the smell of the late harvest of wheat from the field behind their home.

  Gathering the children into the car, she watched Richard make sure that they were secure, before he jumped into the passenger seat. He was such a good dad, she reflected. Despite the ups and downs of family life, Lisa knew that she had chosen well, blessed with a kind and gentle soul.

  Getting behind the wheel Lisa turned to her husband, at the same time unscrewing the top of the water bottle. ‘Although I didn’t have that much to drink last night, I do feel a bit rough this morning,’ she murmured to her husband.

  ‘What do you mean, a bit rough?’

  ‘You know, as if it was me that had the skinful and not you. And I’ve got a thumping headache.’

  ‘You didn’t have that much, surely?’

  ‘I know, but I still feel as if I did. The problem is, I can’t remember any of it.’ A puzzled looked passed over Lisa’s face. ‘I don’t remember the taxi. I don’t even remember getting back here, talking to the babysitter or going to bed. It’s weird.’

  ‘Do you want me to drive then?’

  ‘No, I’ll be all right.’ She took a big swig of water.

  ‘Where did you get that bottle of water from anyway?’

  ‘No idea. Tastes a bit funny though.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Richard frowned and turned to face his children in the back.

  ‘Tastes a bit salty.’ Lisa thought for a moment. ‘Must be in my mouth from breakfast.’

  ‘That’s odd, anyway, kids are you ready? James put your seatbelt back on please.’

  ‘No! Hurts.’

  ‘James, please, it’s for your own good.’

  James glowered at his dad, then reluctantly reattached his seatbelt.

  Lisa started the engine and reversed the car off the drive. She took another swig of water before driving off, hoping it would quench her raging thirst.

  3

  Jake shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the image of his burning police Volvo. He knew this was futile along with the fuzziness of being woken by a hypnagogic jerk once again, and fell back onto his bed, mulling over the interminable nightmare. But thinking about it would do no good. He knew tha
t.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a few moments, rubbed his face with his hands then scratched his head, before he peeled off his sweat-soaked shorts and headed for the shower.

  The new apartment Jake had rented still had bare walls, as if someone was imminently about to move in… or out. The furniture minimal. He hadn’t come out of his divorce with much furniture as most of it was Rosie’s anyway. He did get to keep his Rick Wakeman CDs, an old sofa he used to keep in his home office, and the new kettle he’d bought a week before she left.

  Was he angry? Yes, he was. Considering that it wasn’t even him who’d been having the affair! It was that he had come away with so little of his possessions. So much for civil justice. If it were not for the Bingham Tyler incident twelve months before, Jake would probably still be in his home, none the wiser that his wife was having an affair with her boss. Jake’s brother-in-law.

  At least Jake had got Tyler to thank for that. Not that he really felt he’d anything to thank Tyler for. All the mandatory counselling sessions Jake had been to didn’t stop the stuff running through his head every morning. A dreary radio show came on with the alarm and played in the background while he shaved. He turned on the shower, testing the temperature with the palm of his hand, as he did every morning. The deaths he’d seen during that incident lay heavy on him, and the police force. But it was very rare in the county to see a murdering psychopath deliberately target and slay his victims, and a police officer. Did he feel like a failure? Maybe.

  Then there was Kirsty. As her Family Liaison Officer, he saw how deeply affected she had been by the death of her husband. She was, Jake reflected, still very vulnerable.

  Standing in his shower, Jake wished that the hot water could magically wash away the last terrible twelve months. He was bitter about having been put on a ‘fizzer’ by Marland for disobeying his instructions to let the dogs flush Tyler out of the factory.

  But Jake went in anyway and found the psychopath, surviving a brutal fight with him. Jake got the blame for allowing Tyler to get away, who then stole Rebecca Burnett’s traffic car. Both he and Burnett chased him down to destruction, literally. Brought to his own justice in a collision with a train.

  Never mind the fact that Jake also fought for his life in Jim’s apartment where Tyler had held Kirsty hostage. Never mind the fact that Tyler, after targeting Jim, targeted her. And what did Jake get? A shit load of trouble from as many bosses that could make a case to screw him to the floor. Sod that.

  Did he get any thanks? No.

  Did he get promoted? No.

  Detective Chief Superintendent Marland though, he got promoted to Assistant Chief Constable. His old crewmate Rebecca? She got promoted to Chief Superintendent in charge of Operations. And Dave Harte? Even he had climbed the greasy pole to Inspector.

  Jake had been in the job long enough to understand how the force worked. But the injustice of it all stuck like a fishbone in the gullet. And he was angry.

  Trying to relax, Jake let the hot water run down his back. Calming the thoughts racing around his head. He didn’t need this every bloody morning.

  Switching off the shower, he stepped out and grabbed the towel from behind the door. He growled, ‘I was only doing my fucking job!’

  He finished drying off vigorously. ‘I don’t need this shit in my life,’ he said, then threw down the towel.

  Jake tried to put his feelings back in their box. He had no idea how to stop them.

  He put on his uniform, ready for the early start, went to the kitchen and put two slices of bread in the toaster. He flicked on the kettle and spooned some coffee into a mug.

  The kettle clicked and popped as it boiled and the toaster ejected the hot toast with a thunk. Slathering butter on the two pieces and pouring water into his coffee mug making a hot black coffee, Jake stared at the sky from his kitchen window. It was grey and leaden and he was unsure if the sun would be able to penetrate the gloom of the day.

  When he’d finished, he quickly washed his mug and put it to drain. Collecting his kit, he headed for his car and made his way to the station, only a short five-minute drive away.

  4

  Lisa

  Leaving their village, they joined the A5 at Long Buckby and travelled north. After Long Buckby and the canal bridge, the road opened up to a long straight as it approached the Watford Gap. Seeing the road ahead, Lisa felt she could briefly take a hand from the wheel to ask her husband for the bottle of water again.

  Richard, who had been chatting to his children and scolding his son for taking off his seat belt again, took the bottle of water from the cup holder and involuntarily gave it a shake. It bubbled up for a moment then settled, but seemed to take longer than normal to resume its natural appearance. ‘It’s not flat fizzy water, is it?’

  ‘Wasn’t last time I drank from it.’

  ‘Unusual, it has a few bubbles,’ he said casually, unscrewing the lid, sniffing it, then passing it to his wife.

  She absent-mindedly reached for the bottle her husband was offering her and took another big gulp of water. Despite nearly drinking half the bottle in large mouthfuls, the water did nothing to touch her thirst. Her mouth still felt dry.

  They had passed the Watford Gap crossroads and were heading towards Kilsby. After the crossroads and the railway bridge, the road dropped into a hollow before it launched itself again into a left-hand bend at the top of the hill, bounded by lush green trees and hedges. On a sunny day it could be a beautiful drive, but that morning, Lisa was in no mood to enjoy it.

  She turned to her husband, looking ashen faced. ‘I think you’d better drive. I’m going to stop somewhere. I don’t feel too good.’

  ‘All right, there’s a layby just up the road. Stop there and I’ll take over. If you don’t feel well, you’d better go see the doctor.’

  With a horrible reckoning, Lisa knew that something wasn’t right. In fact something was very wrong. Suddenly she couldn’t keep her eyes open. With horror, she felt all the muscles in her body cramp, as it went into an uncontrollable spasm. Her right foot hit the accelerator pedal and lay there like a brick.

  5

  Jake arrived at the new Multi-Agency Emergency Services Joint Operations Complex on Northampton’s Swan Valley. Six years in the building, it was purpose-built to house a new regional control room for all three emergency services, plus Highways England. It stood three storeys high, but by no means could anyone describe it as an architectural masterpiece. From a distance across the valley, it looked like a big red brick dropped randomly on the landscape. There was a huge parking area for police, fire and ambulance vehicles, with an underground garage for repairs. State-of-the-art and, Jake thought, nothing but a big white elephant. The only people who’d moved in to-date were the Road Policing Unit and the Force Vehicle Workshop. Everyone else who was supposed to move in had cold feet about becoming ‘one’ emergency service, as promoted by the Police and Crime Commissioner.

  ‘A new era in providing emergency services to the people of Northamptonshire,’ the PCC had said. Everyone with any sense knew that it was doomed to failure, but the PCC still spent £1.5 million on the project, only for it to be cancelled when the new PCC took office. It made the county a laughing stock.

  The entrance to the building still made Jake smile sardonically. It was like walking into the CIA building in the US, with the crests of the force, the fire and ambulance service emblazoned in a marble floor. Talk about the PCC’s God complex. Jake took the lift to the second floor. As he stood in the lift, he was aware that the haunting images of his endless nightmare, sitting in the recesses of his mind, were ready to pounce all too easily. Perhaps that was the reason for his permanent headache. The doctor had said it was tension in his neck, likely from sitting at a computer for long periods.

  Jake knew the increasing mountain of paperwork, and ‘digital reporting’, was a literal pain
in the neck. He, on the other hand, suspected his persistent headaches were down to the unremitting tension caused by his mental state.

  On the way to his office, he poured himself a coffee from the machine, dumped his bag, and flopped down into his chair at his desk. There was no one else in the office. The nightshift was still out and none of his crew had yet appeared, after all he was an hour or so early. He flicked on his desktop and reviewed the entries on tasking and resource management known as STORM and the intelligence system NICHE. All seemed to have had a quiet night. Jake knew that wouldn’t last. It never did.

  As if on cue, the phone on his desk rang and he answered it. It was the force control room manager. ‘Thought you might be in early, Jake.’

  ‘What made you think that then, Ivan?’

  ‘You’ve got previous for it.’

  Jake grunted. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘You’ve got PC Prentice on duty this morning, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but he was celebrating his birthday last night, so I don’t know what state he’ll be in.’ Jake chuckled.

  ‘He won’t be in at all.’

  ‘Oh, why?’

  ‘He’s at the hospital’s A&E.’

  ‘How’d he manage that?’

  ‘He was found by an area car about four a.m., handcuffed to a lamp post.’

  ‘Is he OK?’

  ‘Yeah, just shook up a bit, I think.’

  Jake heard Ivan trying to stop himself from chuckling and he could hear the smile in his voice.

  ‘Do we know how it happened?’

  ‘I know, but I’ll let him tell you.’ He laughed and signed off. Jake was just left with a dial tone in his ear. He looked at his watch. No time to get down there and back for the briefing. He rang the control room to tell them to instruct the early shift to self-brief and let them know where he was.

  6

  Sometime later, Jake parked his patrol car outside the Emergency Department in the dedicated police bay. He spoke to the receptionist, who also seemed amused by the predicament Prentice was in and indicated where Jake could find him.