No Name Lane (Howard Linskey)

by Howard Linskey

  ‘What?’ asked Vincent stupidly, but he must have heard it, thought Bradshaw.

  ‘That,’ said Bradshaw when the thumping happened again, twice more.

  ‘Oh,’ replied Vincent, ‘that,’ but he offered no further explanation.

  ‘Is that coming from …’ this time the thump was louder and there were three beats, not one.

  Bradshaw turned towards the noise and tried to comprehend its source. The sound came again: thump-thump-thump.

  ‘Have you got something in your boot, Vince?’ Bradshaw looked at his colleague again. ‘Have you got a dog in there or … something?’ And Bradshaw realised how absurd that notion was.

  ‘No,’ answered Vince but that was all he said.

  Thump-thump-thump.

  Bradshaw couldn’t think of a good reason for the sounds emanating from Vincent’s vehicle and his colleague didn’t seem to be about to offer one. Vincent wasn’t looking at Bradshaw any more. Instead he was staring straight ahead, both hands gripping the steering wheel. At that moment the words of his DCI came back to Bradshaw: ‘Look out for fake IDs and warrant cards.’

  Bradshaw stared at the blank expression on Vincent’s face, heard the thump-thump-thump one last time and said quietly, ‘Could you get out of the car please, Vincent?’

  Vincent didn’t move.

  ‘I’d like you to get out of the car and open the boot for me, Vincent,’ Bradshaw said, still clinging to the hope that this was just some strange misunderstanding that could all be resolved if only Vincent would cooperate and open the boot of his car.

  But Vincent didn’t get out of the car. Instead, in a fluid and determined movement he reached sideways and thumped the door lock down

  ‘Vincent!’ called Bradshaw and he leaned through the open window to try and grab at the keys and wrench them from the ignition but before he could accomplish that, the car shot forward, straight through the sign and cones. Bradshaw was knocked to the wet ground but, as Vincent sped away, he shouted at the uniformed officer. ‘Get in!’ yelled Bradshaw, ‘start the car!’

  Bradshaw was back in his own car before Harrison reached his. A quick glance at Trevor Wilson revealed his colleague way back by the bushes with his back turned to them, calmly doing up his fly, completely unaware of what was going on. Bradshaw couldn’t wait, so he sped off without him.

  Behind Bradshaw, the uniformed boys attempted a swift three-point turn. They slammed their car into reverse but when they hit the ground behind them it was slick with mud and the rear wheel slid backwards. Harrison had to slam on the brakes to prevent the car from falling into a ditch. As he tried to get the car back on the road, the wheels span. He tried twice more without success until PC Lumley jumped from the car and gave it a shove while he drove it out. Lumley jumped back in the car, while Wilson looked on. ‘What the hell’s this?’ he asked but he did not try to join them and, seconds later, he watched as the rear of their vehicle disappeared from view as it shot down the road.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Bradshaw called in his status and location then took a deep breath and explained who he was following to a disbelieving control.

  ‘Suspect is one of ours,’ he called, ‘Repeat – one of ours. Failure to stop at a road block. Suspect is DC Vincent Addison.’

  ‘What did you just say?’ a disembodied voice crackled back at him.

  ‘Repeat, suspect is Vincent Addison, DC Vincent Addison.’

  ‘What?’ it was said in disbelief.

  ‘You fucking heard me!’ said Bradshaw as he nearly lost it on a bend. ‘Oh, screw this,’ and he dropped the radio, so he could grip the steering wheel with both hands. Control would just have to sort out back-up.

  Bradshaw had never driven a car at this speed before and real roads were nothing like the skid pans and race tracks on training days. This was unblinking, white-knuckle, pedal-to-the-metal driving just to keep Vincent within sight, who was propelling his boxy, old car as if he didn’t care whether he made it out of the next tight bend or not.

  There was no time to wonder what the hell had got into Vincent Addison. All Bradshaw knew was that there was someone in the boot of that car. Vincent made a sharp right turn then and the back end of Bradshaw’s car slid alarmingly as he followed. He wrestled the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding crashing into a stone wall as Vincent continued to push his car around every bend, while Bradshaw said a silent prayer of thanks that there was no one else coming the other way on this narrow road in the middle of the night.

  For five long and terrifying minutes, Bradshaw followed Vincent along tight roads and through blind bends, his own car clipping the edge of tracks that were little more than country lanes and skidding as he forced it to follow the suicidal speeds Vincent dictated. Bradshaw watched Vincent power his car towards a T junction up ahead and could only gaze helplessly as he showed no sign of stopping. Instead his colleague propelled his vehicle straight across the road and smashed through a wooden fence, obliterating it on impact and sending huge splinters showering down behind him. He heard the sound of Vincent’s engine alter as he changed gear and sped across a grassy farmer’s field.

  Bradshaw had no choice but to go straight across the road without stopping and through what remained of the gate, skidding as soon as his tyres touched the mud and careering sideways until he at last got the car under control. Then he took off after Vincent, who had a head start of a hundred yards or so.

  Moonlight glinted off the water ahead and Bradshaw realised where Vincent was heading. He was driving straight for the dark, freezing waters of the river.

  ‘Jesus,’ said Bradshaw as he watched Vincent’s car build speed, as the man he was pursuing turned his vehicle until it was facing the fast-flowing water, swelled by the recent rains. Bradshaw watched helplessly as the car shot across the grass, dipped as it hit the low ground by the river’s edge, was catapulted upwards by the river bank then seemed to take flight as it flew over the open water, until gravity intervened and sent it nose-diving straight into the icy river.

  Bradshaw’s car reached the river bank just as Vincent’s ploughed into the water, sending frothing waves out in front of it. Without thinking, Bradshaw was out of the car and running towards the water. He could see the dim figure of Vincent in the moonlight and he watched helplessly as the driver’s window came down. At first he thought Vincent was trying to escape but the big man made no attempt to leave the vehicle as the car started to tip forwards. Bradshaw realised Vincent had opened his window to hasten the car’s descent into the river.

  Bradshaw shook off his jacket, pulled off his shoes and ran towards the water. It had been a long while since he had won a swimming gala but he could still remember how to dive and he threw himself forwards, landing in the freezing water with a heart-stopping impact that was like a million needles piercing his skin and left him gasping in shock as he came back to the surface. He thrashed towards the sinking car just as the water was about to reach the open window. Its front end was virtually nose-down now and he knew he only had seconds left.

  Bradshaw reached the car just as it went vertical, which meant the back end was pointing upwards and he couldn’t even reach the boot from his position in the water. He cursed in frustration but the car soon moved again, as the water finally reached the open window and began to rush inside. Immediately the car dropped several feet as the weight of the incoming water dragged it downwards and Bradshaw was at last able to reach the boot. He pressed the catch hard but it refused to budge and he realised it was locked. There was no way he could hope to open the boot without a key, even if he was on dry land with plenty of time, but he only had a second or two left before the car filled with water and sank. There was nothing he could do.

  He could hear whoever was imprisoned in that boot thrashing around and it was breaking his heart. Bradshaw had never felt more helpless. The water reached a critical mass inside the car then and it was suddenly and abruptly dragged forwards and down. He was forced to let go as it was pulled complete
ly beneath the water.

  Bradshaw could hear a siren in the background as the uniformed police finally caught up with him and he made a decision. He was not going to give up.

  Bradshaw dived beneath the dark water and powered after the sinking car, locating its back end by touch and immediately pulling on it to propel him down its driver’s side. He couldn’t see anything at all in the inky water but he felt the rear window and he pushed himself downwards until his left hand touched the frame of the open driver’s window. His free hand went through the window and his arm brushed against something that moved. It was Vincent, but he ignored the man and groped blindly inside the car until his hand hit the steering wheel. He knew he was close now so he wrapped his hand round it and groped for the keys with his other hand. He snatched at them once, twice and finally a third time and they came out of the ignition.

  Bradshaw was about to kick against the side of the car to break free from it when a strong grip fastened on his arm and the two men struggled but Vincent was absurdly strong and Bradshaw couldn’t break free. Vincent was determined to take Bradshaw with him. They were both going to drown down here.

  Suddenly there was a jolt as the car finally touched bottom and the impact of the river bank was enough to throw both men off balance. Bradshaw seized his chance and used his left hand to power a fist through the water, which impacted on the side of Vincent’s head. The blow was powerful enough to make the man loosen his grip slightly and Bradshaw kicked against the side of the car and broke free.

  He knew he had very little time left but Bradshaw managed to pull himself to the rear of the car, which was stable now on the bottom of the river. Frantically he felt for the boot mechanism while rubbing his other hand against the keys he was holding. He couldn’t see them but he could tell there were two; one fat bulbous key with a plastic surround that he had ripped from the ignition; the second a tiny metal key that, please God, had to be for the boot. Groping blindly he managed to bring one hand to the other and trace a finger on the boot release until he found the tiny indent he was aiming for. Keeping his finger on it he brought the key towards it and stabbed it into the lock. The first time it grazed against metal but did not go in, the second time the metal parted for him and the key slid inside. Bradshaw turned it and the lock popped open but instead of a spring release like a jack in the box there was a frantic tug of war between the air bubble in the boot and the weight of the water outside pressing it down. Bradshaw heaved and the boot began to prise open. He wedged a shoulder under it and groped inside the boot until his hand felt something; a coat? He tugged with all of his might and a small, limp body was pulled free.

  Bradshaw dragged the body out of the sunken car and pulled it to him. He reached with his foot until he found the metal bumper of the car and pressed hard against it, using it for leverage. Bradshaw and the girl were catapulted to the surface, leaving Vincent behind to drown alone in his car.

  As soon as he broke the surface of the river, Bradshaw took in a huge lungful of air, then he looked into the pale, unconscious face of the girl in his arms and hoped he was not too late. Bradshaw could see Harrison on the river bank and he rolled onto his back, kicking while he clutched the lifeless girl to him. Their progress was slow because Bradshaw was forced to fight the current of the fast-flowing river.

  Bradshaw was exhausted and the freezing water was sapping what was left of his energy. As he drew closer to the river bank he managed to push the limp body of the girl towards it with one last burst of strength. Harrison stretched out a hand but he wasn’t close enough. Bradshaw tried to shout something at him but all that came out was a gurgle and he swallowed river water, which made him gasp and choke. He kicked to try and get nearer to the policeman, who stretched out as far as he could. With one last huge heave Bradshaw pushed the little girl towards his colleague who stretched further still and grabbed at the collar of her coat. Bradshaw let go and he could hear the strain in the officer’s voice as he pulled the sodden child towards him, the wet clothes doubling her weight. Then he fell backwards and watched as the girl was hoisted clear of the water.

  Bradshaw had nothing left inside him then. All his strength had been used to get the girl out of the car and push her towards the river bank. It felt as if his body was closing down. No way was he going to make it to the bank himself but something deep inside him didn’t care any more. The girl was out of the river. He’d achieved that much at least and he prayed she was still alive so this wasn’t a wasted death. He let his hand trail away from the bank and the water swept him further from rescue. He got a last glimpse of Harrison putting the girl on the river bank, then turning back towards Bradshaw with a shout of alarm as he realised he was too late. Bradshaw knew that he was finished. Then he was swept away.

  Bradshaw’s face went under the water before he had the chance to take a big enough breath to sustain him. The water was so cold he knew he wouldn’t be able to survive more than a couple of minutes more at this temperature, even if he didn’t drown. The river buffeted him and he sank further before bobbing back upwards again, his senses bombarded with the noise of the fast-running river and dark images of the underwater world he would soon be consigned to.

  He had messed up again, it seemed, but maybe this time it didn’t matter quite so much. Bradshaw let his body go limp and waited for death.

  There was another rush of water then and a sharp pain in Bradshaw’s side as he smashed into an object or more likely it crashed into him and, before he could work out what it was, he was being dragged along by something. In his panic and heightened senses he had the impossible idea that some underwater predator was trying to take him and he thrashed his arms wildly.

  The response he received was a hard bang on the head that knocked all resistance out of him and then he realised he was moving again. His face was out of the water and he gasped for sweet air, then turned his head. A strong arm was around him and he was being propelled slowly back towards the river bank. It took him a moment to realise it could only have been the second police officer, Lumley, who had run down the river bank then jumped in to save him. He must have landed virtually on top of Bradshaw just as he was about to drown, which explained the crashing feeling and sharp pain in his side. The thump to his head was standard practice for lifesavers, who prevent people from drowning both themselves and their rescuers with their panicked thrashing by giving them a hefty blow to temporarily disable them. Once Bradshaw’s fevered brain had worked that out he went limp again and lay there, completely exhausted, as his rescuer got them both back to the river bank.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Day Thirteen

  They’d insisted he stay in the hospital, at least for a night, while they treated him for exposure. He promised to comply but only if they told him about the girl.

  ‘She’s alive,’ the nurse looked at him with something that resembled pride. He wasn’t used to that. ‘She’s poorly but she’ll live, thanks to you. I imagine her parents will want to thank you themselves but we’ll keep them away for now so you can get some rest.’

  She made as if to leave.

  ‘Nurse,’ he called and she turned back to him, ‘what’s her name?’ For some reason that seemed incredibly important to him all of a sudden.

  She smiled again, this time kindly. ‘Kimberley Russell.’

  ‘Kimberley Russell,’ he said it aloud to himself to help him remember. Little Kimberley, he thought then he closed his eyes and slept for nine hours.

  Bradshaw woke feeling ravenous but there was no one around so he decided to get out of bed. He had no idea what time it was and his watch and wet clothes had been taken from him but it was light outside. He was in his own room even though he didn’t have private health care, so there was no one to ask. He padded barefoot down the corridor, feeling groggy, as if he had slept for days, and he decided to look for the canteen, though he had no money. Maybe he could somehow run up a tab for food, he reasoned.

  He walked down two long corridors before he
came upon an open door that led to a lounge where recuperating patients could watch TV. It was empty but the news was on with the sound turned right down and he saw a picture of a girl who looked vaguely familiar. Was this the little girl he had rescued? It certainly looked like her. They cut back to a newsreader in the studio then and he would have liked to have listened but he couldn’t see a remote control anywhere so he just stood in the doorway, watching. Then his picture appeared.

  It was an old photo, taken when he had joined the force and he looked ridiculously young, like a matinee idol from the fifties. Bradshaw watched the rest of the report, which included a film clip of the fast-moving river taken that morning and a short, silent interview with DCI Kane, who looked very serious, as well he might, considering it was one of his own officers who had taken the girl. Bradshaw doubted he would ever be able to come to terms with the fact that his partner turned out to be a madman.

  The final piece was another interview but this one shocked him rigid. What the hell was Alan Carter doing in the studio and what was he saying? Bradshaw cursed the lack of volume as he watched the lips move on the expressionless face of his wheelchair-bound former colleague and could only guess what Carter might be telling the world about him.

  Ian Bradshaw was discharged that afternoon. He was surprised to find that a WPC had been entrusted with the keys to his flat and had gone round there to find him some fresh clothes, which she then personally brought to his bedside. His first thought was what a kind, caring and pretty girl she was; his second that it was a bloody awful shame he hadn’t known she was going to go round there in advance, because the place looked like a pig-sty. He was willing to bet she thought he was a right saddo, now that she’d seen the way he’d been living, but she seemed both warm and genuine in her congratulations.

  ‘You were incredibly brave,’ she assured him. ‘I wouldn’t have jumped into that water.’