by M. J. Ford
‘You’d struggle to get an Audi coupé down there,’ said Jo. She checked the map and saw there was another road a couple of hundred metres up.
Carrick reversed out, and they drove further along the road. The next entrance was tarmacked and ungated. As they drove down it, fir trees loomed on either side, light barely penetrating between them. They passed through occasional patches of wetter ground, where drainage channels crossed the road from left to right, down a slight slope. Jo thought of the mud spatters on the sides of the Ford Focus and the repeated pings from the local ANPR cameras. James Bailey had been using this place as a base for some time.
After a minute or so, they came to an open space occupied by a large warehouse, several temporary buildings, some earth-moving equipment, and an industrial log-cutting apparatus. There were off-cuts of timber scattered around, and some piles too. The site had the feel of a place that hadn’t been frequented for a long time. As they drove into the yard, there were signs indicating danger from machinery, alongside an arrow pointing to the office reception. Jo eyed the buildings and trees as the car crawled alongside the warehouse.
‘Doesn’t look like anyone’s working today,’ said Jo.
Carrick pulled up at the office door in the side of the warehouse, but kept the engine running. A sign on the door read, ‘We are closed until April 1st.’ An enquiry number was listed, and a further sign informed them ‘This site is monitored by CCTV.’ There was indeed a camera above the door, with a spider’s web spun across the lens. It didn’t appear to be operational.
‘Can’t see anyone,’ said Carrick. ‘Let’s do a circuit then go.’
He set off again, around to the rear of the warehouse, keeping below 10mph. The buildings looked thoroughly locked-up. They drifted over ground covered in sawdust, and Jo wound down her window to let in some fresher air. The smell of the forest, rich and earthy, filled the car. There was something else too.
‘Boss, can you smell smoke?’
Carrick lifted his nostrils, and said, ‘I think so,’ just as they passed the edge of a large half-covered structure with two trailers and a tractor parked up. Alongside them, looking completely incongruous, was a black Audi.
‘Oh fuck …’ said Jo. A fraction of a second later, she heard a crack that sounded like a splintering trunk, and the rear window of their car exploded inwards. She ducked instinctively, and Carrick must’ve stepped on the accelerator because they lurched forwards. James Brown came walking slowly from the trees, dressed in black, the gun held in both hands, thrust out in front of him, arms locked straight. A second shot pinged loudly off the metal of the car’s chassis.
‘Go!’ cried Jo, though she needn’t have bothered, because Carrick careered off in the direction of the exit. There was a third shot, making Jo flinch, but it must have missed. She looked back to see Brown now running towards them, still firing. Carrick skidded back out onto the narrow road and accelerated wildly away, shooting glances into the rear-view mirror. A hundred yards away, he slowed to a halt.
Eyes on the mirror, he asked, ‘Are you all right?’
Jo nodded hurriedly, too shocked to speak. She looked back over her shoulder through the shattered rear window which now covered the back seat. As far as she was concerned, they still weren’t clear of danger. She hadn’t counted the shots to know if he’d emptied a magazine or not.
Carrick hit the transmit button on the car’s radio.
‘Shots fired at Chiltern Timber, A44, eight hundred metres north of Over Kidlington. Tactical response team required immediately. Suspect James Brown is armed. Two officers on scene in Red Toyota.’
The dispatcher asked him to confirm there were no casualties, which Carrick did with an unflappable calm, as well as giving details on the two entry points they knew of.
Jo heard an engine as he was still talking. Behind them, the Audi had reached the site entrance and stopped. She could see Megan in the passenger seat, and James Brown was looking right at them. A bolt of panic went through her gut. If he came now, he could probably catch them. But the fear quickly dissipated when he turned in the opposite direction, heading along the rough track used by the logging lorries.
He’s gone the wrong way. He’ll hit the gate.
Carrick saw it too.
‘Suspect is exiting towards the A44. We are in pursuit.’
He gunned the engine, not after the Audi, but back towards the main road the way they’d come. If Brown got through the gate, he’d emerge just a couple of hundred yards from their own exit. Jo had no idea how they were going to stop him, but staying in contact was the main thing.
Carrick barely slowed as he swung out onto the A44, grinding through two gears and sending smoke from the rear wheels as he accelerated south to intercept the Audi. But there were other cars on the road too. He overtook one and slipped back behind a second – a Volvo estate.
Fifty yards short of the gated entrance, there was an almighty bang, and a vehicle on the opposite side of the road swerved violently as the gate itself slid across the tarmac with a shower of sparks. The Volvo ahead of them slammed on its brakes, and Carrick jerked the wheel clockwise to avoid it. It wasn’t enough, and the front wing on Jo’s side caught the Volvo’s rear end. They went into a spin, and Jo’s overriding impressions as the greenery swirled on every side were Carrick’s gritted teeth and his hands fighting the wheel. All she thought of was Theo, and the instant tableaux of police at the nursery, her brother weeping, and her orphaned boy in Amelia’s arms. Then something hit them with a horrible crunch, and future tragedy was forgotten as the pressurised airbag exploded in her face. Blinded, she felt the car tilting, almost weightless. Glass burst and scattered, and with an almost leisurely movement, they rolled upside down, coming to a stop.
Jo wasn’t sure if she’d lost consciousness for a few seconds or if her brain was just playing catch-up. She was alive, Theo still had a mother, and radio traffic informed her that the armed response team and other patrols were on their way. Beside her, Carrick was upside down and blinking as the airbag deflated. ‘Andy?’ said Jo.
‘That was annoying,’ he said. ‘You okay?’
Jo flexed her neck and took stock of her limbs. All present and correct. ‘Nothing a double vodka won’t fix.’
‘My right arm hurts,’ said Carrick.
‘Hang in there,’ she said. She managed to unclip herself, then him. Her door wouldn’t open at first, jamming a little, but the window was still down. ‘Don’t move, boss,’ she said. ‘I’ll come around.’
She scrambled through the window, and managed to get her hands on the tarmac. People from several other cars were gathering round. There was plastic debris and grass across the road. Lowering herself inelegantly, she found her feet and staggered a little dizzily. A man caught her before she fell. ‘Steady on, love. You’ve been in an accident.’
‘You’re telling me,’ muttered Jo. The Toyota was on its roof, halfway into a ditch like an upended turtle. Other cars featuring a variety of dents were strewn at angles, and more were building up either side of the road. She scanned for the black Audi but it was nowhere to be seen. ‘I’ve rung an ambulance!’ said a more distant voice that seemed, like everything else, to be coming at Jo from underwater. She went around the front of the car, still unsteady on her legs, and clambered into the ditch to get to the driver’s side. Carrick hadn’t moved. His door was badly dented from an impact, but opened with a clanking sound.
‘It’s all right, Andy – I’ve got you.’
‘Is it bad?’ he said. ‘It bloody hurts.’
His arm was tangled in the remains of an airbag, and the sleeve of his shirt was covered in blood. She held in the vomit when she saw where it was coming from. A four-inch shard of bone from his upper arm was jutting through the material, and the elbow was at completely the wrong angle.
‘You’re going to be all right, mate,’ she said. ‘Ambulance is coming.’
JAMES
TEN DAYS EARLIER
Stripped to
the waist under the harsh light of the disabled toilet, he gingerly removed the pad from his neck. The flesh was still raw beneath where the shotgun blast had caught him. Fuck it hurt. It seemed likely a couple of pellets had torn a tendon. He could hardly turn his head without pain lancing from his shoulder to his ear. He supposed he was lucky the fat bastard was such a bad shot.
It might heal on its own, if there was no contaminant under the skin. Anyway, hospital was a non-starter; too many questions. He doused the wound gingerly with water, dabbed it dry with loo roll, then replaced the gauze pad with a fresh one, and pulled up his collar again. His sister didn’t need to know he was suffering, and the less she knew about the disastrous visit to her parents’ house, the better. It was her fault, really – all because she’d wanted a few supposedly ‘important’ things from her bedroom.
In the café she was drinking a milkshake through a straw, and he sat opposite her.
‘You okay?’ she asked. ‘You were gone a long time.’
‘Queue,’ he said, doing his best to smile. Even that initiated a spasm of pain.
‘I got the stuff you wanted from the house,’ he said, then handed her back the key she’d loaned him. ‘All in the car.’ Along with the shotgun he’d relieved from the fat prick who’d shot him.
‘Thanks,’ she said. She looked a little uncertain.
‘It was a nice place,’ he said, ‘but I can see why you want to leave. All those stuffed creatures. Bloodthirsty bastard, your old man. Probably better than your real one, though.’
‘Did you leave the letter for them?’
‘Right where you asked – on the kitchen table.’
Actually, he’d set fire to it by the side of the road. Though it hadn’t contained anything that would directly lead someone after them, it would be better to leave the authorities entirely in the dark.
Megan looked a little distant as she played with her glass.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘Still thinking about Xan,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead. It’s fucked up.’
James remembered the startled look on the kid’s face when he understood it was a gun being pointed at his head. Had he processed what was about to happen before it did?
‘If you mess with drugs, you’re asking for it,’ he said. ‘Dangerous people.’
Megan drained the drink. ‘I guess so. Do you think the police might want to talk to me though?’
‘Probably,’ said James. ‘But we’ll be long gone by then.’
‘To your place in Manchester?’
‘Eventually. We might need to lie low a bit first – I know a place.’
‘Is it nice?’
‘It’ll do,’ he said. He wondered what she’d say when she saw the camp. ‘It’s only temporary, until they stop looking for us.’
‘And can I get a new phone then?’
She thought she’d lost her last one, didn’t know he’d smashed it to bits with a hammer.
‘Course.’
She was getting cold feet again. Sometimes it was easy to forget how young she was. How innocent, despite the tough face she showed the world. It made him love her even more.
‘Look, Meg, there’s nothing for you here. You’ve told me your folks don’t give a fuck. We can start again. A new life, fresh chances.’
‘I know, I know …’
‘So what’s wrong?’
She laid both hands over her stomach, as if cradling herself.
‘It’s just a big decision, you know?’
‘It won’t seem like that soon.’
‘What about Harry?’
‘What about him?’
‘He helped me. He doesn’t think I should …’ She stopped.
James heart sank like a stone. ‘You told him about me, didn’t you?’
Her face said it all. He struggled to control himself. He wanted to grab the chair he was sitting on and hurl it through the window. He lowered his voice. ‘I told you, didn’t I? You mustn’t mention me. If you do, they’ll find us.’
‘I didn’t say you were from Manchester or anything,’ she said. ‘I didn’t tell him your surname …’
He slowly regained his composure as the red mist faded. ‘Okay. It’s going to be fine. You can send him a postcard, when we get out of here.’ Megan smiled. He could see she wanted desperately to believe. ‘You want this, right?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
James reached across the table, and wrapped her hands in his. ‘I promised I’d look after you, but you need to trust me. We’re going to get out of this place, and it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever done. Let me talk to Harry, okay?’
She nodded, slightly wary, like there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t. In the end, she said simply, ‘He’s a good man.’
Chapter 25
Miraculously, Andy Carrick was the only serious casualty in the pile-up, though it looked like at least four cars had been written off. The first ambulance arrived in less than ten minutes, and they got an oxygen mask on Jo’s boss straight away, along with an injection of painkillers. They treated him in the car for twenty minutes before they were satisfied the arm was the only injury. Once he was on a stretcher, he looked at it for the first time, and Jo saw genuine fear behind the spaced-out look in his eyes.
‘You’re in good hands,’ she said, as they took him to the ambulance. She held an ice-pack against her cheek, which was swollen from a friction burn from the airbag.
‘Alert the air support,’ he said.
‘It’s done,’ said Jo. ‘We can handle things.’
Carrick nodded, head sagging back. ‘I’m sorry. I should have got the firearms crew.’
‘Shut it,’ said Jo. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
The ambulance doors closed and Carrick was taken away.
Two other paramedic crews were dealing with the walking wounded, treating cuts and bruises. A fire engine had arrived as well though Jo wasn’t sure what they could do other than perhaps move some of the stricken vehicles out of the highway. The gate that had once blocked the trucker’s road lay on the tarmac, buckled. Together, a team of motorists gathered to shift it off the road. Jo sat by the side, and answered a call coming from Heidi.
‘Tried to get you on the radio.’
‘It’s still in the car,’ said Jo. She filled Heidi in, including Andy’s injury.
‘Jesus Christ,’ was all she could say. ‘Is he okay?’
‘He will be. Tell me you’ve got the Audi.’
‘We haven’t picked it up,’ said Heidi. ‘So he’s either ditched it somewhere, or he had a camera-free escape route.’
If Jo hadn’t been feeling so beaten up already, she might have punched something.
‘He fucking shot at us, the bastard.’
‘You’re lucky then.’
‘I’ve got no car,’ said Jo.
‘Dimi’s going to be with you any minute,’ said Heidi.
‘They’re back?’
‘On their way, said Heidi. ‘Detouring to your position. You sure you don’t need to go to hospital?’
Jo flexed her neck. It was stiff, and tomorrow would be worse, but for now she could manage. ‘I’m all good, Heidi, we need to catch him.’
‘We will,’ said Heidi. ‘One way or another.’
Dimitriou and Reeves arrived within twenty minutes, both marvelling at the carnage and Jo’s narration of the circumstances that led to it.
‘Why didn’t you have an ARU?’ said Dimitriou. He looked almost angry, but Jo knew it came from legitimate and heartfelt concern.
‘We were just having a recce,’ she said. ‘Brown came from nowhere, gun blazing.’
Dimitriou appeared incredulous, and about to push his point, but Jo cut him off. ‘We need to get in there and inspect the site,’ she said. ‘They quit in a hurry, and they might have left clues.’
‘No way,’ said Dimitriou. ‘You’re going to hospital.’
‘With all due respect, sergeant, you can k
iss my arse.’
Dimitriou shot an appealing glance at Reeves. ‘Alice, can you talk to her, woman to woman?’
Reeves looked like a deer in the headlights, and said nothing.
‘Wise choice,’ said Jo. ‘Come on.’
* * *
Returning to the scene in the silence of the forest was a weird feeling. The dusty ground around the timber yard bore the evidence of the chase – tyre marks from both cars, as well as footprints, broken glass and spent rounds. Jo led Reeves and Dimitriou to the place where the Audi had been parked. The smell of smoke still lingered and it didn’t take them long to find its source, the remains of a camp some fifty metres into the trees. A canvas tent was pitched in a small clearing and a fire still smouldered; cooking pots and a gas stove were strewn about, along with a carrier bag containing several cans of food. Inside the tent they found a magazine, some clothes, and a battered 1:25,000 Ordnance Survey map of the area. There was no sign of the large rucksack that Saskia Patel had reported Megan carrying, so Jo guessed they still had it with them. She inspected the map, which was covered in markings. Some, she intuited, were the road cameras, but others were written in a code she couldn’t decipher.
He’s well prepared …
‘If the ANPR data is anything to go by, they were using this place for several days,’ she said.
Reeves was picking down a bag hanging in a tree. ‘Looks like trash,’ she said, and tipped out the contents. Jo saw there were several bloody bandages.
‘Hardly five-star comforts,’ said Dimitriou, coming through the trees. ‘I think I found the latrine out that way. I’d recommend holding it if you can manage.’