Blind Spot

by Terence Bailey

Nicole’s frown deepened and she stared at Vos appraisingly. Then her expression hardened. ‘You showed her those photos, didn’t you? When you were there this week.’

  Vos inclined his head. Maybe.

  ‘And Jamie too, I’ll bet. Is that why he left her?’

  ‘You’re asking the wrong question,’ Vos insisted. ‘You should be asking, what the hell was Sara up to in her dying brother’s house? Did he know a secret she wanted to conceal? Or maybe it was just the prospect of a fat inheritance.’ He gestured towards the iPad. ‘Sara Jones has a very big skeleton in her closet, and the only person who can prove it is me. She needs to silence me.’

  That was as much as Vos could tell Nicole. He hoped it was enough to convince her of the seriousness of their plight. Things were even worse than Vos could let on. Nicole still believed Sara was misinformed. From her point of view, the worst thing Sara could do was spread false rumours. Vos knew that Sara was dead right, and all the more dangerous for it. Maybe she couldn’t prove anything herself – in that sense, it would be her word against his – but it wouldn’t take an intrepid investigator too long to confirm her story. Maybe one of those Afrikaaners might talk, with the right offer of immunity. For that matter, maybe Rootenberg would, too.

  Nicole shook her head softly. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘Sara wouldn’t let her own brother die. It’s not like her.’

  ‘Look at the pictures,’ Vos said. ‘I know it’s not easy to think of her that way, but it’s true.’

  ‘If you’ve been threatening her with those photos, then she must be desperate,’ Nicole observed.

  ‘That’s why she’s going to her cop friend,’ Vos agreed. ‘Her lies about South Africa are the only weapons she’s got to use against me. She must know that, at the very least, I’ll be interviewed by the Met. That will ruin my reputation. Then, anything I say about Sara Jones will sound like bullshit.’ Vos slid his hand along the bench, until he gently touched Nicole’s fingers. ‘You have to take this seriously,’ he said. ‘I’m in danger … and I need you.’

  Slowly, Nicole’s expression shifted. Incredulity gave way to steely resolve. ‘So what do I do?’ she asked finally.

  ‘You have to stop her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Follow her,’ he said. ‘Do whatever you have to do to keep her from reaching her friend.’

  Nicole offered a bemused half-smile. ‘Follow her in the Porsche?’ she mocked. ‘Sara wouldn’t need to be a trained spy to notice that.’

  Vos nodded, conceding the point. ‘I’ll drive you to the airport,’ he said.

  ‘The airport?’

  ‘Heathrow. It’s on the way to Wales. It’ll be the easiest place to hire a car. We’ll need to leave now, though – you have a lot of time to make up.’

  ‘Gerrit,’ Nicole said, ‘even if I can catch up to her – even if I find a way to delay her – we can’t keep Sara from talking for ever.’

  ‘We don’t need to,’ Vos replied. ‘We just have to stall her until I get to Jamie.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Vos stood. ‘Something desperate,’ he said.

  Two hours later, Vos was home. He had left Nicole at the airport and followed the M4 as far as the turning to Wokingham. On the way, he cancelled his afternoon meetings. The he made reservations for an early dinner at a City restaurant – the fourth he tried – and rang Levi Rootenberg. An opportunity had arisen, he explained to his old colleague, but it was time-sensitive and they needed to discuss it right away. Vos told Rootenberg when and where to meet and rang off before the man had finished spouting his profuse thanks. Vos’s call to Jamie Harding was even shorter. Do not leave the Green Street flat, he’d said. Put on a suit. Wait for me.

  Vos had just returned from a visit to the first floor of the barn when Nicole rang. She had passed Swindon, she said, and had been monitoring Sara’s progress all along the M4. Sara had stopped more than once already, and Nicole had shortened the distance between them. By the time Sara reached the Severn Bridge, Nicole may well have caught up. ‘What will I do once I’ve got a visual on her?’ she asked.

  ‘Keep following,’ Vos said. ‘If she stops, wait till she’s walked away, then puncture her tyres.’

  ‘What if she doesn’t stop?’ Nicole asked.

  ‘Ring me,’ Vos replied. He went downstairs and slipped on his shoes. ‘But whatever you do,’ he said, ‘don’t let her get to the inspector’s house. At the very least, not until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘What’s so special about tomorrow morning?’ Nicole asked.

  Vos fingered the small bag that nestled in his suit jacket. ‘By then,’ he said, ‘Sara Jones’s world will look very different.’

  Sara hadn’t been able to drive for long without stopping. Despite the relative comfort of her Mini, the dull throb of her injuries meant she needed regular breaks. Along the M4, she had stopped at three motorway service areas. She knew from long experience that, once she crossed the Severn Bridge, opportunities to rest anywhere other than the side of the road would be severely curtailed.

  Sara understood she should be thinking about what she would tell Ceri. Although it was true that most of her bruises were hidden under clothing, her old friend would surely notice her stiff gait, and the way she winced when she turned her neck. Sara needed to come up with an explanation. Still, it was not Ceri whom Sara was thinking about, but Jamie. She found herself replaying their final conversation in her mind, searching for the words she could have said to him to make him stay. Sara couldn’t tell him about her psychic powers, but surely, she could have said something. It was that damned pendant, she thought – the fact that Jamie produced it had derailed their conversation. Sara had been forced to lie about having made it, simply to justify its presence. That had sent her into a spiral of fabrication that had only alienated him further, making him leave, sinking him deeper into Vos’s clutches. That had endangered Jamie, of course, but his absence had also put Sara in harm’s way. Would things have been different if Jamie had been home yesterday when Tim Wilson had attacked?

  Of course they would have.

  Sara crossed the Severn still torturing herself with these recriminations. She felt a powerful urge to ring her partner. She had made previous attempts, of course – on Tuesday evening when he left, and also on Wednesday. On each occasion, he had refused to answer.

  Soon, Sara was heading towards Newport. There were two ways to drive to Ceri’s house from south Wales. Sara had anticipated taking the A487 coastal road, which was relatively straight and a sensible choice for someone with injuries. But, despite its offer of occasional panoramas of Cardigan Bay, the journey was also drearily dull. Especially if she were unlucky enough to get stuck behind a slow-moving farm vehicle. This had happened to her more often than she cared to remember. It wasn’t until Sara saw the sign for Merthyr Tydfil that she decided to change her plans. She checked the clock. It was just after five pm, which meant there were more than two hours of daylight left. That would be enough for her to take the A470 through the mountain range just to the north. The Brecon Beacons offered beautiful scenery and far less traffic. Sara could cross Wales diagonally and join the coastal road at Llanrhystud, just south of Penweddig. There wouldn’t be much difference in terms of time. Although the mountain route was longer, Sara was less likely to have to endure tractors for any great distance.

  She swung north, deciding to make a quick call to Ceri to give her time of arrival, and then to try Jamie.

  Vos was back on the two-lane road that led up to the M4. In front of him, a lorry rumbled along, much too slowly. In the next lane, a Ford Fiesta kept pace with it, forming a barrier of metal that held back his progress. Vos cursed, jerked the wheel and weaved in right behind the Fiesta, leaning on his horn as he did. The car sped up, and Vos remained on its tail until it pulled into the left lane, in front of the lorry.

  Vos’s phone trilled, and he thumbed a button. ‘You see her?’ he said.

  ‘I’m right behind her,�
�� Nicole replied. ‘Looks like she’s going to cross the Brecon Beacons.’

  Vos glared at the driver of the Fiesta, who didn’t seem to notice. How easy it would be, he thought, to give that car a nudge and send it careering into the trees at the side of the road. ‘She won’t stop now until she’s at her friend’s house,’ he told Nicole.

  ‘Maybe for petrol,’ she suggested. ‘When she’s on the other side of the mountains.’

  ‘We can’t rely on that happening.’

  ‘I don’t know what else I can do,’ Nicole said.

  Vos sighed as he pulled back into the left-hand lane. He pressed heavily on the accelerator. ‘I think you know perfectly well what to do,’ he replied.

  There was a silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Nicole said, ‘What are you suggesting?’

  In his mirror, Vos watched the Fiesta disappear behind him. ‘Find a spot with a decent slope, and run her off the road,’ he said.

  ‘Gerrit!’ Nicole cried. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I’m not asking you to kill her,’ he snapped. ‘Just find a remote place where she’ll slide down the bank. It’ll take hours for a rescue truck to get to her.’

  ‘And you’re sure that’ll be enough?’ Nicole asked.

  ‘It has to be,’ he replied.

  Nicole was silent for several seconds. ‘Gerrit, please reassure me you have a plan.’

  ‘Trust me,’ he replied.

  Another pause. ‘I don’t like this,’ she said finally.

  Then I’d better not tell you the plan, Vos thought. You’d really hate that.

  But all he said was, ‘Who does?’

  Sara’s phone sat in its cradle on the dashboard. She opened the FaceTime app, and selected Jamie’s number. Quickly, his image appeared on the screen, and something in Sara’s chest sparked. Jamie was sitting on a chair, dressed in a jacket and tie. ‘Err – hi,’ he said.

  ‘You look nice,’ she replied. ‘New?’

  Jamie nodded. ‘The tailor Andy recommended. Just picked it up.’ He tilted his camera so Sara could take in the whole suit, then leaned towards the screen. His brows knitted. ‘Are you driving?’ he asked.

  Sara made a grunt of confirmation.

  ‘Do you think that’s safe?’

  Sara stared ahead at the narrow road, and saw oak, ash and yew trees flash by. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m keeping my eyes on the road.’

  Jamie shrugged. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Wales. Going to see Ceri.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Sara had already decided she would not allow the call to be awkward. She had things to tell her partner. ‘Jamie,’ she said. ‘Tuesday evening. I really should have –’

  He cut her off. ‘You don’t need to say anything.’

  ‘No,’ Sara interrupted, ‘I want to. I didn’t tell you everything then, because I didn’t know how. Then you showed me that pendant, and … well, we got off track.’

  ‘OK,’ Jamie said. ‘What didn’t you tell me?’

  She began haltingly. ‘The night at Rhodri’s, when I went to his house. I said I was in shock, and that’s why I didn’t ring 999.’ Sara drew in a breath. It was a relief that she had to keep her eyes on the road, so she didn’t have to look at Jamie. ‘What I told you wasn’t true,’ she went on. ‘I mean, maybe I was in shock … but that’s not why I left.’

  ‘So then, why did you leave?’

  ‘Because of what Rhodri told me. When I got there, he was still conscious. He said he’d changed his mind about dying. He begged me to save his life.’

  Sara felt tears dampening her eyes. She blinked and forced herself to keep focusing on the tarmac ahead. She had left behind the tunnel of trees; the road now fell away into steep ravines on either side, with mountains in the distance. The sun had disappeared behind the distant slopes on the left, leaving them in stark silhouette. ‘Rhoddo also … well, he made a confession,’ she said.

  ‘A confession?’

  ‘He told me that, when we were teenagers –’

  Suddenly, Sara felt her throat thicken. She shuddered and started to tremble. More tears welled. ‘Jamie,’ she blurted, ‘it was him! Glyn Thomas did not kill our parents. Rhodri did.’

  ‘What?’ Jamie gasped.

  ‘He murdered them. Rhoddo. He was high on drugs. Daddy had been treating him badly. He’d locked him in his room. So Rhoddo slipped out the window, and he got a shotgun from the shed …’

  ‘My God, Sara,’ Jamie said. For several moments, Sara heard nothing more, save for the hum of her tyres on the tarmac. Finally, Jamie added, ‘No wonder you couldn’t tell me that.’

  ‘Once Rhodri had confessed,’ Sara went on, ‘it seemed … well, almost a sin to let him live.’ Her voice rose in volume. ‘I’m sure he would have acted contrite for the courts and appeared all repentant. But he wouldn’t have changed, not really. People like Rhodri don’t.’

  Jamie tried to shush her with soothing noises.

  ‘And to be honest, Jamie,’ Sara said, her voice trembling, ‘I still don’t feel I was wrong.’ A sob tore through her chest. ‘He didn’t deserve to live!’

  ‘Sara, we can’t talk on the phone,’ Jamie said. ‘Please turn the car around. Come home. I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘No,’ Sara cried, ‘I told Ceri I’d –’

  ‘Ceri will understand.’

  ‘Jamie, I promised.’ She fought to control her tears. ‘She’s been after me to go on holiday and I’ve been putting her off and …’

  Sara sniffed and steeled herself. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay in Penweddig until Monday morning. How’s that? I can be home in the afternoon. We’ll talk then.’

  ‘Sure,’ Jamie agreed. ‘OK.’ He paused awkwardly. ‘Sara, I can’t even begin –’

  ‘I know,’ she interrupted.

  ‘We’ll talk about it,’ Jamie said. ‘Monday. When you come home.’

  Sara cleared her throat. ‘Why are you in a suit, anyway?’ she asked.

  Jamie laughed in relief. ‘To be honest I don’t really know. Vos told me to wear one. A meeting, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, Jamie – be careful,’ Sara warned. ‘You know I don’t trust that man.’

  ‘I know,’ Jamie said. ‘And I will.’

  They said goodbye, and Sara reached over and touched the button that ended the call. Her eyes were off the road for barely a second, but in that time a dark-coloured Skoda had gunned its engine and roared up behind her. Sara’s eyes darted sharply to the wing mirror. She clocked the approaching car, then looked ahead at the narrow road. She could see there wasn’t enough room for the car to overtake. Sara leaned on her horn, but the Skoda persisted, trying to pull alongside the Mini. Sara pumped the brakes to let it pass, but suddenly the Skoda slammed into Sara’s door. She felt the impact before hearing the crunch of metal. The other driver continued to bear left, forcing her close to the verge. Sara jerked her wheel to the right, pressing her car into the Skoda, and fishtailed as her rear tyres spun on gravel. This drove her assailant back into the other lane. The car shot off ahead as Sara’s Mini continued to turn, arcing off the road and thumping down the incline. Something on the undercarriage clunked. Every tender spot on Sara’s body screamed as her head jerked forwards and impacted with the steering wheel. The airbag exploded open.

  Sara blacked out. She did not feel the car slide to a halt in the ravine below the road. Nor did she hear the thudding and crunching of ripping metal several dozen yards ahead, as the other driver’s Skoda barrel-rolled down the opposite side of the hill.

  TWENTY

  Sara woke up in a hospital ward. Oxygen tubes protruded from her nose, and an IV drip had been inserted into a vein in her hand. Her head was spinning. She felt woozy.

  ‘Dr Jones?’ a nurse said.

  I seem to have my own nurse, Sara thought. She’s been sitting beside me. That meant she was in an Intensive Care unit. Sara tried to remember what had happened. There had been a car trying to overtake
. No – not trying to overtake, but deliberately running her off the road. Suddenly, Sara’s stomach lurched.

  ‘I’m going to vomit,’ she said.

  Quickly, the nurse placed a paper-pulp vomit bowl under Sara’s chin. There wasn't much to expel; despite having stopped at three roadside services, Sara had eaten little. When she had finished, the nurse handed her a tissue, then kneeled at a locker at Sara’s bedside. She produced another vomit bowl, a bottle of water, a small tube of toothpaste and a disposable toothbrush. ‘You'll want to freshen up,’ she suggested.

  Sara accepted the items and set them next to her.

  ‘Do you know why you’re here?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘Of course. I was in an accident on the Brecon Beacons,’ Sara said.

  ‘You collided with a rented Skoda Octavia.’

  ‘And how am I?’ Sara asked.

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ the nurse said, with every intention of leaving it at that.

  Sara sighed. ‘You’ve obviously seen my details,’ she said, ‘so you know I’m a doctor. You can be more specific. I assume you’ve X-rayed me?’

  ‘There are no skull fractures,’ the nurse said, ‘but you took a nasty blow to the head. You’ve been unconscious for a couple of hours. I suppose you’ll know what that means.’

  ‘It’s a long time to be out,’ Sara admitted. ‘There’ll be a danger of swelling to my brain, and it’s going to take a few months before I’ve fully recovered. I assume you’re going to keep me in for observation, and when I get home I’ll need to rest for a week or so. Is that about it?’

  ‘More or less,’ the nurse agreed. ‘How’s your vision?’

  ‘Blurry.’

  ‘Are the lights bothering you?’

  ‘Not overly.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Still, you’ll probably have headaches, fatigue, memory problems and a bit of good, old-fashioned pain.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ Sara agreed. She glanced blearily at her surroundings. They offered little to see, save for the curtains around her bed. There was a small gap where two of the curtain panels should have met, revealing a sliver of the Intensive Care ward beyond.