She yelped and her knees buckled. Alfie rushed to her aid but Richard shoulder-charged him and sent him sprawling. He staggered to his feet and turned towards Emma.
She was still on her knees, supporting herself with her good arm.
“Leave me!” she screamed. “Go!”
Richard had a set of keys in his hand and was opening the door of Marge’s car. He tumbled on to the driver’s seat and started the car up. Alfie lurched towards the police car, fumbling for the keys in his trouser pocket.
Richard was already turning onto the main road as Alfie put the Corsa in gear. There was no time to think, to ask himself if this was wise. Even as he curved out of the garage entrance he was moving up through the gears.
Richard had floored the accelerator, sending Marge’s car tearing along the road faster than it had ever gone. Alfie accelerated too and the Corsa leaped forward. The rush hour hadn’t yet begun and there was nothing else immediately in the road ahead. Alfie was gaining on Richard within minutes: Marge’s ancient hatchback was no match for the police car. He got closer. And closer.
And then Alfie asked himself what exactly he was going to do. If he caught up with Richard, what then? Alfie didn’t know how to fight, couldn’t throw a punch to save his life. Or perhaps he might try to throw a punch to save his life but it would certainly be an ineffectual one. The way Richard had shoved him to the ground showed who would get the worst of it.
And he was scarcely going to run Richard off the road. He was determined not to spook the garage owner – he would do nothing that might precipitate a crash. He had no idea how to operate the police radio, so he couldn’t tell anybody his position. All he could do was to keep on Richard’s tail, albeit at a safe distance, and hope that a solution would present itself.
Some distance ahead, a tractor began pulling slowly out of a field on to the road. Alfie slowed slightly and as he did so, Richard put on a sudden spurt, cut round it and zoomed into the distance while Alfie was left stranded as the tractor continued its lethargic exit.
Terrified that Richard was going to get away, Alfie did what Emma had expressly forbidden him to do, and switched on the siren. The noise was deafening, shocking Alfie, and also shocking the farmer who reached hastily for the controls. The tractor, at what passed for high speed in a farm vehicle, reversed back into the field to let Alfie pass. He saw the tail of Marge’s car disappear down a narrow side road, and pursued it.
The road surface was pitted and cracked, and Marge’s car pitched from side to side as Richard tried to avoid the worst potholes. The high hedges made it impossible to see any oncoming traffic. Alfie was completely focused on the road, on keeping up with Richard, changing gear instinctively as he negotiated the tight bends.
Richard was out of sight again, round the next bend, and suddenly there was a screech of brakes, and blast after blast on the horn. Alfie rounded the corner to find that a car coming in the opposite direction had clipped Marge’s car and stalled, trapping Richard, who could no longer drive forward. The driver was a young man, possibly even a teenager – he appeared shocked but he looked sporty and strong. This could be the opportunity. Between the two of them, they should be able to apprehend the garage owner.
Alfie pulled into the side of the narrow road as far as he was able, still blocking it, and put on his hazard lights. He got out of the car.
But Richard didn’t wait passively for capture. He threw his car into reverse, careering back towards Alfie. Scarcely aware of what he was doing, Alfie hurled himself sideways, falling into a ditch. Richard spun the wheel and Alfie thought with horror that he was about to drive into the ditch to finish him off.
But instead Richard crashed through an insubstantial fence on the other side of the road and lurched down the field beyond. Alfie pulled himself to his feet, gasping, covered in mud. He staggered back to the police car and followed Richard’s trail of destruction. As he passed the other car, he saw the driver sitting open-mouthed.
The Corsa yawed down the uneven slope, and Richard’s plan became clear. There was a small wood at the bottom of the field and just to the left of it was a picnic area and a track, which presumably led to another road. Alfie had no idea where they were while Richard must know every lane and track for miles. The garage owner was well ahead now. If he made it to the far end of the field, he could lose himself in the arcane network and Alfie would have no hope of following.
He not only had to catch up, he had to overtake and block the track beyond the picnic area. The field was treacherously uneven and merely crossing it was taking every ounce of his driving expertise. The engine whined and complained and the car see-sawed alarmingly. Alfie fought to control it. It was impossible to accelerate any more. It was too late to outpace Richard.
And then he saw Marge’s car bounce crazily and veer wildly off course. It looked as though a tyre had blown – perhaps Marge hadn’t been lying about the suspected slow puncture.
The car plunged towards the wood and skidded in amongst the trees. The bonnet was jammed against one while another blocked the driver’s door. Alfie could see Richard scrabbling wildly for the passenger door. Gently, precisely, Alfie accelerated and steered the Corsa alongside Marge’s hatchback. Metal scraped metal, the Corsa’s nose buckled against another tree, but Richard was now completely trapped with no exit through either door.
The garage owner wrestled ineffectually with the handles, then braced himself against the driving seat and tried to kick at the windscreen. But he failed to get enough purchase and the windscreen remained unscathed. Then he tried to get into the back seat without success, and began tugging at the doors again.
Alfie was reminded of an enraged wasp in a jam jar. He eased himself across to the police car’s passenger seat and got out the passenger door, watching Richard continue his useless struggles. He felt for his mobile phone and rang Emma, who answered instantly.
“I’ve got Richard trapped in his car,” he said. “We’re in a field, only I’ve no idea where.”
“Just as well I know then, isn’t it?” she said.
He heard a powerful engine in the distance. Then he saw the car sweep up the track to the picnic area and pull in at the edge of the wood. A police car. A BMW 5 series. Two male officers got out.
“Afternoon, sir,” said one of them.
“How did you know where to find us?” asked Alfie.
“The young man who was in a collision with you had the nous to ring us.” The policeman glanced at Richard who had subsided in the front seat.
“I’ll back the car up so that you can get him out the passenger door,” said Alfie. “I’m afraid it got pretty badly scraped when I drove alongside.”
“That’s all right, sir. We’ll just add malicious mischief to police property to the charge of twocking.”
Alfie paled. “I wasn’t twocking. Constable Hollis -”
“And of course, sir, you’ll know that patrol cars are prohibited from involvement in car chases. That can only be done by an area car or a traffic car whose drivers have the necessary skills.”
“But Constable Hollis -”
“Only joking, sir. I imagine you’ll get a commendation from the chief constable. Either that or two years. You never can tell how things are going to work out, sir, can you?”
Epilogue
“You know my one regret?” asked Alfie. He had to raise his voice to be heard.
“Mm?” Emma was nestled in the front passenger seat of the Jaguar, her eyes closed, a cerise wool bobble hat tugged down over her ears.
“When you sent me after Richard, you didn’t say ‘Follow that car!’”
He thought she might laugh, but instead she said, “Since we’re talking about regrets, can I tell you mine?”
His leather-gloved hands tensed slightly on the steering wheel. Was she regretting coming on the Jaguar’s first outing? He had thought that she seemed mo
re relaxed with him – maybe that was just wishful thinking. “Go ahead.”
“I’m regretting saying I wanted the roof down. If I open my eyes, they start watering, and I think my nose has frostbite.”
They were nearing a layby. Alfie pulled into it. “It’s easier with two,” he said. “Can you lend a hand?”
Emma glanced down at her sling. “Just as well you only want me to lend the one.”
“Sorry – I wasn’t thinking – stay there, I’ll manage.”
But she was already unfastening the seatbelt he had insisted on having fitted during the reconditioning. “For goodness’ sake, I’m not an invalid. I told you, I managed to protect my wrist – it was my shoulder that bore the brunt of it.” She emerged from the car and began tugging ineffectually at the roof.
“There’s a knack to it,” said Alfie, jiggling the levers. “Try it now.”
The roof unfolded as elegantly as an oriental fan and Alfie fastened it down.
“Okay?” he asked as they settled back into the car.
“Okay.” She removed the woolly hat and shook out her hair, which fell back into its neat, efficient bob. Everything about her seemed precise, controlled. He wondered if she had any flaws. The only thing she didn’t seem to have mastered was cooking.
“I understand you’ve bought Aunt Marge a car,” she said as they set off again.
He liked the way she called both the ladies aunt: Liz was her real great-aunt, but Marge got an honorary title, the ladies being seen as an inseparable unit.
“Her car was totalled when Richard crashed it in the woods,” he said. “And it was so old, it wasn’t worth anything. I felt responsible, since I had more or less forced him into it.”
“Nobody thinks you were responsible,” she said. “But it was a lovely thing to do. She adores the sat nav, and the rear parking sensors, and the sound system – although her taste in music is appalling.”
Alfie laughed. “James Last and John Denver?”
“Much worse. Pink Floyd and The Velvet Underground.”
“So, who do you prefer?” Alfie asked, intrigued.
“Almost anyone,” said Emma, and he wasn’t sure whether she was evading the question.
“Oh, and I bring you glad tidings,” she said. “The paperwork for your on-the-spot fine has gone missing, which means you no longer have a criminal record.”
“Paperwork?” said Alfie. “I thought everything was recorded electronically these days.”
“No questions, no lies,” said Emma with a sidelong glance.
“Do I thank you or Sergeant Wilson?” Alfie asked.
“Put it this way, the sarge wasn’t going to look good, fining our local hero.”
Alfie groaned. “Don’t talk about it.” Local Hero had been the gigantic headline on the Bunburry Bugle, atop an over-excited article heaping praise on his bravery and driving skills, and including the quote: “I just did what anyone would do,” he said modestly. Alfie didn’t remember having ever said that, modestly or otherwise.
“Great photo.”
The Bugle photographer had spent half an hour taking hundreds of photos, getting Alfie to stand with his arms folded, then unfolded, turn his body sideways while keeping his head to the front, lean against Aunt Augusta’s purple front door, smile, look serious, as the young reporter scampered round him with a portable light reflector. And yet the photo that had appeared looked as though it should be on a poster under the caption Wanted: Dead or Alive.
“It takes real skill to take a photo that bad,” said Alfie. “The only thing that would have been worse would have been the photo of me wearing tights.”
“Fishnet?” asked Emma with interest. “And what else were you wearing?”
“A tabard. And the tights were decently opaque. I was twelve, and I was playing Hamlet. Aunt Augusta had it on her mantelpiece.”
“Now that I want to see.”
“You’re welcome to see the mantelpiece any time, but the photo is well hidden.”
“I can get a search warrant.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” said Alfie drily. “Anyway, what’s the real story about Sergeant Wilson? I can’t quite believe he had a change of heart. That man would take even greater pleasure in fining a local hero, making them remember their place. And where exactly was he when you went off to arrest Richard?”
He couldn’t read her expression. Irritation? Impatience? Embarrassment? She turned her hat inside out, examined it for a while, and then turned it the right way round.
“I’m not Edith,” said Alfie. “I’m not planning to issue a bulletin. But he clearly doesn’t like me, and it would be good to know what I’m up against.”
“All right,” said Emma slowly. “He drinks.”
“You mean he’s an alcoholic?”
“It might be easier if he was, and then he could get some treatment. No, he just likes drinking, which means a lot of missed mornings, which often turn into missed afternoons. That’s why he was transferred to Bunburry. It was a demotion to the sticks where they figured he couldn’t do that much harm.”
Alfie had thought Liz was exaggerating when she complained that Emma was doing all the work, with Sergeant Wilson then claiming all the credit. Apparently not. “That can’t make things easy for you.”
“I’m absolutely fine, don’t worry about me. But the sarge is not a happy man. He thinks he should be in the Met or Scotland Yard instead of being a village plod. So, to cheer himself up, he sinks a few more pints with his mates in The Horse.”
“Why don’t you report him?”
Emma gave a short laugh. “Dobbing in your superior officer doesn’t make you terribly popular in the force. Besides, what would it achieve? I might end up with someone worse. No, I’m happy to make sure he keeps his nose clean until he can get his pension.”
It must be relatively easy for Emma to cover for Sergeant Wilson under normal circumstances. But the day of the car chase had been far from normal. Questions would have been asked from higher up as to his whereabouts.
“So, was he nursing a hangover when you commandeered me as your driver?”
Emma’s laugh was genuine this time. “What a question! Of course not. No, as it happens, a friend of mine thought her toddler had gone missing, and given my injury, the sarge kindly agreed to go and check things out. It wasn’t far, so he just walked. He had to search for quite a long time until in the end he found the little boy in a neighbour’s garden.”
“Imagine that,” said Alfie. “And did your friend provide a sworn statement to that effect?”
“She didn’t have to. I provided the report myself. Turns out I’m pretty good at typing one-handed.”
“And the price of this tissue of lies was my hundred-pound fine?”
“I thought he owed you.”
“Remind me to thank him the next time we meet.”
“I’ll remind you to stay well out of his way. He really, really doesn’t like you.”
“Why, what have I ever done to him?”
“You’re almost as old as he is, but you’re successful, you’re rich, you’re handsome, you’re popular – you’ve stolen his life.”
Had she just said he was handsome? Probably a figure of speech, contrasting him with the paunchy sergeant. She had certainly made it clear that she thought he was old.
“I’ll watch my speed, then.”
“Your speed’s perfect. Neither too fast nor too slow.”
“I’ve just realised – all the information he had on me, or thought he had on me, it must have come straight from Edith. You know he suggested that Betty and I had murdered Mike because we thought cars were destroying the environment?”
“Ah yes, your girlfriend,” said Emma.
Alfie glanced at her. Her face seemed very pink, but she was presumably still recovering from the oncom
ing wind when the roof was down.
“Have you taken our Green Party representative for a drive in your new car yet?” she asked.
“I couldn’t do that,” said Alfie. “She thinks cars are destroying the environment. You’re on the inaugural journey.”
Emma ran her hand across the walnut dashboard. “It’s a beautiful car. I feel privileged to be included in its first outing. Thank you.”
“Beth’s done an excellent job,” said Alfie. “Including fitting the seatbelts. But I really wish she hadn’t taken over the garage and the contract for Tennison’s vintage cars.”
“Alfie, let’s not talk about this, okay?”
“He’s running some sort of scam, I’m sure of it.”
“You were sure he had murdered Mike.”
“Emma, I honestly think Tennison needs serious investigation.”
“And that’s why we have a Serious Fraud Office. This isn’t a matter for you and me.”
“I just wish you could do some ferreting.”
“I know the sarge swings the lead a lot, but he does come in from time to time.” She did her gruff Harold Wilson impression again. “‘What you up to, Hollis?’ ‘Afternoon, Sarge, I’m leading an undercover operation into the murky misdeeds of Charles Teflon Tennison.’ ‘Well done, Hollis, carry on. But before you go, make us a coffee.’”
“Tennison must be using the garage to launder money. It’s the only reason he would set Mike up in that place.”
“You’re absolutely right, Alfie. Apart from the fact that you’re totally wrong. Pull over, will you? Plenty of room on that grass verge.”
Alfie did as he was told. “You want the roof up again?”
“Not on your life. I want to talk to you and I want to make sure you’re listening.”
Alfie switched off the engine and turned to face her. “I’m listening.”
“This is none of your business, but I think you should know. Tennison has nothing whatsoever to do with that garage. If anybody was running a scam, it was Mike. And Beth.”
Bunburry--A Murderous Ride Page 9
