by J. S. Spicer
Would he go back? If he had a choice that is, would he go back to her?
Before he had to wrangle too deeply with that question he was distracted by lights bobbing lazily towards him from the dark alley running behind the houses. As the car emerged from the entrance he slid down in his seat and kept well out of sight.
The approaching headlights swung out onto the road, briefly washing over his van as the vehicle turned out of the alley. He kept low, listening to the sound of the engine as the car passed by, gradually picking up speed. When he raised his head to peer at the retreating vehicle he felt a thrill of victory when he saw it was none other than the black Volvo.
He wasn’t too late.
Turning the key in the ignition he grinned to himself. If those kids hadn’t come by and woken him with their laughing and yelling he might still have been fast asleep when Myers made his move. Maybe his luck had finally turned.
At first it was easy. Myers wasn’t a fast driver; wise perhaps given he was in a stolen car connected to a murder. Still, his tentativeness at junctions and lights, even during the relative quiet of evening, had Aubrey thinking this guy wasn’t used to driving.
It got trickier when the houses thinned, then disappeared. Soon enough they’d left suburbia for less travelled roads. At first they made their way along a wide, well-lit road where there were other vehicles, albeit few. When Myers turned into a narrow lane without any streetlights Aubrey was forced to drop back, aware that his headlights would stand out bright and alone in the other man’s rear view mirror. At first the lane ran relatively straight, but then it began to twist and turn. With increasing frequency the lights of the car ahead disappeared on the meandering road, often obscured by hedges and the undulations of the landscape. Aubrey risked getting closer; putting his foot down every time the dark countryside swallowed the Volvo.
Finally he rounded a bend and there were no lights ahead. No Volvo. No Myers. It was a long stretch, but about a third of the way along this string of asphalt there were two turnings, a jagged junction. Hedgerow-clogged lanes shot off in opposite directions perpendicular to the road. It wasn’t impossible that Myers had sped up sufficiently to make it out of sight before Aubrey turned the corner, but it was more likely he turned off. Both routes leaving the main road had plenty of cover; either direction could have swallowed the Volvo into invisibility in seconds.
Aubrey pulled onto the grassy verge and lowered his window. He looked and listened but caught no glimpse of light nor the sound of an engine.
He’d lost him.
After some choice swearing and subjecting the steering wheel to some undeserved thumps he calmed himself down with deep breathing and forced his brain back to rationality.
Wherever Myers was going he was bound to return the same way.
Aubrey dug out his phone and turned it on for the first time in days. He ignored the message notifications popping up and hoped he couldn’t be tracked this way. He quickly brought up a map of the area and found the road where he was parked. Both routes at the junction led into farmland and farther into the countryside. Naturally they linked up with other routes but by far the easiest way back to Myers’ house had to be coming back this way. All Aubrey had to do was to wait.
He reversed the van some way back before turning off the engine. He wasn’t about to get caught out again. He wanted a clear view when Myers reappeared. He would be ready.
He had less than an hour to wait and to plan. By the time the Volvo nosed out of the narrow left-hand turning Aubrey knew what he was going to do.
As the Volvo headed back down the road towards him he started the van but left the lights off. He put on his seatbelt. As the other car got nearer he released the handbrake. When the Volvo was still some way off he floored the accelerator. The rear wheels sent up clods of mud and grass as the van tore away from the verge. He aimed straight for Myers. The engine screamed and the tyres squealed but Aubrey kept his foot down hard.
At the last second he braced himself, pushing his back into the seat. Then he closed his eyes.
The impact was shocking. Aubrey felt like every bone in his body had been rattled loose. His weight threw him forward but was stopped by the seatbelt, which dug into him painfully. His head wobbled around. He went hot then cold and found it hard to breathe.
All of this was only the experience of a couple of seconds, but Aubrey hoped never to repeat anything like it. Still, when his vision cleared and everything was still again he saw the plan had worked. His van had slammed into the Volvo and pushed it to the far side of the road. Luckily the two vehicles had halted before impacting a very thick tree only feet from them. Steam streamed out of the Volvo’s bonnet, which had crumpled and buckled from the impact.
Aubrey quickly pulled himself together and got out. His legs shook but his resolve was rock steady.
He took a quick look at his van. One headlight was smashed and it was pretty dented but it was still driveable, unlike the Volvo which hissed and moaned like a wounded beast.
Myers was still in the car, glass-eyed and floundering like a landed fish as he clumsily batted away the now deflated airbag. Aubrey didn’t give him chance to recover. He wrenched open the door and straightaway pinned him by the throat.
“Where’s my backpack, you bastard?”
Myers struggled as he tried to focus on Aubrey, but he was held fast. “You!”
“Yes, me! Now where is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Aubrey slapped him so hard Myers teeth rattled. “Don’t fucking lie to me. You followed me. You took what’s mine.”
“No, I didn’t, I don’t know…”
Aubrey raised his hand again. This time Myers cowered and tried to raise his arms to ward off another blow, but he was still pinned. Aubrey kept his hand inches above his face, showing him, warning him.
“I’m losing my patience. Tell me where it is. Where did you stash it?”
Tears gathered in Myers’ eyes. “I swear, I don’t have…”
The second slap left an angry handprint mottling Myers skin. The tears had started flowing now.
Aubrey pushed away from him in disgust. As he looked at the sobbing man in the wrecked car his thoughts strayed again to the gun he’d hidden in the back of the van, tucked behind the wheel arch and wrapped in a piece of old sack. He’d meant to get rid of it; if he was caught and had a gun that would only make things that much worse. Still, now he was tempted to use it. Not to kill, just to threaten. If slapping Myers made a cry-baby of him then shoving a gun in his face would have him shitting his pants.
Aubrey glanced at the van but hesitated. He’d search the car first.
He knew he wouldn’t find his backpack even before he started tearing the Volvo apart. He started at the front; under the seats and in the glove compartment. Myers shrank further into the driver’s seat, sniffing and watching warily with one hand cupping his sore face.
Aubrey moved to the back of the car. Nothing.
Myers flinched when he approached the front again, but Aubrey merely leaned across the terrified man to push the boot release.
The boot popped open and Aubrey went to check it out. He felt like a chasm was opening in his gut as he bent over and pointlessly checked under the carpet and felt into every nook and cranny. Aubrey stayed there for a moment, his hands splayed on the rough carpeting as he considered his options.
Myers had his jewels, he was certain of that. He’d searched his house and the car. The guy was weird but not stupid; he’d hidden the jewellery somewhere else, probably the place he’d just visited. Aubrey needed to make him talk. As scared as Myers was he’d still lied so far, so Aubrey would have to raise the stakes after all.
He straightened up. The gun would work. He just had to bluff, just had to be convincing enough to get Myers to spill the information.
Aubrey stepped back around the side of the car then stopped.
Myers was no longer in the Volvo.
Aubrey
looked in all the wrong places in the precious seconds he had. He peered quickly inside the car; no Myers. Then he looked around, expecting to see the guy running down the road or scurrying across one of the adjoining fields.
He didn’t realise the truth until the engine suddenly roared.
Aubrey screamed as the dented blue bonnet of his own van bore down on him.
He uselessly threw up his arms in defence as two tonne of steel slammed into his body, instantly smashing bone and hurling Aubrey into the air.
Oblivion enveloped Aubrey Davis as his body came down on the tarmac with a sickening smack.
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
Gemma was the key. Gemma had to be the key. After their chat at the station she’d been free to go, but she must have helped forge a connection between Davis and the Bishops. Whilst Aubrey was in prison his girlfriend was well placed at Green Meadows to get pally with Carol Bishop. Perhaps she did go there for more noble reasons, to keep an eye on her boyfriend’s elderly mother, but if Brenda was to be believed she hadn’t bothered much with the old lady. But perhaps something else had piqued her interest. Gemma must have found out about the jewellery that Carol Bishop had inherited; somehow.
Once Aubrey got out of jail, with his background and experience, they must have planned the bank job together. Travers let his imagination fly with the possibilities. Gemma befriending Carol, chatting, maybe arranging for a drink after work, and all the time siphoning off titbits of information about her jewellery and the security at the bank. Once she had enough detail it would be relatively easy for Aubrey to break in and take those jewels. If they were in on it together then Travers thought it reasonable to assume that Gemma wouldn’t just be left behind whilst Davis took off with all the profit. She’d probably stayed initially so as not to arouse suspicion. Of course, Aubrey could have double-crossed his girlfriend, but hopefully that wasn’t the case.
They would have to keep tabs on Gemma Collins.
The only problem was that was all he had. Despite uncovering the CCTV footage of Hugh Bishop’s missing Volvo they were no nearer to finding the car, Jennifer, or the mystery man who’d been driving.
Aubrey and his van seemed to have successfully vanished too.
Travers was deskbound for the remainder of the afternoon and into the evening. After his chat with Brenda at Green Meadows he’d put out feelers and made several phone calls.
Since both Carol Bishop and her husband were open murder cases it didn’t take long to get hold of her medical history. She had indeed made a few suspicious visits to the local hospital; lots of bruises, a split lip, a broken hand, even a fractured jaw. Every time, every visit, Carol gave some excuse about an accident to explain away the injuries. Red flags must have been waved for the hospital staff, but she wouldn’t be swayed from her story. As Max scanned the reports he concluded that either Carol Bishop was a battered wife or the clumsiest individual in all of Blackbridge.
He thought about his father’s advice to focus on the jewellery. OK, so he’d done that, and yes it had revealed the Gemma connection. Still, was he really any closer to catching Aubrey Davis?
Then there was Jennifer Kim, missing now for days. There had been no sightings and no word. The police had been in constant touch with her family and friends, but no-one had heard anything at all, not a call from Jennifer to assure them she was OK, not a ransom demand or a threat. They’d trawled every database they could think of but couldn’t find out who the mystery driver was, which most likely meant he didn’t have a criminal record. So who was he and how was he involved?
Travers didn’t like it one bit; he feared the worst.
He pushed such negative thoughts away. Jennifer was still alive; he needed to hope and believe and keep doing all he could to find her.
As the evening wore on the station quietened. Many of the civilian staff had long since put on their coats and headed home. Various officers still came and went and a few dogged individuals were hunched at their desks, faces aglow in the blue light of a computer screen.
Travers checked his watch. It was almost 9pm. He stretched, shut down his computer, then grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and left the station.
He was parked across from Gemma Collins flat, drooling into his two day old stubble, when his mobile jolted him awake. Max fumbled to find the phone and answer the call.
“Travers.”
He sat up and rubbed at his face and sleep-ridden eyes with his free hand as he tried to tune in to the voice on the other end.
“Say again.” Travers sat bolt upright now. “You’re sure it’s him?” He stared through the windscreen as he listened but he didn’t see the empty street or the block of flats opposite, now all dark and silent. “OK, I’m on my way.”
Travers tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and in moments was speeding through the quiet streets and heading for Blackbridge hospital. At 2am there was no traffic. He flew through the town centre in record time and soon crossed the river. Travers wasn’t paying much attention so it was just as well the roads were devoid of other traffic. He didn’t notice anything about his surroundings, just drove on autopilot as he tried to make sense of this latest piece of news.
Despite the late hour the hospital corridors were bright and busy. The harsh lights poked at Travers’ eyes but helped him focus better than his drive through the darkness had. He was surprised to run straight into Chief Inspector Heritage. Frank Heritage had clawed his way up the ranks like a hungry alley cat. He lacked the slick demeanour and patter of his peers, but behind the rumpled suit and grizzled face was a sharp political animal. Not much got past Heritage, and not much stood in his way. His reputation on the force was akin to that of a street fighter; the man didn’t pull any punches. Some mistook his loud mouth and abrupt manner for ignorance, but those who knew him better were warier; Heritage knew the advantages of being underestimated. He was clever and devious and patient. Travers respected his boss, but he always felt uneasy when those grey eyes zoomed in on him, like he’d suddenly been stripped bare or had a dirty secret.
“Travers, you’ve heard?”
“Is it really Davis?”
Heritage nodded and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “He’s unconscious, not much use to us yet.”
Straight to the point as usual. The message fed through to Travers said Aubrey Davis had been in a road traffic accident. If he was unconscious that meant it was serious. “But he’s expected to pull through?”
Heritage shrugged. “Don’t know the specifics,” he said. “Until we can talk to him focus on the car, see what that can tell us.”
Without waiting for a reply Heritage strode past, heading for the exit.
CHAPTER FIFTY SIX
Joseph lay between his scratchy bed sheets staring at the dark ceiling. Sleep had toyed with him for a while then fled spitefully, leaving him restless and aggravated. Twice now the black guy had come after him, but he didn’t know why. First breaking into the house and then ploughing into Joseph out on that country road. Tonight he’d raged about something he thought Joseph had taken. What was that about? Joseph shifted onto his side, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape as he did so. It couldn’t have anything to do with the girl; she was never mentioned. Really that was all that mattered, but it niggled at him all the same. Who was this guy and why come after him? Joseph squeezed shut his eyes and focussed on breathing steadily. He knew what was really bothering him; it was shame. He’d snivelled like a child just because of a couple of slaps. The indignation of it made his skin hot and clammy. He’d got his revenge. Both times he’d repaid the guy for his impudence, first with a knife in the back and then running him down with his own van. Joseph felt the shame return again. Every justification he came up with was undermined by doubts that kept darting into his consciousness. He should have acted after the house break-in but he’d been too preoccupied with Jennifer. He shouldn’t have just driven off tonight.
He should have checked on the guy.
&
nbsp; He should have made sure he was dead.
He’d felt the force of the collision and seen the body hurled into the air. Then he’d moved no more. He should have made certain, but - and here was that shame again, licking at him like accusing flames – he’d been afraid. Suddenly the deserted country road had seemed exposed and dangerous. His only thought was to get as far away from there as possible.
The journey home had been nerve-wracking. He’d never driven a van before; getting used to the car had been enough of a challenge. Then he was painfully conscious of the broken headlight. He stopped once to check the front of the van, looking for signs of blood, but there was none, just the dents made when it had smashed into the Volvo. He took back roads, snaking an indirect route to avoid the main roads and the possibility of patrol cars.
The van was now parked behind the graffiti-ridden wall of a garage block a couple of streets away. It was too big to manoeuvre into his garage anyway and was a lot more conspicuous than the Volvo had been. He didn’t intend going back to it, but had pocketed the keys anyway.
All in all things weren’t going how he wanted. Jennifer had been a disappointment. Her escape attempt had enraged him so much. Just thinking about it brought an angry red mist to the back of his eyelids. She’d been sleeping when he returned that evening. He’d left without waking her, not trusting himself until his fury cooled.
Then the guy with the van had popped up again; Joseph sincerely hoped he was dead. On top of everything else his mother was acting up again, having one of her snippy turns where he could do no right. The sound of her condemnation had followed him through the house and up the stairs when he’d got home that night, right up until he’d slammed his bedroom door on the world.
