by J. S. Spicer
The old Myers farm was several miles west of Blackbridge. A quick glance at a map was enough to see it was remote, tucked down a little-used lane. There were no signs on the map of other buildings or residences nearby; out of the way of prying eyes.
Away from the town Travers saw fewer cars. He killed the siren as he plunged deeper into the peaceful countryside. He wanted to get there fast but he didn’t want to alert Joseph Myers to his approach.
He came up behind a small hatchback. Travers speed and the hatchback’s snail’s pace ate up the ground between them in seconds. As he swept out and around he caught the disapproving scowls of the elderly couple in the front seats. Moments later they were a speck in his rear view mirror. Encounters with other traffic became less and less. A couple of motorbikes flew by in the other direction, far exceeding the speed limit but they weren’t Max’s problem today.
Travers was cobbling together a half-formed strategy as he neared his destination. He didn’t know what to expect, but Myers was clearly not in his right mind so caution was key. His best bet was to park up a short way from the farm and approach on foot. That way he could sneak up undetected and see what he was up against, at least until back-up arrived.
Max was so preoccupied at first he paid no attention to the van coming the other way.
He was thinking of Myers, of Jennifer, so focussed that it didn’t register right away. Out of habit his eyes sought the registration plate of the vehicle; a blue Transit van, 2002 plate, damaged front end.
His car and the van were only yards apart when the penny dropped. Just before he flew past he looked up at the driver.
Joseph Myers.
Travers’ u-turn was messy. The tyres screamed and threw up mud and stones as the back end of the car slithered off the tarmac and struggled to gain grip. He lost precious seconds but knew he’d have no trouble catching up to the van. Stopping it was another matter.
As he floored the accelerator Travers reached for the radio to call it in.
CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE
He still wanted to get to the farmhouse; desperately. He’d called in the sighting of the van he was pursuing. It shouldn’t be long before patrol cars were converging on their location, blocking it in, cutting it off. Travers briefly toyed with the notion of letting the uniforms deal with the van whilst he continued on to the farm. If Jennifer was being held there she may well need medical attention. She’d been missing for days now, would another hour or so matter? As he debated the merits of continuing the pursuit or turning around the matter was decided for him.
The back doors of the van had small, square windows.
A face appeared in one of them.
Jennifer.
Travers was so surprised he almost went off the road.
Hands appeared too, palms smacking at the glass. He could see her mouth, gaping dark and wide as she yelled or screamed things he couldn’t hear.
Suddenly stopping that van had become both more urgent and more problematic. Max eased back just a little. Even at that speed and distance he thought he saw disappointment on the face at the back window. But he had to be careful now.
Myers was not a good driver. The van was pitching and rolling like a sailboat in a storm at every turn or bend in the road.
Travers didn’t want to force him into a mistake, there were too many potential dangers; trees, ditches, awkward bends, any one of which could throw up a surprise at any moment.
Max got on the radio again to give an update. Having Jennifer in that van changed how they’d approach the situation.
He dropped back further, giving the van space yes, but he had no intention of letting it out of his sight. All Max had to do was follow and report the position for long enough to give his colleagues chance to get into position.
The country lanes, though twisting and narrow at times, at least had the advantage of being quiet. Other than catching a glimpse of a tractor sitting out in a field, Max saw no other vehicles. He kept dropping back, bit by bit. Myers was still going too fast, recklessly hurling the van into manoeuvres it wasn’t equipped to make. He hoped if he fell back far enough in the van’s wing mirrors it might slow Myers down a little. A rise in the land showed the route of the road they were on, a long ribbon of tarmac snaking amongst the hedgerows. In that glimpse Travers saw there were no turnings for a while at least.
He pulled back further still. He had to play cat and mouse, letting Myers get ahead for as long as possible, before reeling him back in if there was any possibility of losing his quarry.
A call through the radio told him help was only fifteen minutes away. Travers finally started to relax. Myers was pinned between him and the other officers heading out of Blackbridge. There was nowhere he could go. Within minutes they’d have him contained.
Travers didn’t relax for long.
Joseph Myers had spotted that same long and empty section of road stretching ahead and decided to put his foot down. He saw an opportunity to finally put some real distance between them.
Max started to accelerate too, his foot responding to instinct first and foremost. But coordination and planning were needed here, not speed.
It took real effort to ease off again, to keep some space between them and just maintain a wary distance.
Myers had begun the steep descent leading to the long, straight stretch of road. He was still picking up speed. Max held steady but could see Myers was pulling further ahead. The van was using any means to gain more speed and extend the distance between them. The incline meant gravity gave a helping hand, but Travers saw what Myers had missed.
There were a couple of hard turns right at the bottom of that hill, a tight left then an equally abrupt right hand turn; a dogleg probably specifically designed to deter excessive speed along the country roads.
Travers couldn’t see how Myers could navigate the bend at the speed he was going. He kept the van in sight, watched it careering downhill.
Travers eyes were glued to the van, unable to look away. He held his breath.
There was a second where he thought the van had made it. With glowing brake lights it plunged downward then turned sharply to the left.
By now Travers had reached the incline and was also speeding downwards. He saw the back end of the van sway alarmingly. Suddenly it veered again as Myers yanked the van violently to the right, trying to complete the chicane.
Max was about thirty feet away when he realised Myers wasn’t going to make it. Trying to manoeuvre such a tight double turn at the speed he was going was impossible. Maybe he’d have got away with it in a car, but the heavy, cumbersome van wasn’t able to respond to the challenge. Once again the back end swung out, this time throwing the van into a spin. Even that was more than the large vehicle could cope with. Travers was slamming on his own brakes as he saw the van begin to topple. Myers had no traction or control. The spinning was halted as the front of the van smacked hard against the curb. There was too much momentum for a good outcome. When the energy flowing through the vehicle failed to find any other outlet the whole thing left the tarmac. Travers watched in horror as it rose into the air, still trying to spin. In seconds it was plummeting back to the ground. It bounced once then landed on its side, scraping for several feet before coming to rest in the shade of a massive oak rising peacefully from the ground at the roadside.
The blue van lay still, hissing from the bonnet. The back doors had buckled and sprung apart. The wheels continued to rotate uselessly for a while before slowing then stopping.
Travers jumped out of his car and ran towards the van.
There was no sign of Jennifer even though the rear doors were now unlocked. She would have been flung around like a rag doll in the back of that van as it flew out of control. He didn’t care what state Myers was in, although he’d probably benefited from the protection of a seatbelt at least. Jennifer, his prisoner, his victim, had been afforded no such luxury.
Max crossed the distance in no time and reached for one of the van doors which now cr
eaked pitifully as it hung loose on its hinges.
“Jennifer?”
The blow from behind sent him to his knees; a breathtaking flash of pain shot from his skull and down through his torso. Max’s vision was obscured by jumping lights for a few seconds, making him blind and defenceless.
Myers took full advantage.
CHAPTER SIXTY SIX
Jennifer had known what Travers suspected; no way was Myers going to make that last turn. She’d been tossed and tumbled around in the back of the van as he sped away from the policeman, but she’d heard him. Myers had sworn and muttered with an increasing tone of panic building in his voice. When she’d felt the van hurtling downhill, and fast, she’d decided it was time to find something to hang on to.
There wasn’t much to choose from. She lay down and curled herself tightly around the inner bulge of the wheel arch, an arc of moulded metal. She chose the one on the left, the one with some old canvas sacking hanging over it. She could hang on to that. She took hold of the sacking in both hands, gripping tightly. Already she was beginning to slide around the floor as Myers tried to make the first tight turn at the bottom of the hill. She gripped harder, moving her right hand to get a better hold of the cloth.
Behind it she heard something shift and her fingers felt something cold and hard.
Perhaps he kept tools there; something to consider if she made it out of this rollercoaster ride!
As Jennifer was pitched around in the back of the van getting out alive started looking like a slim option. She hung onto the canvas for all she was worth. Luckily it had been well secured to the side of the van. It became a lifeline.
The van first skewed one way then the other, and bumped and bucked like a furious animal.
Jennifer screamed when she realised the small world within the confines of the van was turning over. She squeezed her eyes shut and held tight.
When the van landed on its side the jolt reverberated right through her body, shaking her to her core so even her teeth tingled with the shock of it. The scrape of so much metal against the tarmac beneath it screeched through her brain.
She’d been lucky though. The van had fallen to the side she was holding onto. She was shaken yes, but conscious and nothing was broken.
It took her a few moments to have the wits to get moving. After everything she’d gone through her body felt sore and feeble, leaden limbs hanging from a pummelled core.
The canvas sacking had held up well, with just a section down one side tearing away in the crash.
Jennifer focussed on this, then on what was behind. She’d been right; there were a handful of tools secured to the metal side of the van, concealed behind their canvas curtain; a pair of pliers, a hammer, a couple of screw drivers.
She heard sounds outside. Footsteps.
Then something else; a muffled cry, and horrible, soft yet hard thudding sounds.
Max?
Jennifer glanced around. The back doors of the van hung open, swinging slightly. She could only see a sliver of the outside through the gap between them, not enough to see what was going on.
Looking towards the cab she realised Myers was no longer in the driver’s seat. He was out.
If Travers was in trouble she had to at least try to help him.
Jennifer pushed herself up and reached out towards the hammer. As she did so the hand she was leaning on touched something else. Something metal; something tucked right down the bottom, wedged into a gap.
CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN
It felt good to give vent to his rage. So much frustration had built within him. Jennifer had been an ungrateful bitch. She hadn’t appreciated all he’d done for her, how much time he’d taken to plan their future. She hadn’t been as committed as he. Then there was his stupid mother, getting in the way, talking to the police and spoiling all he’d worked so hard for.
Then this man, this policeman he’d seen at his house earlier, the one whose blood he was now spilling onto the roadside.
He recognised him now; he was the same smug bastard who’d been with Jennifer at the restaurant. He knew the type, swaggering through life, picking here and there at the women who caught his eye then moving on without giving them another thought. Jennifer had been stupid to think he could be right for her.
Joseph would teach her, but first, first he had to finish off the competition.
He’d taken the crow bar from the back of the van earlier that day and kept it under his seat; he was ready for anything that came at him.
The policeman was going to pay the price for ruining everything.
Myers put all his strength into beating him, bringing the heavy metal rod down onto the soft flesh of the man cowering on the floor. Travers tried to get up but he had no chance. The only pause in the attack was as Myers pulled back his arm to get yet another good swing.
Travers kept his arms up by his head, trying to use them as protection. There was already blood on his shirt and Myers could hear the difficulty now in his breathing. One of the hits to the torso had at least winded him.
Out of spite he aimed a couple of quick sharp blows at Travers’ shins. The detective screamed from the cutting pain in his legs. Myers heard his own laughter. He wasn’t surprised taking his revenge was satisfying, but he hadn’t known it would be so much fun.
He was tempted to draw it out, beat this guy all over his body, and gauge the reaction as flesh split and bones shattered. It would be entertaining to find out where he could do the most damage and cause the most pain.
But there wasn’t time. He was on a public, albeit quiet, road, and had to move soon. He would take the policeman’s car.
Travers was trying to crawl away now, back towards his vehicle.
Again Myers laughed, this time enjoying how pathetic this arrogant sod had become; no longer the swaggering hero.
Myers began hitting him again; a blow to the back of the legs, the shoulder. Again Travers screamed; the shoulder blow had been accompanied by a satisfying crunch of bone as well as the detective’s cries. It made it difficult for Travers to cover his head now that he could only raise one arm.
The detective stopped trying to crawl away and rolled onto his back to look up at his assailant.
He glared up at Myers, belligerence showing through the tears of pain.
Time to finish this.
Myers pulled back again and took a hard swing. Travers instinctively raised his good arm, just in time for the crow bar to smack against his forearm, breaking his wrist.
Again he cried out, but he didn’t try to crawl away again.
He knew, Myers thought, he knew he was beaten.
It would be easy to finish this. A couple of blows to the skull would do the trick.
Joseph felt the grin spreading across his face. He savoured the moment; the pain etched into every crease on the policeman’s face, the feel of the hard steel in his hand. He raised the crowbar high, letting Travers see it, letting him see his own fate and the instrument of his death hovering there above him.
Travers eyes gleamed in the afternoon light. He looked at Myers, at the crow bar, and then he seemed to look beyond.
Max Travers lay there, bloodied, broken and out of options.
He gave a small nod.
Myers thought he understood. Travers knew he’d lost; he just wanted it over now. Joseph Myers was happy to oblige.
He tensed his arms and tightened his grip, ready for the killing blow.
He didn’t know what the sound was. He just knew it was very loud and very close. He had only a fraction of a second to be puzzled about the blast of noise. Then the ground was rushing towards him and there was nothing more.
CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT
The rain and darkness helped with concealment but made it trickier to observe the small wooden-fronted barber shop across the street. Max sat in the passenger seat of Lyle’s car. Strictly speaking he wasn’t on duty; his wrist was in plaster and his other arm in a sling. Despite the angry bruising covering his body and the con
tinued need for strong pain killers, he knew he’d been very lucky. He’d encountered a lot of danger in his job, a lot of violence, but his encounter with Joseph Myers was the first time he’d looked right down the throat of death. Being signed off sick wasn’t about to keep Max away tonight though. All of the chaos had started with the jewellery that Carol Bishop inherited from her aunt. Max wanted to be there for the recovery; plus he’d enjoy seeing Gemma Collins in handcuffs.
“You’re sure she’ll show up?”
It was the fourth time Lyle had asked. They’d been sitting there for over an hour and his mood soured with each passing minute.
“Aubrey Davis arranged this meeting; he told Gemma about it too. She’s not going to miss her chance to get paid.”
“We’re sitting here on the word of a convict, not to mention she’s his girlfriend. They probably cooked this up together.”
They’d had this debate before. “I think it’s safe to say that relationship is over.”
Lyle crossed his arms and stared sullenly across the rain-soaked street.
“Look,” Max shifted round to face his colleague. “We had nothing on Davis, but he owned up to the bank job anyway. He could have just kept quiet and walked away. He could have been waiting here for Gemma himself instead of telling us about the meeting. By giving us this information he had to confess and now he’s facing more prison time.”
From Lyle’s expression in the dim interior of the car he clearly had no sympathy for Aubrey Davis. “He managed to work out a deal though didn’t he; his sentence will be negligible.”
“Negligible is still more than nothing.” Max had initially been just as sceptical about Aubrey’s sudden desire to admit to a crime he could have gotten away with. But the more the man had talked the more he’d believed he was just trying to do the right thing.
“Davis stole those jewels to help out Carol Bishop; I can understand why he wouldn’t want anyone else to reap the benefits.”
