Vengeance Read online

Chapter 12

  Clive Sayers had been sitting in the unmarked, dark blue Mondeo for about three hours and his backside had gone numb. The house they were watching was one of a whole road of mansions built in Victorian times, most of them from the lucrative proceeds of the slave trade. The street was lined with beech trees and in a different economic climate and era must have been quite something, with the continual coming and going of horse drawn carriages and carts. In this modern world the houses were no longer economic proposition for one family as they could only be properly run with sufficient servants on hand and they had mostly been converted to luxury apartments or taken over as business premises for well-established law firms. Despite this the area had still retained its exclusiveness as the various expensive motorcars parked along its length testified. Not much parked here that cost less than thirty-five thousand, he thought.

  All in all they had now been keeping a watch on the Khorta residence since just before midday and it was now nine o'clock in the evening. So far not a thing had been seen of the man and Sayers was rapidly getting bored. A hand knocked on the window and he jumped involuntarily. It was MacAllister. He wound the window down.

  “Evening Clive, I take it nothing has happened yet?”

  “Hello, Guv. No, nothing yet. Here, I thought you were supposed to be off tonight.”

  “I was, but our house is full of a bunch of women making all the final arrangements for the wedding of the year, so I escaped. They won't miss me because the wine was beginning to flow like water as I was leaving. Mind you, most of them were Kirsty's friends and they will be off to the restaurant for the hen party by now, but you know how long I have waited to get this bastard, Clive.”

  He held out a set of car keys.

  “You take our car and get on home to your wife, Clive. We will take it on from here.”

  He indicated to where Marcus Lomax and Frank Lintsey were waiting across the road out of sight of the house.

  “We will use your car because this one is nicely situated and it would be a shame to lose the viewpoint. Our is the dark grey Vectra and its parked just around the corner.” He moved aside for Sayers to get out. “See you tomorrow Clive.”

  Sayers resisted saying anything further to MacAllister about abandoning his wife with a house load of guests on the eve of his only daughters wedding and climbed obediently out of the car. He wondered if MacAllister would actually go to the wedding if things got a bit involved here, but then decided he was being a bit harsh to his Guvnor. MacAllister thought the world of his Kirsty. Still, if he decided to pull a stunt like this when his two girls were about to get married he knew his wife; Sue would take his balls off with a blunt knife. Jeanie MacAllister must be a really understanding woman.

  As Sayers walked away MacAllister climbed into the back of the Mondeo and motioned for the other two to join him. They crossed the road and climbed into the two front seats, Lintsey behind the wheel. MacAllister looked hard at Marcus Lomax who was the only one of the three of them without a raincoat.

  “Don't you believe in weather forecasting then, Marcus?”

  “Pardon Guv?” Lomax sounded puzzled.

  “I said, didn't you believe the weather forecast? That nice lady with the blonde hair and the large teeth said it was going to tip it down any time after nine o'clock this evening.”

  “I didn't see the forecast, but it’s been really hot all day.”

  “Well nor did Frank and I, but we had the good sense to ring the information line and find out what the Good Lord was going to send us tonight. In your case it is even more important because if Khorta shows you are going to be the one that covers the service road at the back of the house.”

  As if on cue large heavy drops of rain began to hit the windscreen and a bright fork of lightning lit the sky, followed closely by the low rumble of thunder. MacAllister gave a low chuckle.

  “Hope it stops before we have to get out, don't you, Frank. This raincoat is new and I would hate to get it wet.”

  Lomax looked resignedly out of the window and tried to ignore the jibe. He was beginning to wonder about life in Bristol. When he had been based in Caerphilly he had considered himself to be a real Jack the Lad. He shone out in a police force that was full of steady coppers rather than shining beacons of justice. The local station commander liked it like that as it got results. Lomax had decided that he was star material and had gone out of his way to prove it. His arrest record was nearly double hat of any other copper and he was so keen that most of his colleagues began to dread being paired with him. Arresting some one for drunken violence was all right in their book but filling the cells with cases of mere drunk and incapable in order to keep your arrest rate up was not something they were in favour of. Bloody Hell! You had to live with these people all year round and when something serious happened you were not going to get a lot of cooperation from a public you had spent the rest of the year pissing off! When Lomax had requested a transfer to CID the Local DCI had refused point blank to have him. The station commander however, saw it as a chance to move him on to a bigger office and within a matter of months and with little real CID experience he found himself in Bristol. At the time as his own unit had been undermanned by three bodies MacAllister had been grateful. He soon realised however, that Lomax was keen but green and would need some time to shake down into a good team member. Tonight was intended to be a part of his learning curve. They settled down to wait. Silence reigning.

  It was about an hour and a half later when what seemed like the hundredth pair of headlights of the evening turned into the road, lighting up the interior of the car with brightly spangled points of light as they shone through the rain still falling onto the rear window. All three detectives slid down into their seats until it had passed them and then came up again, like a practised chorus line. The bright red dazzle of brake lights lit up the interior as the other vehicle slowed and then pulled into the kerb about fifty yards in front of them. Frank Lintsey in the drivers seat turned on the ignition and flipped the windscreen wipers across the screen a couple of times before turning it off again.

  “Dark blue or black, BMW 530d. Registration, K something or other.”

  Lomax in the passenger seat had a better view.

  That's Khorta's car.”

  As they watched a well-built figure climbed out of the car and holding his leather jacket tightly around him as protection against the rain, locked it and then sprinted lightly up the steps to the front door.

  “Looks like an athletic bugger, Guv.” This came from Lintsey who knew all about Khorta and was feeling a little apprehensive about this arrest.

  “Don't worry, Frank. You and I will give him five minutes to get settled in and then we will go and ring the man's bell and ask if we can have a little chat. If he pulls a gun or gets nasty we back off and radio for assistance.”

  They sat in silence for about five minutes until MacAllister considered it was time to go.

  “All right Marcus. I want you to watch the back service road. The fire escapes from all these flats run down into the back gardens which all have ten foot walls around them topped with iron spikes, trusting people were the Victorians. The only way out is through a small wicket gate out onto the service road. If he runs he has got to go that way.”

  Lintsey muttered under his breath.

  “Unless he thinks shooting a few more coppers won't make much difference now.”

  “You what, Frank?”

  “Nothing, Guv.”

  “OK. Lets go, and Marcus, you better stay in the car or you might shrink.”

  Marcus Lomax was halfway out of the passenger seat and slid back inside gratefully. MacAllister put his head through the door.

  “If he runs he has something to hide, right. So if he appears in the service road call once for him to stop and then run the bastard over. In this rain no one will believe you did it on purpose.”

  He gave a little smile that left Lomax uncertain of how seriously to take the last remark. He ha
d heard several stories of MacAllister breaking the rules, but yet not to the extent of running suspects over and he decided he was having his plonker pulled. He climbed over into the drivers seat and started the engine while MacAllister and Lintsey nipped smartly across the road and up to the shelter of the big front porch. Lintsey was glad he wasn't in Lomax's shoes. He wouldn't fancy trying to stop the big African all on his own. At least Lomax was about the same size as Khorta. Unknown to him, Lomax was also quite handy at looking after himself

  Mitael Khorta was shocked. He made it his business to know all the cars used by the local CID and that Mondeo had been with the Bricewell CID office for over two years. He had thought he could just see the top of a head in the passenger seat as he went past, but he couldn't be sure. He closed the front door behind him and made for the lift. When the lift door had closed behind him and it was making its sedate way upwards, he pulled out his small pocket diary and checked the registration number against the list he kept. There it was. A dark blue Ford Mondeo with a Birmingham registration. It was one of the law’s precautions to register CID vehicles in another area rather than have them registered locally. He felt the sweat start to form on his brow and in his armpits. He should have just driven on, but they might have stopped him and searched the car so he had forced himself to park as usual and enter the building normally. No way he could have opened the boot and taken out his sports bag with the Filth ready to clap him on the shoulder and ask to look inside it. He had expected MacAllister to get around to checking him out at some time as a matter of course, but not this quickly. How the hell had they got on to him so quickly? Had the copper he'd shot survived? No, not possible. He had given him two thirty-eight-calibre bullets straight into the chest from only a few feet away. Even if it hadn't killed him outright he would have been in no state to communicate anything worth hearing. He relaxed a bit. MacAllister was taking a flyer on him being involved. Then he tightened up again. Flyer or not, if MacAllister found the money and the pistol in the boot of his car, he was fucked.

  The lift door opened and he hurried across the small hall to the door of his flat, forcing himself to do things calmly and then swearing obscenely when he fumbled and dropped his keys. He bent and retrieved them hurriedly and then stopped and forced himself to take three deep calming breaths before opening the door. The bastards hadn't been this close to him in years and he had to do something quickly. The deep breathing calmed him and he began to think rationally again. Rachael. He must call Rachael. He crossed to the telephone and picked it, up blessing the modern technology that allowed you to store those numbers you used regularly and recall them by pressing a single button, instead of trying to dial with panicking fingers. Be there, Rachael. For Christ's sake don't have left for Heathrow yet. The phone rang for the forth time and he was about to give up in despair when she finally answered.

  “Rachael, don't talk just listen to me. I said listen! Have you got the spare keys to my car with you? Right. I want you to get over here at once and pick my car up.”

  He listened to her for a few seconds before he interrupted.

  “Listen to me. It all went badly today. There was some shooting and a policeman was probably killed. The CID is outside my flat now and they know I am home. There are things in my car, which can get me put away forever. Baby, I need you to come and get it and take it somewhere safe. You understand? Somewhere safe until I can get it again.”

  He listened again.

  “Come in your own car and leave it around the corner. I will take it back to your place some other time. No, I can't tell you where to leave it as I haven't had time to work any thing out yet and the bastards will be banging at the door at any moment. You find somewhere safe to leave it and then give then me a ring or leave a message on the answer phone telling me where I can find it.”

  He listened again.

  “I know this means you won't be able use your car to get to Heathrow tonight. For Christ's sake take a fucking taxi.” A pause. “No, I didn't mean to shout and swear at you and I am sorry. I got to go sweetheart. Don't forget to ring me when you have finished and post the keys back to me when you reach Addis Ababa. I got to go now.”

  He put the phone down and wiped the sweat from his brow. The intercom from the front door buzzed and he jumped. He went to answer it, stripping off the clothes he was wearing as he did so. Maybe he was panicking about this and MacAllister was here about something harmless, but he didn't think so. The best thing he could do was to appear totally relaxed when the nasty Scottish bastard arrived. He took three more slow deep breaths and pushed the button of the intercom, which was now buzzing continuously.

  MacAllister had studied the line of names and buttons on the intercom system and then turned to Lintsey, a cynical smile on his face.

  “Terrible thing this getting old, Frank. Can't read a thing now without glasses although I could have sworn this was Khorta’s buzzer. Is it this one his, laddie?”

  “It is that one. The top one, Guv.”

  MacAllister pressed it again and put his mouth close to the grill. Nothing happened and he put his thumb on the button and kept it there. After about thirty seconds it clicked and scratched and a disembodied and metallic voice was heard.

  “Yes. Who is it?”

  MacAllister grinned at Lintsey and then answered.

  “Hello, Mitael. This is Detective Inspector MacAllister from the Bricewell Station. Long time no see, laddie.”

  In the meantime MacAllister tried to Get Lintsey on his mobile, but could not get a signal. He closed it and put the phone in his pocket while the metallic voice spoke a second time.

  “What the bloody hell do you want, MacAllister? Don't you know its nearly eleven o'clock? I am just going to bed.”

  “Well, we would have liked to talk to you a lot earlier, Mitael, but you've only just come home you old stop out. Now are you going to let us in for a wee chat or am I going to have to send Frank here to get a warrant?”

  “Fuck you, MacAllister.”

  But there was a buzz and a click and the big front door slightly opened. MacAllister gave Lintsey a lopsided grin and pushed through the door. It automatically clicked shut behind them. They were stood in what had at one time been the hallway of a large Victorian mansion. It had been hardly changed by its conversion into apartments except that only two doors now ran off it and these bore discrete brass numbers stating one and two. The large sweeping staircase had gone and had been replaced by a smaller affair and a lift. The whole hallway and stairs were wooden panelled and painted in white matt paint with the mouldings picked out in a pale green. There was a rough bristle mat for the wiping of feet set into the floor just inside the doorway while everywhere else was covered in a dark patterned, expensive Axeminster carpet. MacAllister pointed to the lift. He chuckled.

  “You take the lift Frank and I will take the stairs. No heroics laddie, so if a big black man with a gun in his hand appears, just lift your arms over your head very quickly.”

  Lintsey could have done without MacAllister's black sense of humour on this job and was still a little uncertain of where they stood in arresting Khorta without going through the proper channels. When he became a DI he was damned if he was going to stick his neck out like MacAllister did. Sooner or later you would drop one and that would be it. He entered the lift and the doors closed behind him. He pressed the button labelled floor three. It moved smoothly, if slowly, up to the third floor and then the doors again slid open. There was only a small vestibule to be seen containing two white doors, one with a large brass number seven on it. He kept his foot in between the lift doors to prevent them closing and waited for MacAllister to arrive. Then the unnumbered white door opened and there he stood. He beckoned to Lintsey with a small jerk of his head and walking over to number seven, lifted his hand and knocked twice.

  Khorta must have been waiting for them for the door opened immediately. The black man was dressed in a very pale blue, towelling dressing gown that was casually tied at the w
aist by a belt of the same material, but in a darker hue. It hung open practically to his navel and came down only to the mid thigh. It did nothing to cover a large golden crucifix on its plaited leather thong and showed the man’s fairly impressive physique to full advantage. Khorta looked at them for some time before he spoke, as if making up his mind if they were worthy of entering his home. When he did speak there was no warmth in the deep, clear voice.

  “I hope this is going to be good, Inspector. By my reckoning this is the fifth time in the last ten years you have arrived on my doorstep at this time of night, trying to frame me for something or other that I know nothing about. Haven't you got the message yet? I don't do those things any more.” He waved his hand around at his surroundings. “I don't need to.”

  MacAllister looked unimpressed.

  “Its all very nice, Mitael, but I would have thought you would have preferred not to live in among all these white capitalists. Most of these houses were built by people that made a living selling blokes like you to the colonies,” he gazed at the panelling and then the luxurious carpet, “or is that what makes so good for you?”

  Khorta just looked at him, then.

  “What do you want MacAllister, I don't intend to stand here talking all night?”

  “We want to come in and talk to you, Mitael. You see, one of our boys in blue was shot and severely wounded today and some people with nasty minds think you might know something about it.”

  His lips gave a cynical little writhe of a smile that never got anywhere near his eyes and it was obvious that the lie he had just told about the unfortunate police officer still being alive didn't trouble his conscience one little bit. He shrugged.

  “So its in everybody's interests if you can tell us where you were today and what you were doing. Eliminate you from our enquiries as it were.”

  He was watching the other man's reactions closely, but Khorta merely raised his eyebrows a little and then opened the door and motioned them in with a flick of his head. When they entered Frank Lintsey was completely surprised at what he saw. The apartment obviously covered half of the whole of the top floor and was situated in what had once been the servant’s quarters. However, the supporting walls that had once held up the roof had disappeared and in their place were wooden ceiling beams running up to the apex. They were supported by a long central beam that ran along the length of the apex, which in its turn was supported by three massive wooden pillars, each about two feet square. It reminded him a bit of between decks in an old man of war, but with a great deal more headroom.

  The first of the pillars was just inside the door and had been fitted with coat hooks and a wooden key rack on which hung a set of car keys with a BMW badge. Behind the pillar was a six-foot high lattice screen, placed so that it obscured the view into the room from the doorway and vice versa. On passing this you entered the room proper and this was huge.

  The floor was of the original planking, smoothed and polished so that it shone with deep and natural warmth. There was no carpet, but scattered all over the floor were various skins and brightly coloured African rugs. Along the walls were hung weapons that were unlike anything that had ever been used in Northern Europe. Long skinny bows and arrows, blowpipes, wooden clubs and even aborigine throwing sticks were displayed, hanging alongside brightly coloured, but primitive tapestries. The central pillar had a complete hi-fi system stacked up one side and on the other was a television and video recorder, all of these in wooden, open fronted cabinets. There were no less than three settees and several armchairs in dark brown leather grouped around this pillar, making it the central recreation area. The walls on each side of the room were lined with wooden bookshelves that were almost full. In contrast to every thing else the lighting was modern, with black angle poise standard lamps and black metal wall lamps. Behind the third pillar another lattice screen ran almost the full width of the room. Khorta caught Lintsey's look and spoke.

  “It’s the kitchen area.” he said, “Would you like a guided tour or would you prefer to tell me what you want to know and then let me get to bed?”

  MacAllister sat himself down in an armchair appearing as if he was completely relaxed about the whole thing and in no hurry to leave. He waved his arm around indicating the room.

  “Very nice, Mitael. All a bit ethnic for my tastes, but I don't suppose it has that affect on you, laddie. Yes, very nice and it costs a few shillings to keep up I should think.”

  “I can afford it. Can we get on with it please?”

  All right, all right, just being pleasant.”

  The Kestrel look suddenly appeared on MacAllister’s face.

  “Why don't you start by telling me where you have been all day?”

  Khorta smiled at him, a mocking smile.

  “Here until four o'clock this evening and then I was on the M4 for most of the time after that.”

  “I see, and I suppose you can give me a name of some one who can verify that, or were you all alone?”

  “No, I was with some one. As it happens she had spent last night here.”

  “And who was this lady who is so honoured, laddie, if I may ask such a personnel question?”

  “Rachael Kaukauna.”

  MacAllister caught Lintsey's frown as he struggled over his notebook with the spelling. He had remained standing next to the chair in which MacAllister lounged.

  “I see. I think Detective Lintsey may ask you to spell that name in a moment. In the mean time can you tell me what this lady does and where I can find her?”

  He gave the word lady an emphasis that was unmistakable in its inference, but Khorta ignored it.

  “At this point in time she is staying with a friend in London or she is on her way home.”

  “It could help if you could tell me where to find her, Mitael, if she is going to give you an alibi that is. I mean, where does she live for instance?”

  Khorta's regretful smile reminded him of a crocodile crying

  “Well at this point in time, Inspector, Addis Ababa, but she will be back as soon as her mother is better.”

  The smile was broad now and MacAllister temper snapped.

  “Now you listen to me, Khorta. You explain the situation in words of one syllable that we thick policeman can understand or we will finish this conversation at the Nick.”

  Khorta shrugged.

  “Rachael Kaukauna is my fiancée. She came over from Ethiopia to marry me, but her mother is sick and as she has gone back home to nurse her. She is the only daughter you see and a trained nurse. Her mother is in the terminal stages of cancer and is not expected to live much longer.” He shrugged. “It is the way of her people and her parents would expect nothing less. That is why I spent the afternoon on the motorway. I ran her up to Heathrow airport.”

  “You said she might be with a friend.”

  “That's right Inspector. I dropped her at Heathrow and she was going to try and get a cancellation on the early morning British Airways flight. If she couldn't she was going to stay with a friend until she could get a flight.”

  Apart from his own declared part in things and the fact that Rachael was at this moment in time hopefully removing his car from the street outside, the rest of the story was true. MacAllister stared at him.

  “What you’re telling me, Mitael is that you don't actually have a bloody alibi.”

  The phone started ringing, but Khorta ignored it and after three rings the answer phone cut in. As his own voice started to say the sorry I'm not here message, he moved across and turned the volume down. MacAllister watched and then continued.

  “In that case I would like you to come down to the station with us right now, if you would?”

  “Christ man is that necessary. Can't I make a statement here and then come down in the morning if you need anything else? I have been driving for about six hours and I am more than a little tired.”

  “No. I'm sorry, Mitael, but it has to be tonight and with the clothes you were wearing today, if you don't mind.”<
br />
  “Why do you want me to put dirty clothes back on?”

  “I don't want you to wear them, Mitael, I just want you to bring them with you. So we can check them and your skin for any traces of cordite and such like.”

  He gave a crooked smile, but the pale blue eyes crackled.

  “You know? Like you get when you have fired a gun recently.”

  Khorta looked slightly concerned at this, but shrugged and lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “All right, MacAllister, but the complaint I will make to your boss will be a cracker. I'll go and get dressed.”

  He turned to a door that was set in the corner of the room that evidently led to the sleeping area at the back of the apartment.

  “Yes of course, Mitael. Frank! Go with Mr Khorta and collect the clothes he was wearing today, will you?”

  At this Khorta stopped with the door half opened and bowing slightly from the waist waved an arm for Lintsey to precede him. As the detective stepped forward he straightened up and then leaned slightly backwards as he used the full weight of his body to swing his left foot straight into Lintsey's testicles. The effect was instantaneous. Lintsey doubled over and lifted from the floor all in one movement, the breath whooshing from his lungs and his hands whipping across his body to hold the injured organs, causing him to take the brunt of the inevitable fall squarely on his face. He lay there trying to suck air back into his lungs and making tiny mewling noises in the back of his throat, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and all colour now drained from the darkly tanned face leaving it looking yellow and jaundiced.

  Khorta had not waited to see all this, but had dived through the door into the bedroom, the sound of the key turning in the lock carrying clearly to MacAllister ears over the noises that Lintsey was making. A look of exasperation was etched on MacAllister's face as he looked at Frank Lintsey and then at the bedroom door. Then, reaching under the open raincoat he pulled his radio from the inside pocket of his jacket switched it on and spoke into it in an urgent whisper.

  “Marcus!”

  There was only silence for some seconds while a surprised Lomax was obviously extracting his own radio from his clothing.

  “Here Guv.”

  Lomax's voice crackled loudly into the room causing MacAllister to quickly turn down the volume before replying.

  “Listen, Marcus. Khorta has kicked Frank Lintsey in the balls and done a runner through the bedroom locking the door behind him. It is solid wood and I don't fancy kicking it down. He will be with you at any moment now, just as soon as he has put some cloths on and opened the window onto the fire escape. Keep your wits about you, but don't take any unnecessary risks. I will be down as soon as I have made sure Frank is all right.”

  “OK, Guv. Received and understood.”

  Lintsey by now had got his breathing almost under control and was attempting to sit up. MacAllister took his shoulders and helped him, leaning his back against the large wooden pillar in front of the front door. The detective was trying to talk, but finding it difficult to do so, his breath still coming in short gasps.

  “S, s, sorry Guv”, his right hand went back to cradling the injured organs, “I shouldn't have fallen for that.”

  He was wheezing the words out. MacAllister walked over to what looked like a drinks cabinet and took out a bottle and a glass. He poured some of the liquid the bottle contained into the glass and brought it back to Lintsey.

  “Swig that down in one go and then try to relax your muscles. It will hurt like hell until you do.”

  Frank Lintsey gulped down the brandy from the glass and then coughed, causing savage pain to course through his lower regions. However, after a few moments he began to relax and feel a little better. MacAllister walked over to the central pillar and took down the set of keys with the BMW badge. He came back and handed them to Lintsey.

  “I'm going to go and see if Marcus has managed to get the bastard. When you feel up to it ring the station and get hold of someone arrange for a warrant to search this place thoroughly, ask them to send a couple of uniforms to help you do it. When you have finished that bring his car down to the Nick.”

  He turned to go and then stopped and walked back to the central pillar. He opened the answering machine and removed the tape, putting it in his raincoat pocket. He grinned at Lintsey.

  “Just curious about why he didn't answer the phone or want us to hear it.” And he was gone.

  Down in the service road Marcus Lomax sat in the Ford Mondeo and watched what he hoped was the rear entrance to Mitael Khorta's building. None of the back gates had numbers on them and he had been forced to rely on counting the houses from the end of the road to find what he hoped was the right gate. Lomax was a bit fed up with life. He had been here in Bristol for less than six months and it was not going to plan. When he had left Caerphilly behind for a large city like Bristol he had thought he was on the up and up. What he found was not a city, but a series of villages that had been joined together to make a city. Sure it had its problems and definitely needed policing, but there was a distinct lack of the really big villains of the level to be found in Liverpool, London and Manchester to name but three.

  Disappointed he had tried his best to impress by his work rate and his ability. He had quickly set up some informers and although the first two had turned out to be absolute tossers, his last one had delivered the tobacco warehouse gang straight into their hands and so far no one had even said well done. That this had been a matter of fortuitous timing he was unaware as his snout by luck and coincidence had only overheard the details in a pub while watching a darts match and would never ever give anyone another tip as good as that one. Clive Sayers was barely civil to him just because he had wound up Jackie a bit and MacAllister hardly ever acknowledged he was there except to take the piss occasionally and let him fetch him his coffee. Added to that he always got the shitty jobs. He brooded on about it to himself while shifting around in his seat trying to keep his backside from going completely numb. Then his radio crackled into life telling him that a man who they suspected of being involved in three murders was about to come his way and would he please arrest him. His stomach went tight and for the first time in his life he really understood fear.

  The rain was still pouring down and he dreaded having to leave the car, he didn’t fancy this one even a little bit and the sports jacket he was wearing being new and expensive. He struggled into the Mac that MacAllister had left him. As he was taller than the Guvnor it was a bit short in the sleeves, not quite protecting the precious jacket. He turned on the ignition again and flicked the wipers. It helped for only a few seconds and then once more everything was obscured. He peered through the windscreen, screwing up his eyes to make out the outline of the doorway set into the high brick wall some fifty yards away and jumped when he thought he saw it move. Did it? Yes. Some one was standing in the doorway, probably checking the road was clear.

  As at the front of the houses the rear road was also tree lined, but much narrower, as it had only been intended as a service road for tradesmen when it was constructed. The only way two vehicles could have passed each other was if one used the pavement in the sections between the trees. Lomax had backed the car right up onto the pavement between two trees and against the rear garden wall of the houses opposite Khorta’s in order to be as inconspicuous as possible. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact he was there if some one else wanted to use the road and found him blocking it. Because of this and its matching colour bumpers, in the unlit street the dark blue Ford Mondeo was practically invisible. He quietly released the door catch and opened it a few inches getting a face full of rain as he did so.

  The figure by the gate had complete his surveillance of the street and made his move. Turning in Lomax's direction he began to lope along towards him, keeping close to the wall on the opposite side of the road. Lomax was suddenly concerned. If he did nothing the man might just assume the car was parked and go on by and Lomax might just be able to
convince MacAllister he hadn’t seen him. On the other hand he might check to see if the car was useable and then he would be discovered. This man had probably already killed two people today and may well be armed. Even if he survived he didn't think he could face MacAllister if he was the one who provided the fugitive with transport. It was Hobson's choice. He threw open the door of the car and slid out. Using the door as cover he crouched behind it in the approved manner, both hands held out in front of him together, index fingers pointing at the running figure who by now had halved the distance between them.

  “Stop! Armed police! Stop or I fire!”

  The effect was electric. The figure skidded to a stop and froze, looking all around him with nervous little jerks of the head, like a trapped animal. For a moment Lomax thought he was going to run back the way he had come. He acted quickly.

  “Hold your fire all units. He's surrendering. You! Face the wall and put your hands over your head. Place them flat against the wall.”

  The figure complied. Lomax took a deep breath and began to move out from behind the door of the car keeping both hands held out in front of him in the continuing pretence that he was armed. He was only a couple of yards from the man and racking his brains about how to get some cuffs on him when a voice spoke from across the road.

  “Nobody get edgy he isn't going to do anything stupid like running again, are you, Mitael?”

  It was MacAllister. His torch lit up Khorta as he passed Lomax and went to stand behind the figure against the wall.

  “Lower your hands and put them behind your back.”

  Khorta complied and MacAllister clipped the handcuffs onto his wrists before turning him around to face them.

  “Hello again, Mitael. Let me introduce you to Detective Constable Lomax. He's the man who just arrested you with his bare hands.”

  The laughter spilled out of him, his white teeth gleaming in the dark and he turned and clapped Marcus on the shoulder.

  “Well done, Marcus. Great bit of acting.”

  Lomax felt his knees start to tremble as reaction set in and the realisation of what could have gone wrong came home to him, but another part of him was elated that he seemed finally to have made his mark with MacAllister. He gave a shrug.

  “No choice really, Guv. I didn't know if he had a gun and I had nowhere to run to.”

  “Modesty, Marcus, modesty. You got the bugger and that's what counts. Come on, let’s get this tricky laddie into the car and down to the station.”

  He pulled out his radio and informed Frank Lintsey that they had their man and then he opened the back door of the Mondeo and pushed the still silent and by now soaking wet Khorta into the car, squeezing into the back seat beside him. An equally sodden Lomax climbed into the drivers seat and started the engine. The car had immediately fogged up with the sudden influx of wet bodies and he turned the blower full onto the screen and waited for it to clear. He turned in his seat so that he could see his passengers, a look of satisfaction on his face and his ruined jacket forgotten.

  “What happened up there then, Guv?”

  MacAllister grinned at him, his face also showing deep satisfaction.

  “Mitael here kicked Frank Lintsey in the bollocks and after locking the bedroom door on us, legged it down the fire escape.”

  “Is he all right? Frank I mean.”

  “Well he will have to walk and sit down very carefully for a few days and I don't suppose he will be chasing the ladies for a week or so, but he should live.” A chuckle. “Though I'll bet it’s the last time he falls for that one. Come on, the windscreen is clear. Lets get on.”

  Lomax put the car in gear and they moved off. Out of habit he switched on his radio to the general frequency and put it on the seat beside him and on the drive back down into the centre of Bristol it was the only sound in the car, its three occupants variously engaged in their own thoughts. They were sitting at the lights at the top of the hill waiting to turn down into Park Street when the message that would change several lives came through. It didn't seem significant at the time, but that was to change within seconds.

  “Alpha Central to all units.”

  That was the central control unit's call sign.

  “Be on the look-out for a stolen Ford Focus Cosworth. Bright red, registration number X55 SYS. Believed to be taken by joy riders and already involved in one accident while leaving the premises from where it was stolen.”

  The dispatcher was repeating the message when a bright red car squeezed alongside them, bearing a slightly damaged near side wing, but it was the thundering drumming coming from its stereo system that caught Lomax's attention. It dived across the oncoming traffic and down into Park Street just as the lights turned to green. Lomax automatically read the number and then caught MacAllister's eye in the rear view mirror.

  The DI nodded.

  “I see him, Marcus. Get in behind him and when you get real close, jam him in behind the car in front and give him a burst on the siren and I will call it in. Looks as if we will have to send for a paddy wagon if we run across any more villains tonight.”

  He took out his radio and started to inform the dispatcher that they had spotted the stolen vehicle. Lomax followed the Focus down the steep hill that is Park Street until they were stopped by the traffic lights at the T-junction midway down the hill where other traffic joins Park Street from the right. There were four cars in front of the Focus and it seemed as good a place as any to approach it. Lomax closed up tight behind it and switched on the siren. The effect was startling.

  The Focus ignored the blocked road and with the front wheels spinning furiously and smoking despite the wet street, it swerved to the left and mounted the wide pavement, bouncing wildly up into the air as it did so. Its blaring horn scattered what pedestrians there were as it raced down the pavement overtaking the halted traffic on the inside. Still on the kerb it passed the lights and made to join the road again, but here it was balked by a double-decker bus that was just pulling into the kerb to pick up passengers at the nearby bus stop. With two wheels in the road and two wheels on the kerb and the tyres protesting loudly it attempted to swerve back up onto the pavement again to pass the bus on the inside, the wet road and the kerbing making this difficult. The front tyres were going into wheel spin again at the excessive amounts of throttle the driver was using in his panic to be away. It bounced wildly as it’s off side wheels final managed to mount the pavement for the second time and for a split second the driver lost control. He quickly regained it and raced down the pavement just squeezing through between the inside of the bus stop shelter and the shop windows before regaining the street and vanishing down the hill.

  However, in his momentary loss of control the driver had allowed the rear of the car to slide sideways, clipping the last three people waiting to board the bus. All three were young women. Two of them lay on the pavement holding their legs and groaning, but the third had been driven backwards into a lamppost headfirst and now lay face down on the pavement without moving.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  MacAllister was out of the car and racing towards the scene, Khorta forgotten. He shouted over his shoulder.

  “Call the emergency services, Marcus. Get the works and switch that bloody siren off.” and he was gone towards the injured people. Lomax made the call and then followed.

  MacAllister quickly established that the first victim had a broken shin, but that not much else was wrong with her. He moved on to the second who was propped up on one elbow groaning. She too had at least a broken leg from the angle at which it was laying away from her, but otherwise she didn't look too seriously hurt. He turned his attention to the third girl who lay face down without moving.

  Under the orange glow of the street lights the blood on the back of her head and on her shoulder length hair looked black. MacAllister shuddered. Through the welling blood coming from the injury to the back of her head he could see the lighter glint of bone. He was about to slide his hand under her hair to feel for the
neck pulse with his fingertips when Lomax arrived with the powerful torch from the Mondeo and shone it down on her. MacAllister froze. The hair wasn't the blonde he had assumed it was under the orange streetlights; it was a fiery golden red. With ice in his heart he lifted the hair that was covering the features and moving it to one side and looked down into the face of his daughter. When he lifted his face up to look into the eyes of Marcus Lomax his lips were trembling and his eyes were full of tears. He had trouble getting the words out.

  “Its my daughter. It’s Kirsty.