SEVENTEEN
“Anderson,” the DI answered his phone as he
crossed the car park at Crane Lake Prison.
“Sir, it’s Constable Harp, from Greenville,”
Donna identified herself. “I’ve got the information you were after.”
It took Anderson a few moments to recall what
information it was he had asked her to get for him. “You have a list of Michael
Davis’ friends?” he asked finally. Unlocking his car he slid behind the wheel.
“Yes, sir, I have just under thirty names
from Michael’s Facebook account, along with what contact details I’ve been able
to find for them. I’ve also found Michael’s mobile phone, though I don’t think
it will help much,” Donna told him, toying with the phone that sat on the desk
in front of her, making the screen light up and then go dark. The image of a
scantily clad female, which Michael had for his background, showed briefly
every time she hit the power button; she found the image distasteful, but
couldn’t stop herself fiddling with the phone.
“I’ll be the judge of what does and does not
help this investigation, Constable,” Anderson said sharply. “Where’s the phone
and this list of names you’ve put together now?”
“They’re right in front of me, sir.”
“I want you to bring them to town, they’re to
go to Detective Sergeant Worth,” Anderson instructed, thinking quickly. “He’ll
know what to do with them. I want the list with him within the hour.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t going to be possible,
sir,” Donna said regretfully.
“What do you mean,” Anderson demanded. “I
want you on your way to town with that list and Michael Davis’ mobile phone the
moment this phone call is over,” he ordered.
“I can’t do that, sir,” Donna told the DI.
“As the only officer on duty in the village I need to remain here in case I’m
needed, especially since there are two news crews and a journalist in the
village now.”
That didn’t please Anderson. It was bad
enough that there had been reporters and journalists at the hospital; he didn’t
like the thought of them being in Greenville, talking to people intimately
connected with the events that had taken place there. He considered his
options; based on what the constable had told him, he didn’t have many.
“I’ll have DS Worth come to you,” he said
finally. “He’ll collect the phone and the list from you; he’ll also deal with
the press. You’re not to speak to the press under any circumstances, do you
understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” It was no hardship for Donna to
agree to that order; she had no desire to speak to the press about anything,
least of all the events that had rocked her village.
Anderson ended the call with the constable
quickly, and then dialled the number for Detective Sergeant Worth.
*****
“What do you mean he got away?” Dumbfounded,
Anderson stared out through the windscreen while his partner struggled to
explain how Michael Davis had managed to escape. The situation didn’t please
him, not one bit. It shouldn’t have been possible for an eighteen year old to
make fools of them, not once, but twice, yet Michael Davis had managed it.
First he had managed to escape custody
because of a call of nature, and then a constable falling over a cat had given
him enough warning to get away when he should have been cornered. If he hadn’t
been so certain that religion was a load of hogwash, invented by a bunch of
conmen, he would have suspected that there was a higher power protecting the
teen murderer.
“What steps have you taken to find him?” Anderson
wanted to know. Silently, he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that Michael
Davis wouldn’t harm the child in the back of the car he had stolen. If anything
happened to the child it would cost someone their job, he was sure of that.
“He’s already been found,” DS Murphy told his
superior, relieved that he could at least report something positive. “He
crossed the path of a patrol car just a couple of streets from where he stole
the car. Constable Turner is in pursuit, with patrol cars moving in from all
directions to try and cut him off. I’ve got the armed response team on their
way, and I’m returning to my car so I can give chase.” Breathlessly he filled
the DI in on the current situation, while he ran back down the road in the
direction of Simon Glenn’s home and his car. At his side was Constable Vine,
who had caught up with him as he received the report from Constable Turner.
EIGHTEEN
It wasn’t easy, but Michael kept his anger in
check and focused on the road ahead of him. He couldn’t believe his bad luck;
he had made just two turns after stealing the car before he almost crashed into
a police patrol car. Despite taking turn after turn, desperately trying to
evade the patrol car, it remained on his tail, and much too close for comfort.
Turning yet another corner, he had no idea
how many he had taken, he saw a pedestrian crossing. The lights were changing,
forcing the traffic to stop so the people waiting on the pavement could cross.
He saw the opportunity for what it was.
A glance in the rear view mirror told him his
follower was still there, less than two car-lengths behind. That was bad
enough, but a second patrol car had joined the chase. He ground his teeth in
frustration and fought the urge to swear aloud and pound his fist on the steering
wheel. Instead, he shoved his foot down on the accelerator and swung the car
over into the other lane as it leaped forward.
Heedless of the pedestrians, who were forced
to scatter out of the way, Michael raced through the crossing, angling across to
the correct lane. He missed the cars sitting at the front of the two queues of
traffic waiting for the lights to change by the thinnest of margins, and
hurriedly straightened up as he sped down the road.
A thunderous crash from behind him sent
Michael’s eyes to the rear view mirror.
The first of his pursuers had made it through
the crossing without a problem, but the second had misjudged the angle. From
what he could see, the police car had crashed into the taxi he had barely
missed himself. He couldn’t tell how much damage had been done but he hoped it
was enough to have eliminated one of his pursuers.
He was so intent on what was behind him that
he didn’t realise he had drifted into oncoming traffic. The beeping of horns
drew his attention back to the road ahead of him. Hurriedly, he jerked the
wheel to return to the correct lane. Immediately he jerked the wheel again,
making the car jump the curb and mount the pavement, so he could dodge around
the Ford he was in danger of crashing into.
Just as they had when he raced through the
crossing, pedestrians scattered to avoid being run down as he sped along the
pavement. Not all of them were quick enough, or lucky enough, to get out of the
way in time though. An elderly man with a cane was struck a glancing blow as he
tried to evade the car. The impact spun him round and he bounced between the
car and the window of the shop it was passing before tumbling to the ground.
Michael’s eyes darted between the road ahead
and the rear view mirror as he tried to keep track of everything that was going
on. Ahead of him, the road was clear, at least for a distance, enabling him to
return to it and avoid hitting anymore pedestrians; not that he cared in the
slightest about doing so. Behind him, he saw the police car that was still
chasing him swerve off the pavement to avoid the downed pensioner.
The car crashed into the Ford he had dodged
around, forcing it into the other lane, and into the path of an oncoming Rover.
There was a sickening crunch as the three vehicles impacted.
Michael was sure the noise signalled the end
of the pursuit but the rear view mirror showed him how wrong he was. Though he
could see a huge dent in the front wing of the police car, it pulled away from
the other two vehicles with a grinding noise that set on edge the teeth of
everyone within fifty feet. It then straightened up and carried on down the
road after him.
So intent was he on what was happening behind
him, he didn’t realise how close he was to the junction until he was already on
it. He slammed his foot on the brake pedal and twisted the wheel when he saw
the danger.
His relief at avoiding the car he had been
about to crash headlong into the side of was short-lived. A car coming from his
right caught the boot of his vehicle, spinning him round, despite his efforts
to maintain control. When he managed to stop he was at right angles to where he
had started.
With the police car bearing down on him he
didn’t even consider trying to get back on his original course.
He had no idea where he was going, but he
reflected that that had been the case since he caught Lucy with Danielle’s
phone that morning and failed to kill her.
Racing down the road ahead of him Michael
dodged around traffic, passing cars on either side. He didn’t stop when he
reached the T-junction the road ended in; while the cars approaching from
either direction slammed on their brakes to try and avoid the collision - the
angry beeping of their horns drowned out almost everything else - he spun the
wheel sharply to his left. He skidded a little but quickly got the car under
control. The police car chasing him wasn’t so fortunate.
In his mirrors Michael saw his pursuer lose
control. The car skidded across the junction to smash sideways into the wall
that surrounded the church opposite. It didn’t remain there though, much to his
frustration.
“For fuck’s sake!” he swore angrily as he
banged his hand on the steering wheel. “What the fuck is it going to take?” he
wanted to know, voicing the question aloud, though there was no-one to hear it.
The officer on his tail stayed with him as he
took turn after turn, trying to get away. With every turn he thought he had
lost his pursuer, only to have him reappear in the rear view mirror a few
moments later. No matter how fast he drove, or how many turns he took, the
police car caught up with him, thanks to its superior power.
His frustration grew each time he saw the
flashing lights in the mirror, forever getting closer. More and more he found
his eyes drawn to them, and away from the road ahead; several times he avoided
smashing into other vehicles, and even a lamppost, only at the last moment.
“Mummy!”
The cry, which came from the back seat,
startled Michael. He twisted round sharply in the driver’s seat and was
astonished to find himself looking at a young boy, barely a couple of years
old. It was such a shocking discovery that he found himself unable to do
anything but stare at the boy. At least until he drove into the back of a van.
With a neck-jerking crunch, which threw his
body forward until it was stopped by the seatbelt, the car came to a sudden
stop. From his position, half leaning into the rear of the car, Michael saw his
pursuer skid to a halt a short distance away.
As the sole occupant of the police car
climbed out and began advancing down the road toward him, Michael twisted round
to face forward. He quickly abandoned his desperate efforts to get the engine
started again; it was clear he wasn’t going to have any success.
“Get out of the car with your hands where I
can see them.”
The order, shouted when the officer was still
ten feet away, made Michael grind his teeth. It felt as though nothing was
going right for him. Undoing his seatbelt he threw open the door and climbed
out. He had no idea what made him do it but, instead of running off, as he knew
he should, he wrenched open the back door and leaned in.
Undoing the safety straps, Michael yanked the
boy out of the car. He ignored the child’s cries as he turned toward the cop.
“Stop right there,” he told him, holding the boy tight against his chest, his
hand around the small throat. He gave no thought to the fact that he was
threatening the life of a young child; the only thing on his mind just then was
getting away, and he was prepared to do anything he had to in order to do so .
“Take another step and I’ll choke the life out of him.” To emphasise his point,
he squeezed, making the boy gasp and start to turn blue.
The officer stopped in the act of drawing his
extendable baton. Slowly, he moved his hand away from the weapon. “There’s no
need for this,” he said in a slightly breathless voice as he struggled to get
his racing heart under control. “The boy’s done nothing to you, just let him
go.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Michael demanded.
He kept one eye on the officer while he looked around for an escape route.
About a hundred yards away the road crossed
the river. A footpath on either side led down from the bridge to the banks, and
tied up on to the far bank was a pair of boats. One was a narrow-boat, gaudily
painted and devoid of activity, and the other was a powerboat, sleek and
powerful looking, with a figure hunched over in the rear of it.
He didn’t have a clue how to operate a narrow
boat, so that was out of the question. He doubted he would have much of a
problem with the powerboat, though; he imagined it was much like driving a car,
easier probably.
With that thought in mind he made for the
river. Once he was past the car, and the van he had crashed into, he angled
toward the bridge so he could cross to the other side. He moved backward slowly,
keeping the constable in sight, with frequent glances over his shoulder to
ensure he didn’t trip or bump into anything.
“Come on, Sir, just let the boy go, there’s
no reason to hurt him.” The constable advanced slowly as Michael retreated.
“Things will go easier for you if you let him go.” He kept his voice low and
steady, doing his best not to startle the teen into doing anything precipitous.
How he knew what to say he didn’t have a clue, he just kept on saying whatever
came to mind.
“Stay back,” Michael warned. “Stop there.” He
continued to back up. When the officer took another step, he tightened his grip
on the boy’s throat, making him gasp and choke. “I’ll kill him,” he promised in
a harsh voice.
The constable stopped the moment he saw the
boy struggling for air.
Step by step Michael made his way toward the
bridge, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what to do. If he didn’t get
across the bridge and down to the boat soon he might miss his chance. He could
run for it with the boy, but the moment he turned his back on him he knew the
constable would give chase. He didn’t fancy his chances of reaching the boat,
let alone getting away, if he tried that, not burdened as he was by his
hostage.
“Take out your baton and throw it over here,”
he ordered, easing his hand on the boy’s throat. He didn’t want to kill his
hostage just then, not if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. If he killed the boy
then, he couldn’t use him later.
Reluctantly, the officer did as instructed.
He pulled the extendable baton from its holster and, after a moment’s
hesitation, tossed it toward the teen. Although he was cooperating, he wasn’t
about to give the killer a weapon, not if he could help it. He deliberately
threw the baton so it landed short. It bounced twice, and then came to a stop
about four feet from the teen.
Michael looked from the baton to the
constable. He was sure the constable had purposefully made sure it didn’t reach
him, but there was nothing he could do about it.
He wanted to stop his retreat toward the bridge,
and advance until he could snatch up the baton. Possession of a weapon would
increase the chances of him getting away. The sound of approaching sirens
reached him though and he abandoned the idea. The sirens were coming from the
far side of the bridge, where he wanted to go, and that made him pick up his
pace.
Michael was a third of the way across the
bridge when the police car, whose siren he could hear, turned a corner and
raced onto the bridge. It came to a screeching halt barely a dozen feet from him.
Both the driver’s and passenger’s doors flew open simultaneously as a pair of
officers threw themselves from the car.
In unison they drew their batons and advanced
on him.
Looking from the two new arrivals to the
officer chasing him Michael realised he was trapped. His eyes darted all around
him as he searched for a way out, and his mind worked faster than it ever had
before; he backed up until he was against the railing at the side of the
bridge.
“Back off!” he suddenly yelled, turning to thrust
the boy out over the railing, holding him at arm’s length. “Back off or I drop
him!” he threatened.