Ken McClure - White death

‘Steven…’

Steven brought her closer and a first hesitant kiss led to passion that rose inside both of them. ‘Oh bugger…’ murmured Tally as she wrapped her arms around Steven. ‘I’m going to regret this in the morning…’

‘Good morning,’ said Steven as he delivered coffee to a sleepy Tally who was still in bed.

‘Oh my God,’ she exclaimed in alarm. ‘What time is it?’

‘Just after six.’

Tally relaxed. ‘God, I thought for a moment you were going to say nine.’

Steven kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘Full of regrets?’ he asked.

Tally smiled and reached up to touch his face. ‘ Je ne regrette rien.’

‘Good.’

‘Why so early?’

‘I have to go.’

‘And so, farewell?’ said Tally.

‘You know it’s not like that,’ said Steven. ‘I’ll call you later?’

‘Make it evening. I’ve got a busy day ahead. You’re off to London?’

Steven nodded. ‘You’re not the only one with a busy day ahead,’ he said ruefully.

Steven set off, hoping to miss the worst of the rush hour traffic before he joined the M1 motorway. The street outside Tally’s apartment block seemed quiet enough so he took this as a good sign although, as he looked both ways before crossing, he took in that a dark grey Jaguar saloon was sitting about a hundred yards away with two men in the front. He smiled to himself at his observation and remembered that his wife, Lisa, had always maintained that he was never really off duty. Two men in the front of a parked car were always worth noting and usually keeping tabs on someone. As to whether they were policemen in an unmarked vehicle or privateers noting who was sleeping with whom, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t possibly be him they were interested in. No one knew he was here.

Steven felt a chill when he saw that the Jaguar had taken off from the kerb a few seconds after he pulled away and was keeping station about a hundred metres behind the Porsche. He was sure he hadn’t been followed here. He didn’t even know himself he was coming up to Leicester until he’d phoned Tally from the village where the Nichols had lived and he would have noticed if there had been a car behind him on the quiet country roads leading over to the motorway. It had to be coincidence. At any moment the Jaguar would turn off and he would think of what Lisa would have said to him about seeing baddies round every corner… but it didn’t. It joined the M1, heading south behind him.

Again, Steven tried convincing himself that there was nothing sinister in the situation. The men had probably just come out of a building up the street at the same time as he left Tally’s apartment this morning and were heading down to London just like him. He accelerated to 70mph and held the Porsche on cruise control. He was tempted to go faster but the car was a magnet for police road patrols and he’d rather not get another ticket. The Jaguar remained behind him as the Mondeos and Vectras of the nation’s sales force swept past in the outside lane.

Steven’s argument with himself progressed to considering that the Jaguar was probably just obeying the law as he was and after all, what would be the point of following him all the way from Leicester to London after having followed him all the way up to Leicester? He reinforced this by again concluding that there was no way that anyone could have known where he was staying last night.

A glance in the mirror to check that there was no other vehicle in the gap between him and the Jaguar and Steven took his foot off the accelerator. The Jaguar closed quickly and Steven read its registration plate. He picked up speed again and called it in to Sci-Med. Two miles passed by before he was told, ‘It’s a dark grey Jaguar belonging to a Mr Geoffrey Slessor of Greenhill Avenue, Dover.’

‘Thanks,’ said Steven. He considered reporting that the car was following him but deferred this because he still wasn’t sure that it was. One final test, he thought. He waited until he saw a long gap appear in the road ahead and dropped a gear before sinking his foot to the floor, making the Porsche take off like a scalded cat. His heart sank as he saw the Jag accelerate too. He took his foot off the accelerator, letting his speed drop back to two figures and expecting the Jag to do the same, but instead it maintained speed and came up fast in the outside lane as his own speed dropped to eighty. Steven glanced to the side as it came alongside and saw the Jag’s passenger window opening. His initial fear that a gun was about to appear in it was dispelled as the Jag continued to pass and pull in in front of him. He prepared himself for a sudden braking manoeuvre but, instead and before he had the chance to react, the air was suddenly full of metallic objects flung from the Jag, sunlight reflecting off their sharp points. The fat tyres of the Porsche hit them before Steven could do anything, causing them to burst and shred, sending the car slewing across the hard shoulder and up the banking where it took off in a graceful arc before touching down and somersaulting end over end, finally coming to a halt on its roof in a field.

Steven felt disorientated but was still conscious and the smell of fuel was telling him that he had to get out fast. His immediate problem was to escape the suffocating attention of the airbags in order to release his safety belt. There was a nightmare moment when he thought his left leg might be trapped by the deformed metal of the footwell but he managed to free it by twisting, turning and pulling in a variety of directions although his shoe remained behind. He thanked God for the fact he was wearing loafers with no laces.

There was no possibility of climbing out through the driver’s side because it had taken the brunt of the heavy landing after the last somersault but there was a gap on the passenger side through which he could see green grass. The smell of petrol grew ever stronger, adding panic to his efforts as he fought to manoeuvre his large frame into a position where he could squeeze into the gap and pull himself out head first. He found the body-hugging seats that were so good in high-speed cornering an absolute nightmare to get out of in his current situation. Sweat was pouring down his face and mingling with the blood from superficial cuts by the time he managed to turn himself round and get his head into the gap to take a big breath of fresh air. Another bad moment was to come when he thought his shoulders weren’t going to go through the gap but a superhuman effort, which ripped the shoulder padding off his jacket, won the day and he finally dragged his legs out to corkscrew round and lie face down on the ground.

Fear of an imminent explosion made him roll away from the car and scramble over a small rise to lie there, looking back. The seconds passed and Steven saw that two men were running over the field from the motorway. He assumed at first that they were people who had seen the accident occur and were coming to help but he also had to consider that these might be the two from the Jag. He stayed where he was, pushing himself even closer to the ground behind the small rise, finding a clump of grass to hide behind as he watched.

One of the men was carrying a plastic container. Both seemed unwilling to get too close. Steven wasn’t near enough to hear what they were saying to each other. He watched as one dropped to his knees, trying to establish if he was still inside the car. The man shrugged at his accomplice as if to signify that he couldn’t be sure and followed up by making a large balloon shape with his hands. The deployed air balloon was obscuring his vision through the gap.

The man got to his feet and joined his companion. The two looked around at the countryside as Steven pressed his face to the earth, bringing back memories of how many other times he’d had to do this in his life.