Peter Guttridge - City of Dreadful Night

‘I do if Hart was involved in setting me up.’

‘Jesus, Bob, will you forget that conspiracy stuff.’

Watts shot a look at Tingley. Tingley shot it back.

‘I pushed Hart about what might have been going on behind the massacre. He told me that he had a call from your friend Simpson the night before the meeting at which you resigned. But it was just to tell him about the package Hart could offer if you agreed to resign and that Simpson would phone during the meeting.’

‘Did he know William before then?’ Watts asked.

‘That didn’t come up.’

Gilchrist was thinking about the man who had threatened Kate. It couldn’t be to do with the Trunk Murders. It had to be linked to something in the present – but was it necessarily the Milldean massacre?

‘He was just pushing you to resign, wasn’t he?’ Gilchrist said. ‘You don’t suspect him of anything else, surely?’

Watts didn’t answer. Instead, he put his foot on the accelerator.

Heading back to Brighton, I was sticking pretty much to the outside lane, going too fast as usual. Gilchrist was sitting beside me, Tingley behind her. I’d slow to get past a cluster of cars then watch in my rear-view mirror as their headlights faded. Occasionally, I know, I tailgated when drivers were slow to move into the middle lane.

Men, once they had grudgingly given way, immediately accelerated in the middle lane to make it difficult for me to overtake. Once I’d overtaken, they’d slow to the speed they actually wanted to be doing.

I was thinking about William Simpson. I’d assumed he was the messenger from a government that wanted me to resign, but perhaps he was the one pushing for me to go for his own reasons. I was also trying to figure out how this threat to his daughter, Kate, fitted into the story.

‘Is this police driving?’ Tingley said.

‘It’s the driving of a man used to having a chauffeur,’ Gilchrist said.

‘There’s a kind of method in it,’ I said.

‘Which is?’ Tingley said.

‘We’re being followed.’

There was this one car. I’d been aware of it for some time. I assumed it was a male driver I’d passed who’d booted up to show he had a penis too. Except he was keeping back maybe half a mile and he was keeping the same pace as me.

Didn’t waiver.

I’d lose sight of him on long looping bends, but once we hit a straight there he’d be, maintaining a constant pace, keeping the same distance behind.

I drove faster. This car did too. I drove slower. It came nearer then stayed in place.

We hit a few hundred yards of overhead lights.

‘The dark Rover?’ Tingley said. I nodded. ‘You’re thinking he’s armed?’

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Are you?’

In the rear-view mirror I saw him shake his head.

‘I’m a police officer, for God’s sake,’ Gilchrist said. ‘We don’t need to run away.’

‘I suspect whoever this is doesn’t respect the law,’ Tingley said.

‘It may be my paranoia,’ I said.

The logical part of me was thinking: why the hell should they be following us? What benefit can they gain? They must know we’re going back to Brighton. But I was also conscious of Kate being threatened, of Gilchrist’s flat being firebombed.

Tingley was watching out of the back window.

‘No, he’s following and he wants us to know he’s following.’

‘Can you get his registration?’ I said.

‘It’s masked.’

‘Naturally.’

‘It always happens in badly scripted films,’ Gilchrist said. ‘There’s never a good reason for following someone except to inject a bit of false excitement into the story.’

‘I think in this case it’s intended to intimidate,’ Tingley said.

‘But who is it?’ Gilchrist said.

‘That’s the interesting question,’ I said. ‘Shall I try to draw them in?’

‘How?’ Tingley said.

‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

The road narrowed to two lanes just after the signs for Burgess Hill. A car had pulled out in front of the car that was tagging us. I went into a couple of sharp bends faster than I should have. I accelerated up the hill on the other side of the last bend.

There was a turn-off at the top of the hill where the road again went into a couple of – more gentle – curves. If I could take the turn off before he came out of the last of the bends, our pursuer would, I hoped, think I was still on the A23 into Brighton. He would carry on and I could come back on to the road behind him.

I came off OK, went across a short bridge and took the slip-road back on to the Brighton road. I stopped on the slip-road about twenty yards short of the A23 and switched off my lights.

‘Clever boy,’ Tingley murmured.

The Rover went barrelling by a few moments later. I waited until it had gone round the next bend then pulled back on to the A23.

‘Headlights on or off?’ Tingley said.

‘On, I think – we’re going to hit overhead lights soon anyway so we can’t really hide. I’m just hoping he won’t notice us.’

It took a couple of miles to get within sight of the Rover. It had slowed, presumably because its occupants thought we’d come off the road and given them the slip. We came into the lighted area near Pyecombe service station and I dropped back. It would go dark again for the last couple of miles before hitting the outskirts of Brighton.

‘The rear registration is masked too,’ Tingley noted.

We were about a quarter of a mile behind the Rover so lost it through the next couple of bends. When we came on to the long, straight stretch just outside Brighton, I drew nearer.

‘You’re going to have to close up for the roundabout,’ Tingley said. ‘He has three options there.’

‘I know it,’ I said. This was the tricky bit – not losing them without them noticing us.

I drew to within two hundred yards of them. I’d been hoping for more traffic so there could be cars in between us. With luck he would only be aware of our headlights when the overhead lights resumed at the roundabout.

The Rover slid left into the lanes that went on to the road to Hove and Worthing. I stayed in a Brighton lane for the time being. I saw lights on full beam close in behind me, then a big four-by-four overtook me on the inside lane, heading for Hove and Worthing.

I eased in behind the four-by-four. It hid me from the Rover but it also, I realized too late, hid the Rover from me. Just when I was fully committed to taking the Worthing road, I saw that the Rover had moved back on to the Brighton road and was heading for the roundabout.

‘Shit,’ I said. ‘Watch where he’s going.’

Tingley and Gilchrist were both straining to see as my lane took me round a tight sweep of bend.

‘Couldn’t see,’ Tingley said.

‘Nor me,’ Gilchrist added.

At the small roundabout ahead I swept back on to the loop that would take me down to the main roundabout. I would have two choices there.

‘What do you think?’

‘Head straight into Brighton,’ Gilchrist said and Tingley grunted agreement. I took the left into Brighton but couldn’t see the Rover on the long road ahead of us.

‘Let’s get to Kemp Town,’ Tingley said.

Kate was alone when Watts, Tingley and Gilchrist arrived at her flat. Reg Williamson had left about half an hour earlier. Kate had liked him. She had been comforted by his shabby presence.

‘Detective Sergeant Williamson told me about your flat,’ Kate said to Gilchrist as she handed out coffees. ‘I’ve a spare room here if you’d like to stay.’

‘That might not be a bad idea, in the circumstances,’ Watts said.

‘If you’re sure?’ Gilchrist said.

‘It would be great,’ Kate said. ‘Theoretically, it’s my parents’ room but they never stay here. I’ll dig out the spare keys and show you the magic that makes the lock work later.’