Peter Robinson - Bad Boy

They had managed about eight or nine miles in all since they’d left the cottage, having driven only the first two before the car broke down, and they were now deeper into the moors than she had ever walked with her father. Tracy had lost the advantage of knowing the lie of the land. She hadn’t heard the helicopter again, and they were too far away to hear cars on the road. Not that there were any roads. To anybody seeing them from a distance they would probably look like a pair of ramblers, though closer observation would have revealed they were hardly dressed for the part, and that Jaff’s walking skills certainly left a lot to be desired. Most of the time he seemed to walk as if he were striding down a city street, Tracy thought, without paying attention to the land beneath his feet. Which was why he tripped and fell so often.

Tracy had been alert the whole time, but there hadn’t been a single opportunity to steal away without the certainty of Jaff ‘s catching her. He wasn’t going to let her out of his sight for a moment; her failed escape attempt after the car broke down and the embarrassing experience that morning should have told her as much.

It was mid-afternoon when they came to the crest of a long grassy slope and saw the car park below. There was no village, no houses, only the half-full car park, with its public toilets, stone walls and Pay-and-Display machines, at the end of a rough track that wound away into the distance and disappeared over the next hill. On the far side a stile in the drystone wall led to a public footpath with a wooden signpost which stretched for several hundred feet then dipped into a wooded area and disappeared from sight. Tracy recognized where they were now. She had been here before.

“What the fuck’s that?” Jaff asked.

They lay on their stomachs looking over the brow of the hill. A blade of grass tickled Tracy’s nose, and she rubbed it. “It’s popular walking country around here,” she said. “I think that’s the car park for Rawley Force, a local beauty spot. A lot of people do a circular walk from there.”

“How long does it take?”

“About three and a half hours. Why, do you fancy trying it?”

“Don’t be fucking clever. But I do have an idea. We could practically be in London in three and a half hours.”

Tracy’s heart sank when she realized what he was saying. “You’re going to have to come up with something better than that,” she said. “Haven’t you realized that every copper in the country will be looking for you since you shot Annie Cabbot?”

“Stupid bitch asked for it.”

Tracy sighed. “I’m hungry,” she said, hoping he would admit to feeling the same way and delay what he obviously had in mind.

“Me, too,” he said. “But it’ll have to wait. Come on, let’s get closer.”

They kept behind the brow of the hill and made their way in a sweeping curve toward the car park. When they were directly above it, about two hundred yards away, Jaff commanded her to stop and lie low again. The deep cleft of a dried-up streambed ran beside them down the hillside. Jaff pointed to it. “If we go that way, no one will be able to see us from the road or the footpath. Can we get to the M1 from here? And don’t lie. I’ll soon find out, and you’ll regret it.” Tracy pointed to their left. “We have to take that track. It’s the only way out. I think it ends at a B road and we turn left to get to the A1. It joins the M1 further south, around Leeds.”

“Right. I know that part. That’s what we’ll do. And you’d better not be lying.”

Tracy started to get up, but Jaff pulled her down beside him again. “Don’t be too hasty. We wait till the next car turns up. That way we know we’ve probably got three and a half hours before they call the alarm.”

Resignedly Tracy lay on her stomach again. They didn’t have to wait long. It was a beautiful afternoon, just enough of a light breeze to take the edge off the heat you build up on a good long walk. An old white van pulled up, and a young man and woman got out. They wore walking boots and had tucked their trouser legs into their socks. They also carried sticks and rucksacks, and the man had some maps in a plastic bag hanging around his neck. “Perfect,” Jaff said. “Anoraks.”

“But how are you going to get it started? What about the alarm?”

“An old banger like that? Piece of cake.”

And it was. They scrambled down the streambed, Jaff only falling and cursing once, and approached the van. There was no one around. Jaff got the back doors open easily with one of the keys he carried in his pocket, and once inside, it took him no time at all to hot wire the ignition. The inside of the van smelled of paint thinner and sawdust.

“I can see you’ve done this before,” Tracy said.

Jaff grinned. “You could say that. Put it down to a misspent youth. I used to work for a bloke who collected luxury cars for shipment overseas. Know what I mean? Years ago. I was just a kid. Fresh out of uni. Some of the newer models are really tough because of all those computerized keys and alarm systems, but these things are a doddle. And it’s perfect. Everyone’ll think it’s a builder’s van. No one takes any notice of crappy white vans.” He drummed his hands on the steering wheel and whooped, “All right! London, here we come!” Then they set off toward the A1.

“YOU LOOK terrible, Alan,” said Gervaise as they sipped tea in her office later that afternoon.

“Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure,” Banks said. “Only somehow I don’t think I’ll be getting one for a while.”

“I’m sorry about the cottage, but I’m sure you understand. We have no choice. We can arrange for alternate accommodation, if you like?”

“Not a problem,” said Banks. “It’s sorted. I could use a car, though.

Mine’s in the garage. At least I assume it’s still there?”

“It’s there,” said Gervaise. “Don’t worry. You can sign one out from the pool in the meantime. How are you doing, Alan? Seriously. I feel I should welcome you back, but I’m afraid it’s not much of a welcome.”

“I feel about as bad as I look,” Banks said. “You’re right about the homecoming. Seeing Annie there in the hospital, I…” He shook his head and turned away as his eyes filled with tears. Then he took a deep breath, felt his anger stir, and sipped some tea. “But I’ve got to hold it together somehow. It won’t do anyone any good if I go to pieces.”

“It’s not your responsibility to hold everything together. Perhaps you should go and catch up on sleep.”

“I really don’t think I could do that. Not with Annie at death’s door and Tracy out there with some homicidal creep. Could you?”

“Perhaps not. How was the holiday?”

“It was great. Really. Just what the doctor ordered. I’m sure it did me the world of good. A bit of a distant memory now, though.” It was hard to believe that only yesterday he had woken up beside Teresa in San Francisco, had breakfasted with her at the Monaco and waved good-bye as she left for the airport in her taxi. He had had time for one last walk around Union Square and a quick lunch at Scala’s Bistro, beside the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, before packing, checking out and heading for the airport himself. It had been a beautiful, fresh day. The blue skies, fluffy clouds and sweet, gentle Pacific breeze were no harbingers of what lay ahead.

“I assume you’re up to speed with what’s been going on?” Gervaise asked.

“Most of it.”

“This is a very delicate situation,” she went on, making a steeple of her hands. “We’re understaffed and overworked and, as you saw, we’ve got Superintendent Chambers breathing down our necks.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about him.”