Peter Robinson - Bad Boy

“But he can’t have bargained for what actually happened.”

“No. I’m sure he doesn’t know, or he’d be heading as fast as he could in the other direction. Maybe he is.” Gervaise shook her head. “I don’t know, Winsome. What the hell are we to do?”

“Commander Burgess suggested organizing an armed reception committee for McCready at the Heath.”

Gervaise snorted. “He would. What about Tracy Banks?”

“He said he thought he could keep it low-key enough, that McCready wouldn’t spot what was happening until they were on him.”

“I doubt it. We know how easily these things go pear-shaped. Where’s DCI Banks, anyway? He’s been gone ages.”

“I don’t know,” said Winsome. “He’s not around here, that’s for certain.”

Gervaise frowned. “Where did he say he was going?”

“To meet with an informant, I think. I don’t really know where. We were all so busy talking about what had happened to Justin Peverell and his poor girlfriend.”

Gervaise checked her watch. “Whatever it was, it shouldn’t have taken him this long. Especially given his concern over Tracy. Try his mobile, Winsome.”

Winsome keyed in Banks’s mobile number. “It’s turned off, ma’am,” she said.

“That’s not like him. Why would he turn off his mobile at the crucial point of an investigation that involves him personally?” Gervaise felt her brain springing to life, though it was a chaotic sort of life, sparks flying everywhere, but none of them lighting up the bulbs they should, or making the connections they were aiming for. Her thinking felt like a badly played game of pinball, but something was definitely happening. “Help me out here, Winsome. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” said Winsome. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless DCI Banks was…lying about the informant.”

“Don’t sound so horrified at the thought. People do. Sometimes for good reasons.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Winsome, tight-lipped.

“So, if Alan was lying, or making an excuse-he did go into the corridor to take the call-then perhaps it was Tracy. He would certainly lie for her.”

“It could have been McCready.”

“Either way, he might be in trouble.”

“It’s McCready I’d be worried about,” said Winsome. “He’s had a lot of trouble with transport. Perhaps he needs DCI Banks to drive him to Hampstead.”

The neurons were firing a lot better now, and the pinball score was racking up. “Look,” said Gervaise, “let’s find out which car Alan signed out from the pool and see if we can access Automatic Number Plate Recognition control, find out where he is. If you’re right, he’ll be on his way to London, to Hampstead Heath, and we should be able to track his progress.”

“Should we alert all the motorway patrol units?”

“Not yet. We don’t want a car chase on our hands. Not if Alan and Tracy are in one of the cars and McCready is armed. Let’s keep it low profile for now, until we know what’s happened. If they’re still on their way to Hampstead we’ve got a while yet to work something out. Get on to Burgess again, too. Try to persuade him that softly softly’s the way to go for now.”

“Do you have a plan, ma’am?”

“I wish to God I did, Winsome. I wish to God I did.”

BANKS WAS also desperately trying to work out a plan as he drove down the M1 with his silent passengers and loud music. He had already figured out that Jaff’s mood shifts were volatile. Perhaps the pressure of being on the run was getting to him, and he had also been snorting cocaine in the car. So much had gone wrong so far that he had to be becoming increasingly worried about making it. Whatever plan Banks came up with, he knew he would have to take great care and choose his moment.

Separating Jaff from his gun was the key. Without it, he was nothing. The gun was in the hold-all; of that Banks was certain. There was something about the way Jaff held it close to him all the time, often thrusting one hand inside it for a while, gripping something that gave him comfort and confidence, that made it obvious. It wouldn’t be easy to get it away from him, and there was no way it was going to happen if he dropped Jaff and Tracy off at King’s Cross. He couldn’t let that happen.

“I need to go to the toilet.”

It was Tracy, speaking up from the back. Banks turned the music down. More Miles: Someday My Prince Will Come. “What was that, love?” he asked.

“Well, you can’t,” Jaff cut in. “We’re not stopping.”

“It won’t take five minutes,” Tracy argued.

“I told you. We’re not stopping.”

“What do you expect me to do? Piss in the car?”

“I expect you to wait.”

“I can’t wait. I’ve been crossing my legs for the past half hour. I can’t wait anymore. There’s a services coming up soon. I need to go to the toilet.”

Jaff’s hand dug deep inside his hold-all. “I told-”

Tracy turned to face him. “What kind of a person are you? What harm’s it going to do? Do you think I’m going to make a run for it across the car park after you’ve told me what you’ll do? When you’ve got my dad here, too? Do you think I’ll run away if you’ve got your gun on him? What are you scared of? What do you really think I’m going to do? Start shouting out that you’ve got a gun so you can shoot a few more innocent people? For Christ’s sake, get a grip, Jaff. I need to go to the toilet. Simple as that.”

There was a short silence after Tracy’s outburst. Banks held his breath, admiring his daughter for her guts, but uncertain about which direction it would tip Jaff’s erratic brain.

“Fine,” Jaff said eventually. He tapped Banks on the shoulder. “I could do with a cup of coffee, myself. You heard the lady, James. Next services-.”

Banks thought furiously. Could this be his best opportunity? How could he do it? Throw a cup of hot coffee in Jaff’s face, snatch the hold-all, toss it to Tracy, take on Jaff hand-to-hand? It was a possibility, maybe the only one.

Jaff stared out of the window, tapping his fingers on his thighs. He was working it out, Banks knew, figuring out every angle, every moment, every move that could possibly go wrong for him, like so many had before. He would be at his edgiest, his most unpredictable and dangerous from the moment they left the car. As Banks turned onto the slip road, he looked for the silver Honda hatchback in his rearview mirror, but he couldn’t see it. Maybe he’d been imagining things.

THE CAR park was only about half full. As soon as Banks had pulled into the spot Jaff had chosen for him and turned off the engine, he opened the door and felt the wind on his face. It had just started to drizzle.

“Not so fast,” said Jaff. “We need to set a few ground rules before we go anywhere.”

Banks closed the door again.

“Hurry up,” said Tracy. “It hurts.”

“We stick together, right?” Jaff said. “Francesca by my side, you in front. And I’ll have my hand on the gun the whole time, so don’t even think of making a break for it. And both of you remember this: If one of you’s out of my sight, the other isn’t.”

Banks wanted to question Jaff on whether he would really start shooting in a public car park, but he didn’t bother. First of all, Tracy was desperate, and Banks wanted them all out of the car as quickly as possible to increase his chances of taking control of the situation. Secondly, he suspected that at this point Jaff was so wired that he probably would start shooting. Banks had noticed him snorting more lines of coke in the back of the car, seen how twitchy he was becoming.

“It’s your call,” said Banks, pulling the door handle again.

They all got out and started moving across the car park and the open space to the toilets and restaurant. There were a few amusement machines near the entrance, and a convenience store opposite. Next to the store were the ladies’ and gents’ toilets.