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  George ran back to the car. He could see the custody sergeant in the mirror, still kneeling and shaking his head. With a squeal of tyres, George Elms and Kane Forley powered away from Langthorne House.

  Chapter 36

  Matt sprinted back to the custody area. It was much calmer now. The disturbance had been neutralised and officers were smiling at the image of Tommy Wilkes stiffening and falling flat on his face as the Taser found its mark.

  Jim the jailor noticed Matt’s expression. ‘Matt? What’s up?’ he asked.

  Matt pushed past him into the office, snatched the custody radio from its cradle and pressed the emergency button. This would give him ten seconds of air time, with priority over all other calls.

  ‘Control, we have a prisoner escaped from Langthorne custody. Kane Forley was taken out by DS George Elms. George Elms is in possession of a firearm. Repeat, for all patrols, George Elms is in possession of a short barrelled firearm. Shots fired as part of his escape, no injuries. Both males left in a marked Skoda patrol car, a sixty-four plate, I don’t know the full reg. Is that received?’

  ‘Yes, yes Langthorne custody, how long ago did this vehicle leave?’

  ‘Zero two minutes,’ Matt snapped back.

  ‘Received that. Broadcast, broadcast, broadcast all patrols. For your attention, a prisoner has escaped lawful custody from Langthorne police station zero two minutes ago. DS George Elms is believed to be driving the prisoner in a marked Skoda patrol vehicle. George Elms is believed to be in possession of a firearm. All sightings to be reported to force control. No officers to engage without prior authority. Communication by mobile phone where possible please. Broadcast ends.’

  Matt swore and threw the radio back onto the desk, where it hit a mug of coffee.

  Over the radio came a cacophony of voices.

  ‘This some sort of joke?’ Jim managed. ‘How the fuck does that happen?’

  ‘We’re closed, Jim. Get everyone out that doesn’t need to be here. We don’t take anyone else in.’

  Jim nodded. ‘You okay?’ Jim said.

  ‘Just get it done, Jim. I’ll be fine.’ Jim nodded again and left.

  Matt slid down in the chair, with his hands over his eyes. ‘Fuck!’ he said again.

  * * *

  Barry Lance rolled to a stop at a junction. In his rear-view mirror he could see smoke still rising from Churchill House. The transmission from custody came through on his car radio. Barry let several cars go by while he thought. His stomach knotted. George had walked Kane out of custody in order to kill him. If he succeeded, Barry’s wife would die. Barry stamped on the throttle and the big BMW lurched forward. In his haste, he had forgotten to activate his car’s lights and sirens.

  * * *

  George turned the police radio off with a fierce jab.

  Kane looked at him. ‘What’s the matter? You did it. You should be pleased.’

  ‘Just tell me where we’re going.’ Sweat poured down George’s forehead and ran into his eyes. He checked his mirrors yet again.

  ‘You need to relax a little, George. This will all be over soon.’ Kane wore a smile, and George turned to face it.

  ‘I can’t wait to wipe that smile off your fucking face, you know that?’

  ‘I bet. That hate you have inside you right now, George, you be careful with that. It’s taken me to some bad places.’

  ‘I’m nothing like you.’

  ‘Give it some thought when you have the time. You might reach a different conclusion.’ Kane was still smiling.

  George ignored the comment. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You know the old Eurotunnel building?’

  ‘By the motorway?’

  ‘Yes, head for that, but I would suggest staying off the motorway. The access is round the back.’

  ‘Past the hotel. I know it. So is that where my family are?’

  This seemed to amuse Kane. ‘They’re not in a hotel, George, but they are comfortable.’

  ‘You think this is some sort of joke?’

  ‘I am taking you to your family, George. Just like I promised.’

  George fell silent. He peered out of his window, squarely into the wide eyes of Barry Lance, at the wheel of a black BMW SUV coming the other way.

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Kane.

  George put his foot down. ‘Unmarked police car. It saw us.’

  ‘Lose them, George.’

  George didn’t reply. His mirror suddenly reflected the vivid blue of the BMW’s lights. He watched Barry overtake two cars. He would soon be directly behind him. George activated the Skoda’s blue lights. The chase was on.

  George pulled away. He was able to take advantage of smaller gaps that the big, lumbering SUV wouldn’t fit through. George knew he wouldn’t be able to lose the BMW before he got to the old channel-tunnel site. Then he had an idea.

  Two hundred metres ahead, a traffic light was on red. George pulled out into the middle of the road. The BMW was already forcing oncoming cars to brake, and those going the same way to veer left into the curb.

  George made it to the traffic lights. He didn’t stop at the red light. Instead, he cut across the traffic that was turning into his lane. All but one of the moving vehicles saw him. George struck a black Mini but ploughed on, ignoring the horns. The Mini came to a stop, right across the road. The BMW was stuck.

  George powered on. The next set of traffic lights were green.

  ‘I would suggest staying off the motorway,’ Kane repeated.

  ‘We can’t go straight there if we want to lose ’em. We’re too close.’

  ‘You really think the motorway is the best place to do that? Surely, more of your lot will get to us faster?’

  ‘Yeah, the traffic units will already be out on the coast bound side. I’m counting on it.’

  Kane looked at him. ‘You want more police?’

  ‘You wanted us away clean. Now that means we need to lose the whole force. The only way to do that is to bring them all together.’

  ‘See!’ Kane grinned. ‘Now you’re starting to enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up and let me drive!’ George turned the police radio back on. With the radio on, his car would appear on the mapping system and they would be able to track him. Which was just what he wanted.

  * * *

  ‘Control, this is Yankee One.’ Barry Lance spoke through clenched teeth.

  ‘Go ahead sir.’

  ‘For all patrols, I am in command of this incident and all patrols are to act as eyes and ears only. No officers are to engage without my authority. Control, can you mark me up as ground command please? Last sighting Beachborough Road traffic lights, unsure of direction taken.’

  ‘Understood — all patrols to be aware of the last. Inspector Lance is ground command and is mobile. All patrols are to report sightings of the suspect vehicle immediately and to take direct orders from Yankee One.’

  Barry took his finger off the talk button. ‘I’m going to get hold of this fucker and finish it, once and for all.’

  Chapter 37

  Sergeant Ian Cannon was leading the chase for George and Kane Forley. He was an ex traffic officer, and clearly revelled in being centre stage in a live incident, even from his podium in a makeshift incident room.

  Darren Lewis approached him. ‘Where are we, Ian?’

  ‘Right behind them, sir.’ Ian put his hands behind him and straightened his back.

  ‘He’s on the motorway?’

  ‘Yeah, heading right towards us. He won’t be getting much further.’

  ‘I assume we are looking to take him out on the motorway?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. Just as soon as I can get some guns in.’

  * * *

  George Elms’ Skoda swept past the slip road leading onto the M20.

  Kane looked out of the back window. ‘Well, George, if you wanted every copper in the county up your arse, you’ve got your wish. I will remind you that we are also
accelerating away from your wife and child at an alarming speed. You get me killed or arrested on this miserable stretch of road and your family’s fate is sealed.’

  ‘This is the only way, and anyway they’re not all up my arse.’ Sure enough the Skoda soon caught up with three identical police Volvos splayed out in a blocking formation, intending to slow him down.

  ‘I assume this is where they make their move?’ Kane was almost jumping up and down.

  ‘I know the tactic.’ George glanced in the mirror. The stream of police cars began to fan out across the road behind them. Two lead cars broke away. George was waiting for this to happen. These cars were the designated back and sides of a moving ‘sandwich.’ And George and Kane were about to become the filling.

  George let them get close. Very close. He braked, and the cars were forced to veer apart. They started to drift past and George saw his opportunity. He braked again, skidded and brought the Skoda round to face the opposite direction.

  The moving box was now at a full stop, all the cars facing away from their quarry. George drove straight towards the line of flashing cars that had been following them. Kane pushed his head back into the headrest and his right foot reached out for a non-existent brake pedal.

  George headed straight for the car on the end of the row, next to the barrier. He didn’t lift his foot. They side-swiped the car and then the barrier, the car bounced and scraped. But they were through. George picked up speed again, and the Skoda accelerated away into a clear road — going the wrong way down a four-lane motorway.

  George was banking on the police sticking to the tactics he himself had been taught. They would have put a rolling road on further down and very soon he was going to come across a solitary police car holding up three lines of stationary traffic. They would be bumper to bumper, fifty cars deep by now. The Skoda screamed to 100mph. George daren’t breathe. This had seemed like a good idea.

  * * *

  Darren Lewis listened to the radio report. George Elms had turned 180 degrees in the fast lane and was now powering back directly towards any number of civilian cars. Ian Cannon ran his hand through his hair. His earlier self-assurance had evaporated.

  ‘Well, we can’t pursue him,’ he managed at last.

  ‘So have you a plan B?’ the chief demanded.

  ‘Boss, we can’t get behind him, it’s a basic rule. When the target starts going the wrong way down a motorway, we call it off. It’s suicide.’

  ‘He knows that. That’s why he’s doing it.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, but I can’t send anyone after him.’

  Darren turned and called out into the room. ‘What happened with the helicopter?’

  ‘It’s still fifteen minutes away, sir,’ replied a woman officer. ‘It was refuelling somewhere in Essex when the call went out.’

  ‘Of course it was,’ growled Darren. ‘Ian, do we have any patrols the right side of George? The direction he’s actually heading?’

  ‘The firearms boys are all out of play, so are traffic. I’ll try and get some local patrols to where they can at least watch him. Once we see where he comes off, we can start again.’

  ‘Okay, fine. We’ll track him and put out his position for the local patrols. Can we again reiterate that no one approaches that damned car. I want firearms to make it safe.’ Darren’s throat was suddenly dry.

  One of the operators called out. ‘Sir! We’ve lost him, sir. He was tracking southbound, but he’s just disappeared off the system.’

  ‘Of course he has. He’s switched the radio off now he’s led us up the garden path.’ He turned to Ian Cannon. ‘Ian? We’re going to lose him, aren’t we?’

  Ian Cannon had no answer.

  * * *

  Barry Lance had had no choice but to hand over control of the pursuit to three firearms patrols who were given the task of bringing the Skoda to a hard stop. He just wanted to make sure he got to George Elms and Kane Forley as quickly as possible after it happened.

  Barry had been held up at the traffic lights and then he found himself at the back of a clump of traffic brought to a stop to allow a sterile area for the pursuit to continue. He forced his way to the front of the jammed motorway just in time to see a damaged Skoda veer across three lanes of traffic and make for the hard shoulder. He’d heard the radio update and knew George had turned back. He’d also heard Darren Lewis call up to reaffirm that under no circumstances were any patrols to follow him. George and Kane were about to be lost to Lennockshire Police. Barry wouldn’t get his wife back alive.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  Barry’s BMW broke from the line of cars. A single marked Volvo sat in the middle of the road, slewed at an angle. The approaching Skoda slowed down and Barry saw his opportunity. The BMW surged across the front of the line of cars in a desperate attempt to block the gap. George accelerated hard. Barry could see Kane, wide-eyed in the passenger seat, staring at his BMW. The Skoda headed for the gap and Barry heard it strike the crash barrier. But it continued forward.

  Barry Lance hit the crash barrier a split second later, head on. The BMW shuddered to a halt and Barry struggled out, shaking off the dust from his exploded airbag. He staggered a little.

  The driver of the parked Volvo came towards him. ‘Shit, sir. Are you okay?’

  ‘I need your car.’ Barry was tugging at the boot of the BMW while he spoke.

  ‘Well, all right, but I should come with you.’

  ‘Fuck that.’

  The officer stood, mouth open. Barry pulled a G36 assault rifle out of the boot and slung it over his shoulder. He stuffed extra clips into his vest and patted his leg holster, which held a Glock pistol. He brushed past the officer, threw the rifle onto the Volvo’s passenger seat and climbed in.

  Barry was able to cut through a gap left by a couple of cars that had broken ranks in the confusion.

  ‘This is Darren Lewis. Acting Chief Constable Darren Lewis directly to Barry Lance. Barry, please report in.’

  Barry ignored the call. He shook his head, his senses still feeling a little dulled.

  ‘This is Acting Chief Constable Darren Lewis. Inspector Lance — what are you doing?’

  Barry switched off the radio. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but whatever it was, Darren Lewis didn’t need to know.

  Chapter 38

  ‘Helen, this is my sister, Becky. Becky, this is Helen,’ Mick said.

  Becky stood in her doorway in a bathrobe and a pair of slippers that seemed too big for her. It was the middle of the afternoon. She looked Helen up and down, and frowned.

  Helen shrugged. ‘It’s been a shit day.’

  ‘Looks like it.’ Becky stepped aside. ‘My brother said you needed a bath, but that was an understatement. I’ll find some leggings for you too, and I’ve a jumper that’ll fit you.’

  ‘Thanks, sis.’ Mick kissed her on the cheek.

  She stood with her arms folded. ‘I guess I should know better than to ask what the fuck happened here?’

  ‘Problems with the boyfriend,’ Mick offered. ‘Can I use your Wi-Fi?’

  Becky’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you the boyfriend?’

  ‘No! Fuck, Beck, I’m not in the habit of beating up women, then bringing them round half-naked so my sister can clean them up!’

  ‘Well, not normally. The Wi-Fi code’s on the back of the box in the living room.’ Becky shrugged and shuffled towards the kitchen. Mick beckoned and they went inside.

  Becky’s cottage was hidden away in a quiet part of the village of Westernhanger, on Langthorne’s northern perimeter. It had a long drive and Mick was able to park the van out of sight.

  ‘Nice place,’ Helen called out. From the kitchen she could see a long garden with mature apple trees, this year’s crop rotting on the ground. A wire fence enclosed an area of threadbare grass with chickens scratching at it.

  ‘Thanks. The bathroom is just round the corner. It’s a bit of an odd layout. Anyway, help yourself. I’ll get my brother to knoc
k us all up something to eat.’

  Helen walked back to the bathroom. It contained a free-standing ‘slipper’ style bath beneath a large window with frosted glass. Helen pushed the door shut with her sore elbow. It caught Mick as he was coming in.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  Mick ignored her and went to the window. He locked it, pulled the key out and showed it to Helen on his way through the door.

  ‘Just in case. There’s a lock on this door.’ Mick pointed to it. ‘I will be outside. The second I hear it lock, I will kick it in. Do you understand?’

  ‘Where would I be going, Mick? I suppose I could run and hide in the chicken coop in my underwear for a few days, then make a break for it when the weather improves! Don’t be ridiculous.’

  He didn’t smile. ‘Just don’t lock the door, Helen.’

  She held her hands up. Helen did smile, though, when she looked at the large bath. It was wonderful, with a tap that was designed so that the water cascaded out like a waterfall.

  There was a light knock on the door. ‘Helen — I brought you a drink.’ Becky stepped in, holding out a large glass of white wine. ‘I like a glass in the bath, and you looked like you could do with it.’

  ‘Thank you, Becky, that’s really kind of you,’ said Helen, meaning it.

  ‘And some toast.’ Becky held up a plate piled with thick slices running with butter. ‘My brother will do you something proper in a while, but this is just to keep you going. I didn’t want you cutting your bath short because you’re starving.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  Helen was aware that Becky was lingering. She looked at Helen’s body, with its ugly bruises and lacerations underneath the dirt and grime of the warehouse floor.

  ‘Whatever happened to you, love, you make sure my brother sorts them out for it, yeah?’

  Helen smiled. ‘I will do, yeah.’

  ‘I’ve got make-up an’ that. Let me know when you need it, and you can have a dig about. But take your time in here, yeah?’

  ‘Thanks again.’

  ‘No problem.’ Becky shuffled out of the room, those slippers dragging over the tiles.