My Bloody Valentine (Alastair Gunn) (39 page)

Her thoughts were interrupted as the car reached the
end of the street. Wells hardly braked, slewing right at a four-way junction, scattering traffic as he went. Hawkins tensed as Mike followed, causing a truck to brake and swerve, its tyres screaming in unison with theirs. He spun the wheel, somehow keeping them on track behind the fleeing Ford. Hawkins swallowed hard, twisting in her seat, looking for road names to update Control. But there were none, and within seconds they had left the junction behind.

Instead, she searched for other signs. To the left, modern flats flanked the pavement and, opposite, a retail outlet advertised tiles. But no street name presented itself, and Hawkins was forced to give up as they built speed, scenery blurring to the sides.

The gap to Wells had increased, and Hawkins sensed Mike’s frustration as he swore and changed down a gear, forcing more power from the Golf. The Focus flew under a bridge, visibly stretching its lead. But, suddenly, as Wells moved out of his lane to pass a slower car, their luck changed.

Up ahead, a large black shape appeared from an adjacent street. It took Hawkins a second to identify the lowered suspension and blacked-out windows, but then it registered as the BMW X5 from SCO19.

Bishop
.

The X5 pulled straight into Wells’ path, far enough ahead to build sufficient speed to prevent their target from overtaking. Within seconds, Wells was on the BMW’s bumper, weaving from side to side, looking for
a way past. But Bishop moved with him, expertly slowing at the same time, forcing Wells to brake.

Hawkins scanned the road ahead. Bishop’s tactic might work, but only if Mike could get alongside and box the Focus in. If they lost too much speed before then, he might be able to accelerate past. Or, worse, if they passed a turn, Wells could simply change course.

It had to be now.

Mike had seen the problem, too. Hawkins glanced across as he tried to counter Wells’ movements in order to draw level, but as he lined up to make the critical move, two cars and a truck flashed towards them in the opposite lane, no doubt having pulled aside in response to the sirens.

‘Shit!’ Maguire swerved back into line.

Up ahead, the BMW decelerated further, dropping below fifty, although Mike still couldn’t get alongside, due to cars blocking their way. But this time Wells didn’t brake, and Hawkins heard the crunch as the bumpers met. The Ford’s engine raced, bouncing off the limiter as it pushed the BMW, edging their speed back up.

Abruptly, Wells steered left, angling his vehicle, easing the front of the X5 into the oncoming lane. Maguire had just pulled out when the BMW snapped across in front of them, tyres screeching as friction took hold. Bishop had to release the brakes and bolt for the far
pavement to avoid a head-on collision with the truck bearing down on them from ahead.

Released, Wells sped away. Maguire went with him as Hawkins watched the X5 mount the wide pathway and skid to a halt.

‘Pete’ – she spoke into the Airwave – ‘is everyone all right?’

‘One piece, just about. Think the car’s okay. Keep going; we’ll catch up
.
’

‘Understood.’ Hawkins turned to Maguire. ‘Be careful. I think we just had our warning shot.’

‘Sure thing, boss. Though you might wanna shut your eyes for this part.’

Hawkins followed his gaze ahead, where more cars were backed up at some lights, blocking their path.

Wells didn’t slow down.

Mike said, ‘He’s going round.’

The Ford swung out. There was no way to tell if they’d meet other traffic head on, and the gap was small enough now for them to share Wells’ fate, whatever happened. But they were lucky, making it past the lights and on to the junction just as a stream of cars was unleashed their way.

Wells reacted, slamming on the brakes, turning hard. Maguire followed, narrowly missing the front of an SUV that swerved violently out of their path. Horns sounded as they cut left, joining the adjacent road, although suddenly Hawkins’ attention wasn’t on
the chase. Instead, she stared at the squat building flashing past her window as realization sparked in her mind.

‘Clapham North underground,’ she said, half to herself.

‘What?’ Maguire steadied the car, keeping them in line with Wells, the noise from their ruined bumper increasing as the speed climbed again.

‘I know where he’s going,’ she told him, fumbling with the Airwave set. ‘All units be advised, suspect may be heading for Tremadoc Road, Clapham. He was caught on camera there a few days ago, outside the home of a potential target. He may be planning a final attack.’

Mike glanced across, an ominous frown etched on his face.

Hawkins nodded, answering his silent question. ‘Amanda Cain.’

Hawkins braced herself as Mike ploughed on after Wells, reselecting the mobile number for Neil Edwards. By now, the constable and his colleagues should have taken Amanda Cain into custody so, if that was Wells’ intended destination, he’d be disappointed. But if there had been any kind of delay, and Cain was still there, Hawkins needed to warn the guys on the scene. Not only did they have a target who wanted to die but, judging by his reckless behaviour in this chase, they were dealing with a killer in similar mood.

The call connected and started to ring, but Hawkins
didn’t get the quick answer she was hoping for. She checked ahead, trying to recognize the scenery flashing past, to estimate how far they were from Cain’s road. Shops rushed by, a restaurant, a bike shop, but nothing she recalled. Last time, they must have come in from the far end of town.

Suddenly her attention was back on the phone as Edwards picked up. ‘Ma’am?’

‘Neil,’ she blurted, ‘is Cain with you?’

There was a pause. ‘Not exactly.’

Something in the pit of her stomach fell. ‘Why not?’

‘Sorry, ma’am. She didn’t answer the door, so I thought something had happened to her. We had to break in, but we’ve searched the house and she’s not here.’

Hawkins’ heart rate leapt as she watched Tremadoc Road fly past the window. Wells had driven straight on, which meant one of two things. Either he’d missed the turn, or that wasn’t where he was …

‘Fuck!’ Hawkins said, to Edwards and Mike at the same time as the most likely scenario came to her. ‘Wells has contacted Cain; told her it’s now or never. She must have known we were watching, so she’s sneaked out while he tries to shake us off. They’re going to meet up.’

Edwards apologized again.

‘Listen to me.’ Hawkins closed her eyes, trying not to swear. ‘We’re chasing Wells now. As long as we don’t lose him, he’ll lead us to Cain, so get your team together
and follow us, west on the main road. Cain must be on foot, so she can’t have gone far.’

Edwards answered with renewed purpose. ‘Copy that. We’re on our way.’

‘And if you see the doctor, pick her up.’ She ended the call.

‘Geez.’ Maguire swung out to pass a slow truck. ‘You’re a damn magnet for anarchy. I need a transfer.’

‘Oh, right.’ She watched him saw at the wheel. ‘Because you hate an excuse to drive fast.’

He glanced across, clearly suppressing a smile. ‘So where’s he going?’

‘I don’t know. What’s around here?’

‘Coffee shops and rain?’

Hawkins ignored him, trying to assume the mind-sets of a defeated ex-soldier and a desperate ex-con.
Where would they go?

They were on a busy main road in the centre of London, just after rush hour on a week night. The conspirators would probably have opted for somewhere quiet, away from public eyes, although Wells had obviously hoped not to have a police escort with him at the time.

Of course, guessing where they’d meet only became relevant if they lost him, but as the burning smell in the VW seemed to increase, Hawkins couldn’t ignore the risk. It could be the bumper rubbing on the road, but the engine was a possibility, too. And as the road opened out to twin lanes, their speed climbed in response and
she watched with dismay as the distance between the cars began to stretch.

‘Control,’ she barked into the Airwave, ‘where’s our air support?’

The operator’s voice was mostly drowned out, but the last word sounded like ‘minutes’.

Ahead of them, the Focus was weaving past other cars, still increasing its lead. But then the situation changed again as Wells’ brake lights flared. Mike responded, slowing their pace, and Hawkins glanced around, trying to predict his next move. The street was wide: four lanes separated by islands here and there, houses lining both sides and no adjoining roads.

Nowhere for him to go.

The answer came as Hawkins scanned the pavement to their left. Up ahead, beyond railings that protected pedestrians from the fast-moving traffic flow, was a female figure, walking away.

Hawkins pointed. ‘That’s Cain.’

As she spoke, Wells’ car passed the woman. The horn sounded and the vehicle slowed, diving into a layby just beyond. Hawkins reiterated their location, asking again about back-up, glancing across at the walking figure as they flashed past. Amanda Cain started to run.

She looked back at Wells, out of his car, now moving towards the doctor.

Hammer in hand.

Wells obviously didn’t want to escape. He knew the
police were right behind him, that in seconds he’d be caught. The focus on his face was absolute: a man intent on fulfilling his grim promise. They had just one chance.

‘There.’ Hawkins pointed at the end of the railings. ‘Get between them.’

Mike swerved, mounting the kerb with a bang, skidding to a halt, separating the two advancing figures. Wells stopped, covering his ears, apparently confused, but Cain kept moving. She skirted the front of their car as the two detectives opened their doors.

‘Amanda! Stop!’ Hawkins shouted, but Cain ignored her, continuing to move towards Wells, away to their right. Mike wrestled his way out of the driver’s seat, also calling the doctor’s name, when tyres screeched out in the road. Hawkins turned to see the BMW pulling up behind them. The doors flew open as Bishop and his two armed colleagues jumped out with firearms raised, just as Cain reached Wells. The officers fanned out, weapons trained on the pair, but their red laser sights hovered on the doctor’s torso as she turned to face them, shielding the ex-soldier. Forcing them to stay back.

‘Both of you on the floor!’ Bishop yelled. ‘Now!’

Neither complied.

‘Leave us alone,’ Cain screamed, edging backwards. ‘This is what I want.’

Hawkins joined in. ‘You know we can’t do that, Amanda.’

But her words had no effect. She watched Cain take a breath and shut her eyes, obviously expecting her accomplice to complete his gruesome role. Behind her in the darkness Wells’ arm rose, lifting the hammer, ready to strike. Still the officers had no clear shot.

‘We
will
fire!’ Bishop shouted. ‘Put it down.’

‘Do it,’ Cain countered, addressing Wells.

Hawkins looked at the ex-soldier. The hammer was raised, but there was uncertainty on his face. Cain must have sensed it, too, because she glanced at him, still protecting her ally, repeating her command.

But still no strike came.

Wells looked up, his eyes searching the sky. Hawkins followed his gaze. She saw nothing, but then she realized what had drawn his attention, as her ears picked up a noise that grew swiftly from whisper to roar.

Seconds later, the surveillance helicopter swept into view, rising from behind the trees to their left, passing over the traffic rushing by on the road beneath. The aircraft rounded on them, rotor blades churning the air, their downdraught lifting dust and leaves in its thunderous wake. Hawkins’ eyelids flickered in the turbulence as the pilot swung round to face Wells, bringing the helicopter’s searchlight to bear.

The killer cowed as the powerful beam hit, saturating its target in blaring white. He took a step backwards, away from Cain, using his free arm to shield his eyes.

‘No!’ the doctor screamed, going with him, keeping her body between Wells and the guns. ‘Finish this!’

‘Wait!’ Hawkins yelled. The hammer was still raised, but Wells was clearly in turmoil, distressed by the amplified fury of events. He seemed confused, as if woken abruptly. Then she realized that perhaps he wasn’t struggling with his situation as it stood, but with the memories it stirred. Maybe the effects of PTSD were playing themselves out. Hunter’s words came back to her: ‘Flashbacks can occur while the sufferer is awake; blurring the lines between present and past.’

Suddenly, the situation made sense. Wells’ beleaguered state came from an inability to separate current events from their traumatic predecessors, specifically the death of his innocent friend, a horrific incident for which he blamed himself. His coping strategy, it seemed, was to assist others in extricating themselves from similarly haunted despair. This whole series of murders wasn’t just about helping the disaffected to die; it was borne of a need to atone for what he saw as
his
mistake. Until now, he’d been able to operate in hermetic conditions, one-on-one with each willing victim, but here, in this maelstrom of confusion and noise, he was falling apart.

Which meant the weak point here wasn’t Cain’s resolve.

It was Wells’.

Hawkins refocused on the killer, shouting his name above the piercing clatter of the helicopter blades. He didn’t seem to hear. She turned to wave her arms at the helicopter, trying to signal to the pilot to back off. If
they could communicate with Wells, they might have a chance of saving Cain, but the aircraft’s blaring presence muted everything, preventing negotiation, increasing the chance that Wells would strike. But the pilot either ignored her or didn’t see, as the aircraft held its place.

She turned back to Wells.

‘Last chance!’ Bishop roared.

Hawkins glanced around at the armed officers. They were edging apart, opening the angles. Cain wouldn’t be able to shield Wells for much longer and, unless the killer surrendered, they’d take him out as soon as they had a clear shot. She needed to tell them he wasn’t a sadistic killer, merely a plagued war veteran that hadn’t received the help he so badly required.