Roy Grace 10 - Want You Dead by James Peter

Author:James, Peter [James, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780230760615
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2014-06-01T23:00:00+00:00

65

Thursday, 31 October

I’ve caused this, was all Red kept thinking, despondently, as she sat in the back of the marked police car beside Detective Inspector Branson. It was being driven at high speed by Tony Omotoso, an officer from the Road Policing Unit, siren wailing, bullying his way through the heavy traffic along past Shoreham Harbour. Branson had assured her the best way to remain covert was to be in a marked car, because no one took much notice of a marked police car travelling on blues and twos.

‘Good news that they’re safe, yeah?’ Glenn Branson said to her.

She nodded gloomily. But the cheery nature of the burly black detective comforted her a little.

‘With luck they won’t have to blow the yacht up. The Navy have a ship close by keeping all shipping well away from it. Your ex will have calculated the voyage time to be around six hours. So if it gets past twelve hours without a bomb detonating, they may take a view on it and put a line on it to tow it somewhere safe where they can keep an eye on it for a couple of days, and then board to check it. Might all just be a hoax, mightn’t it?’

She nodded, but privately did not think so. Bryce delighted in scaring her, but his threats were rarely idle. It was more likely that something had gone wrong with the timer or detonator. She looked at the detective; he made her feel safe, as if nothing bad could happen to her or her family in his presence. ‘They love the boat so much. It’s been part of our family life for as long as I can remember. That and gardening are the two passions my parents have.’

‘You know what I think?’ he said.

‘No?’ She held her breath as they overtook a line of traffic, heading straight towards a massive oncoming tanker. Their driver seemed totally oblivious to its presence, as if somehow the car’s siren gave them immunity to death. They squeezed through a gap that simply wasn’t there, and she breathed again. Then he pulled back out into the oncoming traffic. She was dimly aware of the power station stack to her left, across the harbour, then the locks, and a row of warehouses. Massive white refinery tanks. Then they were in Shoreham, blasting through a red temporary roadworks light, cars swerving to get out of their way.

They reached a roundabout where Shoreham’s Ropetackle Arts Centre was sited, and she remembered past visits there to talks and to a Sunday morning jazz concert given by Herbie Flowers that Bryce had taken her to in happier times. A minute later they were racing under the tunnel into Shoreham Airport. As they emerged on the far side, passing a row of warehouses and hangars, Red saw a massive red and white liveried helicopter descending.

‘That looks like them!’ Branson said.

A few hundred yards further, the driver veered the car off the narrow road and pulled up. From a distance, they watched the helicopter touch down, its rotors still spinning, its doors closed.

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