A Rush of Blood

Seventy-six

‘How’s the book?’ Griff Montell asked.

‘Not bad. I like this woman. She’s got balls.’

‘Why’s it called Inhuman Remains?’

‘I don’t know yet. I haven’t got that far.’

‘Come on, Alice,’ he challenged, ‘you’re a detective. You’re supposed to work things out for yourself.’

‘Well,’ she ventured, ‘I’ve got one idea, but I’ll need to wait and see.’ She laid down the book. ‘Do you fancy making some tea?’ she asked. ‘It’s your turn.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Eleven twenty. The night is yet young.’

‘Too bloody young. OK. But I’ll have coffee: I suspect that the hardest thing we’ll have to do on this shift is stay awake.’ He walked across to the small table against the wall, picked up the kettle to judge by its weight whether it held enough water, then switched it on.

He was watching it boil when the phone rang. Cowan snatched it up. ‘CID, Leith,’ she said, trying to keep her surprise from her voice.

‘This is ACC Steele,’ a calm female voice replied. ‘We have reason to believe that a robbery is in progress at Joppa Golf Club; it’s right on your doorstep. We’ve got lucky. We have a car in position opposite the entrance right now. You know where it is?’

‘Yes, ma’am, exactly. My Uncle Jock’s a member.’

‘Then you and Montell get along there, now.’

‘How many at the scene?’

‘Us or them?’

‘Them.’

‘One vehicle, we believe. Now stop asking questions and listen. We could apprehend these people there, but we’re not going to. If they leave before you arrive, our car will follow discreetly and guide you to a rendezvous. You will take over pursuit, at a safe distance, and you’ll follow. The game is to have these people lead us to where they live. Understood?’

‘Yes, ma’am; we’re on our way now. We’ll check in with the comms centre as soon as we’re on the move.’ She put the phone down, picked her jacket from the back of her chair, and snatched a key from Montell’s desk. ‘Forget the tea, Griff,’ she said. ‘Arse in gear; this is our lucky night.’

They ran downstairs and out through the back door of the old police station, into the yard. Their car was a black Mondeo Cosworth, innocuous to anyone other than an expert, but capable of keeping pace with any other saloon on the road and with all but the most exotic sports models. ‘Gimme the key,’ Montell demanded, as they reached it.

‘In your dreams,’ Cowan replied, as she opened the driver’s door.

‘One, I know where we’re going, two, I know what the orders are and three, I’ve done an advanced driving course. Do you tick any of those boxes, big boy?’

He smiled and slid into the passenger seat. ‘I like it when you call me big boy,’ he murmured as she started the engine.

‘All boys do,’ she replied, enigmatically, ‘regardless.’

She pulled out of the car park and headed for Salamander Street, then on to Seafield Road. As she drove, Montell took the radio microphone and called the communications centre to report their position and to be patched through to the patrol car in position at the golf club entrance.

‘Anything happening?’ he asked his nameless colleague, once contact had been made.

‘No,’ came the reply through the speaker, ‘but they’re still in there. Where we are we can see the top of their vehicle. It’s one of these pick-up things, four seats in front and platform behind with a hard top over it.’

‘Any chance they can see you?’

‘Nane. We’re tucked up a wee side street wi’ no lighting. How far away are you?’

‘Less than a minute,’ Cowan shouted for the mike to pick up. ‘We’re crossing the bridge in Seafield Road.’

‘Roger,’ said the patrolman. ‘Here, they’re moving. They’ll be coming out into Craigenside Drive. If they go left, they’re heading for you. If they go right, you’ll need to catch them up. We won’t show ourselves. Hold on, here they come. It’s a white vehicle, registration Sierra Lima zero six X-ray Charlie Oscar, and it’s turned. . left, heading your way.’

‘Copy that,’ said Montell.

‘Shit,’ Cowan hissed. They were almost upon the junction of Craigenside Drive and Seafield Road. ‘Choice to make.’ She drove straight on, and as they passed the junction, they saw a white extended pick-up approaching the turn, indicating left. ‘Sorted,’ she murmured. ‘Keep an eye on them, Griff, let me know when they’re out of sight.’ She slowed her speed, checking in her rear-view that they were clear behind.

‘OK. They’re gone.’

She swung the car in a violent u-turn then tramped on the accelerator, retracing their steps.

‘Heading west,’ Montell told the communications centre, as they cleared the bridge and the target vehicle came into view once more, ‘and in pursuit.’

‘What’s your bet, Alice?’ he asked as they cleared a green light, and as Seafield Road became Salamander Street.

‘I don’t have one yet. They could be local; we’ll have a better idea soon. Look,’ she said, glancing at a woman standing on the pavement as they passed, ‘the massage parlours are shut, so the hookers are back on the street.’

‘Ladies of negotiable affection,’ he corrected her. ‘Sounds more refined.’

They drove on, up Constitution Street and along Great Junction Street, lucky with the lights until the pick-up was stopped by a red at its end. ‘Bugger!’ Cowan cursed. ‘I’d rather not be directly behind them.’

‘It’s OK,’ Montell reassured her. ‘They can’t see us for the top on the load platform. They don’t even know we’re here.’

As the signal changed to red and amber, the vehicle’s left indicator came on and it turned into Ferry Road. ‘I’ll place that bet now,’ she declared. ‘They’re not from Edinburgh. If they were heading for Glasgow they’d have gone right at Seafield. Assuming that the driver knows where he’s going, I reckon he’s taking us across the Forth Road Bridge.’

‘To infinity and beyond,’ Montell drawled.

‘Wherever, Griff,’ said Alice. ‘When he gets there I’ll still have him in my sights.’