A Rush of Blood

Seventy-eight

‘I win,’ said Cowan, as they cruised round the long curving bend and on to the slope that led down to the mighty, but decaying, Forth Road Bridge, the only direct road connection between Fife and the Lothians. She had followed the white truck carefully on the way out of Edinburgh, varying the distance between the two vehicles, even letting her quarry out of sight on occasion on stretches where she knew there was no turn-off available.

‘Too bad for you we didn’t have money on it,’ Montell pointed out.

She ignored his reply. ‘He’s watching himself,’ she murmured. ‘He hasn’t been over the speed limit at all, but he’s never far short of it either. This is a guy who doesn’t want to take any chance of being pulled over. Once he’s over the bridge, he’ll probably think he’s free and clear. Out of our area.’

Her companion picked up the radio mike. ‘Control, we’re on the point of crossing into Fife,’ he said. ‘What’s our status? Do we hand over to them?’

‘ACC Steele again, Griff,’ a voice crackled through the speaker. ‘Maintain pursuit; repeat, maintain pursuit. This is a joint force operation; Fife are aware of your presence and of the orders in relation to the target. They won’t interfere, or attempt to stop it under any circumstances, but they’ll be available to assist if you request it.’

‘Understood, ma’am. Just as well you said that, for we’re in Fife now.’

‘And the pick-up is speeding up,’ Cowan added. ‘Doing eighty as we join the motorway.’

‘We’ve done a check on the number. No help there; it belongs on a red Dodge Caliber; the owner lives in South Shields. Don’t let him lose you, Alice,’ Steele cautioned. ‘We’ve no way of tracing him if you do.’

The constable laughed. ‘Ma’am, Nigel Mansell couldn’t lose me in what I’m driving.’

‘Any feel for a destination?’ the ACC asked.

‘He’s ignored the turn-off for Dunfermline, still heading north. There’s nothing significant between here and Perth or St Andrews. What’s he got in the truck?’

‘Seventy grand’s worth of top of the range golf clubs and clothing, we’re told by the club pro. He’s on site now. That probably rules St Andrews out. It’s the last place you’d go with knocked-off kit. The town’s full of that stuff as it is. Check in when you know for sure, and I’ll let Tayside know you’re coming.’

‘Understood, ma’am,’ said Montell. He returned the mike to its holder, and looked across at Cowan. ‘Jesus, Alice, did you hear that? Seventy thousand in stolen goods and we let them drive away from the place. We’d better recover this stuff or the top brass are going to be in shit as deep as the crew in front of us.’