A Rush of Blood

Eighty-one

‘Where’s he heading now?’ Montell asked.

‘Depends. If it’s Perth, he’ll take the turn-off he’s just approaching.’

‘I don’t see an indicator flashing.’

‘No,’ said Cowan. ‘And he’s past it. He’s taking the Dundee Road, over the Friarton Bridge.’

‘Another fucking bridge? Is it as high as the last one?’

‘You won’t notice in the dark. Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing about heights.’

‘I don’t even wear cowboy boots.’

‘That’s all right. I wouldn’t fancy the spurs.’ She stared ahead into the night, focused on the red tail lights that were all she could see of the vehicle they were following. ‘OK, my boy,’ she murmured, ‘where are we bound?’

‘What’s in Dundee?’

‘Lots,’ Alice replied. ‘It’s our fourth city; used to be famous for the three Js, jute, jam and journalism. The last one’s still hanging in there, but the other two are pretty much rubber ducked.’

‘Nice turn of phrase.’ Montell paused. ‘And talking about turns. . is he slowing down?’

‘Yes he is indeed,’ she said, excited. ‘And, thank you very much, indicating like the good driver he is, to the left, and there he goes. We’ll just back off a bit, though.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there’s no through road up there. We’d have seen a sign by now if there was.’ She let the Mondeo slow right down as she approached the turn. ‘There’s one, though, but not a proper road sign. Hillside Mains Farmhouse,’ she read. ‘That looks like our destination. I’m going after him; you can call it in.’

She made the turn. The road was narrow, barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other. ‘We’ve got him, Griff. Get some orders.’

Even as she spoke, Montell was on the radio, reporting their position. ‘Don’t lose them now,’ Maggie Steele’s voice boomed. ‘You’re off the highway and they know the territory. Close in and apprehend.’

Cowan smiled. ‘Lovely,’ she hissed. She put her foot down, unleashing the power of their vehicle. Within seconds they were closing on the pick-up. She snapped her headlights on to full beam, then pressed a button to start the flashing blue lights that were hidden in the front air grille.

The driver in front swerved, but corrected and accelerated. They could see a house ahead, then an opening. The pick-up raced through it, then braked hard, and spun through a hundred and eighty degrees until it was heading back towards them.

‘No danger,’ Cowan muttered. She swung the Cosworth around, blocking the exit.

The pick-up made to turn again, but before it could complete the manoeuvre, another car, another Mondeo, appeared out of nowhere and drove across its path, leaving it no space to move further.

Montell snapped his belt free and jumped out of the passenger seat. ‘Police,’ he shouted.

‘Me too,’ another voice replied, as the occupant of the other car reached the driver’s door of the white truck and tore it open. The detective constable saw the man’s eyes widen. He looked through the passenger window. Inside were two figures, each dressed in black jumpsuits, and wearing black woollen hats, from which strands of blond hair had escaped. ‘Bloody hell, Inez,’ the man on the other side exclaimed, ‘what have you and your daughter been up to?’

‘Robbery,’ said Montell. ‘We’ve tailed them from Edinburgh.’ He opened the door on his side, took the older woman by the arm and pulled her firmly, but not roughly, from her seat.

The younger of the two stepped out unaided, tugging off her hat and shaking her hair loose. She glared across the top of the vehicle, not at him, but at his captive. ‘Mother,’ she snapped. ‘You are a complete tit.’

‘Mr Martin?’ Cowan exclaimed, as she reached the scene.

‘Alice?’

‘Hello, sir. This is DCC Martin,’ she told her colleague. ‘He was one of us before your time. He’s just been appointed to run the SCDEA. What are you doing here, sir?’

‘I just happened to be passing,’ he replied, casually. ‘Who’s in the house, Cameron?’ he asked the younger woman.

‘Search me.’

‘DC Cowan may have to, but we’re not there yet.’

‘Look, I have no idea, honest. I haven’t been here in weeks.’ She nodded at her mother. ‘You’d better ask her.’

As the truth dawned, Martin’s smile almost lit up the night. ‘Let me guess, Inez,’ he laughed. ‘There’s eight of them, they’re female and they speak Estonian.’