Dead Scared

SPIKE-STRIPS, ALSO KNOWN as stop sticks and stingers, are used by traffic police the world over to bring high-speed car chases to an end. Typically constructed of metal teeth, between an inch and a half and three inches long and fixed to a fold-up metal frame, spike-strips are unfolded widthways across a road directly in front of a speeding car. They work by puncturing the vehicle’s tyres and, used properly, bring speeding vehicles to a rapid halt whilst causing minimal damage to both people and property.

Usually, the spikes are hollow, rather than solid, and once embedded in tyres will deflate them slowly. The vehicle will be able to travel a short distance before the tyres are completely flat but the possibility of an accident is greatly reduced. Solid spikes, on the other hand, cause multiple tyre blowouts that invariably lead to trouble.

DI Mark Joesbury was a good driver. Police officers are trained to drive quickly and confidently, with maximum levels of concentration. His aptitude behind a wheel had been spotted whilst he was still a cadet and he’d been on several advanced driving courses, including one on evasive techniques.

In daylight, he might have seen the home-made spike-strip laid across the A10 just before he reached it. Had he done so, he would have stood as good a chance of being able to avoid it as just about any other driver on the UK’s roads. In the dark, driving at speed, and with a lot on his mind, it wasn’t going to happen.

His BMW hit the nail-embedded steel pipe at just over sixty miles per hour. All four tyres exploded with a sound like gunshots. The BMW hit the crash barrier, broke through it, left the highway and careered down a wooded bank. It came to rest on its roof. The last thought in Mark Joesbury’s head was that he hadn’t passed on any of the information Lacey had shared with him.

I got back to find Tox working out ridiculously complicated equations as heavy metal rocked everything in the room that wasn’t nailed firmly down. She grinned at me, mouthed something and then turned down the volume.

‘I am so coming to your place for the Easter break,’ she announced.

‘I’ll look forward to that,’ I replied, wondering if Joesbury could conjure up a house in Shropshire and a plump, middle-class lady in her fifties to be our mother.

Tox grinned at me. ‘Do you mind Guns N’ Roses?’ she asked.

‘Louder the better,’ I replied and, when she took me at my word, went into my room to read and wait.

As the rattle and crash of the accident faded away into the night, two hooded figures emerged from the trees. One of them picked up what was left of the spike-strip and pulled it to the side of the road. The other climbed the broken crash barrier and made his way down the bank. As he reached the vehicle, his companion joined him.

The man inside was suspended upside down by his seat belt. His head was twisted at an angle that looked unnatural.

‘Is he dead?’ asked the first man.

‘Don’t know,’ replied the second. ‘Looks it.’

‘Let’s get the stuff.’

They’d brought a crowbar with them to force open the boot. It wasn’t needed. The crash had disabled the lock and the boot hatch was open. Joesbury’s bag was three yards further down the slope. In it, they found the laptop and mobile phone that Joesbury had taken from Lacey less than half an hour earlier. From the main body of the car they took his own mobile. They also found a jacket with a wallet inside and took that too. Then they stood back to survey the scene.

‘Torch it?’ suggested the first man.

The second shook his head. ‘Too obvious,’ he said. ‘They’d find the match. And he looks dead to me. Come on.’

They turned and made their way back up the slope. At the sound of another car they ducked low. It carried on, having no idea of the devastation just a few yards away.

‘They’d find a match?’ said the first man. ‘You’re kidding me. Won’t it just burn up?’

‘Nope. Match heads contain silica. Very tough compound.’

‘You learn something new every day.’

The two men crossed the road and made their way through the trees to a farm track where they’d left their own vehicle. They climbed inside and drove away. Since they’d left the ruined BMW, neither had looked back.

Nine o’clock arrived and Tox went off to find her boyfriend. Nine thirty followed and I’d heard nothing from Joesbury. My heartbeat went into overdrive at nine forty-five when there was a knock on the door. I shot across the room to open it. Nick Bell stood in the doorway. ‘Hi,’ he said.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked him. I’d never seen him look so serious.

He put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

I didn’t want Nick anywhere near me but I had a sense something had happened. I stepped back and let him come inside. He came close and looked down at me, as though he wanted to kiss me but wasn’t quite sure about himself.

‘I’m afraid I’ve got bad news,’ he said.

Joesbury was the first thought in my head. Ridiculous. Nick didn’t know Joesbury, had no idea I was supposed to have a brother. I told myself to get a grip and nodded at Nick to go on.

‘Bryony died two hours ago,’ he said. ‘She took her own life.’

I could not overreact. Laura would be sad, sympathetic, nothing more.

‘I’m sorry,’ I managed. ‘I know she was important to you.’

Nick held out his arms. I stepped into them and hugged him, knowing I had to play my part to the end. ‘What happened?’ I asked.

He pulled away from me and crossed to Talaith’s desk. ‘There was an emergency in the unit,’ he said. ‘Everyone was occupied. She managed to get out of bed, pulled away all the lines and tubes. All the alarms went off, of course, but it was just chaos. By the time someone got to her, she’d opened the window and jumped out.’

I couldn’t think of anything to say, because the only thought going through my head was that they’d got her, after all.

‘There was blood around the sink,’ Nick went on. ‘We think she went to the mirror, saw herself properly for the first time and couldn’t deal with it.’

They’d got her. They were winning, on every front.

‘She was a medical student,’ Nick was saying. ‘She knew the score about her injuries, about what the future held. Sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.’

I wasn’t interested in the possibility that it might be for the best, that Bryony would have had no sort of life, as damaged as she was. All I could think about was that keeping these girls alive had become my job. And I’d failed.

‘I’ve got a lot to do,’ Nick said. ‘There’s always a lot of admin when someone dies. And I’ve left messages for her parents so I need to be around if they get back to me. Can we do supper another time?’

‘Of course,’ I said, relieved not to have to come up with an excuse. ‘I’ve got a lot on myself. Why don’t I walk you to the gate?’

How had they done it? There had been some final trigger, something that had pushed her over the edge. I had to find out who’d visited her that day. Apart from George and the man at my side. I couldn’t go back to the hospital, though. I had to wait for Joesbury.

Snow was beginning to fall again as we crossed First Court.

‘Do roads round here get blocked in the snow?’ I asked Nick. Joesbury had been gone for four hours already.

‘Only when it takes the authorities by surprise,’ said Nick. Then he looked up. ‘These flakes are tiny,’ he went on. ‘I doubt we’re in for another big dump.’

‘Good,’ I said, wanting to look at my watch. At that moment, a nearby church clock struck the hour. We stepped through the tiny wooden door into the street and he turned to face me. I forced a shiver that quickly turned into a real one.

‘You need to get back inside,’ he said. ‘See you soon.’

I let him kiss me and tried not to pull away too quickly. Then I watched him walk a few paces down the road, giving him a cute, girly wave when he looked round, before turning back towards First Court.

I walked quickly across and through into Second Court, pulling my new phone out of my pocket, even though I’d have heard it if there’d been any sort of message left. Where the hell was Joesbury? Four hours! He should have been back by now.

By ten o’clock, Evi knew there was nothing more she could do for Jessica that night. She’d been transferred to a secure psychiatric wing of the hospital, her parents were with her, and she’d been given sedatives to ensure a good night’s sleep. With a bit of luck, it would also be a dreamless one.

As she was making her way out through the hospital’s main reception, her phone rang. Megan Prince. Conscious of her heartbeat picking up pace, Evi gave herself a second.

‘Hello, Meg.’

‘Evi, hi. Can you talk?’ Megan’s usual breezy voice seemed to be pitched lower than normal.

‘Of course. What’s up?’

‘Can we meet tomorrow, first thing? I’ve no appointments till ten. Can I swing by your place at nine?’

No. Somewhere there’d be people.

‘I have to be at the office early tomorrow, but I can see you there at nine. Will that do?’

‘Yeah, that’ll be fine. Great. See you there, Evi.’

She’d gone. OK, what was all that about? Megan had never just asked to see her out of the blue before. Should she tell Laura? Maybe have her on hand?

Evi wheeled herself across the car park, thinking perhaps that she wouldn’t tell Laura until afterwards. It might be nothing, and in any case, what could happen in an office full of people?

She drove home, exhausted and hurting but, oddly, in better spirits than she’d known for some time. She told herself it was finding Jessica alive and OK. Deep down she knew it was because of the conversation she’d had earlier with Laura. I’d call him if I were you. Suddenly, Evi could no longer remember why calling Harry was impossible.

The dog was waiting just inside her front door.

‘Hey, Sniffy,’ Evi said, and was rewarded with a softly nuzzling nose and a brown-eyed look that told her she was the only important person in the world. Sniffy followed her into the kitchen and Evi opened the back door to let her out. For the first time, she realized that handing Sniffy back to her owners, when they showed up, was going to be quite hard.

She switched on the kettle and her computer. Just as the water came to the boil, a series of pinging sounds told her she had several new emails. Most were work related, one a jokey round robin from her cousin. The one that caught her eye was from a woman in Lancashire, whose young son Evi had treated the year before. It had an attachment. Alice never sent her emails. Letters occasionally, phone calls from time to time, but this was the first email Evi had ever received from her. She only knew one Alice Fletcher, though. Evi clicked it open. The attachment was a newspaper article, a cutting from the Lancashire Telegraph.

Dearest Evi,

I expect you’ve heard the terrible news. I don’t doubt you were as shocked and saddened as we were. We can tell ourselves that God takes to himself those he loves the best but, ultimately, I’m not sure there’s any meaning to be found in such events.

Anyway, I thought you would like to see the story that appeared in this week’s Telegraph. Doesn’t do him justice, of course, but what would? There’s talk of a memorial service in the church. I’ll keep you posted.

Love and miss you still,

Alice

A minute later, a cold dry hand had reached inside Evi’s chest and taken hold of her heart. Any second now she was going to open her mouth and howl, but how could that happen when there wasn’t any breath left in her body?

The newspaper story talked of a wonderful man, a man of God, who had been deeply loved and respected by all who’d known him; a man who’d been taken too soon, in the very prime of his life, by a freak climbing accident. There were details of his career, the various ecclesiastical and research posts he’d held, there was even a photograph. Evi took in none of it. At the same time, she understood everything.

Harry was dead.