Left You Dead

79

Moments after Gummy announced that the subject was on the move, Mark Taylor and the team members in the room with him were watching on the live feed. The Fiesta hire car, followed by the old red van that had let it out, and a further stream of cars, headed north up Nevill Road and vanished from view. One car, three back, was a dull grey Nissan Micra — call sign Alpha One. A moment later the voice of the driver, Kim Howe, came over the radio.

‘Alpha Seven, I have eyeball on subject.’

With all the team listening, Taylor replied, ‘Alpha One, stay with him for as long as you can.’

‘Stay with him, Alpha Seven, yes, yes,’ she replied.

The image on the monitor switched to a road map, with Alpha One, now an avatar, a grey car-shaped symbol, moving steadily along the road around a long curve. She was heading towards the junction with King George VI Avenue. Two further vehicle avatars, one green, one blue, were spaced out behind her.

‘Subject waiting at the junction, indicating right,’ Howe said.

‘Alpha One, you have Alpha Four and Alpha Eight trailing you. If you end up directly behind subject, let one overtake you. Copy?’

‘Alpha Seven, yes, yes.’

They watched the symbol now move north, heading uphill towards the roundabout at the top which would give four options — onto the A27 in either direction, north towards Devil’s Dyke, or south-east towards the city centre.

‘It’s the second left, left, left,’ Howe’s calm voice came through. ‘I’m now directly behind.’

Taylor felt a thrum of excitement. From his earlier briefing with Grace and Branson, the car park at the Devil’s Dyke beauty spot was where Niall Paternoster had a previous suspected liaison. Was he headed there now?

It was a fast, narrow road to the Dyke, which demanded maximum concentration from any driver. There were fields to the north, sloping down into a deep valley, and further on, the Dyke Golf Course. There were open farmland fields to the left, down across a panoramic vista to the urban conurbations of Southwick and Shoreham, with the harbour and sea beyond. A short distance on, to the south, was another golf course, the nine-hole Brighton and Hove Golf Club.

Quite apart from being stunning scenery, this whole area, Mark Taylor well knew from his police experience, was the place that many young dating couples in Brighton and Hove, who had access to a vehicle, would sooner or later go for perhaps their first proper kiss — and likely more. It was also, occasionally and sadly, a favoured local deposition site for bodies.

Taylor watched the blue avatar right behind the red one and spoke into the mic. ‘Alpha One, Alpha Four is tailing you in a blue Suzuki Vitara Jeep — let him pass. You’ll then have Alpha Eight in an old Mazda MX-5 behind. Let him pass and he’ll then pass subject.’

All the team watched the manoeuvres. However vigilant Niall Paternoster might be, he would have struggled to figure out he was being followed.

Three minutes later, Howe reported, ‘Alpha Seven, subject has entered car park and is heading to the far end, where I can see just one other car, a white-and-black Range Rover Evoque, index Golf November Seven Zero Charlie Papa November. We’re all parking up, and I’m keeping eyes on him.’ A moment later, she said, ‘Subject exiting the Fiesta holding a carrier bag that looks like it contains a bottle. Someone inside the Rangey has opened the passenger door for him. Alpha Eight has parked right opposite, may have a better view.’

A different voice came on the radio. The chirpy voice of Nigel Hurst. ‘Alpha Seven, Alpha Eight here, boss. Subject having an embrace with a blonde lady in the Range Rover. Now he’s inside and closed the door. Possible Ugandan discussions,’ he quipped, quoting the euphemism coined by the satirical newspaper Private Eye for illicit copulation.

Taylor radioed the Range Rover’s registration number through to a controller, requesting an ident on the owner. The information came back in less than a minute.