Need You Dead

26 Thursday 21 April

Roy Grace saw, through his haze of pain, the bastard running away. Belling was a hundred yards ahead of him, maybe more. He clambered, shakily, to his feet. His nose was hurting. Busted? That would be the third time in his career. But right now that wasn’t important. One thing and one thing only mattered. That fucker, Corin Belling.

Glancing round, he saw Exton lumbering towards him, speaking urgently on his phone. He broke into a loping trot, then stepped it up into a sprint. His eyes were watering. He was going to catch that wife-beating shit.

Going to catch him.

That bully boy.

Murderer.

He increased his pace. Faster. Faster. His right leg felt as if it was on fire, but he ignored the pain, running on through it. They were beside a main road now, heading towards a roundabout. There was a wide grass verge on either side. Corin Belling ran straight across it, onto the island, right in front of a motorcycle which had to swerve to avoid him, then on again, across to the far side, passing a sign that read BRIGHTON A23.

On along the road.

Grace took the same route, racing across in front of a lorry with blaring horn. His chest was hurting. His nose was agony. His leg was throbbing.

He blanked it all.

He was going to get the bastard. Going to get him. Going to see him in court.

Corin sodding Belling, you are breathing your last gulps of air as a free man for the next twenty years. Enjoy them, savour them, you miserable little wife-abusing murderous shit.

He was gaining on him.

Could see the man’s shirt stuck to his back with perspiration.

Perspiring from fear.

The pain in his right leg was fading. So was the pain in his chest. His speed was increasing.

Increasing.

The gap between them closing.

Fifty yards.

Thirty yards.

Twenty yards.

Corin Belling shot a glance over his shoulder.

Ten yards.

Five yards.

Another glance over his shoulder. His expression utter defiance. He turned sharp right, and raced back across the road, right across the path of a lorry bearing down on him.

The lorry blocked any view of the yellow Lamborghini that was overtaking it.

It was being driven by a potential customer of Bayross Supercars, the salesman encouraging him, as he said later in court, ‘To give it some wellie!’

The client was giving it wellie all right. The car was doing, so the officer from the Collision Investigation Unit established later, 85 mph at the time of impact. In a 40-mph zone.