Newton’s Fire

FOURTEEN
I

Even as Walters turned into the Maltings, he spotted the red BMW parked up against a grassy bank at the foot of the main building. ‘Got them!’ he exulted. But the building’s main doors opened at that moment, and Luke, Rachel and Pelham hurried out and made straight for their car.

Walters maintained a steady pace, not wanting to attract attention. But Luke spotted him anyway. He yelled to the others and they sprinted for the BMW, climbed inside. Walters spurted the SUV forwards then braked sharply so that his front bumper was flush against their rear, blocking their escape. He jumped out, tried the BMW’s back door. Too late. Already locked. He glared in through the back window. The girl, Rachel, was holding a sheaf of sepia-and-black pages, printouts of the Newton papers. Rage coursed through him. He punched the glass, but only hurt his hand.

Kieran tried the doors on the other side, but they were locked too. It was Pete who found the more practical approach. He clambered on to the soft top and tried to tear the fabric free from its moorings. But Redfern started up the BMW and shot it forwards up the grass bank until his bumper hit the Maltings’ front wall. Then he swung the wheel hard around and reversed back down, clipping the SUV before racing away. He turned sharply, accelerating across the car park with Pete still on his roof before screeching to an abrupt halt and sending him tumbling down the BMW’s bonnet and across the tarmac. Then they were off and away.

Walters climbed back into the SUV to give chase, but by the time he’d picked up Kieran and Pete, the BMW was nowhere in sight. They drove around for a little while in hopes of seeing it, but without reward. ‘Now what?’ asked Pete.

‘We need to find them,’ said Walters.

‘How?’

‘Maybe they left something back at Redfern’s place.’

‘What if one of his neighbours has called in the filth?’

‘Have you got a better idea?’

They went back, watched the entrance for fifteen minutes. No sign of the police. No sign of anyone. They parked in a guest slot and Pete soon had them inside. Redfern’s apartment was a mess, and they found little of any use. The smartphone on the desk made Walters curse, for they’d evidently got serious about covering their tracks. He pocketed it anyway; it would make it easy to identify Redfern’s contacts. He checked the drawers next, found paperwork for the rented BMW. It gave him an idea, though making it happen was way above his own pay grade. He took a deep breath then called his boss.

‘I don’t believe this,’ snapped Croke, when Walters had brought him up to speed. ‘I thought you were supposed to be good at this kind of thing.’

‘With respect, sir, we’ve been unlucky.’

‘Unlucky!’ scoffed Croke. ‘These people can do me damage. I want them found before that happens. I want them silenced and I want their copy of the papers destroyed. Am I clear?’

‘That’s why I called, sir. The thing is, Redfern’s BMW has SatNav. We should be able to track them through it.’

‘SatNavs are receive only,’ said Croke.

‘Most are, yes,’ persevered Walters. ‘But this is a rental. Rental companies often fit receive and transmit systems to monitor their fleet, recover stolen cars. The girl in the office here as good as told me they use a system like that, only they run it out of St Albans. They’d never give that kind of info to a nobody like me. But you seem to have some pretty influential friends.’

A beat or two of silence. ‘Okay,’ said Croke, grudgingly. ‘Give me Redfern’s licence number. I’ll see what I can do.’