Breaking Point (28 page)

She followed the car out of the village in the direction of Lyddingham. The road didn't go anywhere else, and there was nothing in between, except for a few cottages, one of which, she reminded herself, was where Fletcher and his girlfriend had lived.

The news about Rose Ryan had been all over the local papers. There had been plenty of speculation but very little in the way of facts, and Emma had tried to get Molly to tell her more. Was it an accident or murder? Molly had refused to be drawn, saying only that it was still under investigation.

Deep in her own thoughts, it took Emma a few seconds to realize that the lights ahead of her had vanished. She had travelled this road many times, so she knew it ran straight for at least another quarter mile, so where . . .?

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the glow of reflected light off to her left. Headlights sweeping the sky as the car she'd been following wound its way into the hills. It was a narrow, winding road, serving a scattering of farms before descending into the valley to join the main road between Broadminster and Ludlow.

Emma slowed as she reached the turning, less certain now that what she was doing was wise. It was one thing to follow these men along a well-travelled road, but quite another to follow them on a back road where farmhouses were as much as a mile apart.

On the other hand, she would never forgive herself if she gave up now.

‘Right!' she said loudly, more to bolster her own courage than for any other reason, and made the turn.

It wasn't a bad road, but it was narrow, bordered by high banks and brambles in some places, deep ditches in others, and the bends in the road were extremely sharp. It might be all right in daylight, Emma thought, but not on a moonless night such as this one. The grades were steep, and there were times when her headlights were pointed at the sky rather than focussed on the next turning in the road.

And it was
dark!
Apart from the odd pinprick of light from a distant farmhouse she could see absolutely nothing of the countryside around her.

She slowed as she crested the next rise, and suddenly the hedges were gone and the top of the hill was bare. Emma swore beneath her breath as she hit the brakes and doused the lights.

‘Some tracker you turned out to be!' she muttered angrily. ‘Nothing like announcing what you're doing and where you are to the whole world!'

The darkness closed in around her. She felt as if her face was being covered with a cloak of black velvet. For all she could see she might well have been blind.

And she'd lost them.

She peered into the darkness. This had to be the highest point in the road, because she could see pinpricks of light in the distance below. But no headlights; no moving glow in the sky, and that worried her. No matter how far ahead of her the car might be, she should be able to see some sort of glow from their lights. She opened the window and listened, but all she could hear was the ticking of her own engine as it cooled.

She ran her tongue over her lips and tasted salt; her hands were slippery on the wheel, and she realized she was sweating despite the cold that came pouring in through the open window. She closed it and sat there shivering as she tried to think what to do next.

It was just possible, she supposed, that they knew the road so well that they had reached the main road to Ludlow, and that was why she couldn't see their lights. If they had, then she'd
really
lost them because they could be anywhere by now.

But just suppose that they
were
on to her and were waiting for her? Sitting there with the lights off, waiting for her to appear. There would be nowhere to go; no way of backing up or turning round.

On the other hand, perhaps they had reached their destination. But that would have to be one of the farms, and that didn't seem too likely; neither one of them had looked like farmers to her, nor did they look like the sort who would be staying at a farm way out here.

But the question remained: if not at a farm, then where? She couldn't go on until she knew, and she couldn't go back, because to try to turn round in the dark would probably mean ending up in a ditch and being stuck out there for the rest of the night.

No one who knew her would ever call Emma Baker fanciful, but alone out there in the middle of nowhere, her imagination was working overtime.

She drew a deep breath, and told herself not to be so silly. Either the two men had turned off long ago, or they were so far ahead of her that she would never catch up to them.

Which meant there was nothing to worry about.

Emma reached for the key in the ignition, then paused. She was anxious to get going, but perhaps it would be best to wait. Just in case, because if they
were
waiting for her, and she didn't appear, they might well think they were mistaken, and go on. Which meant they would have to put their lights on again and she would know where they were.

Emma pulled her coat even closer around her and settled down to wait.

She'd planned to stay longer, but at the end of ten minutes Emma had had enough. She started the car. The sooner she could get down to the main road, the sooner she could go home. It would take her about twenty minutes longer, using the main roads, but that was better by far than travelling this road again. Clearly, sleuthing was not one of her talents. She'd been a fool to try to follow the two men. Next time, leave it to the police, she told herself crossly, and vowed to call Molly Forsythe first thing in the morning. At least she could tell her that the Australian was back.

The two men watched from their place of concealment as the car rounded the corner and carried on down the hill. The waited until it had passed before turning to walk back up the track to where they'd left the car.

‘I told you it was the woman from the pub,' Luka said. ‘I thought I recognized the car when we left the pub. It was the same one that was parked round the back of the house when we went in to clear out the kid's room.'

‘Yeah, well, I don't know what you're using for night vision,' the Australian growled, ‘but I could barely tell it was a car as it went by, let alone what make it was and who was driving. I think you're getting jumpy in your old age, Luka. I mean, other people do use this road, you know. It could have been anybody, and I don't intend to worry about it. You can if you want, but leave me out of it. Anyway, why shouldn't her car be outside the pub? And why would she follow us? We weren't in there more than twenty minutes, so unless you said something to her to make her suspicious – I know I didn't – I can't see why she should take it into her head to follow us.
Did
you say anything to her, Luka?'

‘Of course not!' Luka said swiftly. ‘I barely spoke to her.'

‘Then, why would she take it on herself to follow us up a road like this late at night?' the Australian asked as they got into the car. ‘Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?'

‘But she was the one who called the police in when Newman disappeared.'

‘So? They lived in the same house, so why wouldn't she report the poor bastard missing when he doesn't come home? What's so strange about that?'

‘I still think it could have been her,' Luka said stubbornly. ‘And we can't afford to take any chances so close to the time.'

‘So stop being so bloody paranoid and rocking the boat,' the Australian said. ‘My guess is it was a local on his way home. You know what your trouble is, mate? You've been in this job too long. You see trouble even when it isn't there. You want to have a go at anyone who so much as looks cross-eyed at you, so let's not go stirring things up when there's no need. The boss made it very clear last time he was out here that he wants everything nice and calm and peaceful before the big day, so let's keep it that way.'

Luka remained silent, but the Australian knew he wouldn't let it rest, and that could mean trouble. The last thing they needed now was another disappearance that would bring the police sniffing round again. So, the question was: should he warn the boss that Luka could jeopardize everything if he wasn't reined in? Or should he say nothing, but keep a close eye on the man himself?

It was a question that was still with him when they pulled in behind the farmhouse.

I
n spite of everything the Australian had said, Luka Bardici couldn't rid himself of the feeling that he'd been right about the car that had followed them. It had been impossible to see who was driving, but the suspicion lingered that it was the woman from the pub – the same woman who had disappeared from behind the bar a few minutes before he and Slater left.

Slater must have said or done something that aroused her suspicions. The man was too brash, too full of himself, and he fancied himself with the ‘Sheilas', as he insisted on calling women. Which wasn't to say he didn't do his job, because it was Slater who had tracked down Fletcher and taken care of him, so he did have his uses. Even so, the man talked too much, and that could be why they'd been followed the night before.

Slater might be satisfied that the person who had followed them across the hills was just some local going home, but Luka wasn't one to take chances, which was why he left the farmhouse well before dawn and used his own car to go back down to Whitcott Lacey to check things out for himself. He parked some distance away, then slipped around the side of Wisteria Cottage to examine the car parked behind it.

It was an old car, rusting around the bottom of the doors, and the one that had passed them last night had sounded like an old car. If only he could get inside and start the engine he would know by the sound whether he was right or not, but that was out of the question. Not really sure about what he was looking for, Luka knelt beside the driver's door and shone a light underneath the car. Nothing on that side, but he could see something that looked like thread or torn cloth hanging down on the passenger's side of the car. Bent low, he circled the car. No, it wasn't thread and it wasn't cloth.
It was grass caught between the chrome moulding and the rusted panel along the bottom of the door. It was the same sort of grass that he'd found caught in his own car since he'd been staying at the farm. It grew along the high banks bordering the narrow road, and it could be heard whipping against the side of the car on some of the tighter curves.

He felt the grass. It was supple and fresh. It wasn't proof by any means – there were many roads in the area where you could find the same sort of grass – but it was good enough for Luka. As far as he was concerned, his suspicions had been confirmed and Slater was wrong. It
was
the woman from the pub who had followed them. The question was, why? What was it that had made her suspicious?

It couldn't have been anything he'd done; he'd only been in the pub three times in his life, and he'd kept very much to himself each time. So it
had
to be Slater; had to be something the Australian had said or done to make the woman suspicious.

Luka switched the torch off and sat back on his heels The trouble was, she had seen the two of them together and he didn't like that at all. Something would have to be done about her. The question was, what? The boss had made it very clear that he expected everyone to keep a low profile and do nothing that might attract the attention of the police, so even an ‘accident' was out of the question at this stage.

But was she
really
a threat, he asked himself? Even if she went to the police, what could she tell them? That she'd lost them? The police couldn't do much with that.

On the other hand, with so much at stake, could he afford to leave anything to chance? Better to silence her and be sure. The question was, how could it be done without arousing suspicion?

The silent vibrator on his phone alerted him to a call. ‘Where the bloody hell are you?' Slater demanded when Luka answered. ‘And what's all that hissing noise? I can barely hear you.'

‘Power lines,' Luka said cryptically.

‘You're down there, aren't you?' Slater accused. ‘At the house. I remember seeing them on the hill behind the house.'

‘It's none of your business where I am,' Luka snapped. ‘So what do you want?'

‘Not me. It's the boss. He's been trying to get hold of you, and I had to tell him that you were out doing a perimeter check, and phones don't always work out here in the valleys. I knew you weren't because your car's gone, but you'd better get back to him fast!'

So what was Kellerman panicking about now? Luka wondered wearily. Everything was set; there wasn't anything else they could do, and he would be glad when this thing was over. At least he would be out of this godforsaken backwater, although no doubt there would be others if this one was successful. Kellerman had big plans. Distribution points all over the country, right up as far as Newcastle.

Scotland was something else again. Next to the Russians, they were the meanest bunch of bastards Luka had ever met. They had their own network north of the border, and you didn't even
think
of messing with them if you knew what was good for you.

Still, orders were orders, so the sooner he called Kellerman, the better. He didn't like the idea of leaving the problem of the barmaid unresolved, but you didn't keep Kellerman waiting, and you certainly didn't tell him that there might have been yet another breach of security.

Still, he could give her something to think about; something to keep her from following anyone for a while.

Luka took out a knife and slid the thin blade first into one tyre, and then another. The slits were so small that he could barely hear the air escaping, but two of her tyres would be flat within fifteen minutes.

Emma Baker was trying hard to concentrate on her work – exams would be coming up in another three weeks, and while she knew she would do all right, she wanted to do better than that. But the nightmarish drive into the hills the night before kept intruding into her thoughts.