First and Only (26 page)

Nothing.

‘
God Psimon, I’m sorry… I’m so
sorry
.’

Steve was almost paralysed by the
sense of guilt and failure.

‘
Keep me safe
,’ Psimon had
said, and he had failed.

The killer had him.

With an effort Steve thrust aside
these destructive thoughts. The killer could not have got far. He started down
the fire escape and then he stopped. Something had caught his eye; something
moving down the footpath leading from this street to the next; a large, bulky,
unnatural shape. The shape was keeping to the shadows, moving quickly.

The killer.

Steve’s first instinct was to
give chase but his military training demanded a rapid assessment before he
moved. Steve followed the line of the killer’s flight to the car park beside
the tennis courts. It was dark and empty but Steve could just make out the
shape of a black van tucked away in one corner.

A black van.

Steve’s mind flashed back to
earlier, when they had arrived back at the flat. A black van had sidled past
them on the road. A black van had followed them from the convention.

Steve cursed his carelessness.

The killer was halfway down the
passageway; he would be in the van before Steve reached him. Steve had to get
back to his car, and quick.

Steve turned round and ran back
through the flat. He met DI Regan in the hall.

‘What happened?’ asked the
inspector looking through the doorway into the living room. ‘Where’s Psimon?’

The inspector made to stop him
but Psimon could die at any time and Steve would brook no further delay. He
winded the inspector with a punch to the stomach and continued on his way.

Back outside the house the
inevitable brawl was in full swing. More police had arrived but still the
bikers seemed in no mood to be placated. They scuffled and fought up and down
the pavement and no one noticed when Steve emerged.

Steve ran straight to his car and
then he cursed again. He had reversed right up to the inspectors’ car and now a
quarter ton of Harley Davidson was sitting in his way. He was boxed in. He was
just resolved to smash his way out when he heard a voice from beyond the
inspectors’ car.

‘What’s going on here, man?’

Steve looked up to see another
biker sitting astride an old Kawasaki z1300. The biker had pulled up behind the
inspectors’ car, beyond the press of police cars and the glare of the flashing
blue lights.

‘The brothers having a spot of
bother with the filth?’ he asked Steve, turning off his engine and climbing off
his bike.

Steve looked at the biker, the
wheels of his mind turning.

The biker reached up to unclip
the chinstrap of his open-faced helmet, the keys for his bike still clutched in
his leather-clad fist. And written across the front of his helmet, in bold
white letters, was the biker’s name.

SPIKE

Steve slipped his car keys into
his pocket and started towards Spike who gave him a sudden wary look. But it
was too late. Steve punched Spike hard in the face and as he dropped to the
floor he snatched the keys from his limp fingers.

The sudden movement caught the
attention of those still wrangling outside Psimon’s flat and Spike’s prostrate
form drew concerned shouts from police and bikers alike. Steve ignored them. He
climbed onto Spike’s bike, turned the key, flicked out the peddle and
kick-started the Kawasaki into life.

Then as bikers and police rushed
towards him Steve revved the engine but he did not head off down the road.
Going round the block would waste yet more precious time. Instead he spun the
back wheel of the massive bike until he faced the pavement. Then he let out the
clutch, mounted the pavement and tore off along the pedestrian footpath down
which the killer had fled.

The footpath was narrow for such
a big bike and Steve was grateful that no one else was using it tonight. He was
not driving with the greatest of care. What he needed now was speed. He shot
out into the car park and the bike wobbled dangerously as he skidded to a halt.
But the car park was empty. There was no sign of the van.

Steve emerged onto the road
running parallel with Psimon’s. Still nothing to be seen. Turning left would
take the killer into a warren of cul-de-sacs and residential back streets. He
would be heading for more open roads.

Steve turned right.

The bike growled up the quiet
suburban road until Steve reached the T-junction with the high street. This was
more brightly lit and there were shops and businesses along the way. He looked
to the right where the long straight road headed back into Manchester. There
was a fair bit of traffic on the road but still no sign of the van. He turned
to the left. More traffic, a couple of black cabs and several buses and there,
just disappearing around the distant bend, a single black van.

Steve gunned the bike and sped
off in pursuit.

The lazy Sunday evening traffic
frustrated Steve’s sense of urgency but he maintained a decent speed as he wove
his way past the intervening cars. He was closing quickly on the van when a bus
pulled right out in front of him. With a heartfelt expletive Steve hit the
brakes hard. The bus had pulled out to get past a long row of parked cars and
now it stopped in the middle of the road unable to pull into the kerb and the
people waiting at the bus stop.

Steve made to go past but there
was a pedestrian island in the middle of the road, with two brightly-lit
bollards blocking his way, and the flow of oncoming traffic made it impossible
to overtake on the other side of the road.

He fumed and swore and had no
choice but to wait.

By the time he got past the bus
the van was out of sight. The road ahead was clear for a while and Steve
accelerated close to seventy in the thirty mile-an-hour zone. When he rounded
the bend he could see the van once more. It was way out in front, beyond two sets
of traffic lights, heading towards a series of roundabouts where the killer
could choose to take the motorway, a dual carriageway or one of several small
country roads.

If Steve was going to lose him
now that would be the place.

He maintained his reckless speed,
weaving dangerously between the slower moving cars. The first set of traffic
lights was accommodatingly green but the second turned to red before he reached
them. Steve dropped his speed but he did not stop. He manoeuvred past the
waiting cars and threaded his way through the contra-flow of traffic at the
junction. He ignored the shouts and honking horns of irate drivers and did not
notice the police car peeling away from the traffic and turning in pursuit of
this dangerously irresponsible biker.

Steve had lost sight of the van
again. His eyes streamed from the cold wind in his face and he blinked away the
tears as he scanned the road ahead.

Then he saw it.

It was in the left-hand lane,
rising up towards the first roundabout, stuck in a line of slow-moving traffic,
waiting to turn onto the dual carriageway. This was his chance to close the
distance. He opened up the throttle and the Kawasaki gave a throaty roar as it
powered down the road.

The wind was loud in his ears but
Steve slowly became aware of a police siren behind him. He glanced in his wing
mirror to see the police car closing fast, the cars that had slowed him down
now moving aside to let it pass.

Steve ignored it.

His thoughts were only for the
black van, and for the prisoner within.

He closed rapidly on the van and
as he reached the back of the slow-moving line of traffic he pulled onto the
gravel verge running down the side of the road. The back wheel of the Kawasaki
slid and skidded in the gravel as he advanced on the van but he just needed to
get ahead of it. Then he could block its path and tackle the driver.

*

Lucifer was frustrated by the
slowness of the traffic but he had learned over the years to master his
annoyance at the failings of the immaterial world. Impatience led to errors and
errors led to failure and confinement. And so he waited in the line of traffic
anticipating the service that would soon commence.

The witness lay in the back of
the van, unconscious or stupefied with terror.

Lucifer had been required to
strike him a second time when they reached the van. Harder this time. Enough to
quieten the witness until the time of his confession.

A sudden flash of blue light in
his wing mirror caught his attention.

An agent of false justice.

Lucifer looked to see if it had any
bearing on him. It seemed not. It was some way back although it was now driving
on the gravel verge at the side of the road, seemingly in pursuit of a
motorbike that was coming up fast on the inside.

Lucifer glanced at the bike, and
then he looked again and the sudden flash of fury made his skin burn.

It was the angel, the guardian
angel of the witness, riding out to save his ward.

But Lucifer would not have it. He
let the traffic move away in front of him, opening up a gap. Then he turned the
wheel to the left and lifted his great foot until the van’s clutch engaged. He
waited until the angel was almost level with him and quickly lifted his foot.
The van lurched forward into the bike’s path and Lucifer felt a satisfying
crunch as the bike crashed into the side of the van.

*

Had he been a fraction slower
Steve would have slammed right into the back of the van. As it was he glanced
off the side and went careering up a grassy bank and straight into a wooden
fence. The bike was wedged against the broken fence trapping his leg and Steve
tried desperately to free the bike as the black van drew away. The traffic
ahead had opened up and the van drove steadily up towards the roundabout. Steve
heaved against the bike and was just working his leg free when the police car
skidded to a halt on the gravel behind him.

Two policemen jumped out and
before Steve could regain his feet they had rushed across to restrain him.
Steve found himself sprawled across the front of the police car his face
pressed against the warm bonnet and his hands snapped quickly into handcuffs.

‘Just take it easy,’ said the
policeman holding him down when Steve tried to adjust his position.

He was trying to twist round so
that he could see the van, see which way it went.

‘You don’t understand,’ said
Steve. ‘You have to stop that van.’

‘You were driving like a maniac
long before that van pulled out on you,’ said the policeman without relaxing
his grip on Steve. ‘Now, what’s your name?’

*

Glancing in his mirror, Lucifer
was gratified to see the angel being apprehended by the police. There was a
certain, pleasing irony in that. He watched as they hauled him across the front
of the car.

‘Farewell, guardian angel,’ he
thought. ‘The witness is mine.’

The chorus sang victorious.

*

Steve watched despairingly as the
van turned left onto the dual carriageway heading east. One of the police still
held him down while the other sat half inside the car, the police radio in his
hand.

‘Relax,’ said the policeman
holding him. ‘We’re just checking to see if we’ve run into you before.’

Steve closed his eyes in the face
of utter defeat.

‘
Psimon
,’ he thought. ‘
Oh
God, Psimon
…’

The policeman in the car was
waiting for a reply.

‘That’s right,’ Steve heard him
say. ‘Brennus… Steven Brennus, 70, Court Farm Road.’

‘What is it?’ asked his colleague
at the unusual delay.

The policeman in the car did not
answer at first. He held up his hand, listening. Then his eyebrows shot up and
his mouth fell open. His face flushed visibly as he hung up the radio and
stepped out of the car.

‘What is it? What’s going on?’
asked the policeman holding Steve. ‘Has he got a record?’

‘No,’ said the other, reaching
into his pocket for the key to the handcuffs. ‘He’s got immunity… Class A
Transactional Immunity.’

The policemen’s demeanour had
changed completely; ‘all possible assistance’ was the term they had used. Now
they quickly helped him manhandle the bike down the grassy bank and back onto
the road. It took several attempts to clear the carburettor and get it started
but finally it spluttered and coughed its way back into life. Steve revved the
engine as it found its feral voice.

‘Is there anything else we can
do?’ asked the policemen over the noise.

‘Yes,’ said Steve as he turned
the bike in the direction of the roundabout. ‘You can put out an alert for a
black Mercedes van.’

The policemen nodded.

‘And then,’ said Steve as the
Kawasaki sent a hail of gravel flying against the police car. ‘You can stay the
fuck out of my way.’

The massive bike powered away as
Steve took up the chase once more. The van had vanished but the dual
carriageway was a long straight road and…

If he were lucky…

And if he were quick…

He might yet still find his
friend.

Chapter 30

‘
How long had it been?
’ thought Steve. ‘
Four
minutes… five?
’

It did not sound like much but on
a fast road like this that could be four or five miles at least.

‘
How far to the next junction?
’

He was not exactly sure. All he
knew was that the junctions were few and far between. The only things he passed
were small private side roads leading to big houses, farms and there was one
sign for a scrap-metal yard and tip. Some of these smaller roads were to the
left and some to the right with short filter-lanes allowing would-be users to
cross the other side of the dual carriageway.

Steve flicked glances left and
right as he past each driveway but they were dark and unlit and there was no
sign of the van. He blazed down the road doing upwards of ninety miles-an-hour.
He streaked past the other vehicles, the cold wind tearing at his clothes and
hair but he did not feel the cold as he tried to control his mounting anxiety.