54
"Are you crazy?" Fitzgerald looked terrified.
"Never been saner."
Recognising the detached manner in my speech, he focused on the road ahead.
"You had the means, the motive and the opportunity."
"What are you saying?"
"The capacity to kill Alexis Fawx and Michael Jones."
Fitzgerald chuckled without humour. Ignoring him and continued.
"Reason: your household or their assassination."
No response this time.
"Chance: Being a well-established face in the village provided you every convenience to carry out the murders without fear of anybody querying your movements."
"What are you prepared to do?"
"Nothing. It's what you decide to do, is significant."
"And what is that?"
"You're working to get Miss Briggs back."
He glanced across at me. "And how do I manage that?"
"You'll give yourself a part-exchange for her."
"Sheena will kill me, if I do."
"And I might if you don't."
"Why?"
"Because you murdered Alexis Fawx and Jones, the estate agent."
"Your nuts!"
"If I were, I'd shoot you in the head right this minute. Bugger the consequences. So, be thankful that I'm not."
The Sergeant's wireless transmitter crackled.
"Car answering description of stolen automobile."
The voice said.
"Number is not established."
More static.
"Turned left from Thorpeness. Heading toward Aldeburgh, to avoid block at a crossroad, two-and-a-half miles east of Snape. Am in pursuit."
"They're on a blind route." My expression carried an ascending sign of emotion. "It doesn't lead anywhere except to Leiston and next back on to the London road."
I reflected for a minute.
"How far away are we?"
Fitzgerald didn't respond.
Nudging him in the neck with the tip of the suppressor connected to the gun reminded him of what situation he was in.
"Near enough four miles."
"So, that makes it nine to the intersection. Where your friend must reunite the A12. This route through to Snape, the one she's on, how long will it take her?"
"It's twisted. Maybe ten minutes if she kept her foot on the accelerator. Took chances on the way. The drive is full of blind corners."
Jabbing him in the neck, I shouted, "Stop the car!"
"What?"
Repeating the order, he pulled over at the side of the road.
Fitzgerald unlocked his seat beat and got out.
"RT!"
He stared at me.
"Hand it over, now!"
He did as he was told.
"What are you doing?"
"Offering you a respite."
"Why?"
"Because I can't trust you."
Pointing the suppressed pistol at his knee, I fired. He dropped in a crumpled heap onto the wet roadway. Squealing as a banshee.
"Someone will be along soon."
I remarked and pulled away. Assuming he ought to have the sense to move out of the path of any oncoming traffic.
Didn't know the route, but I drove flat out. The rainfall was pouring, the roads slippery, where straight stretches were at a premium. I guessed I added a few extra grey hairs to my quota that night, but I made it. With time to spare.
From the endless streams of messages streaming in from police cars chasing Sheena, the individual at the wheel was not a skilful driver.
I stopped the vehicle, lined up broadside across the Leiston road, cutting off the exit on to the A12. I clambered out into the rain, while Constable Smee wandered in my direction.
"What are you doing here?"
"You know why I'm present, so please do not play the virtuous woman with me. How regular did they pay you?"
"Where's Sergeant Fitzgerald?" she inquired, avoiding my question.
"Having a rest," I responded, "and if you don't want to join him, you better do everything by the book."
She pivoted on her heel and strode back to her automobile.
They trained powerful lights on the side road from which Sheena's stolen vehicle should emerge. I assumed position in the pouring torrent behind the car I turned up in, and as a safety measure, ten feet backward from it. In that blinding rainstorm, a misted windscreen or inadequate wipers may inhibit a motor travelling at a great pace from observing the BMW until it was too late. Especially if the motorist was as useless as alleged.
I surveyed the surrounding terrain, it was the perfect spot for an ambush.
The top and side of the right-angle T junction concealed an impenetrable beech woodlands.
The third part of the T, spotlighted by the still illuminating headlights of the BMW, was wide pastureland with a tree-lined farmhouse two hundred yards off, and at half the distance, an outbuilding, and dispersed farm-buildings.
I just made out light from a window of the property. Softened and fuzzy through the excessive rainstorm.
There was a wide ditch on one side of the Leiston road. I considered hiding myself there near the place where Sheena's car should stop. Then rising and hurling a heavy rock, excluding fifty per cent of the enemy before they established themselves.
The sole trouble was that I might wipe out Clarissa. She hadn't been in the front seat when she took off from the hospital. But there was no guarantee she wasn't there now. I remained where I was.
I determined the ascending tone of an engine revved up and crunching of gears, over the noise of the torrent hissing on the road. Strumming on the tarmac, and drumming on the roof of the car,
Moments later, we caught sight of the early whitewash of its headlights, the barred beams glowing through the boles of the beeches and the pale shafts of rain. I sank to my knees behind the police BMW, and I edged out the gun, with the suppressor still secured, sliding off the safety catch.
At once came a high-pitched grating of gears. Anabsurd quickening of the motor. Driving this way won't take its driver far at the British Grand Prix. The car was round the last intersection and heading straight for us.
I could hear it speeding up as it came out of the corner. A hundred and fifty yards away. Next, the sudden cessation of engine roar, achieved by the obvious tearing hissing noise of locked wheels slipping on a wet road. I looked at the headlights from different directions. The driver struggled to keep control.
I tensed, anticipating the crash, and the jolt as they ploughed into the side of the BMW, blocking its path.