him after all. He considered telling a little white lie, but his hesitation and flushed cheeks must have given him away.
‘Oh great,’ said the woman . ‘Well that’s me totally screwed then. Two grand for what should have been a perfectly simple job and, thanks to you, I doubt I’ll see a single penny of it now. And then of course there’s the small issue of a dissatisfied client who’s probably got a contract out on me already.’
Trevor kept half an eye on the top of the dashboard. Please don’t pick up the gun. Please don’t pick up the gun. Please don’t p—
She picked up the gun.
Oh bloody Nora. – But surely she wouldn’t shoot him while he was driving. She might end up getting killed herself. That was it. Keep driving. As long as he kept going, she wouldn’t be able to do anything. If she told him to pull over, he’d refuse. Simple as that.
He glanced across at her and saw the last thing he expected to see. Instead of staring into the barrel of the pistol, he was looking at the side of it, and it was pointing straight up under the woman’s chin.
‘May as well end it all now,’ she said. ‘No sense prolonging the inevitable.’
She was joking of course. Or was she? Maybe the woman was a total headcase, and he’d tipped her over the edge by messing up her—
There was the sudden blare of a horn, and Trevor had to swerve sharply to avoid the oncoming car.
‘Jesus. Keep your eyes on the road, will you? You want to get us both killed?’
Nothing further was said for the next several minutes. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and Milly snoring loudly on the back seat. Trevor caught a glimpse of her in the rear-view mirror and realised at the same time that the dark blue Ford Mondeo was still there, about sixty or seventy yards behind them.
‘I wish he’d overtake if he’s going to,’ he said.
‘Who?’ Her voice seemed wearily unconcerned.
‘The car that’s been behind us ever since we left the festival site. He’s had plenty of chances to get by.’
The woman skewed her head to look in her wing mirror. ‘Slow down a bit.’
Trevor eased off the accelerator pedal and watched the Mondeo drop back.
‘Now speed up again.’
He accelerated and so did the Mondeo, maintaining the same distance between them as before.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘That’s all I need.’
‘Are we being followed?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Who is it?’ Trevor knew that this was probably a silly question the moment the words left his lips and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get an answer. Presumably, they must be something to do with the Scottish bloke or Patterson.
‘We’ll have to try and shake them off whoever they are.’
Despite the seriousness of his situation, Trevor couldn’t help but laugh. ‘In this?’
‘Why? What speed will it do?’
‘Sixty? Sixty-five maybe if it’s going downhill with a following wind.’
‘Oh terrific.’ She continued to monitor the progress of the Mondeo in the wing mirror, a heavy frown indicating that she was deep in thought. ‘You got much fuel?’
‘Plenty. I filled up before I got to the festival.’
‘How big’s the tank?’
‘Dunno exactly. About eighty litres, I think.’
‘Right,’ she said, staring into the wing mirror. ‘I think I’ve got an idea.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
For a dead man, Harry Vincent didn’t look too bad at all. In fact, apart from the roll of belly spilling over the waistband of his brightly striped swimming shorts, he appeared to be in remarkably good condition. His skin was tanned to a pale teak colour, and his thick sandy hair, combed backwards from his forehead, was only just starting to show signs of thinning.
Lying on the sun lounger beside the pool, he had been watching his wife swim back and forth for the past ten minutes or so, sipping his rum and Coke and occasionally pulling on his cigar. They had been childhood sweethearts, and even now, forty-odd years later, he loved
‘Oh great,’ said the woman . ‘Well that’s me totally screwed then. Two grand for what should have been a perfectly simple job and, thanks to you, I doubt I’ll see a single penny of it now. And then of course there’s the small issue of a dissatisfied client who’s probably got a contract out on me already.’
Trevor kept half an eye on the top of the dashboard. Please don’t pick up the gun. Please don’t pick up the gun. Please don’t p—
She picked up the gun.
Oh bloody Nora. – But surely she wouldn’t shoot him while he was driving. She might end up getting killed herself. That was it. Keep driving. As long as he kept going, she wouldn’t be able to do anything. If she told him to pull over, he’d refuse. Simple as that.
He glanced across at her and saw the last thing he expected to see. Instead of staring into the barrel of the pistol, he was looking at the side of it, and it was pointing straight up under the woman’s chin.
‘May as well end it all now,’ she said. ‘No sense prolonging the inevitable.’
She was joking of course. Or was she? Maybe the woman was a total headcase, and he’d tipped her over the edge by messing up her—
There was the sudden blare of a horn, and Trevor had to swerve sharply to avoid the oncoming car.
‘Jesus. Keep your eyes on the road, will you? You want to get us both killed?’
Nothing further was said for the next several minutes. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and Milly snoring loudly on the back seat. Trevor caught a glimpse of her in the rear-view mirror and realised at the same time that the dark blue Ford Mondeo was still there, about sixty or seventy yards behind them.
‘I wish he’d overtake if he’s going to,’ he said.
‘Who?’ Her voice seemed wearily unconcerned.
‘The car that’s been behind us ever since we left the festival site. He’s had plenty of chances to get by.’
The woman skewed her head to look in her wing mirror. ‘Slow down a bit.’
Trevor eased off the accelerator pedal and watched the Mondeo drop back.
‘Now speed up again.’
He accelerated and so did the Mondeo, maintaining the same distance between them as before.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘That’s all I need.’
‘Are we being followed?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Who is it?’ Trevor knew that this was probably a silly question the moment the words left his lips and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get an answer. Presumably, they must be something to do with the Scottish bloke or Patterson.
‘We’ll have to try and shake them off whoever they are.’
Despite the seriousness of his situation, Trevor couldn’t help but laugh. ‘In this?’
‘Why? What speed will it do?’
‘Sixty? Sixty-five maybe if it’s going downhill with a following wind.’
‘Oh terrific.’ She continued to monitor the progress of the Mondeo in the wing mirror, a heavy frown indicating that she was deep in thought. ‘You got much fuel?’
‘Plenty. I filled up before I got to the festival.’
‘How big’s the tank?’
‘Dunno exactly. About eighty litres, I think.’
‘Right,’ she said, staring into the wing mirror. ‘I think I’ve got an idea.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
For a dead man, Harry Vincent didn’t look too bad at all. In fact, apart from the roll of belly spilling over the waistband of his brightly striped swimming shorts, he appeared to be in remarkably good condition. His skin was tanned to a pale teak colour, and his thick sandy hair, combed backwards from his forehead, was only just starting to show signs of thinning.
Lying on the sun lounger beside the pool, he had been watching his wife swim back and forth for the past ten minutes or so, sipping his rum and Coke and occasionally pulling on his cigar. They had been childhood sweethearts, and even now, forty-odd years later, he loved
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