Blake drove her Dacia Duster over the moor, headlights full on. She was breathing so hard it felt like she was running the distance, not driving. Quint’s call had just come through: Killgannon’s gone, taken my bike. He had left her GPS coordinates. A good job she was already on the way.
Everything was unravelling. She couldn’t stand it. Her whole plan suddenly falling apart. She had to keep herself together. Plot. Plan. Don’t give in to panic, to despair. Keep calm. Think.
It had been going so well. She had managed to keep a degree of a grip on the investigation into Sheridan’s death, even from a distance. The little extras she had managed to put onto his computer pointed to a completely different kind of copper than he had appeared to be, one that had shaken plenty of her colleagues. So the team had gone off in that direction, investigating things that had no bearing on him when he was alive, never mind in death. And, with subtle – and sometimes not so subtle – suggestions as to where to look, who to talk to, it would be months before they exhausted those erroneous possibilities. If they ever did. By which time she – and the money she was convinced Killgannon had been hoarding – would be long gone.
She floored the accelerator of the Duster, jumping forwards in her seat as if that would make it go faster. A Dacia Duster. She was embarrassed to own it but she had wanted a four by four. An SUV. A prestige car that put her – physically if nothing else – higher than the other drivers on the road. She had dreamed of a BMW or Porsche, or even a Lexus or a Jaguar at a push. But this was all she could afford. A Dacia. The budget brand. But even if she couldn’t yet afford the thing she wanted – accent on the yet – then at least she could prepare herself for it by driving this thing.
She slammed on the brakes. Lost in her own thoughts, she nearly didn’t see the figure in the road standing before her, waving both arms. Quint.
She pulled up before making contact. He ran round to the side of the car, threw his helmet on to the backseat, jumped in. She looked at him. He looked dreadful. Tired, dirty, his expensive jacket scuffed and abraded. Like his bike had been riding him, not the other way round.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘Killgannon got away.’
‘You said. How did it happen?’
‘He . . .’ Quint sighed. It was obvious from his usual demeanour that he wasn’t used to failure in his work. He clearly didn’t take it well. ‘He overpowered me.’ Said quickly, the sooner the words were out there, the sooner they would be gone. ‘I forced the bus off the road, he . . . took my bike. Went off.’
‘Was he the only one in the bus?’
‘Another prisoner, Cunningham. And an officer. I took the driver out.’
Blake sighed. She felt like headbutting the steering wheel, punching Quint. Anything to get rid of this desperate, hopeless aggression building within her.
‘He’s dead?’
‘Looked it. Half his head was missing.’
Blake stared at him.
‘Hey, lady, you hired me for this job. You know the way I work. You know what it is I do. You’ve been happy with what I’ve done so far. Don’t start with any of that fucking princess bullshit now or I’ll just take the rest of my money and be off.’
Blake dropped her head, sighed once more. A mess. Nothing but a mess. But she would dig her way out of it, salvage something. She had to. Just keep her nerve.
‘You’re right. It’s what I hired you for. I’m sure you had to do it.’
‘I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.’
‘So where are they now? Cunningham and the other officer?’
‘Don’t know. I didn’t hang around to find out. When Killgannon took my bike I just got out of there. There’ll be police, prison staff, all sorts there by now.’ He could barely contain his rage at failing at his job.
Panic entered Blake’s voice. ‘But that must be just round here. You can’t have run that—’
‘I know what I’m doing. My career’s been made living in terrain like this. I got away from them. They won’t find me here. That’s why I told you to meet me here and not nearer to where it happened.’
Blake relaxed slightly. ‘Right.’ She checked her watch. This was it, the time to come up with a plan that would get everything back on track. Get her the money, get her out of here.
She looked at Quint. ‘You need transport.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want you to get back to Killgannon’s house and tear it apart. No need to be nice anymore. We’re way past that.’
‘What about the women there?’
Blake shrugged. ‘As you say, it’s what I’m paying you for.’
‘Right. So any ideas on getting transport?’
She checked her phone. Received another text. Smiled.
‘Might have just the thing.’
Things might be falling back into place again