Henry had to fight the instinct, which had occasionally served him well, to commandeer a cop car and go out in hot pursuit of the Range Rover. He knew he would be more useful and effective staying put at the court and the police station. There was a hot crime scene to protect and preserve and a manhunt to coordinate. On top of that there was a double murder enquiry to get up and running – but first things first.
Trusting Donaldson to protect the murder scene, Henry dashed back to the custody office and phoned the Force Incident Manager in the comms room at HQ. He filled her in succinctly with the current situation and after that left the hunt for the Range Rover down to her to sort. Then he snaffled a PR from Sergeant Eccles in custody, promising to return it. He was on his way back to the crime scene when he heard a local patrol call up.
‘Charlie Five – urgent.’
‘Go ahead,’ the comms operator responded.
‘Behind a Black Range Rover, 54 registered, just turned into Worden Park, vehicle now accelerating away from me …’
‘Roger that … Other patrols to acknowledge and make to the area.’
This time, as Henry surged through the door into the holding-cell area, he decided to let his instinct direct him. He ran in shouting, ‘Bill – you stay here, guard the scene, do the necessary. Georgia, you stay with him … Karl,’ Henry held up the PR, ‘fancy a run out in your Jeep? Suspect vehicle spotted nearby.’
Instantly Donaldson said, ‘You got it.’ He was a true man of action and didn’t need a second invitation.
‘Follow me.’
Henry ran out through the shutter door and headed towards the front of the police station where Donaldson had parked up. Donaldson loped easily behind him, pointing his remote locking fob at the car.
‘Heading towards Worden Hall,’ the officer, call sign Charlie Five, said coolly over the PR, referring to the fact that the vehicle he was following was now in Worden Park and heading in the direction of Worden Hall in the centre of the park.
‘I’ll bet they have a change of transport lined up in there,’ Henry guessed as he slid into the front passenger seat next to Donaldson, who started the massive four-litre engine and pulled out of his parking spot. ‘DCI Christie to comms – please reiterate – extreme caution. These men are armed and extremely dangerous.’ He turned to Donaldson and pointed at the big Tesco supermarket over the road. ‘Right across the car park,’ he directed the American, then sat back and added sourly, ‘A bit like World War Two … us Brits do all the hard work, then you lot come along and get the glory.’
‘Eh?’
‘Georgia Papakostas?’
Donaldson began to laugh.
‘Across here and right across the town square,’ Henry said, directing Donaldson across the supermarket car park and instead of leaving by the usual route by road, he told him to drive across the flowerbeds, then over a tiny cobbled square to join Worden Lane, which led to the park. Henry knew where he was going. Not because he’d been a cop in these parts, but because many of the driving courses he’d attended had used these roads regularly because of their close proximity to headquarters. The area was often rife with cops on driving courses.
The Jeep scoured deep tracks into lawns and flowerbeds and bounced over the tiny square on to Worden Lane as instructed.
‘Straight on,’ Henry said, holding on for dear life.
Donaldson rammed his foot on to the gas pedal, things becoming much more urgent as Charlie Five screamed, ‘Shots fired, shots fired …’
‘Faster,’ Henry said, seeing the walls of the park approaching.
Charlie Five was a patrol crewed by one cop, Rob Howard, a rather grizzled PC who, though counting his pay days to retirement, was still as keen as mustard and still loved the buzz of coppering and loved seeing villains behind bars.
He was one of only two mobile-response officers on duty in Leyland that morning. If he was honest, it had been a dull early shift and he was anticipating buying a fried breakfast from the Tesco restaurant across the road from the station, his usual early shift treat.
In all honesty, Howard had been tootling, certainly not breaking any pots that morning. Very few jobs had come in and as the circulation about the Range Rover came up and the serious incident at the court, his whole demeanour changed. He had been lazily heading back to Tesco and when the wanted vehicle’s details came over the radio he was, in old-fashioned police parlance, heading in an easterly direction along Langdale Road towards Worden Park. He reached the junction with Worden Lane, the road which skims the perimeter of the park, and stopping there just saw the tail end of a vehicle turn into the park gates some two hundred metres to his right. To be honest he wasn’t sure if it was a Range Rover, but it was definitely an off-roader of some sort.
He screwed his Astra patrol car to the gates and plunged into the park, seeing that the vehicle at the far end of the car park was definitely a Range Rover – as described in the radio circulation.
His right foot hit the accelerator and his finger hit the transmission button on his PR.
The Range Rover flew out of the car park on to the narrow road snaking through the park and into the small car park behind the Arts and Craft Centre attached to the old hall. PC Howard was only seconds behind it as the 4x4 skidded to a spectacular, muck-chucking halt and two masked men leapt out, brandishing weapons in the PC’s direction.
Howard, no coward, knew he was in deep trouble, as he had got too close in his enthusiasm. The two men jogged menacingly towards him, no hurry, and raised their guns at him. Howard slammed the gearbox into reverse, not the easiest gear to find quickly on that particular Astra, and slewed backwards away from them, screaming into his PR as two bullets thudded into the radiator.
‘Shots fired, shots fired,’ the PC’s voice squawked distortedly over the PR, the sound of his engine revving in the background.
Donaldson swerved in through the park gates, urged on by the voice and that of Henry Christie yelling in his ears.
‘Go, go, go,’ he said dramatically, even though a little voice in his skull told him how stupid that sounded, despite the circumstances.
A woman walking her dog had to leap out of the way, dragging her poor pooch, almost strangling the little beast.
‘Straight on,’ Henry said.
The Jeep bounced across the tarmac and ahead of them they could see the Astra reversing, but not the gunmen who were hidden by the hedge surrounding the Arts Centre car park.
The Astra reversed wildly back down the road, but then the PC lost it and ran it off the edge of the road into soft grass, the wheels spinning.
‘There!’ Henry said. He pointed across the wide meadow towards the far end of the car park as the Range Rover emerged on to the grass and sped towards the park exit. Donaldson grimly yanked the steering wheel down and bounced the Jeep off the road on to the grass, going diagonally for the Range Rover, even though it was some two hundred metres ahead of them.
Donaldson’s pride and joy was now in its element, but so was the Range Rover, which tore across the open space, bounced back on to the park road and raced towards the park gates.
Henry gave the commentary over the radio: ‘Range Rover now on the road leading to the park exit. Three on board, I think, all males. For your information I am following in a green Jeep, a private vehicle …’ Henry held tight as Donaldson’s 4x4 shot up the banking from the grass and on to the road. Even though he was strapped in, he bounced high and smacked his head on the roof, and was thrown hard against the door. Undeterred, Henry continued into the radio, ‘Vehicle heading at speed towards Worden Lane.’ His voice was level and controlled over the air.
The Jeep screamed its way through the automatic gear box.
Ahead of them the Range Rover reached the park exit, skidded out on to the main road and went right. Henry relayed this, then turned to Donaldson. ‘Won’t this bus go any faster?’
The American shot him a warning glance.
‘Big car, little dick,’ Henry said spitefully.
‘Up yours,’ Donaldson said as his car passed through the gates and emerged on to the main road – and was broadsided by a large articulated milk lorry coming in the opposite direction.