Dead Man's Footsteps

down a steep embankment, lurched through a ditch and up the far side, on to the firm tarmac of the road.
    Then, to his dismay, he saw blue lights racing down towards him from the right.
    ‘Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit.’
    Totally gripped with panic, he swung the wheel left and tramped the accelerator.
    The only door on the old rusty van which was not obstructed by branches and shrubbery was the driver’s side. Abby pulled it open anxiously, carefully, heeding the warning about how close the van was to the edge.
    Her nose wrinkling at the rank smell inside of faeces and tobacco and unwashed people, she called out, ‘Mum? Mum?’
    There was no answer. With a stab of panic, she put her foot on the step and hauled herself up on to the front seat. For a terrible moment, staring into the gloomy rear, she thought her mother was not there. All she could see was some electrical equipment, bedding and a spare wheel. It felt as cold as a fridge. The van rocked in the wind and there was a drumming resonance inside.
    Then, over it, she heard a faint, timid, ‘Abby? Is that you?’
    They were, without doubt, the sweetest words she had ever heard in her life. ‘Mum!’ she cried out. ‘Where are you?’
    There was a faint, ‘Here.’ Her mother sounded surprised, as if to say, Where else should I be?
    Then Abby craned her neck over the rear of the seat and saw her mother, rolled up in the carpet, just her head poking out, lying on the floor right behind her.
    She climbed over, the van resonating as her feet struck the bare metal floor, knelt and kissed her mother’s moist cheek.
    ‘Are you OK? Are you OK, Mum? I’ve got your medication. I’m going to get you to hospital.’
    She felt her mother’s forehead. It was hot and clammy.
    ‘You’re safe now. He’s gone. You’re OK. There are police all around. I’ll get you to hospital.’
    Her mother whispered, ‘I think your father was here a minute ago. He just went out.’
    Abby realized she was delirious. Fever or the lack of medication or both. And she smiled through her tears.
    ‘I love you so much, Mum,’ she said. ‘So much.’
    ‘I’m OK,’ her mother said. ‘I’m as snug as a bug in a rug.’
    Cassian Pewe lowered his phone for a moment and turned to Grace. ‘Target Two is in Target One’s car, alone. Coming back this way. Intercept if we can, safely, but there’s backup arriving behind us.’
    Grace started the engine. Both men had their seat belts unfastened, which was common practice on surveillance to enable them to get out of the car quickly if need be. Having heard the report of what had been happening, now Grace thought they should put them on. But just as he reached for his, Pewe said, ‘I see him.’
    Grace could now see the black Honda too, a quarter of a mile away, driving fast down the twisting hill. He could hear the tyres squealing.
    ‘We have Target Two in sight,’ Pewe radioed.
    The Silver commander said, ‘The priority is everyone’s safety. If you need to, Roy, you may have to use your vehicle in the operation.’
    To Pewe’s consternation, Grace suddenly swung the Alfa sideways, blocking both lanes of the narrow road. And he was on the side facing the oncoming black off-roader, he realized. The side that would take the impact if the car didn’t stop.
    Ricky clenched the wheel tight, tyres screeching again around a long, downhill left-hander bend, with nowhere togo on either side if he did come off, just steep banking. Then he lurched into a right-hander.
    As he came out of it he saw a maroon Alfa Romeo sideways across the road in front of him. A blond-haired man was staring bug-eyed at him out of the window.
    He stamped on the brakes, bringing the car slewing to a halt only yards from the door, and slammed the car into reverse. As he did so, he heard the wail of sirens. In the distance he could see two police Range Rovers, lights blazing, racing down a hill.
    He made a three-point turn and accelerated hard, back the way he had come. In his rear-view mirror, he saw the Alfa Romeo take off after him, with the two Range Rovers closing behind it. But he was more interested in what was in front of him. Or more specifically, what was in front of the copse. Because even if the ice-cream van was still in front of it, a sharp nudge from the side would do it.
    Then he would take the abandoned coach road – now just a grassed-over cart track through fields, but still a public byway – which he had found and checked out. He was certain the