Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

Blanefield’s. Nothing would ever be the same. And all the while, praise and glory would be piling on to Tosh’s head.
    But Gilchrist also knew that as all the stops were out on this one, his calls to Stan and Nance’s mobile phones would be in the process of being tracked. He figured he had about ten minutes, probably less, before Megs’ house would be overrun with police officers, cars, dogs and anything else Tosh could throw his way.
    He found Megs in the kitchen.
    ‘What’s got you in such a tizzy?’ she asked.
    ‘Do you have a car?’
    ‘If you can call it that.’
    He grabbed her by the arm. ‘I need you to do me a favour.’
    ‘Steady on, Andy,’ she said, tugging her arm free. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.
    ‘Get the car keys,’ he said. ‘I’ll explain on the way.’
    Gilchrist stuffed everything into his computer case and lugged it over his shoulder. He followed Megs out the back door, along a slabbed path to a single garage that sat back from the house and could not be seen from the road. Megs seemed to take for ever to unlock it. By the time he swung the door up and over to reveal an old Vauxhall surrounded by a household’s worth of bric-a-brac, he caught the sounds of police sirens in the distance.
    He threw his computer case into the back seat. ‘You drive,’ he ordered.
    ‘If it starts.’
    ‘When did you last have it out?’
    ‘Couple of months ago.’
    Gilchrist wondered if he should just skip over the neighbour’s hedge and make a run for it. ‘Megs?’ he urged.
    She glared at him as she opened the door. Then her look softened as she focused on something in the distance. ‘Those sirens,’ she said. ‘They’re after you, aren’t they?’
    ‘It’s a long story, Megs. Please?’
    ‘Right.’ She bundled herself on to the driver’s seat. ‘Fingers crossed.’
    Gilchrist groaned as the engine clicked. Nothing. The battery was as flat as—
    Another click, followed by the empty rattling of an engine running on no fuel.
    Not flat battery. Faulty starter motor.
    Another click, but this time the starter motor engaged and the engine burst into life. It held for a moment, threatened to stall, then gave a healthy snarl. A blast of grey exhaust erupted from the car, causing Gilchrist to cover his mouth.
    Megs backed out of the garage and swung the car around, tyres crunching the gravel.
    The sound of approaching police sirens told him they were almost upon them.
    He slammed the garage door shut and jumped in beside Megs.
    The Vauxhall seemed to hobble down the driveway.
    ‘Doesn’t it go any faster?’
    ‘It takes some time to get going.’
    Shit
. Time was not something he had.
    The Vauxhall bounced on to the road with a lunge that convinced Gilchrist its suspension was shot. Ahead, a police car careened into the housing estate, lights flashing, sirens howling. Gilchrist flipped a lever at the side of his seat and pushed back. The seat folded flat with a jerk that made him grunt in surprise. But at least he was out of sight.
    He almost felt the rush of air as the police car tore past them.
    He pulled himself up and watched out of the rear window, worried that the trail of exhaust would lead them to Megs’ house. But the police car passed it and slid to a broadside stop as the driver made a mess of a U-turn. Smoke poured from its wheels as it backed up, then again as it leaped forward and screeched to a stop in front of Megs’ driveway.
    Tosh was first from the car. Three constables spilled out after him, bodies thickened with body armour, carrying tasers and what looked like baton guns. What the hell had Tosh told them? At the entrance to the driveway, Tosh gave directions with one hand, mobile pressed to his ear with the other.
    The scene vanished from sight as they rounded a corner that brought them to a junction.
    ‘Which way, Superman?’
    ‘Right.’
    Megs obliged, powering the Vauxhall forward into a sweeping turn.
    Two motorcycle policemen passed them before Gilchrist had time to duck. But with the siege action up ahead, they did not so much as glance at Megs’ Vauxhall.
    Gilchrist pulled his seat upright, felt himself breathe a little easier as the seconds ticked by. How long would it take Tosh to realize no one was home and he could kick down the door? One second? Two? Something seemed to have snapped in him. He had heard it in the phone messages, seen it in the angry flush of his face as he led the assault on Megs’ house. An image