was more than a match for a ramshackle old hire van. He hadn’t hit seventy before he was close behind it. Frantic, the other driver swung across the opposing carriageway without indicating – causing yet more vehicles to scream to halts, a couple sliding off the tarmac onto the grass verge – and then bounced and jolted its way down an unmade track, which ran straight as a ribbon across the spoil land.
Heck wasn’t able to follow immediately. There was a confused blaring of horns as the opposing traffic tried to force its way past. Seconds ticked by while he watched the brown van slowly diminish, drawing a trail of dust behind it. Swearing, he finally worked his way through onto the dirt track, where he too jolted over ruts and potholes, each one a crashing impact beneath his feet. Despite this, he was gaining ground fast. He saw the van spin left onto another unmade track. However, this one was so bad that it was barely distinguishable from the surrounding clinker. The van swayed dangerously, rubble spurting from its wheels. Heck veered after it. Up ahead there was a dead end; what looked like an old car park attached to a row of prefabricated industrial buildings, all derelict and blackened by fire. The van screeched into this area and tried to pull a handbrake turn, in order to double back as Heck came dashing in after it. But if the van had ever been designed for such manoeuvres, it was now way past them. It tipped spectacularly onto its nearside wheels – briefly resembling a stunt vehicle in a Bond movie – and then crashed over onto its roof, rolling twice before coming to rest in a cloud of dust, smoke and debris.
Heck slammed his brakes to the floor, skidding sideways, a stench of melted rubber filling his nostrils. He leapt out. As he did, a lithe figure wormed its way through the van’s shattered windscreen. It was clad entirely in black – black gloves, black boots, black combat trousers, and a black ‘hoodie’ sweat top with the hood pulled up.
‘Police officer!’ Heck shouted, running forward. ‘Stay where you are!’
The hooded figure tried to dart for the line of derelict buildings, but whoever he was, he was limping and Heck quickly caught up with him, leaping onto his back – only to be flipped forward over the guy’s shoulder and land heavily in the dirt.
Heck was winded, but still managed to roll away and scramble up into a crouch.
The hooded figure backed off slowly, but the hood had now come down to reveal that he was actually a she. In fact, he was the girl from The Raven’s Nest, the dusky-skinned, mini-skirted beauty who’d whupped Heck at pool.
She was in less sensual mode now, breathing hard, her face shining with sweat as she retreated. When Heck got to his feet, she snapped a flick knife open, its long, slender blade glinting like ice.
‘I told you I’m a police officer,’ Heck warned her when he’d recovered from his surprise. ‘You stick that thing in me and I die, you’ll get thirty years minimum.’
‘You think I’ve come all this way because I want to kill you?’ she panted.
‘Okay … so put the knife down.’
‘Uh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not being arrested.’
‘If you knew how many times I hear that in the average day …’
‘Just back off! I don’t want to hurt you.’ But she winced as she retreated, her right leg almost folding beneath her.
Heck shook his head. ‘I knew Bobby Ballamara was way down the list when they were giving out cerebella, but I never thought he’d be stupid enough to hire an amateur like you.’
‘I’d have told you last night, if you’d given me a chance … I don’t know anyone called Ballamara.’
‘Sorry love, but that won’t cut it. Whatever you say, or don’t say, all they’ll need to do is find evidence that you were on his payroll, and anything that happens to me will come back to haunt him in a big way.’
‘Look … I just want to find my sister.’
Heck stopped. ‘What?’
‘If you’d listened in the pub there’d be no need for any of this.’
‘Your sister?’
‘My name’s Lauren Wraxford. Does that ring a bell?’
‘Should it?’
She gave a wry smile. ‘Yeah, it should. But it’s no surprise it doesn’t.’ She was still breathing hard and warding him off with the knife, but she now knuckled at her right cheek. To his surprise, he realised that she was trying to wipe away a tear. ‘If you don’t recognise “Lauren Wraxford”, maybe you recognise “Genene Wraxford”?’
‘Genene Wrax …’ That name was definitely familiar. Heck placed it: on a mis-per file – one sent down to Scotland Yard at his request by the West Yorkshire Police. It had featured a colour snapshot of a beautiful black girl posed in a graduate ceremony gown, holding a law degree.
‘Went to Leeds Uni?’ he ventured.
She nodded; her eyes were now brimming with tears.
‘There seems to be a resemblance,’ he said.
‘Genene’s my older sister.’ She wiped irritably at her cheeks.
‘Alright, I understand. Lauren … drop the blade, okay? Right now.’
She swallowed, finally closing the knife up and pocketing it, but making sure to keep a distance of several feet between them.
Heck made no further effort to approach. ‘You’re telling me that all this is because you’re trying to find your sister?’
‘I was only shadowing you. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.’
‘Until now. Now you’re hampering a police investigation.’
‘I thought the investigation was closed.’
‘So why were you shadowing me?’
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’
Heck mopped sweaty hair from his brow. ‘If I remember rightly, Genene disappeared three years ago. Why’s it taken you this long to get excited about it?’
‘I’ve been away.’
‘Away?’
‘Afghanistan. Before that it was Iraq.’
‘You’re a soldier?’
‘Was. Until recently. Royal Ordnance Corps, Combat Support Division.’
‘That explains a lot.’ Heck’s side was hurting where she’d thrown him.
‘Look, I’m sorry this has happened,’ she blurted. ‘I’ve been trying to get information through normal channels, but no one seems to know anything. Or they don’t want to talk about it. You any idea how difficult it is for a member of the public to even speak to a copper these days? The small parts of police stations you’re actually allowed into are operated by civvy nobodies who think that, just because they’ve got uniforms on, they can lord it over you.’
Heck
