Hit and Run by B. A. Spicer
"A gripping, skilfully written tale that will keep you guessing to the end."
"You think you've worked it out and then BOOM another twist!!"
The smell of wet grass filled the air as Alice Candy opened
the front door and walked quickly to the garage. A rich, sharp aroma of new sap.
All very well in April or May, but it was early January and the
temperature was three degrees below freezing. The patch of grass at the front
of the house bristled white with morning frost. It could only mean one thing: Something was out of kilter with
the world.
She hoisted the up-and-over door and listened to it
rattle alarmingly. It would probably
fall on her head one of these days.
Inside, her VW had escaped the big freeze, unlike some of her
neighbours’ cars that had been left out overnight. Across the road, Ed Sherry emptied a kettle of hot water onto his
windscreen while his wife, Maureen, stood in the doorway in her floral
housecoat, arms tightly folded, waiting to refill it. Maureen waved, calling out something that Alice didn’t
catch. She smiled and waved back
anyway.
It was eight thirty. She had half an hour to get to the
station. Plenty of time. Gone were the days when she’d started out as
a police constable and was forever in a rush.
She’d had a bedsit, an overdraft and a Skoda, not to mention a young
daughter to look after. Now, she lived
in a detached two-bedroomed house, had a healthy savings account and a
pension. Jude had grown up and married a
man who loved her. Life was good.
However, it was with a feeling
of fragile tranquility that Alice
climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, selecting hot on the
heating control. She waited for the car
to warm up, watching her dragon breath thin and disappear. The Skoda’s heating system had been better.
Ed Sherry glanced up
philosophically as she drove past.
Maureen put on her most long-suffering, woman-to-woman smile.
The petrol gauge showed a low reading and a red
light clicked on as Alice turned in to the police station car park. There would be enough for a couple more days
– the VW ran on fumes.
Swinging into her space she
switched off the engine. Almost two
years in her new placement. Almost two
years since her promotion to Detective Chief Inspector. And almost two years of pulling into the
same slot to see her nameplate attached to the red brick wall at an angle that
irritated her on a daily basis. But
Alice had the kind of mind that forgot about such trivia as soon as they were
out of sight. It made her laugh, and
sometimes caused unwanted complications.
She could be alive to the subtlest of nuances, the slightest change in
her environment, but she’d forget to renew her tax disc or keep a dental
appointment. Jude often came to the
rescue. Jude was more like her father
had been. Organised. The name plate caught Alice’s attention once more. She would definitely mention it when she got
in.
It was the second Monday after
New Year. The holiday drunks had
already been sent home with a warning.
The station would be quiet.
But something bubbled away at the
back of Alice Candy’s brain, and she knew what that meant only too well. She took a deep breath and tried to harness
the normality she saw around her. Then,
in the rear-view mirror, she saw DS Elsie Granger, young and eager, waiting
outside the station. Alice acknowledged
the inevitable truth of the morning’s unease and sighed. Something had happened. Something serious. She opened the door and
the cold hit her. She could feel the
urgency of her best researcher’s gaze.
A boy. The thought came from nowhere. She shrugged
on her coat, took her bag,
and locked the car. A teenage boy. More than instinct. She was certain. Her intuition invariably led her in the right direction, but it
drained all her energy as surely as a virus.
She would have no rest, little sleep.
Not until she had come to the end of whatever it was that had just
begun. Crossing the car park, the smell
of new grass assaulted her senses again.
Elsie stamped her feet and hugged
her arms around her body. Her smile was
tight.
“Bad news?” asked the inspector,
as she mounted the three steps.
“There’s been a hit and run. Happened around seven thirty this morning,
in Allarton.”
It wasn’t exactly what Alice was
expecting to hear. She’d been so
sure. “What do we have?”
“The victim, an Adam Chandler, is
at St. Helen’s in intensive care. We don’t know the extent of his injuries yet,
but initial reports suggest it’s not good.
Forensics are in attendance – it happened on a private road leading to
the Breton estate, just outside the village.”
Alice nodded. She knew it well.
Elsie continued. “There’s no sign
of the vehicle involved and no witnesses as far as we know. We received an anonymous tip off at seven
forty.”
Alice looked towards the station
entrance. “Where’s Will?”
“Upstairs.”
“Get some coffee and join us,
will you?”
“Right.”
Once inside the building, the
young woman turned left, while Alice said good morning to Constable Gus Winter
at Reception and continued straight ahead along the corridor that ultimately
led to the holding cells, turning right through double fire doors and taking
the stairs two at a time. Through more
doors that slammed shut behind her, she strode into the open plan area on the
first floor, taking in the gentle hum of machinery and the aroma of coffee
mixed with the more subtle scent of people.
She raised a hand to those officers who looked up from their desks and
advanced towards a tall man in his early thirties with pale blond hair cut
short and eyes the colour of cornflowers.
He wore an air of expectation.
She nodded for him to go into her office.
“Morning, boss.”
“Morning, Will. What news?”
Taking off her coat and slinging
her bag onto the back of her chair, Alice Candy sat at her desk ready to
listen.
Detective Sergeant Will Brady
stood before her, strong and already showing the determination and focus that
would take him far. They had worked
together for long enough to feel at ease in each other’s company.
He began in a voice accustomed to
delivering facts. “The call came in an hour ago. The woman wouldn’t give her
name. Said she’d seen a silver BMW with
its boot left open in the hedgerow on the road going past Breton Manor. Very
specific about the fact that the car was partly hidden. Didn’t mention anything about a hit and
run.” He shrugged and passed a hand through his hair. “Anyway, Joe Winston took a car up there. Found the BMW then heard someone
moaning. Found Chandler about a hundred
metres away on the side of the road leading up to the house.” He looked out
onto the car park. “We tried your
number but you must have had your phone turned off.”
Alice grabbed her bag and looked
inside. No phone. She’d left it at home. It wasn’t the first time.
Lines zagged across Will’s
forehead.
“Don’t say anything.”
“I wasn’t going to.” He took his usual seat next to the window
just as Elsie arrived and handed round
coffee.
Will looked up and smiled briefly
before consulting the file on his lap.
“Elsie checked him out – Adam Chandler owns the franchise on the
pharmacy in Allarton. He’s
thirty-seven, in the process of divorcing his wife, Malin. Just your average guy, except that he’s
currently shacked up with Malin’s sister, Agneta, and they live on the Winter Gardens
estate.”
Winter Gardens was an exclusive
address. Alice raised her
eyebrows. “Any idea where the money
comes from? I’m presuming a pharmacist’s salary wouldn’t pay the mortgage.”
“Probably his wife. Apparently Malin Eriksson is a successful artist. Her latest painting’s supposed to be worth
more than a million. It’s been
exhibited all over the place – the UK, Italy, Germany. Here, take a look.” He held out a photocopy. “Oil on canvas. It’s called Wonderland.”
Alice took the picture. “A million
pounds, you say?”
“Yep.”
She gazed into the strange,
pearlised eyes of a girl with long dark hair who held a finger to her
lips. In the background, just
discernible at the entrance to what looked like a maze decorated with various
everyday paraphernalia, stood a
shadowy figure in a top hat.
Alice set the
picture aside with a small grunt.
“Doesn’t do much for me.”
“I think it’s creepy,” said
Elsie.
Alice stared into the middle
distance. “What about her sister, Agneta, did you say?”
Will put the photocopy back
inside his file. “We don’t have much on her at the moment. Used to model for one of the lesser fashion
houses. We can follow up if you want
more.”
“Maybe. Anything else?” She
checked her watch.
“Just that Adam and Malin have a
seventeen-year-old son, Johan and another,
Luka, who died over a
year ago in a boating accident.”
“Who has custody of Johan?”
“Joint. The mother has a townhouse in Sturley.”
“Right. We should get over to Breton Manor and see
what forensics have. Can you bring the
car round? Elsie, phone the Eriksson
sisters. We need to interview them
both. Are they aware?”
“Yes Ma’am. We sent an officer to Adam Chandler’s
address. Agneta said she’d inform her
sister personally.” Elsie rose to go.
Alice watched her push her hair behind a child’s sized ear. She had intelligent eyes and perfect skin.
“Ma’am?”
Alice lifted an eyebrow.
“Do you want to interview Johan?”
A teenage boy. She hesitated then said, “Not for the
moment, thank you Elsie. We’ll give his mother some time to contact him. I presume he’ll be in school?”
“Yes. St. David’s.”
“Phone the hospital and check on
his father’s condition Oh, and find
out who’s at home at Breton Manor, would you?”
Elsie nodded once and left.
“St. David’s? That’s a private school, isn’t it?” Alice
asked Will.
“Elite, I’d say. You need money or brains.”
Her expression registered playful surprise. “When
did you become so cynical?”
Will shrugged.
Alice picked up her bag and coat
and followed him out of the office, down the stairs, and into car park.
“We’ll take your car,” she said. “I’m almost out of petrol.”
“Anything you say, boss.”
Breton Manor, the scene of Adam Chandler’s accident,
was ten miles from Allarton. Streets
lined with unremarkable houses soon gave way to quiet country lanes and mature
trees rising out of fields of winter crops.
The manor house lay at the end of a long driveway in a natural dip,
making it barely possible to see from the road.
“Not the main entrance. It’s the next turning on the left,” said
Alice. “Jude took me on a picnic here
last summer. The owner allows the public to use one of the meadows at the back
of the house.”
“Jude’s lived in Allarton a long
time, hasn’t she?”
“Longer than me.”
“It must be nice to have her
close by.”
“Yes, it is. Look out! Here’s the turning.” Alice snapped a little. Will had driven her home to pick up her
phone without a word. She was irritated
with herself for running late.
There was a small sign on the
open gate that read Private Property.
Will pulled onto the estate and parked up next to the police van already
on the scene. Two officers in white
protective clothing were talking to a man in his fifties wearing an oilskin
jacket, corduroy trousers and wellington boots. Tape fluttered on wire posts, cordoning off a small area of land
to the right. Another constable jogged over to meet them.
“Morning, Ma’am. Morning, Sergeant. Forensics have just about finished here. Where do you want to start? Chandler’s BMW is outside the gates down the
road and fairly well hidden.”
“We’ll speak to Jenny first. Thanks Joe.”
As the group approached, chief forensics officer Jenny
Hendrick looked up and smiled, coming forward to meet them. A second forensics officer seemed deep in
conversation with the man in the oilskin jacket.
“Good morning, Ma’am. Sergeant.
We’re done here. Not much to
show for it I’m afraid to say. But everything’s documented and photographed.”
“Good morning, Jenny. Is that Lord Langford talking to Tony?”
“Yes. He didn’t see anything, unfortunately, and didn’t know a thing
about the accident until we called the house.”
Alice glanced in the direction of
the rise that hid most of the house from view. “What about the staff?”
“Not as far as we know,” said
Joe. “There’s a gardener, but he’s out
sourcing fencing. Lord Langford says he
won’t be back until lunchtime. The
butler has taken one of the cars in to the local garage for a service. The gamekeeper and the rest of the staff are
up at the house.”
Alice considered the fact that so many potential
witnesses had seen precisely nothing.
At seven thirty on a freezing January morning she supposed that people
would not have been out and about before they had to.
“What did you find, Jenny?”
“Well, there are tyre prints indicating a stationary
vehicle parked fifty metres towards the house.
There’s evidence of speed and braking.”
She raised an arm. “Just before impact the tracks swerve.”
“So the vehicle came from the
direction of the house and left through the gate?”
“Yes. And we have footprints.
The driver stopped and got out, possibly to check on the victim, before
going back to the car and driving away.
The car turned
right out of the gate.”
Alice reflected for a
moment. “Where was Chandler found?”
“At the side of the road – he
must have dragged himself a short distance.”
“Did you get samples?”
“Spot samples. It was difficult – the ambulance needed to
get him away quickly. We sent an officer along to bag his clothes at the
hospital.”
Alice nodded. “Was Chandler
conscious when you arrived, Joe?”
“Yes. He was making a lot of
noise. Kind of bellowing. I was over by the other car at the time –
the BMW parked in the bushes. I
initially thought it might be an animal in trouble. Didn’t sound human. I
found him curled up on the edge of the road with his eyes closed. He wasn’t making a sound by then. I didn’t move him, but he didn’t respond
when I asked him a couple of questions.
I called the ambulance then the station. Jenny got here just as the paramedics were loading him onto a
stretcher. He seemed to be totally out
of it.”
“He had obvious head trauma and
two badly broken legs.” Jenny
frowned. “I’d say there’s a fair chance
he might not make it.” She paused. “I
can’t be sure, but it’s possible that he took a second impact.”
“Wait a minute. You mean the driver
might have knocked him down and then gone back to finish the job?” Will
asked. He had his notebook open and was
sketching the scene.
“It’s one possible
interpretation. I’ll know more when
I’ve checked the track measurements.”
The conversation was interrupted
by the approach of Lord Langford and Tony, the second forensics officer, who
spoke rather too cheerfully, “Chief Inspector, this is Lord Langford”.
“Thank you, Tony. Lord Langford,
I’m Detective Chief Inspector Candy and this is Detective Sergeant Brady.”
“Hello.” He shook hands with each of them before
stamping a clod of earth into the mud.
“Hell of a morning. Never seen
anything like it.” He frowned at the
police tape then said, “Call me Miles.
Can’t stand the title. Never
could. Terrible accident. Don’t know what on earth happened. Will the chap pull through, do you know?”
Alice thought him the picture of
a landowner from a former time and probably a bit of a bombast. “I’m afraid we
don’t know yet. Would you mind if
Sergeant Brady stayed behind to ask you and your staff a few questions?”
“Not at all. However, as you can see, the house is a good
distance away and I can assure you that this part of the drive is only visible
from the top floor. No one up there these
days. No need of the space,
sadly.” He held out his hands to show
there was nothing he could do about it even if he’d wanted to.
“Nevertheless, we must be
thorough, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Come with
me, Sergeant. We’ll get some hot coffee
and rally the troops.”
Alice gave Will a nod and left
him to it.
“Show me to the BMW, will you,
Jenny,” said Alice. “You can leave the
rest to us, thank you Joe. Good
work. And tell Elsie to phone me, will
you?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Joe drove past the two women as
they turned left out of the gate. No
other vehicle had passed by the estate since Alice had arrived. Silence, apart from the occasional cry of a
bird, made the occurrence of such an incident seem almost surreal. Just as odd, was the sight of a brand new
silver BMW well hidden in a natural arbour fifty metres from the gate. Entering the shadows, Alice sensed the
pressure change as the oppressive undergrowth swallowed her. She turned to see Jenny standing at the rear
of the car.
“The boot was open when we
arrived,” she said.
“Empty?”
“Yes.”
“Any trace of anything?”
“Nothing obvious. I’ve got samples for
the lab. Dusted for fingerprints.”
“So, Chandler parked up, left the
keys in the ignition,
and walked onto the estate for some reason.
Whatever he had in the boot could have been unloaded either before or
after the accident.”
Jenny indicated the ground where
it was softer.
“The same footprints as the ones found on the estate?”
“No. These are definitely men’s shoes – I’d say the other ones could
belong to a woman.”
“How sure can you be?”
“They had heels.”
Alice walked around to the open
car door and laid a gloved hand on it.
She heard the sound of someone running into the forest, the crushing of
leaves and the snapping of branches, and felt the hairs rise on the back of her
neck.
After a moment she returned her
attention to the area around the BMW.
“It looks as though the ground is well trodden here.”
“Yes. Some of the tracks go round to the road. Look, just here.” The area was taped off.
“They’re overlaid several times.
Wellington boots and everyday shoes.”
“But the second car was parked
off the road?”
“Yes. Over here.” Jenny
indicated an area close by inside the arbour, fenced off again, with clear tyre
tracks in the soft ground.
“Yes. It looks as though a second car reversed in so as to make the
exchange easier. Nicely planned, I’d
say.”
“Any idea of the make?”
“The tyres are wide. The impressions deep. Could be a four by four. What’s interesting is this.” Jenny led Alice to where they believed the bonnet of the second
car would have been
facing. There were signs of wheel spin
where the ground was churned. And there
were tyre marks on the road where it exited the shelter. “Someone was in a hurry to get away. I’d say the underside of the vehicle would be pretty messy.”
“So, how many sets of tracks do
we have?”
“Two off road and one on
road. And the footprints indicate that
at least one person moved between the BMW and, let’s say the four by four. But there are at least two and perhaps three
sets moving from the BMW towards the road and a probable third vehicle.”
Alice preferred to deal in
certainties. It must have shown on her
face.
“I’ll call you as soon as I’ve
got more precise information.” Jenny
grinned.
“Good.”
The phone in Alice’s pocket rang.
It was Elsie.
“I’ve found the Eriksson sisters,
if you’re finished there.”
“Where are they?”
“Agneta’s at the hospital and
Malin’s at home. I told them you would need to speak to them today.”
“How’s Chandler?”
“Still unconscious. He has an intracranial bleed. It could go either
way. Both legs are crushed and he’s
lost a lot of blood.”
“Is there an officer posted?”
“Yes. We’ll know as soon as Chandler comes round. If
he does.”
Alice remembered Will back at the
house with Lord Langford. “Send a car to the estate to pick up Will – you’d
better warn him to round things off for the moment. We’ll see Malin as soon as he gets back.”
“Right. Understood.” Elsie hung
up and Alice walked back to where Will had left his car, climbed into the
driver’s seat and accelerated towards the gate, which hung lopsidedly, its near
post stuck in the mud. Someone had
ignored the sign, driven in early that same morning, run Adam Chandler down and
left him for dead.
The scene played out in her head, but it was too soon
for a clear picture to emerge. A new
case always threw up a myriad of questions and today’s was no exception. What was Chandler doing in the middle of
nowhere at that time of the morning?
What did he have in the boot of his car? And who had taken it? Who
would want to run him down? And what
would the attacker do when he or she found out that he was still alive? If Chandler had been knocked down and then
run over, surely the assailant had meant to silence him for good...
