No Going Back (29 page)

‘Daniel, I was just going to ring you. What's going on? Fill me in.'

‘I'm on Macek's tail, just leaving Tavistock on the Plymouth road. It's a black Nissan X-Trail with blacked-out windows.' He gave Tom the registration, adding, ‘I don't know whether he's got the girls in there, but it's possible. If not, I'm hoping he'll lead me to them. The trouble is, he knows this car, and sooner or later he's probably going to clock me.'

‘Where exactly are you?'

‘I'm on the 386 heading south, maybe half a mile out of Tavistock.'

‘OK, I'll mobilize the locals and I'll try for a chopper too. If you can keep him in sight, that's great, but don't put yourself in any tight spots, OK?'

‘Yep, I gotcha.'

For 5 or 6 miles Daniel tailed the black Nissan without incident, wondering what it was the Romanian had picked up at the bank. Something very important, obviously, to risk showing himself in an area where the police would be on the lookout for him. And where was he going now? The coast, perhaps?

Suddenly, the car immediately behind Macek's vehicle slammed its brakes on to make a last-minute turn and the driver following it leaned on his horn in anger.

‘Shit!' Daniel muttered. The Romanian would have been less than human if he hadn't glanced in his mirror to see what the commotion was about, and it was a fair bet that in doing so he would also notice Daniel's car, just 50 yards or so behind and now with only one vehicle between them.

For a short time, it seemed that maybe he'd been lucky, but when, a quarter of a mile or so further on, Macek turned off the main road into a side road, and then almost immediately into another, Daniel began to doubt it.

If he'd been seen, there was no point in keeping his distance, so he put his foot down to close the gap on the 4x4. However, turning into a residential road, he was startled to see not the disappearing tailgate of Macek's vehicle, but the front view, complete with radiator bull-bars, accelerating towards him.

Daniel wasn't prepared to play chicken with a vehicle of the Nissan's stature. He swore and spun the wheel to the left, gritting his teeth as the Merc mounted the kerb, narrowly missing a telegraph pole.

The black bulk of the 4x4 swished by with only inches to spare, reached the junction and passed from his view as Daniel executed a rapid turn by dint of using the grass verge on both sides of the road. Back at the junction, he swung the car in a screeching curve to follow the Romanian and was rewarded, within a few hundred yards, with a sight of the Nissan disappearing round a bend ahead.

Now the chase was on in earnest.

Driving one-handed, Daniel put a call through to Tom once more.

The detective answered right away.

‘Daniel? What's happening?'

‘He's spotted me. We've turned off the main road somewhere near Horrabridge, but I'm not sure exactly where we are now. If only I had bloody sat nav! I'm still with him, but I'm not sure for how much longer. Any news on the chopper?'

‘It's out on a shout – might be half an hour or more if it needs refuelling. Look, Daniel, hold back, OK? We'll try and get a car to you.'

‘If I hold back, I'll lose him. There's any number of ways he could go from here. I'll try and keep you updated.'

‘Daniel! Don't—' The rest of Tom's exclamation was lost as Daniel tossed the mobile on to the passenger seat, needing both hands and all his concentration to stay on the tail of the Nissan along the narrow, twisting country lanes.

He had no idea if Macek actually knew where he was going, but for his own part he was already completely disorientated as they sped down steeply banked single-track roads between high hedges, occasionally passing a cottage or farmstead. He could only hope they didn't meet anyone riding a horse or walking a dog, because at the crazy speed Macek was setting, he wouldn't have a hope of stopping, even if he bothered trying.

The pellets of icy snow had now morphed into larger flakes that blew over the hedges, swirled round the speeding vehicles like billowing lace curtains and formed eddies on the tarmac before settling into what was becoming a visible layer on the road surface.

The one or two cars unlucky enough to be coming in the opposite direction were forced to mount the bank as they found themselves confronted by the big black Nissan. Daniel longed for a tractor and a stubborn farmer to block the road, but it seemed such things only happen when you don't want them to, and the Nissan forged relentlessly on, with the Mercedes sticking to its tail like a limpet.

Through the gloom of a forest they raced and alongside a lake or reservoir before heading down an almost impossibly narrow farm lane with grass growing in the middle and emerging, at length, into a village that Daniel recognized as Goats Tor.

Still maintaining a suicidal pace, they passed the White Buck, where Daniel permitted himself a fleeting smile as he recognized a man angrily waving a walking stick as his old foe Major Clapford.

For one anxious moment, it seemed to Daniel that Macek might be heading for Hilary's stables at Briars Hill, although he couldn't see why on earth he should, but then they were past the entrance and away down another lane that was signposted as a dead end. Macek didn't hesitate and Daniel wondered if this was indeed his destination or whether he hadn't noticed the sign. One way or another, it looked as though the end of the pursuit was in sight.

Further on and still dropping, the way took them past a low-roofed farmhouse with a walled yard, and after a minute or two, the Merc's wheels drummed over a cattle grid as the hedges that bordered the lane fell away on first one side, then the other, and they ran out on to the open moor.

The Romanian ignored the turning to a car park and drove on down what was now not much more than a track without slackening his breakneck speed.

The ageing Merc squeaked and rattled its way over the rough surface in the wake of the 4x4. Ahead of him, Daniel saw the Nissan dip to ford a stream before surging out the other side, almost immediately passing from view as the track skirted a rocky spur.

Moments later, the Mercedes scrunched through the icy fringe of the stream and hit the shallow water with a smack that threw spray back over the windscreen. The gravel of the streambed dragged at the tyres for a second or two; then the front of the car met the rising ground with a bang that jarred Daniel's whole body. Pulling up the slope with a degree of wheel spin, he floored the accelerator and took the turn at a reckless speed to find chaos awaiting him on the other side.

As he simultaneously stamped on the brakes and swerved, it seemed to Daniel that the moor was all at once alive with whirling, rearing horseflesh. Grimly he fought to hold the steering wheel hard left as the Mercedes left the track and bucketed over the loose rocks that littered the short turf of the margin.

His first impression was of dozens of ponies scattering in panic. Some animals shied sideways, some bolted and some ran backwards, heads high and eyes white-rimmed. He was surrounded by a mass of flying manes and tails, glinting stirrups and bits, accompanied by frightened shrieks and the confused clatter of shod hooves on the stony track.

It was all over in a matter of seconds, the Mercedes coming to an abrupt halt with an impact that had a feeling of finality about it. Emerging from the fleeting embrace of the airbag, Daniel discovered that the car had come to rest tilted at an uncompromising angle, with its front offside wing grounded on a large granite boulder at the foot of the outcrop.

Shaken, Daniel swore and looked back to where the veritable stampede of horses had resolved itself into no more than eight ponies – nine, if you counted one that had high-tailed it back towards the open moor.

One rather plump boy was sitting in the middle of the track indulging in a fit of hysterics, and a lady in a bright-red anorak appeared to have dismounted and let go of her mount. Aside from these two, the remaining riders were still aboard and most seemed to have regained a measure of control. Further up the track and rapidly disappearing over a rise, Daniel could see the back of Macek's black Nissan.

‘Bugger!' he said explosively, immediately reaching for his mobile and thumbing in Tom's number.

His call was diverted to a messaging service and he said simply, ‘Sorry, I've pranged the Merc and lost him. He's on the moor – still in the Nissan – somewhere near Goats Tor. And, yes, I'm OK – just totally pissed off!'

In the back of the car, Taz whined unhappily and Daniel glanced over his shoulder as he reached for the door handle.

‘Sorry, lad. You wait there a minute. Won't be long.'

Stepping out into the icy wind, it was quite plain to see that he wouldn't be going any further in the Mercedes – not now or ever, come to that. Where it had hit the boulder, the bodywork of the car's offside front quarter had crumpled like aluminium foil, the wheel pushed out of sight somewhere underneath the chassis. The damage was unmistakably terminal.

To go after the Nissan on foot would be as pointless as it was foolhardy, and as Daniel was of an essentially practical frame of mind, he turned his thoughts instead to restoring some sort of order to the turmoil for which he was partially to blame.

Wading into the mêlée, he had just caught the rein of a passing loose pony when a familiar brindle lurcher materialized by his side, its ears flattened in delighted recognition, followed closely by a greyhound in a fleece-lined coat.

Hilary!

He'd been expecting a well-deserved earful from whoever was in charge, so it was with considerable relief that he now turned to see his friend approaching – the one person who would understand and forgive the uncharacteristic recklessness of his behaviour.

Hilary reined in and looked down at him from the back of a brown pony that he recognized as Drummer, the Briars Hill reprobate.

‘Daniel! Whatever's going on? Was that Macek?' She had caught the other loose animal, which she now held by the buckle end of its reins.

Daniel nodded. ‘Yes, it was.'

‘But what's he doing here? Has he got the girls with him?'

‘I don't know. I haven't actually seen them, but it's possible. That's why I was following him. I spotted him in Tavistock.'

‘Does Tom know?' In her dealings with Bowden, the formalities had very quickly gone out of the window.

‘Yeah, I rang him straight away. He's trying to rustle up a chopper, but last I heard, it wasn't going to be here in a hurry.'

Daniel ignored the gathering cluster of ponies and riders. ‘Does this track go anywhere? Can you think why he might have gone that way?'

Hilary frowned. ‘I can't imagine. It's the old road to the King's Hat Tin Mine. There's the remains of the old blowing house, but it's not much more than a pile of stones. You couldn't hide anything there, or anyone . . .'

‘Perhaps he's just trying to get away, then. Does the track go any further than the mines?'

‘Not as such, but there are several bridleways. One goes towards Princetown. I don't know whether he'd get that big four by four along them. He won't find it easy – they're pretty rough and I'm fairly sure we're in for some more snow before long. That's why I turned back.'

‘Well, I don't imagine he'll risk coming back this way. He must know I'd have called the police by now. Damn! If only I hadn't buggered up that wheel.'

‘You'd never have followed him in that, anyway. You might on a horse, though,' she added.

Daniel gave her a narrow-eyed look. ‘Macek must be miles away by now. A horse would never catch that car.'

‘It might if you knew a shortcut . . .'

‘What are you saying?'

‘Just that the track follows the level ground pretty much and to do that it makes a huge detour. A person on a horse could cut across country and probably get to the old mine workings in a similar sort of time.'

‘If they knew the way . . .'

‘It's only a sheep path, but Drummer could follow it. He's been that way many times.'

‘You're serious, aren't you?'

‘Why not? Drummer was born on the moor. He'll look after you. Surely it's worth a try.'

Before Daniel could answer, Hilary was off the pony and lengthening the stirrup leathers to allow for Daniel's longer legs, all the while keeping her elbow against Drummer's neck to stop him from nipping.

‘When you hit the track again,' she went on, ‘turn right and you'll only be fifty yards from the mine. From there you'll just have to hope you can see him. That track is incredibly rough, though. He won't be able to go very fast, even in that car.'

Doing anything was better than nothing.

‘OK. It's worth a try,' he said.

Daniel went across to the stricken Merc and let Taz out before reaching in for his waxed jacket and the beanie he'd worn on his first visit to Moorside. He pulled the coat on over his leather jacket, found gloves in the pockets and put them on too, while Taz ran in excited circles, anticipating a walk.

Minutes later, Daniel settled into Drummer's worn saddle and pushed his feet into the stirrups. Ahead of him, the moor looked bleak and infinitely uninviting, a vast wasteland of sheep-cropped turf, heather, bracken and cold hard granite. An arctic wind whistled around his ears, reinforcing the sense of desolation.

Standing at the pony's shoulder, Hilary looked up at him.

‘You must trust Drummer, Daniel. If he seems reluctant to go somewhere, there'll be a reason for it. The moor can be treacherous, but he knows it inside out. Trust him.'

She took the pony's rein and led him past the others, telling the waiting riders to stay where they were.

Looking up at Daniel again, she said, ‘The path is on your right, about a hundred yards further up the track. You can't miss it – it's next to a big clump of gorse and a hawthorn tree.' She put her hand on his knee. ‘Be careful won't you, Daniel? And find Elena for us, eh?'