Business of Dying Read Free

witnessing was real. What do you do? A movie pro would have taken her out with a single shot to the head, although there was no guarantee I'd even have hit her from where I was standing. And anyway, I'm not interested in hurting civilians.
    Her hand went to her mouth as she saw I'd seen her, and I knew that any moment she was going to let out a scream that would probably wake the dead, which, with the dead only just being dead, I didn't want at all. So I lowered my gaze and hurried round to the passenger door, hoping that the gloom and wet had obscured my features enough to make any description she gave worthless.
    I jumped in and kept my head down. Danny didn't say a word. He just hit the pedal and we were out of there.
    It was 9.04.
    The journey to our first change of transport took exactly four minutes and covered a distance ofapproximately two and a half miles. We'd parked a Mondeo in a quiet piece of Forestry Commission land earlier that day. Danny now pulled up behind it, cut the engine, and got out. I leaned under the passenger seat and removed a full five-litre can of petrol which I liberally sprinkled over the car's interior. When it was empty, I got out, lit a book of matches, stepped back so I was well out of the way, and flung them in, followed by the murder weapon and the two-way radio I'd been using. There was a satisfying whoosh as the petrol ignited, followed by a wave of heat.
    When they came across the mangled wreckage it wouldn't tell them anything. We hadn't left any fingerprints and the car itself would be almost impossible to trace. It had been stolen in Birmingham six months ago, given new plates and a respray, and stored in a lock-up in Cardiff ever since. In this line of business, you can never be too careful. Contrary to popular belief, most detectives couldn't detect a heartbeat on a speed addict, but you never know when you might be up against the next Ellery Queen.
    We now followed a pre-arranged route for four miles through a mixture of B and single-track roads and it was 9.16 when we pulled into the car park of Ye Olde Bell, a busy country pub on the edge of an affluent-looking commuter village. Danny drove up to the far end and stopped behind a burgundy Rover 600.
    This was where we parted.
    'Did that girl get a good look at you?' he asked as I opened the door. They were the first words he'd spoken since the shootings.
    'No, we'll be all right. It was too dark.'
    He sighed. 'I don't like it, you know. Three murders, and now we've got a witness.'
    Admittedly it didn't sound too good when he put it like that, but at the time there was no reason to think that we weren't in the clear.
    'Don't worry. We've covered our tracks well enough.'
    'There's going to be a lot of heat over this one, Dennis.'
    'We both knew that when we took the job. As long as we keep calm, and keep our mouths shut, we won't feel any of it.'
    I gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and told him I'd call him the next day.
    The Rover's keys were behind the front driver's-side wheel. I got in, started the engine and followed Danny out of the car park. He turned south and I turned north.
    And that should have been that, but tonight was not my lucky night. I'd barely gone three miles and was just short of the turning that would take me back to London when I hit an improvised roadblock. There were two Pandas with flashing lights at the side of the road: officers in fluorescent safetyjackets were milling about a BMW they'd already stopped. My heart gave an initial jump but I quickly recovered myself. No reason to worry. I was a man on my own, unarmed, driving a car that had never been within five miles of the Traveller's Rest, and they wouldn't even have the vaguest description of me yet. The clock on the dashboard said 9.22.
    One of them saw my approach and stepped out into the road, flashing his torch and motioning for me to pull up behind the other car. I did as I was told and wound down the window as he approached the driver's