Die Twice Read Free

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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Don’t worry. We’ve covered our tracks well enough.’
    â€˜There’s going to be a lot of heat over this one, Dennis.’
    â€˜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 safety jackets 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 side. He was young, no more than twenty-three, and very fresh-faced. They say you can tell you’re getting old when the coppers look young. I could just about have been this kid’s dad. He looked really enthusiastic as well. That wouldn’t last. A second officer stood a few feet behind him, watching, but the other two were preoccupied with the driver of the other car. None of them appeared to be armed, which I thought was a bit foolish under the circumstances. I could have run this roadblock and they wouldn’t have had a chance.
    â€˜Good evening, sir.’ He leaned down into the window and gave me and the car a gentle once-over.
    It always pays to be polite. ‘Evening, officer. How can I help?’
    â€˜There’s been an incident at a hotel called the Traveller’s Rest on the A10. About fifteen minutes ago. You haven’t come that way, have you?’
    â€˜No, I haven’t,’ I told him. ‘I’ve come from Clavering. I’m on my way to London.’
    He nodded understandingly, and then looked at me again. You could tell that for some reason he wasn’t entirely convinced, although I don’t know why. I’m not the type who arouses suspicions. I genuinely look like a nice guy.