the wheel. The woman was walking toward her car, which was parked farther up the street. Andy started the van’s engine and checked his wing mirrors. He’d been doing that regularly since Matt’s warning that Sara-or some sidekick-might also have been watching Mrs. Carlton-Jones. Anything was possible, but he wasn’t convinced about that. Sara was too smart to hang around her mother.
The elderly woman drove to the end of the road, turned right and headed back toward Sydenham. Andy kept a couple of cars behind her and had no difficulty keeping in touch, even when a heavy drizzle started. The streetlamps were blurred, but the Japanese car had bright red taillights. While they were waiting for the traffic lights to change, Andy checked his wing mirrors again. They were covered in raindrops and he had to open the window and wipe the one on the driver’s side with his sleeve. That was when the motorbike came past. At first he didn’t pay it much attention. The rider was in dark-colored leathers, bent low over the handlebars. Having passed the vehicles behind Doris Carlton-Jones’s car, the biker then stopped behind her. That got Andy’s attention. There were another three cars between her and the traffic lights, and the motorbike had plenty of space to get past and take pole position. But the rider spurned that opportunity and stayed behind the Japanese car.
The lights changed and the line of vehicles began to move. The road ahead was single-lane and there was no chance of overtaking-unless you were on a bike. But the rider stayed behind Doris Carlton-Jones. Andy drove closer to the car in front, provoking violent hand movements from the driver. He hit the van’s brakes when he saw the Baby on Board sticker on the rear window.
The line of traffic went past Crystal Palace, and still the bike sat on Mrs. Carlton-Jones’s tail, though not close enough to bother her. Andy considered texting Matt, or even calling him, but there wasn’t much he could do from wherever he was.
Then it struck Andy. Maybe Sara’s birth mother was the target. He had no idea how that would fit the clue, but that didn’t matter now. He had to make sure nothing happened to the woman. She wasn’t responsible for how her daughter had turned out, let alone for the White Devil. But Sara could easily have resented the fact that the birth mother had given her and her twin brother away when they were still babies. Was that a reason to kill her? In Sara’s perverted world, it probably was.
Doris Carlton-Jones turned off the main road and headed for her street. None of the other drivers hit their right indicator, not even the motorbike. Then, at the last moment, the rider accelerated and took a sharp right turn. The driver of the car behind hit his horn and gesticulated wildly. Andy took the corner and found himself close to the motorbike, seeing that it was metallic red. He reckoned it was a Transalp. The rider was bound to have spotted him. He dropped back, but kept his eyes on the bike. It stayed behind the Japanese car, despite the fact that it could easily have overtaken it on the quiet back street. That made Andy even more certain that something bad was about to happen.
Mrs. Carlton-Jones indicated left and turned into Northumberland Crescent. A few seconds later she was maneuvering into her narrow driveway. Andy slowed before making the turn and turned off his headlights. The streetlamps were bright enough, so he could see but he could also be seen by the motorbike rider, who had followed Mrs. Carlton-Jones as far as the pavement outside her house. Andy stopped the van a few yards into Northumberland Crescent, but kept the engine running. The drizzle was heavier now and he was having difficulty seeing. The rider had got off the bike and was walking toward the house. Doris Carlton-Jones was locking her car and seemed unaware of the rider’s presence. She moved away from the car and headed for her front door, then saw the figure in leather, helmet still on, and stopped. It looked to Andy like she was speaking to the rider-probably asking what he or she wanted. Then the person in leathers raised a hand.
“Shit!” Andy yelled, stamping the accelerator pedal. The van lurched forward and he drove it at the bike. As he was closing, the rider turned quickly and dropped the object he or she was holding, taking something else from the pocket in the leather jacket.
The windscreen was instantly covered in a web of cracks. Andy hit the brake and smashed his elbow through the glass, noticing a small hole in the middle just before he made contact. The glass gave way and rain dashed over him. The van had come to a halt a few meters in front of the bike. Andy felt a bullet whip past his left ear, but didn’t hear a shot. The slug ricocheted around the metal sides of the van’s cargo space. He saw the muzzle of a silenced pistol aiming straight at him and ducked as low as he could. Again, a bullet whistled past, this time over his head. Then there came the sound of the motorbike being started. Andy put his shoulder to the door and dropped to the road. There was a roar as the rider revved hard. Andy rolled forward, only to see and hear the bike rocket down the curved street. In a couple of seconds it had disappeared into the rainy night.
“What on earth…” Doris Carlton-Jones stood stock-still, staring down the street. It was only when Andy got to his feet that she moved her head. “Are you all right?” She moved toward him.
“Yes,” he said, trying to lose his American accent. “You?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she looked traumatized. “He…he shot at you.”
Andy nodded, his mind in overdrive as he constructed a plan that would win her trust. “I’ve been following that motorbike.” He looked down at the road. There was nothing there except four cartridge cases. He took out a paper tissue and picked them up. Whatever it was that had originally been in the rider’s hand was no longer there. “The name’s Andrew Ja…Jansen. I’m with the police.” He told himself to get a grip. Giving his real name would have been seriously dumb.
Doris Carlton-Jones had put up an umbrella. She beckoned him under it. “You’re with the police?”
He nodded. “Undercover major crime unit. We’ve been carrying out surveillance on a gang of diamond thieves.”
She stared at him. “But what…Why was he here?”
Andy looked at her. “I was hoping you could tell me that. First of all, you say the rider was a ‘he.’ Are you sure of that?”
“I need to go inside,” the elderly woman said, moving to the front door. “No,” she said as they got there. “No, I’m not sure about that. He, I mean the rider, raised the visor, but all I saw was the eyes. Now I’m thinking about it, I couldn’t say if it was a man or a woman.” She stared at him. “You say you’ve been following the motorbike. Don’t you know who was on it?”
Andy realized that he had to be careful-Mrs. Carlton-Jones was obviously not senile. “I’m afraid not,” he said, in his best South London accent. “I saw the rider make a pickup from another suspect, helmet on the whole time.”
Doris Carlton-Jones put her key in the lock. She opened the door and then stopped. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you in,” she said, then moved swiftly forward and closed the door after her. There was a rattle as the chain came on.
Andy swore under his breath. “Please, madam, I need to ask you some questions.”
“And I need to see your warrant card,” came the surprisingly level voice behind the door.
“I’m working undercover,” he said. “We don’t carry identification, for obvious reasons.” He’d taken out his cell phone and was texting Matt at speed-the other guys laughed at how quickly he could work the keys, saying he was a teenager in disguise. After he’d sent the message, he put the phone back in his pocket. “If you like, I can give you the number of the officer in charge of the investigation.”
The door opened a few inches, the chain visible.
“Very well,” the elderly woman said, her tone businesslike.
Andy gave her Matt’s cell phone number, hoping he’d had time to read the message. The woman left the door open on the chain and went to the telephone in the hall.
“Oh, hello,” Andy heard her say. “My name’s Doris Carlton-Jones. One of your officers has just been shot at outside my house.” She paused and listened. “Yes, his name is Andrew Jansen. Oh, he is.” She looked at Andy, her gaze still unwavering. “I see. Very well, hold on.” She brought the cordless phone over to the door and passed it through the gap. “He wants to talk to you.”
Andy took the phone. “Yes, guv,” he said. He’d seen enough British cop shows to have picked up the jargon.
“Jesus Christ, Slash!” Matt said. “What the fuck are you up to?”
“I know, guv,” Andy replied, his eyes on Doris Carlton-Jones. She was watching intently. “I tailed the motorbike from Beckenham. The rider seemed to be following the lady’s car. When I approached, four shots were fired from a silenced pistol. I’m afraid I couldn’t pursue. I wanted to make sure the lady was unharmed.”
“Was it Sara?” Matt asked breathlessly.
“Unclear, guv. The witness isn’t sure about gender, let alone identity. Em, please advise course of
