in a nature reserve.
An aerial search was ideal for an area as big as this, no question. Happily the visibility was excellent this sharp October morning. They were flying low enough to observe anyone. A birdwatcher had set up his camera above the Severals, one of the shallow pools the waders used, and the sun glinted off the chrome tripod. The entire feathered population of the area took flight, leaving him with nothing to photograph. Hands on hips, he glared upwards. In Park Copse, outside the reserve, a woman was walking a Dalmatian. You could almost have counted the spots.
The pilot about-turned the helicopter and began the systematic tracking of the shoreline. ‘Soon as you see anything, scream out,’ he said. ‘You’re the eyes on this job, not me.’
Hen had a seat on the left, looking inland. Gary was watching the shoreline. They passed over a large gabled house. The police observer had a map out and said it was Norton Priory. I wouldn’t mind your job, squire, Hen thought. She didn’t know such a soft option existed.
Above the car park near the red-roofed chapel they spotted Gary’s little Nissan, still the only car in view. A short way on, Hen said, ‘Hey ho, cap. There’s the couple we saw earlier. Can we get a closer look at the man?’ She picked up Gary’s binoculars.
The pair had chosen a new spot at the edge of a reed bed.
‘Bit early in the day for that, isn’t it?’ the pilot said.
The couple’s movements indicated that they had found a way of lovemaking whilst fully clothed in padded jackets. The presence of a helicopter overhead didn’t inhibit the blonde, squatting astride the recumbent man, her long hair dancing with the rhythm.
‘The zips would worry me,’ the policeman said.
‘Just thinking about it makes my eyes water,’ Gary said.
‘Anyway, he doesn’t look as if he’s on the run,’ the pilot said.
‘And he’s better-looking than the man we’re after,’ Hen said. ‘Shall we leave them to it?’
They continued in an inland direction along the curve of the shore. It was mostly open land. The Selsey Road, with glittering cars moving in both directions, was ahead.
‘There must have been a ferry here one time, where the road crosses the water,’ the policeman with the map said. ‘That’s Ferry Farmhouse coming up.’
‘Sidlesham Ferry,’ Hen informed them. She knew the main points along the road.
‘Visitors’ centre on my side,’ Gary said. ‘Hello, there’s something in the car park. Looks like a Panda.’
Nobody said anything about wild animals.
‘Probably belonged to that couple,’ the pilot said.
‘No, they had bikes,’ Gary said. ‘I saw when we flew over.’
‘Does your suspect have a motor?’ the pilot asked.
‘Not to my knowledge,’ Hen said.
They moved on and Sidlesham Quay came up, with the little cluster of cottages around the Crab and Lobster, then a tricky promontory that curled around the inlet where the footpath led along the top of Pagham Wall, one more solid defence against the sea.
The police observer looked up from his map. ‘There isn’t a lot more after this. A section called Slipe Field and beyond that a holiday village, and then you’re getting into the outskirts of Bognor.’
‘We’ll finish the job,’ the pilot said. ‘Are you sure your man is down there somewhere?’
‘Dead sure,’ Hen said. ‘He works here.’ But behind the confident words, she was beginning to feel this would be viewed as an expensive mistake by the high-ups at headquarters.
The Explorer competed its circuit of the harbour and crossed over Pagham Spit and the narrow channel of water between.
‘Want to go round again?’ the pilot offered like a fairground attendant.
Hen was about to say it was the only thing to do, but Gary spoke first. ‘Can I borrow the glasses, guv? There’s an inflatable out in the middle.’
‘A boat? I thought the harbour was closed to shipping.’
‘It should be-unless it’s official. They have to get out and monitor the water levels and stuff like that.’
‘Can we get closer?’ Hen asked the pilot.
They made a sharp turn and zoomed across the water towards the small craft.
‘I think it’s him,’ Gary said. ‘He’s wearing the hood.’
Hen sent up a silent prayer that he was right.
The pilot said, ‘If I go too close there’s a danger of churning up water and sinking him.’
‘So?’ Hen said. ‘He’s a big boy. He can swim.’
‘We don’t work that way.’
They swooped close enough for Hen to see the problem for herself. There was already disturbance on the water below them. ‘Is there any way we can round him up?’
‘We can try. He’s aware of us by now.’
The pilot slowed the helicopter and let it hover to one side of the inflatable, creating a circular pattern of waves but not enough to splash over the sides.
‘He’s got the idea, I think,’ Gary said. ‘He’s heading for the shore.’
The little boat was chugging towards the Church Norton shoreline.
‘Any chance you can put us down?’ Hen asked the pilot.
‘Do my best.’
From the air it seemed an unequal contest, the helicopter capable of ten times the speed. But they needed a landing area reasonably close to where the inflatable would put ashore. Jake knew the ground better than Hen or Gary, and might easily make a run for it and get away.
She asked Gary if he’d still got his personal radio. He wasn’t wearing it on his lapel or anything so obvious.
‘Fixed to my belt.’
‘Good.’ She spoke to the pilot. ‘If you track him from the air after you put us down, we can keep in radio contact.’
‘Can you run a bit?’
‘Gary can.’
‘I noticed a car park near the chapel. It’s small, and there are trees around, but I think I can put you down there.’
‘We know it.’
‘Your suspect might have a good start.’
‘Gary can do it,’ Hen said with confidence.
‘Gary and whose army?’ Gary said. ‘He’s six foot six.’
‘You’ve got the law on your side. And I won’t be far behind.’
Gary looked at the others in the aircraft for offers of help. The paramedic shook his head. The police observer lifted his trouser-leg a few inches to reveal an artificial limb. ‘It’s why I was given the job.’
The pilot said, ‘The Eye in the Sky will watch over you, son.’
‘Thanks a bunch,’ Gary said.
Below, the inflatable dinghy continued steadily towards the Church Norton shore. Probably it would take another minute.
‘We’ll go for it,’ the pilot said, veering left, inland, and over the roof of St Wilfrid’s Chapel. ‘Want me to call up ground reinforcements?’
‘You bet I do,’ Hen said. ‘You’re carrying cuffs, are you, Gary?’
Gary nodded. He was looking pale.
They touched down in the car park and jumped out, Gary first. ‘Don’t wait for me,’ Hen yelled, on her knees. ‘Get weaving.’
The helicopter soared again and away over the trees, to keep tabs on Jake.
Hen pulled herself upright and jogged along the footpath some way behind Gary, taking shallow breaths and regretting the years of smoking. Her mouth was dry and her chest hurt, but she made the best speed she could. For all the tough talk she didn’t want Gary tackling Jake unaided.
