‘Worth checking?’
‘Another job for Ingeborg. Why isn’t she part of this op?’
‘Special dispensation,’ Halliwell said. ‘A date.’
The old blood pressure threatened, and Diamond made himself count to ten and see if it still mattered — a method his doctor had recommended.
It didn’t matter.
The alert finally came from Winsley at twenty past midnight. ‘Two suspects in a white van,’ Gilbert radioed in. ‘Can’t see the registration. One got out and went straight to the stolen vehicle. The van has driven off.’
‘Not the Range Rover?’
‘Not yet. Wait — he’s moving out. We’ll go with him.’
‘Not too close.’
‘Trust me.’
‘I’m trusting you to keep your distance.’
Diamond asked Halliwell if the bug was active, and it was. No reason to rush until they had a sense of where the ram vehicle was heading. They walked to their car and got in and made radio contact with the other teams. Everyone was awake. They tuned to Gilbert’s radio wavelength.
‘Heading west towards the city,’ Gilbert reported. ‘I can see the tail-lights of the van up ahead. They’re in no hurry.’
The van would be the getaway vehicle — for the getaway that wouldn’t be allowed to happen.
‘Crossing the river now and heading up to the aqueduct.’
Diamond knew the route well enough, but he had a map out and was following the progress by torchlight. Seeing it on paper and being reminded of the distances was reassuring. The ram-raiders were moving in his direction and he wanted to make sure they were properly received. Three armed response vehicles in addition to his own were ready to swoop.
‘Would you believe it? They’ve stopped at the traffic lights,’ Gilbert said. ‘We’ve pulled in to the side and dowsed our lights. These are law-abiding villains. OK, we’re all on the move again. Doing a dog-leg and up over Brassknocker by the look of it.’
‘Appropriate,’ Diamond said to Halliwell. ‘That’s where the highwaymen used to operate, the top of Brassknocker Hill.’
‘Until they were collared and hanged in chains. Not much changes.’
Did that sound a tad too smug? Diamond asked himself.
These modern villains were using the more secluded route to Bath, much favoured by the locals, avoiding the busy A36 that looped round the city following the curve of the river. A winding climb over Claverton Down brought you to a long descent down Widcombe Hill. The railway station and the city centre lay ahead.
‘Approaching the T-junction at Claverton Down Road,’ Gilbert reported. He was good at this. Eager to impress, no doubt, but so were all the others and not many of them communicated so well.
‘What’s your money on?’ Diamond asked. ‘Another phone shop or something more ambitious?’
‘They’re after small stuff, that’s for sure,’ Halliwell said. ‘A jeweller’s, maybe.’
‘Turning right,’ Gilbert’s voice told them. ‘Still observing speed limits.’
‘Maybe the judge will take that into account,’ Halliwell murmured.
‘Passing the university campus. The road is straight here. I’m having to stay well back.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Halliwell told him. ‘The bug is working nicely. We can follow the route by radio if needed.’
The white van and the Range Rover took another short cut, down Prior Park Road, avoiding Widcombe Hill. Local knowledge.
‘Crunch time coming shortly,’ Diamond said. ‘Why don’t you radio the others and tell them to have their engines running?’
‘I can do that, but let’s see which way they come in.’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Under the viaduct and over Churchill Bridge.’
‘But then what?’
‘Fair enough. We’ll see.’ He hated chasing around in cars, and waiting to chase around was worse.
Paul Gilbert radioed that he was closing up on the Range Rover now. Then the unexpected happened. ‘Bloody hell. They’re not going into the centre. They’re heading up Wells Road.’
‘What’s up there?’ Halliwell said.
This was the south-west route out of Bath. Diamond knew it well. He’d lived on Wellsway for a time and done the drive every day. The suspects were dodging the trap. ‘Doesn’t matter what’s up there. We’re down here and we’ve got to move. Did you hear that, driver?’
He’d taken charge. Halliwell would have to make his protest later. He put out an instruction to the others to head the same way.
‘It’s mostly small shops,’ he said, answering Halliwell’s question as they accelerated to the end of Manvers Street and swung right in front of the railway station. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d want to rob.’
‘Do you think they spotted Gilbert tailing them?’
‘Must have.’ He was tight-lipped.
‘So do we want to chase them?’
‘We have to.’ He leaned forward to speak to the driver. ‘You’ve got a winker on your roof. Use it.’
They passed through a red traffic light, crossed Churchill Bridge and rounded the elongated island that stands under the railway. A left turn and they were racing up Wells Road.
‘Report your position, Sierra One.’
‘Just passing Bear Flat,’ Gilbert answered.
‘Leaving the shops behind?’
‘Pretty well.’
‘Are they both in sight still?’
‘Yes. Turning left on Milton. Shall I follow?’
Milton was one of several avenues named after poets. The developers had grand aspirations. When built around 1900, the area was known as Poets’ Corner. These days Shakespeare, Kipling, Milton and Longfellow were better known for bumper-to-bumper parking.
‘Yes. We reckon they spotted you anyway. Keep them in sight. Don’t do anything until the back-up arrives. We’re coming up Holloway, only three minutes behind you.’
‘Guv, they’ve stopped,’ Gilbert said. ‘Right in the middle of the road.’
‘Both vehicles?’
‘What do I do — nick them?’
‘No. See what happens.’
‘It’s very narrow where they are. Parked cars either side. Door’s opening. The guy’s got out. He’s left the Range Rover blocking the street and he’s running to the van. There’s no way I can get past. Oh Christ, they’re getting away.’
Diamond studied the map and told the driver, ‘There’s a street called Chaucer that crosses all the others. They’ll use that and double down Kipling or one of the others. If we pick the right one we can head them off.’
‘Which one, sir?’
Shakespeare, Kipling or Longfellow? He’d never had time for fancy writers.
‘Kipling.’
He radioed to the others to block the remaining avenues as soon as they arrived.
Gilbert came on again, saying the van had disappeared fast and he couldn’t see which turn it had taken on Chaucer Avenue. ‘I’m stuck behind the Range Rover. There’s no way I can get round it. Oh my God — it’s on fire! He’s torched it.’
This was turning into a nightmare. Diamond radioed for the fire service.
The car swung at speed into Kipling Avenue. They could see at once that they’d boobed. Nothing else was moving. There were just parked cars stretching to infinity.
Halliwell said, ‘Personally, I would have gone for Shakespeare.’
‘Sod off, Keith.’
