Rebus stuck a finger in the guard's face. `Buzz down to the car park. Don't let Malcolm Chambers leave.' The, guard stood there dumbly, staring at the finger. `Do it!'
And then he was off again, running, taking the stairs down three at a time, great leaps which almost sent him flying. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd waiting to leave.
`Police,' he said, `emergency.' Nobody said anything. They were like cows, patiently waiting to be milked. Even so, it took a silent scream of an age, for the cylinder to empty its cargo, close its doors, then open them again for Rebus.
`Come on, come on.' And then the door sucked itself open and he was out, out in the foyer, bursting through the main doors. He ran up to, the corner, took a right, and ran again along the face of the building. Another right. He was on the other side of the building now. Where the car-park exit was. A slope of road down into darkness. The car screeched as it ? HYPERLINK “http://came.to/”??came to? the surface, hardly slowing as it climbed the hill to Newgate Street. It was a long gloss-black BMW. And in the passenger seat sat Lisa Frazer, looking relaxed, smiling, talking to the driver, not realising.
`Lisa!' But he was too far away, the traffic around him too loud. `Lisa!' Before he could reach it, the car had turned into a flow of traffic and disappeared. Rebus cursed under his breath. Then looked around him for the first time and saw that he was standing next to a parked Jaguar, in the front of which sat a liveried chauffeur, staring out of the window at him. Rebus yanked at the doorhandle and threw open the door, reaching in with one hand to pull out the bemused driver. He was getting to be a dab hand at, this: relieving people of their vehicles.
'Hoi! What the bleedin’ ‘ell—'
The man's cap rolled along the ground, given force by a gust of wind. For a moment, he knelt on the pavement, undecided whether to rescue the cap or the car. The moment was enough. Rebus gunned the engine and pulled , away from the kerb, horns sounding behind him as he did so. At the top of the slight incline, he pressed his hand hard on the horn and careered left into the main road. A squeal of brakes. More horns. The pedestrians looking at him as though he were mad.
`Need lights,' he said to himself, glancing at the dashboard. Eventually, he found the headlamp switch and flipped them to full beam. Then took a hard right to bring himself into the middle of the road, passing the traffic, scraping the passenger side against an oncoming red bus, clipping a central bollard, uprooting the flimsy plastic construction and sending it flying into, the path of the oncoming traffic
They couldn't be too far ahead of him. Yes! He caught a glimpse of the BMW's tail-lights as it braked to turn a corner. He'd be damned if they'd lose him.
`Excuse me?'
Rebus flinched, startled, and nearly pulled the car onto the pavement. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw an elderly gentleman sitting in the back seat, arms spread so as to keep himself upright. He appeared calm as he leaned forward towards Rebus.
`Would you kindly mind telling me what's going on? Am I being kidnapped?'
Rebus recognised the voice before he remembered the face. It was the judge from the Watkiss case. Jesus Christ, he'd run off with a judge!
`Only, if you are kidnapping me,' the judge went on, `perhaps you'd allow me to call my wife. She'll burn the chops otherwise.'
Call! Rebus looked down again. Below the dashboard, between the driver's and front passenger seats, there was a neat black car-phone.
`Do you mind if I use your phone?' he asked, grinning with a face full of adrenalin.
`Be my guest.'
Rebus grabbed at the contraption and fiddled as he drove, his steering becoming more `erratic than ever.
`Press the button marked TRS,' the judge suggested.
`Thank you, your honour.'
`You know who I am? I thought I recognised the face. Have I had you before me recently?'
But Rebus had dialled and was now waiting for the call to be answered. It seemed to take forever. And meantime, the BMW had nipped across an amber traffic light.
`Hold tight,' Rebus said, baring his teeth. The horn was a banshee-wail as they pushed past the waiting traffic and flew across the intersection, traffic from left and right braking hard. One car dented the back of another. A, motorcycle slewed on the greasy road. But they were across. The BMW was still in sight, less than half a dozen cars ahead now, yet still apparently unaware of the pursuing demon.
Finally, the call was answered.
`It's Rebus here.' Then, for his passenger's sake: `Detective Inspector Rebus. I need to speak to Flight. Is he there?' There was a long pause. The connection crackled wildly, as though about to short out altogether. Rebus gripped the handset between hunched shoulder and angled cheek, driving with both hands to take first one bend and then another.
`John? Where are you?' Flight's voice sounded metallic and distant.
`I'm in a car,' said Rebus, `a car I commandeered. I'm following Chambers. He's got Lisa Frazer with him. I don't think she knows he's the Wolfman.'
'But for Christ's sake, John, is he the Wolfman?'
`I'll ask him when I catch him. Did you send any cars to the Old Bailey?'
`I sent one, yes.'
`That was generous.' Rebus saw what was ahead. `Oh shit!' He braked hard, but not hard enough. The old lady was shuffling slowly across the zebra crossing, her shopping trolley a step behind her like a pet poodle. Rebus swerved but couldn't avoid winging the trolley. It flew into the air as though fired from a cannon, dispensing groceries as it went eggs, butter, flour, cornflakes raining down on the road. Rebus heard the woman screaming. At worst she'd have a broken arm. No, at worst the shock would kill her.
