But Danny had stopped listening to Holt. He was watching the car in front of them. The black Range Rover that had just overtaken them. It was the one from the car park. Same number plate. Danny was sure.
‘That Range Rover…’ Danny said.
‘What about it?’
‘It was at the pub.’
‘Another flash… person,’ Holt said.
The Range Rover was tailgating Finn’s Mercedes now. Too close, Danny thought. Something was wrong.
All three cars were approaching a tight bend. Where the fields fell away quickly to a sheer drop thirty metres down to a river.
And Danny’s mind went into overdrive.
How many times had he read a book to his dad where a car was followed, driven alongside, then pushed down a ravine? Dozens. It was one of the most exciting ways of killing people off in crime books. Lots of screeching. Anxious faces. Then the silence before the car smashed on the rocks below.
Since he’d started reading crime books to his dad, Danny had an instinct for danger. Danger that never usually happened.
But this time…
Danny looked at Holt. ‘That car was definitely in the car park at the pub,’ he said. ‘No one got out. When we left, it left too. No one got in. Now it’s overtaken us. Badly. And it’s tailgating Finn. And we’re about to go round that tight bend over the river.’
‘You watch too many films, Danny,’ Holt said. But he sounded uneasy. Something in his voice.
‘I just have this feeling,’ Danny said. ‘Can you overtake it? Get in between the Range Rover and Finn’s car?’
‘Danny. Get real!’
‘If you could, would you?’
The Range Rover went right up behind Finn again. Dangerously. Then it dropped back. Leaving a gap.
And – without saying anything more – Holt gunned his engine and accelerated. The Range Rover was still dropping back, so Holt moved past it with ease.
‘Happy now?’ Holt said, slightly flushed.
Danny nodded. They’d reached the bend. The drop to the river.
‘Now what?’ Holt asked, looking in his mirror.
Danny looked back. The Range Rover wasn’t there.
‘Where is it?’ Danny shouted.
‘There!’ Holt said, glancing through his window, his face tight with anxiety.
Danny looked out of the window too. The Range Rover had somehow got alongside them. He caught a face through the black car’s tinted window. A fat bald head. A pair of eyes looking daggers at him, as the Range Rover tried to pass.
Then Holt was flashing his lights. On and off a dozen times. Warning Finn.
‘What am I doing?’ he asked himself.
‘I don’t know,’ Danny shouted. ‘But do it!’
The Range Rover had passed them now. Once in front of Holt’s car, it slammed its brakes on, forcing Holt to do the same. Then the Range Rover took off, using all of its 400-horsepower to reach Finn’s Mercedes ahead. It tried to move alongside Finn. But Finn was going faster, as if he knew something was about to happen, alerted by Holt.
Danny watched the next few seconds in horror.
First the Range Rover moved alongside Finn’s car, then it lunged at the Mercedes, forcing Finn to swerve slightly off the road. But they were past the ravine now. Alongside some fields with drystone walls.
Finn tried to get his car back on the road, but his left tyres were caught in the soft grassy verges. Then the Range Rover lunged again, hitting Finn’s Mercedes, pitching it flying into a wall, which crumbled, sending huge boulders across the fields, crashing loudly and halting the Mercedes in its tracks.
Holt stopped his car and stared. Danny was already on the phone.
‘Ambulance please,’ he said. ‘And police.’
Holt opened his door and Danny watched him run to the battered Mercedes, his legs disappearing in the long grass.
Danny saw that the black Range Rover had disappeared. He stayed in the car. The road outside was noisy. He knew it was his job to get the ambulance. Holt could see to Finn and Forshaw.
And, anyway, half a dozen cars had stopped now. Men were running across the fields to join Holt.
FRIDAY
CHANCE OF A LIFETIME
Danny marched into the newspaper offices the next morning. He had to talk to Holt.
After the car crash, Danny was interviewed by the police, then went home. Neither Finn nor Forshaw had been badly hurt. But both were taken to hospital with cuts and bruises. Finn wouldn’t play in Moscow: there was no doubt about that.
And that was what had got Danny thinking.
He had spent the evening drawing diagrams, making notes. And going over the questions the police had asked him. Did he see any people get in or out of the Range Rover? Could he tell them exactly where the car had overtaken? Was he sure of the number plate – as there was no such number plate on record?
Danny had read a lot about car accidents on the Internet. Especially the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. There were thousands of pages about what could have gone on in the Paris tunnel. Diagrams showing theories of what happened to the car. If it was speeding. If it was involved in a crash with another car. If the driver was drunk. But nobody knew. It was all conjecture.
Whereas witnesses had seen the car accident involving Alex Finn. And the first thing about which Danny was certain: it was not an accident.
So then he had asked himself why: why would someone try to injure or kill Alex Finn?
He tried to think of who the suspects could be.
This was one of the techniques he’d learned from reading crime books. Think of who could benefit from the results of a crime. Think of every possibility. Every suspect. Don’t rule anything or anyone out. Unless you can be certain.
Danny made a mental list.
A fan of another club who resented him because he’d saved an important shot?
A Russian who hated him
