Archibald Hendley’s dead fisheyes stared back at him. His throat had been slit. On the floor beside him was a blood-stained knife. Without moving further into the kitchen, Matt’s gaze slowly scanned the room. Where the hell are Susan and her son? He thought. And Constable Curtiss? He pulled out his cell phone and made a call.
“Bill?”
“Is that you Matt? I’m already on-site with my team, bud.”
“I know,” he sighed. “There’s another crime scene I need you to process.”
“Another? Where? Here? Since my arrival?”
Matt saw the soles of the constable’s boots splayed out on the floor and peeking out from behind the granite counter. “Jesus!” He slipped further into the room and along the wall and peered at the constable. There was nothing he could do. A meat cleaver had been deeply embedded in the back of the constable’s head.
“Matt? What’s wrong?!”
“Main house. Kitchen. Bill. I need you to secure it.” Movement from outside the window caught his eye. Then the sound of a car starting. He exited the kitchen and rushed down the hall toward the front door and flung it open.
“Matt, can’t you…”
“No, I can’t!” Matt interjected. He saw the tail of the vehicle exit through the gates and turn right. “I’m in pursuit of the murderer.”
Within minutes Matt was in a high-speed chase talking to the dispatcher at Police Headquarters. “Chasing a black mist grey Jaguar XK 150 heading toward the town of Linsdale along Barley Park Road. Licence plate number 8841 PU. Close the damn road, Bertie! Stat! He can’t enter the town at this speed. Too many people likely to get hurt. I want this sonofabitch alive! Do you hear me, Bertie! Alive!”
Accelerator pushed to the floor he drew in a deep breath fearful that his engine might blow up under the sustained stress. Eyes focussed on the vehicle ahead, time and space suddenly took on a surreal feel to it. Building tops began to peek above the horizon. A car travelling in the opposite direction averted collusion by sliding into the ditch. Then a truck and another vehicle were ambushed and forced off the road. What is he trying to do?! Matt’s mind screamed. But he knew the vile answer. The soulless person in the car ahead wanted him dead, too.
His engine screamed up the steep slope and at its brim, he discerned in the distance police barriers being put in place. The Jaguar suddenly pulled right, along a stony tree-lined road. Matt’s vehicle passed it and came to a grinding stop. He turned round and followed in quick pursuit. He knew Bertie would be at the roadblock when he called dispatch. “Alice, connect me to Bertie... Bertie! He veered off along Shingles Road toward Stormy Cliffs. Send a car to follow me!”
Five minutes later, he pulled into a clearing and brought his vehicle to a stop. The Jaguar was revving its motor in the middle of the clearing. Matt stepped out of his car and pulled out his gun from inside his jacket. “Turn off the engine and get out of your vehicle with your hands above your head,” he yelled. Nothing happened. Cautiously, he approached and commanded the driver once again to exit his car. Still nothing. Behind him Constable Bertie’s cruiser arrived. The Jaguar revved its engine again. Its back wheels spun thrusting the Jaguar forward. The driver poured on the speed. Matt’s gun rang off two shots one bullet to each of the rear tires. The backend of the Jaguar waved side to side but kept moving forward. The cliff’s edge was yards away, feet away, inches away. For a moment the Jaguar gave flight before it plunged toward its stony grave below. An eery silence bit the air before the gnashing teeth of the explosion shattered it. Matt was frozen in place. He heard Bertie’s voice calling his name and he felt his cell vibrating in his pocket. But paralyzed to react, his gaze remained fixed on the Jaguar’s launching point at the cliff’s edge. The warm breath of Bertie’s voice and his arm draped across his shoulder broke him from this involuntary trance. “I’ll be okay, Bertie.” He took in a deep breath. “Did you find out who owned the Jag?”
“A ghost. Are you sure the licence number you gave me was correct?” replied Constable Bertie.
“Yes. Why?” An uneasiness fell over Matt.
The two walked toward the edge of the cliff.
“Because the plates are registered to Sir Reginald van der Helsing.”
The cell in Matt’s pocket vibrated again and he pulled it out. The call was from Sergeant Gupta. “Sanjay. Did you retrieve the box?”
“There was no box in the limo. And they weren’t that far ahead of us to get rid of it that easily. Nevertheless, I’ve requisitioned some constables who were on duty at the estate to check both sides of the road up to where we stopped them. Now hold on to your hat. Guess who was driving? None other than Mark Dale.”