LITMIR.BIZ

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camper van at the far end, and a Ford Transit covering the entrance, which could also double up as a blockade vehicle if the bad guys attempted to leave the car park in a hurry.

      The police house in Dinas was going to be used as a reception and holding area, from where the detained suspects would be distributed to the larger centres.

      The rest of us were assigned to roadside stations where we would park out of sight and cover all the routes leading to the car park. If any suspicious vehicle went past us we were to call it in to Morgan. But we were to wait for his signal before we moved.

      ‘Any questions?’ Morgan asked, his wrist crooked in front of his face as he made a big deal of checking his watch.

      I put my hand up. I knew I should have kept quiet, but I couldn’t help it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Huw Davies give me a significant look.

      ‘Sergeant Capaldi?’

      ‘It’s the bait vehicles, Sir.’

      ‘What about them?’

      ‘Aren’t they a bit …’ I searched for a nice way to put it. ‘Aren’t they kind of out of place?’

      ‘What’s your point?’

      ‘It’s just that I can’t imagine the kind of people who would normally drive that type of car to be the sort who would leave it in the middle of the countryside while they go off for a long healthy hike.’

      He smiled nastily. ‘You’re probably right, but the people we’re targeting tonight don’t know that.’

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘They’re only interested in the bling, Sergeant. They don’t care what motivates people to come out here. That’s why we’ve carefully chosen these particular cars.’ He smiled superciliously. ‘I think you’ll find that they’re going to be more interested in the Subaru or the BMW than any old Land Rover or Vauxhall Corsa we could have left in there with a no-nukes sticker on it.’ He was rewarded by an all-round chuckle.

      ‘Yes, Sir.’ I bowed out.

      The teams paired up preparatory to leaving. I was left conspicuously on my own.

      I sat in my car in my allocated slot in the dark and listened to the carillon of heavy drips on the roof from the tree canopy, with the occasional heavier note of dislodged beech mast. The radio was turned down to low static with the odd interference jump.

      This was bullshit, I told myself again.

      ‘Go, go, go!’ Morgan’s voice whipped out. And, despite my deep-seated cynicism, I felt the familiar lurch of adrenalin and excitement kicking in as I reached out to start my car.

      There were two other cars fishtailing down the access road to the car park in front of me. I pulled up at the entrance and tried to make sense of it. The far end of the car park was illuminated by headlights which were focused on the surveillance team’s camper van. The two honeypot vehicles were off to the side, still in the dark, and being ignored. On the other side was the dark hulk of an abandoned and burnt-out car that ruin had made unrecognizable.

      I got out and slipped a high-visibility police raincoat on. I walked across the car park until I caught up with a straggler on the edge of the group that was concentrated around the camper van. A loose semi-circle of people had formed, and I could make out Emrys Hughes and Inspector Morgan in the midst of it.

      ‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

      ‘We’ve caught a kid,’ he replied breathlessly, still meshed up in the excitement of the chase.

      ‘What about the rest of them?’

      He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

      I moved towards the semi-circle in time to catch Morgan saying, ‘… spread out and move into the woods.’ My heart sank.

      He caught sight of my hi-viz jacket and scowled at me furiously. ‘I didn’t give any orders about breaking out of cover, Sergeant Capaldi.’

      I looked at the floodlit mêlée that had been created, but thought better than to remark on it. ‘I’m sorry, Sir. I just thought we had a result.’

      ‘We got one of the little buggers,’ Emrys Hughes chimed in gleefully.

      I made a point of looking round significantly. ‘Have we got their vehicle trapped in here, Sir?’

      ‘They’ve parked somewhere else,’ Morgan announced crossly. ‘They didn’t drive in, they came down out of the woods.’

      I turned to Emrys. ‘How many were there?’

      ‘Don’t know yet. We caught this one trying the handle on the surveillance vehicle.’

      ‘She was a scout,’ Morgan added his wisdom, ‘the rest have scattered. We’re going to have to go into the woods after them.’

      ‘They’re city kids, they won’t know how to handle it in there, they’ll all be terrified of the dark,’ Emrys raised his voice reassuringly as some of the faces around him began to look distinctly unenthusiastic.

      I saw her for the first time then, close to the camper van, hemmed in by a couple of big cops, her back to me, hooded top up. A plan formed. A route out of this debacle.

      ‘Why don’t I take this one back to Dinas, Sir? Out of your way.’ I shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry about the coat. I’m a bit too bright for a chase. But I can free your hands up.’

      He thought about it. ‘Okay,’ he agreed reluctantly, ‘but I want you back here after.’

      ‘Of course, Sir.’ I moved away from him and towards Jessie.

      Only now I knew that I wasn’t going to make it back, and I was about to lead her on her death march.

      It took two more days before Jack Galbraith turned up at the hospital. My relief was mixed. On the one hand his presence meant that I was probably in the clear. He wouldn’t have risked the taint by association otherwise. On the other was the still nagging feeling that I might not deserve to be. Jessie Bullock was dead after all.

      I had also started to speculate on another more radical scenario.

      He strode in with Bryn Jones in tow. I sat up straighter in bed. They had opened the blinds by now, the room was lighter. He took his time scrutinizing me. ‘Jesus, Capaldi, you look like someone stuck your head in a cement mixer.’

      I had checked the mirror. The bruising on my face had faded down to shades of apricot and plum. ‘It’s getting better, Sir.’

      He sat down and made a big show of staring at the bedside table. ‘Where are the fucking grapes?’

      ‘I think you’re meant to bring them, Sir.’

      He flashed a grin at Bryn Jones. ‘I reckon he’s on the mend.’ He turned back to me, his face serious. ‘Who’s been to see you?’

      I nodded towards Bryn. ‘DCI Jones. And my friend Graham Mackay brought my mother up from Cardiff.’

      ‘They haven’t let the press in?’

      ‘No, Sir.’

      ‘Good. They’ve been fucking pestering me. Bastards.’ He grunted and returned to his original tack. ‘Has Inspector Morgan been?’

      ‘No, Sir.’

      He scowled. ‘Sanctimonious fucking hypocrite. The least he could have done was come and see how you were getting on. A thank you might also have been appropriate. If it wasn’t for his chicken-shit operation, that poor girl would still be alive.’

      ‘Did they catch anyone else that night?’

      Jack Galbraith batted the question on to Bryn, who shook his head. ‘No, they chased around for hours. Half of his men ended up getting lost.’

      ‘Inspector Morgan will not be repeating

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