Jake gulped. He tapped in the first digit, and then suddenly threw the mobile into the doorway of a nearby shop, and at the same time ran out into the road, hurling himself in front of a car.
The car slammed on its brakes, tyres squealing in protest, and there was the horrifying sound of metal crashing into metal as the car following behind ran into the back of it; then the car behind that running into the back of the second car.
Horns blared, and the door of the first car was thrust open. A middle-aged man got out, his face twisted in fury. He reached out and grabbed hold of Jake by his jacket with both hands and began to bang him against the bonnet of the car.
‘My no-claims bonus!’ he roared, and then began punching Jake.
‘Sorry! Sorry!’ burbled Jake, putting up his arms in front of him, doing his best to defend himself.
Other people had arrived on the scene now: passers-by, tourists, drivers from some of the other cars that had pulled up on the roundabout, and the figure of a policeman.
‘Stop that!’ ordered the policeman, and the angry man reluctantly stopped punching Jake.
Jake shot a glance towards the pavement. The short wiry man had disappeared. He guessed his accomplice had also gone, but only for the moment. He was sure they were somewhere near, watching, and they’d be back.
Chapter 17
Jake sat on the hard wooden chair in the interview room at the police station. He’d just given his statement to the uniformed police constable about what had happened: being threatened by the two men, and running into the road to escape them. It was obvious to Jake that the constable hadn’t wanted to come all the way back to the station and take his statement. The constable had hoped this would be just a simple matter, with Jake being cautioned (or possibly charged) for causing an accident at the scene. One crime committed, one crime solved. A box ticked. 100% crime-solving success rate.
Instead of which, Jake had insisted he’d been the victim of a potentially deadly assault, and equally firmly insisted on being taken to the nearest police station to give his statement.
From Jake’s point of view, it had been a strategy to ensure he was protected. The two men would keep away from him as long as he was in the company of the constable.
The constable read through Jake’s statement, then slid it across the table for Jake to sign. As Jake put his autograph at the bottom, the constable added gravely, ‘There may be charges against you in respect of the collisions, sir.’
Jake slid the statement back across the table.
‘These are the men responsible,’ he said, pointing to his statement.
‘You’ve only given us a description of one man,’ the constable pointed out.
‘Because I didn’t see the other one,’ said Jake. ‘He was the one holding a gun on me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the constable, not really bothering to hide the note of scepticism in his voice. He read aloud from Jake’s statement. ‘A short man. About five feet six inches tall. Almost shaven head. Wiry, but with a muscular build. Scar running down the left side of his face from his eye to the corner of his mouth. Dressed in a casual brown zip-up jacket over a black T-shirt. Also wore jeans and trainers.’ He looked at Jake.
‘Yes.’ Jake nodded. ‘That was him. The scar makes him very distinctive.’ Still playing for time, determined to remain in the safety of the police station for as long as he could, he added, ‘If you like, I could go through those book things. The ones with photographs of known criminals, see if I can spot him. I’ve seen them do that on TV.’
‘Yes, well, it’s not that easy, sir,’ said the constable. ‘Everything’s computerised these days.’
‘I can look at them on a computer,’ offered Jake.
The constable stopped short of uttering a heavy sigh. Instead, he said, ‘Thank you, sir. I shall contact the ID Department and see if that can be arranged, although it may take a day or two. We’ll contact you and make an appointment for you to come in.’
No, you won’t, thought Jake. As soon as I’ve gone, you’re just going to file this statement away and hope I forget about it.
The constable stood up.
‘Well, sir, if there’s nothing more . . .’
No, there isn’t, thought Jake ruefully. I have to go out there and hope the pair aren’t waiting for me.
‘Can I call a taxi from here?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid our phones are only for official use,’ countered the constable.
‘No, I meant, can I call one and wait here for it to arrive?’
The constable studied Jake. He was obviously keen to see the back of him as soon as he could.
‘By all means you can wait in the reception area, sir,’ he said.