Road Kill Read Online Free PDF Page A

sliding away for a moment while he gave the plan some thought. “Interesting,” was all he said, so I didn’t really know if he approved or thought I was mad.
     
    “You didn’t come here to talk about DIY, Superintendent,” I said. I leaned against the partly-exposed stonework of the chimney breast and took a slug of my coffee. “What have I done now?”
     
    “Why should you think that? Although, now you come to mention it, the last time your name came up in conversation I believe you were at the top of the FBI’s Most Wanted list,” he said, and he was only half joking.
     
    When I didn’t dignify that one with a reply he took a sip of his own coffee, stilled a moment as though he hadn’t expected it to be any good, and took another before continuing. Then he said, “What do you know about Devil’s Bridge?”
     
    Not quite what I’d been expecting. “Devil’s Bridge?” I repeated blankly. “I never saw you as a born-again biker, Superintendent.” And when he frowned at me I added, “It’s just a biker’s hang-out. Nothing heavy – no gangs, no Hell’s Angels – just a lay-by near the river at Kirkby Lonsdale where we go to meet up on a Sunday. Why? Not been demoted to Traffic, have you? Who did you piss off?”
     
    That smile nearly made it out again, but was quickly snuffed.
     
    “On the road between Lancaster and Devil’s Bridge there have been twelve fatal crashes involving motorcycles so far this year and the Chief Constable’s been getting stick about it,” he said, his voice flat. “We have reason to believe there’s more to it than just bad luck or bad judgement.”
     
    “Like what?”
     
    “Like some kind of organised illegal road racing. We’ve put in a number of new fixed safety cameras along that road in the last six months. All of them have been repeatedly and systematically vandalised.”
     
    “Safety cameras?” I said. “That’s an insult to our intelligence. Funny how the increase in cameras just happened to coincide with the regional police forces gaining control over the revenue they generate, isn’t it?”
     
    “It’s a proven fact that the numbers of Killed or Seriously Injured drops where we site cameras,” MacMillan said, his tone ominous now. If I’d had more sense and less outrage I might have taken it as a warning.
     
    “Yeah, and it’s another proven fact that the numbers rise everywhere else,” I said. “Look, Superintendent, much as I would love to stand here all day and debate the statistics on Gatso cameras with you—”
     
    “Motorcyclists are dying, Charlie,” he said quietly, cutting me off at the knees. “They go out and disable the cameras and then they race on the public roads, and they’re dying because of it.”
     
    I shut up for a moment and stood very still like I was trying to feel fine rain falling, wondering if the news surprised me. After a few moments I came to the conclusion that it did not. “If you know it’s going on and you don’t like it, why don’t you stop it?”
     
    He came as close as he ever did to shrugging. “We know people are dealing drugs and we don’t like that either, but that doesn’t mean we can stop them. These days juries tend to prefer truth to supposition.”
     
    I gave him a shrug of my own and moved across to dump my empty coffee mug into the plastic bowl I was using for washing up. Everything in there was covered with a film of dust. “So get something a jury will like.”
     
    “It’s not as simple as that,” he said behind me. “We’ve tried to get a man in undercover but they seem to suss him out every time. What we need, I feel is someone less – conspicuous.”
     
    I heard the sliver of embarrassment in his tone. I stopped, put down my mug with a sharper click than I’d been intending and didn’t turn round. “No.”
     
    MacMillan stayed silent and then I turned. “No,” I said again, wiping my hands on a tea towel. “Some of these people are quite possibly my