The Catch Read Online Free PDF Page A

Dan sounded wretched, like a kid caught cheating by his favourite teacher. ‘What if he’s lying there, unable to call for help ...?’
    ‘He’s dead, believe me. Half his bloody head’s caved in.’ Robbie let that image take hold, then said, ‘You know, we’re better off going back to mine. Report it from there.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘We’ll be calmer. We can get our heads straight.’
    Dan fell moodily silent, to Robbie’s relief. He wanted Dan to forget he was there, at least for a couple more minutes.
    The car stayed on their tail until they reached the junction with the A283, where Dan made a hesitant left turn. The car behind went right.
    When he was certain it had gone, Robbie gripped the front passenger headrest and loomed up into the rear-view mirror like something from a horror movie.
    Dan let out a yelp of alarm. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ—’
    Robbie shouldn’t have smiled, but he did. There were still problems to solve, of course; various issues that might need to be addressed. The barmaid, for a start, and maybe the pub’s other customers.
    For now, though, only one possible witness had seen them on the road. That witness probably wouldn’t recall much about the Fiesta, but if by chance they did they ought to be clear on the fact that the car had just a single occupant. A driver, but no passengers.
    Result .

CHAPTER 7
     
    Dan decided to leave Robbie in the back seat. He couldn’t face pulling over, even for a few seconds. If he stopped now he might never drive the car again.
    That was also why he reluctantly accepted Robbie’s advice. It shouldn’t take long to get back, and then he could explain why they hadn’t been able to call any sooner. Hank O’Brien was, after all, tragically beyond help.
    Besides, the shock was taking hold, creeping through his body like a slow immersion in ice. It was a fight to keep control of his hands and feet. More than once a corner approached and he felt certain he’d be incapable of anything but driving straight ahead, ploughing into a tree or an oncoming car.
    And would that be so bad? Better that his aunt suffer a genuine, unexpected bereavement than the disgrace that he was about to inflict upon her.
    So he thought, and yet each time he found the strength, the will to keep the car on the road, and that only seemed to emphasise the depth of his cowardice.
    It was nearly eleven when he turned off the A27 and threaded through the quiet streets of suburban Hove. Robbie lived virtually rent-free in one of his mother’s properties, a two-bedroom flat in a red-brick Gothic pile in The Drive, a few hundred yards from the seafront.
    Dan pulled in at the kerb. Suddenly eleven o’clock didn’t seem very late at all. There were plenty of lights on in the buildings all around them; a middle-aged couple strolling past; a dog walker crossing the road just ahead of them. No one paid them any attention.
    And why should they? Dan thought. It wasn’t as though the nature of their guilt was painted on—
    His gaze came to settle on the cracks in the corner of the windscreen. He gasped. Ignoring a bemused question from Robbie, he opened the door and in his haste almost tumbled out of his seat.
     
    ****
     
    Dan stood facing the car. Robbie joined him, and both men confronted the evidence of their crime.
    The bumper was barely affected, just a scuff mark on the black plastic, and the lights were undamaged. But there was a long, deep crease on the bonnet, running from front to back, directly beneath the crack in the windscreen. More damage on the roof: several indentations in the corner above the door frame. The bodywork was crumpled but not cracked, so perhaps it could be repaired without too much difficulty ...
    Then Dan spotted the blood. Half a dozen drops on the roof, glistening blackly beneath the glow of the street lights. Another thin smear along the glass where the windscreen bonded to the frame.
    ‘Look at this,’ he said.
    ‘Got a cloth?’
    Dan opened the passenger