Page 355 of The Running Grave

‘Will,’ said Robin, ‘duck down, please, right down. And hold on – you too,’ she told Strike.

Without indicating, Robin accelerated and took a hard right. The Ford’s driver was caught off guard; they swerved into the middle of the road, almost colliding with oncoming traffic as Robin sped off, first through a car park, then down a narrow residential road.

‘The fuck did you know you’d be able to get out the other side of the car park?’ said Strike, who was holding on as best he could. Robin was twenty miles over the speed limit.

‘Been here before,’ said Robin, who, again failing to indicate, now turned left onto a wider road. ‘I was following that cheating accountant. Where are they?’

‘Catching up,’ said Strike, turning to look. ‘Just hit two parked cars.’

Robin slammed her foot on the accelerator. Two pedestrians crossing the road had to sprint to get out of her way.

‘Shit,’ she shouted again, as it became clear that they were about to rejoin the A316, going back the way they’d come.

‘Doesn’t matter, just go—’

Robin took the corner at such speed she narrowly missed the central barrier.

‘Will,’ she said, ‘keep down, for God’s sake, I—’

The rear window and windscreen shattered. The bullet had passed so close to Strike’s head he’d felt its heat: with blank whiteness where there’d been glass, Robin was driving blind.

‘Punch it out!’ she shouted at Strike, who took off his seat belt to oblige. A second loud bang: they heard the bullet hit the boot. Strike was thumping broken glass out of the windscreen to give Robin visibility; fragments showered down upon both of them.

A third shot: this time wide.

‘Hold on!’ Robin said again, and she skidded around the turn into the other lane, making it by inches, causing Strike to smash his face into the intact side window.

‘Sorry, sorry—’

‘Fuck that, GO!’

The passing bullet had flooded Strike’s brain with white-hot panic; he had the irrational conviction that the car was about to explode. Craning around in his seat, he saw the Ford hit the barrier at speed.

‘That’s fucked them – no – shit—’

The crash hadn’t been disabling. The Ford was reversing, trying to make the turn.

‘Go, GO!’

As Robin slammed her foot to the floor, she saw a flashing blue light on the other side of the road.

‘Where’s the Ford? Where’s the Ford?’

‘Can’t see—’

‘What are you going that way for?’ Robin yelled at the passing police car, which was going in the opposite direction. ‘Hold on—’

She steered a hard left at speed into another narrow street.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Strike, whose face had hit what remained of the windscreen, and who couldn’t believe she’d made the turn.

‘And again!’ said Robin, the BMW tipping slightly as she took a right.

‘They’ve gone,’ said Strike, looking at the wing mirror and as he wiped away the blood trickling down his face. ‘Slow down – you’ve lost them… fuck.’

Robin decelerated. She turned another corner, then steered into a parking space and braked, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly she had to make a conscious effort to let go. They could hear sirens in the distance.

‘You all right, Will?’ asked Strike, looking back at the young man now lying in the dark footwell, covered in glass.