Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [46]
She got into bed, but her face was still strained and anxious. "You will go to the police, won't you, Matt?"
"Sure I will." He leaned down and kissed her.
The last thing he remembered was her smile, warm and wonderful as he switched out the light and gently closed the door.
(11)
HE went into the kitchen, had another coffee and waited for her to go to sleep. It didn't take long. He stood outside her door and listened and then he pulled on his jacket and went back into the kitchen.
He managed to find a memo pad and pencil and sat down at the table to write her a note. After two attempts, he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into a corner. There was really nothing left to say.
It was almost two a.m. when he closed the door of the apartment and went quietly downstairs.
He unlocked the car, took the road map from the glove compartment and left the keys in its place. There was a good chance he would never get out of London and when they caught him, he didn't want to be in Anne's car. He'd involved her too much already.
The fog had reduced visibility to thirty or forty yards and he walked briskly along the pavement, his senses alert for danger.
He had his first break half an hour later in a side street near the Albert Hall. A small and battered van was parked in a cul-de-sac. The lock on the door was already broken, but the owner had taken the key with him. Brady climbed in and reached behind the dashboard. He tore the ignition wires free and joined them together. A few minutes later he was driving cautiously away.
He stopped a little while later in a quiet side street and consulted the map. Essex was a county he knew reasonably well. Only three years previously he had been engineer in charge of a bridge project near Chelmsford.
Harth was near the tip of a spur of the coastline that jutted out where the River Blackwater emptied into the North Sea. It seemed to be a sparsely inhabited area with few roads. As the young maid had told him, Shayling Island was about two miles off-shore.
He stuffed the map into his pocket and drove away. According to the fuel gauge, there were only a couple of gallons in the tank, but for the moment, he concentrated on his driving. Minor problems could wait till later.
There was a surprising amount of traffic still on the roads. Probably people who had been delayed by the fog, he decided. Once out of the centre of London, he kept to the back streets, working in the direction of Romford, finally coming out on to the Chelmsford road.
Once past Romford he relaxed, lit a cigarette and concentrated on his driving. The fog was not as bad as it had been in London, but bad enough and it was a full hour before he turned off the main road and lost himself in a maze of back-country lanes.
He stopped frequently to consult the map and passed through several villages until finally, he took a wrong turning. As the first cold light of dawn crept through the fog, he drove through Southminster.
He followed the road to Tillingham for another half-mile and then the engine seemed suddenly to lose power, coughed once asthmatically, and died.
The fuel gauge still indicated two gallons which didn't prove a thing and he got out and had a look at the tank. There was still a little in there and he lifted the hood and examined the engine.
As he did so, a police constable rode out of the fog on a bicycle, cape swinging from his shoulders. He braked to a halt and propped the bike against the hedge before coming forward.
"Having a spot of bother?" he said cheerfully.
Brady kept his head down. "Nothing I can't handle, thank you."
What was it Joe Evans had called it? Lag's Luck. The unexpected that always happens to the man on the run?
"You're not from these parts, are you?" the constable said.
"No, just passing through," Brady told him.
There was a heavy pause before the man said, "I wonder if I might have a look at your driving licence, sir?"
"I'm afraid I haven't got it with me right now," Brady said.
The engine suddenly coughed into life again and he quickly pulled down the hood. "I guess