Page 123 of We Chase Shadows

A little experiment. Amy leans forward and says to the driver, ‘Can we take this next left?’

‘Quicker straight on,’ says the driver.

‘I know,’ says Amy. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll pay.’

The taxi turns left. The bike, this police motorbike she is not buying for one second, stops for a moment at the turning. It looks like the driver is not sure what to do. But then he too takes the left and speeds back towards the taxi.

Amy shouldn’t call the rider ‘he’ just yet. Whoever they are, their face is obscured by a helmet. They’re wearing, Amy also notes, a high-vis jacket with blue patches, which, again at first glance, might make you believe the bike is being ridden by a police officer.

But Amy is not fooled. The bike pulls closer.

Amy had sensed there were more bullets to come. Is she about to meet Vern’s killer? Is someone trying to tie up all the loose ends? If she doesn’t deal with this here and now, will they go after Steve and Rosie?

Amy is, at least, in the helpful position of having two guns. Hers and Lee’s. There’s not much you can do with two guns that you can’t do with one, but at least if this ends in some sort of shoot-out, she’ll have twice as many bullets.

The bike begins to accelerate, and Amy hears a siren. The siren is ‘almost’ right, but not quite. The driver reacts badly to hearing the siren. He wrenches open his glove box, takes out a small, clear, plastic bag and throws it out of his window.

Amy thinks they have more problems than a bag of weed here.

The bike pulls alongside the taxi now. Amy sees clearly that it is not a real police bike and not a real police officer. But somebody has gone to the effort of pretending.

Perhaps this is even Connor Brooks himself? Is that what the helmet is hiding?

The fake police officer signals for the taxi to pull over. Amy could tell the driver to disobey, but if she can get out of the car quickly enough, then the rider might leave her taxi driver alone. No need for him to die in the crossfire.

The taxi slows and mounts a verge on the right-hand side of this country lane. Amy grabs her first gun as she sees the bike stop and the rider dismount.

She is not going to wait. She opens her door, crouches behind it and aims her gun at the rider. Nineties rave music continues to play, but her taxi driver dives into his footwell and stares back at her.

The motorbike rider immediately places their hands in the air.

‘Helmet off,’ says Amy. ‘And slowly. Any quick movement and I shoot.’

The figures prises the helmet off. It is a man. He is not bald.

The man is her husband. The man is Adam.

‘Jesus, Amy,’ says Adam. ‘Surprise! Don’t shoot!’

Amy stands, in shock. Her husband, on an imitation police bike, in an imitation police uniform. And, most shocking of all, in England.

Amy motions towards the police motorbike. ‘Adam. Why?’

‘Why?’ he says. ‘It’s the 20th. Happy anniversary, Amy.’

Amy nods, taking this in. ‘But … why are you dressed as a policeman?’

‘Seven years,’ says Adam. ‘That’s copper.’

She runs up to her husband and holds him tight. ‘You came halfway round the world to surprise me?’

Adam nods. ‘I was on Rosie’s private jet last night when we were talking. That noise wasn’t a hydroelectric generator.’

‘Rosie knew about this?’ Amy asks.

Adam nods.

‘But how did you manage to follow the taxi?’ Amy asks. ‘Rosie didn’t know about that?’