He had woven in and out of side streets several times and could almost guarantee that he was not being followed. The trouble was that D.I Arnold knew his car, and would now know how to find it without the need to follow him. Within the hour there would be someone at his home looking for him. The police would also likely be told his car had been involved in something illegal and that Jake should be apprehended on sight. No doubt the story would be vastly different from the actual events, and he would be accused of the murder of Mrs Arnold. By being in the wrong place at the wrong time he was once again a fugitive. The police would look for him at home and at work, so he needed to go somewhere completely different, somewhere no one would expect him to go.
His car was not exactly inconspicuous in its current state. There was very little glass left in the windows, and the body was riddled with bullet holes. He doubted it would even go much further before some engine or electrical fault stopped the car from functioning. He needed to ditch it and find something else, and the quicker he could do that, the more chance he had of surviving the day and staying away from a prison cell.
The police would have ways of tracking him. He could not use any of his bank cards, and there was nothing to be gained from talking to any of his relatives. He was on his own, but only for the rest of the day. Tomorrow he would wake up in his own bed and in a different day again. He just had to do what he could today and ride out any difficulties.
He thought about his yesterday. He had witnessed the second half of D.I Arnold’s drug deal, but he remembered Will Spalder telling him that the first half had happened today. He had no idea where, when or how, but he could still do something to prevent it from happening.
He was now almost in the centre of the town. He had driven past many second hand car dealerships without finding anything he deemed cheap enough, and was now driving along the main routes in and out of the town, trying to find a suitable car to replace his beaten up Mercedes-Benz. He had just over a hundred pounds in his wallet that he hoped was enough for a deposit on a beaten up car from a less-than-desirable dealership. He would no doubt have to fill in financing forms and provide personal details, but he hoped that it would take until at least the end of the day for the police to know about the purchase in his name.
As he drove he considered the town in which he lived. He found Darlington to be a strange town. It was the home of the Stevenson Rocket, the first steam powered locomotive, which had been crucial during the industrial revolutions he had learned about in school. It had been one of the two towns involved in the first passenger train journey in the world, the other being Stockton, a short distance away. Since then, however, he had no idea what Darlington had actually done for the world. Something still drew people here, but it was difficult to see what that was. A couple of companies had large headquarters here, but the same was true of most towns.
While other towns had mining, steel, cotton or fishing industries in their history, no obvious trade surrounded the town. Despite the lack of obvious industry the town was growing rapidly. Every time he drove a different route from his usual one he would spot another one or two housing developments. The town was somewhat of an enigma to him because of this recent expansion.
He was driving at a much slower pace now and with much less purpose through the town, not sure how successful he would be in hiding for the remainder of the day. A drive up North Road led him to the entrance of another dilapidated industrial estate.
In amongst the run-down buildings now visible in every direction, he noticed a second-hand car showroom built of corrugated sheet metal and large badly fitted windows. The dealership's poor construction was covered largely by brash, bright coloured signs with phrases such as “Cars from £100 deposit” and “Drive away in 15 minutes”. Despite all of this, the part of the dealership that caught Jake's attention was the very front of the forecourt where he noticed the very same pale blue car he had seen in the exchange he had witnessed the day before. The fact that the car was still sitting in a forecourt suggested that D.I Arnold had not yet made moves to acquire the drugs to be used in the trade the following day. Jake's plan of finding a new car had changed the moment he set eyes on that car. If he could keep his eye on it, he could find out where the drug pick-up would take place, and he could maybe have some influence over what was about to happen.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The old blue Ford hatchback in front of Jake had most probably been purchased in a hurry from an obscure location for a very good reason. D.I Arnold would not want to be seen driving this car all over town by anyone who was likely to recognise him.
Jake had parked across the road and was now watching the car from his own. Looking at it, it was amazing that it would even get as far as the shopping centre so many miles away. He would not trust it to get him from one end of his street to the other, and his street was not exactly long.
He figured that if anyone recognised D.I Arnold driving such a beaten up old car they would be suspicious. There would be something not quite right about seeing a senior policeman on a good wage driving around town in the smallest, cheapest, oldest running car.
He wondered how late in the day this pick-up would happen. It was now nearing three in the afternoon and this car place would probably be closed within the next couple of hours. A thought occurred to Jake as he sat there, looking on. He had forgotten that he was sitting in a car that was half the vehicle it had been that morning. If Arnold turned up at that car showroom now, he would see the shot-up Mercedes and know that Jake was there. With that thought on his mind he turned the key to start the ignition.
Unfortunately, the car responded by making a couple of low whining and gurgling noises, then the engine failed to start. This car was not going to move anywhere any more. He stepped out from the driver’s seat, crouched down on one knee, and peered underneath the engine. There were at least two different kinds of liquid leaking out on to the road. The streaking colour in one fluid suggested it was oil, and the strong smell of the other could only be petrol. A couple of lines had been punctured by the gunfire aimed the car earlier. A lack of oil and petrol would be enough of a reason for the car to remain stationary. He knew little about cars but he was sure the lack of oil and petrol was a very big problem. He was not exactly in a position to buy more of both to get the car moving, especially as he had to keep an eye on the car immediately in front of him.
He walked to the front of the car and surveyed the damage for the first time since the incident. There were small holes covering the bonnet and all of the lights were shattered. No one looking at the car now would recognise it as the car Jake drove first thing this morning. He did not dare lift the bonnet and look at the engine itself.
Close inspection led him to the conclusion that this car would never be driven again in this condition. Even with new oil and additional petrol, this thing probably would not start anyway as several key parts of the engine would likely have been punctured by gunfire. He was without transport for the rest of the day and he was a couple of miles from home. His concern at the moment, however, was not the distance from home but the distance from the car D.I Arnold would soon be purchasing.
As he stood looking at his wreck of a car, wondering how he would get around, he heard a vehicle approaching. He turned his head and was rooted to the spot. He saw a car park by the side of the road, and a familiar figure stepped out of the driver side. D.I Arnold was here to buy a car.
Jake darted behind his car, out of sight. He hoped the officer would be too preoccupied to notice his battered Mercedes next to the car lot. He kept his head down and hoped for the best.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It had been close to twenty minutes since D.I Andrew Arnold had arrived to buy a suitable car. There were things he would rather be doing after experiencing the death of his wife earlier. He knew he had to do this because it was the only way of seeing his daughter again.
He had been there a matter of minutes and already found a suitable car, had the customary look a
t the interior, he had kicked the tyres, and had bartered on the price. Even though he was unaware of it, all of this had happened right in front of Jake.
Andrew had not been paying attention to anything else around him, and had not yet noticed either Jake or his car as a result. He was now inside the shack of an office completing the necessary paperwork. He had managed to keep the paperwork to a minimum. Paying with cash, and using a false name, he figured it would be difficult to trace back to him in the event of something going wrong. Given the trust issues he clearly had with Ironside, he fully expected something to go wrong.
After signing the forms placed in front of him, he exited the office holding the keys. A gleeful salesman walked swiftly in front of him to the car and proudly removed the price banner stuck on the windscreen. He looked happy to be rid of it, and Jake could not blame the man. He could see patches of rust from the other side of the road in twilight.
Andrew was looking at the keys in his hands as he walked over to the driver door. He reached the door, heard the salesman wish him good luck (as if he knew he would certainly need it with this car), and was about to get into the car when he looked straight ahead.
In front of him, just on the other side of the road, was the car he had fired at earlier. It looked like it had driven through a war zone. The driver, and the man responsible for his wife's death, had now been identified as Jake Hingham. He believed he was probably still nearby. He thought he might have seen a head duck behind the far side of the car’s bonnet.
This man knew something about him, and he was going to find out how he knew so much, and why he was determined to get in the way. For him to be in the same place as him yet again, he must know more than he had previously thought.
He realised he had been looking at that car for a couple of seconds. He wanted to avoid spooking the driver and sending him running. He was also aware that chasing the man now would draw attention to himself. He needed to drive away, and return for this man. The car was a mess and it clearly was not going anywhere in a hurry.
He started the engine, reversed out of the space, thanked the salesman again, and left the car lot. He called the last dialled number on his phone using his Bluetooth headset. The call was answered before the second ring. “Hello Boss. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to collect my car from the north end of town. I have something to do here and I need my car returned home safely,” he said.
“Okay. I'll be there in five minutes. Someone will drop me off.”
“Good. My actions this evening are best kept quiet. No one can even know I was out here. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir.”
He now had the opportunity to figure out exactly what was going on.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Jake was surprised when D.I Arnold had apparently made eye contact with him, then had ignored him and driven off. He suspected he had not gone far.
He considered trying to start the car again, but knew it would be a waste of time. He could run off, but he would not get very far in an area unfamiliar to him. The only other option he had was to arrange for a friend to pick him up.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, and noticed he had seven missed calls. In all the excitement of the afternoon, he had not paid any attention to it. He listed the numbers of the missed calls. In the list were his boss, his wife, his sister, and the local police station. A lot of people seemed to want answers concerning his whereabouts.
He ignored that list and called Alan, a former work colleague. He had helped the man move house a couple of months earlier, and had been informed that Jake was owed a favour. It was time to call it in. He found the number, hit the call button, and heard the phone on the other end ring.
“Alan’s house,” Alan stated as he picked up the phone.
“Hi Alan. It’s Jake Hingham. How are you?” he asked.
“I'm fine, Jake. It's been a while since we talked. How are things with you these days?”
“Everything’s fine,” he lied. “I could do with a favour though. My car has broken down and I could do with a lift. Yours was the first number in my phone book so I thought I would try you first.” The truth was he was the only one who would not have heard of how Jake shot some woman and fled the scene.
“Okay,” he answered, sounding sceptical. “Where are you?”
Before Jake could answer he heard the screech of tyres behind him and turned his head. It was getting dark and the car approaching had its lights on, but Jake recognised the dim lights as those of the cheap blue car bought in front of him minutes earlier.
The car came to a sudden stop beside Jake. Arnold was leaning over to the open passenger side window, pointing a gun at Jake. “Hang up the phone. Now,” he said with a quiet, but frightening tone to his voice. Jake pressed a button on his phone and ended the call abruptly. “Now put your phone on the ground in front of you.” Arnold demanded. Jake did as he was asked, and knew what the next request would be. “Get in the car, Jake. We need to have a little chat.” Jake climbed into the passenger seat of the policeman’s car and closed the door. He expected D.I Arnold to drive off in a hurry, so he was surprised when the man had decided to interrogate Jake without first finding a more secluded location.
“I’m sure you know what I’m on my way to do, Jake. The trouble is that I don't know how you know,” Arnold said, facing Jake who was sitting on his left in the passenger seat. “You are on your way to ruin your life, and a man you don't know told me all about it,” Jake answered.
“It's funny that you're still trying to tell me what to do when I have a gun pointed at your head. I have to give you credit. You're very brave… or very stupid.”
“I just don’t want to see you throw away your life and career.”
“Jake, Jake,” he said patronisingly. “My life is already ruined. My daughter is being held hostage. My wife is dead. The rest of my family are being monitored by the man asking me to do all of this.” Jake could see where this was going. “So you see, my life is already ruined, and I'll end up with enough money to disappear forever. I think that sounds like a good replacement for my shattered police career, don't you?”
Jake could see he wasn’t going to persuade him. “How much is Ironside paying you to keep quiet and to do this drugs trade?”
D.I Arnold was puzzled. “How do you even know his name? How do you know any of this?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Oh, you can,” Arnold said menacingly. “And you will.” He pulled something from his pocket. It was a hypodermic needle filled with a clear liquid. “The fun thing about my job is that I have access to all kinds of seized drugs. You'll probably be familiar with this one. It's called Sodium Pentothal.”
Jake recognised the name from various films and books he'd encountered. It was commonly called truth serum. Before he could resist or refuse, he felt the needle stick in his neck and he had been injected with the serum. He had never seen its effects in reality and hoped they were minimal.
His explanation sounded ridiculous when he was not under any influence. He could not imagine what it would sound like when he had been drugged. He thought he would be rigorously interrogated now, but D.I Arnold sat back in his seat. “I don’t really know how well that drug mixes with this one,” Arnold added, pulling a small polythene bag filled with white powder from his pocket, “but we’ll see.”
Jake read a hand-written label: PHENOBARBITAL. He had no idea what that was. “This is usually in the form of droplets or tablets. It’s commonly used to treat animals with epilepsy.” This man knew his drugs. “It was used on people about seventy years ago, but isn’t used much these days. It’s a shame because it works well in aiding with sedation and hypnotism.”
Jake was feeling very concerned. Arnold added something else. “By the time I’m done with you, there won’t be a single part of you that feels normal.”
Jake thought that sounded particularly ironic. Nothing had felt normal to him since time had st
arted going backwards. He felt more and more like an English spy held by some foreign mob.
Arnold set the gun down, tipped some white powder into the palm of his right hand, set the bag down, and then covered Jake’s mouth. He held the powder up to his nose, but Jake exhaled sharply, creating a cloud of dust which settled over the dashboard and the detective.
Arnold immediately picked up the gun again and held the barrel hard against Jake’s right temple. “Do that again and I’ll just shoot you, with or without the information I want. I’ll at least know you won’t get in my way again.”
Again, Jake smirked at the irony. He knew he would be involved in this guy’s life again tomorrow, whatever happened to him now.
D. I Arnold did the same thing again, but this time he waited for Jake to breathe out before placing the powder in front of his nose. Jake tried to resist, but he could not help but breathe in, inhaling the powder. It had a bitter taste that reminded him of something but he could not put his finger on what that something was. He felt anxious about this whole situation. It would be hard not to feel anxious when a corrupt police officer was drugging him at gunpoint, and he had been accused of the murder of a stranger he had never even met.
In just a minute Jake felt strange. He was light-headed. He tried moving his left arm. It was a mammoth struggle to lift it an inch, and it did not even feel like his arm any more. He was not thinking straight, and he could not move properly. He felt almost like he was on another planet, or caught in a strange dream.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Andrew Arnold was beginning to think that this was a complete waste of his time. This man had been under the influence of a couple of substances for the past two hours, but was still speaking nonsense. He kept spouting off some story about travelling through time and being chosen by an omniscient force to prevent a tragedy. To him it sounded like he had memorised the opening dialogue from an old and popular science fiction television series he had watched a few years earlier.