Free Chasing Innocence by John Potter Page A

the two yellow signs? They were gone, this was not a Rover and that was not Simon. She screamed loud and hard, punched the wheel and screamed again. The sound shrill and despairing, filling the car and trailing away, lost to the rain tapping chaotically on the roof.
    Something inside Sarah swung free, momentarily knocked loose. It was the same feeling as opening a newspaper and seeing a grainy picture of a young boy’s face, the same sense of disconnection she felt after the news of her mother’s unexpected death. She closed her eyes, dizzy with exhaustion and utter frustration. She had lost him.
    In some part of her mind the sound of rain reminded her of tap dancing, a long distant memory from a childhood before, thinking of home, of going home. Simon was going home. She would not be defeated, not by simply losing her prey. She forced herself to be calm. He had to be almost home, you would not weave through those annoying turns and speed bumps if you had no need to.
    She tapped her fingers in time to the rain, playing the last minutes through her mind’s eye. She had turned left and then immediately right, passing the pub and following the brake lights. Had she seen any other cars? She did not think so. So he must have turned again after the pub. She hoped.
    Sarah swung the car around and then turned left at the junction back towards the pub. There was a street opposite she had not seen before, it had to be where the Rover had gone. She turned into the road and peered into every drive, doing her best to ignore the amber light on the console. There was no sign of the Rover. Following her instincts she turned right at the end, into a road lined by grey brick terraces and then into a square. If she could not find the Rover here she would go back to the petrol station, refuel and buy a local map. She would then cross-section the whole area – even if it took the whole night.
    She drove around the square, passing a row of shops, all dark and shuttered save for a brightly lit takeaway. She did a complete circuit but there was no sign of the Rover. She turned into a cul-de-sac.
    The cul-de-sac arced to the right and slightly uphill with cars parked on both sides. She cruised as if casually looking for a space and then she saw it. She almost missed it, did a double take. It was parked on a drive on the left, edged close to a garage door, darkly green and beautiful, stationary and empty. Child on board. Baby on board. She drove to the end of the avenue, which bulged to a semi-circle, turned and back to the square.
    She parked and checked the time. It was now ten past ten. She studied the fuel gauge, now completely below the red. She turned the key in the ignition and the engine fell silent, wondering how much fuel she had left, would there be enough even to start the car? She turned the key again, the dashboard lit and the engine started. The rev counter jerked up as she pressed the accelerator. She turned the key a final time and all went quiet.
    There was at least enough fuel to start the car and get going, although she had no intention of doing that just yet.

EIGHTEEN
     
    Adam stood in the rain outside the police station. He was not ready to go home, not to their home so carefully created by Sarah. So he started towards the town centre. Across the bridge, over parallel gleaming tracks and down to the station, the street lighting and station entrance reflected in the wet pavement. At the periphery of his vision a moving shadow, then a hand from nowhere on his coat and a disorientating punch into the side of his head. He felt fingers around his wrist, pulling and twisting it back on itself and an excruciating pain leapt from his elbow to his shoulder, allowing him to be marched around into iron gates that rattled in protest. His arm was pushed harder up his back, the weight of his attacker pinning him against the gate.
    The pressure of the bars against his face forced his mouth open. He could smell a fustiness not suppressed by