Free Dead in the Water by Peter Tickler Page A

hadn’t been that cheap and she had rather liked the effect it had had on a guy called Steve — rock hard biceps and an eagle tattoo on his neck. But Becca needn’t have worried about being recognised. Mullen was fully pre-occupied by the task of getting to the car. His two escorts were walking so closely he might have been handcuffed to them. The man got into the driver’s seat while the woman held open the rear door for Mullen as if he was incapable of doing anything for himself. Mind you, he did have an impressive bandage round his head. The woman bent over him, fussing. Finally, she shut his door and walked round to the other side of the car. She opened the rear door. She was going to sit next to him. Baines puckered her lips, much as Frankie Howard used to do. “Ooh!” Becca could read the body language even at this distance: the woman fancied Mullen.
    Becca wanted to laugh out loud, but the Astra was already moving off. She hurriedly squeezed herself into the Punto — no easy task given how close the neighbouring SUV had parked — rammed the key into the ignition and started the engine. By the time she had reached the exit barrier, the Astra was out of sight. There was only one road out, but when she got to the end of it and encountered the junction, she felt the first stirrings of panic. Left or right? A glance each way gave no clues. Logic told her that the chances were they would have turned right. A driver behind her hooted. She shouted abuse into the mirror and followed her instincts, turning right down the hill. There was a blue Mini some distance in front. And a car in front of it. They were slowing down, as red lights gave Baines the chance to close the gap, but seconds later the lights changed and they were on the move again, over a mini roundabout and then right, blue Astra followed by the Mini. She pressed on after them, out to the ring road and then over it before looping back and off towards the Headington roundabout, tucking herself in behind the Mini. She grinned and gave a whoop of joy. This tailing lark wasn’t so difficult after all.
    The Mini eventually parted company at the Heyford Hill roundabout, heading into Sainsbury’s, but the Astra remained on the ring road. Baines kept her distance, happily allowing a white van to slip across in front of her. There was no way Mullen and his two buddies were going to notice they were being followed. She kept them within sight all the way round the ring road, over the A34 and up towards Boars Hill, turning right at the top into Foxcombe Road. She had driven along it often enough. There was a pub further along, unimaginatively called the Fox. Even so, it was a nice place. She had eaten and drunk there several times with a friend and would-be lover. He was water under the bridge now. And good riddance too.
    But the Astra wasn’t going to the pub. Its tail lights showed red as it braked sharply. Its left-hand indicator flashed orange and immediately the car swung left off the road, bouncing and slightly out of control. Baines braked too, but not so sharply, easing off the accelerator and peering after them. She saw the rear of the car, red lights flickering on and off, and then she was past the entrance. Through the rather feeble cover of the beech hedge that fringed the pavement, there were flashes of black beams and white stucco, a large pseudo-Tudor pile. Hell, she thought. Does Mullen really live there?
    * * *
    Mullen had had enough for one day, even though it was only mid-afternoon. Quite why Derek Stanley and Rose had had to stay so long to ‘make sure you’re all right,’ he really didn’t know. Or rather in Rose’s case it was pretty blooming obvious. Stanley had clearly disapproved of the way she had fussed around him, insisting on making him some food. She had looked in his cupboards and reported herself more than satisfied by what she found. “I’ll soon whip up something nourishing and nice.” In fact most of the things she had used