“Who knows?” Peter snapped back. “You probably believe it too. Some people are just crazy, I suppose.”
“Listen to me!” Jake said, almost shouting at him. “You witnessed something recently that caused people to put out a hit on your life. I’m trying to protect you.”
“This is how you protect people? Stalk them and fill their head with paranoid delusions?” Peter snapped again. “I'm a nobody and I'm not worth attacking. Believe me, I'm perfectly safe.” Jake knew he wasn't going to get through to this man, and he had a feeling time was running out.
By this point in the conversation both men were standing, frustrated, next to the door of the large red car. Peter unlocked the car doors and opened the driver side door before climbing into the seat. He moved to close the door. Desperate, Jake grabbed the door, and wouldn’t let it close. After a brief wrestle, Jake let him go. He couldn't save someone who didn't want to be saved. The door slammed shut and Jake turned his back on Peter and his car, hoping his warning would at least cause the man to be more cautious.
Jake was walking away when he heard that the car was failing to start, then failing to start again. He stopped about twenty feet away, and turned around to face the red vehicle.
Jake took two steps towards the car in time to see it blow up in front of him, the blast almost deafening him and releasing a wave of blistering, forceful heat which threw him several feet through the air like a child's doll before allowing him to tumble back to earth. The blast sent pieces of the vehicle as high as almost a hundred feet into the air. Whoever had targeted this man certainly wanted to make sure there was no doubt about the outcome. There was enough explosive to demolish a house, let alone kill the driver of an average sized vehicle.
He hit his head on the ground when he came back to earth with a bump, but before he could assess the injury he noticed a large sharp red piece of twisted metal spinning and heading straight for his head. He deemed the metal to be a greater and more immediate threat to his life than his head injury, and so quickly rolled out of the way, but didn’t quite move fast enough. The piece of metal landed on his left shoulder as he rolled. Jake yelled as he felt something cut him deeply, possibly cracking something. Injured in more ways than one, he raised himself onto his feet. He could still move his left arm without excruciating pain so he hoped it wasn’t too bad an injury. Even though he was in a good deal of pain, he was glad to still be alive and to still be in one piece. Rewinding to yesterday would fix his injuries anyway. He struggled to his feet and hobbled further away from the blast site. He looked back over his shoulder to see the twisted base of the car sitting in a burning crater in the middle of the car park.
A frail looking grey haired man came rushing out of another door on the ground floor of one of the larger business buildings. He was wearing a black coat with SECURITY printed in large white block letters on the front and back of it. He looked stunned by what he was seeing. The security guard shouted at Jake, “Don’t move! I’m calling the police!”
“The police did this! If you make that call you'll be starting the cover-up” Jake shouted back. The security guard looked shocked and he didn’t respond. He stood there, motionless, clearly wondering what to do next. Jake took the initiative and moved as quickly as he could towards him.
“Look,” Jake said when he was within ten feet of him, “My name is Jake and I tried to stop this. I’m hurt. I think it’s safe to assume that the guy in that car is dead.” The man nodded. Jake carried on with his instructions. “I need to know who did this, but I need your help to do it.”
The man cowered a little, but seemed to pull himself together. “Follow me. Security cameras record everything from several angles,” he said.
Inside the Security office, as they both stood hunched over the security monitor. Jake and the security guard watched cars whiz in and out of the car park, viewing the security footage at high speed. Suddenly they saw someone with a large suitcase approach the car, crouch down, and slide underneath. This was obviously the man planting the bomb underneath the driver seat. They watched several minutes of video, but couldn't zoom in close enough to see the man's face. The digital videos just showed as blocks when they zoomed in any closer. He wondered whether anyone could really enhance video footage in the way guys on crime investigation TV shows could. Now he just thought it was a way for screenwriters to get themselves out of a difficult situation.
The man who had slid underneath the car arrived on foot and had departed the same way. There was no way to trace him. Other cameras were not pointed at any part of the incident, so no further footage would help with identifying this man. They didn’t know who he was, where he had come from, or where he had gone.
Jake needed more information, but he wasn’t going to find it now. The police were arriving, so Jake knew he would have no hope of getting near the car to hunt for any evidence. Not that it would help anyway. He was no explosives expert, despite the fact that he seemed to constantly find himself next to exploding vehicles. He assumed that a couple of run-of-the-mill officers would show up to deal with the scene, and afterwards the corrupt policeman he knew would contaminate any worthwhile evidence, preventing the case from going anywhere.
He didn't think the man responsible for these attacks would bother to show up to document what had happened. He would simply wait for the evidence to turn up and make sure that none of it pointed back to him, or the assigned officers would be reassigned and the case filed away somewhere. True to his instinct, within seconds they heard police sirens approaching. For the first time in a while Jake did not feel the urge to run in the opposite direction on hearing a police siren. The feeling of calm on their approach was quite a relief.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two bog-standard police officers had spent more than half an hour deciding on the extent of the crime scene, and blocking off everything possible from being publicly accessible. They'd put on gloves and put every speck of dust in the car park into its own polyethylene evidence bag. They had managed get to a point where someone could question Jake.
In a police van outside of streams of yellow "CRIME SCENE - DO NOT CROSS" tape, Jake was asked to give his account of the explosion he’d witnessed first-hand. One officer watched as the other tried to use a small flat surface as a desk for Jake’s written statement.
“So, sir, I understand you spoke to the gentlemen shortly before the incident,” the senior officer asked.
“Yes, I had an appointment to discuss an insurance claim,” Jake replied. The policeman seemed to believe Jake’s story as he wrote it down as part of his statement. “Did you see anything suspicious?” the officer asked.
“No I didn’t. I had no idea what was going on,” Jake responded.
“Is there anything you wish to add to your statement?” the officer asked, staring at Jake. He seemed to be hoping for some additional information that would benefit the case. Unfortunately for him no such information was forthcoming.
“Not that I can think of,” Jake answered. The statement was short, and excluded most of Jake’s story, but he hoped they wouldn’t search for the holes in his statement. He didn’t need the trouble that the police could land him in if they found out he had been lying to them. He had already had enough run-ins with the police over the past few days.
He had been able to get some basic treatment for the damage to his shoulder. Neither the security guard nor the two policemen believed anything was broken or seriously damaged, despite what Jake was telling them.
They treated the wound and bandaged up his shoulder. It still hurt like hell when he tried to move his arm, but it seemed he would have to grin and bear it. It wasn’t going to drop off, even if it felt like it might do just that from time to time. He figured he would try to avoid using it, but he didn’t know how successful he would be at saving a life if he was having difficulty moving.
Just a few minutes later he was free to go. He'd signed his statement, the security guard had been mostly honest, and the two st
ories matched. Jake was grateful for this old man's help to get him away from suspicion as well as the crime scene.
He jumped into his car and started to move away when he remembered the pain in his shoulder. Immense pain shot through his left arm when he tried to hold the steering wheel. That wasn't going to work. He'd have to try and drive with just his right hand. Luckily he was behind the wheel of an automatic. He had seen others drive with one hand, but he had never previously attempted it himself.
He was of the belief that if two arms were available for steering, then both should be used. However difficult one-armed driving might be, it was still better than walking or relying on public transport, especially when lives were at stake.
He looked at his car's instrument panel. The time was 2pm. William Spalder was running out of time and he didn't even know it.
CHAPTER 11
Monday 26th January, 2:00pm
William Spalder currently had fifteen minutes to live. He probably wasn’t aware that was the case. Unfortunately there were no details about the attack whatsoever. No address, no photograph, only a name. It was an unusual name, so Jake hoped that the phone book or a directory enquiry line would be able to help him with his task when he arrived back at the office.
He was contemplating his next move when he heard police sirens behind him and could see red and blue lights flash in his rear view mirror. He looked down at his car’s speedometer. He was driving at around twenty seven miles per hour in a thirty limit. He wasn’t speeding. He had obeyed every traffic law, not even going through lights on amber, staying in the correct lane. He had not put a foot wrong. There was some other reason for a policeman wanting to pull him over.
He moved to the side of the road and came to a complete stop, leaving the car in Drive. The police car pulled up about three metres behind him with its lights still flashing. Jake watched intently using his rear-view mirror.
There were two officers in the car. The one in the driver side opened his door first and stepped out, but was hesitant. The other officer opened his door and stepped out quickly and with determination. Jake's heart raced as he saw the face of the second policeman.
D.I Arnold walked towards Jake's car with a colleague. Jake remembered their conversation in an interview room, only a matter of hours ago as far as he was concerned. Of course, D.I Arnold was not aware of that conversation having happened yet. Jake needed to be careful to prevent a repeat of it today. He waited until both officers were a couple of steps away from the front doors of his car.
When they were within reach, and Jake could hear their footsteps on the tarmac and see a hand reach for his door handle, he took off the handbrake slammed his foot down on the car's accelerator pedal, speeding away as fast as his car would take him. He was flung back so hard into his seat he felt like someone had literally thrown him back into it. He had never tested out the speed of his car from a standing start before and he was hugely impressed. He felt an adrenaline rush and felt more alive at that moment than he had felt in a long time. This was a dangerous situation, but in a strange way it was more exciting than a large percentage of the events of Jake's life had been so far.
He heard shouting behind him, and saw the two men running back to the car they'd just left. He figured he had an advantage of at least twenty seconds, maybe more. That might be enough to lose them in narrow streets on the edge of the town.
After turning left twice he saw traffic lights ahead of him. They were on red, but Jake knew he couldn't afford to stop. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and ran the red light.
He thought he'd luckily avoided collision with any other vehicle as he passed the halfway point of the crossroads. The thought came too soon, and the back of the car was struck by another vehicle, knocking the back of the car with enough force to knock Jake off his straight course.
The collision was followed by his car swerving all over the road. Someone had hit him with exactly enough pace to send his car bouncing from side to side, hitting everything possible. He'd probably damaged seven or eight cars in less than five seconds. This was causing a huge scene, and the police a couple of streets away would undoubtedly find him there if he was foolish enough to stop.
Jake's car was a little worse for wear, but it was still moving. He turned off the road into a small street and stopped the car. Nothing screamed 'arrest me' like driving around in a severely damaged car just streets from a major traffic incident.
He ditched his car by the side of a quiet nearby street in a new housing estate and started running. He didn't know where he was, and he certainly didn't know where he was going. It was 2:08pm when he left his car, and he still had no idea where the next victim would be. He heard the sound of police sirens in the distance. He shook his head when he thought of how many times he'd heard them in the past few days. He was a self-made fugitive for two out of the past three days.
Jake ran through a small alley with a brown brick, brown tiled house to his right and an dark orange coloured wooden panel fence to his left. He could see a street on the other side of the alley. As he cleared the alleyway a black car screeched to a halt right into his path. He stopped in his tracks, coming to a halt within an inch of the shiny new-looking black car, and for some reason was expecting some gangster to wind down the window and point a submachine gun in his face. The window came down and the driver spoke to him. “Jake Hingham?” he asked.
“Yes.” Jake was hesitant in his response, fearing the worst by admitting his name whilst on the run.
“Get in. I’ll get you away from these people,” the driver said.
“And who might you be?” Jake asked, as if they had just met in a swanky restaurant and he was seeking a polite introduction.
“I’m Will Spalder. I believe you’ve been looking for me,” came the reply. Jake was stunned and beyond confused. How did this man know who Jake was, what he was doing, and where he was at that very moment? Even Jake did not know where Jake was.
“I have been following you for a little while," Will said. "You didn't see the explosion coming, then?” He turned his head to look at Jake. There seemed to almost be a smirk on the man's face. Jake did not find any of this amusing.
He looked at his watch. “I’ve still got a couple of minutes left to live,” William added with a sarcastic tone to his voice.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Jake was grateful to be in an executive car with blacked out windows. It would be very bad luck if the police still managed to find him in there.
He looked over at Will Spalder. He looked younger than he had imagined. He had a couple of white hairs, but was probably no older than forty. He wore a small pair of round rimmed glasses on his slightly chubby face despite an otherwise thin figure and seemed to have an almost permanent grin.
Jake was waiting for Will to start explaining himself. The explanation did not start as quickly as Jake had expected. More than a minute of silence had passed since Will had mentioned the exploding car.
“I can help you find what you’re looking for, Jake. I have answers to your questions.” Every word Will said caused Jake to become more and more confused.
“How do you know what I’ve been asking? How do you know anything about what I've been doing, or what I've been looking for?” Jake asked.
“Time is short, Jake. Rarely shorter than it is at this very moment. Let me first say that if we get interrupted for any reason, you need to find me tomorrow,” Will responded.
“Tomorrow’s not good for me-”
“Yesterday then!” Will snapped back, getting very heated very quickly. Suddenly the seemingly permanent grin had disappeared. He clearly showed signs of having had a stressful day. He calmed himself with a slow, deep breath and then continued. “Whenever, but we don't have time to go into this now. Find me at 42 Evergreen Place in the morning. Remember that: 42 Evergreen Place.”
“Okay, but we do have some time now.” Jake watched the clock in the car tick past 2:15pm. He looked puzzled. W
ill was not supposed to still be alive. Maybe Jake's actions had somehow delayed the attack on his life.
“We have more time than you had thought, but less time that you may now be hoping for. I knew you would get your hands on that information, so I changed some details,” Will said, trying to clear up the confusion. “We have another ten minutes or so before we are likely to encounter any difficulties.”
“Difficulties?” Jake repeated. He was concerned for his own safety all of a sudden.
“You are running around trying to save people who reported a crime committed the day before yesterday,” Will said, clearly dodging the one-word question Jake had just asked.
“They were targeted for reporting a crime?” Jake asked in disbelief. “Is this Arnold's work?”
“Yes it is. He found the names and has been trying to eliminate the evidence ever since. They had seen too much and could potentially destroy the man,” Will added.
“I'd thank you for not referring to my family as mere 'evidence'.” Jake said.
“My apologies Jake, but you have already saved them. You've effectively changed the course of your own history. Now you're trying to change the history of others too.”
“I guess so,” Jake said. “But it could all happen again.”
“We’ll address that subject more tomorrow,” Will said. “Today we discuss what’s been going on. You need to know this.”
“Wait. Do you know what's been happening to me?” Jake asked.
“I do, but we can’t discuss it now. You'd be more confused if you got half an explanation as opposed to none at all. Find me in the morning.” Will looked across at Jake for a second, and added, “No matter how crazy things might seem at any one moment, you need to understand that someone somewhere will always understand what you're going through.”
Jake nodded. “What crime did they witness?” he asked, bringing the conversation back to an earlier point.