Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

left onto Herne Bay Road, thankfully empty of traffic. ‘If he’s trying to head North, he’ll have trouble. The railway line cuts across here.’

The police car raced between rows of bungalows, then squealed right, dodging parked cars on one side and then the other. Ahead of them, Mick touched the brakes at a crossroads as if lost, but then jerked onward, swerving and screeching round a ninety-degree bend. Humphreys and Poulton bounced over potholes in the narrow road, and the whine of their siren echoed off the drowsing houses and parked cars as they dropped down a winding hill. There was no faltering at a chicane, or when the car took off on the hump of a railway bridge.

‘He seems to know where he’s going,’ Humphreys shouted. The two cars flew up a hill and veered left at high speed. Ahead of them, the Mercedes lost control, bouncing off a hedge on one side, then the curb on the other, but the driver corrected it and ploughed on.

Humphreys’ tone was tense. ‘We’re approachingt the old Thanet Way. That’s a busy road.’

A voice came over the radio. ‘Sir, the car you are chasing is an automatic, registered to a Michael Adu.’

‘OK. Mr Adu, time to meet justice,’ Poulton muttered as they clung to their quarry.

‘If it’s automatic, that would explain the handling,’ noted Poulton.

‘Yeah, although he could put it into manual, if he had a moment to think,’ Humphreys replied. Then in a tense voice, he muttered, ‘Thanet Way coming up!’

73 MICK

Many pairs of heavy boots thundered behind Mick along the promenade, but panic gave his legs extra strength. With herculean energy, he let go of his bag and plunged ahead, faster than he would have thought possible. He pumped across the wide area of grass towards his car with his keys gripped, ready in his hand and as he drew closer, he pressed the button making his lights flash and bathing the narrow pavement and the façade of the ice cream shack in a brief yellow glow. Diving into the driver’s seat and with the accelerator already floored he fumbled the key into the ignition, not daring to look behind. The engine howled into life and the car lurched away. Gripping the steering wheel, he fought to gain control as it skidded, wheels spinning, from the cover of the building into the lamp lit exposure of the road.

As he fumbled to put on the headlights, he took a glance into the rear-view mirror. Fuck! A large car, almost certainly unmarked police, was gaining on him fast. His foot was already on the floor; he could not go any faster. But he knew these roads from visits to the area with his job and bringing the occasional date to the beach hut. He would lose these bastards using surprise.

A junction approached, and at the last minute, he swung the steering wheel to the right and skidded off the main drag onto a narrower, pock marked side road.

The car bounced on the uneven surface, its tyres losing traction, and he swerved to avoid the curbs.

Visions of his children, at different stages of their lives, flashed through his mind. The pair playing at the park, Livvie receiving her Doctorate, Lucas in the steaming kitchen at Churchills; what would they think when they knew the truth. Would they forgive him? How could they? He could not bear the shame of looking into their accusing eyes. No. He must get away - one way or another.

The road wove and buckled, and the car seemed to follow it with its own intuition. In fear, he wondered where he was. He had lost track, become distracted thinking about the kids. He looked in the mirror. The cop was a good driver. Mick could see the police car’s bonnet, stuck behind as though he were towing it. In fury now, and losing control, he began to howl at the night. ‘Jesus Christ help me! Luc, Livvie, I’m sorry. I never meant it to be like this. I love you.’ A main road bounced into view. And terror clenched at Mick’s heart, but he kept his foot to the floor and hurled the car towards the flow of traffic. One thing he knew: He was not going to prison.

74 POULTON

About a quarter of a mile ahead of the two vehicles, the headlights of traffic snaked along Old Thanet Way in both directions, crossing the end of the road along which they were hurtling. Poulton pictured the drivers: commuters; men and women driving home after their tiring days.

‘He has to stop here.’ There was relief in Humphreys’ voice, and Poulton relaxed his grip a little on the handle. But to his disbelief, the Mercedes did not stop, in fact, it seemed to accelerate. He watched in horror as the clumsy vehicle burst across the Give Way markings and onto the crowded carriageway.

Humphreys stood on the brakes and the police car skidded to a stop, and the two policemen watched, frozen, as Mick ploughed into the path of a Range Rover. The face of its driver contorted as he fought in vain to avoid a collision. The cumbersome vehicle swerved sideways and collided with the driver’s door of the Merc, and with a series of crunches, a stream of cars ploughed into it. The Merc somersaulted across the white line and landed in the path of a coach full of passengers that was travelling in the opposite direction. Its sleepy occupants were unprepared for the impact. Faces connected with metal seat backs and children flew into the air. From both directions came a horrible cacophony of bangs and crashes. A white van hit the tail of the coach and behind it an oil tanker screeched to a stop, its bumper a paper-width away from the rear of the van. In the ensuing silence, headlights queued into the distance, and the light on the