Bob Dalgliesh pummels his meaty hands on the steering wheel of his Nissan Patrol like it’s a drum kit and clips the dashboard with his index finger for good measure. ‘And meeee,’ he croons along to the Counting Crows, then adds in an exaggerated falsetto, ‘Lucky me!’ There are two hundred and four dollars in his wallet that weren’t there this morning—and he wasn’t even supposed to go to the pub this afternoon. Bloody lucky he did.
Bob exhales through a beery burp. He rounds the bend and levels the car out into the straight stretch of road that leads to the farmhouse. Stars freckle the milky sky, an almost full moon on dis-play. Cows congregate in small groups along the fence lines on either side of the road, their long faces eerie in the moonlight.
Queen comes on the radio, and Bob turns up the volume. His off-key singing is interrupted by text messages landing on his phone. Steadying the wheel, he peers at the screen. It’s not Janet, as he suspected, but one of his mates, McCorkle—something about a fight at the pub. He’s sent a video message attachment. Bob tosses the phone aside. He can’t bloody do two things at once, and he doesn’t want to tempt fate after his win.
Lights appear in his rear-view mirror. A station wagon approaches quickly, then overtakes him, rattling past like a bat out of hell. He sees the profile of a female driver, thick dark hair, a pale face.
‘Hold your horses, lady.’ Bob watches the car zoom ahead.
Moments later another set of lights appears in his rear-view mirror, belonging to some kind of four-wheel drive. It swerves wildly into the adjacent lane as it careers past, then reverts to the correct side of the road, engine revving.
‘Prick,’ Bob mutters, flustered.
The station wagon is already fifty metres away; it must be going at least a hundred and thirty k’s per hour. Bob watches the other car approach it, going equally fast.
The two sets of brakelights get closer to each other—too close.
‘What the hell?’
The four-wheel drive blocks his view of the other car, then jerks sideways, accelerating to level beside it. The vehicles drive in parallel for a few nerve-racking moments. Bob doesn’t hear the music anymore, watching dumbly as the two cars briefly become one before dramatically breaking apart…
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