The Stealers by Charles Hall Page A

distance.
    Harry knew he was lucky to escape another face-to-face confrontation with Crane. He was beginning to feel invincible; he had got away with it for a second time. The road ahead was empty, so he slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator as soon as he entered the long stretch of Canvey Road. The shock of seeing Crane was subsiding, but he could not stop his eyes from continually darting to the rear-view mirrors.
    Far in the distance, two pin pricks of white light appeared; it worried him –
could it be
Crane?
Further along the road, he nearly lost control when taking a roundabout too fast and the camper slithered on the wet surface into the kerb. This made Harry feel more edgy as he sped towards the bridge that spanned Benfleet Creek. As though mesmerised, he could not take his eyes off of the camper’s door mirrors, because the pin-pricks of light that they reflected had steadily grown into much larger orbs;
“Is it Crane? If not why are the lights catching up?”
He watched, as the car behind also slithered at the roundabout and was now less than a hundred metres away.
    Crane was in no doubt that he was following Harry’s camper van. He was surprised that the villain, given a head start, had not tried to hide in any of the side roads, but was instead making a straight run towards the bridge that joined the island to the mainland. Crane, foot hard down, was catching up by the second but then he suddenly braked, slithering to a halt.
    Harry was fixated; he was concentrating on the rear-view mirror, more so than looking at the road ahead. If he had done so he would have noticed that one side of the bridge was sectioned off. It was closed for repairs to the barriers. His enthralment with the road behind was interrupted by flashing amber warning lights that filled the cab of the camper van. Harry’s right foot tramped down hard on the brake pedal, as he tried to veer away, but it was far too late. A look of terror spread across his face as the camper smashed through the warning signs and slithered towards the area where the barrier had been removed. Shocked workmen threw themselves to one side as the camper slid towards the side of the bridge. Bright floodlights, set up by the workforce to facilitate the repairs, illuminated the camper as it teetered on the edge – balancing for a split second – before it plunged headlong into the murky depths of a high tide. The camper bounced up on the surface of the creek and floated on the swift current, but as gallons of water rapidly seeped through door seals, cracks and openings, the vehicle quickly began to submerge. Harry frantically tried to open the door; but the outside pressure of water made it impossible. His hand repeatedly stabbed at a button controlling the windows, but the electrics had short circuited. He was trapped.
    Crane watched fascinated as the camper gradually sank to the muddy bottom. It would not be seen again until some hours later when the tide ebbed once more. There were enough witnesses around. Having recovered from the shock of jumping out of harm’s way, the work crew stood by watching helplessly. One of them contacted the emergency services. Crane, not wanting to get involved, managed to slip away unnoticed. He would send an anonymous note to the police informing them of the Escort van’s location and of Harry’s involvement of Trevor’s demise.
    Crane drove back to Canford through patchy squalls of heavy rain and was glad when he swung the car into Palmers Rise. Penny heard the car in the lane, long before Crane pulled into the drive. She stood anxiously in a front room by the window, watching as he got out. By the time he reached the front porch, door keys in hand, Penny was already standing by the front door and with a look of relief swung it open and said breathlessly, ‘Any luck? Did you find him?’
    â€˜Sort of,’ Crane replied briefly, as he stepped inside and continued,