rear-view mirror and was shocked by the face that stared back at her.
Her expression was tight and haunted, making her look a good five years older than she was, her hair a tangled mess.
Stay calm. Act natural.
The police car came to a halt five feet in front of her bumper, and its two occupants slowly clambered out of each side, donning their caps.
She wound down her window as the driver stopped beside it and leaned down. He was middle-aged, heavy-set but running to fat, with a thick moustache and a gruff expression that suggested whatever she said wasn't going to be enough to stop her getting booked for careless driving. But she had to try.
'I'm sorry, officer,' she announced before he had a chance to speak. 'I think I must just have lost concentration. I've had a very busy day at work.'
'I'm afraid that's not an excuse, madam,' he told her sternly. 'You really shouldn't be driving if you're tired.'
Typical copper , she thought. Always acting holier than thou. I bet he's driven knackered plenty of times . But she knew she couldn't say anything to antagonize him. Instead, she apologized for a second time.
'Where have you been this evening?' he asked, his expression unchanged.
Belatedly, she realized her hands were still gripping the steering wheel. She removed them, saw that they were shaking, put them in her lap.
'Work,' she answered.
'Where do you work?'
Her mind went blank. Completely. For a moment, she couldn't even remember where she was. 'Erm . . .' Her hesitation sounded ridiculous, she knew it. But she just couldn't think. 'Er . . .'
'Would you mind stepping out of the car, madam?' he asked, reaching in with a gloved hand and removing her keys from the ignition. 'I have to tell you that I've got reason to believe you've been drinking, so we're going to ask you to take a breath test. Do you understand?'
She nodded weakly. 'Sure.'
Stay calm, Andrea, stay calm. You haven't been drinking. One shot of brandy two hours ago, nowhere near enough to make you over the limit. The worst that can happen is they book you for dangerous driving. They'll issue you with a ticket, let you go, and you can go home and try to think of a way of finding another half a million pounds in cash by Saturday to save your fourteen-year-old daughter's life.
She stepped out of the car, unsteady on her feet as all the knocks of the past forty-eight hours rose up and battered her like winter waves on a sea wall. She was finally crumbling, and she knew it.
'Are you all right, madam?' It was the driver's colleague. He was a taller, younger guy, with the air of the college graduate about him, and he was holding a breathalyser under his arm.
'Yeah, thanks. I'm fine.' She tried to smile but didn't quite make it.
The young cop was staring at her chest. 'What's that?'
'What's what?'
She looked down, saw what he was staring at.
There was a thick patch of blood on her jacket where she'd grabbed hold of Jimmy. Jesus, how could she have missed that? There were further flecks of it lower down, as well as a single thumbsized spot on her T-shirt, which suddenly seemed to stick out a mile in the flashing lights.
The older cop stepped forward, staring too.
'Have you been hurt?' he asked.
She turned round quickly. 'No, I'm fine. Honestly.'
'This is blood,' he said. 'You'd better take your jacket off. You might have cut yourself.'
'I haven't.'
The two cops were watching her closely. The older one seemed to come to a decision.
'Take your jacket off, madam.'
She felt like asking why, but knew she was going to have to cooperate eventually, so she slipped it off and gave it to the older cop, who lifted it to his nose and sniffed it suspiciously.
'This is definitely blood,' he said.
Andrea stood there, her heart pounding. Now that they could see she wasn't hurt, one of them was going to ask the obvious question. It was the younger one who did.
'Care to explain how it got on your shirt and jacket, madam?'
Andrea took a deep breath. The decision about what her next move would
Her expression was tight and haunted, making her look a good five years older than she was, her hair a tangled mess.
Stay calm. Act natural.
The police car came to a halt five feet in front of her bumper, and its two occupants slowly clambered out of each side, donning their caps.
She wound down her window as the driver stopped beside it and leaned down. He was middle-aged, heavy-set but running to fat, with a thick moustache and a gruff expression that suggested whatever she said wasn't going to be enough to stop her getting booked for careless driving. But she had to try.
'I'm sorry, officer,' she announced before he had a chance to speak. 'I think I must just have lost concentration. I've had a very busy day at work.'
'I'm afraid that's not an excuse, madam,' he told her sternly. 'You really shouldn't be driving if you're tired.'
Typical copper , she thought. Always acting holier than thou. I bet he's driven knackered plenty of times . But she knew she couldn't say anything to antagonize him. Instead, she apologized for a second time.
'Where have you been this evening?' he asked, his expression unchanged.
Belatedly, she realized her hands were still gripping the steering wheel. She removed them, saw that they were shaking, put them in her lap.
'Work,' she answered.
'Where do you work?'
Her mind went blank. Completely. For a moment, she couldn't even remember where she was. 'Erm . . .' Her hesitation sounded ridiculous, she knew it. But she just couldn't think. 'Er . . .'
'Would you mind stepping out of the car, madam?' he asked, reaching in with a gloved hand and removing her keys from the ignition. 'I have to tell you that I've got reason to believe you've been drinking, so we're going to ask you to take a breath test. Do you understand?'
She nodded weakly. 'Sure.'
Stay calm, Andrea, stay calm. You haven't been drinking. One shot of brandy two hours ago, nowhere near enough to make you over the limit. The worst that can happen is they book you for dangerous driving. They'll issue you with a ticket, let you go, and you can go home and try to think of a way of finding another half a million pounds in cash by Saturday to save your fourteen-year-old daughter's life.
She stepped out of the car, unsteady on her feet as all the knocks of the past forty-eight hours rose up and battered her like winter waves on a sea wall. She was finally crumbling, and she knew it.
'Are you all right, madam?' It was the driver's colleague. He was a taller, younger guy, with the air of the college graduate about him, and he was holding a breathalyser under his arm.
'Yeah, thanks. I'm fine.' She tried to smile but didn't quite make it.
The young cop was staring at her chest. 'What's that?'
'What's what?'
She looked down, saw what he was staring at.
There was a thick patch of blood on her jacket where she'd grabbed hold of Jimmy. Jesus, how could she have missed that? There were further flecks of it lower down, as well as a single thumbsized spot on her T-shirt, which suddenly seemed to stick out a mile in the flashing lights.
The older cop stepped forward, staring too.
'Have you been hurt?' he asked.
She turned round quickly. 'No, I'm fine. Honestly.'
'This is blood,' he said. 'You'd better take your jacket off. You might have cut yourself.'
'I haven't.'
The two cops were watching her closely. The older one seemed to come to a decision.
'Take your jacket off, madam.'
She felt like asking why, but knew she was going to have to cooperate eventually, so she slipped it off and gave it to the older cop, who lifted it to his nose and sniffed it suspiciously.
'This is definitely blood,' he said.
Andrea stood there, her heart pounding. Now that they could see she wasn't hurt, one of them was going to ask the obvious question. It was the younger one who did.
'Care to explain how it got on your shirt and jacket, madam?'
Andrea took a deep breath. The decision about what her next move would
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