Read Online Dead Heat by Nick Oldham - Free Book Online

knew O’Brien’s complexion had gone sickly grey. However, he remained silent, probably numbed by the experience he was having.
    â€˜Yee-hah!’ she yelled as she roared down a forest road.
    â€˜Jesus Christ – look out!’ screamed O’Brien, breaking his silence.
    Ahead, just in the extremity of the main beam, was a big, black shape with eyes that were red rubies in the headlights.
    A deer.
    Jo wrestled with the wheel, cursing, slamming on the brakes. But she could not do anything to avoid hitting the stationary beast, which remained facing them, defiant in the centre of the road.
    â€˜Oh no,’ uttered O’Brien.
    Jo braced herself for the impact. O’Brien cowered and covered his eyes, instinctively bringing his knees up for protection, and waited for the deer to come crashing through the windscreen.
    But with a mighty, unbelievably muscular and giant leap, the deer was gone into the pitch-black woods. It was as though it had never been there in the first place.
    The car swerved to a halt, slewed at an angle to the road. The engine stalled with a judder. The new silence was almost tangible.
    Jo sat there, hands gripping the wheel, knuckles white, breathing unsteady, feeling very ill. She stared at the road, unsure if there ever had been a deer there in the first place, whether it had just been a mirage.
    Slowly she turned her head and looked at O’Brien. He was shaking visibly.
    â€˜I need a fag,’ he said.
    â€˜Me too.’
    â€˜You don’t smoke.’
    â€˜Do now.’
    They climbed out of the car and leaned against it. O’Brien lit up and offered one to Jo, but she refused. Alcohol was what she needed really.
    â€˜Sorry ’bout that,’ she said meekly.
    â€˜Got it out of your system then?’
    She nodded.
    â€˜Let’s go back, nice ‘n’ easy and we might just be able to get to the pub for a drinkie-pooh if we’re lucky.’ He ground out his quarter-smoked cig.
    â€˜Good speech.’
    â€˜And I’ll drive,’ he said, rushing to the driver’s seat before she could argue the toss. Dragging her feet, she got in next to him. He set off more sedately. He drove past Rivington Barn in the direction of Horwich, a small town west of Bolton. He intended to cut back down on to the M61 and get back into Manchester that way.
    The 4x4 passed them going in the opposite direction as they reached the motorway junction.
    The dead man was annoying Verner intensely. He would not stay sitting upright, kept lolling about as though he was . . . dead.
    â€˜Sit the fuck up,’ Verner said angrily, pushing the drooping figure back into the corner of the seat, trying to wedge him by the stanchion. Turner was being uncooperative, even though it was not really his fault. Verner did not stop driving, but tried to keep Turner in place with his outstretched left arm, doing all the driving with his right.
    He knew where he was going. Earlier that afternoon, during daylight hours, he had combed the area around the reservoir at Rivington. It was not as though he knew for definite that he would have to kill Turner, but the omens were not good, and he liked to be prepared. He had been informed of the plans for the evening and knew he might need somewhere suitable to dispose of a body. He found what he thought would be the ideal location.
    He knew that the meeting would be taking place between Turner and the Spaniard at a restaurant just off the M61 near to Horwich. So he had spent his time driving around the area, checking out locations. He thought the thickly wooded environs of Rivington were a fairly good place. There were lots of tracks running off the road into the forest, which was dark, quiet and, he assumed, would be somewhere he would be unlikely to be interrupted late in the evening. He even picked the forest track and the place he would dig. If it came to it.
    It did – and that was where he was headed.
    Jo and O’Brien hit