The angle of impact, plus the car’s momentum, was enough for it to push its way through. Coming to a brief halt, the Clio’s engine whined yet louder as it was thrown into first gear. Within seconds it was gone, careering down the dimly lit road and out of the village.

‘Now!’ Joe was bawling as he looked around for officers in vehicles, pointing at the exit. ‘Now!’

He was grappling with his phone as he shouted, watching the little black car disappear into the night, and knowing that it was heading into a patchwork of rural hamlets criss-crossed with tiny, winding lanes.

Phone it in. Get a helicopter. Killer on the loose. Half the Force’d be out. What a bloody disaster.

Again he looked around. There was a car gunning for the exit, swerving around the Landy, clattering into the bushes as it went. Another one was right behind it, nearly losing its back end as it was thrown out onto the road.

And Rita?

Both the officers stationed behind the building came running. Joe raised an arm, pointing at them.

‘The registration. Did you get the…’

They were shouting it out as they ran.

‘Radio it in as you go.’ He pointed to the Land Rover as he ran towards it. ‘Get in!’

Both unmarked cars had now disappeared into the rural darkness, the sound of their motors receding to nothing in a matter of seconds.

‘Rita? Rita?’

Nothing was moving inside. She was there, head down on the steering wheel.

He yanked the door open and clambered in, trying to see the extent of her injuries.

‘Rita? Are you…’

‘Get after her, dickhead!’ came a croaky voice from the driver’s seat. ‘It’s just a bump.’

He saw her eyes close. One of the other officers was phoning for an ambulance. Joe called in the incident.

‘This is DS Joe Romano,’ he said, loud and clear. ‘Urgent back-up requested…’

Yet even as he spoke, he knew that none of this would be worth it. Her route would have been planned in advance. Twenty, perhaps thirty seconds’ advantage in these parts was enough, especially at night. She’d be snaking her way down a network of tiny lanes by now, headlights off, in her dark, anonymous hire-car or whatever it was; the same car she’d used to come out of the school, the reason that no one had seen her leave this afternoon.

Would another car be waiting somewhere close? Just for a second he imagined himself back at Elland Road, poring over her credit card bills, identifying the entries for car rentals: strategically placed vehicles that she’d used to dupe that sucker Joe Romano.

This would be the story: a multiple killer and kidnapper had escaped from a six-man security cordon outside a pub. A pub in which she was being wined and dined for the second time by…

No. Not that. Not now.

‘Rita?’