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Warthead took off, running down Boar Lane towards Duncan Street and the Corn Exchange.
Gardener followed, ignoring the pain in his head, his arms, his legs and, most of all, his bruised ribs. He decided not to shout at the freak, choosing instead to focus all his efforts on catching him.
Gardener heard police sirens to his right, coming across New Briggate. What happened next stunned the injured officer.
The traffic light at the Boar Lane and Briggate intersection changed to green, and the stationary car proceeded ahead.
Warthead took a chance to cross the road onto Duncan Street. Cutting across New Briggate like an atomic warhead, what later turned out to be a stolen Range Rover wasted the front end of one car, and bounced upwards in the collision. The car careened wildly out of control, taking Warthead and a portion of nearby railings straight through the plate glass window of the Burger King on the corner.
The series of explosions and shattering glass brought Gardener to his senses. He rounded the corner to confront the devastation.
A crowd milled around the Burger King so fast, he thought they must have emerged from the shadows. Most of them were okay, simply trying to figure what had happened. They were, however, ignoring the people that did need help. A number of victims had sustaine
d cuts. Some had more serious injuries. One youth staggered around, his hand covering his right eye, blood pouring through at an alarming rate. His girlfriend was by his side, screaming at him to lay down while she found some help.
Most people had forgotten about their takeaway. Some had thrown their food right on the ground. At least six people were already on their mobiles. Only three were calling for help. Sickeningly, the others were filming.
Gardener pushed his way through the oblivious crowd. The stolen Range Rover’s engine was still on maximum revs and had taken most of the customers in the fast food restaurant through the counter and into the storeroom. Dead bodies lay amongst the debris of glass, tables, chairs, and neon menus. Miraculously, two people had survived. They were staggering around with severe injuries.
The car’s engine died abruptly with a crash and a clang as it seized up. The car then backfired, sending shockwaves through the crowd, most of whom were already backing away.
Gardener also retreated as the police arrived on the scene, urging people to let them through.
Before he stepped aside, he caught sight of the mangled, almost decapitated corpse of Warthead, trapped underneath the front wheel of the Rover.
Gardener turned and cursed, and slipped back around the corner onto Boar Lane, furious at the fact he’d been cheated of the chance to vent his anger on his wife’s killer.
Behind him, the sirens of the ambulance service wailed as they came to deal with the dead and the injured.
In front of him, a car screeched to a halt. The passenger door opened.
“Get in, now!” Reilly shouted.
Chapter Seventy-five
Gardener stepped back, confused.
More ambulances, more squad cars, and more people swarmed the accident behind him.
“For Christ’s sake, boss, get in the car,” Reilly shouted again.
Gardener relaxed. A feeling of security returned. He hadn’t recognized his colleague’s vehicle. The last thing he’d needed was to jump into a car full of hoodlums. Once inside, Gardener closed the door. Reilly made a U-turn on Boar Lane, heading out towards Kirkstall.
“Am I pleased to see you,” said Gardener.
“The feeling’s mutual. What the hell’s going on back there? Don’t tell me you’re responsible for that carnage?” Reilly glanced over. “What’s happened to your face?”
“It’s not just my face.”
Gardener told Reilly about his previous twenty-four hours. How he’d struggled to find Bob Crisp, the beating and, finally, his eventual meeting with the vagrant and the revelations he’d heard. He also mentioned Warthead’s spectacular finale.
“I knew it! I fucking knew it.”
“You knew what?” Gardener was momentarily puzzled. His body had started to ache as the painkillers wore off.
“We’ve got Summers back at the station.”
“On what charge?”
