FORTY-FOUR
Nolan saw the figure of a man silhouetted against the night sky, striding down the hillside like something from hell, the shotgun in one hand, jutting out from his hip. Despite him being at least a hundred metres from the driveway, Nolan knew by the determined march very little was going to stop him.
Whoever he was.
“Get onto Adams,” he shouted over to Ward, who was about to clamber into the patrol car. “And find out where the b****y hell he is.” He went over to the car, opened the passenger door, and stood behind it whilst Ward opened up the radio to get through to the police headquarters in Chester.
Bringing up the torch, he pressed it on and trained the beam directly towards the approaching figure. “Police. Stand still and tell us who you are.”
But the figure did not sta
