He was cruising around the western outskirts of the city of Bordeaux when the shrill tone of his car phone mingled with the Latin rhythms of the David Byrne CD.
‘Bloody hell! Is there no peace?'
He stopped the player and pushed the phone's receive button. Brian Mackie's voice boomed out of the hands-free speaker. 'Hello, boss. How's the drive going?'
`Fine, until about five seconds ago. Making these things international was the worst telecommunications advance ever. What is it this time?'
`It's Lucan, chief.'
'Yes, I know,' said Skinner impatiently. 'Maggie called me last night'
`No, sir. This is today. Lucan's escaped. We've just had a flash from Leicester. They were taking him to court. Apparently the van was stopped at traffic lights, when he banjoed his guard and kicked the back door open.'
"Kin' ell!' Skinner shouted into the small microphone clipped above the sun visor, let me know developments'
He pushed the cancel button and drove on in the sunshine, across the bridge over the wide river and on towards the north. As the kilometres unrolled, he recalled his outward journey with Sarah and Jazz. It seemed as if months had gone by, yet he knew that his son was still a day under seven weeks old.
He was striking out along the N175, at the base of the Cherbourg peninsula and with the Autoroute network far behind him, when the phone rang again.
`Boss, it's Brian. No sign of Lucan, I'm afraid. He was in his own clothes, and he made it into a busy shopping centre, so they just lost him in the crowd. There was a report of a mugging in the area not long afterwards by someone answering his description, so they think he's now got some cash for the road.'
`Aye, but which road? He doesn't speak the language. His best chance would be to hitch a lift on a French lorry, I suppose. Did the Leicester people break the news about Vaudan?'
`Yes, first thing this morning. Lucan went ape-shit apparently. Burst into tears, but all he would say was "Bastards!" in French, over and over again.'
`Wonder which bastards he meant. Do we know any more about his dust-up with Monklands?'
`I was coming to that. The Leicester guys had another go at Monklands this afternoon. He told them to get stuffed. Said he would only speak to you, no one else.'
Behind the wheel, Skinner frowned. 'Didn't think I'd made that much of an impression. Okay, Brian. Ask them to have him ready to see me at police headquarters in Leicester tomorrow morning. I'll call in on my way up from Southampton. I'll bet he just wants to sell me a deal, though!'