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Grove uselessly fired two more bullets at the barrier, then looked around for something to steal. There was a tall refrigerator cabinet filled with drinks, so he shattered its glass door with a couple of rounds. He reached inside and took out two cans of Coke. He kicked at one of the heavy display stands, but succeeded only in shoving it a short distance across the floor. He grabbed some magazines, and thrust them under the arm of his gunhand.
He walked unhurriedly across the forecourt to the Montego, and opened the front passenger door. He threw the stuff he had stolen inside, then laid the handgun on the floor of the car, between the front seats.
He opened the luggage compartment and took out the rifle Holding it with the muzzle aloft, he made a show of snapping the ammunition clip into place, and cocking the weapon. Traffic went by on the main road, only a few yards away, the people inside the vehicles apparently noticing nothing.
Teresa, in Grove's mind, seated immovably behind his eyes, saw everything.
She eased forward to try to enter his mind, but shrank away. His mind was blank, insofar as any mind, can be free of thought. All she found was an almost wordless blur of images: Girl kill find hit fucking stupid door window run
get car ...
Once again, risking intercession in the scenario, Teresa
retreated as far as she dared. Grove was now stepping across the forecourt, heading for the side of the building where a night-cash window was situated.
He came to a halt directly in front of it, raised his rifle and took a steady aim at the glass.
Although there was a light on in the room behind, there was no sign of Margaret Lee.
Grove maintained his stance, and a few seconds later was rewarded when the young woman slowly stood up. She turned to face the nightcash window, and immediately saw Grove pointing the rifle at her.
He fired. The recoil punched against his shoulder, and the strengthened glass shattered into opacity. He fired twice more, both bullets hitting the glass but apparently not penetrating.
Grove went quickly to the window, but the crazing was so fine that it was impossible to see through into the room beyond.
Grove turned and walked back to the car. He slung the rifle on to the back seat, then climbed in and started the engine. Without another look back he stepped hard on the pedal, screeching the tyres, and noisily clouting one of the pumps. He continued to accelerate as he reached the road, swinging on to the carriageway without regard for traffic. He drove frantically towards Bulverton, flashing the headlamps at anyone who was in front of him, and overtaking recklessly.
Inside Grove 1 S mind Teresa felt herself relaxing. Normally, any other person's fast driving, apart from Andy's, struck fear into her heart and numbness into her thoughts, but she knew Grove could not hurt her. Even if he drove headon into an oncoming car she would not be Physically hurt. Anyway, she knew no accident was about to happen, because no accident had happened.
Grove was forced to slow when an empty coach pulled out from a side road, and lumbered heavily along towards
Bulverton. Grove braked the Montego sharply, followed the coach, then pulled out to overtake. Two police cars were approaching, their headlamps on full beam and their electricblue strobe lights flickering. The walling sirens were a deafening chorus. Grove ducked back behind the coach, but as soon as the police cars had passed he pulled out again.
lt was not far to Bulverton. Within a few minutes of leaving the Texaco station they had reached the intersection at the top of the town; straight on led down through residential areas to the town centre, a left or a right took the road along the Ridge. Grove barely slowed for the Junction, but skidded round and took the Ridge to the left. The traffic was heavier here, forcing Grove to slow a little, but still he wove dangerously round the other vehicles, overtaking when he could. Teresa was almost enjoying the sensation of unsafe speed; it was like the thrill of watching a car chase in a movie, knowing that it was all unreal, that there was no danger to her.
She waited for him to take the side road to the industrial estate, where the ExEx building was situated, knowing that this was where he had parked the car and therefore where he must be heading now. As the turning approached she braced herself, knowing that he was going too fast to take it safely. But he was still weaving, and the Montego went past the side road at high speed. He braked a short distance further on, and took the sharply angled turn into Hereford Avenue, the road that ran through the heart of the housing estate. Teresa had a glimpse of the distant sea, light clouds on the horizon, heathaze resting over the town, before the car was wrenched round again into a sidestreet. Teresa recognized the bleak terrace of houses where Grove had been living. The car braked hard to a halt, with two wheels up on the paving stones at the side.
Grove held his hand down on the horn, staring aggres-
sively at the house. Nothing appeared to move within.
'Fucking hell!' he said aloud, and pulled himself out of the car with a violent motion. He wrenched open the rear passenger door, and grabbed the rifle. He went quickly towards the house, making no attempt to hide the weapon, or, for that matter, to conceal himself behind any available cover. At the back of his mind, Teresa could not forget her Bureau training on approaching a building where the command situation was unknown: all available means of cover were to be sought.
As soon as she thought this Grove ducked swiftly to one side, and instead of approaching the house as he had been, going straight up the concrete path towards the door, he crouched down on the far side of the wooden fence, and proceeded more cautiously.
Teresa thought, I'm still influencing him!
She made herself move forward, but the sheer blast of anger and unreason swilling through Grove's mind repelled her.
Holding the rifle aloft, Grove kicked at the wooden door at the rear of the house: it was flimsily made, and it opened without resistance. Grove dashed in. Debra was standing in the main room at the back, cradling a small cat in her arms. She looked pale, undernourished, pathetic and terrified. She was also, Teresa noticed for the first time, pregnant. The cat reacted instantly to Grove, and scrambled away from her, raising weals on Debra's thin forearm which rapidly produced welling spots of blood.
Grove raised the rifle, while the skinny, wretched girl tried to back away, pressing her legs against an open teachest behind her.
Teresa thought, No! This didn't happen! Why didn't he 90 to the ExEx building?
The girl stumbled backwards, scraping her legs on the
metal lip of the chest, but dragged herself around it, trying to hide.
Grove suddenly lowered the rifle, turned away, and without saying anything to the girl walked back through the house. He opened the front door and strode back to the car. He lifted the lid of the luggage compartment and threw in the riffle, then retrieved the handgun from between the front seats and tossed that inside too. He banged the lid down.
Neighbours were watching. One woman pushed her children back into the house, and followed them inside and closed the door with a terrific slam.
Teresa thought, Is this right? Did 1 prevent him from shooting Debra? Or was he not going to do it anyway?
. She eased forward in Grove's mind, bracing herself for the onslaught of his crazed thoughts, but a sudden placidity had taken over. He was thinking about the best way to drive to Welton Road. Should he drive to the bottom of the road, and turn back up to the Ridge along Holman Road, or turn round here and go back the way he had come?