Hope Road by John Barlow

patiently in view of the security camera half the night while someone raped and killed Donna Macken and dumped her body. And now, apparently, he’s going to tell the police exactly what happened…
    “I grew up with men like you, Mr Bilyk,” John whispers as the patrol car moves past him and turns onto the York Road.
    He feels in his pocket and takes out a leaflet:
Galey Tractors. Kiev.
    “We’ll see who the fuck you are, Mr Bilyk.”

Twelve
    H e drives into town, down past the bus station, trying to ignore the ugly profile of Millgarth next to it. He’s always admired the police. Now he’s not so sure…
    Why would Freddy take the car without asking?
That
car?
    Round onto Regent Street.
    Think.
    What if they forced Freddy to get the Mondeo for them, to get rid of the girl? That makes sense. But the previous night? Why take the car on Thursday night?
    He slows almost to a stop as he indicates to turn right onto Hope Road. Behind him a van brakes hard, its banana yellow paintwork filling his mirror, an angry blast from the horn. He holds up his hand in apology as the van whines down a gear and slaloms past on the inside.
    Think. Freddy is the last to leave the room. He looks scared, terrible. The two Ukrainians? They’re laughing. When they all come back, Freddy’s got the Mondeo. And Donna’s about to get taken out. To her death.
    He turns. Sees it: an unmarked car outside the showroom, young copper leaning against the passenger door waiting for him.
    He drives on, staring straight ahead. Then a left, down past the
Black Horse
. A hundred yards, two hundred, going way too fast. He hits the brakes, iPhone already in his hand.
    “In Spanish, Connie.
En Español
. Speak in Spanish, okay? Tell ’em it was your mum ringing.”
    “Okay.” Not a trace of panic in her voice.
    “The police are there again, yes?”
    “U-huh.
Sí
.”
    “If they ask, tell them Freddy called you. Tell them the truth. He said sorry for taking the Mondeo.”
    “
Okay…
”
    He looks at his watch.
    “It’s nearly one. Tell ’em you’re supposed to close up for lunch if I’m not back. Just go home. I’ll ring you. And Connie, thanks.”
    “
Adios, mamá!
” she says and hangs up.
    Jesus, she is a godsend.
    He sits, tries to straighten things out in his head. The
Yorkshire Post
has slipped to the floor, its pages fanning out. He leans down and grabs what he can.
    Something catches his eye, single column on an inside page:
    FAKE NOTE HEADING FOR LEEDS
The city is poised for an influx of counterfeit money. Fake twenty pound notes have been flooding into the north of England in recent weeks, and Leeds may be next.
Several examples of the notes were on display at a West Yorkshire Police press conference yesterday. Detective Superintendent Shirley Kirk told reporters that the copies were good quality, and members of the public should be vigilant. Leeds is now the region’s largest metropolitan area not to have been hit by the counterfeiters.
A leaflet explaining how illegal notes can be identified is available, and Superintendent Kirk was clear to point out the risks involved to citizens. “Though you may come into possession of a counterfeit note innocently,” she said, “attempting to use it as currency is a criminal offence.”
Counterfeiters often use a large network of ‘changers’, each with a small amount of fake money to pass off quickly. Operations are highly coordinated, and a large batch of notes can enter circulation in a matter of hours. Busy pubs and clubs, corner shops, markets, even car boot sales are vulnerable. Fake money is also widely used in prostitution, drug deals and other serious crime.
Do not be tempted to pass off fake currency. This is not only illegal, but keeps the forged notes in circulation. The only course of action open to the public is to contact the police.
    Before he knows what he’s doing the Saab is cutting through the Saturday morning traffic, flying around buses, jumping lights, other