Hidden Witness Read Online Free

criminals.
    They tracked him on to Albert Road where he turned right in the general direction of the seafront, but then quickly cut over into an unlit alley leading through to Charnley Road. He was moving with purpose, but the boys were closing in, the older one already chanting, ‘Vic-tim, vic-tim,’ under his breath, winding himself up for the attack. The younger one was less certain this time. There was something about the way the man walked, held himself. He might have been old – maybe seventy – but he had a confident aura about him, someone who could take care of himself, was unafraid. Nothing about him said, ‘Victim.’ If anything, ‘Vic tor ’ was more appropriate and the younger lad sensed this.
    The alley was dismal, but a streetlight at the far end illuminated the last five metres of it and the boys had to get their assault in before the man reached this pool of brightness.
    They closed in, the older boy ahead, picking up the pace. The younger one was in his slipstream, carried along with the moment, heart hammering, legs weak, a taste of something unpleasant in his mouth that he tried to swallow down his dry throat.
    With three metres separating hunter and hunted, the old man suddenly stopped, turned around completely and faced the boys. They stopped in their tracks.
    â€˜You think I didn’t see you!’ the old man roared. He had an accent of sorts, but neither boy could say what it was. ‘You think I don’t know you follow me!’
    â€˜Don’t give a toss if you did or didn’t,’ the older boy sneered, but he was now apprehensive. The man seemed to have grown physically and was almost challenging them, his head tilted back and the fluorescent streetlight slashing down across his heavy features.
    The man raised his walking stick, laughing harshly. ‘You may move quicker than me, but you will come off worse, I promise.’
    The boys stood unsurely. The younger one touched his friend’s sleeve, a gesture to retreat. The older boy shrugged off the fingers, his anger building at the challenge. ‘Give us your cash and you won’t get hurt – that’s all I can promise you, old man.’
    The old man shook his head, amused, unafraid.
    â€˜C’mon, Rory, let’s leave this one.’
    â€˜No chance – he’ll be fuckin’ minted.’
    The older boy launched himself at the old man, hoping to catch him off-guard. He went in with his head low, but the man took half a step sideways, swung his hip and in the same movement brought the walking stick around with incredible accuracy – hard. He cracked it across the side of the boy’s charging head just the once. The blow glanced off, but still knocked him sideways into the alley wall. He moved in then and raised the stick, the boy now cowering behind his raised forearms.
    â€˜No, please.’
    â€˜You have had enough?’ the old man demanded.
    â€˜Yeah, yeah,’ the lad said, scrambling away, backing into his mate, stepping into a pile of dog shit.
    The old man addressed the younger boy. ‘You, too?’ He brandished the cane and the lad backed off, saying, ‘I didn’t go for you.’
    â€˜Mm,’ he said doubtfully, gave them both the evil eye, turned and strutted out of the alley.
    The boys stood together, side by side, the older one holding a hand over his bleeding head. ‘Bastard!’ he shouted.
    The old man ignored the insult.
    They watched him step out of the alley and begin to cross the road.
    He was halfway across when the car hit him. Then everything slowed right down.
    He was walking at ninety degrees to the car, which was a big Volvo estate, and the heavy vehicle was still accelerating, maybe travelling over thirty miles per hour when it struck. It connected with the old man’s right-hand side. It smashed full on into him, instantly shattering his hip and femur. The old man twisted appallingly with the