An extract from Neil Bailey’s A Necessary Murder

Jo Greaves is driving home alone from the village where her husband’s body was found. It’s dark. She’s tired. She’s jumpy as hell…

There’s another car approaching but this time it’s from behind. I didn’t see where it came from, maybe some turning I hadn’t even noticed? It’s coming up too fast, its lights on full beam and growing, rapidly filling the rear-view mirror. It’s not slowing down. I try angling the mirror to escape the dazzling glare but it makes little difference and I swear I can hear the other car’s engine now, even over the radio. How fast is it going? Seventy? Eighty? I check my speedo – I’m doing seventy and this other car is gaining. If the road was wider I could pull over, but it’s too narrow and there’s no hard shoulder around here to pull on to. I press harder on the accelerator but I know my car will never outpace this idiot. He can’t be more than a few yards behind me now as my speedo edges up to eighty. I gasp as something strikes my rear bumper. The Fiesta is shaking and I’m losing control and …

It’s gone dark again. The other car has vanished. Just darkness around me. Where did it go? How did it turn off so fast? It doesn’t matter, I should just be grateful that it’s no longer bearing down on me and …

It’s right there beside me! A monstrous beast of an SUV racing shoulder to shoulder with me. We’re both doing eighty. The driver must have turned his headlights off. Why?

I scream.

The overtaking car swerves into me before I can react and I feel its speeding weight when it forces me off the road. I slam both feet to the floor. The steering wheel twists violently in my hands. Left. Right. Left. I try to get back on the road as the other car accelerates ahead of me. I lose control again, my tyres thundering across loose stones as I bounce across bumpy ground before the brakes bite and I manage to bring my car to a halt. I’m forty yards from the road, sitting on some wasteland in the middle of nowhere.

Off in the distance I see my assailant continue on his way.

I’m going to be sick. My heart is racing again, pounding against my ribs. I need to get out and walk but my shaking hands have other ideas and I struggle to release the seat belt. I never want to sit in my car again.

I force the door open and vomit on the ground. Eventually I manage to stagger a few yards away from the car. My legs feel like they belong to someone else. I don’t want to even look at the damage to my Fiesta. I can’t think about that now – I should just be grateful I’m walking away in one piece. I think I just stepped in my own vomit. Great. Just great.

Jesus, what was that all about? Twice on the same stretch of road! And this time there’s simply no way that was an accident. That was deliberate. Someone wanted to frighten me, really shake me up. Seriously hurt me.

Or is it even worse than that?

Does someone want me dead, too?