The location scribbled on the back of Scarlett’s hand was a tree-lined street of Georgian grey-brick terraces. The street would have looked something in its heyday, now it was rundown.
From the front passenger seat of the unmarked car Scarlett checked the numbers of the houses they were passing. Tarn was driving and in the back were George Martin and Ella Bloom. Forty minutes earlier she had run a check on the address Alex had given her, and discovered it had a couple of intelligence tags, revealing that the premise was being frequented by illegal immigrants and was suspected of being run as a brothel. Following that she had decided to tell her colleagues about her phone call, knowing the only way she could get her warrant card and mobile back was with their help. As they had driven through heavy traffic together they had formulated a plan. Now, as they neared their target, they were ready to put it into action.
Scarlett patted Tarn’s hand as they approached the number she was looking for. He slowed the car to a crawl and she saw that number forty-four was a two-storey mid-terrace with a side passage, barred by a tall metal gate. Its downstairs curtains were closed so she couldn’t get a feel for the place – whether there was anyone in there or not– and for a moment it forced a quick rethink of the plans. But as they cruised past she locked onto the front door and saw that it was in bad state of repair. That made up her mind to go through with things.
She told Tarn to scout around the backstreets before they went in and they found a service alleyway that ran the length of the back of the terraces. Scarlett told Tarn to stop the car and turning to George and Ella pointed out the alleyway, directing them to make their way to the rear of the house. “Me and Tarn’ll go to the front and we’ll shout you when we’re going in.”
Acknowledging Scarlett’s instructions with a quick nod the two detectives climbed out of the car and set off with a trot into the alley.
Two minutes later as she and Tarn returned to the tree-lined street, Scarlett’s radio crackled into life. George and Ella were in position.
Tarn pulled up opposite number forty-four and killed the engine. There was still no sign of life in the premises.
Scarlett turned to her partner. “You don’t need to do this if you don’t want. This is my call. If you’re uncomfortable, tell me now.”
He met her gaze. “No, I’m good. The scrotes robbed you. They need to be taught a lesson. Let’s do it.”
Closing the car doors gently Scarlett and Tarn briskly soft-shoed across the road. Scarlett led the way, swinging her head back and forth, suspiciously eyeing the environment. Only a couple of women were around and they were at the top of the street with their backs to them. Closing in on number forty-four she could hear her heart beating double-time against her chest. She knew this wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing, and although she had a well-rehearsed statement for the gaffer, she knew if it went belly up she’d be in for the bollocking of her life. She fought to push it from her mind as she neared the house, telling herself that it would be okay. She’d lock up two muggers, get back her phone and warrant card and everything would be hunky dory.
As they approached she gave the front door another once-over. It was old and well weathered. The black paint was flaky and peeling and it didn’t look as though it would put up much resistance. She took another step nearer, feeling the tension cranking up inside of her.
Scarlett gently turned the handle and leaned against the door. It was locked. She knocked authoritatively and put her ear to the door. No answer. She pulled back her clenched hand further and hammered. It brought about activity. Inside she could hear the sudden outburst of fast footsteps. Not coming near – running away.
She yelled, “They’re on their toes.”
Tarn shouted, “Back!” and as Scarlett stepped aside he charged forwards, flinging himself, shoulder first, against the door. His thirteen stone of muscle splintered the old lock from its frame, smashing the door inwards and sending it crashing against the hallway wall. Tarn almost fell in with it. He caught himself, regained his balance, adjusted his footing and began running. Scarlett was on his shoulder, her eyes strafing everywhere for that unknown element that sometimes caught officers out. The adrenalin had kicked in. Suddenly, there was the noise of clattering furniture at the back of the house.
Dashing into a large square kitchen, Scarlett saw that the rear door was wide open, and through a big casement window she saw a tall, slim man running across the garden towards a high ivy-covered wall. In his wake he had scattered two wooden chairs across the kitchen floor in an attempt to slow them down.
Tarn was a good couple of yards ahead of her, already heading out into the garden as she hurdled over one of the upturned chairs.
She cried out, “Stop, police!” as loud as she could.
The fleeing suspect turned and she caught a quick glimpse of a dark curly-haired twenty-something man with an olive-skin complexion. He looked panic stricken. But her view of him was only momentary. He picked up his stride and reaching the rear wall leapt at it, grabbing at ivy, finding a foothold, and in just a couple of seconds he had reached the top and was dropping over the edge.
Tarn wasn’t as surefooted, and rather than leaping he started scrambling and clawing his way up. Scarlett could hear him panting.
Scarlett screamed over her radio that their suspect was fleeing, hoping that George and Ella were in the right position behind the wall to collar him.
On the opposite side, in the alley, she heard Ella and George shout and picked up the sound of echoing footsteps involved in a chase.
Tarn was on top of the wall, about to drop over into the alleyway, when he flashed back a look. He called to her, “He’s getting away! He’s heading towards the main road. See if there are any mobiles in the area,” before rolling over and disappearing.
Scarlett knew it was pointless her following. Her three colleagues were in a much better position to pursue. She ran back into the house, changing radio channels as she went and requesting backup for an escaped suspect. She gave out her location.
Within seconds she had a response. A patrol car was only five minutes away.
Heaving a grateful sigh she bolted through the house and out the other side onto the street, heading in the direction of the fleeing suspect. Scarlett trained her ears on the radio but it was frustratingly silent. Then, fifty yards along the road, it broke into life.
It was Ella gasping an anxious cry. “Suspect down! Repeat, suspect down! He’s been hit by a car! Get us an ambulance!”
Sprinting into the main thoroughfare, the first thing Scarlett saw was a silver Corsa skewed at an angle across the central white lines on the road. Either side, in both carriageways, traffic had come to a halt and was beginning to build up. She slowed almost to a standstill.
By the nearside kerb Ella Bloom was crouching over their suspect. He was lying on the tarmac in the prone position, moaning. She saw that the front of his T-shirt was heavily bloodstained, and she could hear Ella telling him that an ambulance was on its way and not to move.
George was leaning in and speaking with the driver of the lead car on the opposite side of the road. Most probably a witness, she thought.
Tarn was standing beside the angled Corsa with a grey-haired lady, who had her face in her hands. She wore a stunned expression.
As she stepped nearer she could hear the elderly lady’s high-pitched voice telling him, “I wasn’t driving fast. I couldn’t do anything about it. He just ran out in front of me.”
Tarn placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
As Scarlett took in the scene she could see that her team had control of everything and in that same moment a strange sensation overcame her; she felt isolated and vulnerable. She tried to tell herself that it probably wasn’t as bad as it looked, but as she set her eyes on their injured, groaning suspect she knew she was only kidding herself. This was a cock-up of monumental proportions! She wasn’t just in for a carpeting; a worse fate awaited her once this was over.
In the distance, coming ever closer, the wail of sirens disturbed her thinking. Emergency vehicles were on the way.
****
Within ten minutes the area had become a circus. The street was full of cops and bystanders. Traffic was moving again, but slowly, as drivers rubber-necked their way past.
Scarlett was on the kerb, shoulder to shoulder with Tarn, watching a paramedic and two ambulance crew gently manoeuvring their injured suspect onto a spine board. He was still moaning.
She had sent George and Ella back to the house to secure it and to start the search for her phone and warrant card, her thinking being that if at least they had recovered the evidence it would go some way to justifying her actions and hopefully lesson the consequences coming her way.
A couple of minutes later, while watching the emergency team load the suspect into the ambulance, from out of the corner of her eye Scarlett caught sight of a marked car pulling up opposite. The driver’s door sprang open and a slightly chubby uniformed officer hauled himself out. As he stretched up she spotted the two pips on his epaulettes. The duty inspector! And he didn’t look a happy bunny. Worse still, she caught sight of DI Taylor-Butler emerging from the passenger side. He had a face like thunder.
Seeing them approach made her bristle. She nudged Tarn. “Make yourself scarce. Go and see how George and Ella are getting on.” She caught his questioning glance and flicked her head. “Go on, bugger off. This is my mess.”
Touching her arm and giving her a reassuring look he left her side, trotting off in the direction of the house they had broken into.
DI Taylor-Butler and the duty inspector were in step as they approached.
Stopping before her, ram-rod straight, DI Taylor-Butler dramatically drew his overcoat around him. “I suppose you’ve got a good explanation for this, DS Macey?”
She looked him up and down. She wondered why the DI never acknowledged her by her first name. Even the gaffer called her Scarlett. And why, whenever he pronounced her by her rank, did it always sound so condescending?
Prick!
She took a deep breath, eyed both inspectors and said, “He did a runner. It wasn’t our fault. We told him to stop, but he just ran out from the alleyway into the main road.”
“And why were you chasing him?”
“I think he might be one of the guys who stole my warrant card and mobile.”
“Let me just rewind a moment. You’re saying
‘you think he might be'
one of the villains who mugged you?”
Attracted by sudden movement beyond the two inspectors she switched her gaze. Looking over the shoulder of DI Taylor-Butler she could see that one of the emergency crew was closing the rear doors of the ambulance. A uniformed officer was climbing into the back to provide escort to the hospital.
She brought back her gaze. In answer to his question, Scarlett nodded.
The DI screwed up his face. “And how is he linked to our murder?”
She hesitated a second, before sheepishly saying, “He’s not.”
“Oh, he’s not. So what on earth are you doing here?”
“I got a tip-off.”
“A tip-off! Do you want to expand on that?”
“I got a phone call this morning to the effect that the guys who robbed me were at an address just around the corner from here, and that if I didn’t act quick my phone and warrant card would be gone.”
“So what you’re telling me is that you’ve pulled your team away from the task you were given and come over here on a wild goose chase. A wild goose chase which has got a man seriously injured.”
“He’s a suspect! And it wasn’t a wild goose chase. I’ve just told you that he’s one of the guys who nicked my mobile and warrant card.”
“Just a minute, DS Macey! I recall that when you originally told me about your mugging a few weeks back you said you couldn’t identify them. Didn’t you tell me they were wearing masks?”
“I did.”
“So how on earth can you say he’s a suspect?”
Thinking on her feet, she answered, “My informant told me that the guys responsible for robbing me were at the address and that he had seen them with my warrant card and phone.” Then she embellished again. “He told me I needed to act sharp because it was going to disappear. So that’s what I did.” She paused. “I used my initiative.”
DI Taylor-Butler glared at her. “What you did, DS Macey, is acted irrationally and without permission. Your poor judgment has caused serious injury to a man.” A viperous sneer crept across his mouth. “You realise the IPCC is going to be all over this don’t you?”
Scarlett felt her chest tighten. The involvement of the Independent Police Complaints Commission could mean suspension.
The DI said, “This informant. He is registered, I assume.”
She answered softly, “No.”
“So you’ve acted on information that has not come from a registered source?”
“He’s someone I know. I trust him.”
He shook his head. The sneer was changing to a wicked smile. “And I’m guessing the house where this suspect lived – you had a warrant to gain entry?”
Scarlett felt her stomach gripe. For a second she scrutinised the DI’s face. That grin of his reminded her of a jackal. She was revving up inside. She knew he was belittling her in front of the duty inspector and yet she couldn’t do a thing about it. He was highlighting every rule she’d broken. For a moment she stood there trying to think of something to say and then her radio broke into life. It was Tarn, asking directly for her.
Still meeting DI Taylor-Butler’s eyes, she gave him a look which told him she needed to answer her radio. Then she depressed the receive button and responded, “DS Macey. Go ahead, Tarn.”
“Serge, you need to get round here. We’ve found a body!”