The siren was switched off before they reached St Albans Road. A row of 1930s semis, painted white and dotted with satellite dishes, were set on a slip road, back from a large grass oblong roundabout. The last of the rush hour thundered past on the thoroughfare. The streetlights from the roundabout and nearby petrol station provided plenty of light. Was there a back entrance? It’d be hard to get someone inside the house unseen, unless the busy comings and goings of the main road prevented any one event from standing out. They pulled into an adjacent car dealership, large stickers on the car bonnets advertising the prices. A bald guy wearing jeans and a North Face jacket waved them over. Saunders and Nas were already parked up and waiting. Chips wound the window down. The bald guy came over, followed by Nas, who had her hands in her coat pockets and her collar turned up against the biting wind. The sky was heavy with grey clouds, merging into night. Saunders, apparently impervious to the cold, bounced over to join them. He was hyper. From nerves or excitement?
‘DS Ahmed, sir,’ the bald guy introduced himself through the window. ‘We spoke on the phone.’
Chips shook his hand. ‘Any more sightings of the suspect?’
‘We’ve got two officers round the back. There’s been no comings or goings,’ DS Ahmed said.
‘What about that figure you saw upstairs – is it our girl?’ Chips said.
Freddie crossed her fingers. She was shaking from the cold wind that was billowing into the car – at least she thought it was from that. ‘Nothing conclusive,’ DS Ahmed said. He had a nice face, shiny and creased, like he smiled a lot.
‘How d’you want to do this, Pete? I don’t fancy dragging him all the way down that road to the car if he’s difficult.’ Chips indicated the row of houses that stretched away from them, on the other side of a Chinese takeaway.
‘We’ll drive down,’ said Saunders. ‘Green can go round the back, Cudmore down the side passage, me and you can knock.’ Freddie assumed she was to stay in the car. ‘Sergeant,’ he said to Ahmed. ‘You got a van for this arse?’
‘Round the back where it dropped the boys off, sir,’ Ahmed smiled. ‘I’ll radio them to follow you round.’
‘Good man.’ Saunders tapped the roof of the car. ‘Now get out, Green, I’m driving.’ PC Green obediently got into the back, followed by Nas. The police van was waiting by the slip road, just out of sight of the houses. The car was hot, and Freddie could hear PC Green breathing, see her chest rising and falling quickly. Nas drummed her gloved fingers on her knee, sitting bolt upright. It must be a rush of adrenaline doing this. Though it was making her feel queasy. Saunders accelerated, pulling the car swiftly onto the slip road and stopping outside number 103. Wordlessly they opened the doors at once, and closed them quietly. PC Green went past the house and disappeared down the side alley of the semi two doors down, to join the others out the back. Light flickered at the downstairs bay window: the television was on. There were heavy curtains at the upstairs window, and she couldn’t see through them. Freddie lowered her window a fraction; the noise from the passing road and the swirl of the wind filled the car. She wanted to hear what was happening. The police van was still waiting, out of sight, behind them. Nas, her coat billowing behind her, walked quickly with Saunders and Chips to the front of the house. At a nod from Saunders she headed down the side path as the two male officers reached the front door. Freddie reminded herself that Nas had her baton. Though that didn’t feel like much. The guy could have a knife. Or maybe even a gun, if he’d managed to snatch Lottie?
There was a pause, a collective intake of breath to allow everyone to get into position, and then Saunders rapped on the door. The flickering light in the lounge stilled: live pause. A shape approached the patterned glass door, making a Picasso out of whoever was behind it. A young guy with dark, stringy hair, wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans, opened it. His eyes widened at the sight of Saunders and Chips in their suits. They were obviously cops. He slammed the door shut. ‘Runner!’ Saunders shouted. A radio in the car crackled to life, Chips echoing his sentence, making her jump. ‘Don’t be an idiot, Liam!’ Saunders shouted, kicking open the door. Instinctively Freddie got out of the car. Saunders and Chips barrelled into the house. The curtains next door twitched. ‘Liam Schofield,’ Saunders’s voice carried from inside. ‘You are wanted in relation to … Shit!’
‘Don’t run lad, you’ll only make it worse!’ Chips boomed. Freddie’s heart was racing. The police van revved behind her, squealing to a stop as a uniformed officer jumped out and ran into the house.
There was a crash from inside. Breaking glass. Splintering wood. Yells. ‘Green, he’s headed your way. He’s got a baseball bat,’ the radio screamed. A blur that could have been Nas shot past the open front door.
‘Stop!’ Green’s voice was further away. Feet on wood. A thump onto concrete. ‘He’s gone over the fence!’
More sounds of scrabbling feet on wood.
Liam burst out the side alley, the baseball bat pumping like a piston as he ran straight at her.
Freddie saw the keys in the ignition. She tried to let go of the handle. To run. To do anything. But she was frozen in front of the car.
Saunders charged out the house, but Liam was already level with the semi next door. Nothing would stop him from taking the car. He swung the baseball bat back. Freddie braced for the blow. It was happening again. Blood.
Nas, her black coat a cape behind her, her legs long, streaked from the neighbour’s passageway and jumped for him. Liam slammed into the side of the car, and went down like Jenga. The baseball bat bounced with an aluminium ping. Nas pinned him under her knee, wrenching her handcuffs from her belt. Blew her hair off her face. ‘Liam Schofield, I’m arresting you for attempted assault of a police officer …’
Freddie looked at Saunders, open-mouthed. ‘He took a swing at Green. And missed. He’s going to have to repair the fence though.’
Freddie looked down: she was completely untouched. Nas had stopped him.
‘Great job, Cudmore.’ Chips arrived, swiftly followed by Green and the uniformed coppers. Three great, hulking guys in bulky stab vests. Nas pulled Liam to his feet and shouldered him forwards. Freddie finally let go of the car door handle, and stood aside as a wincing Liam was escorted into the waiting van. Freddie shook her head in disbelief. Timid little Nasreen Cudmore, who used to hide in the toilets during break time and cry if people called her names, had grown up to be a certified badass.