Chapter 31

Hearing the unmistakable crunch of metal grinding against metal, Garrett risked a peek from the outer edge of the bedroom curtain. Chantry Close coming alive with activity, he watched as police officers ushered neighbours off doorsteps and away from their windows. The most action it had witnessed in a lifetime—enough to keep Mrs. Johnson going for the next decade.

Garrett cast his eye towards the end of the Close, to the smoke rising from the crumpled bonnet of Cullen’s, metallic bronze 3 litre Chrysler CDI. A botched attempt to ram its way to freedom now lying in situ against the ruined side panel of an unmarked, blue police transit van.

He watched intently as the two youths were hauled out of the vehicle and face planted on to the tarmac under the vigilant gaze of the armed response unit. A police photographer had opened the offside rear passenger door and was busy recording the content of the back seat under the direction of a plain-clothes officer. That could only mean one thing— a dead body, the question was who?

Three armed police officers stood at the rear of the car, two of them with their weapons drawn and ready, while the other crowbarred the boot open. From the urgency of their actions, he guessed this one was still breathing.

Chantry Close illuminated as the incident lamps lit up the entire area like a football stadium. Garrett squinted, shading his eyes against the halogen glare. He could just make out the two handcuffed figures as they were bundled in to the rear doors of a waiting van.

His attention diverted to the creaking noise of the doglegged stair. Someone had made it to the first landing. Garrett hid behind the door and waited.