The barman broke off his conversation, eyeballing her unpleasantly. “We don’t hand out freebies in this pub. That’ll be three pounds.”
“Daylight robbery,” she replied, casting an eye toward the other drinkers in search of support. But they weren’t interested in her, still deeply involved in their murmured conversations. Sanderson, however, wasveryinterested in them and caught a good side view of Gary Spence. She had memorized his mug shot, and there was no doubt about it. It was him. He was unshaven and shabbily dressed in old, stained clothes.
Tossing three coins onto the moist beer towel, she said:
“Fill her up, then. And don’t spit in it when I’m gone, eh?”
With that, she turned and headed through the bar door and down the corridor to the ladies’. Pushing inside, she counted to twenty, listening sharply for any signs of pursuit. Then, hearing nothing, she pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Helen Grace’s number.
26
The car sped through the streets, bullying the traffic out of its way. The sirens weren’t on, but the flashing blue light was having the desired effect. The streets were clogged today—it was less than three weeks until Christmas and Southampton was full of out-of-town shoppers—but their progress was swift nevertheless. It was almost as if people knew how important this was and made way accordingly.
Helen always felt more comfortable on two wheels than on four, so she’d let Charlie drive. There were three other cars making their way to the scene—Helen wanted to create a secure perimeter around the pub—meaning that for once Charlie and Helen were traveling alone. The street had opened up now and they were finally entering Millbrook. Helen could see the police incident boards on the pavement, appealing for witnesses to the Simms house fire, and it refocused her mind on what lay ahead.
Pulling up around the corner from the Hope and Anchor, Helen took out her police radio. She could see one unmarked car in place andwanted to check that the other two were in their positions. A swift radio round established that they were.
“Right, let’s do this. Ready?”
Charlie nodded, so they climbed out of the car and hurried round the corner to the pub. Some officers—mostly male—would have advocated a mob-handed approach, going through the front door with a phalanx of uniformed officers in body armor. They thought this was a safer, more effective approach to bringing crooks in than the traditional tap on the shoulder. But Helen didn’t agree. Often you gave the game away before you’d even begun. The people in these sorts of places drank with their eyes and ears open. They were likely to spot a group of coppers gathering in the street. Moreover, such a clumsy approach was, in Helen’s view,morelikely to lead to trouble, the disturbed criminals reacting violently to such a sudden and heavy-handed intrusion.
As they stood on the threshold, Helen looked to Charlie once more—a silent nod returned—then she pushed the door firmly and went inside. The pub was filling up now—scallywags drinking a “well-earned” pint at the end of another day of ducking and diving—and was noisy and lively as a result. As soon as the two smartly dressed women stepped into the pub, however, the atmosphere changed. Heads turned, voices were lowered, everyone present wondering who had done something wrong.
Gary Spence hadn’t looked to see who these intruders were, but Helen could tell by his body language that he had tensed up. Was he expecting them?
“Gary Spence?”
There was a long pause—nobody was talking now—before Gary slowly put down his pint and turned to face her. “Have we met, darling?”
“I’m DI Grace. This is DC Brooks. We’d like a word with you, please.”
Gary stared at her, saying nothing. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his pint, then said:
“Fire away.”
“Not here. We’ve got a car outside.”
“Serious, is it?”
“I’d prefer to do this at the station, so when you’re ready...”
Gary looked at her once more. A thin smile spread across his mouth. “Have it your way.”
At which he flung his pint in Helen’s face and bolted for the back of the pub. Helen was too startled to react and Charlie a nanosecond too slow. He brushed past her outstretched hand and sprinted for the saloon door. Immediately he came face-to-face with Sanderson, who had sprung from her position.
“Police. You are—”
But she didn’t get any further. Spence launched himself at her, his beefy shoulder connecting with her head-on, sending them both reeling backward through the door and into the dingy passage outside. Sanderson tried to get up first but felt an elbow slam into her stomach, knocking the wind from her. She was left clutching at thin air as the escaping Spence raced away toward the emergency exit nearby.
Before Sanderson could rise, Helen Grace sped through, hurdling her grounded officer and setting off after the fleeing crook. Charlie paused momentarily to check that Sanderson was okay, before following suit. Moments later they were both in the freezing courtyard outside. Spence was nowhere to be seen, but the fixed gaze of a couple of startled smokers now revealed his position. He was climbing the fire escape—Helen had expected him to head out and away, but actually he was headingup.
Helen turned to Charlie. “Tell the others he’s making for the roof.”
As Charlie radioed this in, Helen ran up the fire escape, taking the steps two at a time. Spence had a head start on her, but he carried considerably more weight than Helen and she was hopeful of hunting him down.
One flight, two, three, and then finally Helen crested the fire escape, spilling out onto the gravel roof. Immediately she spotted Spence sprinting toward the far edge. She gave chase, but he was thirty feet ahead and as he came to the edge of the roof, he leaped from it, straining every sinew to get across the large gap that separated the pub from its nearest neighbor. He made the other side, but only just, his right foot sliding off the slippery ledge, threatening to unbalance him, before he righted himself and raced on.
Despite the forty-foot fall that awaited her if she misjudged the jump, Helen didn’t hesitate. The buildings round here were detached, flat-roofed commercial properties. If Spence was quick and lucky, he could escape their net altogether via the rooftops. Helen launched herself across the divide, landing safely on the other side. But as she landed, she skidded on the scattered gravel, her legs giving out from underneath her. Feeling herself go, she wrenched her torso round, rolling swiftly and elegantly on the ground, before flipping back up onto her feet.
