address he’d got was a few doors along from the next junction up the hill.
Jane’s window buzzed down as Pete approached. ‘Morning, boss.’
‘Any sign of Dave?’
Further down the hill, a car turned a corner towards them, headlights bright and dazzling in the crisp, frosty morning.
‘Not yet. Maybe this is him.’
Pete went around the little car and climbed into the passenger seat. Jane left the window down as the other car approached slowly up the hill, eventually resolving into a silver Ford Mondeo just like the one Pete was driving. As it drew level with them, its window slid down and it stopped.
‘Morning all,’ Dave said brightly from the passenger seat, beyond Dick Feeney. ‘What’s the plan then? No dark alleys round here, are there?’
‘If there are, they’re all yours,’ Pete told him. ‘Meantime, you two take the next street across. Park where you can, facing downhill like Jane has. I’ll go up onto his street and keep an eye on his doorway. When he comes out, I’ll let you know, then we’ll leapfrog him with the three cars so that one of us has got him in sight all the time. If he’s as paranoid as they reckon, that should save him spotting us until he gets where he’s going and we can take him there.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘Right, let’s get into position.’
Pete climbed out of Jane’s car and crossed back to his own while Dick drove on up the street, turning right at the junction. As they went from sight, he started his engine and followed them up the hill. Their target lived three doors along to the right. Pete turned left, found a space a few cars along and backed into it, lining his side-mirror up along the pavement. Then he switched off the engine and settled in to wait.
With two of the car’s side-windows wound slightly down to avoid misting up, it did not take long for the inside of the car to get as bitterly cold as the outside. Pete was glad of the heavy police-issue coat he was wearing. His hands were clad in thick gloves, but still the cold seeped into him as he sat there, waiting for Petrosyan to emerge, not even certain that he would.
He remembered Annie, the previous morning, running from the car to meet her friends, bundled up in a thick coat, black gloves and a black wool hat with a pale, furry bobble on top, winter tights under a skirt that, even at ten years old, she was starting to wear too damn short for his liking. But at least she was warm.
He grunted. At this moment, she’d still be tucked up in bed, fast asleep.
What about her brother?
Where was he, and what was he doing? What was he wearing on this icy morning? Was he indoors somewhere? God, I hope so, Pete thought. The idea of him hunched, shivering, in some freezing corner of the city, probably with no winter coat, never mind a hat or gloves or enough to eat, no shelter except perhaps from the rain – And thank God it’s not doing that – made his stomach twist and his teeth clamp together in anguish.
Wherever the boy was, Pete hoped he was at least warm enough. Cold like this could kill a person, especially if they were undernourished and vulnerable. He sucked air in through a throat clogged by emotion.
He shook his head, refusing to allow the thought to go any further. Come on, Pete. Focus. But there was still no activity to be seen in his side-mirror. The street was quiet and still.
He caught a flicker of movement, but it was just a dark cat jumping up onto the wall of the house beyond where the Armenian – if he even was one – was living. As he watched, it jumped down onto the footpath and disappeared under a car. Pete was briefly tempted to switch his gaze to the other mirror, to see it emerge on the road, but resisted. He had to stay alert. This whole operation depended on his spotting Petrosyan as soon as he came out.
He waited a while longer, then checked his watch again. Almost seven. He shivered. Maybe he should start the car and close the windows, just for five minutes, warm himself up a bit . . .
It was incredibly tempting. But, if Petrosyan came out, heard the engine running and saw no one . . . People around here wouldn’t leave a car running unattended to defrost the windscreen. It was dodgy enough where Pete lived but here, on the rougher side of the river . . . No way.
He rubbed his gloved hands together briskly and wriggled his shoulders inside his coat.
Movement.
He stared at the side-mirror. A door swung open. A man stepped out, breath pluming, closed the door behind him and headed for the pavement. Stocky and bald, his head gleaming under the street lights. His distinctive, thick leather jacket matched the description Dave had provided to a T.
Petrosyan.
He lifted his radio. ‘Heads up, people. Engines off. Our man’s on the move.’
The target started towards him along the narrow pavement.
‘Coming this way,’ Pete said quietly into the radio. ‘Jane, be alert. Dave, come on round. Gently does it. No rush.’ He paused, waiting. Watching from low in the seat, hidden by the headrest.
Petrosyan turned at the junction.
‘Jane, target approaching you.’
‘Got him, boss.’
‘Dave, you’re up.’
‘Roger that.’
The man in the leather jacket had now gone from Pete’s view. He knew that Jane would have eyes on him until he turned another corner or, if not, for a good two hundred yards, so there was no rush for Dave to take up the pursuit.
Behind him, headlights showed, coming up around the junction beyond the target house as Dick Feeney drove slowly up into view.
‘Steady, Dick. Jane’s got him for a minute or two unless she says different.’
‘He’s in sight,’ she confirmed. Then, ‘Hang on. He’s gone behind a van.’ A pause. ‘There. He’s crossing over. Continuing down the street.’
They waited.
Then the radio hissed again. ‘He’s turned. Right, right, right. Gone from view.’
‘OK, Dick. Drive straight down the hill. Try and spot him on the way past the road he’s turned into, but don’t slow down. I’ll go down the next one along and come in from the far end so he can’t suspect anything.’
‘Affirmative.’
Pete saw the headlights of Feeney’s car moving towards him in his mirror as he switched on the ignition. ‘Which cross-street, Jane?’
‘Third one down from here. That’s the third one.’
‘Roger that.’ He pulled out as Dick turned down towards Jane’s position, heading further along the road to take the next left. He was approaching the second cross-street down the hill when the radio crackled again.
‘Target sighted,’ said Dave. ‘Right side of the street, still walking.’
Pete
