Sean grabbed my arm and yanked me back against the fencing, still far stronger than I’d ever be. I rebounded as I hit. It knocked the breath out of me.
“Keep down,” he hissed.
Seconds later, I picked up the sound of running feet. A group of Asian boys pounded into view, armed with lengths of timber and baseball bats. One of them even carried what looked like a sword. They pounced on the one who’d fallen, dragging his lifeless form out into the street so the pack could get at him.
They were onto him like jackals then, thrashing and tearing. I tried for my feet again, but as suddenly as it had started, the beating stopped. They abandoned their attack with a few last, heartfelt kicks and retreated. The firestarter was left washed up on the pavement behind them, bleeding into the gutter.
It only took a moment before the reason for the rapid withdrawal became apparent, even from our screened location.
A line of well-drilled bodies pressed forwards, hiding behind makeshift shields and plastic dustbin lids. Despite the cast of the streetlights, I could see they were all white, teenage at best.
Behind them, another wave were lighting Molotovs and throwing them casually towards the enemy. Those without a cigarette lighter were lobbing bricks or bottles instead. The cacophony was unbelievable. It was a devastating barrage to endure, and the Asian gangs fell back in disarray in the face of it.
The newcomers advanced until they’d moved over and round the firestarter, paused for a moment, then backed away. When the piece of pavement where he’d been lying reappeared, he’d been gathered up and taken from it as though he’d never existed.
I glanced at Sean, found his eyes narrowed. He jerked his head to indicate we should leave, and I followed him silently back down the ginnel.
Madeleine was still waiting for us beside the burning police car. We didn’t speak again until we’d climbed into the Patrol.
“What the hell was going on back there?” I demanded, fighting off Friday’s ecstatic reaction to our safe return.
“A very pro operation,” Sean said, twisting in his seat. “They’re clearing everything of value, burning the evidence, and carrying out their wounded. It’s slick, you have to give them that.”
“You mean the whole thing’s been planned?” Madeleine asked when he’d quickly run through what we’d just seen. The disbelief was plain in her voice. “I can’t believe O’Bryan would engineer a riot just so they could rob a few houses.”
“But it’s not just a few,” I said, catching on. “It’s the whole estate, if they can get away with it. This isn’t just a battle, it’s a campaign.”
“We need to tell MacMillan what’s going on in here,” Madeleine said, reaching for her mobile phone.
We didn’t have a direct number for the Superintendent, so the best we could do was dial the main police station in town. Half the population must have been doing the same, because we consistently failed to get a connection.
After half a dozen tries, we gave up. “MacMillan’s got a helicopter up there,” Sean said. “He probably doesn’t need us to tell him what’s happening. We’ve got more important things to focus on, and we’re probably going to have to take the long way round now, so let’s move.”
Even being circumspect, we caught a by-blow of the violence. Turning a corner we almost ran down a small gang of Asian boys who were trying to mount an untidy rearguard action against the interlopers. Both sides reacted immediately to our arrival, turning their missiles onto the Patrol as though by prior agreement.
Madeleine let out a shriek as a petrol bomb shattered on the front bull bars, blocking our forward view in a sheet of flame. Without needing to be told, she slammed the Nissan into reverse and shot backwards. She managed to largely ignore the lump of rockery stone that cartwheeled across the corner of the bonnet, striking the paint to the bone.
Suddenly, we seemed to be surrounded by running figures on all sides. A feral face appeared outside the side window opposite me, making me gasp. Friday hurled himself towards it, all teeth and hackles, and the face dropped away. There were slobber marks left behind on the glass, but I couldn’t tell who’d made them.
Before, the Patrol had made me feel enclosed, protected, but now it was a small steel trap, airless and contracting. My heart seemed to be trying to trampoline its way out of my chest. I bore down hard on the sheer panic that gripped my gut. If they caught us there wasn’t any line of dustbin lid-wielding comrades to come and rescue us. They would hack us to pieces.
Madeleine kept going backwards for several hundred metres with her foot hard down, ignoring the screaming protests of the twin differentials. She steered with one hand, looking back over her shoulder as she swerved wildly down the obstacle-strewn street, jolting over debris and detritus.
I didn’t see anyone standing in our way, but if they were Madeleine didn’t alter course to avoid them. It was best not to look. I expected the tyres to burst at any moment, send us slithering out of control, but somehow they held.
“OK, OK,” Sean shouted. “We’re clear.”
She lifted her foot off the accelerator jerkily. In the low gear the engine braking effect was sharp and severe, throwing us back in our seats. The dog half-fell into my lap, and wasn’t careful which bits of me he trampled on to regain his footing.
Once we’d stopped, Madeleine slumped forwards over the wheel, her whole body shuddering. Sean reached out, stroked her hair. She sat up quickly then, scrubbing at her eyes with an angry fist. “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing out a tight, bright smile. “I’m letting you down.”
“You’re not,” he said, firm, but gentle. “You’re doing great, Mad. Don’t give up on us now.”
She flicked her eyes in my direction, as though expecting to see scorn, but I didn’t have any to give her. Although she’d had a terrifying situation thrown at her, she hadn’t frozen. You couldn’t ask for more than that from anyone.
“Courage isn’t about not being scared,” I said. “It’s about overcoming it.”
She looked surprised for a moment, then nodded and squared her shoulders.
“OK,” she said, back on level ground. “I’m OK. Let’s go.”
***
We detoured round the trouble-spot through one of the kiddies’ playgrounds, sideswiping a slide in the darkness and splintering the fragile glass fibre. I pushed away the pang of guilt.
The short cut brought us out close to our target, on the far side of Kirby Street and further out towards the darkened No Man’s Land between the estates. The lights of Copthorne blazed in the near distance.
Sean eyed the black outlines of the last remaining line of terraced houses in the centre with relief.
“At least they haven’t torched them yet,” he said.
The row in front of our destination had long since collapsed. The slate had gone to thieves, the glass to vandals. Then the rain had picked away at the mortar between the rubble-filled stone walls until, at last, the houses had simply tumbled into their own cellars.
The weeds and the brambles had whipped up to hold what was left fast to the ground, as if they were afraid it would be taken from them, if they let go.
We couldn’t get right up to the front of the row where we suspected Roger had been stashed. Madeleine nosed the Patrol to a careful halt as close as she could among the fallen masonry and dead timber, and cut the engine.
We all climbed out, feeling the bite of the night air. Sean handed Madeleine the body armour we’d brought for Roger, and picked up a big Maglite.
Friday jumped down and lifted his head, blinking as he sampled the breeze, as if overwhelmed by the barrage of scents that assaulted him. He circled aimlessly round the Patrol, seeming interested in everything. Pauline had said he was a good tracker, but it was difficult to know if he was onto something.
The fronts of the houses had been boarded up with sheets of de-laminating plywood, and although we walked quickly down the row with the torch, none of them looked to have been recently disturbed.
“We’ll try the back,” Sean said. “We’ll be here all night if we have to fight our way into every one from this side.”
The rear of the houses could be reached down what had once been an alleyway, with cobbles underfoot, and a gully drain down the centre. The mirror-image row that would have backed onto it was no more than a
