Had someone come in or left?
She placed her ear against the back of the door and listened carefully, but all she heard was silence. Running into the lounge, which overlooked the street, Mel cautiously peeled back the curtain and checked outside. The boy who had introduced himself as Rodney was placing a duffle bag into the boot of his red hatchback. As she watched, he stood up and started back towards the house, but then he suddenly stopped and looked straight up in her direction.
Her breath catching in her throat, Mel immediately dropped the curtain and flung herself against the wall. The lights in the lounge were off, but the TV was playing and it was possible the flickering picture had caught his eye.
Less than six feet away, Dave was fast asleep on the couch, oblivious to the dilemma that she now found herself in.
Mel ran back to the door and listened again, half afraid that Rodney had seen her and was about to come charging up the stairs, demanding to know why she had been spying on him. What would she say if he asked? Her mind had gone completely blank, and for the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound suspicious.
Thankfully, no one came up the stairs, and after a minute of indecision, she decided to take another look outside, in case Rodney had gone back into the street without her noticing.
As she stepped away from the door, she heard movement down below. There were muffled voices too, three of them. Mel listened until the street door slammed and it went quiet again, and then she sprinted back into the lounge, turning the TV off as she flitted past it. Breathing heavily, she peeked out of the window for a second time.
“Mel…?” a groggy voice called out from behind.
“Shhh!” she hissed without looking around.
“What’s going on?” Dave asked, full of cold.
She heard him lumbering to his feet.
“Stay there,” she whispered, but he ignored her.
Typical.
Dave yelped as he stubbed a toe on the leg of the coffee table. “Why is it so dark?” he said angrily.
When he started fumbling around awkwardly, Mel realised that he was groping for the light switch.
“Leave the lights off,” she growled.
“But I can’t see a bloody thing,” he complained, sounding all bunged up.
“David, do NOT turn on that light,” she ordered in the scary voice that she reserved for when he’d given her the raging hump.
Dave froze on the spot. With a low moan that signalled his surrender, he stumbled across the room – stubbing his toe on the coffee table leg once again.
“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded, leaning down to rub his foot.
“You know the gangster who murdered the policeman at work and then hijacked the HEMS helicopter?”
Dave nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve just found out that the bastard’s been staying in the ground floor flat since he escaped, and him and three of his dodgy mates have just left the building.”
“You’re shitting me?” Dave said, incredulously.
“No, David. I’m not.” It was too dark for him to see the withering look she fired in his direction but there was no mistaking the irritation in her voice.
“Show me,” he said, excited. In his usual clumsy fashion, he pulled the curtains wide open and thrust his big hairy face up against the window.
“My God,” Mel blurted out, pulling him away from the window. “Do you want to get us both killed?”
“Easy princess,” Dave soothed, holding up his big hands to calm her. “It’s okay, they’ve already driven off.”
Mel cursed, pushed him aside and pushed opened the window, letting cold air into the cosy room. She leaned as far out as she could, cursing under her breath.
“What are you doing?” Dave asked, mystified by her actions.
When Mel closed the window, she turned on him with a face like thunder. “I didn’t even get the index thanks to your bloody interference.”
◆◆◆
By the time the two unmarked murder squad cars arrived at Mel’s flat, the suspects had long since gone. The 999 call had come out as they were travelling from Arbour Square to Star Lane to start searching for the Rover. Local uniforms were already on scene, and the surrounding area had been flooded by units hunting for Winston and his associates.
“Do you want me to boot the downstairs flat’s door in, skipper?” the driver of the RT car asked Charlie White.
The Scotsman shook his head. “No, but thanks for the offer.”
Leaving an officer to guard the door, he trotted up to Mel’s flat to take a statement from her. She was sitting on the sofa next to a red-nosed bear of a man who had a box of tissues on his lap and was coughing and spluttering like he was about to die.
“Got a wee cold then, have you?” he asked, keeping as far away as possible.
Dave nodded, looking sorry for himself. “Flu,” he said miserably.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Mel asked, standing up.
“Aye, that’d be lovely,” White said. “Perhaps we could go into the kitchen and leave your hubby and his germs in peace,” he suggested.
Mel led him into the flat’s cramped kitchen and switched the kettle on. “I can only do instant, I’m afraid,” she told him, pulling three mugs from a cupboard above her head.
“That’ll be fine,” he said with a warm smile. “I gather you met my boss, Mr Dillon, at the hospital on Monday. Sounds like you went through a bit of an ordeal, what with walking in on the killers and all.”
Mel shuddered at the memory of being chased along the corridor by the fearful bald-headed man. “It was a little harrowing,” she admitted.
When someone from the murder squad had rung on Tuesday morning to inform her that Heston had died from his injuries, she had experienced a frisson of guilty pleasure; at least he would never be able to terrorise anyone else the way he had her.
“Forgive me for asking,” White said, “but are you one hundred percent sure the man you
