A few hours later Wimbledon Common was scattered with undercover officers disguised as dog-walkers, joggers, litter-pickers, duck-feeders, young lovers... all lining the pathways just waiting for a red mobility scooter to trundle past. They communicated back and forth for hours as Panagos weaved around the Common, then out into the streets, then back into the Common. After four hours, it became clear that Panagos had his sights set on one particular house on Parkside, just along from the private hospitaclass="underline" by early evening, the owners of this property were making no secret of packing their BMW with small suitcases for a weekend away. As expected, Panagos made his way back to his Merc parked on Copse Hill, he folded his scooter and placed it in the boot, then got into his car, made light work of a packed lunch and took a nap.
As night fell, Panagos, dressed in dark clothes and carrying a rucksack, set off again through the Common back towards Parkside, strolling unhurriedly as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
After arriving at his destination, Panagos jimmied the skylight in the loft conversion and made his way downstairs. On the landing, a cat’s cradle was hooked over a radiator and, as he stroked the tabby in passing, it stretched and purred loudly. By torchlight, Panagos made his way into the hallway and towards the front door, where the alarm box was situated. He got his toolkit from his pocket and... suddenly the hall light flicked on.
Stanford stood tall in the kitchen doorway, PC McGinty at his shoulder.
A key opened the front door and Jack stood in the porch, flanked by four more officers. Panagos froze in silent shock for a second, then, with a banshee wail, he dipped his head and charged at Jack. Panagos’s broad shoulder hit Jack in the ribcage, lifted him off the ground and out into the front garden, knocking the four officers over like skittles. Panagos dumped Jack hard onto the lawn, flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The four officers scrabbled onto Panagos, grabbing any moving limb and holding it to the ground. Panagos roared and fought as the officers held on for dear life, making no attempt to cuff him until he’d completely run out of steam.
Upstairs lights from neighbouring houses flicked on and faces appeared at windows. As Panagos finally slowed to a stop and sank back onto the grass panting for breath, Jack crawled out from underneath the scrum of sweaty bodies. McGinty stepped forwards and, using two sets of handcuffs to stretch across Panagos’s broad back, he finally secured their man.
Stanford walked calmly past the mayhem, towards Mr Liam Newark-Bentley, the owner of the property, who was now standing in the middle of the street. He and his family had not gone away for the weekend as planned; they’d got as far as the end of their street before being pulled over by Stanford, who’d explained the situation. Newark-Bentley had quickly agreed that the Met could use his house as bait, as long as not one single carpet fibre was left out of place. ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ Stanford now said politely. ‘We’re grateful to you for agreeing to allow us to use your home like this. The skylight will be fixed now. If you’re happy to stay in the hotel we’ve provided, just for tonight, you’ll be able to come back tomorrow.’
And then Newark-Bentley said those words that Stanford had waited five years to hear. ‘We’re very happy to help, DS Stanford. And thank you for keeping us safe. You have a very difficult job.’
On the periphery of the action, Mike got out of an area car and walked towards Jack, who was still seated on Newark-Bentley’s front lawn trying to breathe. ‘Well done, Jack. I love the way you distracted him so the uniforms could pounce.’
Jack held his ribs as he squeezed out the words, ‘Fuck off, Mike,’ then Mike’s hand reached down and dragged Jack to his feet. By the time Jack was fully upright, Stanford had joined them.
‘PC McGinty, read him his rights,’ Stanford instructed. The look of excitement on McGinty’s face gave Stanford a far better feeling of satisfaction than he would have got if he’d taken the honour for himself. Mike beamed his approval and shook Stanford’s hand. Mike thanked them both for a great few days and for being allowed to briefly feel like a copper once again. ‘If you ever need my old brain again, you have my number. It’s been a pleasure, boys.’ And, with that, Mike returned to the area car and was driven away.
Later that evening, the squad room was buzzing with the overlapping chatter of invigorated officers reliving their exciting evening and comparing scrapes and bruises. ‘Thank you, Jack.’ Stanford’s tone was sincere. Although he knew that Ridley had an inter-station duty to help when help was requested, he also knew that Jack’s input was above and beyond anything he’d expected. ‘DCI Ridley’s lucky to have you.’
Jack’s eyes twitched in pain as the adrenaline began to fade and his body started to complain about being slammed to the ground, then jumped on by four policemen. ‘Enjoy your victory, sir. It was hard-earned.’
Jack turned and, to a chorus of ‘’Night, sir,’ he headed home for a hot bath, a glass of wine and a cuddle with his beautiful, beached whale of a fiancée.
Chapter 2
Jack got home around nine. As he turned into the end of his street, he was still imagining the fantasy evening ahead of him: Penny would be out, Maggie would be in her pyjamas, the wine would be open, and the dinner would be in the oven ready for him to serve. He was exhausted from the obbo with Mike Haskin and Richard Stanford but also elated from their success and subsequent arrest of Panagos. Stanford would be dining out on that one for years to come.
This part of Twickenham was lovely compared to where their old flat had been in Teddington. They’d purchased the three-storey terraced house just under four months ago. It was a doer-upper. The kitchen, lounge and master bedroom had been the priority — these rooms were now painted plain white with cheap, mis-matched furniture that would ultimately be replaced when they’d had time to decide on the ‘look’ they wanted to go for. The second bedroom would slowly become a nursery but, for now, was nothing more than a pink-plastered box. The top floor had two bedrooms and one bathroom — this was his mother’s domain. She’d moved in with them at the old flat within weeks of Charlie’s death, as both Jack and Maggie were absolutely insistent that she was not going to live on her own. They initially assumed that, regardless of the love they had for her, Penny would be an added ‘burden’ — for want of a better word — but, in truth, she’d been the one to hold everything together.
Since moving to the Twickenham house, Penny had been a godsend. She stepped into Maggie’s life at exactly the moments when Jack wanted to step out — the nestbuilding, the conversations about pelvic floors and piles and sickness, the fear and trepidation about life after the baby was born. All of the things Jack would have been totally crap at, Penny was in her element. And when it came to the everyday stuff, Penny made Maggie’s life easier and better than Jack ever could — and being constantly occupied helped Penny to rally from the death of her beloved husband far more quickly than if she’d been allowed to wallow in some supervised-living accommodation, full of other old people with dead partners. She had a new generation to live for now and she was going to love the new baby with all of her heart. Penny likened waiting for the birth of Maggie’s baby to waiting for Jack to be handed over from Social Services all those years ago.