The coach driver slammed his brakes on hard, throwing his passengers forward in their seats, but the bike kept on coming, and he braced himself for the inevitable crunch of metal on metal.
Brian took the full weight of the impact, his upper body smashed against the huge wheels of the coach, while the bike buckled beneath him. Micky was thrown on to the side of the road, his helmet crashing into the raised curb. He felt the visor splintering, cutting into his face, while his left arm twisted out of its socket with a sickening snapping sound.
The coach driver jumped down, shaking, his face ashen, saying over and over that there was nothing he could do.
‘The boy drove right at me!’
Traffic began to build up as people ran from their cars to see if they could help. A driver ran to Micky Tesco, who lay moaning, one hand clutched to his helmet, the blood running down onto his chest.
Bella was out of the car and running toward the coach. As she pulled up she could see, between the legs of the onlookers, the open carrier on the side of the crushed bike. She began pushing her way through.
Micky was now sitting up, the helmet being eased off his head. He could hear voices desperately shouting: ‘Ambulance! For Chrissake get an ambulance!’
He wiped the blood out of his eyes, his head beginning to clear. The pain in his shoulder was like a red-hot vice squeezing him. Then he saw the black girl — watched her reach down under the coach to where the bike had gone. No one seemed to see her do it — their eyes were riveted to the twisted metal and the crushed, lifeless body of Brian Fisk, everyone talking and gesticulating wildly.
A police siren wailed as a motorbike patrol rider arrived at the scene and began moving the traffic on, the jam now stretching almost to the park. Micky was up on his feet, shoving away the helping hands of the driver. He pushed through the pain as he staggered toward the girl.
Dolly was being waved on by the police officer. She could hear the siren of an approaching police car. Bella was now running back and Dolly inched the car forward. Bella jumped in and they slowly passed the policeman, the traffic ahead still moving at a snail’s pace.
‘I got ’em, I got ’em!’
Bella held out the jewel bag for Dolly to see, then felt the car door open beside her. Micky Tesco was jogging alongside her, hanging on to the door, his face covered in blood, eyes crazed. The traffic suddenly opened up and they were able to move faster. Tesco still ran alongside, screaming incoherently as the car picked up speed. He hung on for a moment, then fell, dragged along the ground for a few seconds before eventually releasing his hold.
Dolly and Bella were past Harrods now. Twisting round in her seat, Bella couldn’t make out what had happened to Micky through the cars crawling along behind them. All she could see was the flashing lights of an ambulance.
Bella held up a diamond necklace. She laughed, dangling it in front of Dolly’s face. ‘Look! We got them! We got them!’
Dolly’s voice was flat, expressionless. ‘Harry... they didn’t get him, I know it.’
The police motorbike was parked outside Harry’s lock-up, radio crackling. The doors opened and the officer walked out. He picked up the radio.
‘The place is empty.’
Greg was starting to get nervous. He’d started up the engine, even though there was no sight of the men. He had a feeling they weren’t coming and wondered what to do. Ray must have got it wrong. He had a moment of panic that he was in the wrong place, and although he’d checked it already five or six times, he took out the A — Z and checked yet again. While Greg was flicking through the pages, the unmarked police car pulled up directly behind him. The officer was at the driver’s door before Greg knew what was happening. He didn’t look much older than Greg.
‘Your friends aren’t coming, son. You might as well come on out. You’re nicked.’
Trudie caught a flight home from Sydney. This time was very different from her experience in first class. She was in economy with the baby on her knee and a very overweight man sitting next to her who had become intolerant as the child kicked and cried until Trudie was able to get a stewardess to heat up a bottle for him. Just the thought of the long flight ahead and the train journey to Devon filled her with trepidation. She had only £1,500 left.
It was a job no one liked to do — telling a parent or a relative about the death of a loved one. But why did they always have to give it to the female officer?
Janet Adam straightened her cap, walked up the path of Shirley Miller’s house and rang the bell. Behind her the officer in the car gave her a look of encouragement.
Thanks a lot, mate, she thought.
Dolly and Bella were about to pull up when they saw the car. Dolly took her foot off the brake and kept going, resisting the urge to watch the policewoman ringing Shirley’s doorbell. Dolly took the first left and stopped the car. For a moment neither woman could speak. Dolly was the first, her voice tight.
‘Maybe they’re just questioning her.’
Bella started panicking. ‘She’ll talk, Dolly, you know it. She couldn’t hold out, not Shirley.’
Dolly was clenching and unclenching her hands, trying desperately to think what their next move should be.
Bella was getting more and more hysterical by the second. ‘My clothes — everything — it’s all in the house. My bloody passport!’
Dolly went pale. ‘Is there anything there about me, where I’m staying, Bella? Bella, listen to me!’
Bella was crying now. ‘I can’t remember, Dolly.’
‘A bit of paper with my address?’
‘I don’t remember!’ A wrenching sob escaped her. ‘We’ve had it, Dolly. It’s over...’
Dolly took a deep breath, somehow finding the self-control to calm Bella down.
‘It’s going to be all right. We’ll go back to my flat and keep on calling Shirley until we get some kind of news — even call the police if we have to.’
‘They’ll pick us up, I know it, I know it.’
Dolly was exhausted. She couldn’t take any more. ‘Just shut up! We haven’t been caught yet and if you bloody pull yourself together we won’t be.’
She made a three-point turn and drove out of the side turning. The policewoman was standing by the patrol car now, leaning in. It looked ominously as if they were waiting for Bella and Dolly to return.
Micky Tesco had given the cab driver twenty-five quid — all he had on him.
‘I’ve been in a bike crash. Gotta get back to my place, call a doctor.’
The cabbie was worried about the blood still streaming from the cuts on Micky’s face.
‘You sure you don’t want to go to a hospital, mate? Looks like you need stitches on them cuts.’
Micky didn’t have the energy to argue. ‘Just take me home.’
He lay back in his seat, trying to fight off the waves of pain threatening to overwhelm him. He suddenly realized it would be crazy to let this cab driver take him to his own door; much better to get out before the flat. As he leaned forward, he could feel the dried blood sticking to his neck. He rapped on the glass.
‘Just drop me at the next corner, OK?’
The cab driver was just relieved to get the boy out of his cab. With the twenty-five quid in his hand, he inspected the back seat. It was covered in blood.
‘Shit.’
Micky limped off, keeping to the back streets as he threaded his way toward his flat. He didn’t think he was going to make it past the porter and up in the lift. His head was throbbing and his vision began to blur. The white-hot pain in his left arm was making him feel sick. He kept on seeing the girl, the black girl. He knew her, he was sure of it. His mind churned as he staggered down into the underground car park — then it came to him: it was the girl from the airport when he’d first met Harry Rawlins, the black girl at the airport. Harry Rawlins, Harry Rawlins — the name banged like a hammer in his brain. If the car was gone, he would know that Harry had cheated him, just like he had cheated everyone else.