Illegal Action

32

After a day of clear sky, cloud had moved in, obscuring the moon and darkening the street. Just in from the corner of the mansion block, steps led down to a basement door where the building’s rubbish bins sat on a dank square of concrete, handy for their weekly collection on the kerbside.

She had watched the street for several nights but there had been no sign of a surveillance team. Now she stood halfway down the steps, able to see either way along the narrow street, lit dimly by old-fashioned street lamps. When anyone came past, she moved silently down the steps and crouched, hidden, behind the bins until they’d passed, then emerged to resume her vigil.

She wore a black hooded jacket, trainers and trousers with large pockets. From a distance, she could pass for a teenage boy, and she was being careful to ensure that no one saw her up close. What she’d planned with clinical calculation was intended to look random.

She heard the brisk sound of footsteps as someone turned the corner a hundred yards up the street. Venturing a quick look, she saw the woman approaching, walking quickly. There was no one else in sight. This time she didn’t withdraw and hide, but crouched motionless against the iron railings of the stairs, certain her dark clothes would allow her to stay undiscovered until it was too late to matter.

The footsteps grew closer, then closer still, their sound now vying with the thump thump of her own heartbeat as her adrenaline surged and her pulse quickened. She reached into her pocket as a faint elongated shadow appeared on the pavement, not three feet from where she crouched. The shadow passed and suddenly the woman was above her on the pavement, moving quickly, a handbag hanging from her left shoulder.

She sprang out of her crouch and took two quick steps until she was right behind her. With one large sweeping movement, she threw an arm around the woman’s neck, jerking her so suddenly to a halt that her heels momentarily lifted right off the ground. A classic choke hold. The woman started to cry out, but then the pressure from the encircling arm had her fighting for air instead.

In her left hand now she had the Stanley knife, its blade extended full out. “Don’t move,” she hissed in a low voice, pressing the point of the blade against the woman’s arm. “I won’t hurt you if you don’t move.”

She kept her right arm taut around the woman’s throat, and with her left reached for the handbag. In one quick movement she cut through its strap, and the bag fell with a thud to the ground. “Relax,” she said. “I’ve got what I wanted.”

But the woman stiffened in her grasp, twisting and hooking her left leg round her attacker’s ankle, throwing the threatening left arm momentarily against the railings. She just managed to regain her balance, surprised by the defensive move. The woman was a more difficult target than she’d expected. She must finish the job quickly. As she raised the Stanley knife to slit the woman’s throat, a voice shouted, “Hey! What are you doing? Stop! Stop!”

Distracted, she looked over her shoulder and saw a group of people coming down the street. Pub leavers or partygoers, there were at least six of them, and they must have seen the struggle. The shouts grew louder, and she could hear running feet coming towards her.

She must not get caught—that was the highest priority, higher than finishing this job. She twisted her hold on the woman’s throat and through sheer strength forced her to turn towards the steps going down to the rubbish bins. Suddenly releasing her grip, she shoved the woman hard and briefly watched as she stumbled, then fell facedown on the steps, landing with a crash against a metal dustbin.

She reached down, grabbed the handbag and ran, sprinting in her trainers, away from the voices coming nearer, running all the way down the street and around the corner, then along two more streets to the safety of her parked car. She opened the car door and stood for a moment, listening intently. Nothing. If anyone had given chase, they had given up. She quickly took off her jacket, threw it and the handbag on to the back seat, then got in, started the car and drove carefully but at speed until she reached Albert Bridge Road. As she crossed the bridge a police car came past her from the opposite direction, its lights flashing.

She would have more chances to take care of this woman, but she would only get caught once. She realised what a close call it had been.