The Hawk Is Dead

103

Thursday 30 November 2023

As Rose started to fall, Grace lunged at her, somehow just managing to grab her legs below her knees. But his hands got barely any grip on the shiny material of her trousers, and slid down to her ankles. Then her trainers. Which were laced tightly.

She stopped with such a sharp jolt it almost pulled him over the top of the balustrade, and he bashed his chin painfully on the rough surface. In this position she was a dead weight, and he was holding her with all his strength. But she was pulling him over. He stared down in horror at the very long drop to the gravel path, way beneath them.

Suddenly he felt his feet leave the ground.

Oh shit, no.

He was going to fall.

The tails of his suit jacket flapped over his head and he heard the jangle of coins and other items tumbling out.

Is this how it ends? he wondered, bleakly, suddenly. Thoughts were flashing through his mind. Not that long ago I said goodbye to my first-born son for ever, and now this. Never see my family again.

An instant later he felt hands, like iron clamps, gripping each of his legs and the reassuring voice of Glenn Branson. ‘Gotcha!’

Way below he saw three people walking along, all in hard hats, one holding a clipboard. Totally oblivious to him above them.

The woman was kicking out, struggling like a hooked fish, trying to break free of his own grip. And her weight felt like it was pulling his arms out of their sockets.

He shot a glance up, just as the wind blew his jacket tail clear, and saw Glenn Branson peering anxiously down at him, leaning over the balustrade with a burly officer either side of him doing the same.

‘You’re a heavy bastard, aren’t you?’ Branson said.

‘This is probably not a good time for me to argue with you,’ Grace replied, feeling sick with relief as the strain of Rose Cadoret was relieved by the RaSPs.

Branson hauled him up and over the balustrade and back onto the roof. He stood giddily for some moments, swaying as the blood rushed from his head, and his colleague gripped his arm firmly to stop him from falling.

Grace saw the third officer had Rose on the ground, and was cuffing her hands behind her back.

‘You bastards!’ she shouted. ‘You know how much that hurts?’

The officer hauled her to her feet, keeping a tight hold on her, and she stood, arched, glaring at them all.

Grace took some deep breaths then looked directly at her. ‘As I was saying before we got interrupted a little earlier, Rosemary Catherine Cadoret, I’m arresting you on suspicion of theft and on suspicion of conspiracy to murder. I’m now adding to that assaulting two police officers and attempting to murder another police officer. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Your arrest is necessary to prevent injury or harm to a person, prevent your disappearance, and for the prompt and effective investigation of your conduct in this matter.’

‘I want to say something,’ she retorted, sullenly.

‘Go ahead,’ Grace said.

‘It’s not me you want, Detective Superintendent Grace. I’m just a minion. It’s Sir Tommy. He’s the man you want. He’s the mastermind. He just forced us into this, Jon Smoke and me, because he had some evidence from Afghanistan on us.’

‘Yes, I had come to the same conclusion,’ Grace replied.

‘Go talk to him. If you can catch him in time.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He may already have gone.’

‘Gone where?’

She said nothing.

‘Gone where, Rose?’

She gave him that feral look again. ‘You’re the detective. You figure it out.’