Helen turned to Charlie.

‘Tell the others he’s making for the roof.’

As Charlie radioed this in, Helen ran up the fire escape, taking the steps two at a time. Spence had a head start on her, but carried considerably more weight than Helen and she was hopeful of hunting him down.

One flight, two, three, then finally Helen crested the fire escape, spilling out on to the gravel roof. Immediately she spotted Spence sprinting towards the far edge. She gave chase but he was thirty feet ahead and as he came to the edge of the roof, leapt from it, straining every sinew to get across the large gap that separated the pub from its nearest neighbour. He made the other side, but only just, his right foot sliding off the slippery ledge, threatening to unbalance him, before he righted himself and raced on.

Despite the forty-foot fall that awaited her if she misjudged the jump, Helen didn’t hesitate. The buildings round here were detached, flat-roofed commercial properties. If Spence was quick and lucky he could escape their net altogether via the rooftops. Helen launched herself across the divide, landing safely on the other side. But as she landed, she skidded on the scattered gravel, her legs giving out from underneath her. Feeling herself go, she wrenched her torso round, rolling swiftly and elegantly on the ground, before flipping back up on to her feet.

She was slowly gaining on Spence, those many hours spent busting her lungs round Southampton Common finally paying off. She was lean and agile, cresting the next gap with ease, landing safely on the other side. Spence was visibly tiring now – he was full of cheap lager and had been expecting an easy night – so Helen upped her speed.

Then suddenly Spence ground to a halt. Helen did likewise, keeping herself at a safe distance. She could see why Spence was hesitating. The next gap was wider – nearly ten feet – and he lacked the puff to be confident of making it. Slowly he turned. As he did so, she cast an eye over her shoulder. Charlie was a couple of properties back – Helen couldn’t rely on help from that quarter in time, so she would have to handle Spence alone.

As he stared at her, reeking anger, she pulled out her baton and extended it.

‘Well, that’s hardly a fair fight, is it?’

‘Needs must, Gary. Shall we call time on this one?’

‘Fuck you’ was the terse reply as Spence burst forward, trying to dodge past Helen, back in the direction of Charlie.

He had a nanosecond’s advantage, but Helen had been expecting this move. She lunged left to stop him, bringing her baton down hard on his kneecap. Spence yelped in pain, stumbling forward and into Helen’s shoulder, which was braced low against him. For a moment, he took off then landed flat and hard on the roof floor, the gravel scraping the skin off his cheeks. Helen was on top of him in a flash and before he could rise, she had her knee in his back and the cuffs on. As Spence swore and spat gravel from his bleeding lips, Helen afforded herself a brief smile.

‘I think it’s time we had a little chat, don’t you?’

27

‘So, how’s business?’

Helen was back in the interview suite at Southampton Central opposite a deeply hostile Gary Spence. He had been seen by a doctor, given time to shower and change and consult with his lawyer – but none of this had improved his mood. He scowled and swore at every opportunity – making a point of firing personal insults at Helen and DI Sanderson whenever he could.

‘You know this will go a lot easier if you just answer the questions, Gary,’ Helen continued. ‘How is the loan shark business?’

‘My client provides credit –’ his lawyer interjected, but Helen wasn’t in the mood to split hairs.

‘Whatever you want to call it,’ she interjected. ‘Is it treating you well?’

‘Keeps the wolf from the door,’ Spence eventually replied.

‘I’d say it’s more than that,’ Sanderson responded. ‘You’ve got a nice big house in Merry Oak. And rumour has it you’re in the market for a place in the New Forest. Business must be good.’

Spence just shrugged, then looked at his watch theatrically.

‘What happens when they don’t pay back what they owe you, Gary? When they can’t pay?’

‘My client will always attempt to renegotiate any problem loan, change the sums or intervals of payment if necessary –’

‘But if they default, then what? I’d like your client to answer that, not you, Ms Fielding.’

Spence’s brief said nothing, but Helen knew she’d antagonized her. She was a young and intelligent brief, keen to flex her muscles against a renowned DI. Helen only wished she’d found a more worthwhile cause on which to bestow her undoubted talents. Spence had four grams of cocaine on him when arrested. He swore blind that this was why he’d done a runner – but Helen wasn’t convinced.

‘They lose their collateral,’ Spence said evenly.

‘Meaning you take their car, their property –’

‘Whatever the money is secured against.’

‘And what about for smaller, unsecured loans? A few grand, ten maybe. What happens if they borrow that from you, then can’t – or won’t – pay it back?’

Spence shrugged – seeming to imply that such sums were beneath him.

‘What about Thomas Simms for example?’

‘Jesus Christ, is that what all this is about?’

‘He borrowed money from you and when he couldn’t pay it back, you threatened his family.’

‘Whoa, whoa. You’re going to have to rewind a bit there. Who says my client threatened the Simms family?’

It was offered aggressively, but Helen could see Fielding hadn’t been expecting this line of questioning and was rattled as a result.

‘Your client came to the door and told Karen Simms that if he had to come back again, she would regret it. Sounds pretty much like a threat to me, wouldn’t you say?’

‘That’s bullshit,’ Spence barked back, earning a silent but pointed look from his lawyer. But Spence didn’t seem to be care. ‘I never went near that bloody house,’ he continued, ‘and anybody who says I did is lying out their arse.’

‘We have the date when you visited – November 30th. Around nine p.m. apparently. What’s the betting that street cameras and your phone signal put you there around that time, Gary?’

For a moment, Spence said nothing.

‘Ok, maybe I went round there for a quick word,’ he offered finally, earning yet another look from his lawyer, ‘but I was looking for Thomas Simms. I never threatened no one.’

‘Of course not. You’re good as gold, aren’t you?’ DI Sanderson said, picking up the baton. ‘Not that you’d know it from your record. ABH, GBH, attempted murder –’

‘I was never convicted of that!’ Spence protested.

‘Lucky break then, because you did throw a live grenade into the property of one of your particularly troublesome debtors, didn’t you?’

‘Don’t answer that,’ Spence’s brief cut in.

‘And you’ve got a bit of form with fire, haven’t you?’ Helen persevered, keeping the pressure on.

‘A one-off mistake,’ Spence dead-batted in return.

‘Is that what you’d call it? I think you like to teach people who won’t pay a lesson,’ Helen continued. ‘I think you like people to know that no one, absolutely no one, gets away with ripping you off. Am I right?’

Spence said nothing in response. Neither did his lawyer.

‘The attack on the Simmses’ house was determined, organized and personal. Let me tell you what I think happened. I think you threatened Simms and when he didn’t pay you, you went back to his house. We’ve applied for a warrant to check your phone records – it won’t take long to find out where you were, Gary.’

Spence just scowled, so Helen carried on:

‘We know you’d had words with Bertrand Senior. Had you also lent money to Travell’s? Was this payback? A one-night spectacular to punish Thomas Simms? A warning to keep all your other debtors in line? I must say, Gary, I admire your style. You think big.’