The pub door suddenly swung open and a crowd of Roach family and other gang members came rushing out. A finger pointed up in his direction, and every available body began charging across the road towards him. Ross lined up the rifle for the last time, not aiming at Roach’s forehead to end his agony, but a few inches lower. The third bullet struck him just above his Adam’s apple, passed right through his neck and ended up embedded in the pub’s wall.
Ross looked over the side of the building to see lights appearing in the windows of the flats below. He was interested only in one particular flat and moments later he was rewarded.
He placed the rifle next to the three spent cartridges, turned, and took a deep breath before running flat out across the roof and once again launching himself into the air. This time he flew even higher than before, but then he was no longer carrying a rifle. He landed safely, rolled over and was quickly back on his feet. As he made his way to the far corner of the building, he could hear a siren in the distance. He began the long climb down, always slower and more challenging than climbing up, as any mountaineer will tell you.
When his feet touched the ground, he jogged back towards the alley where he retrieved his hat and greatcoat from the pram and pulled on his tea-cosy hat. He’d just reached the end of the alley when he heard voices close by. He continued heading towards the battlefield, a risk, but he couldn’t afford the owners of the voices, whichever side they were on, to think he was running away from the scene. One of them slowed down as they passed him, hurled the pram onto its side and took a cursory look at its contents before he ran on. But then, he no longer had anything to hide.
After he’d thrown everything back into the pram, Ross continued walking towards the pub. There was no longer a demarcation zone. It was all-out war.
The first squad car screeched to a halt outside the Plumber’s Arms, and within moments the street was swarming with armed police in protective gear and carrying riot shields. They began rounding up members of both gangs before hurling them into the nearest Black Maria.
He couldn’t resist a smile when he saw the choirboy standing outside the pub, directing operations. He walked straight past him, and wouldn’t have looked back had he not heard the thud of a body landing in the middle of the road behind him. His only mistake.
CHAPTER 24
ALTHOUGH HE HADN’T GONE TO bed until after two that morning, Ross was up again by five, as he had an appointment with Jimmy the dip. Not that the dip was aware that a police inspector from Scotland Yard would be joining him for breakfast.
Ross took a long, cold shower, washed his hair and, with the help of a razor, removed four days of non-designer stubble. He checked his watch, confident he could be at the Putney Bridge Café long before Jimmy turned up. Once he’d completed his business with the old lag, he would make his way back across the bridge to keep an even more important appointment in Chelsea.
The one thing Ross knew about the dip, other than that he was unrivalled in his profession, was that he didn’t like to go to work on an empty stomach. Jimmy had served a couple of terms in the nick, but had managed to charm more than one jury into believing he was a victim of a deprived upbringing who, if given a chance, would mend his ways and lead a new life. He would have spent far longer in prison had those same juries been made aware of his past criminal record, but the British have always believed in fair play, and giving a chap the benefit of the doubt.
Ross turned up at the café just before seven, ordered a black coffee and sat on a stool at the far end of the counter. The dip arrived just after seven thirty, took his usual place by the window and began to read the Sun.
Ross didn’t make his presence known until the waitress appeared carrying Jimmy’s daily plate of two fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes and hash browns. It was clear that Jimmy would have agreed with Somerset Maugham’s observation that ‘To eat well in England you should have breakfast three times a day.’ Not that Jimmy had ever heard of Somerset Maugham.
‘To what do I owe this honour, Inspector?’ asked Jimmy nervously, when Ross sat down opposite him. ‘You’re not going to find anything incriminating on me at this time in the morning.’
‘I need your help, Jimmy.’
‘I’m not an informer. Never have been, never will be. Not my style.’
‘I’m no longer in the force,’ said Ross. ‘I’ve quit.’
Jimmy still looked doubtful, until Ross took a roll of banknotes out of his pocket and placed them in the middle of the table.