The Walking Dead

She walked a fourth or fifth time round the Ford Fiesta. She had left the yard at its wheel and they had done a short circuit round the side-roads off the main route to the motorway, and Avril Harris had not found fault. It was her finances that caused her to hesitate at this last hurdle. She was twenty-five years old, a nurse in A and E at Luton's main hospital where she earned a pittance for the responsibilities heaped on her, and her last car — with a hundred and fifty-one thousand on the clock — had died on her. No young woman in her right mind would come off night duty and rely on finding a taxi or getting a late bus across the town. The town at night was a battlefield of violence, and she did not need the local paper to tell her so: in A and E, on night duty, she fielded the victims. She had seen, from different dealers, four other cars but this Fiesta — seventy thousand miles done — priced at nine hundred pounds seemed the best value. It shone, the seats were clean, and she did not have her father there to check the tyres and pose better questions. She asked for a discount and saw the pain on the dealer's face as he offered it for eight fifty, 'final price — a give-away'. She rooted in her handbag for that amount in cash, and a half-full tank was thrown in. She signed the papers, got in and turned the ignition.

At the lights blocking the Dunstable Road, at the hospital turn-off, she had to pull up, and her new joy echoed with the report of the Fiesta's backfire. For a moment she was dazed by the intensity of the noise. Then there was an impatient hoot behind her because the lights had changed, and Avril Harris drove on, swung to the right and headed for A and E's staff parking area.

* * *

The team was in place and it waited, like a hunting pack for prey at a waterhole, for the business of court eighteen to be finished for the day.

With the collusion of Nathaniel Wilson, criminal solicitor, who had slipped away in the lunch adjournment with a description of the clothing worn by a single juror — as requested before the day's proceedings were under way — the prey was identified.

Three men on foot and the drivers of two mass-produced, unremarkable cars made up the strength of the team. The target was described as bearded, a little over average height, with longish, brown hair, grey flashes at the temples, wearing a green anorak, designer jeans that were probably imitation, bought off a market stall, and heavyweight leather sandals; he would have a navy blue rucksack carried on one shoulder. A piece of cake, couldn't be missed.

The Nobbler himself, Benny Edwards, was not with them. He would come on to the scene when a dossier of the target's identity had been fashioned, not before. He could rely on these men to fulfil the preparatory work because they were the best in this field. The services they provided, through Benny Edwards, were much sought after. He only employed the best, and his own reputation was supreme over his rivals'. The five men, whether on foot or at a car's wheel, had skills in the arts of surveillance that kept them on a par with any unit that might have been put on to the roads or pavements by the Serious Crime Directorate of the Metropolitan Police; those skills had been refreshed by the recruitment the previous year — a source of considerable pride to the Nobbler — of a detective sergeant from the SCD who had suffered problems with his claims, written down and signed for, on overtime sheets. The prime difference between Benny Edwards's men and the Directorate's was in communications. He used pay-as-you-go mobile phones that were ditched and changed usually after two days' use, three maximum, and they used complex networks of digitally enhanced radios that could not be broken into, but the difference in effectiveness was minimal. Where they were equals — the Nobbler's people and the Directorate's — was in street craft. His men could follow and track; they could put a target in a 'box', a 'trigger man' having initially identified him or her, and not be 'burned'. Never, not once, had men paid by Benny Edwards been spotted while walking or driving as a tail.

When court eighteen finished for the day, when Mr Justice Herbert's clerk had yelled, 'All rise', and the jurors were led back to their room to shrug on their coats, the solicitor would hurry into the Snaresbrook corridor and dial a number, let it ring four times, then cut the connection, unanswered.

The team, activated, would follow wherever the target led them.

* * *