Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

wondered whether she owed it to her mother, as much as to herself, to find the stranger who had given birth to her.

CHAPTER 62
     
    C harlie hesitated as he reached the estate. It was already dark and he never knew when or where they might be waiting for him. His main advantages were that he was a sprinter, and he wasn’t worth the effort of chasing. There was nothing on him worth nicking. They already had his phone and he never had more than a couple of quid which they were happy to take off him, but only if it was no trouble. If he didn’t get too close before they noticed him, he could usually escape. If not, they would rough him up a bit, jeering and twisting his arms, spitting and throwing the odd punch. But they were too thick, or too carefree, to conceal their presence. As soon as he was aware of them, loitering on a street corner or hanging about in one of the alleys between the blocks of flats, he would be off.

     
    His mum didn’t like it. She was always on at him, wanting to know who was in the gang that kept picking on him so she could complain to the school, or harangue the police about the violence on the streets. He assured her he had no idea who they were, so there was no point in reporting it. It was difficult enough keeping her out of it and she didn’t even know the extent of his problem. She thought he had lost his phone, as well as his new school bag. That had probably been a mistake, because she flatly refused to replace his phone, calling him irresponsible and a waste of space, and a host of other things besides.
    ‘You think I’m made of money?’ she’d screeched at him. ‘Do you know how much that phone cost?’
    ‘But Mum, I need a phone.’
    ‘Well life is full of disappointments, you little sod. Get your own phone.’
    He nearly told her he’d been mugged, but the truth would only set her off again, doing his head in with her questions.

     
    The problem with narrow alleys was that, once one of the gang pushed past him, he was trapped. They had caught him like that a couple of times. Since then he tended to go the long way round, walking along Hornsey Road until he could turn right and double back to Birnam Road where he lived. It was raining and he deliberated over whether to risk it. As he hesitated, a woman approached. He seized his chance and entered the estate right behind her. He had no idea if they were in there, skulking in the shadows, but he couldn’t smell cigarette smoke or hear their voices. Even if they were there, waiting silently, they would probably leave him alone with the woman walking in front of him. Safety in numbers, he thought. He began to hum under his breath.

     
    It was very quiet on the estate. Charlie’s trainers padded softly and the woman moved silently ahead of him. Her pace quickened as she entered an alley between the blocks. It crossed his mind that she might be afraid of him. The idea made him smile and he walked faster to keep up with her. In the half light he saw the woman glance anxiously over her shoulder and he felt a slight thrill. There was no longer any doubt about it. She was frightened of him. That could only mean one thing. She was expecting him to mug her. He glanced around. There was no one else in sight. Grinning, he trotted closer, eyeing the bag slung across her shoulder. If his mother refused to replace his phone, he would sort it himself. He should have thought of this before, it was so obvious.

     
    Catching up with her half way along the alley, he looked back over his shoulder. The place was deserted. With one short stride he reached her, grabbed hold of her bag and yanked it. It was unexpectedly heavy. The wide leather strap slipped off her shoulder and down her arm. But instead of letting go, the stupid cow clutched at the bag with both hands, jerking it out of his grasp. She didn’t turn round. He couldn’t see past her hunched shoulders but she seemed to be fumbling inside the bag. Close up he could see she was wearing a smart coat and her hair smelled of some poncy perfume that probably cost a bomb. With renewed vigour he grabbed at the strap of her bag. She must have a few quid in there, a decent phone and some feminine stuff he could wrap up and give his mother for Christmas.

     
    He tugged harder at the strap with one hand, at the same time giving her a smart shove between her shoulder blades to make her lose her footing. It wouldn’t be difficult to whip the strap from her shoulder as she struggled to