Mr Jackson of No.9 Holroyd Row, Ashfordly was about to get into bed. He slept at the back of the house having done this since his wife had died in the front bedroom about six months previous.
It was eleven o'clock and he pulled his curtains closed – then stopped. His house backed onto the rear of the houses in Grove Terrace. The houses were separated at the back by an alleyway or ginnel. This ginnel ran the length of the rows of houses forming a T junction at either end. This T junction allowed you access back onto either Holroyd Row or Grove Terrace.
Mr Jackson knew the elderly lady who had lived on Grove Terrace in the house directly opposite his had died recently. So recently in fact that her house had not been cleared yet. He also knew no one was living in it. Yet as he stood and watched he could see a tiny, moving beam of light in the little house opposite. A torch light he thought. Flicking across the kitchen, then again in the bedroom upstairs.
He knew it wasn't right and he went downstairs to phone the police. Then he went back upstairs to his bedroom again to watch for any more movement. Now he noticed that at the back of the house the sash window had been lifted and was ajar. No doubt left like that so the intruders could make a fast getaway he thought grimly.
He went back downstairs as there was a loud, authoritative knock on his front door. Police, he thought relieved. He opened the door.
Nick Rowan and Phil Bellamy had got the call and were standing on Mr Jackson's step. "You phoned the police, sir?" Nick said to him.
"Aye. Come up here and see what I'm seein'. Think someone's broken into t' house opposite. Its empty, see. The old lady what lived there, she died a few days ago, like."
The two officers glanced at each other then did as they were told and followed Mr Jackson upstairs. Nick glanced at Phil again as they saw the tiny dancing beams of light; the open sash.
"Right, sir, you can leave this to us," Nick said. "Can we use your back door, sir?"
Mr Jackson went down with them and let them out through his back door. The timing was spectacular. As Nick and Phil let themselves out through Mr Jackson's back gate the intruders (for in fact there were two, not one) were coming out through the rear gate opposite. They were dressed in dark clothing, faces half covered by turning up their coats, and one was carrying a small bag.
As Phil shouted, "Police, stop!" the one carrying the bag dropped it and shouted, "Coppers, leg it!"
They turned to run down the ginnel but one lad slipped and fell. Nick jumped over him shouting, "Get him Phil, I'll get the other one!" for the other intruder was tearing off down the ginnel.
Phil pounced on the first lad, who actually gave him no trouble at all, handcuffed and arrested him. Mr Jackson had come out into his yard, watching.
"Can I bring him through your house Mr Jackson to get to the car?" Phil asked.
"Aye, of course," the man said standing well back. "Shall I get that bag they've dropped?"
"No thank you sir, if you can leave it there, we'll get it in a minute," Phil said glancing over his shoulder but he could not see Nick or his quarry – the lad had got to the end of the ginnel and turned right as if to run onto Holroyd Row.
Nick had seen the youth turn right and fully expected he would keep running onto the Row. So he did not slacken his pace and hurtled round the corner.
The lad had not kept running. He had pulled up and was flush against the wall. He stuck out a booted foot and as Nick charged round the corner, he tripped the young constable very efficiently. Nick went down sprawling in the alley losing the protection of his police helmet as he went down.
Mrs Grant lived at No.1 Holroyd Row and her gate faced into the side alley not into the rear ginnel. She was in her early eighties and lived alone. She was out in her yard looking for her cat. She heard running feet on the other side of her wall. She tensed but bravely opened her gate just a fraction. She watched, invisible to anyone.
Nick Rowan had gone sprawling a few feet from her gate and had winded himself. All he saw was the lad he had been chasing put the boot in.
The first kick landed on the side of his head and instinctively Nick got his arm over his head and tucked his head down. He brought his knees up to protect his belly. The second two kicks landed in his chest. There was no respite no chance to get up. He had to take his chance. As the youth brought his boot down again Nick grabbed the lad's foot with one hand. He twisted it and the lad lost his balance. He went down hard and hit his head against the wall with a sickening crack. He slumped down heavily. And after that he did not move.
Mrs Grant watched, terrified, as she saw the policeman slowly get to his feet. He went to the lad's body and put two fingers on his neck. Then he straightened, stepped back and slid down the wall opposite to the lad's body sinking his head in his hands.
Mrs Grant quietly, silently, shut her gate and went back to her house. With shaking hands she locked her door and drew on the bolts. The cat was left out all night. She never gave him another thought.
