Page 65 of The Scene of the Crime

‘I’m five feet eleven. You also mentioned that he was bald.’

‘What, that wee Anderson fellow?’

‘No, Liam.’

‘That’s because he has alopecia. The poor boy was involved in a hit-and-run accident. He told me it happened a few years ago, and he nearly died . . . that’s why he lost all his hair.’

‘Is that including his eyebrows?’ Wood asked.

‘Oh, yes.’ Chapman suddenly got a call over the radio.

‘Obo van to Chapman, receiving over . . .’ Chapman acknowledged the call and told them to go ahead. ‘Possible male target on foot approaching flats. Wearing a black jacket, blue jeans, dark trainers and carrying a backpack. Height and age fit but unable to see head as wearing a black cap, over . . .’

‘Has he got eyebrows?’ Chapman asked.

‘What?’ the officer replied, clearly confused.

‘The target suffers from alopecia and doesn’t have eyebrows.’

‘Hang on, we need him to get closer to us, over . . .’

Wood looked out the window with his binoculars and saw the target. ‘Is that Liam approaching the building?’ he asked Iris.

‘I can’t tell from up here,’ she said. Wood handed her the binoculars. As she peered through them, Chapman got a reply from the observation van, saying that the target didn’t appear to have eyebrows.

‘Yes, that’s Liam,’ Iris said, handing back the binoculars.

The officer in the van radioed that the target was entering the building. Chapman told everyone to wait for his signal, then went to the door to look through the spy hole. He waited, then watched as the lift doors opened and Liam exited the lift. As he approached his flat door, he stopped and looked at it. Chapman assumed he had noticed the scrape-marks on the door from where they forced entry earlier.

‘Go, go, go!’ Chapman shouted over the radio.

‘Please don’t hurt him!’ Iris shouted as Chapman, followed by Wood, exited the flat and entered the hallway.

‘Police, stay where you are!’ Chapman shouted as the officer in Liam’s flat came out.

Liam bolted for the fire escape, and Chapman grabbed his coat, but he slipped out of it and ran down the stairs.

‘Get after him,’ Chapman shouted at the two younger officers, who he knew would be a lot quicker and fitter than he was. ‘All units, target moving down the fire escape,’ Chapman said on theradio as he ran down after them. The observation van officers told him that the front and back entrances to the flats were covered.

Liam descended to the ground floor and, seeing the two officers outside, turned back towards the fire escape well.

‘Target in lobby, now heading towards rear exit,’ an officer said over the radio.

One of the officers outside the rear exit stood with his back up against the wall by the fire exit door. As Liam rushed out to escape his pursuers, he didn’t see the officer stick his foot out. Liam stumbled forward, then fell and hit the tarmac face first, cutting his lip and forehead open. An officer held Liam on the ground while the other forced his hand behind his back and handcuffed him. Once he was restrained, they lifted him to his feet. An out-of-breath Chapman joined them. He saw Liam’s face was covered in blood.

‘What happened?’

‘He tripped over his own feet,’ the detective replied.

Liam spat blood from his mouth. ‘You deliberately tripped me up. I could have broken my neck.’

‘No, you just couldn’t get away fast enough,’ the detective replied.

‘What’s your name, son?’ Chapman asked. ‘It’s Liam, isn’t it, and you live in Winston’s flat on the fourteenth floor.’

‘Fuck off, I ain’t done nothing wrong.’

‘Then why did you do a runner?’