He strode through the door, stepping round the small single bed to get to the window. It was dark inside, but there was enough illumination from outside for him to navigate.

The distance from the upstairs window to the street gave Hale a little more security. But not much. The range was still fine for a half-decent marksman. Hale had to assume that Hirst was better than that.

He jerked his head from behind the wall, just for a second. Long enough to get his bearings, short enough to make a clean shot unlikely. It told him little but enough; where the marked police car was, relative to his own position.

Hale slid the full length of his body to the floor, feeling the thin carpet against his fingers. He could smell it as it came close to his face. Clean, but old. It again aroused his pity for the life that Hirst had left for Jessica. For Tina.

Not even a life, in fact. Just a bare existence.

Such thoughts were no help now and so he shook them off, instead concentrating on the job at hand. He crawled to the far end of the window. Once there he slowly lifted his head, so it was just underneath the window ledge. Then he positioned himself where the police car would be directly ahead once he left cover. He knew he could risk just moments. He did not waste a single one.

Hale had positioned himself perfectly. His eyes fixed on the front of the police car the instant his head was raised. Milliseconds later and he saw what he needed to know. What could only be the body of Jim Durham, slumped to his left across the motionless form of his colleague.

‘Fu—’ Before Hale completed the word, the same jackhammer sound of compressed pistol fire assaulted his ear, twice in quick succession.

The first beat sent Hale diving for cover. The second told him he was still alive. Instinct made Hale search himself for injury. It took just an instant to confirm that there were none.

Hale exhaled in relief. He almost smiled, but the flicker of his mouth was interrupted by two realisations. The first concerned the bedroom window.

Two shots, Hale thought. Two shots and the window’s still there. How the hell did he miss?

If the first thought had banished Hale’s adrenaline and replaced it with confusion, the second brought that adrenaline flooding back.

The shots were louder.

Hale had not moved so quickly in years. The last two shots had come from inside the house. He realised that now. Two shots. Two officers down. The third – the officer outside the back door – most likely taken out silently.

That left Jessica, alone and at the mercy of Karl Hirst. The thought fuelled Hale to an almost superhuman physical effort. It also clouded his judgement.

Hale did not have to question if the next shot – so much closer and therefore so much louder than the others – had hit him. The explosion of blood, bone and ligament at his right knee was his answer.