The two officers from the patrol car had run into the garden and then climbed over the wall into the alley. But by then the assailant had fled into the labyrinth of streets on this side of Balham High Road.

Had an accomplice been waiting around the corner in a car? Was that car now speeding away from the area?

Why the hell was Aidan lying on the floor with a bullet in him and not me?

An officer told me that a fast-response paramedic had arrived outside. Another knelt beside me and talked to Aidan, urging him to keep his eyes open while holding onto his hand.

A third officer leaned over me and said that units were converging on the area and could I give him a description of the assailant?

It wasn’t easy. My thoughts were swimming in feverish circles and I was desperately fearful that Aidan was losing too much blood. But I tried because I knew it was important. I closed my eyes and seized on the image again.

‘I saw a figure standing in the garden just beyond the patio,’ I said. ‘But only for a fraction of a second. There was a revolver and it was pointing at the window.’

‘What was he wearing?’ the officer pressed.

‘Something black, like a body suit or motorcycle leathers. And a hat. A woollen hat.’

‘And the face? Did you see the assailant’s face?’

I squinted in concentration, searching for definition in the smudge of flesh I’d seen beneath the hat.

And then it hit me and my eyes snapped open and I said, ‘I can’t be sure but I think … I think it might have been a woman.’

40

Rosa

She was lucky to be alive and she knew it. Watching those headlights bearing down on her had been like staring death in the face. She really hadn’t expected to survive.

But, miraculously, the car had skidded to a halt just inches from where Rosa was lying on the road.

She was battered and bruised, and the pain was beating through her body. But it would have been much worse if she’d landed on her head or face instead of her left shoulder.

It was the fourth time she had come off a bike in the nine years she’d been riding them, and once again it was down to her own recklessness. She should have seen the sports car coming from the left. She shouldn’t have jumped the red light. It had been careless. Stupid.

‘Are you all right, miss?’ a man asked. ‘Can you move?’

She was sure that she could so she went for it, rolling carefully onto her back and forcing herself to sit up. It hurt like hell and she had to stifle a cry. But it convinced her that no bones were broken.

‘Thank goodness you’re OK,’ the man said.