The mews was about five hundred metres away, well within the range of the rifle Slack had provided. Through the telescopic lens it would look almost close enough to touch.

Rosa was an expert marksman, having acquired her sniper skills over many years. She’d killed eleven people back in Mexico using a rifle from a distance, including two politicians and three senior police officers. And she was proud of the fact that she had never missed a shot.

The window opened only about six inches, presumably to stop guests from jumping out, but it was plenty wide enough for the barrel of the gun.

Having satisfied herself that she had chosen a great position, she went back to the bed and opened up the briefcase.

Minutes later she was sitting on a chair next to the window and the rifle was resting on the ledge. The television was on behind her, providing a running commentary on the hunt for the woman on the motorcycle.

Rosa stared down at Appleton Mews, ready to spring into action the moment a vehicle turned into it.

But she knew it was probably going to be a long wait.

49

Laura

I decided to go home just after 3pm. By that time Aidan was sitting up in bed and his parents were with him.

Two armed officers accompanied me and we travelled in a marked car.

It was only a short drive to the house and when we got there it was still a crime scene. Police vehicles were parked outside and a group of people, consisting mostly of our neighbours, were gathered on the pavement.

There were also a couple of press photographers who started taking pictures the moment I stepped out of the car.

I was greeted at the front door by Josh Miller, the crime scene manager, who I’d known for years. He’d been expecting me, and he asked me how Aidan was.

‘He’s recovering, thankfully,’ I said.

‘That’s good to know, Laura. We’ve all been worried.’

It was weird entering the house. It felt cold and abandoned, and my muscles stiffened.

‘We’ll soon be finished here,’ Miller said. ‘But I’m afraid it’s still a mess. We’ve had the front door repaired but the kitchen window isn’t yet fixed. I strongly suggest you stay somewhere else tonight.’

‘I’m going to,’ I said. ‘My mother’s house isn’t far away. I just need to get some things.’

I’d known what to expect, but it still came as a shock when I walked into the kitchen. There was Aidan’s dried blood on the floor and yellow stickers marking the spots where bullets had struck, including the front of the dishwasher and two cupboard doors.

‘The woman fired no less than eight bullets into the house,’ Miller said. ‘You’re so lucky you were able to return fire.’