Jon took some stuttering steps after him, looking down at Nikki and shouting, 'You OK?'
Keeping her eyes closed, she yelled, 'Go!'
Jon was off. The Ferret had about twenty metres on him as he ran towards the steps leading up to Cannon Street. Jon kept his head bowed and pumped his legs, taking smaller steps to get his momentum going, only lengthening his stride and looking up when he hit sprinting speed.
By the time the Ferret reached the bottom step Jon was less than ten metres behind him. Halfway up, the man's toe caught and he half fell, scrabbling up to the top. But Jon had closed the distance and, after taking the first four steps in one bound, he dived upwards, shoulder connecting with the back of his quarry's knees. Jon's arms then wrapped around his legs, bringing him crashing down in a classic rugby tackle.
Keeping his arms locked, Jon yanked him halfway back down the steps. As soon as he released his legs and reached for his collar, the Ferret whipped an elbow up at Jon's face. He saw it coming and, rather than lean back and expose the underside of his chin, Jon dipped his head into the blow so it glanced harmlessly off his forehead. He replied with a powerful jab to the man's right temple that sent his molars clacking together and the side of his head bouncing off the edge of a step.
Jon's vision had narrowed right down: his sight was completely filled by the man beneath him, the man he had been chasing for so long. He was so pumped, everything happened a fraction slower than normal. His right hand shot out and closed around the Ferret's elbow as it rose up again, fingers crushing the soft flesh on the inside of the joint. As he let out a howl of pain, Jon's left fist cracked into the back of his head. The man's mouth was wide open as it connected with the top of the step and a fragment of tooth flew out followed by a spray of blood. Jon let go of his elbow, grabbed two handfuls of lank gingery hair and got ready to smash his face back down again. 'Jon, stop!'
The scream brought him out of his rage and he looked down the steps, eyes blazing.
Nikki shrank backwards and said more quietly, 'You've got him.'
Suddenly Jon became aware of other shoppers. They hovered behind Nikki, looking shocked.
'He was resisting arrest,' Jon growled. Yanking the Ferret to his feet, he whispered in his ear, 'That was for knocking my friend over back there.'
'I've done nothing,' the man gasped, blood dribbling down his chin. 'I'll fucking sue you for this. It's assault. 'He began to struggle again.
'And this,' said Jon, putting him in a thumb lock, 'is for nicking my girlfriend's handbag.' The Ferret cried out as his knuckle was bent back.
'Shut it,' said Jon, forcing his arm upwards so he had to bend double to avoid more pain.
Marching him back to the main hall he said, 'Let's see what's in your sports bag. My guess is that, by the end of today, I'll be charging you with a fuck of a lot more than petty theft.'
As soon as the Ferret was safely locked up in a cell at Longsight, Jon raced upstairs to the incident room. He'd phoned ahead from the Arndale centre, requesting that the third and fourth victims' houses and bins be searched for any evidence of X-treme chewing gum.
Walking into the incident room, he was immediately waved over by the office manager.
'I hear you've got someone in the traps downstairs.'
'Yeah,' replied Jon, suddenly loving every second of his job. 'Could be significant; we'll know more once his house has been turned over.'
'Well, I've just received a call from the crime scene manager at Gabrielle Harnett's place. A wrapper of something called X-treme chewing gum with energy-giving guarana has been recovered from the waste-paper bin in her front room.'
Jon raised a clenched fist and shut his eyes for a second. 'Fucking win! Can I take that?' he asked, looking at the memo.
'Be my guest. The gum wrapper is being driven over now.' Jon walked into McCloughlin's office, gathering quizzical looks from everyone in the room as he went.
'Come in and close the door,' said McCloughlin as soon as Jon appeared in his doorway. 'Who've you got downstairs?'
'A nasty little shit,' replied Jon, taking a seat. 'He's a general scrote
— snatching handbags, taxing the city beggars for their pitches. He's also peddling car stereos and other bits and bobs, including a few boxes of a particular brand of chewing gum. X-treme citrus flavour with guarana.' 'Never heard of it,' said McCloughlin.
'It's one of those limited editions they do. However, wrappers and packs of it have now turned up in three of the victims' properties.'
McCloughlin blew out a thin stream of breath. 'Carry on.'
'I arrested him in the Arndale Centre, where he was trying to sell on a couple of car stereos. The serial numbers are being checked as we speak, but I'd bet a month's salary they're stolen.'
'Very interesting,' said McCloughlin. He got up and reached for his coat. 'Have you got his name and address?'
'Right here, along with his front door key,' said Jon, holding up a plastic bag with a smile. 'His name's Ashley Charlton, but he goes by the name of Sly.'
McCloughlin looked up at the Urban Living flats and said, 'A bit upmarket for our little toe-rag don't you think?'
They buzzed the manager of the complex to be let in and less than thirty seconds later eight plain-clothes officers were standing in Ashley Charlton's flat.
Surveying the room, McCloughlin's eyes settled on the tarantula's vivarium. 'Never mind bringing in national ID cards, if we could keep tabs on every misfit who keeps snakes and spiders, there'd be a lot less crime committed. Right, specifically, we're looking for packs of X-treme chewing gum, but shout if you see anything else.'
Seven of them began rummaging through the flat while the last officer started sweeping all the electrical items and ornaments with a UV light. At the same instant he announced, 'Boss', another officer in the kitchen said, 'Got something here.'
McCloughlin called towards the kitchen, 'What's in there?' 'One box of X-treme chewing gum. Limited edition citrus with energy-giving guarana. Thirty-six packs originally inside, now about a dozen left.'
'Bag it,' said McCloughlin, turning to the officer with the UV torch. 'You?'
He turned the art deco lamp to the side so McCloughlin could see its base. Shining purple in the invisible glow of the torch was a series of numbers and letters. 'Postcode. Looks like Altrincham, sir.'
'Excellent. Get the address so we can phone the house owner immediately.'
As the officer got his mobile phone out to make the call, another officer standing at the coat pegs by the door spoke up. 'Boss, take a look at this.' He was holding up a garden cane with a hook on the end.
McCloughlin rubbed his hands. 'This guy is so screwed. Anything else, people?'
Jon turned round. 'Interesting stash here.'
McCloughlin looked down into the wooden box Jon had opened up.
Inside was a couple of packets of cigarette papers, a lump of cannabis resin and a small plastic bag containing a couple of teaspoons of white powder.
'What do you reckon that is? Speed?' asked McCloughlin.
Jon turned it over with the end of a gloved finger. 'Probably, but I'm not volunteering to taste it.'
McCloughlin laughed. 'You know what, Jon? When you blurted out your theory that these killings were being carried out by some rogue member of a car-theft gang, I had serious doubts. Now I think you might be right.'
Jon smiled, but he didn't feel the same certainty as his senior officer.
An hour later they were all back at Longsight station and Sly had been hauled out of his cell and into an interview room. Having been told which investigation his client was a suspect in, a very nervous member from the local twenty-four-hour solicitor's was sitting next to Sly.