Blood Storm

CD.

'Welcome. I know it's been raining. Take off your wet stuff. Hang it on the hooks in the wall down there. No hurry. You'll find a towel on one hook so you can dry yourself.'

She could hear Coral moving about. The click-clack of spiked heels on the floor. She might have nothing else on but she was wearing shoes. Very sexy, Paula thought savagely.

Very slowly and cautiously she moved closer to the shut door of the closet. She was convinced there might not be much time to save Coral if the murderer had arrived. She might have very little time to react. On the other hand she must not appear too quickly. If she did so whoever would be coming up the stairs might, unseen, have time to dart down into the hall, through the open door, vanish in the streets. She remembered that both Viola's and Marina's front doors had been found left open.

There was the sound of heavy feet padding up the stairs. Saafeld had said something about the murderer wearing canvas shoes, large size, probably padded inside with cloth to give the impression of a killer with large feet, in case the feet stepped in blood, left marks

…

'Like to start with a drink?'

Paula had heard Coral filling glasses with champagne. She would be waiting with a glass in each hand…

'Oh, my God! No! No! No!'

Coral shrieking as the padding steps reached the bedroom.

Shrieking with pure terror.

Paula pushed at the closet door. Oh, God, it was sticking. The click-clack of Coral's shoes rushing to the far side of the low bed. Paula used her shoulder, the full power of her body against the door. It flew outwards. She nearly lost her balance, recovered. She heard the thud of Coral being pushed over backwards, sprawling, the back of her head striking the wooden floor.

Paula nearly went into shock when she saw the white apparition. A long surgeon's gown, surgeon's cap over the whole head, surgeon's mask from the bridge of the nose downwards, enormous goggles, dead eyes staring through them at her, in the right hand a large meat cleaver. Lord, it had been quick. Over Coral's mouth a scarf tied as a gag. Coral's eyes open.

The white apparition saw Paula, darted quickly round the bed towards her, meat cleaver raised high to strike, to slice down the middle of her skull. She held her ground, Browning held steady, both hands gripping it. She fired once, twice. It was still coming. Maybe had body armour. She elevated the angle of the muzzle, fired three times at the head. It stopped, stood still for seconds, fell towards her, cleaver still in its hand as the body crashed to the floor.

The cleaver blade thudded an inch into the floor. People rushed into the room. Tweed first, then Buchanan and the team, headed by Newman.

Paula was still standing, the muzzle of her Browning now shuddering. Gently, Tweed removed the weapon from her and dropped it into an evidence bag.

Stooping down, he used a latex-gloved hand to wrench off the mask and the goggles in one careful movement. The head and face of Nelson Macomber stared up, lifeless, its complexion red as the setting sun after a summer's day.

Paula ran to the far side of the bed where Coral was stirring. She grabbed a dressing-gown off a chair, helped Coral to her feet, helped her to don the dressing-gown, removed the gag. Despite protests she guided her out of the bedroom, into the living room and closed the door. She handed Coral some underwear, then outer clothes. She stopped Coral reaching for a full glass of champagne.

'Plenty of water first. Then coffee…'