Little Boy Blue

89

Helen burst out of the fire exit and into the communal gardens at the back of her flats. Whipping her key fob from her pocket, she buzzed herself out and sprinted round the corner. She now doubled back to her road but instead of turning left into it, she carried on past, coming to a halt by the lolling chain link fence which surrounded the derelict building – its only form of defence against the squatters and junkies who occasionally used it.

Finding a low point in the fence, Helen slipped over and padded towards the back of the flats. The building cast a tall shadow and Helen had to choose her path carefully – the ground was littered with broken glass and discarded needles. As she worked her way towards the empty shell, her mind was turning on what she’d seen. Was this the same figure she’d glimpsed a few months back? She’d thought nothing of it at the time, assuming it was just another drug user seeking temporary sanctuary. Now she chided herself for her complacency.

She had reached the back entrance and bending down picked up an empty beer bottle. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do – in her haste she had left her baton and holster in the flat. Stepping into the building, she reached out a hand to steady herself. There was no light in the cavernous space – just moonlight creeping through the holes in the roof. It was an oddly magical sight, the moonbeams descending from above, but perilous too. Helen could barely see where she was going and knew that a wrong step might send her plunging into the basement below. More than that, she sensed that the person she was hunting was still inside somewhere. He might strike at any minute – if that was his intention – and Helen would be virtually defenceless.

She hesitated. Through the gloom she could make out a staircase in the far corner. Creeping forward, testing each floorboard as she went, she kept her head upright and alert, searching for danger. She remembered her words to Charlie earlier, but it was too late to call for the cavalry now. By the time they arrived, Helen felt sure her quarry would be gone.

Reaching the staircase, Helen looked up, suddenly feeling very small in the deserted building. There were fifteen floors above her, but she felt certain the figure she’d seen had been on the penultimate floor. She had fourteen floors to climb. What was her best strategy – slow and steady or swift and decisive? The stairs were made of concrete and seemed the one element of the building that hadn’t rotted away, so summoning her courage, Helen raced up the stairs.

Fourth floor, fifth floor, sixth floor. Helen drove herself on, keeping her pace steady. She was bouncing lightly from step to step, moving as silently as she could, but it was hard to move this fast without creating a little noise. Would this prove costly? Was she walking into an ambush? Fear once more seeped into her consciousness. She was not by nature fearful, but something about this place was messing with her head. She didn’t want to end her days here.

She had reached the thirteenth floor now. Gripping the beer bottle firmly, she dropped her pace, taking the stairs two at a time in giant, silent strides. If he was going to come for her, it would be now. But she wasn’t going to walk into his trap tamely.

There was nowhere for him to hide now, so Helen burst into the room, her arm raised to protect herself. The floorboards protested and a cloud of dust flew up, but no attack came, so Helen moved on to the next room, expecting to be thrown backwards with a savage blow at any minute.

Still nothing. Then suddenly there was a noise. At the other side of the building – what was it? A crash? Someone putting their weight in the wrong place? Helen bounded forward. She was sprinting as if her life depended upon it, eating up the yards to the far wall and suddenly she burst out into a large open space. A penthouse apartment that was never built, it was now a vast receptacle for dead birds and drugs detritus. Other than that, it was empty – save for the door to the fire escape that lolled open.

Helen raced over to it. Pushing out into the fresh air, she came to an abrupt halt. The fire escape on which she now stood was old and rusty and could potentially give way at any moment – suddenly her impulsive bravery seemed foolhardy in the extreme.

Taking a step back, she looked through the grille to the steps below. The metal staircase zigzagged down the building and Helen scrutinized it for signs of movement. But all was still, apart from a few startled pigeons and the fire escape door moving back and forth in the wind.

Suddenly a thought occurred to Helen and mounting the fire escape she climbed to the top floor. This was the only remaining place her voyeur could be hiding. But it was as deserted as the rest of the shell.

Crouching down, Helen breathed out, trying to slow her heartbeat. Despite her endeavours she had been left empty-handed. There was no one here. She had been so sure – had seen the figure so clearly. She couldn’t have imagined it all.

Could she?