Nightmare

74

‘For God’s sake put your back into it!’ shouted Chalmers. ‘If you can’t put some weight behind it then give it to someone who can.’

The man with the enforcer turned to glare at the superintendent. ‘With the greatest of respect, sir, this isn’t some jerry-built council house. This door is a couple of inches thick and built to last.’

Chalmers pointed his finger at the officer. ‘Don’t bloody stop, man!’ he shouted.

An ambulance turned into the driveway, its siren blaring.

The officer began to pound the enforcer against the door again. Each time he hit it the wood around the lock splintered a little more, and after half a dozen more blows the lock gave way.

‘Finally,’ said Chalmers.

‘Sir, you need to stay outside until we’ve secured the house,’ said the sergeant.

‘Just get upstairs and get the bastard,’ said Chalmers.

The ambulance pulled up behind the armed response vehicle and Chalmers turned and flashed them a cut-throat gesture, telling them to kill the siren.

With one final blow from the enforcer the door crashed open and the three armed officers piled into the mud-splattered hallway, led by the sergeant. Chalmers followed them inside and watched as they moved carefully up the charred stairs, their MP5s against their shoulders.

The sergeant took them to the door of the room where they’d seen the candlelight. He pointed at the door, then gingerly tried the handle. ‘Locked,’ he mouthed. The door was fire-damaged but in one piece.

Chalmers came down the landing and the sergeant motioned for him to go back but the superintendent ignored him.

The officer with the enforcer pushed past Chalmers and joined the sergeant. The armed cops had their MP5s pointing at the door. The officer swung the enforcer and he grunted as it made contact. The door was nowhere near as strong as the one at the entrance to the house; it buckled with the first blow and sagged on its hinges with the second. The sergeant kicked the door out of the way and stormed into the bedroom. ‘Armed police! Drop your weapon!’ he shouted.

The two other armed officers followed him inside, one moving to the right, the other to the left, both shouting at the top of their voices. ‘Armed police! Armed police!’

Then there was just silence. Chalmers walked quickly into the room but stopped when he saw the three officers standing around a pentagram drawn in chalk on the floor. There were five black candles burning, one at each of the points of the pentagram.

‘Where is he?’ said Chalmers, looking around.

‘There’s no one here, sir,’ said the sergeant.

‘Nonsense. The room was locked from the inside. We all saw that.’

The sergeant shrugged.

‘You checked the bathroom?’

‘Sir, there’s no one here,’ said the sergeant testily.

‘If there’s no one here then who lit the candles?’ asked Chalmers.

The sergeant looked away and didn’t answer.

Chalmers snorted and stormed into the bathroom. There was a white towel hanging on a chrome rail and he grabbed it. It was wet. And so was the bath. He threw the towel into the tub and picked up the shirt left on the toilet. It was soaked in blood, as was the raincoat underneath it. Chalmers went back into the bedroom. The four policemen were looking around the room, trying to avoid eye contact with the superintendent.

‘Find him,’ shouted Chalmers. ‘Tear this bloody house apart. He has to be hiding somewhere.’