A Tapping at My Door: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (The DS Nathan Cody Series) (26 page)

She opens her mouth to say something, but Mostyn beats her to it.

‘There are other options.’

Blunt’s eyes are greedy for the alternatives. ‘What options?’

‘Well, for one thing, we don’t have to send anyone in alone. We could just surround and storm the place.’

Blunt’s gaze flicks back to Cody, as if to ask if that will satisfy him.

But Cody has to disappoint her: ‘No. This guy isn’t stupid. He might not even be in there. He might just be observing from a distance, the way we think he probably was the last few times he called. If he sees an army go in, he’ll just disappear, and then he’ll change tactics. If he does that, we might never catch him. And if he
is
in there, he’s probably got an escape route planned. Through the next building or over the roof or something. No, the whole point of this is to draw him out, and the only way we’ll do that is if he thinks I’m a soft target.’

‘You
are
a soft target,’ says Blunt. She looks to Mostyn again. ‘You said options, plural. What else?’

‘Doesn’t have to be young Cody here. We could send in an armed officer.’

Cody is already shaking his head. ‘Nope. Any thought that it’s not just a normal beat copper in there, and the guy will run. You can’t send in someone with a Heckler & Koch and expect our killer to hang around.’

Mostyn gives a smile. ‘I was thinking more of a concealed sidearm.’

More head-shaking from Cody. ‘There would still be an element of risk to the officer. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Armed Response probably aren’t used to walking into threat situations without guns at the ready, knowing they have to be prepared to whip out their weapons like it’s
High Noon
or whatever.’

‘Well, that’s true, but—’

Blunt finishes Mostyn’s sentence: ‘But you’re not accustomed to situations like this either, Cody.’

‘I was an undercover officer for years,’ he says. ‘I’m used to being surrounded by people who would slit my throat without a second thought if they found out what I did for a living.’

‘That was then, Cody. Not now! Now you’re a member of a murder squad. You’re not Batman.’

There’s a desperation in her voice that is becoming more evident. It’s the tone of a worried parent, not of a superior officer. Cody senses that it’s making Mostyn uncomfortable.

‘We need to make a decision,’ Mostyn says. ‘This guy has become used to waiting for us to show up, but he won’t wait forever.’

Cody’s answer is directed at Blunt. ‘I’m fine with it. Let’s go and catch this bastard.’

Blunt says nothing, but Cody sees the challenge in her eyes. She wants him to back out, and he can’t.

‘Okay,’ says Mostyn. He nods to the technician. ‘Explain the set-up.’

‘Pretty straightforward,’ says the tech. ‘Miniature cameras on the shoulders, looking front and rear. We’ll see what you see, Sergeant Cody, plus anything that might come up behind you. We’ve got infrared too, so we can see in the dark, even if you can’t. You’re also fitted with a microphone and earpiece. If the target is in there, you won’t be able to give us a running commentary or he’ll know something’s up, but you can call us in if you need to, and we can warn you if we see anything.’

‘Okay,’ says Cody.

Mostyn directs everyone to look at the maps on the table. ‘Here’s Waterloo Street, and here’s Porter Street. We’ve already stationed armed officers in several unmarked vehicles. They’re here, here and here.’

He gestures towards the other uniformed officer standing by the comms man. ‘Inspector Hewison here will direct the men if we need to send them in. Your job, Cody, is just to be our eyes and ears, okay? No acts of heroism, please. This man carries a knife and he is willing to use it. If you see him, you yell. Don’t be subtle about it. Make it clear to him that you’re calling in backup. That’s it. Leave it to us to come in and take him down. If he’s got any sense he’ll try to run, but if he comes at you, be ready with your baton. Okay, Cody? Have you got all that?’

Cody nods his understanding, but not his assent. He has no intention of shouting for reinforcements unless it becomes absolutely necessary. He wants a piece of this sick maniac for himself. And it’s not about heroism or glory-seeking. It’s about getting some kind of revenge for the deaths of three other police officers. He wants to be the one to slap the cuffs on their murderer. He wants to be the one to issue the caution, and perhaps one or two other messages to this bastard. He wants that sense of closure.

‘Then off you go, Sergeant Cody,’ says Mostyn. ‘And good luck. Just remember we’re right behind you.’

Mostyn moves away, leaving Blunt to have the final word.

‘One thing,’ she says quietly. ‘I’m staying here in the ops room. I’ll be watching and I’ll be listening to everything you do. Listen out for my voice, okay? I don’t care what these men here might say to you, if you hear me shout then you do what I say, even if it’s the opposite of what they want. If I tell you to get the hell out of there, then you do it. Do you understand me, Cody?’

He smiles. He feels like a kid being sent into his first day at school. He half expects Blunt to wet a handkerchief with saliva and rub the dirt from his face.

‘Say it!’ she commands.

‘I understand,’ he says. ‘But I’ll be fine. In an hour’s time you’ll be congratulating me for nabbing this guy.’

She nods, but without conviction.

Nothing like a bit of faith to boost your confidence, he thinks.

33

Cody drives slowly and steadily. Nothing to indicate haste. He doesn’t want to arouse the suspicions of the target, who could be watching him right now.

Which is an eerie feeling in itself. The eyes of a killer fixed on you. Studying you. Thinking about the best way to dispatch you, to mutilate you, to use your corpse as the bearer of his next sinister message.

But Cody has already decided it’s not going to come to that. He’s going to put an end to such shenanigans. He’s going to arrest this maniac. And, in the process, he might even administer a couple of whacks with his baton for good measure. Might even turn off his cameras while he rams his boot into the deviant’s groin a few times.

And yet . . .

The feeling is growing. The doubt. Creeping into Cody’s gut. Sitting there with its poison and making him want to retch it up. It always returns at moments like this. The thing is not to let it win.

He finds Porter Street. Parks up at the dockland end. In the port’s prime this area would have been bustling during daylight hours. Now much of it sits forlorn. Crumbling buildings staring longingly at the grey river, as if waiting for the ships to return. At night it’s even worse: it seems haunted by its past, just as Cody himself is.

He notices a blacked-out people carrier parked opposite, and knows instinctively that it’s filled with police officers armed to the teeth. It seems so conspicuous to him, but he tells himself that it’s only because he’s on the job. He hopes that it hasn’t even registered with the killer.

‘On scene,’ he says. ‘Getting out of the car now. You reading me?’

‘Loud and clear,’ says Mostyn over his earpiece.

Cody gets out. Locks up the car. Starts up the street.

It’s a narrow road. Dark and forbidding. A few cars, parked tightly against the walls to allow traffic to pass.

Cody walks slowly. Tries to look as though he’s on just another routine call-out. A normal, unsuspecting copper checking out a call that he thinks will amount to nothing.

He wonders if he’s being watched right now. If he is, where will the observer be? At one of the mesh-covered windows above? In one of the shadowy doorways, waiting to pounce as he passes?

He lowers his hand to the grip of his baton. Just in case.

His shoes click loudly on the cracked pavement. If the killer is up ahead, he will know exactly where his prey is. He will know exactly when to strike.

Cody’s fingers caress the baton. Just in case.

It gets darker the further he walks. Not much in the way of street lighting up here. He pulls his torch from its holder on his belt. Switches it on and plays it over the buildings. The shadows dance and sway and bend as if coming to life.

Most of the walls are bare, but Cody catches sight of a faded and cracked sign above one of the doorways. He moves closer to it. Raises his torch to get a better look.

Emerson Printing Supplies.

He’s here.

And now that gremlin in his stomach is really starting to make its presence felt. Pinching and twisting Cody’s insides.

Cody lowers the cone of light from his torch. The painted red door below the sign looks secure enough, but Cody is guessing it’s not.

‘I’m going in,’ he says.

‘Be careful, Cody,’ says a voice. Blunt, this time.

Cody smiles. He can imagine Mostyn frowning at her interference. But she won’t care about that. She would make her voice heard even if she didn’t outrank Mostyn.

He steps up to the door. Pushes on it. It doesn’t budge. This puzzles him. Is this the only way in?

He tries again, harder this time. And now the door moves, its bottom edge scraping along the floor. He continues to push, all the while shining his torchlight into the blackness beyond.

When the door is as wide open as he can make it, he steps over the threshold.

One step. Just one. He’s not going charging in like a rhinoceros. No. Softly, softly. Scan the area. Take your time.

He’s in what used to be a lobby area. Ahead of him is a counter and, set into the wall alongside it, a shuttered reception window. Corridors run along either side of the lobby, both tunnelling into impenetrable darkness. A few items of furniture are still here, but only because they are broken or unusable: a chair with only three legs, an overturned filing cabinet with a massive dent in its side and a drawer missing, a bookcase with no shelves. There are alcoves here – places where someone could lie in wait.

Cody thumbs the button on the radio at his shoulder, then speaks loudly. ‘Echo One to Control. I’m in the building. No sign of occupants at present.’

The radio blares back at him: ‘Roger that, Echo One. Keep us apprised.’

It’s all show, of course. He needs to look, act and sound like a real uniformed plod investigating a minor crime.

He raises his voice and shouts into the room now: ‘All right, lads. I’m a police officer. Show yourselves before you get into any more trouble.’

Convincing, he thinks. I should be on the stage.

Getting no response, he makes sure he shines his light into every nook and cranny before moving further into the room.

‘Check behind the counter,’ says Mostyn.

Good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?

He steps towards the counter. The floorboards squeak beneath his shoes. He is reminded of a comedy film in which it turns out it wasn’t the floorboards but the character’s own feet that were making the noise. Seemed hilarious at the time. Not so much now.

If somebody jumps up from behind that counter, he thinks, I am so going to scream like a girl.

He gets to the counter. Nothing so far, but then he cannot see over the top of it. He leans forward. Further, further. Shines his torch into the space behind. Appears to be nobody there, but then he still cannot see what might be lurking underneath the countertop. You could squeeze a person beneath it quite easily – several people, in fact.

The noise is sudden, and belonging to something of substantial weight. Cody leaps back, whips out his baton.

‘Cody!’ Mostyn cries. ‘What is it?’

Cody says nothing. He’s not sure what to answer, because he doesn’t know the source of the noise. But something moved underneath that counter. Something definitely moved.

And then before he even knows what he has in mind, he is using the overturned filing cabinet as a stepping stone to leap onto the counter and then down into the area beyond. He stands there, baton resting on his shoulder in preparation to strike, while he frantically throws light into every inch of the space underneath that countertop.

Books. A large pile of books had toppled over. Shit. He can breathe again.

‘Cody. What happened?’

Cody keeps his voice low now as he talks into his collar mike: ‘Some books. They fell over. It was just . . . books.’

A pause from Mostyn. Cody wonders what the man is thinking. Probably that Cody isn’t the right man for this job if he’s going to crap his pants every time some paper rustles.

‘Okay. You ready to continue?’

In other words:
Get a move on. We haven’t got all night.

‘Affirmative.’

Affirmative. He doesn’t often use that word. He thinks he’s using it now only because it sounds more militaristic, more macho. He needs a dose of machismo right now. He needs to be Bruce Willis or Liam Neeson or whoever. Not a lily-livered bobby with a torch and a stick.

There’s a door on this side of the counter, leading to the room with the shuttered window. He tries the handle, but it’s locked.

He hops back over the counter, then goes past the window and into the mouth of the left-hand corridor. He aims his torch along the passageway. Not much there, but doors opening to left and right, and a staircase at the end. And more shadowy alcoves, of course. Lots of places where somebody could be waiting, hammer in one hand, knife in the other. Or maybe a shotgun.

He thinks, A shotgun? Who said anything about a shotgun? Since when does this guy use firearms?

Well, how about tonight?

No, he thinks. Not tonight. Not ever. He doesn’t use guns. That’s not in the script. And if he does have a gun, then, well . . . I have this stick.

He orders himself to focus. There are no guns here. Probably not even another human being here. Just him and the rats. Because there are bound to be rats. They’ll be as big as cats in a place like this. That’s guaranteed.

‘Okay, Cody,’ says Mostyn, ‘you need to be methodical here. One floor at a time. Clear the whole floor before you go up to the next one. Check each and every door. We need to be sure.’

Cody looks at all the doors ahead of him. There are a lot of them – and these are just the ones he can see. Clearing this whole building with just one man could take all night.