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James pulled the Wolseley up next to the house where Nelson and Greenberg were sure Gabriella had gone in, and his breath caught.
The woman who’d helped Gabriella yesterday lived around here. He recognized the park.
He’d seen it from the other side, but he was sure of it—the abandoned car had stuck out in his memory.
As they all got out of the car, he looked across the roof to Greenberg. “A woman helped Gabriella yesterday after she escaped. She might live close to here.”
“Helped her escape the man trying to kill her?” Greenberg asked.
He gave a nod.
“You think the attacker came back for revenge?” Greenberg suddenly looked very worried.
That made no sense, but James lifted his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have said so, but this is a strange case.”
He looked around, getting the lay of the land, and saw two bobbies approaching them from across the park.
He waited for them to arrive, lifting his warrant card.
“I remember you, sir,” one of them said. “You were the ’tec got locked up in that garage round the corner.”
James nodded, recognizing him as one of the men who’d been put on duty to guard the entrance to the laneway where the garages were built.
“This have something to do with what happened on Saturday?” the other bobby asked.
“Could be. The woman who phoned your nick for help lives here.”
“Mrs. Everett,” one of the bobbies nodded. “Nice lady. But we knocked and there’s no answer.”
“If someone is holding her captive, they’d not answer, though, would they?” Nelson said.
“I’m going to knock again.” James opened the neat gate and walked up the path, climbed the steps and knocked.
There was silence within.
Nelson gave a shout, and James turned.
“I saw someone twitch the curtain, to the right.”
James leaped down the stairs to look, and the curtain was moving slightly, as if falling back in place.
“Let’s go round the back.” He took the right hand passage along the side of the house. It was narrow but neat, and the bobbies followed behind him.
As they came round into the back garden, a man darted out of a glass door set into a sun room, and raced to the back fence.
They all ran forward to intercept him, but he was fit and quick, and he was up and over before they even reached it.
“You chase him,” James ordered one of the men. “You come with me.”
He jogged to the open door, stepping into the blue and yellow room, and his gaze caught on a traffic warden’s black leather bag leaning against an armchair.
He ran up the few stairs into a dark passage. The bobby followed behind, his leather boots squeaking.
James stopped in the first doorway he came to, and felt that same icy hand grab him again.
It looked like a charnel house. Blood, dark and sticky, coated a chair and pooled on the floor. Shards of pottery lay all around.