Sacrifice (51 page)

Authors: Paul Finch

Tags: #General Fiction

BOOK: Sacrifice

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And it was a game-changer.

The shouting and screaming indoors had risen towards a crescendo. Household items exploded as they were flung around. This was just about tolerable, given that it probably wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in this neighbourhood. Heck reasoned that he could still wait it out – until he got close to the rear of the building, and heard a baby crying.

Not just crying.

Howling.

Hysterical with pain or fear.

‘DS Heckenburg to Charlie Six, urgent message!’ He dashed up the remaining steps, and took an entry around to the front of the maisonette. ‘Please expedite that support … I can hear violence inside the property and a child in distress, over!’

He halted under the stoop. Light shafted through the frosted panel in the front door, yet little was visible on the other side – except for brief flurries of indistinct movement. Angry shouts still echoed from within.

Heck zipped his jacket and knocked loudly. ‘Police officer! Can you open up please?’

There was instantaneous silence – apart from the baby, whose sobbing had diminished to a low and feeble keening.

Heck knocked again. ‘This is the police … I need you to open up!’ He glimpsed further hurried motion behind the distorted glass.

When he next struck the door, he led with his shoulder.

It required three heavy buffets to crash the woodwork inward, splinters flying, bolts and hinges catapulting loose. As the door fell in front of him, Heck saw a narrow, wreckage-strewn corridor leading into a small kitchen, where a tall male in a duffel coat was in the process of exiting the property via a back door. Heck charged down the corridor. As he did, a woman emerged from a side-room, bruised and tear-stained, hair disorderly, mascara streaking her cheeks. She wore a ragged orange dressing-gown and clutched a baby to her breast, its face a livid, blotchy red.

‘What do you want?’ she screeched, blocking Heck’s passage. ‘You can’t barge in here!’

Heck stepped around her. ‘Out the way please, miss!’

‘But he’s done nothing!’ She grabbed Heck’s collar, her sharp fingernails raking the skin on his neck.
‘Can’t you bastards stop harassing him?’

Heck had to pull hard to extricate himself. ‘Hasn’t he just beaten you up?’

‘That’s coz I didn’t want him to leave …’

‘He’s a bloody nutter, love!’

‘It’s nothing … I don’t mind it.’

‘Others do!’ Heck yanked himself free – to renewed wailing from the woman and child – and continued into the kitchen and then out through the back door, emerging onto a toy-strewn patio just as a burly outline loped down the steps towards the garage. The guy had something in his hand, which Heck at first took for a bag; then he realised that it was a motorbike helmet. ‘Jimmy Hood!’ he shouted, scrambling down. ‘Police officer … stay where you are!’

Hood’s response was to leap the remaining three or four steps, pulling the helmet on and battering his way through the garage’s rear door. Heck jumped as well, sliding and tumbling on the earthen slope, but reaching the doorway only seconds behind his quarry. He shouldered it open, to find Hood seated on the Suzuki, kicking it to life. Its glaring headlight sprang across the alley. The roar of its engine filled the gutted structure.

‘Don’t be a bloody fool!’ Heck cried.

Hood glanced around – just long enough to flip Heck the finger. And then hit the gas, the Suzuki bucking forward, almost pulling a wheelie it accelerated with such speed.

But the fugitive only made it ten yards, at which point, with a terrific
BANG
, the bike’s rear wheel was jerked backwards beneath him. He somersaulted over the handlebars, slamming upside down against another garage door, before flopping onto the cobblestones, where he lay twisted and groaning. The bike came to rest a few yards away, chugging loudly, smoke pouring from its shattered exhaust.

‘Bit remiss of you, Jimmy,’ Heck said, emerging into the alley, toeing at the length of chain still pulled taut between the buckled rear wheel and the upright girder inside. ‘Not checking that something hadn’t got mysteriously wrapped around your rear axle.’

Flickering blue lights now appeared as local patrol cars turned into view at either end of the alley, slowly wending their way forward. Hood managed to roll over onto his back, but could do nothing except lie there, glaring with glassy, soulless eyes through the aperture where his visor had been smashed away.

Heck dug handcuffs from his back pocket and suspended them in full view. ‘Either way, pal, you don’t have to say anything. But it may harm your defence …’

Want more? Read the rest of
Hunted
when it hits the shelves in February 2014.

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Dark, terrifying and unforgettable.
Stalkers
will keep fans of Stuart MacBride and Katia Lief looking over their shoulder.

About the Author

Paul Finch is a former cop and journalist, now turned full-time writer. He cut his literary teeth penning episodes of the British TV crime drama,
The Bill
, and has written extensively in the field of children’s animation. However, he is probably best known for his work in thrillers, dark fantasy and horror.

Paul lives in Lancashire, UK, with his wife Cathy and his children, Eleanor and Harry. His website can be found at:
www.paulfinchauthor.com
.

Copyright

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins
Publishers
2013

Cover photographs © Arcangel & Roberto Pastrovicchio

Cover design © Henry Steadman 2013

Paul Finch asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007492312

Ebook Edition ISBN: 9780007492329

Version: 2013-07-30

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