Reed shrugged.
“Sergeant Willis said we had to go over everything with a fine toothcomb,” said the younger man, glancing out at the collection of buildings. “I’d better check in.” He reached for the two-way and relayed their position to the station. Willis’s voice acknowledged the call.
“Do you want to toss for it?” said Ray Charlton.
Reed looked blank.
“For the privilege of looking around,” Charlton clarified.
“Perhaps we should both go,” said the younger man.
“And leave the car? Sod off, if the Sergeant calls through and finds out we’ve both gone for a walk he’ll string us up by the bollocks.” Charlton studied his companion’s face for a moment then he reached for a walkie-talkie, taking it from the parcel shelf. “I’ll go,” he muttered, pushing open the door. He stepped out into a pool of muddy water and it was all Reed could do to suppress a grin.
“Shit,” grunted Charlton and slammed the door behind him. The younger man watched as his companion trudged across the muddy ground, having to lift the farmyard gate out of the sticky muck before he could open it enough to squeeze through. Reed picked up his own walkie-talkie and flicked it on.
“Why didn’t you jump it?” he asked, chuckling.
Charlton turned and raised two fingers in a familiar gesture. He walked on, finding, thankfully, that the ground was becoming firmer. The sun wasn’t strong enough to dry it out but the chill wind probably helped to toughen up the top soil. He stood still in the centre of the yard and looked around. It was as quiet as a grave. To his right lay two barns, to his left the farmhouse itself. All the buildings had been searched before. When Harvey first escaped he and Reed had been ordered to scout the deserted farm and, as Charlton had expected, they had found nothing. That had been nearly three months ago and now they expected the bloody maniac to be still holed up here when, in reality, he was probably long gone and had been since the first day of his escape. However, Charlton’s cynicism did not take into account the three murders and he, as well as everyone on the Exham force, realized that the decapitations were Harvey’s trade mark. The bastard was still in or around Exham somewhere but he doubted if it was here.
He decided to check the barns initially and made his way across the yard to the first of the large buildings. The door was open so the constable walked straight in, coughing as the smell of damp and rotting straw hit him. He peered up towards the loft and, glancing across at the ladder which led to the higher level, decided to check it. He reached for the walkie-talkie and switched it on.
“Stuart, come in.”
Reed’s voice sounded metallic as he replied.
“Have you found something?” the younger man wanted to know.
“No,” Charlton snapped. “And not likely to. I’m just checking the first barn.”
He switched off the two-way and clipped it to his belt as he began to climb the ladder which would take him up into the loft. The floorboards creaked menacingly beneath his weight and the policeman stood still for long seconds wondering if the entire floor were going to collapse beneath him but then, cautiously, he made a quick inspection of the upper level. A couple of dead rats and some small bones were all he found. He knelt and picked up one of the bones. It looked like a tiny femur and he surmised that one of the rodents that inhabited the barn had served as a midnight meal for an owl. He tossed the tiny bone away and headed back towards the ladder, pausing long enough to tell Reed that the first barn was clear.
It was the same story in the second of the buildings. It held just a couple of pieces of rusty farm machinery, otherwise the place was empty.
“I’m going to check the house now,” Charlton said and started across the yard towards the last building.
Reed, still watching from the Panda, saw his companion approach the farmhouse and was puzzled when he hesitated before it. The walkie-talkie crackled into life.
“The door’s open,” said Charlton, a vague note of surprise in his voice. “Probably the wind.”
“Do you want any help?” Reed asked.
Charlton didn’t. He slowed his pace as he drew closer to the house, nudging the door back the last few inches with the toe of his boot. The hinges screeched protestingly and, as the constable advanced, he was enveloped by the overpowering odour of damp once again. The house smelt musty, closing around him like an invisible hand. He coughed and moved further into the room. It was a hallway. Straight ahead was a flight of stairs, now devoid of carpet, some of the steps were already eaten through by woodworm or rising damp. To his right lay a door, to his left another, this one slightly ajar. He hesitated, not sure which way to go first. He decided to look upstairs so, negotiating the rickety steps, he climbed to the higher level. The curtains had been left drawn up there and it was difficult to see in the almost impenetrable gloom.
Three closed doors confronted him.
Pulling the torch from his belt with one hand, Charlton reached for the handle of the first door and rammed it down, pushing the door open simultaneously. It swung back against the wall and he immediately brought the torch beam to bear on the contents of the room. There was an old chest of drawers, obviously too big to be moved when the owners’ left but, apart from that, there was nothing. The floor was thick with dust and a quick inspection told the PC that it was undisturbed.
He moved to the second door.
Once more the door opened with no trouble, this time into a cramped toilet cum bathroom. The taps were mottled and rusty, the bath itself crusted with mould. He closed that door behind him and moved across to the last.
The door knob twisted in his grasp but would not turn. Charlton tried again, this time throwing his weight against it but still the door wouldn’t budge. He flicked off the torch and slipped it back into his belt then, taking a step back, he aimed a powerful kick at the handle which promptly dropped off.
The door opened a few inches.
Charlton, feeling unaccountably nervous, pushed the door open and stood motionless in the frame, eyes alert for any movement. As with the other two rooms, things were untouched and, almost gratefully, he reached for the two-way.
“The upstairs is clear,” he said. “I’m just going to check the lower floor.”
“Any sign of life?” Reed wanted to know.
“There’s more life in a bloody graveyard,” said the older man and flicked off the set. Feeling somewhat more relaxed, he made his way back down the stairs, his heavy boots clumping on the damp wood.
He looked into the sitting room and found it to be empty then he passed into the last room in the house, the kitchen.
He paused at the cellar door, his hand hovering over the knob. Last time he and Reed had been out here, they had left without checking the cellar but, this time, Charlton knew the job must be done. The lock was old and rusty but nevertheless strong and, at first, resisted even his most powerful kicks as he attempted to break it off. Finally, the recalcitrant lump of rusted metal dropped to the floor with a clang and the door opened outwards a fraction. The constable reached for his torch once more and edged inside the doorway until he was standing on the top step of the flight of stone stairs that led down into the all-enveloping gloom of the cellar.
The smell which met him was almost palpable in its intensity and he raised one hand to his face in an effort to keep the fetid stench away. He shone his torch down, the beam scarcely penetrating the blackness. Cautiously, careful not to slip in any of the puddles of moisture on the steps, he descended, breathing through his mouth in an effort to counteract the appalling stench.
He reached the bottom and shone the torch around, playing its beam over the floor, picking out the broken bottles, the shattered lumps of wood where some of the shelves had been overturned. His heart was beating just that little bit faster as he moved further into the dark recesses of the subterranean hole, the torch lancing through the blackness like some kind of laser beam.
He stepped in something soft and cursed, looking down to see what it was.
“Oh Christ,” he murmured.
It was excrement.
He winced and tried to wipe the worst of it off, realizing that it was of human origin. A sudden cold chill nipped at the back of his neck and he stood still, sure that he’d heard something. A low rasping sound came from close by. He spun round, his torch beam searching the darkness.
There was nothing.
A loud crackle ripped through the silence and Charlton almost shouted aloud in fear, his mind taking precious seconds to adjust to the fact that it was the two-way. He snatched it from his belt angrily.
“Found anything?” Reed wanted to know
“For fuck’s sake don’t do that again,” rasped Charlton, his hand shaking.
“What’s wrong?” his companion wanted to know.
The other constable recovered his breath, angry with himself too for letting the situation get a hold of him.
“I’m down in the cellar of the house,” he said. “We didn’t check it out last time we were here.”
“And?”
“Someone’s been here. Whether it’s Harvey or not I can’t say but, by the look of the place whoever it was was holed up here for quite a time. The cellar’s been wrecked.” He described the scene of devastation and filth before him. “Call the station,” he added as a postscript. “You’d better get them to send another car out here.” He flicked off the two-way. Charlton shone the torch beam around the reeking confines of the cellar one last time then he turned back towards the stairs.
The massive bulk of Paul Harvey loomed before him, silhouetted in the dim light which filtered in from the kitchen and, in that half-light, Charlton caught sight of the sickle as it swept down.
Paralysed, momentarily, by the sight of the figure before him, Charlton was unable to move as quickly as he would usually have done. He tried to avoid the vicious blade but it caught him on the left arm, tearing through the fabric of his uniform and slicing open skin and muscle from the shoulder to the elbow. Blood burst from the ragged wound and, with a shriek, Charlton fell backwards, the two-way skidding from his grasp. He tried to scramble to his feet, blood pumping thickly from the hideous rent in his arm.
Harvey advanced quickly, swinging the curved blade down once more. This time the policeman managed to roll clear and the wicked point embedded itself in a broken shelf. Harvey grunted and tore it free, noticing that Charlton was making for the stairs.
“Ray, are you all right?”
Reed’s disembodied voice floated up from the discarded walkie-talkie.
Charlton reached the bottom step and, clutching his torn arm, raced up the slippery steps but Harvey moved with surprising agility for a man of his size. He swiped wildly at the fleeing policeman, the sickle blade slicing through the man’s thigh, hamstringing him. Charlton crashed down onto the stone steps, white hot pain gnawing at his leg.
“Ray. Come in. What’s happening?”
Dazed by his fall and weak from loss of blood, Charlton rolled onto his back to see Harvey towering over him. The sickle swept down once again, this time to its appointed mark. It pierced the policeman’s chest just below the sternum, then, using his enormous stength, Harvey ripped it downwards, gutting Charlton with one stroke. A tangled mess of intestines spilled from the riven torso and the policeman’s scream was lost as his mouth filled with blood. His head sagged forward as he plunged both hands into the steaming maze of his own entrails, trying to push them back in.
“Ray, for Christ’s sake.”
Harvey looked around for the source of the voice but realized that it was the two-way. He headed up the stairs towards the kitchen, stepping over the eviscerated body of the dead policeman.
Reed actually heard the sirens in the distance as he looked up towards the farmhouse and, as he opened the door to clamber out, he heard a familiar voice rasping over the two way in the car.
“Alpha one come in,” said Randall.
“Reed here,” he answered. “I think we’ve found Harvey.”
“Stop the bastard,” Randall ordered. “I don’t care if you have to kill him. Just stop him.”
The sirens were growing louder as the other two Pandas drew closer but, when Reed looked up he saw Harvey emerge into the daylight, his clothes splashed with blood. The young PC shouted to him to stop but the desperate convict merely slowed his pace, as if waiting for Reed to come closer and, as he drew nearer, the policeman saw the sickle. Blood was dripping from its curved blade.
Reed ran across the muddy yard, tripping on something as he did so. He scrambled to his feet to see that it was a rake. He picked it up, hefting the rusty metal head before him like some kind of ancient quarter-staff.
Harvey remained motionless, even when the first of the Pandas skidded to a halt in the yard. Randall leapt out and moved towards the big man.
It was at that moment Harvey chose to strike.
He lunged towards Reed who managed to bring the rake up to shield himself. The sickle struck the wooden shaft and cut through it easily. Reed fell backwards, trying to crawl away through the mud as the big man came for him.
Randall, who had moved closer by this time, picked up a handful of mud and hurled it into the man’s face, momentarily blinding him. Harvey raised a hand to wipe the oozing muck away and Randall took his chance. He launched himself at his opponent, smashing into him just above the, pelvis. Both of them went sprawling, the sickle flying from Harvey’s grasp. Randall reacted first and, with a vicious grunt, drove two fingers into the big man’s left eye. Harvey shrieked in pain and rage and scrambled to his feet as Randall backed off, looking for something to defend himself with. Harvey roared and charged at him, catching the Inspector by the shoulder, pulling him down. Randall gasped as he felt strong hands encircle his throat. White light flashed before his eyes. His face began to turn the colour of dark grapes and it was as if his head were going to burst. Then, through a haze of pain, he saw Reed retrieve the metal topped end of the rake.
With a blow combining demonic force and terrified desperation, the young PC brought the rusty metal down on the back of Harvey’s head. There was a dull clang, combined with the strident snapping of bone and Randall suddenly felt the pressure on his throat ease.