The Messiah Secret

‘What is it?’ Bronson said, his hand on her shoulder.

‘I think there’s someone in my flat,’ she said.

27

Bronson stopped short and stared at the apartment block, seeing immediately what she meant. The lights in her lounge windows were blazing away, and he knew she always switched everything off whenever she left home.

‘OK.’ Bronson passed her the leather-bound box he’d been carrying, fished in his pocket and pulled out his car keys. ‘My car’s parked in the next street,’ he said. ‘Get in it, lock the doors and drive back here. Pick a spot where you’ve got a good view of the building and keep watch. And keep your mobile on and close to hand.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going inside, of course, and find out what’s happening.’

‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’

‘My dear Angela, I am the police. If I call the local bobbies, they’ll send a squad car along, blues and twos switched on, and whoever’s up there will leg it long before the car gets anywhere near the building.’

Reluctantly, Angela passed Bronson her keys. ‘Just be careful in there,’ she said, shivering a little as she remembered what had happened in Carfax Hall.

Bronson leaned across and kissed her. ‘I don’t intend to get hit on the head again,’ he said. ‘So stop worrying, and get the car.’

‘Looking both ways, Bronson strode briskly across the road. On the opposite side he stopped and looked back, making sure that Angela had gone, then walked towards her front door. He looked closely at the lock. Even a casual glance was enough to show him that it had been forced.

Angela paused briefly at the street corner and looked back towards her apartment building. Bronson had just vanished inside the front lobby. She muttered a silent prayer for him and walked on.

As she did so, a shadow detached itself from a doorway on the opposite side of the street and moved after her.

Bronson pushed open the lobby door and the automatic hall lights flared into life. He had a choice of the lift or the stairs. Using the stairs would have been the quieter option, but Bronson knew he’d be out of breath by the time he reached Angela’s floor, and that wouldn’t be a good thing if he was going to have to get physical with a couple of tea-leaves in her flat. So he pressed the button for the lift instead.

When the doors opened, he stepped inside the lift and pressed the button for two floors above Angela’s apartment – that way, if somebody was burgling her flat, they’d hear the lift carry on past that floor, and wouldn’t expect him to then come creeping down the staircase. Or that’s what he hoped, anyway. Then he took out his mobile and pressed triple nine, but not the button to dial the number. If there was an intruder, he’d only have one button to press, and he could do that with the phone in his pocket. The mobile cell triangulation system would pinpoint his position even if he couldn’t speak, and he knew that would probably be a faster way of summoning help than talking to the operator, especially if the background noise on the call was the sound of fighting.

The lift shuddered to a stop and he made his way slowly and silently down the two flights of stairs to the correct floor.

Angela’s apartment door was ajar. Bronson could see a thin sliver of light between the door and the jamb. It looked as if whoever was inside the flat had switched on most of the lights. It also meant that there could be several intruders, confident they could handle anyone who tried to interfere with them.

If so, it wasn’t good news.

* * *

Angela walked swiftly down the street, looking for Bronson’s BMW. She spotted it about a hundred yards ahead, and felt in her coat pocket for the keys.

But as she approached the car, a figure dressed in black stepped out on to the pavement from between two parked vehicles a few yards in front of her, and stood there, motionless by the kerb, looking towards her.

Angela’s stride faltered. There was something about him, some hint of menace or implied threat, that her heightened awareness picked up. She stepped off the pavement, deciding to cross to the other side of the road in order to avoid him.

She glanced both ways but there was no traffic coming from either direction. When she got about halfway across the road she looked back, and her heart pounded in her chest. The man had also stepped off the pavement, and was angling towards her.

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered, remembering all too clearly what had happened to Bronson and Jonathan Carfax.

Desperately searching for help, she looked in both directions but the street appeared to be deserted. No pedestrians, no traffic.

For the briefest of instants she considered her options. Then she turned and started to run.

Bronson fingered the mobile in his pocket, wondering if he should make the call to the emergency services before he even stepped inside.