raised her hand, wondering whether or not she should put on the light, but she felt simultaneously exposed and safe in the glow. She eventually decided to switch it on.
Nothing moved in the hallway.
To her right, the sitting room door was slightly ajar.
Ahead of her, the stairs disappeared upward into the impenetrable darkness of the first floor.
On the left, the door of the cellar was closed and, this time, there was no
key in it. She decided to leave it until last and moved towards the sitting room, pushing the door wide open. Light from the hall offered her sufficient illumination to find the nearest table lamp. This she also switched on.
Standing in the sitting room, Kelly could feel the silence closing in around her as if it were a living thing.
Outside, the storm was reaching its height.
Joubert found that the door which led into the garage was unlocked but the catch was rusty and he needed to put all his weight behind it to shift the recalcitrant partition.
It swung open with a despairing shriek and the Frenchman practically fell into the dark abyss beyond. He stumbled but managed to keep his feet, looking round for a light switch. He found one close to the door and flicked it on. The fluorescents in the ceiling sputtered into life and Joubert scanned the inside of the garage. The floor was spotted with congealed patches of oil and slicks of petrol but, apart from a small toolbox shoved into one corner, the place was empty. There was certainly nowhere to hide a body.
He took one last look then retraced his steps, flicking off the light as he did so.
Outside in the rain again he wiped some of it from his face and decided which direction to follow next.
There was a narrow passageway beside the garage and the side of the house which, he suspected, led to the back garden. Joubert moved cautiously towards it, attempting to see through the short, but darkness-shrouded, passageway. It was less than four feet wide, perhaps three times that in length and it was as black as the grave in there. He put out one hand and fumbled his way along the stone wall, unable to see a hand in front of him.
There was a loud clap of thunder and Joubert prayed for a flash of lightning which would at least give him a few seconds of light. Enough to reach the end of the passage or perhaps alert him if he were not alone in the gloom.
He tried to force that particular thought to the back of his mind but it would not budge.
Inch by inch he edged onward, deeper into the blackness.
Something touched his leg.
Something solid.
Joubert jumped back, not knowing what he was going to do, fear overwhelming him.
In that split second there was an ear-shredding whiplash of lightning which lit up the entire passage.
A foot or so from the end of it, there was a wooden gate. He had walked into it in the blackness, unable to see the object.
Joubert closed his eyes for a second and smiled thinly, moving forward once again. He succeeded in slipping the catch on the gate and passed through and out of the passage. The Frenchman found himself in the back garden. The rain continued to pelt down, plastering his hair to his face, streaming into his eyes. Another crack of lightning - lit the heavens and Joubert saw that, ten or twelve yards further on, nestling in some trees at the bottom of the garden, was what looked like a wooden shed. He trod quickly over the sodden grass towards the small hut and tugged on the handle.
It was locked.
He pulled on it again, finally using his foot to dislodge the timber door. It swung open, a pungent smell of damp and decay billowing out to greet him. He coughed and stepped inside.
There was no light in the hut.
The bulb was still in place but it was broken. He narrowed his eyes in an effort to see around the confines of the small structure, which seemed, to all intents and purposes, like a garden shed. He saw a lawn-mower, a roller and sundry other garden implements.
Joubert even spotted a large, double-handed axe. Blake had obviously intended
chopping down some of the overhanging branches which grew around the shed, Joubert assumed. He moved forward and picked up the axe, glad of a weapon though he wondered if it would be of any help if the need arose.
The rain was pounding the shed so violently now that it reminded the Frenchman of waves breaking continually on rocks. He shivered in his wet clothes and took one last look around the tiny hut.
Hidden behind a pile of boxes and encrusted with grime as it was, he almost failed to see the freezer.
It was long, perhaps six feet and at least half that in depth. Quite large enough …
Gripping the axe tighter, he moved towards it, pulling the boxes aside in his wake until he could reach the old freezer without any trouble. He hooked his fingers beneath the rim and prepared to fling it open.
There was a harsh crack as the wind blew the shed door shut, plunging Joubert into darkness.
He muttered something in French and hurried across to the door, pushing it open once again, allowing the rain to lash his face for a second, then he returned to the freezer. He dug his fingers under the filthy lid and lifted.
It was empty.
Only a large spider and some woodlice scuttled about inside.
Joubert slammed the lid down again, his heart still beating fast. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and leant back against the empty freezer to catch his breath.
The lights inside the house dimmed for a moment then glowed once more as thunder continued to roll across the heavens. Kelly stood quite still in the darkness, her eyes darting back and forth, ears alert for the slightest sound.
But all she heard was the driving rain and the fury of the storm outside. As the lamp in the sitting room came on she moved slowly towards the kitchen.
The door was open.
Kelly stopped for a second and glanced over her shoulder before entering the next room. She flicked on the lights and looked around. There were a couple of dirty mugs in the sink but, apart from that, everything seemed to be in its place.
The lights went out again.
She waited for the brightness to return, her heart thudding more rapidly in her chest.
She waited.
Outside the thunder roared loudly.
Waited.
‘Come on, come on,’ she whispered, trying to steady her breathing.
Waited.
The house remained in darkness.
From inside the garden shed, Joubert had seen Kelly turn on the kitchen lights and now, as he stood looking at the house, he too wondered how long it would be before the power supply was restored. The Frenchman decided that he would be better employed aiding Kelly in her search of the house. Carrying the axe with him, he headed for the door.
A gust of wind slammed it in his face.
He gripped the rusty knob irritably and tugged it open.
Joubert found himself face to face with David Blake.
Before the Frenchman could move, he felt powerful hands grabbing for his throat, hands which felt like blocks of ice as they squeezed. He struck out vainly at Blake who finally hurled the intruder to one side where he crashed into a pile of boxes. As he tried to rise he felt an incredible pressure on his skull as Blake gripped him in a vice-like grip, his fingers resembling talons as they threatened to plunge through the Frenchman’s skull.
Joubert felt the cold filling his head, his torso. His entire body.
He screamed but the sound was lost as thunder tore open the dark clouds and the rain lashed the hut unmercifully.
He felt himself being hurled to the floor where he landed with a jarring impact. When he opened his eyes there was no sign of Blake. Joubert didn’t know how long he’d been
