'Half an hour my backside,' said Walford, indignantly.
'Just shut up and come with me,' Ferman told him, heading for the flat nearest them. He fumbled in the pocket of his trousers and produced a key. 'My flat,' he announced. He opened the door and Walford shrank back. Curled up in front of the dormant gas fire were two of the biggest Alsatians he'd ever seen. The first animal looked up, saw Ferman and bounded across to him. He smiled and grabbed the dog, patting it and running his hand along its sleek body. 'This is King,' he announced, stroking the animal which looked at Walford lazily, regarding him as if it were looking at its next meal.
'They're big bastards, Stuart,' said Walford, trying to hide his apprehension. He wasn't too keen on dogs at the best of times and these bloody things looked like ponies, he'd never seen any as big.
'I look after them,' said Ferman proudly, stroking the second dog which licked at his hand. 'This one is Baron. If they can't sniff out those bloody things then no one can.'
'You know, you're not as daft as you look,' said Walford, smiling.
Both men checked their weapons. Ferman led the dogs out into the corridor and hastily locked his flat door behind them.
'What makes you so sure they'll be able to find anything?' Walford asked as they set off up the first corridor, the dogs leading.
'Dogs can usually sense when something's wrong,' Ferman said. 'It'll save us a lot of time if they can.'
They checked the place, floor by floor, all the time their ears and eyes alert. Ferman watching the two dogs, observing their reactions as they paused now and again at a door, one of them sniffing around, the other pacing back and forth.
On the fifth floor a door opened and a woman stuck her head out, suddenly alarmed by the sight of gun- carrying policemen and dogs.
'What's going on?' she asked, worriedly.
'Nothing to worry about,' lied Walford, 'just a check. We got a call from someone in the flats who'd reported someone suspicious hanging round.'
The woman looked at the two men and then at the dogs. She hesitated a moment then closed her door and both policemen heard a bolt being slid into place on the other side. They walked on.
'Mrs Cole,' Ferman announced, 'we probably interrupted her and one of her customers.' He laughed to himself. Walford looked puzzled. 'She's a bit of a goer if you get my drift.'
Walford did.
'Her husband's in the nick, some big black bloke. Right fucking headcase, alcoholic too. He used to knock the shit out of her. I dragged him in twice for assaulting her but she stayed with him. I suppose she's making up for lost time now. There's a different bloke in there every night.'
Walford started to sound interested. 'How old is she?'
'Thirty, maybe younger. Who knows?'
They reached the flight of steps which led up to the sixth floor and the dogs raced ahead. Ferman watched them go, wondering if they'd found something at last. When he and Walford finally caught up with the animals he saw that it was a false alarm. They continued their endless trekking along the maze of corridors. Doors were tried; those that were open they investigated, the ones that were locked they bypassed.
'I hope you're right about these bloody dogs,' said Walford. 'I mean, what if they've missed something?'
Ferman shook his head. 'No chance. If there's anything here, they'll find it.'
Someone else popped their head out of the doorway on the tenth floor. Mr Wilkins. A retired solicitor, Walford was told afterwards.
'Pompous old sod,' said Ferman as they walked on. 'He's a nosey old cunt, too. There's not a thing goes on in this bloody block that he doesn't know about.'
'Do you know everyone who lives here?' asked Walford, irritably.
Ferman smiled.
Eleventh floor and still nothing. The sun was beaming in through the huge picture windows at either end of the corridor and Walford leant back against the wall to rub his aching thighs.
'Only one more floor,' Ferman told him. 'Thank Christ for that. My bloody legs are killing me, all these stairs.'
It was King who started barking first. Walford looked around to see the animal standing at the far end of the corridor, hackles raised, barking madly at something which he couldn't see. A second later, Baron joined in and the entire corridor was filled with a cacophony of harsh yapping and growling. King began scratching at the door, growling, backing off then barking once more. The two policemen ran to where the dogs stood and Ferman grabbed their collars, pulling them back, finding that he needed all his strength to do so.
'Try the door,' he said, watching as Walford gently turned the handle. The dogs' frenzied barking had now subsided to a low guttural growling; both had their sharp eyes fixed on the door as the policeman turned the handle and pushed it open a few inches.
'What do we do?' asked Walford. 'Let them go in?' He nodded towards the waiting animals.
Ferman bit his lip contemplatively. 'There is the chance they could be wrong.'
'You said…'
'All right. But I'll go in with them.' Ferman swallowed hard. He told his companion to hold the two Alsatians while he himself worked the pump action of his shotgun, chambering a shell. Walford held the dogs as best he could, stunned by their power.
'Let them go,' snapped Ferman, simultaneously kicking open the door.
The two animals hurtled in, Ferman following. There was a flurry of barking and howling from the room beyond him as he ran to catch up with the dogs. They had barged through a half open door inside which the policeman knew led into one of the bedrooms. All the flats were built the same; this one was no different to his own. He kicked open the second door and froze.
What had once been a man in his forties was struggling with the two animals, yellow spitde dribbling over his chin. He snarled and bit like they did, uttering the same harsh animal sounds so that it was difficult to determine who was making the noises. He had one hand clamped round Baron's throat, while the bulk of King clung to his other arm, teeth firmly embedded in the flesh. The living dead thing grunted and hurled Baron away, the animal smashing into the far wall, staggering for a second then racing back at the creature. He tried to bludgeon King away and, by turning, left his face exposed. Baron launched himself at the man's unprotected side and tore away a large chunk of skin. Blood spurted into the air and the dog fell away. The living dead thing spun round, bringing one hand down hard on King's head. The animal dropped like a stone and Ferman raised his shotgun, anger boiling within him.
'You bastard,' he muttered, and fired twice. Both shots hit their target and the man was slammed back against the wall. He stood there for a second before slumping forward, a huge crimson smear trailing out behind him, his entrails spilling in an untidy pattern on the floor before him.
Ferman dropped his gun and ran to King. He knew before he reached it that the animal was dead, its skull crushed to pulp by the powerful blow it had received. Baron, whimpering softly, licked at the policeman's hand and he had to fight hard to keep back a tear.
Walford appeared in the doorway. He looked in, saw the dead dog and the corpse and left, staggering into the corridor outside. Ferman finally emerged, carrying the body of the dog, Baron close behind him. The policeman's face was set, his jaw firm, the knot of muscles at its side pulsing angrily.
'I loved that dog,' he said, softly. And Walford reached out to touch his shoulder.
'Come on,' he said, still shaking from what he'd just seen, 'we'd better report in.'
Lambert was surprised at how many people there were in the centre of Medworth that morning. Perhaps they just chose not to hide or realized that they were not in so much danger during the day light hours. The sun shining brightly overhead seemed to add much needed reassurance.
He had just received the reports from the three other cars, well over half the town had been covered now
