He figured that the killer would try and take him as he entered the room, which meant he would be hiding immediately to the right or to the left of the door.
Another possibility was that the killer had somehow managed to climb on top of the machinery without being heard, and was poised to jump down on him as he entered the room. Jack had watched the killer take half a dozen steps straight back, towards the centre of the room, before turning off the torch. It told him that the middle of the room was clear of obstruction.
Dropping to his hands and knees, Tyler edged forward, feeling his way into the gap he’d created. As soon as his head cleared the door, he dived into the room in a rolling break fall, hoping to catch his opponent off guard. Twice he rolled before coming up and spinning to face the door. He froze, crouched in a defensive stance; his hands stretched out in front to fend off the sudden frenzied attack he expected to come at any moment.
After thirty seconds, during which nothing happened, he found himself having doubts. Maybe there was another way out of here after all? Lowering his hands slightly, he began to shuffle sideways, towards the hissing noise. If there were pipes then they would be attached to a wall, and he needed a wall to get his bearings again.
His nerves were raw after waiting for an attack that had never come, and he found himself longing to give up the chase, turn around and get out of this creepy place. But the fact of the matter was that he couldn’t turn back. He needed to find the other exit and get back on the killer’s trail, and sooner rather than later.
Tyler stopped in his tracks as a small powerful draft hit him. It hadn’t been there a second ago. A rusty hinge creaked as a door opened close behind him. The hairs on the nape of his neck began to rise, and a shiver ran down his spine. He wasn’t alone after all.
◆◆◆
Dillon had managed to carry the injured woman back down to Kelly’s car, and she now sat in the front passenger seat. Flowers sat next to her, in the driver’s seat, holding the side of her face. She was still badly dazed and had only just managed to negotiate the walk back to the car unaided.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Kelly?” Dillon asked, placing a shovel sized hand on her shoulder.
“I’m fine. You should go and help Jack. I’m really worried about him,” she said.
“So am I,” Dillon admitted. He paused for a moment before making up his mind. “Alright, but lock both doors and start the engine. If anyone shows up, apart from me or Jack, floor it and get the hell out of here. Promise?” he asked, sternly.
“I promise,” she said, meaning it.
“Oh, and keep trying to ring out on my mobile.” He passed the phone through the open window. “If you can get a signal, dial all the nines and yell loudly for help, lots of it.”
“I’ll try.”
“And close that bloody window,” Dillon ordered. With that, he set off for the warehouse at a brisk trot.
CHAPTER 42
Simon Pritchard froze on the spot, silently cursing the squeaking hinge that had stolen the element of surprise. There was no way that Tyler could have missed it and now he would be forewarned of the killer’s approach.
He had slipped out of the other set of fireproof doors the moment he’d turned the torch off, hiding in the damp corridor that ran down to the pier. Then, cupping his hand around the torch to prevent its light from spilling back into the room, and alerting Tyler, he had rummaged around on the floor in search of something to set fire to. Almost immediately, he had found a long length of rag, which he’d crumpled into a ball.
He now stood poised in the doorway, ready to run. But he couldn’t leave without letting Tyler know who the better man was. It wasn’t enough just to kill Tyler; first, he had to tell his arch-nemesis exactly what was going to happen to him.
He switched the torch back on, shining it directly into the detective’s eyes. “Did you think I’d gone, Jack?” he asked in a soft sibilant voice.
Tyler shielded his eyes against the sudden, painfully bright light, which was blinding after the total darkness of the underground boiler room. He took an uncertain step towards the voice, ready to pounce on its owner if the chance presented itself.
“Stay where you are, Tyler,” the killer warned, and something in his voice made Jack stop.
“Do you hear that noise, Tyler? Do you know what it is?” The killer shone the torch around the room, bringing it to rest on a stacking unit containing several long cylinders, over by the far wall. A ball of ice formed in Tyler’s stomach as he recalled his earlier fear of a gas leak.
“Those little beauties contain a highly flammable propellant, Jack. For the last few minutes, the contents of four of them have been filling this room. Can you imagine what would happen if someone were to spark a flint down here? Or, perhaps, set light to a piece of rag like this…” He shone the torch on his other hand, which contained the balled-up rag and something else, something small.
A lighter.
“Pritchard, don’t be stupid. I know you hate me, but doing that would kill us both. Is that what you really want?” Tyler asked. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. He quickly calculated the distance between them, and the chances of knocking the lighter from his opponent’s hand before it could be used. The odds were poor at best.
The door he had entered through, seconds earlier, was
