As a uniformed copper, Lucy had been fairly well acquainted with Reddington Hall. Even when occupied, it had housed plenty of known offenders, and since it was emptied had been regularly used by squatters. A year last March, she’d been part of a raiding team put together to flush out considerable numbers of heroin addicts who’d been using it as a shooting gallery.

The upshot of this was that the Creep, a native of the West Midlands, oughtn’t to know his way around the place as well as she did. That gave her a kind of advantage, she supposed, but it would still be dark and labyrinthine in there, and crammed with refuse and grot and God knew what else. She alighted from the bridge on a concrete ramp, which swept down to what had once been the forecourt of Reddington Hall ‘A’, the first block. Here, a mesh fence blocked any further progress. It was about ten feet tall, with coils of barbed wire along the top. This was a relatively new addition to the site. As the demolition date approached, Crowley Borough Council were taking ever stricter measures to ensure that no one could get in. But, by the looks of it, they weren’t strict enough. Directly in front of Lucy, the fencing had been sheared open from head-height to floor, the wire-mesh sliced through as though made from string.

‘DC Clayburn to Foxtrot Alpha,’ she panted into her radio.

‘Go ahead, Lucy … where are you, over?’ came Tucker’s response.

‘You’re not going to believe this, Danny. I’ve chased him across the footbridge into Reddington Hall, and the new perimeter fence the Council put up has been chopped through. What’s this guy using, a sword or a chainsaw?’

‘That sword must be bloody sharp, Lucy … take care, you hear?’

‘Roger that.’

‘You got a visual on him?’

‘Negative.’ Her gaze roved the vast, desolate structures. ‘Probably working his way through to the other side, as we speak. Anyway, I’m going in …’

‘Negative, Lucy!’ It was an uncharacte‌ristically sharp response from Tucker. ‘Stand by until we get over there. ETA five.’

Frustrated, Lucy stepped through the slashed meshwork, but waited inside the fence, still scanning the buildings for any sign of movement.

‘Received, Lucy?

‘Roger, received.’