Bryant knocked hard.
Kim allowed herself the brief hope that Jerry was going to answer the door and tell them he’d just been off sick for a day or two.
They waited. No answer.
Bryant knocked again, harder.
Nothing.
She leaned down and opened the letter box.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said, stepping away. She covered her nose and pointed. ‘Bryant, have a sniff at that.’
He did so. ‘Absolutely foul,’ he said, wrinkling up his nose. ‘Something is festering in there.’
‘Okay, let’s do it.’
He didn’t need telling what she meant. Over the years they’d perfected the art of breaking down doors by synchronising their weight against the upper and lower part of the door at the same time.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Kim cried out in pain as the wood of the frame splintered. For an old door it put up quite a fight, and Kim just about saved herself and Bryant from collapsing into a heap on the floor. She made a mental note that her body wasn’t quite up to exerting that level of force.
‘Uggghhhh,’ she said, moving closer to the source of the smell.
She covered her nose and stepped into the kitchen.
‘I swear, guv, I’ve attended post-mortems that don’t smell this bad.’
Kim nodded her agreement as she looked around the kitchen. No surface had been left uncluttered with dirty plates full of half-eaten meals. Stale, mouldy bread was everywhere, bowls holding sour milk, fish that was dried and shrivelled. The stench of rancid meat came from the swing bin in the corner.
‘I’m thinking he didn’t have time to clean before he took off somewhere,’ Bryant said.
‘Or was taken,’ Kim added.
‘I’ll take a look up there,’ Bryant said, climbing the stairs two at a time.
Kim went through to the living room, which was surprisingly tidy compared to the kitchen. There were no dirty plates or mouldy food, and although the furniture looked dated, it was well taken care of.
There was no bathroom downstairs to check so Kim headed straight outside. The garden was small and boxy, around ten metres long. The space was formed of gravel and slabs with no flowers or shrubbery of any kind. The space was encircled by a six-foot fence on top of double gravel boards, offering an eight-feet-high privacy screen all around. There was no shed or storage box and Kim could see why. The gate at the rear was double bolted.
‘Nothing upstairs, guv,’ Bryant said, joining her. ‘Two bedrooms. Double has a fitted wardrobe and smaller one is a storage room.’
‘Hmmm…’ Kim said.
‘Oh, I hate when you do that,’ Bryant said as she headed back into the house.
She went to the front door and touched where the bolt keeps had been ripped from the door frame when they’d forced the door open.
‘Hmmm…’ she said again, entering the kitchen.
She moved around the space, touching things as she went, then headed up the stairs and came to a stop on the landing. She put her finger to her mouth as Bryant frowned.
‘Well, he’s obviously not here,’ she said clearly. ‘Which gives us a bit of a problem.’
‘What’s that, guv?’ Bryant asked, following her gaze up to the attic door.
‘We can call the locksmith but we can’t hang about and wait for him. We’ll have to pull the front door to and hope no one notices that you can get straight into the property.’
She flicked her fingers towards the stairs.