To read the first ten chapters, please go to my St Marmaduke’s page.
Chapter 11
Monday 4th November 1985: 18.28 – 18.30
Terrence Dawson saw the front door of number 12 and broke into a run.
Bloody heck – the thing looked like…
It looked like a piece of scenery that had escaped from a Professionals set.
He’d been wondering as he walked towards Diamond Crescent how to handle entry to Hettie Foster’s place. The obvious would be to politely ring the bell and wait for an answer, of course. With the option to work a Bodie and Doyle number himself on the door if none was forthcoming.
Now he wouldn’t have to, he felt rather disappointed.
He raced into the hallway and glanced around. A set of stairs ascended in front of him, and there was a door in the wall to his left.
What would Bodie and Doyle do?
Ah. They’d handle it this way…
He pointed towards the door-handle.
He nodded, to let himself know that he understood.
He reached towards the handle, and paused dramatically, both of him counting to three under his breath.
Then he plunged the handle down and thrust the door open in one swift movement.
A small cloakroom met his eyes. No occupant.
He re-closed the door.
He raised his eyebrows at himself, and quirked a smile in return.
What he’d have done if Hettie Foster had been present, and in the middle of a business transaction, he didn’t know. He couldn’t recall an episode where George Cowley’s minions had ever had to interrogate an old lady with her knickers round her ankles.
He turned back to the hallway. It continued towards the back of the house via a passage to the right of the stairs; but just before that, there was another door, almost hidden in the half-light. No doubt the entrance to the front living-room.
He stepped towards it.
And a scream rang out from the other side.
‘What the…!’
He leapt forward and rattled the doorknob. It turned, but the door remained shut.
‘Locked!’ he muttered.
‘I can see that,’ he replied.
‘Stop talking to yourself, this is serious!’
‘Good point.’
He snapped out of Professionals mode. ‘Hello?’ he called, banging on the door.
He heard a thud from inside the room.
‘Hell- Huh?’
That did it.
He snapped back into Professionals mode.
‘After you,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ he replied.
Raising a foot in best Bodie and Doyle fashion, he proceeded to work a number on the door.
Colin Z Smith 