Chapter 52
507 Words
52
Culverhouse arrived at John Lucas’s house as the first response officers were lifting the enforcer out of the back of the van. The enforcer, a huge metal battering ram, was used to force entry to properties by bashing the door in.
‘Steve, get round the back in case he escapes that way. Ryan, follow me.’ He marched up to the front of the house and showed his ID card to the officers. ‘DCI Culverhouse, Mildenheath CID. This is DC Mackenzie. Any signs of life in there?’
‘Not taking any chances, sir. We’re happy to force entry immediately if you are.’
Culverhouse ran through the protocol in his mind. Lucas was a previous offender with a history of violence, particularly towards police officers. He’d shown signs of being psychologically unstable within the past half an hour. They didn’t know for certain he was in the house, but there was a pretty decent chance — especially as he’d had the taxi drop him off just around the corner.
‘I’m happy to authorise that,’ he replied, agreeing with the officer that they couldn’t afford to take any chances. ‘Stand back,’ he said to Ryan, as they gave the officer carrying the enforcer ample space to swing.
On the second strike, the wooden door flew open and banged against the wall inside. The officer carrying the enforcer stepped aside, with Culverhouse entering first, followed by Mackenzie and the other officers. This wasn’t strictly according to protocol, but Culverhouse had been trained for these events many moons ago, and was determined to be the man to nab John Lucas himself.
He yelled ‘Police!’ at the top of his voice, as did the others. It was a surprisingly effective tactic, which tended to result in the occupants panicking and freezing on the spot. You could usually tell when there were people in a house that you’d forced entry to, and Culverhouse didn’t like the feel of this one.
They pushed open the doors to each room and had a good look around, but it quickly became apparent that John Lucas was nowhere to be seen.
Culverhouse walked through to the back of the house and into the kitchen. There was a whisky bottle on the worktop, its lid sitting next to it. He looked at the bottle more closely.
‘He’s been here very recently,’ he called out to Ryan Mackenzie, who came to join him in the kitchen. ‘Look.’ He pointed to the neck of the bottle, which had a small trickle of whisky running down the outside of the bottle, where it had already reached the label and soaked in. ‘It’s still wet. We must’ve just missed him.’
Ryan looked at the bottle. ‘So he’s come home and taken a mouthful of whisky out of the bottle. Then what? Where’s he gone?’
Culverhouse looked around the kitchen for anything else that might give them a clue. His eyes locked on the knife block.
‘Where’s his dishwasher?’ he asked.
‘Don’t know. Don’t think he’s got one,’ Ryan said, looking around. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because there’s a knife missing from this bloody big gap in the knife block. And there isn’t one in the sink.’
Before they got any further, a uniformed officer came jogging into the kitchen, clutching his radio.
‘Sir. We’ve just had a call from the station.’
- Writer
