Shaw sent a couple of cops to the neighbours to gather information and took Perlman and the others to go inside with him. He walked first, gun in hand; Eugene followed his lead and took out his pistol, sensing the worst. And, unfortunately, he was right.
“God,” he gasped, crossing the doorstep. “The same stench as at the police station and in the flat of the blacks. Ammonia and... something else.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Eugene?” Elijah turned to him.
“Don't you smell it? This fetor was in the flat of the murdered guys and in the blacks’ cell,” he said quietly, but with conviction. He sniffed the air a few times and, shakingly, stepped into the dining room. Shaw did too; he squirmed, smelling the odour.
Perlman groaned as he saw shattered crockery, overturned furniture an
