Faith - Lesley Pearse [199]
He checked his pockets. His car keys were gone, as was his wallet. A lone 10-pence piece was all they had left on him. He had nothing to try to pick the door lock with.
All at once the seriousness of his plight hit him. This wasn’t some silly game, Belle and Charles weren’t suddenly going to let him out, dress his wound and say they were sorry. Belle had intended to kill him, and it was blatantly obvious to him now that it was she, not Charles, who had killed Jackie. To think that just a few hours ago he was feeling sorry for her!
He cursed himself for coming out here. It was probably the most stupid and arrogant thing he’d done in his whole life. He might have believed Charles was the killer, but only a complete fool would purposely go to the home of a suspected murderer with the intention of stirring up a reaction.
At least Charles had wanted to call an ambulance. He supposed Belle must have talked him out of that.
What were they intending to do with him? Dead or alive, he was going to cause them a huge problem, and there was also his car outside to deal with.
Charles was no idiot. He would realize that this was one of the first places the police would come to once his body or car was found.
Unfortunately Stuart knew it would be some time before anyone became aware he was missing, and even longer before they called the police. David would be enjoying himself with his family, and even if he rang the flat and got no reply, he’d simply assume that Stuart had gone off to see friends, or even taken a job. As for Goldsmith, Stuart had hounded him so much recently that he’d just be glad to be left in peace to get on with his case.
Stuart slumped down at the top of the stairs in despair, very aware of the blood seeping from his wound. He guessed it would take a long time for him to bleed to death, but he knew it would gradually weaken him to the point where he wouldn’t have the strength to escape if the opportunity arose.
After a few minutes he decided he must rouse himself and take stock of his situation, and he began by examining the door with his fingertips. He could feel big old-fashioned hinges on the inside of it, which if he’d had a screwdriver he could have got off in minutes. But without one that was impossible. Trying to batter the door down wasn’t a good idea either; firstly, he had no room on his side to tackle it; secondly, it would bring Charles running, and thirdly, the force required would open up his wound. So that would have to be a last resort. But he could scour the cellar for something he could use as a tool.
It was only as he crawled across the floor, groping with his hands for anything useful, and reached the coal again, that it came to him that it must have been dropped in there through a hole. He’d watched coalmen delivering it to big houses as a boy and just outside the house there was always a round plate like a manhole cover, which they lifted off.
He reached up above his head with both arms, and his fingers met the cellar ceiling. But it hurt so much, with sharp pains shooting through his chest and shoulder, that he felt faint again.
The logical place to start looking for the coalhole cover was where there was the most coal, and as he crawled over it, with it digging into his knees and the dust making him sneeze, his hands found a familiar object. A shovel.
He felt a moment of exhilaration, for apart from it being a tool to hit either Belle or Charles with if they came down, he could also hack at the door with it.
Using it like a walking stick to support himself, he made a fingertip search of the ceiling with his right hand. To his delight he found the round metal hole cover, but it wouldn’t budge when he tried pushing at it. Furthermore, he couldn’t see even the tiniest chink of light