Milngavie, Glasgow. After the bells
At first, James Hambley didn’t understand what was happening; it sounded like somebody was taking a sledge hammer to the front door. Beside him, Martha came awake and sat up.
‘What the hell is that?’
‘Christ knows.’
‘What time is it?’
Hambley switched the bed-side light on and got out. ‘Ten past two.’
He pulled the curtain back and looked into the street. Every house was in darkness. The banging started again. He tried to sound calm, although he felt anything but.
‘Stay here. Probably some doped-up kids. I’m going down.’
Martha shook her head. ‘Not by yourself you’re not.’
She reached for the phone. ‘I’m calling the police. Let them deal with it.’
Her husband was already on the landing. The pounding came again, louder than before, and a hoarse voice cried ‘Jimmy! Jimmy!’
Martha grabbed her husband’s arm. ‘Don’t you even think about opening the door.’
‘What about the police?’
‘Line’s engaged. Can’t get through.’
Hambley shouted. ‘The police will be here any minute! They’re on their way!’
‘Jimmy! Jimmy!’
Martha said, ‘That’s... That’s…’
‘I know who it is.’
Hambley opened the door and gasped. Wallace Maitland stared at them. His coat was gone and the white shirt was torn and covered in blood. He fell forward. Hambley caught him and eased him inside. Maitland was crying.
‘In God’s name, man. What’s happened to you?’
Maitland lips moved but nothing came out. He started to tremble; he was going into shock. Hambley barked at his wife. ‘Martha! Stop blubbering and get some brandy. And try the police again.’
‘No…no…no,’ Maitland said. ‘Not the police. Just… help me.’