Jason snapped his bedside lamp back on. Emily was staring at the ceiling, bug-eyed with fear. ‘That is not floorboards settling,’ she said, in a low, shaking whisper.
He got out of bed.
‘Don’t go up. There’s someone there. Call the police.’
They heard it again.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
Then a massive crash.
Emily screamed in terror. ‘Jason!’
Another crash.
She switched on her lamp, grabbed her phone.
‘Don’t!’ he urged. ‘I’ll go up.’
‘Are you fucking crazy or what?’ She stabbed out 999.
He heard a faint voice through the receiver. ‘Emergency, which service please?’
‘Police,’ she whispered.
‘Darling! No!’
‘There’s someone up there, for God’s sake!’
‘I’ll go.’
‘No!’
They heard the sound again.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
Then a different, female voice through the phone speaker. ‘Sussex Police, how can I help you?’
‘We have an intruder upstairs, in our house,’ Emily said, her voice barely above a whisper.
‘Can you give me your name and address please, caller?’
‘Emily Danes. Our address is 47 Lakeview Drive, Cold Hill Park, Cold Hill, East Sussex. There’s someone upstairs.’
‘I’m dispatching a car to you. Stay on the line.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
The sound was even louder now. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
Emily held the phone up, briefly. ‘Can you hear them?’ she said.
‘That noise?’
‘Footsteps.’
‘Where are you, Emily?’ the call handler asked.
‘I’m in our bedroom, with my husband. He wants to go up – the sound is coming from his studio above us.’
‘The car will be with you in less than ten minutes, I’m tracking it. Tell your husband not to confront them, wait for the officers to arrive.’
‘Thank you,’ Emily said, and burst into tears. ‘Oh God, please hurry.’
They heard the sound again.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
‘Oh Jesus,’ she said. ‘Please ask them to hurry.’
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. The ceiling was shaking.
Jason jumped out of bed, went to the door and pulled on his dressing gown.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. The ceiling was shaking even more.
‘Don’t go up there!’ she implored.
‘Four minutes away,’ the call handler said. ‘Do you have any dogs in the house that the officers need to know about?’
‘No,’ she replied.
‘I’m going down to let them in,’ Jason said.
‘Be careful.’
Jason ran out of the room and downstairs to the front door. He flung it open and went out into the front garden into a howling gale. Blue flashing lights were approaching. He went out into the street, holding the front of his dressing gown shut with one hand, waving with the other.
The car pulled up in front of him and almost before its wheels had stopped turning two officers, one male and one female, jumped out and hurried over to him, tugging on their caps, each flashing a torch.
‘Is the intruder still on the premises, sir?’ the female one, petite and fair-haired and in her twenties, asked. Her colleague was short and burly, and a few years older. Both were bulked-out with stab vests and all their equipment.
‘Yes, I think so. Thanks for coming so quickly. Upstairs on the top floor, in my studio.’
Jason led them in, then allowed them to run up the stairs ahead of him, their reflections bouncing off the mirrored walls. ‘Next floor up,’ he shouted as they reached the landing.
As they hurried on up the spiral staircase to his studio, Emily came out of the bedroom in her dressing gown. ‘Thank God,’ she said, and followed Jason up.
On the top floor landing, he followed the officers into his studio, putting out a cautioning hand for Emily. The two officers stood in the centre of the room, looking around, puzzled.
There was no one there. Nothing looked disturbed. The easel was in the centre of the floor, as he had left it, with a fresh gesso board in place on it.
‘I – I just – just don’t believe it,’ he said.
‘All the windows are securely shut,’ the male officer said. ‘You say you heard someone up here, walking around?’
‘We did,’ Emily said. ‘We could hear them, loudly.’
‘May we take a look around?’ the male officer asked.
‘Please – anywhere.’
The police went downstairs. Jason and Emily followed them as they checked each of the first floor rooms, and all the cupboards and wardrobes in turn, both officers noting their partially open bedroom window. Then they searched the ground floor rooms, as well as the garage. Finally, they went out into the rear garden, separated and searched down each side of the house.
When they had finished, the four of them sat at the kitchen table, the male officer pulling out his electronic tablet and laying it on the table.
‘Would either of you like any tea or coffee?’ Emily asked.
‘We’re fine, thank you.’
‘There are no signs of a break-in,’ the woman PC said. ‘The only window open is in your bedroom.’
‘I – I – I’m sure the window was shut when we went to bed,’ Jason said. ‘I was woken by the sound of the wind and noticed it was open, earlier, so I closed it again.’ He shot a glance at Emily. ‘I thought I saw someone in the room.’
The male officer went back outside, with his torch, and returned a couple of minutes later. ‘There’s nothing anyone could have used to climb up to your bedroom, sir,’ he said. ‘And no footprints in the flower bed beneath the window.’
‘There was definitely someone walking around upstairs,’ Emily said. ‘We both heard it.’
‘This is a very new development, isn’t it?’ the male officer asked. ‘How long have you been living here?’
‘We only moved in last Friday,’ Jason replied.
‘We were here on Monday, there was a fatal accident,’ he said.
‘I witnessed it,’ Jason replied. ‘I left a message with the police on 101, but I haven’t heard anything more, yet.’
‘I’m sure someone will be in touch,’ the young woman said. Then she smiled. ‘I’ve just realized who you are – Jason Danes, the artist, famous for your dog paintings?’
‘Yup.’
‘Have you noticed anything missing, either of you?’ the male officer asked.
Both shook their heads. ‘Not so far, anyway,’ Emily replied.
‘Do either of you have any enemies? Anyone you might have upset?’
Emily shook her head.
‘None that I’m aware of,’ Jason said.
‘No rivals?’ the male officer asked. ‘You’re a very successful local artist. Could there be someone jealous of you?’
Jason shrugged. ‘Possibly.’
‘There’s no sign of a break-in at all,’ his colleague said. ‘This is what’s strange. Did you have the front door locked, and the safety chain on?’ she asked.
‘Yes, always.’
The male officer pulled out a card and wrote a number on it. ‘I’ve put on my mobile number – if you think of anything that might be relevant, call me, any time. I’m PC Neil Lang. My colleague, PC Christina Davies, and I will be on until six thirty a.m. If you’re worried, call either 999 or my number and we’ll get someone straight back here.’
Both Jason and Emily thanked them, and escorted them to the front door.
Neil Lang nodded at the blazing Christmas lights of the Penze-Weedells. ‘They’ve got the Christmas spirit, all right.’
‘If they keep those going, you’ll end up with coach parties trundling by to see them!’ PC Davies said.
‘Just what we need,’ Jason said. ‘Like Christmas, do you?’
‘I’ve drawn the short straw this year – we both have,’ she said. ‘Lates, four till midnight. The busiest evening of the year for domestic disputes. Relatives who’ve not seen each other all year, getting pissed and then realizing why they’ve not seen each other.’
Jason and Emily waited until they had driven off, then secured the front door and went, very shaken, back up to the bedroom. He shut and locked that window, too.
Finally, he reset the alarm for an hour later than he had planned, to 7.30 a.m.
But neither of them slept much for the rest of the night.