Ridpath stood in front of the house, checking all the windows for signs of movement.
Nothing.
Should he go and wait for backup? He glanced over his shoulder; the road was empty save for his car. What about Patricia Patterson? What if she were in trouble?
He strode towards the door, banging on it with his fist. ‘Police, open up.’
No answer.
He banged again, longer and louder this time.
Still no response.
He tried the door, feeling the handle turn in his hand. The door swung open.
‘Hello. Police, anybody here?’
He stepped forward and stopped to listen.
The ticking of a clock on a mantelpiece. A slow drip of water into a sink in the kitchen. The sound of silence everywhere else.
‘This is the police. Is anybody here?’
He glanced down at the stone floor. At his feet were a few splashes of something wet. He knelt down to look at it more closely. Was it blood?
Outside, the sound of sirens approaching rapidly cut through the silence. He stood up, took one last look around and strode out of the farmhouse.
Two tactical unit vans were arriving at speed, sirens blaring, followed by a unmarked car with a single flashing blue light on the roof.
The vans slid to a halt on the wet road surface. Armed coppers poured out of the rear of the vehicles and immediately began to form up. The door of the unmarked car opened and Claire Trent came running out towards the barred gate.
‘I told you not to go inside,’ she shouted.
‘I thought I heard a shout. Preservation of life, ma’am.’
She looked at him dubiously but shouted at the lead Tactical Unit officer. ‘Clear the place. We’re looking for a woman. Be careful, possible armed presence.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
He went back to his men and briefed them. They formed into two groups. One went to the house and the second to the outbuildings and barns.
More cars arrived as the Police Tactical Unit stood outside the house, Heckler and Koch rifles at their shoulders, ready to enter.
Emily Parkinson and Dave Connor exited from one vehicle, followed by DCI Turnbull from another. They ran towards where Claire Trent and Ridpath were standing beside the gate.
‘Anything?’ asked Turnbull.
‘Nothing so far,’ answered Claire Trent.
As she spoke, one tactical team rushed into the house while the other began going through each of the outbuildings. Through their radios, Ridpath could hear the words:
‘Living Room. Clear.’
‘Kitchen. Clear.’
‘Bedroom. Clear.’
‘Cellar. Clear.’
On another radio, team two was declaring the outbuildings cleared one by one.
The lead sergeant ran back from the house. ‘The place is empty, ma’am. Signs of recent occupation, but nobody here at the moment.’
‘Nobody?’
‘Definitely empty, ma’am.’
The second group leader ran back from the outbuildings. ‘All clear, ma’am.’
‘Empty?’
‘Some chickens and pigs, but that’s it. Nothing else.’
Turnbull smiled. ‘What did I tell you, Claire?’
The detective superintendent began to turn towards Ridpath when a shout came from the furthest outbuilding. ‘Got something.’ Followed ten seconds later by, ‘Jesus Christ.’