The Coward's Way of War Read Online Free Page A

into an apartment only to discover that the couple owning the apartment enjoyed a BSDM relationship and weren't actually abusing each other.  The department had been lucky not to be sued over that little mistake.
     
    Two minutes later, he pulled the car into a parking space and checked his belt before climbing out and glancing around.  The area was one that had hundreds of fairly cheap apartments – to rent, at least – that housed workers for various companies.  They tended to be hotspots for crime because the inhabitants were rich enough to possess luxury goods, but too poor to afford proper security measures and safety precautions.  The streetlights flickered ominously as Pearson climbed out of the car and stood beside him, one hand on the pistol in his holster.  The area might not have gone to the bad, but it was on its way there.
     
    He led the way into the apartment block and saw an elderly woman standing there, wearing a nightgown that covered everything under her neckline.  “Thank god you’re here,” she said, before Al could say a word.  He guessed that she was the person who had made the call.  “There was screaming coming from Apartment 22B, sir.”
     
    Al listened, but heard nothing.  “It stopped several minutes ago,” the woman said.  She had a hectoring voice that reminded him of his third grade teacher, a woman the kids had joked was an alien in human form.  She was the kind of person who would happily mind everyone else’s business.  “It really was unpleasant screaming.”
     
    “We’ll take it from here,” Al assured her.  “I suggest that you go back to your flat and put on some warm clothes.  We may want to speak with you later.”
     
    Pearson looked up at him as the old woman headed back into her flat.  “We’ll want to talk to her later?”
     
    “We might,” Al confirmed.  He grinned suddenly.  “Or perhaps we could do without having her in the area when we discover what’s going on.”
     
    He led the way up the stairs and onto the landing, where he was surprised to discover several other people glancing nervously at one of the doors.  Unsurprisingly, none of them had made any attempt to force open the door and intervene.  It was one of the few reasons he disliked big cities and New York in particular; no one cared enough to intervene if someone was threatened, if only out of the fear of being sued.  He waved them back to their apartments – the rookie could interview them later, if necessary – and stepped up to the door, examining it quickly.  It was made out of cheap plastic and one good kick would allow them access.
     
    “Wait,” he ordered, and pressed his ear against the door.  There was no screaming now, just a faint whimpering sound.  “I hear something.”
     
    The sound seemed to grow louder and he swore.  It sounded like someone – a woman, he was sure – in pain.  It tore at his heartstrings, for the last time he’d heard someone whimpering like that had been a rape victim, several months ago.  She had been so badly terrified that she’d lashed out at everyone, including the police officers who had responded to the distress call.  Al knocked loudly, but there was no response.  He doubted that anyone who sounded like that was going to be in any fit state to open the door.
     
    “Stand away from the door,” he ordered, as he pulled a small tool from his belt.  There was no need to kick in the door when he could pick the lock himself.  Pearson looked on in astonishment as Al worked the lockpick and unpicked the lock.  The fact that some police officers carried such tools was something that was carefully not mentioned to the media.  “We’re coming in.”
     
    The door opened and he recoiled as the stench struck his nose.  He heard Pearson gagging behind him, but he had no time to spare for the rookie.  The stench was horrifying, a mixture of blood and piss and shit…and something else, something that nagged at his mind,