Free False Witness (John Steel series Book 3) by P. S Syron-Jones

“Okay, kid, let’s go.” The veteran cop had a deep gruff voice. Venturing over the hallway they took the stairs to the fourth floor.
    The building was clean but still needed a little TLC to brighten it up. As they reached the fourth floor they were greeted by a short, dimly lit landing area that twisted round to accommodate the apartments. Number 4b was at the end on the left-hand side. They stood in front of the door and the sergeant just waited, letting the rookie do the knocking.
    The young cop clenched a fist so his knuckles went white and knocked loudly three times to make sure he was heard. The door opened slightly, causing them to move back. They both drew their weapons as instinct kicked in.
    “Police!” the sergeant yelled loudly through the narrow gap. “Is there anyone home?”
    They waited for a second before they made their move. The sergeant went in first, nudging the door with his boot. His handgun was held high and ready. “Don’t shoot me in the ass,” he told his colleague.
    The rookie nodded as they made their way in.
    The apartment was in darkness and an eerie silence hung in the air as though the city had held its breath just for this moment. Using their flashlights they began to sweep the room. The rookie cop could feel his heart start to pound in his chest as the adrenaline was starting to seep through his veins.
    “Why don’t we just switch the lights on?” the young cop asked, but he could feel himself answering his own question.
    “Okay room clear!” the sergeant announced. “We move down and clear the rooms as we go. Make sure your goddamn finger is on the guard and not on that trigger.” The sergeant had had several near misses because of rookies in bad situations, because some scenarios couldn’t be prepared for at the training academy.
    They had cleared the first bedroom and moved up to the bathroom. The subtle drip drip drip of water was coming from behind the closed door.
    The sergeant moved to the left side of the door and signalled for the other man to get to the other. The veteran cop was in his late forties, and years of too much fast food on the job had diminished his running speed.
    He stopped for a moment and relaxed to get his breathing right, as beads of sweat started to collect under his hat. The torches created a halo of dim light round the pair so hand and head movements could be used with ease.
    The rookie could make out the sergeant’s lip movement as he counted down from three. As he got to ‘one’ the sergeant swung his arm and hammered the door open. A piercing screech filled their ears as a cat came bolting out past the rookie.
    “Jesus!” yelled the sergeant, slamming his back against the wall in shock. The two of them started to laugh at the situation, but managed to contain themselves. Then the sergeant’s head tilted towards the last room, its door open and inviting. The laughing stopped and their hearts began to race once more.
    The rookie watched as the sergeant took ‘point’—the position of the person who goes first into a situation. He could hear every thump of his heart in his ears, and he hung back enough not to get in the way—just in case the sergeant had to back off quickly.
    Now the silence was becoming unbearable, and he felt like coughing just to shatter the emptiness. The sergeant stopped at the door and backed off slowly, and the young cop caught a sight of his boss’s contorted face as he turned round and moved back to the sitting room, taking out his radio and making a call.
    “Control, this is Mike four-twenty-one, yeah, hi, we need a CSU and the ME’s office down at that address you sent me to.” The young cop watched as the veteran shook his head as if trying to get the image out of his mind.
    Curiosity drew him towards the room, to find out what was so terrible. He could feel himself moving towards the door.
    “Don’t go in there, kid!” the older man instructed. “Just move back to the sitting room and we’ll wait