Murder One - Short Story 1

Short Story 1 -
"Why the fuck do I get myself into these kind of situations" Steve came to the unfortunate realisation that he was talking to himself. He always thought that single-manned patrols were a bad idea but it took a 3am call to an alleged burglar on scene to plainly highlight that he was all alone and vulnerable.
When he arrived on scene he realised this wasn't going to be your usual call. No one else had been able to attend, strange in itself because if you have ever met a police officer you would know that they never pass up the opportunity to chase a burglar.
Steve pulled up outside the Victorian two-storey terrace in a street lined with identical properties. All the other houses in the street had lights on, TVs blaring or other such evidence of occupancy. The burglar house was conspicuous in its silent foreboding manner, lights were off, no sounds projected from the windows, actually it felt like the house was sucking in light and sound.
The door was fully open, a cold dark hallway beckoned Steve. Steve told himself that the open door indicated that the burglar had flown the coop, its amazing what bullshit you can convince yourself to believe when the need arises. Before a step could be made towards the uninviting portal, a formality had to observed. "This is Car 24, ETA at the burglar call in Rose Street, need assistance as address appear insecure. Entering property to search for burglar." He hoped his voice didn't sound fearful or a choir boy, clicking off the radio he pulled out his trusty torch and his baton, well you never know, the owners might own a vicious man-eating cat.
Steve entered the door as the wind blew in behind him, he didn't remember it being so cold tonight and thought may be he could go back to the car, get his jumper, check if he turned off the lights, get a cup of coffee or lock himself in the boot of his car and cry like a 5 year old girl.
Crossing the threshold was like entering another world, dark shadows played up and down the corridor as Steve's torch tried to root out the source of his unease.
The hallway walls held numerous creepy family photos, actually in the dark they looked like Dr Frankenstein had married the wolf man and had several illegitimate children.
The front room was first to be searched, cautiously entering the room, Steve slowly swept the walls with light and yelped as he realised that there might be somebody sitting in the lone armchair in front of the TV. The scramble for the room light proved fruitless as the light failed to materialise when the switch was hit ferociously. Suddenly remembering that he still had his torch, he swung it round like he was trying to decapitate Darth Vader with a lightsaber. The man-eating cat perched on the top of the armchair got the shock of its life, then realised it didn't care and went back to sleep. Steve's heart rate came back to normal just before he realised the suspect now standing in front of him was actual his reflection in a large fireplace mirror. The room, having been fully recce'd was reluctantly left as Steve re-entered the hallway again.
The back room was the next destination when he heard a light, quiet scuffing noise upstairs. Now he knew it could be the wind blowing a dressing gown hung on a door or wall but you can't question thousands of years of evolution.
When you here something that may potentially be a danger, your body tenses up, ready to attack or to flee. Police officers have to repress all these responses, firstly because they don't have the option to flee, especially if you don't want to making the tea and answering to girl names as your colleagues reward your flight skills. Secondly, if a police officer attacks the next thing that appears it may end up being a 90 year old sleepy resident and this causes a lot of paperwork. Steve spoke to his legs trying to convince them that movement would be preferable to taking root, some might say a little too loudly, especially as a potential burglar was upstairs.
Now everybody knows that as soon as you make a conscious decision to be quiet and stealthy, you will be anything but. Add into the factor that most police officers are not ballerinas and wearing thick boots that only a soldier could appreciate. It would be fair to say that Steve tried to creep up the stairs but that he was probably heard in the adjoining street.
The upstairs hallway was even less inviting as downstairs, all doors were locked except one. Upon realising that he hadn't lost the power of speech, Steve stated in what was hopefully a strong, commanding voice "Police, come out of the room as slowly as you can with your hands behind your head". A good five minute wait didn't result in the suspect handing himself in and to Steve this was worse because it meant he was going in.
Anticipation and fear caused his mouth to dry like sand paper. Steps became shorter as he closed on the partly opened front bedroom door. With torch in hand the bedroom was given several sweeps of light but with no avail. Under the bed was checked by kicking it and then thrusting the torch under, baton in hand, nothing. Steve released a breath which he didn't realise he was holding, turning towards the door a shadow disconnected itself from a wall, a presence suddenly behind him and then a long exhaled breath, which was not Steve's.   

The Detective Inspector didn't like being called out to crime scene's, it was 4am in the morning and he had Detective's for this. The call he received whilst he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes will always be the most harrowing he will receive. The Inspector walked under the police tape, following his ashen faced Detective, past the weeping female police officer slumped against a police vehicle, sobs escaping uncontrollably from her lips. The house was lit by portable lamps, powerful and unrelenting. The scenes of crime officers had already processed the hallway and were working methodically from room to room. "Guv, the officers who turned up later couldn't get the lights to work, even tried the fuse box but the problem was that somebody had meticulously removed every light bulb in the building and placed them on the dining room table." A Detective pointed to the Inspector the lined up bulbs, large to small, left to right and straight as a die. The Detective showed the Inspector upstairs, who noticed that numerous photo's of pretty children and there adoring parent lined the walls. The Detective continued to tell him such useful information as there was no sign's of a break in, neighbour's never heard anything and knew the residents were in the south of France for a holiday, left yesterday.
The Detective showed the room to the Inspector, the arterial spray patterns, the pools of blood, where the organs were possible placed before being taken away and then the body.
The Inspector looked into Constable Steve Reddings dead eyes and suddenly realised that they had a serial killer, one who was hunting the hunters.