Death in a Far Country by Patricia Hall Page A

time to try to overcome the cold, before moving very slowly towards the door. Cautiously she made her way to the front door of the flat, hanging askew on smashed hinges, and glanced out onto the walkway thatgave access to a dozen flats on this level with a staircase at each end. She knew that if the men were coming up the main stairs she might still escape them by using the ancillary stairs, which gave access to each of the walkways below her and eventually to what must have been an emergency exit on the ground floor.
    But what her near paralysed brain was telling her to do was to go the other way, to the main stairwell, where another door gave access to the short flight of narrow steps that led to the roof. There, she knew that the parapet was low enough for her to climb, even in her weakened state, and the long drop to the ground would end the months of torment she had suffered once and for all. But as she leant wearily against the wall just inside the flat she knew that she did not have the courage to risk going that way in case she met the men who had come into the block. Men, she thought, any men, were the greatest threat of all. She could not, would not, suffer like that again. But here, on the walkway outside, a high parapet and a wire grille that must have been erected to prevent just what she had in mind, made it impossible for her to achieve her end. She would have to work her way downwards, she thought, and wondered if her weary body could even attempt her task, much less make an escape into the town outside in the twilight without being seen and reported to the authorities.
    Eventually she gathered all her dwindling strength and, ducking low below the parapet, ran to the stairs furthest from the flat that had been her refuge. At each landing she stood listening carefully before inching down the next flight, but the raucous laughter she heard was a long way away and eventually she had dropped down all eight flights and stoodbehind the emergency door, which was hanging on weakened hinges like most of the rest of the doors in the block. She inched it open and glanced outside anxiously. But she found that this end of the block was almost completely shielded from view by the protective fence that the builders had erected in their vain effort to keep intruders out.
    She glanced down at herself before she dared move, and knew that she could not go far, partly because she had not the strength and partly because her appearance would arouse instant suspicion. Her short skirt and thin cardigan were filthy, her bare legs were stained with dirt and several smears of blood, and as she ran a hand across her dark hair she realised that it was filthy and matted. She guessed, too, that the time she had spent in the flats without access to running water had left her smelly. She would need to find another refuge and quickly, she thought, as above her she heard shouts and more laughter, closer this time, filling her with dread.
    It was darker now, and she could see that above the fence the first street lights were beginning to come on. Very cautiously she worked her way around the fence to the first gap she could find, where she could see, beyond the rubble of the building site, a deserted road and a row of small, low houses, with tiny gardens in front and narrow pathways leading to the back. Some of the houses had lights on behind drawn curtains but as she scuttled across the road, looking fearfully behind her to make sure that she had not been spotted, she headed for one that was in darkness, opened the gate, and still glancing over her shoulder nervously, made her way down the path to the back of the building. In the dim light she could just make out the back door to the house, a dustbin beside it, and a smallouthouse with its door ajar. There was not much room inside, but by this time she was gasping for breath and her heart was thumping painfully and she slumped to the floor inside, pulling the door closed behind her. The darkness