Police!’ Debbie shrieked at her phone. She gabbled her address at the top of her voice. ‘No, 16A,’ she repeated as loudly as she could, as though someone on the line hadn’t heard the number. She hoped the intruder wouldn’t realise she was shouting into a dead phone. ‘You’ve got a patrol car round the corner,’ she yelled, making an effort to slow her voice down and speak clearly. ‘That’s great! You’re bound to catch him unless he leaves straight away.’ She paused, afraid she was being too obvious. Footsteps pounded across the hall and a second later the front door slammed. Debbie sank to her knees. A few minutes passed before she managed to clamber to her feet. Trembling, she pushed the door open and peeped out into the corridor. It was empty. She crept along to the hall. The man had gone. The front door was closed. She turned back and checked her kitchen and living room, even though she knew there was no one there. She was alone in her flat. Crying uncontrollably now, she stumbled into the bedroom and fell on the bed.
