He beckoned Gina over. She followed him through an entanglement of bushes. ‘See there. Someone has cut the wire fence. You can see how trodden the ground is. If you look carefully, you can see that one of the boards has been removed and what was once the old fire door looks like it’s on some sort of catch. There aren’t many houses close by either, which is why people don’t notice if anything goes on.’
The old building, red brick with steps leading up to a large door, looked like it would have been something wonderful back then. ‘We’ll go in through the front. It’s too dangerous to go in this way.’ She glanced up. A sheet of roof felt dangled precariously above and it looked like an old chimney had settled on it. One bang of a door could bring the whole lot down.
As they headed back, Wyre, O’Connor and several officers were poised to enter.
‘We’re going in.’
The contractor led them through the yard. Tree stumps had broken through what was once a concrete drive. Branches snaked out of the roof, reaching for the rainclouds above.
Wyre half-tripped on an upturned slab as they silently followed the contractor to the main door. He inserted the key and turned it. Gina nodded. ‘You can wait back there.’ She pointed to the entrance. He looked disappointed as he headed away. ‘Wyre, follow me and don’t make a sound.’
What was once an old reception room was nothing more than a moss-covered broken desk. Graffiti covered the walls. Old wrappers and cans filled the corners. She hurried across the room, crunching glass underfoot.
As she burst through a door, she came to another room. Smashed up pieces of pool table were scattered around. The cooing of pigeons echoed through the mouldy room that had once been used as a hangout area. ‘I can’t hear anything. That must be the door to the offices.’
Wyre nodded and crept closer. ‘There’s a lock on it.’
Gina pushed the door. It wasn’t locked. That was door one of the corridor. Stephanie’s story ran through her mind. Three doors. Susan’s poem invaded her thoughts. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. Haunted by a missing woman with a secret past, one in which she ran from back then and now, it finally came back for her.
As I let it out, I let the darkness in.
It took me to a secret place, one in which I must never speak of.
‘Be silent, be silent,’ my mind tells me so. ‘You opened the door. It’s your fault and no one must ever know.’
The poem sent a shiver down her spine.
She hurried over the fallen roof debris straight to the second door. As she bumped into the wall on approach of door two, a waft of dust hit the air and a chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling, just missing Gina’s forehead. Coughing, she flapped her hand in front of her nose. She flinched as a rat scurried alongside the skirting board, escaping through a hole in the wall.
Wyre gasped. ‘Bloody hell. We’ll have less of those.’
Through the door they went. That’s when she saw the room at the end, markedOffice. All those years ago, three teenagers went into that room, trusting their youth worker. Adorned with gifts of food and alcohol, everything their teen selves desired. Wanting to be grown-ups, but still they were children in so many ways. She wanted to cry for them. As the smell hit her, she wretched slightly. ‘There’s a body.’ She shivered as Susan’s poem chanted in her head.
Hammering, banging. ‘Open door three and let me out,’ it yells.
‘I’m opening the door.’ Not knowing what she was letting out, Gina gripped the door handle and gasped. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and saw blood, lots of blood.
Sixty-Eight
Gina flashed her torch into the room and saw the bloodied male lying face down on the floor. She reached over and checked his pulse. He was long gone. Blood glistened from the stab wound to his neck and the knife had been dragged towards the man’s shoulder, slicing through his flesh. ‘Susan. Susan Wheeler. It’s DI Harte. Call out if you can hear me. Phoebe, you’re safe. Where are you? Phoebe.’ A trail of sweat slipped over Gina’s cheek as she tensed up.
Wyre flashed another torch on the scene. A damp odour came from the couch and a knitted blanket that sat against the back wall. A length of rope lay on the floor, resting on many years’ worth of wood, dust and plasterboard. Gina stepped over the broken wooden chair. ‘Shush,’ Gina called out as she listened to a single knock coming from the corner of the room.
‘Shall I check the cabinet, guv?’
Gina wouldn’t risk Wyre’s safety but she had little care for her own. ‘No, I’ll do it. Stand back.’ As she stepped on the uneven floorboards towards the tiny old office wardrobe, it rattled again. O’Connor and Jacob had caught up and were waiting with a team of officers outside the door. She checked her stab vest – looking at the body on the floor she knew that she had to be ready for an attack. As she grabbed the wardrobe handle, she jumped back, poised to stop anyone from running and a carpet of rats escaped, darting across the floor, scurrying away through any gap they could find.
A piercing scream came from the corridor. O’Connor was doing a dance before he ran into the office. ‘Get them away from me.’
Gina slammed her fist into the door. ‘Jacob, get Bernard and the team in here… Shush!’ Again, she could hear something. ‘There’s something else on the other side.’ She tried to force the other door open but it had jammed. She kneeled in the debris, a shard of wood piercing her trouser leg as she shone the torch at the back. She braced herself for another stream of rats as she followed the light. ‘I’ve found Susan. Susan, Susan. Answer me. She’s not answering. I need a paramedic immediately.’ She reached in and couldn’t feel a pulse. As she wrenched at the jammed door, her face reddened until it finally gave way. After a stumble, Gina crawled along the ground and reached in. ‘Susan, answer me!’
The woman had been bundled into the corner, ligature marks around her neck, her wrists and feet tied and gaffer tape put across her mouth. Gina almost heaved when she saw the gnaw marks to her ankles where the rats had been chewing on her flesh. ‘Susan.’ She gently pulled the tape, crawled into the wardrobe and hugged the freezing cold body. She couldn’t be dead. Mary flashed through her mind. She would have to tell Mary that Susan was dead. ‘Look for Phoebe, don’t just stand there,’ she shouted to O’Connor. She felt for a pulse again and exhaled. There was something, not much but it was there. ‘Where are the medics? I’ve got a pulse.’
‘They’re here, guv. Stand aside.’
‘We’re here, Susan. You’re safe now.’ If Susan could hear, she wanted her to feel safe. She only wished she could say to the woman that they’d found her daughter.
‘O’Connor, call Briggs, tell him we’ve found a body. Wyre, I want everything we have on Ronald Halshaw – outside in five minutes. Everyone else, get out and do it safely. I don’t want any accidents. This is now a murder scene and I don’t want any evidence further ruined.’ She stooped down and took a closer look at the man’s body as she held her arm across her mouth. ‘We’ve found Howard Hudson.’
