‘But not days … not …’ He pulls at the neck of his jumper again. ‘Oh God. Oh Lord. I can’t … I can’t do this … I’m sorry …’
‘Dennis!’ I say firmly. ‘Stop it. It’s going to be okay.’ I need to take his mind off it. ‘Someone will come for us. The dogs. Someone will notice the dogs.’ I stop pacing. ‘Tell me. Are you married? Do you have children?’
At first I don’t think he’s going to answer, then he eventually says, ‘Yes. I was married. A long time ago. She left me in the end. Had an affair with one of the neighbours.’
‘Oh Dennis, I’m sorry.’
He shakes his head. ‘It’s okay. It was when we were living in the Chew Valley. I moved here ten years ago.’
‘Children?’
‘A daughter. She’s married and lives in Liverpool.’
‘Any grandkids?’
‘Two.’ He smiles at the memory of them. ‘Two boys. Twins. They’re amazing. Thirteen now but I go and visit them every few months.’ His face falls. ‘I might never see them again … my daughter. Stella. She’ll be devastated. We’re really close …’ He clutches at his heart again.
I need to get us out of here otherwise Dennis could keel over. I dart back up the stairs and start pushing on the door again, ramming it with my shoulder, trying to heave it open. And then I start yelling. ‘Help. Help. We’re locked in here. Help. Help.’
A sound. Footsteps perhaps. And then a dog’s bark.
Dennis looks at me, round-eyed.
And then, much to my utter relief, the door is pulled back, showing me a wonderful, exhilarating slice of grey sky. I gulp lungfuls of fresh air and sprint up the rest of the stairs before it can close again, my legs weak. I turn to help Dennis. I’ve never seen him move so fast. He almost runs up the stairs too.
‘Thank God,’ he says and we step out of the bunker and into the woods. ‘Thank God.’
And then I turn to our rescuer. ‘Hello, Imogen.’
It’s DI Erica Shirley. She’s standing with Solly and Dennis’s black Lab, Cady.
‘We were locked in …’ Dennis manages as he tries to catch his breath.
DI Shirley’s expression is troubled and I follow her gaze to a large stone boulder set next to the hatch. ‘That was on top of the door,’ she says gravely. ‘If it hadn’t been for the dogs here, leading me to this area of the woods, then I wouldn’t have found you. We need to find out who did this.’
16
‘I’ll need to take a statement,’ says DI Shirley when we are back in the kitchen. She hands me and Dennis a cup of coffee that she kindly made for us and I warm my hands on the hot mug. My teeth are chattering. The room smells of dogs and coffee. Dennis is talking too fast as he fills DI Shirley in on what happened, starting with the man in Dorothea’s study, as though he’s afraid he won’t be able to get it all out if he doesn’t say it quickly.
‘What did he look like?’ asks DI Shirley gently, directing her question at me.
‘Late twenties, I think. Blue eyes and slim build. Tall.’ I describe his bulky trainers and baggy jeans and dark hoody. ‘He didn’t seem to take anything apart from an old Zippo lighter. But I think he was looking for the key to the bunker.’
After DI Shirley had rescued us she wanted to check the bunker out for herself, but then Dennis took a funny turn, slumping to the ground. While she was seeing to him I took the opportunity to run back down to the bunker on the pretence of leaving my phone behind. I threw an old sheet over the sculpture and moved it to a corner ofthe bunker, surrounding it with other art paraphernalia. When DI Shirley did go into the bunker, the only things she noticed were a load of old art supplies.
‘You don’t know that for certain,’ DI Shirley says now. ‘There’s nothing of interest down there that I could see.’
I hesitate. Dorothea left the key for me to find. She didn’t want anyone else knowing about the sculpture. It could be a clue, and if that’s the case then I already feel bad enough that Dennis knows. ‘That’s what we noticed too. Just a load of old art supplies.’
I shoot Dennis a look over the detective’s head and he gives a very slight nod of understanding.
‘Perhaps someone thought she had valuables in the bunker,’ muses DI Shirley. ‘But then why not take any of the antiques in the house?’
‘He might have been about to steal all that but Imogen disturbed him,’ suggests Dennis. He still looks a little pale, his fine white hair standing up on end.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, concerned for him as he pulls at the neck of his cable-knit jumper.
‘I’m grand, thank you,’ he replies. ‘Just a bit of a shock, that’s all.’
