The Next Girl(Detective Gina Harte #1)(77)

‘Call it in.’

Wyre stepped out of the room to get a signal.

Gina stared at the birdcage in the corner. A large, dead bird was lying on the bottom of the cage. Wrappers from sausage rolls and pies filled the other corner, next to the orthopaedic chair the woman was sitting in. Two settees and several wall units filled the room. One wall unit was crammed with porcelain dolls; the other was piled up with Royal Doulton. The tops of the units were stacked with old newspapers.

‘Deborah, Debbie, are you there? Just shout or bang,’ Gina called as she began walking around the house. Her heart pounded with every step. Was Wall behind a door, ready to pounce?

As she reached the kitchen, Gina noticed the full ashtray on the worktop. A collection of straw hats spilled out of the cupboard doors. Clutter and cobwebs filled the room. She could just about make out that the work surface was pine underneath all the oddments and dust. It was strewn with money boxes, empty bottles and tins and more old newspapers.

Gina darted up the stairs, careful not to touch anything. ‘DI Harte,’ she called as she reached the top. She was met by silence. All she could hear was the blood thundering through her veins. She quickly checked the four bedrooms and the old-fashioned avocado-coloured bathroom. Cobwebs, damp, mould and decay were all she could find. She ran back downstairs. ‘Clear,’ she called.

‘Backup is on the way,’ Wyre replied, meeting her in the hall.

A scratching noise came from the back of the house. ‘I think there’s someone in the kitchen,’ Wyre whispered.

The two detectives left the room and crept along the hallway. The scratching got louder and was followed by barking. ‘A dog,’ Wyre said. They hurried towards the back door and opened it. A black spaniel darted past them, wagging its tail.

The cupboard door under the stairs blew open slightly as Wyre pushed the back door closed. Gina pulled her phone out of her pocket and used its torch to see. On an old bookshelf was a family portrait, a bit like the photos that were bagged from Wall’s flat. She picked up the photo and stared at the woman. She had a large mole on her cheek, and was standing next to a young boy who bore a striking similarity to Jeff Wall. Ms Benson was Wall’s mother. They’d been looking for someone going by the name of Wall. She’d never married Wall’s father.

‘Let’s check out the barn,’ Gina said, sprinting out of the house.

‘Shouldn’t we wait for backup?’

‘We might not have that long. I’m going up there now.’





Fifty-Four





Four years had gone since he’d taken her and she still remembered that night like it was yesterday. ‘Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go. Let me go!’ Those had been her first words when she’d first set eyes on Jeff Wall after he’d taken her, all those years ago. Back then, she had no idea where she was. She’d been asleep. Her head had ached and she’d been possessed by an overwhelming thirst.

She’d gone over it constantly, thinking of how she could’ve handled it differently, how she could have avoided becoming his prisoner. That day still seemed like yesterday; it never left her mind.



* * *



‘Where am I?’ she asked, trying to swallow. He stared back at her, seemingly unsure of what to do next. When she moved, she felt the draw on her ankle from the chain that was imprisoning her.

She remembered being the last to leave work after making up time. She had been walking through the industrial estate. It was dark and wet and Jeff had pulled over, offering her a lift in his van. She remembered politely declining – but what happened after that? One minute she was standing on the roadside, talking to him through his van window, the next, she was in some cold room, chained up by the man who worked at her local pub.

He paced up and down, muttering words she couldn’t decipher. She knew him from the pub where she played pool. In fact, she’d been there only three nights before. They’d recently lost to the Spinster and she and Lottie thought it might be a good idea to get a bit more practice in. Jeff had always been a quiet man, never really socialised much. He managed the cellar, as far as she was aware, and covered paperwork duties, but he rarely worked the bar. Why had he taken her? Questions ran through her head. Was it some sort of revenge thing?

‘Has Samuel set you up to do this?’ she asked.

He stopped pacing, turning to look her in the eye. He darted over to the bed and sat beside her. He leaned in and kissed the spot where he’d slapped her, before tracing her cheek with his trembling fingers. ‘I’m going to take good care of you. You are my love and I will do everything for you. That Samuel will never come near you again.’

Tears ran down her face. ‘Jeff, I have to get home to my children. My family are expecting me. Please take this thing off me,’ she said as she lifted her ankle, revealing the chain.

‘You are home.’ He wrapped his arms around her body and breathed deeply into her neck. ‘I have waited so long for you to be here. So long. I kept you safe out there, and now I will keep you safe in here.’

What did he mean? Had he been watching her? She’d never seen him around, apart from at the pub. There had been no warning of his feelings towards her. She’d never noticed any lingering looks.

His hot breath on her neck made her shiver as he continued to speak. ‘For years, I watched you leaving work and getting home. I wanted to make sure you were safe, but it got too hard. I couldn’t be there all the time. The only way to make you safe was to bring you here. You will be safe forever. You are too precious to me.’