Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(91)

‘I will be careful, I have two armed officers, and I’ll make sure that my team are safe.’

‘Good luck, Rowan.’

‘We’re all ready, ma’am. Everything is in place, not even a starving cat could slide out of that place without us seeing it. We are just waiting for your orders to go in, ma’am.’

‘Then get to it, Inspector.’

*

Jackman went in first with Marie, Max, and Charlie. They moved around the ground floor as quietly as they possibly could. Their objective was simply to identify the position of the entrance to the cellar. They would not attempt to open it, and there would be no crashing and banging about. The most effective tool they had was their eyes. This time they had the advantage of knowing that there was a cellar. They just needed to spot the anomaly that would give the secret door away.

When they finally located it, Jackman at once forgave the first search team for their oversight.

It was in the hallway, a dingy and badly-lit vestibule that reeked of age and neglect. Two walls were panelled in dark wood, and the rest had a thick, badly dented dado rail, with wood panels below and damp-stained wallpaper above. There were coat hooks on one of the full panels, and a tarnished gilt-framed mirror on the other.

Much to everyone’s surprise, it was Charlie Button who found it.

They were on their second recce of the place, when Charlie stopped by one of the tall panels looking puzzled. Then he lightly touched the panel with the coat hooks attached, and turned to Jackman, excitement sparkling in his pale eyes. ‘Different texture wood and it’s fractionally proud of the wall level, sir. I think it’s on a pressure spring. Push it firmly and it will spring outwards and slide along.’

His voice was low and Jackman could barely hear him, but when he touched the wall himself he understood exactly what Charlie meant.

Jackman signalled to the others and they melted back through the open front door and into the overgrown garden.

While Charlie explained the precise position of the secret entrance to the sergeant and discussed how best to execute a successful entry, Jackman wondered what might lie beneath their feet.

He remembered the gruesome items that had been found in the burnt-out caravan. Wrist and leg restraints, leather masks . . . He stopped himself.

In a minute or two he would have to be one of the first down into that cellar, and he needed to be ready to cope with absolutely anything. He took some deep breaths, drew himself up and took a step forward.

*

The operation was smooth, understated, and very effective.

The door opened onto a narrow staircase. It went straight down, parallel to the hall and ended in a small basement with a low ceiling. They saw rickety shelves with rusted paint cans, mouldering sacks and cardboard boxes eaten away by mildew and the teeth of small rodents. The floor was littered with rubbish, and the smell of decay was overpowering.

On the far wall was another door. It looked ordinary enough, with chipped paintwork and a single lock.

‘Take it down.’

Once again the metal enforcer was swung slowly back and forth, and the two armed officers waited to move forward.

And then they were through, and they all halted abruptly.

The room was clean. Spotlessly so. Curtains with a pretty floral pattern hung from a white curtain rod, in front of a trompe l’oeil window. There was a bed with a chintzy tapestry throw over it, and a small writing desk, littered with pens, pencils and paper. Shelves full of books lined one wall, a collection of teddy bears sat on top of a white-painted tallboy, and a stack of colourful jigsaw puzzles stood in one corner.

Over the bed there was a picture of tiger cubs at play. A wooden frame, with a string of pink fairy lights hung from it, forming a bright arch of twinkling ruby lanterns above the pink, padded bed-head.

It was the last thing Jackman had expected.

As he moved slowly around, trying to make sense of it, Marie touched his shoulder and nodded silently towards the far side of the room.

A narrow door, in concertina folds, was moving, very slightly.

The two AFO’s, bulked out with body-armour and carrying automatic weapons, moved fast.

For a long moment neither Jackman nor Marie dared to breathe, and then they heard a young voice call out, ‘Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me.’

The firearms officers closed in and one of them ripped back the door.

They saw a bathroom, neat and compact, with a proper toilet, and an old short bath with a modern shower unit over it. Huddled almost underneath the bath itself, was a young girl. She sat on the pink bath-mat hugging her knees, and looked up at them from eyes wide with terror.

Jackman found it hard to stop himself from rushing forward and gathering the child up in his arms.

Marie asked the question for him. ‘Kenya?’

‘Asher! I want Asher.’ The shaky voice was growing stronger. ‘Please! Find me Asher! I want Asher!’

*

There were procedures to follow, and they were very strict. Jackman knew that he could not just remove the girl from her “home.” The regulations dictated that he immediately request a specially trained child victim support unit to assess the situation.

He thought all of this, but what really worried him was why the child was calling for Asher Leyton.

‘Door at the back of the linen cupboard, sir! It’s still open. It leads to the tunnel! We can hear noises and we’re in pursuit.’