Shanine Connor rubbed her swollen belly.
She took one last look at the photo of Catherine Reed, then folded the piece of paper and pushed it back into her jeans.
Sixty-six
‘Where the hell do we start?’ murmured Rafferty quietly, looking at the high wire fence which faced them.
Beyond it stood the closest of the warehouses: large, monolithic buildings which appeared to have been hewn from one massive block of stone rather than constructed piece by piece.
Each one was as grey as a rain-sodden sky.
From where the two policemen stood neither of them could see any windows in the structures.
What must once have been a service road ran from the gate before them, splitting off into several narrower Tarmac sections, linking the buildings like grey arteries.
Just beyond the gate there was a large wooden sign which read: acquired for morgan and simons.
There were a number of dents in the sign where someone had, over the past few months or weeks, hurled stones or bottles at it. Talbot could see several broken beer bottles littered around near by. The service road itself was strewn with pieces of broken concrete. There was even the rusting frame of a bicycle lying just beyond the gate.
Talbot approached the gate and found there was a chain twisted through the entry way, woven around the wire mesh. He tugged on it, relieved to find there was no padlock.
The chain looked new, the steel gleaming.
Alongside the rusted, neglected air of everything else on the site, the chain seemed even more incongruous.
The DI pushed open the gates, hinges that hadn’t tasted oil for years squealing protestingly.
He walked back to the car and climbed into the passenger seat, glancing around as Rafferty slowly guided the vehicle up the service road.
‘They look like some of those drawings,’ said the DS glancing up at the large grey warehouses.
‘The kids who drew them could have been past here a hundred times’ Talbot said, dismissively.
‘What, all of them?’ Rafferty challenged.
He brought the car to a halt and looked at his superior, who was still gazing up at the buildings, as if mesmerised.
‘What now, Jim?’
‘We take a look around,’ Talbot told him, fumbling in the glove compartment.
He pulled out a half-eaten Mars Bar and took a bite. ‘You take those two’ he indicated the two warehouses to the right, the ones closest to the water.
‘I’ll check these.’
‘What if we find anything?’ Rafferty asked.
‘Just shout’ Talbot told him, swinging himself out of the car.
He stood surveying his surroundings: the warehouses towering over them, the dark choppy waters of the Thames just beyond. Across the water he could see the outlines of cranes thrusting up towards the heavens like accusatory fingers. Seagulls wheeled and dived in the air above the Thames, some coming
to rest on the roof of the nearest warehouse. They seemed to look down warily on the two men beneath them.
A small boat went chugging past on the river, tossed and bumped by the seething brown waves which spread across the surface. Even from where he stood, Talbot could smell the salty odour of the river. But it was tinged with something more pungent: the stench of neglect and decay which seemed to hang around the warehouses like an invisible cloud. As Talbot took a step closer he felt as if that cloud was enveloping him, sucking him in.
‘We’ll meet back here in an hour’ he said, gesturing towards the car. ‘Unless one of us finds something first.’
Rafferty looked at his watch and nodded.
Talbot watched as his companion walked away in the direction of the other two warehouses.
The DI hesitated a second longer, then headed towards the building nearest him.
Above him, a seagull circled, its mournful cries echoing through the air.
As he glanced up he noticed dark clouds were gathering.
Sixty-seven
The door was padlocked.
Rafferty kneeled down and inspected the lock, pulling at it uselessly for a second before taking a pace or two back and peering up at the warehouse.
The concrete edifice towered above him, the padlocked main entrance barring his way.
He muttered something under his breath and headed off around the side of the building, picking his way along a path which was overgrown with yellowed grass and weeds, some of which stood as high as his knees. The DS looked to his left but he could see no sign of Talbot.
Perhaps, he thought, his superior had already gained entry to one of the other buildings.
Ahead of him he saw a door set in the side of the warehouse.
Rafferty pressed his face against it, cupping a hand over his eyes, trying to see inside.
There was so much dirt on the glass it was practically opaque. He could see nothing but darkness inside.
His hand disturbed a spider’s web as he brushed against the glass, the gossamer strands sticking to his fingers. The DS wiped the sticky threads on his handkerchief, recoiling as he saw a particularly large, bloated spider drop to the ground beneath him.
For one brief second, he felt the overwhelming urge to step on it, especially when he noticed that the purulent creature was holding a cranefly securely in its fangs, but instead he watched as it scuttled off into the long grass.
He returned his attention to the door for a second, twisting the handle but finding, not with any great surprise, that it was locked.
Rafferty walked on, around the building, glancing up at it every so often, aware now of the odd drop of rain in the air.
The overgrown pathway took him to the rear of the large building and he paused for a moment to look out over the Thames. He was close enough to hear the water slapping against the bank, a fine spray rising into the air as each wave slammed against it.
A flight of steps rose before him, hugging the side of the warehouse, rising until they reached another door.
Rafferty paused a moment then began to climb, the steps slippery. He gripped the handrail, some of the blistered paint flaking away like leprous skin.
Beneath there was rust. In places it had almost eaten away the metal handrail.
The DS hoped it hadn’t done the same to the metal steps he climbed.
The thought made him slow his pace and he climbed more cautiously now, glancing down at his feet, wondering if the steps were about to give way. He was half-way up and more than fifteen feet above the concrete below. If the stairs did collapse he’d be lucky to escape without a few broken bones.
Pushing the thought from his mind, he continued to climb until he finally
reached the platform at the top.
The door which confronted him, like the other he’d found, had glass panels in it and, like the first, these panels were also thick with accumulated dirt and dust.
Even the door knob itself was rusted and it squeaked when he twisted it.
It was loose.
Rafferty rubbed his hands together, the coppery smell of rusted metal strong in his nostrils, then he took a step back and kicked hard against the door knob.
It came away with the first impact and the DS smiled to himself. He pushed the door with one fingertip and it
