swung back on rusted hinges.
The darkness inside was impenetrable.
Rafferty fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out his lighter.
He struck it, raising it above his head.
The light scarcely cut through the enveloping blackness.
Still, he reasoned, it was better than nothing. He stepped inside.
Talbot walked around the entire perimeter of the first warehouse and found, like Rafferty, that the doors were all securely fastened.
However, gaining entry wasn’t such a priority for the DI.
He was looking for something else.
Ignoring the weed-infested paths, he walked on, beginning another circuit of the warehouse, stopping at the main entrance first.
Two huge double doors, wide enough to accommodate an articulated lorry with ease, seemed to form most of the front of the building.
They were secured by a padlock.
As he’d expected.
A rusted metal chain had been wound round the door handles, too.
Rusted.
Like the door knobs on the smaller doors at the side and rear of the building.
Rusted.
It hadn’t struck him until he’d passed the padlock for the second time.
The lock itself was brand new.
No rust. No discoloration.
And there was something else.
Talbot saw marks in the dirt and grime that covered the doors.
Particularly at the bottom.
The doors were scratched.
He ran the pad of one thumb over the marks and felt rough edges.
A new padlock.
Scratch marks on the door.
The DI kneeled beside the locked entrance, now certain his hunch was correct.
These doors had been prised open recently and a new lock placed on them to keep them closed.
Someone had been inside here.
He turned and looked around, noticing that the concrete pathway surrounding the warehouse was cracked and broken in several places. He kneeled again, pulling at a chunk of concrete about the size of his fist.
It came free easily, woodlice scuttling for cover as the stone was lifted.
Gripping the stone like a club, Talbot turned towards the new padlock and struck it hard several times.
The padlock held, despite his efforts.
He struck again.
Still it held.
And again.
It was the chain that eventually broke.
The rusted links seemed to stretch, then snap, pieces of rotten metal spinning into the air like shrapnel.
The chain swung free, the padlock dropped to the ground.
Talbot smiled to himself and dropped the rock, digging into his pocket for a handkerchief which he wrapped around his fist. Then he took hold of the door
handle and pushed.
The twin doors squealed protestingly then opened a fraction.
An almost overpowering stench of damp and decay belched forth, the dust so thick Talbot was forced to shield his nose and mouth from the noxious blast.
He paused a moment, squinting into the gloom inside, then cautiously he took a step inside, pushing the doors closed behind him.
The rancid half-light swallowed him up.
For a second he wondered where the yellowish light was coming from, then he realised.
There were four large skylight windows in the roof of the cavernous building, covered, like every inch of glass in the place, by thick dirt and grime.
The daylight could barely force its way through, but the filth allowed enough illumination for Talbot to see where he was going. He narrowed his eyes, trying to accustom his vision to the artificial twilight.
As he stood there he realised how large the warehouse actually was.
For interminable seconds he stood there, the thick dust and the stench of decay filling his nostrils, his eyes struggling to adjust.
He sneezed, the dust choking him.
He raised the handkerchief to his face, breathing through the cotton.
It was as he glanced down at the concrete floor that he thought he saw movement.
A rat?
He shook his head and took a couple of steps forward, the dust so thick it clung to his shoes.
High above him there was a soft pattering sound.
Like what?
Like tiny feet?
More rats?
It was only to be expected, surely? The place had been derelict for years and with it being so close to the riverside it was bound to attract vermin.
Again he heard the soft pattering above him.
He realised it was rain against the skylight windows.
Soft, gentle drops.
Talbot took another few steps forward then sucked in a polluted breath.
What he saw ahead of him stopped him in his tracks.
Sixty-eight
Frank Reed smiled broadly as he watched Judith Nelson light her cigarette.
The gym mistress noticed his obvious amusement and smiled back, not even sure why he was smiling. She swept her hair back and took a long drag on the Embassy.
‘What are you laughing at?’ she said with mock indignation, prodding Reed’s leg with the toe of one of her trainers.
‘You’re a great example to your pupils, Judith,’ he said, chuckling. ‘A physical education teacher smoking.’
‘You’re not going to lecture me, are you, Frank?’
‘What, me? God forbid,’ he said, grinning. ‘But, you know the risks.’
‘Yes, and, as the man said, non-smokers die everyday. You don’t smoke. You’re dead too.’
They both laughed.
‘How did your weekend go?’ she asked him, finally.
‘It was fantastic’ Reed answered, ‘to have Becky around again, even if it was only for two days. We went to McDonald’s, I took her swimming, we went to the pictures. That was the first time I’d been for months.’ He smiled wistfully.
‘It was like being a proper father again.’
‘You never stopped being a proper father, Frank. It wasn’t your fault your wife took Becky away from you.’
‘Sometimes I wonder about that. I wonder if there was more I could have done to stop her.’
‘Like what? Kidnap Becky back again?’
