The Dead Tracks

ladder was against the far wall, out of sight. That was how he'd got down into the hole in the first place.

    'You need to stop running.'

    She looked up at the speaker again. His voice sounded soft now, almost caring. Tears filled her eyes. 'Let me go,' she said quietly. 'Just… let me go.'

    'I will,' came the reply.

    'I mean it!'

    'So do I.'

    She glanced back at the door, then at the speaker. 'I don't believe you.'

    No reply this time.

    'I don't believe you!' she screamed, and tears started rolling down her face. She was scared, desperate. She wiped the tears away, trying to compose herself.

    A scratching sound.

    Crank.

    She turned to face the door. He was still pushing at it. It shifted a little, the length of pipe bending against the floor. Then, from somewhere above her, she could hear rain.

    She looked up.

    Six feet above, a circular hole had been cut out of the ceiling. A manhole. Fixed to one side of the hole was a drop-down ladder. She looked around her. On a wall next to the glass-panelled door were three switches. Two were for lights, presumably the room she was in, and the room with the hole. The other was set apart on its own.

    Sona moved to it. Flicked the switch.

    With a clunk, the ladder started dropping down, whirring metallically. When one part of it had extended its full length, the second part continued downwards. It stopped in front of her, two feet off the floor of the room.

    'Step on that ladder and I will kill you.'

    She glanced at the speaker.

    'I will hunt you down and I will cut you into pieces. I mean it. I will carve you open if you put one foot on that ladder.'

    She put her foot on the ladder.

    'You stupid bitch!' A crank. The pipe at the door wheezed as he pushed, bending some more. He smashed his fists against the other side, hammering at it like a drum. You are dead! You are fucking dead?

    Halfway up the ladder, she paused briefly and looked down into the room. Above, the rain continued to fall. Below, the door edged inwards even more, and she glimpsed the pale blue of his medical scrubs.

    'You will remember me,' he said from below her.

    She pushed at the manhole cover above her. It moved away from the hole. Rain fell out of the sky and down past her, to the room below. She placed a foot on the next step. Then the next. Lifted her head up above the lip of the manhole.

    'Every day, when you look in the mirror, you will remember me.'

    And then she hauled herself out — and she ran.

PART FOUR

Chapter Fifty-one

    By six o'clock it was getting dark and we were sitting in the shadows of an alley opposite the warehouse. In the office, framed in the glass panel of the door, we could see Luke Drayton still behind the counter, writing something. The warehouse itself was closed up now, the huge delivery doors pulled shut and padlocked.

    'How big was the trapdoor?' Healy asked.

    I shrugged, keeping my eyes on Drayton. 'Difficult to tell. Most of it was covered by boxes. It looked like a circular manhole cover. No bigger than two and a half feet across.'

    We fell into silence again. Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Thirty. At six-forty, Drayton was still at the counter, writing. He had a calculator on one side of him now.

    'Maybe he lives down the hole,' Healy said.

    I smiled. Occasionally I'd look at Healy and see a brief glimpse of the man he once was. A different person, not built on revenge and regret, but on better qualities; on compassion and humour. I liked that Healy, and I wondered how long it would take him to reclaim that side of himself — and if he ever would.

    A couple of minutes later, Healy's phone started ringing, buzzing across the dashboard towards him. He picked it up and looked at the display.

    'Bollocks.'

    'What?'

    He didn't answer and flipped it open. 'Healy.'

    Even with the rain, I could immediately hear the voice on the other end. 'Healy, it's Phillips. Where are you?'

    'I've got the day off.'

    'It's not marked on the board.'

    'I told Moira.'

    'It's not marked on the board,' Phillips said again.

    'So I'll mark it up tomorrow.'

    A pause. Healy glanced at me.

    'You got any idea where David Raker is?' Phillips asked.

    'Who?'

    'David Raker.'

    Healy paused again, looked out through the windscreen to where Drayton was still in the same position at the counter.

    'Raker?' he said. 'He's the guy you brought in, right?' 'Right.'

    'Why would I know where he is?'

    'Davidson says he found you and Raker alone yesterday.'

    'So?'

    'So why were you alone with him?'

    'Because Davidson had left him, and I didn't think it would look good if one of our best leads in the Carver case wandered out of the station, never to be seen again.'

    You don't have any cases of your own?' Phillips asked.

    'Listen—'

    'No, you listen,' Phillips fired back. 'I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but whatever it is it's against the law, understand?'

    Healy didn't respond.

    'You know, there's a reason you're not part of this task force, or any other task force for that matter. And it's because you can't be trusted. You're a liar, Healy.'

    'What did you say?'

    'You heard what I said. We tried getting hold of Raker and his mobile's off. Been off all day. We went round to his house, and it looks like a mausoleum. So we go round to your place because, you know, it's supposed to be your day off - and guess what?'

    'I'm out with my wife.'

    'Bullshit, Healy. I know you're with Raker.'

    'I'm out with my wife.'

    'Raker's playing you. He's playing everyone. He sent us on a wild goose chase down to that youth club today, and guess what we found?'