an even temper and easy manner. On first arrival, he’d voluntarily changed his official title, replacing the macho Metropolitan Police-style ‘Commander’ of the National Crime Group with the more neutral ‘Director’, which she fully approved of. But she wasn’t naïve enough to think it would be warm and fuzzy all the way. Wullerton had transferred in from the Hampshire Constabulary’s Critical Incident Cadre, which he’d run effectively for fifteen years, so he was clearly a sharp bloke who knew his job, and probably a toughie as well. And he would need to be for the new position he occupied: as well as the Serial Crimes Unit, NCG also comprised the Organised Crime Division and the Kidnap Squad, and that little lot would take some managing.
She glanced again at the memo to go and see him. Rather than being emailed to her, it had been handed to her – in fact shoved into her grasp – the moment she’d entered the building.
Somehow that seemed ominous.
Kate wasn’t sure how long she’d lain in the darkness.
It was difficult to work out how far she’d fallen when he’d dropped her down into this pitch-black hole – ten feet, twelve, maybe more. But the impact at the bottom, though slightly cushioned by what felt like straw, had knocked her unconscious for a time.
Sick and dazed, Kate now lay balled up in a crumpled heap. The blanket had been ripped away as she’d descended, but wherever she now was, it smelled equally disgusting.
That was when she realised that she wasn’t alone.
Movement sounded somewhere to her left; she detected a dull, hoarse breathing.
Kate jerked upright onto her knees.
Her late father, who’d been a coal miner, had often used the phrase ‘it’s as black as the pit’, meaning there were no chinks of light at all. That was the situation now. Impenetrable blackness veiled Kate on all sides. Yet she knew there was somebody else there. She could hear them – shuffling about, and not too far away. She groped into the pocket of her Afghan, where mercifully her cigarette lighter was still in place. She held it in front of her as she struck it, as though to ward off a blow.
The sudden flame, though weak and wavering, was initially like a burst of lightning in the pitch blackness. She had to shield her eyes, but when they finally adjusted, she didn’t know which to be more horrified by: the sight of the cell she’d been imprisoned in or the sight of her two cellmates.
The former resembled the bottom of a well. Its geometry was circular, its walls constructed from damp, mildewed brick and rising into opaque shadow. There were no windows and no apparent handholds or footholds by which she could climb out. Its floor was hard-packed earth covered in straw. She also saw where the stench came from: one side of the cell – and it was close at hand, because the entire place was probably only ten feet in diameter – had been used as a toilet. Numerous human droppings were scattered there, indicating the length of time her fellow prisoners had been confined. One of these sat against the opposite wall, his knees drawn up to his chest; the other was kneeling about three yards away on her left.
Kate quickly backed away, though both were scrawny and dirty, and pop-eyed in the unexpected light; they looked as fazed by her arrival as she was.
The one on the left wore a grubby white vest and khaki pants, a military-training-type ensemble, which somehow contrived to make him look even more emaciated than his bony frame actually was, as did his tattoos – of which he had plenty, though all looked cheap and homemade. His face was rodent-thin, his hair a greasy, ginger mat. The one against the wall wore a light blue shell-suit, though this too was ragged and exceedingly dirty. His hair was an unwashed mop. Like his mate, he had gaunt, pock-marked features, and was hollow-eyed with fear and pain.
Fearing that her lighter fuel would run out, Kate flicked it off, plunging them into blackness again. She stayed where she was, back firmly to the wall. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘Where am I?’
‘I’m Carl,’ said a voice on her left; that was the guy in the khaki pants.
‘And I’m Lee,’ said another voice.
They were flat-toned, whiney. Kate was reassured that she was not in imminent danger, though she still had to struggle to contain her emotions.
‘Okay … Carl, Lee. Why are we here? What is this place?’
‘We’re underground,’ Carl said.
‘I think I realise that!’ she replied, more sharply than she’d intended. ‘Just … what’s going on?’
‘Dunno.’ That was Lee. ‘Bastard just grabbed us and chucked us down here.’
‘We don’t know why,’ Carl added. ‘We don’t know who.’
Their accents were thin, nasal. By the sounds of it, they came from Manchester, but one of the poorer districts.
‘Where are you from, Carl?’ Kate asked, sensing that he was the less beaten-down of the two.
‘Salford,’ he said, confirming her suspicion.
‘Me too,’ came Lee’s voice.
‘You were together when this happened?’
‘Never met each other before last week.’
She shuddered. ‘You’ve been in here a whole week?’
‘Seems like it,’ Carl said. ‘Difficult keeping track. Can you put your lighter on again?’
‘I’d better not. We should save it. But you think it’s been a whole week? Seriously?’
‘Could be longer.’
‘What actually happened?’
Carl hesitated before saying: ‘I was screwing cars on the Weaste.’
‘You mean stealing?’
‘Riding round in them.’ He sounded briefly defensive. ‘I always left them after. The owners got them back, or got the insurance. No one ever got hurt.’ He sniffed. ‘I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. Just summat I could take for a spin, you know. Maybe whip the CD and sat-nav as well. I’d fixed on this Renault Scenic in a side-street, when this big bleeder stands up in front of me – right in front of me, like he’s been crouching down, waiting – and punches my fucking lights out. I woke up in here. Thought maybe it was his cellar, or something. Then, a couple of days later, he drops Lee down as well. It’s like he’s collecting people.’
‘Who is he?’ she asked.
‘Didn’t see him properly. Too dark.’
‘I didn’t see him either,’ Lee said. ‘I’d been doing houses up Clifton … I know that sounds bad. But I’ve got a habit, haven’t I? I’ve got to get money somehow. It’s not like I want to do it …’
‘Oh, can it for fuck’s sake!’ Carl blurted. ‘Just admit you’re a thieving little scrote. Maybe if this bastard’s listening, that’s what he’s waiting
