Roy lifts the hatch; it isn't locked. He descends cautiously, each wooden step creaking beneath his feet. I follow him.
At the bottom, we’re faced with another door. ‘It’s steel,’ I say, heart racing.
‘It’s a Yale lock,’ Roy notes. ‘Opens from this side. You’d need a key to get out.’
I shudder.
‘Ready?’ Roy asks.
I nod.
‘Police!’ Roy calls. ‘Coming in.’
He opens the door. I step in behind him and stare in amazement.
‘What the hell?’ Roy mutters.
The door swings back. I catch it just in time and wedge my baton underneath to hold it open.
‘This is where she was held,’ I say grimly.
It’s not a typical basement. The space has been transformed into a replica of a luxury hotel room. Plush furnishings, soft lighting – all completely unlike the filthy, cramped spaces we usually find in abduction cases. But the metallic tang in the air tells the truth. Blood has soaked into the stark-white carpet near the entrance, and a red horror is smeared across pristine walls.
Then I see it: a brown padded envelope, neatly propped against the wall.
It reads:Danny boy.
‘The mementoes,’ I whisper.
I place a plastic evidence bag on the floor, open the envelope carefully, and tip out its contents. They comprise a lock of hair and a wedding ring.
Roy’s voice hardens. ‘Cordon the area. I want Forensics to go over everything. We miss nothing.’
I check the adjoining bathroom, bracing myself for the worst. But it’s spotless. If it weren’t for the bloodstains in the main room, you’d never believe violence had taken place here.
Then I spot a wall-mounted phone and a small note pinned above it.
‘Sir,’ I say, pointing.
I lift the receiver and press a button. I hear the ringtone. Then a click.
‘Where are you?’ I ask when Dario answers.
‘The kitchen.’
‘It’s an intercom,’ I tell Roy. ‘That’s how the kidnapper communicated with her.’
Roy photographs the note. I glance back at the blood by the door.
‘She tried to escape,’ I say quietly.
At the top of the stairs, blood smears cover the floor; it looks like a body was dragged along it. I flick on my torch. Faint droplets speckle the steps.
‘He must have wrapped her in something,’ I say. ‘Otherwise, there’d be more blood.’
Footsteps echo from above. I rush up to intercept Daniel Neal.
‘You can’t go down there,’ I say firmly. ‘You’ll contaminate the scene.’
