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“That’s a far more likely prospect,” said Reilly.
“Maybe Robbie has the car and her. After all, his own van is still parked on the drive at Swansea Court.”
“So we could have a hostage situation.”
Gardener ran his hands down his face. “It’s the best and most fitting option. The only other possibility is once again a third party. Is someone wiping them all out one by one?”
“I don’t hold with that theory, either. But it could link back to the incident in Whitby.”
Gardener nodded. “Hopefully Benson might shed some light on that one.”
The door opened and Cragg entered with the metal box that had been recovered from Manny’s place.
Gardener glanced upwards. “You got something?”
Cragg nodded. “You’re definitely going to want to see these.”
Gardener and Reilly stood up as the box was placed on a table. Cragg opened the top. The cameras had gone. A mauve felt interior was all they could see and the box was bigger than they had first thought.
Cragg reached in, removing a false bottom. What he retrieved made Gardener’s hair stand on end.
Gardener stared at dozens of photographs featuring naked and semi-naked women, all in some form of distress. They were chained to radiators, tied to heavy furniture, handcuffed, fastened to walls. Most had cuts and bruises, open sores, lots of which were fresh. Some had hair; others were bald. The one common thread running through every picture was the sheer expression of fear in their eyes.
On the reverse of the photos, someone had written names and dates. Jane Thornton – 1991. Jane Browne – 1999. Jane Sullivan – 2005. Jane Jenkins – 2009. And then came a few photos of Jane Carter.
There were however a number of photos, the oldest of them, that had no name written on the reverse. The woman was naked with dark brown hair – hanging limply around her shoulders – tied to a wooden kitchen chair and staring at the floor. She was bruised and battered.
“All these were in the bottom of the box?” asked Gardener.
Cragg nodded.
“What the hell’s going on?” asked Reilly.
The photos were all different due to the type of film that had been used. Some were Polaroid, others had been developed. Some were large and grainy, others small and well defined. Some were black and white, others were colour.
“For what it’s worth,” said Cragg, “I don’t think this box or these photos belong to Manny Walters.”
“So what’s he doing with them?” asked Reilly. “Whose are they?”
Gardener grabbed his hat and jacket. “No time like the present to find out. Maurice, can you have him brought to the cell immediately, and I’d like you to stay in on the interview.”
Cragg nodded before heading out.
“I’m sick of this smarmy little thief, Sean,” said Gardener. “Whatever he knows, I can guarantee that he’s going to tell us today.”
“There’s only one way to do that, boss.”
“I know. So, let’s go and turn the pressure up.”
Within five minutes, all four men were in the cell. Manny Walters feigned tiredness, complaining that they’d dragged him out before he’d woken properly. He’d had little time to dress – though Gardener thought that had made little difference – and he’d had no breakfast.
“Don’t worry, Mr Walters,” said Gardener. “When today is over, you’ll get your daily quota of food.”
“Especially where you’re going.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gardener descended on Manny Walters like a car crash, throwing the photos on the table and spreading them around. “Explain these.”
