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“I’ll grab the tools,” shouted Connors.
“No,” Liam decided in the moment. Not enough time. If there was an exit point in there, they had to move quick. “Forget tools. Bullets. That’s what we need.”
“That’ll work?” Connors asked. “This thing has got more locks than a lock museum.”
Liam motioned for his team to follow him. He crossed the water to the other side of the tunnel, then singled out his four best men. If there was someone on the other side of the door, they already had a twenty-second head start by now.
“Dan, Ben, Rich, Robin, get here.”
His team assembled in a line. There was no mystery about what Liam was going to ask them to do. All four men were Special Firearms Officers, which meant they could hit someone in the eyeball from two streets away. The officers pulled out their guns and awaited their instructions.
“Dan, Ben, hit the top hinge. Rich, Robin, hit the bottom.”
“You guys might wanna cover your ears. This is gonna make a bang in here,” Ben said.
“Three bullets each, maximum,” Liam said. “We’ve got spare but I don’t want to waste too much.”
The officers positioned themselves and aimed at the door. Liam felt the thread of anticipation running through his team, first for whether the approach would work, second for what might be inside.
“Go,” Liam said. He stepped back and covered his ears. Twelve deafening shots rang out, metal clanging off metal. The door shuddered then fell forward, hinges bursting off. The weight snapped the deadbolts off and the door smashed into the middle of the tunnel.
“Yes!” Connors shouted.
“Good job,” Liam said. He walked across the fallen door into the new opening and found a musty old storage closet, about eight by eight. There were a pile of boxes inside and a few water rats nibbling at the contents.
“Dammit. Ain’t no one living in there,” Connors said. “No humans anyway.”
Liam checked the top few boxes. DIY tools. Screws, bolts, brushes, trowels, spades. “Shame. Worth a try guys.”
“Hold up,” Connors said, appearing at Liam’s side. “This box was open, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Then why do these tools look like they’ve never been used? These things are gleaming.”
Liam took a closer look at the spade. Not a single patch of dirt on it. “Yeah, you’re right, but so what?”
Connors pulled off a few boxes and placed them down outside the closet. He peered his head back inside then went silent.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he said. “Boss, you gotta see this.”
Liam pulled Connors out then checked his findings.
One box at the back, open, stacked to the brim with something that looked eerily familiar.
Liam pulled his phone out and scrolled to the pictures of last night’s crime scene photos from the girl’s apartment.
“Good lord,” Liam said. He pulled out his radio and buzzed the chief. He needed to hear about this.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ella sat in her new office at the precinct in Spring Ridge, the neighboring town to Hicksberg. She’d already been through the police database looking for anyone who matched Rhonda Matthews’s description of her daughter’s strange friend but found no one suitable. Now she was searching through a list of residents in the town between 18 and 35 and matching them to their pictures on the electoral roll.
So far, nothing.
Ripley burst through the doors, two giant coffees in either hand. She planted them down on the table with unnecessary force.
“Woah, everything okay there?” Ella asked.
