46

The sun still hung low in the northern sky as they pulled off the A1 half an hour later and drove into the hills. Much of the journey had passed in silence, which suited McLean just fine. He never had been one for idle chit-chat except when it happened in a bar and with the lubrication of much ale. Harrison had been content to click away at her phone, texting the major-incident room and waiting impatiently for updates.

‘Where was that squad car meant to meet us?’ McLean asked as they approached a wide layby. Dry potholes threatened to destroy the underside of the car, their depths hidden by shadows.

‘Should be here, sir.’ Harrison held up her phone with its own satnav map showing the meeting point. Their final destination was only a mile up the road.

McLean checked his watch. ‘They’re late.’

‘Aye, well. Always possible something else’s come up. Maybe someone’s had a crash on the A1, or there’s been a break-in. Want me to call them?’

‘No. They know where we’re going. They can catch up.’ McLean checked his mirror, indicated and pulled back on to the empty road. Trees lined either side, dark plantation conifers that marched up the hillside in uniform monotony. The entrance to their destination looked more like a forestry track than anything, and was in even worse condition than the layby. McLean drove on a hundred yards to a point where the road was straight, the verge wide enough for him to park.

‘You got your walking boots on?’ he asked. Harrison lifted her feet in the footwell to show off some reasonably heavy duty shoes. ‘Near enough, as long as it’s dry.’

‘OK, then. Let’s go have a wee nosey.’

A quiet stillness had settled over the evening, no wind to ruffle the treetops and only the distant roar of the dual carriageway to remind them that life existed elsewhere. McLean took the lead, keeping to the edge of the track and the shadows as they followed it down a shallow, curving slope towards a clearing in the middle of the forest. The light was poorer here, but still plenty to make out old derelict buildings in the trees. The track levelled out in the middle of a collection of old stone sheds, before running off into a deep cutting in the side of the hill. He stopped, looking first at the ground and the tyre tracks, then back the way they had come.

‘I think this is an old railway.’ Harrison didn’t quite whisper the words, but she was very quiet. Something about the stillness of the place discouraged noise.

‘How do you figure that?’ McLean asked.

‘See how the track’s made. It goes back that way through the trees, too.’ Harrison pointed into the forest, and as McLean followed the direction of her finger, he saw what she meant. The line was almost completely overgrown, but the trees were different from the rows of identical firs that spread all around them. Shorter and scrubbier. ‘There’s the remains of a platform there. And this looks like a turning area, judging by the way the ground’s been churned up. All the traffic’s gone that way, though.’ Harrison took a couple of steps along the abandoned railway line in the direction of the cutting and the hill beyond. It curved away sharply, making it impossible to see anything more than fifty feet away.

‘This whole area’s criss-crossed with old railway lines.’ McLean started to walk towards the hill, slowly, as if expecting to hear a train coming, even though the iron rails had long since gone. ‘They built them for the mines originally. Then passenger railways became a thing and every big landowner wanted his own. Most of them never made any money, but it’s amazing the amount of effort, the engineering skill that went into building them.’

‘Aye, we did a project in school. Went out to see the viaduct at Dalkeith. Didn’t realize there was more this far out, though. The main line keeps closer to the coast, doesn’t it?’

‘You can thank Doctor Beeching for that, although I suspect this line closed long before he was even born.’ McLean peered ahead, the gloom descending as the cutting grew ever deeper. He was fairly sure now what lay around the bend, and a kernel of an idea as to exactly what was going on had begun to sprout in the depths of his mind.

‘Bloody hell. I wasn’t expecting that.’ DC Harrison stopped and stared. McLean followed her gaze to an ornate, stone-built arch that marked the entrance to a tunnel. The keystone high above them was carved with some ancient family crest, and beneath it the entrance had been blocked up. A large, modern metal roller door, big enough for a container truck, was pulled down to the ground, blocking further progress.

‘You see any sign of cameras?’ McLean studied the deep cutting, the stonework and the surrounding trees for any indication that they were being observed.

‘Can’t see anything, no.’ Harrison moved a little closer to him. McLean couldn’t blame her; the place had turned creepy all of a sudden and he couldn’t immediately say why.

‘Let’s just have a wee closer look then, aye? Then we can go back to the station. Find out who owns this place and get a warrant sorted to search it properly.’

McLean approached the roller door with caution. Something in the air of the place had him on edge. It was cooler for one thing, his breath almost misting despite it being the height of summer. As he came nearer, he saw that the roller door had a smaller personnel door set into it on one side. A heavy padlock dangled from a hasp by the latch, but when he looked closer he saw that it wasn’t actually locked. Was there someone inside at the moment? Had the last person here forgotten to close everything up properly?

He turned back to speak to Harrison, found her standing right behind him. Her face was that of a young woman both terrified and determined not to show it.

‘You got a phone signal?’ he asked. Harrison almost jumped at the noise, but she pulled out her phone, checked the screen.

‘Aye, sir. Not a good one, mind.’

‘Well find out where that squad car is, won’t you? I’m going to have a look inside.’

He knew the moment he reached for the door handle that something was wrong. It wasn’t that it was cold to the touch, far colder than being in the shade should have made it. Nor was it the little jolt of static that leapt from metal to flesh as he grasped it, although that was unsettling, too. More it was a deep sensation of dread, much like he had felt just a few days ago when he had heard the blaring of horns, seen the truck jump the lights, turn oh so slowly and smash into a bus stop filled with people. He almost snatched his hand away, but the moment passed and instead he turned the handle.

The latch clicked and the door swung open on to darkness. There was the briefest moment of nothing, and then the stench hit him. Worse than the truck crash, this was almost as if he had been doused in whatever foul chemical soup had spilled out over all those people. He staggered back, coughing. Eyes stinging from the onslaught, he barely registered the shout of alarm from DC Harrison. He felt her grab his hand and he blinked away the tears as she tried to drag him off the old railway track. It was impossible to hide, though, the sides of the cutting too steep to climb. Behind him the unbreathable stench from the tunnel, and in front a familiar-looking pickup truck, engine revving as it threatened to run them both down.