Chapter Seventy-Five

TIM WAS AT the foot of the staircase fiddling with another keypad. He was methodically trying the combinations Juliet had come up with for the other two locks. The third of these worked. Still dazed from the encounter with the dog, he wasn’t sure which order of digits had succeeded.

The door creaked open haltingly: it didn’t run as smoothly as its counterparts. Stepping beyond it, he found himself in a dimly-lit cavernous area with a low ceiling. Chairs and a television stand rose like squat statues from the shadows. He could make out a sink set into a kitchen unit, a ghostly fridge and a cupboard with shelves above it. There was an intense smell of fungus. The place was clammy, airless and ice cold. He shuddered, less from the cold than from a gnawing sense of dread.

He moved forward cautiously, gripping tight the crowbar. One area of wall was concealed by a plastic curtain. He flicked the curtain back with the crowbar, dislodging a copious scattering of black mould. His scalp crawled. While trying to wipe the muck from his face with the back of his hand, he uncovered a vile toilet and a handbasin overhung by a contraption that he guessed was a makeshift shower.

Deeper in this cavern two more doors stood side by side. A light was showing under the nearest one. Suspecting that the room in darkness might conceal an assailant, he plunged towards the further door first, kicking it open as he turned the handle. Inside was the outline of a made-up double bed. He tore back the covers to check that no one was hiding beneath them, raising a plume of stench, and briefly dropped to his knees to search beneath the bed. Nobody. There was nowhere else in the room to harbour an attacker. Tim turned his attention to the other room.

He stood with his ear close to the second door, marshalling all his senses. He thought he heard a small sound – not a voice speaking, more a cry or mewling noise – but it was so faint he could have been mistaken. He adopted the same surprise tactic as before, leaning on the handle as he kicked vigorously with his foot, but this time the door didn’t yield.

“Fuck!” he thought. “If there’s anyone in there, they’ll know I’m coming now.” He had to act swiftly. He jammed the crowbar between the door and its frame and leant on it with his full weight. The wood was sturdier than he’d expected, but he’d caused some damage. He repeated the action, and then again. No reaction came from the room beyond, no attempt either to repel or assist him. He had another go, this time breaking the lock into pieces.

Tim pushed the door, fearful of what he might find, yet in a strange way relieved. One way or another, the search was almost over.