84

Cole shut the chopper down and put the rotor brake on. When the blades stopped turning they jumped out, grabbing a backpack of emergency equipment on the way out the door. At the entrance of a disused mine they knelt down. Reaching in through the sluice gate, Daniels took hold of the white object she’d seen from the air, her hopes fading to nothing as she stared at her find, an unremarkable hard hat – the type a potholer or miner might use.

A tear ran down her face as her frustration spilled out. Sinking back on her heels, she was about to discard the hat when the cap lamp flickered faintly . . . then the battery died.

‘Oh my god! We found her, Stew!’

Time stood still for a second as they stared through the bars of the sluice gate. Then Cole dragged Daniels to her feet and searched her backpack. Locating an axe, he smashed the butt end against the lock on the gate, which flew off, narrowly missing her head. Switching on their torches, they waded into the mine, knee-deep in icy water, forced to bend double by the low ceiling, stopping every few metres or so to take a breather.

Daniels called out to Jessica.

They listened.

No joy.

And pushed on . . .

A hundred metres further in, the worst possible scenario presented itself. There was a fork in the tunnel ahead, each offshoot as ominous and terrifying as the other. This was no time to admit that they weren’t keen on enclosed spaces. Even less keen to separate, but driven on to find Jessica, Cole peeled off to the left, the DCI to the right.

Daniels had been alone in some difficult situations in her time but the walls of the tunnel seemed to close in around her now. Fear gripped her, a claustrophobia so overwhelming she had to fight hard to go on. She’d rather have confronted her nemesis, Jonathan Forster, again than face this unknown threat underground.

Go on, you can do it.

It’s just a tunnel!

How on earth her father, or anyone else for that matter, ever managed to work below ground was beyond her comprehension. She wished he was here now to guide her. He would take her by the hand – like he used to when she was a little girl – and tell her some cock-and-bull story about the magical interior world she was entering. It didn’t feel magical. It felt as close to Hell as a person could get. A place of evil and suffering: remote, totally petrifying and spine-chillingly creepy.

As fear wrapped itself around her and tightened its grip, Daniels lost her footing and plunged headlong into the icy water, gashing her right hand on the wall as she went down, dropping her torch in the process. In blind panic, she scrambled around on all fours trying to retrieve it. For once, luck was on her side. Although submerged, the torch was still lit and heavy enough not to have been swept too far away in the current. She managed to get a hold on it but, just as she did so, the light suddenly went out.

The icy water had taken her breath away. Hyperventilating now, she was sitting in water, chest high, in unimaginable darkness. Jessica Finch was dead for sure. It was inconceivable that she could survive captivity down here for more than a few days.

As panic set in, a million spiders crawled over Daniels’ skin. Imaginary they may have been but she brushed them away as if they were real, yelling out in desperation and conscious of the terror in her voice.

‘Stew! Stew!’

Nothing: just the plink, plonk of water falling all around her.

Daniels shook the torch violently.

Suddenly the light came on.

Thank you, God!

She could breathe again.

Cold and disorientated, she shone the light first one way, then the other, again and again. Both looked identical.

Fuck! Was she facing in or out?

‘Stewart!’

Come on, Kate. Think!

‘JESSICA!’

The stress in her voice was bloodcurdling as it echoed back at her.

She shot against the wall as her flashlight caught the eyes of a rat.

Kicking out with her feet, she thrashed around in the water until the bastard thing disappeared. Taking a long, deep breath, she urged herself to keep going. But first she had to calm herself down.

A few more deep breaths and her brain began to function once more:

Water runs out of a mine, not in.

She peered down the tunnel the way she’d come. Turning back was a temptation but not a serious option. She’d gone there to find Jessica Finch, dead or alive, and she wasn’t about to give up. She’d come too far to abandon her now. With her bearings once again intact, but with no idea how far the mine extended, she set off with renewed determination, the backpack getting ever heavier with the weight inside.

‘Jessica!’

She stopped to listen once more. But it was no use. Up ahead, a huge black hole beckoned. Whatever it contained, the sight of it alone raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Like an enormous mouth threatening to swallow her whole, it appeared to be some kind of chamber cut into the rock. Thinking she’d heard someone behind her, Daniels swung round, hoping to see Cole wading towards her. She was mistaken. There was nothing except pitch darkness.

Jessica was in there though, Daniels could sense it, just as she had that morning when she’d sat astride her bike, scanning the landscape from the main road. All she wanted now was to find her and get the fuck out of there as fast as she could. Scrambling forward, straining to see, her eyes scanned the wet walls for evidence of recent activity, anything at all that might lead her to believe she was on the right track. But the place looked as though no human had passed through in decades.

Hanging on to the straps of her backpack, she set off again, wondering how Cole was doing, hoping he was having more luck than she was. Her heart was thumping with sheer exhaustion by the time she reached the chamber. It was now or never. Dipping her head low, she went in.

On the far side, she was able to stand upright for the first time since entering the mine. It took all her resolve just to haul her wet, aching body off the floor. But as she raised her head and lifted the torch, her blood ran cold.

She let out a gasp.

No!

Taking a small step backwards, she sank to her knees, effectively blocking off the entrance. A whimper echoed in the chamber. This was not Jessica calling for help but the sound of her own voice.

Two rats paddled by, their beady eyes glowing in the darkness. This time Daniels didn’t flinch, flail around, or scream. She was too traumatized by the sight facing her to pay them any mind.

‘Kate!’

A faraway voice called out to her.

It was calm, not unduly alarmed, a man’s voice, she thought. Cole maybe? The TSG? Whether it was real or imagined, Daniels couldn’t tell. She didn’t care anymore. Caring for people hadn’t turned out well up to now: Mum, Dad, Jo, Jessica . . . all the victims who’d gone before. In different ways, she’d cared for them all, some personally, others in the course of a so-called dream job.

Being a murder detective occasionally gave her an adrenalin rush but most times not. If she was being honest, the majority of the time it was gross – pitiless, vicious, repulsive – and totally unbearable. Right now she ached to turn in her warrant card and walk away.

‘Kate?’

She turned and looked over her shoulder.

In the tunnel, Cole stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her, tears unashamedly running down her face, the torch shaking in her bloodstained hand.

‘You don’t want to go in there,’ she said gently.