CHAPTER 101
Twenty minutes after the interview with Karen, Monica was standing with her hands on her hips in the Major Incident Room. The frustration was almost overwhelming as she listened to what Hately was telling her.
‘The rescue team are having a really tough time. Most of the tunnels are unsupported and sections of them could collapse at any moment.’
‘Sir, we already know this.’
Hately dropped his eyes. She could sense what was coming. ‘They’re saying they’ve never seen anything like it. There are literally miles of tunnel. It could take them months …’
‘If she’s not already dead, then she will be in a couple of days,’ Monica said quietly. ‘There has to be something …’ She glanced around at Crawford, Khan and Fisher. None of them would meet her gaze and she knew they were experiencing the same sense of impotence. They had as good as solved their double murder case that morning, but it felt as if they’d suffered the worst defeat.
‘They’re talking about bringing in robotic equipment and cameras to help with the search, but it’s still going to take time.’
‘We don’t have time.’ Monica took a deep breath and for a moment couldn’t stop herself from imagining what Annabelle might be experiencing. Miles underground with no idea that anyone was looking for her. Jesus. Even thinking about it was enough to make the hair on Monica’s arms stand on end. We’re never going to find her.
‘The DNA from the man in the tunnel came back. It’s a match with the blood at the garage,’ Fisher said, obviously keen to have something to talk about. She nodded, tried to smile. It had to be hardest for him. His stepfather, Joel Whittaker, had been waiting for Monica that morning when she’d arrived at the office. The impression of narcissism she’d gained from Fisher’s descriptions had been confirmed. Whittaker had demanded he personally take charge of the rescue. I’m hearing about tunnels under a mountain? Never heard such rubbish. It’s absolutely ridiculous. He was threatening to sell his story to the press as two uniformed officers arrived to shepherd him outside. Fisher had stood dumbly beside him in Hately’s office throughout, staring at a square of carpet on the floor. Clearly wishing he was anywhere but in that room with his stepfather and two of his bosses. Annabelle’s mum had seemed more straightforwardly terrified and upset when Monica had met her briefly before interviewing Marjory Slate. The horror of what had happened to her daughter seemed to crowd out any impulse to blame or accuse.
‘Do we have any ideas for an ID?’ Monica asked.
‘One came through this morning,’ Khan said. ‘Half an hour ago. It looks promising. A Canadian national, Scott MacConnell. He was hiking in Scotland, been out of contact with his family for a couple of weeks now.’ She held up a picture of a smiling man with longish blond hair, snowy mountains in the background. He was good-looking, healthy. Nothing like what was left of the man in the tunnel, although the shape of the face was similar.
‘I think it’s him,’ Monica said, feeling that numbness return as she spoke. ‘We better contact his local police department in Canada.’
The day dragged on for Monica. Hoping for news from the Cave Rescue team. Having to resist the urge to drive back out to Glen Turrit and head down into those tunnels looking for Annabelle herself. As if it would achieve anything. She forced herself to focus on the case. The team was beginning to collate the evidence so at least they could be confident of getting a conviction for the murders of Gall and Sinclair. Probably Scott MacConnell now too, she reminded herself grimly.
At 2.30 p.m. she went to collect Lucy from nursery and drop her at her mum’s.
‘Freddy at nursery said there’s monsters in the glens near Inverness. His daddy told him,’ Lucy piped up from the back seat as Monica pulled out into the road. ‘Is there really monsters there? I liked the trees in that glen. I don’t think you would get anything like a crocodile out there, do you?’
‘I don’t either, honey,’ Monica replied as she took the turn-off across the metal bridge into Rapinch. Her phone began to ring. Monica answered and heard DC Khan’s excited voice on the other end of the line.
‘Ma’am? It’s Marcus Slate. He’s woken up.’
Marcus was propped up in bed when she entered the room. The doctor Monica had spoken to out in the corridor told her he had a niece about Annabelle’s age himself. He would let her talk to Marcus for five minutes, but only if the patient agrees, I still have a duty of care, no matter what happened to that poor girl … Marcus’s head was wrapped in white bandages, his eyes still looked sharp though as they met Monica’s for a second before he quickly dropped his head. She introduced herself and took a seat beside his bed.
‘You won’t remember, but I was there when we found you. In the tunnel.’ She watched his face. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I think it’s safe to say I’ve felt better,’ he said with a dry little laugh, his hand hovering over his face as he spoke. As if trying to shield himself from Monica’s eyes, from the world. The weird-looking one. Monica remembered Marjory Slate’s description and what Karen Sinclair had said about him spending most of his life underground. Although his tone was friendly, Monica sensed immediately that getting him to open up might be impossible. He was intelligent, and he’d spent a life hiding in tunnels of half-truths and lies. ‘I’m afraid I’m not sure how much help I’ll be to you. I can’t remember much.’
‘I don’t need you to,’ Monica said. Struggling to keep her voice level as she remembered Scott’s cell. The stink in those rooms. ‘I just want to find Annabelle.’
‘Annabelle?’ He frowned as if the name was unfamiliar. ‘Oh, Annabelle. I remember. She’s a friend of the family. My family are like that, always collecting friends, new people.’
‘Like Scott?’
‘I think he was ill. The Doctor was trying his best—’
‘Where is she?’ If anyone knew where she was and how to find her, it had to be Marcus.
‘As far as I know she left. She … went off somewhere.’
‘The tunnel was locked from the inside.’ Unconsciously Monica had lowered her voice into a threatening growl. She had to suppress the urge to reach a hand out and take hold of Marcus by the neck. ‘Annabelle hit you, then she escaped down into the lower tunnels, didn’t she? How do we find her? There must be a way?’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about the tunnels. My family would never forgive me. It sounds silly, but they’re sort of sacred to us.’ He shook his head at his family’s little eccentricities.
Monica felt her hand tense into a fist. ‘Annabelle will die if we don’t find her.’
Marcus snorted as if to laugh. ‘I think you’re being melodramatic. She’s been well fed and well looked after by the Doctor. I’m starting to feel tired.’
Monica glanced over her shoulder to where the doctor was now hovering in the doorway. ‘You need to tell me where Annabelle is,’ she whispered.
For the first time Marcus met her eyes, still holding his hand up to cover his mouth. ‘You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family, Detective.’
The doctor stepped into the room.
‘Your family?’
Marcus tilted his head in query.
‘I think that’s enough for now,’ the doctor said, taking a step towards Monica.
‘They’re not your family. They took you when you were just a baby, from God knows where!’ She was almost shouting now, finally losing her cool after the long days of tension.
She felt the doctor’s hand on her arm. He said, ‘I’m sorry, you have to go.’
‘You could have had a different family.’ With difficulty she lowered her voice. ‘You could have had a different life!’
CHAPTER 102
For a long, long time Annabelle lay still in a heap on the cold ground. Her throat was swollen, and it felt like razor blades even to swallow. You’d look hot in a selfie right now. The odd thought flickered into her head and Annabelle pictured herself pouting with cracked lips and a blo
ody wound on her temple. She almost smiled at the image, despite her aching thirst.
Then a voice penetrated the darkness. She realised that someone was whispering her name, over and over. Could it be the Doctor? She blinked and with her tired hands tried again to click the torch on. Hoping it would light up and she could find out who was there. The skin on her hands was worn raw, her remaining knee rubbed to a bloody mess. The torch was dead.
‘Hello?’ she shouted finally. ‘I’m over here.’ Her voice echoed back to her, shaky and pathetic, frighteningly weak. The whispering stopped.
For a long time there was only silence. Annabelle blinked and blinked. Then she caught sight of a figure somewhere off in the darkness. Someone hunched, bent almost double under the low roof, but somehow able to move remarkably quickly, shuffling along in the darkness. Strangely Annabelle could hear the sound of the person’s footsteps as if they were directly beside her. They continued for what seemed interminably long time. At some point the person disappeared, the whispering and shuffling replaced by a humming sound.
Slowly Annabelle recognised the tune. ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ from The Wizard of Oz. She couldn’t remember what the dog in the film – Toto – looked like. Instead she pictured Mr Pepper, imagined him running through the caves looking for her, desperate to nuzzle up to her face and lick her cheek. Then she heard his barks echoing through the caves, and the song became louder. Clearly someone was looking for her. ‘Annabelle! Annabelle!’
‘I’m here!’ she shouted, throat burning, ‘I’m here!’
Everything stopped. Annabelle realised she had made a terrible mistake. She became aware of a presence close beside her. She turned and saw the face, grey and terrifying. Smiling at her with crooked yellow teeth.
Annabelle screamed.
And then there was darkness. Silence. As if someone had turned off a switch. None of it was real. The truth was worse though. She was alone, forgotten and abandoned. Her mind had rebelled against the darkness, the silence, the utter emptiness. Her dried-out body began to heave with dry sobs. No one was coming, no one was even looking for her.
CHAPTER 103
Marcus didn’t respond, and the doctor’s hand on Monica’s arm became firmer.
‘I can’t allow this. I told you.’
Monica glanced at the doctor, tried very hard to contain her overwhelming rage. Without trusting herself to speak again or even to look at Marcus, she turned to go.
‘Wait.’ Marcus’s voice was barely a whisper but when Monica looked back his hand had dropped from his face and he met her eyes. ‘You’re lying.’
Slowly Monica turned to the doctor, who hesitated then nodded. She dug into her pocket for her phone and opened the voice memo function then skipped through until she found the correct part of the recording. She laid it on the crisp white sheet, watched as Marcus folded his small hands together on his lap. Monica noticed that the very tip of his right index finger was missing. He was staring straight ahead, his body now tensed as he listened. She felt the sweat pooling in the small of her back, her shoulders locked tight.
Karen Sinclair’s voice came through the slightly tinny speaker: ‘Marcus was a foundling.’
‘A foundling?’
‘Dad brought him home when he was about two. Said he found him by the side of the road, that most likely Gypsies left him there. Mum said they might come looking for him, so she dressed him as a girl at first.’
‘Does Marcus know this?’
‘Bad luck, Dad said. Telling him. It would only bring trouble.’
Monica switched the recording off and watched Marcus’s face. For a long time he stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the wall.
‘You don’t have to let them define the rest of your life,’ Monica said softly, almost afraid to speak, because surely if Marcus turned away now then their hopes of finding Annabelle alive were over. ‘You can choose right now. To be someone different.’
‘I don’t …’ His voice was a whisper. ‘I don’t think …’
‘Just tell me what happened. Tell me how to find Annabelle.’
‘It got worse last year, when Grandad died. He told us that he’d been trapped down in the mines when he was young, that he had eaten people to survive. Occasionally he’d give us meat that he said came from people and told us it would make us strong like it had made him strong. It had helped him to live with a metal plate in his skull for sixty years. I never really believed him, about where it came from … But my uncle – I thought he was my uncle – Doc, the Doctor, he was much closer to Grandad Slate. He believed it all. Wanted to carry on. Granny Slate too, she said we had to, she said it would keep us young. Sebastian and his friend came to burn the house down and take the dam, but the Doctor caught them. We kept them in those rooms. The Doctor … cut them up. He told them we were eating them so they’d be more frightened. When they died I hoped it would be over. But then he brought Scott … Annabelle …’
‘You know those tunnels, Marcus,’ Monica whispered, trying very hard to keep her voice level. ‘You’re Annabelle’s only chance.’
‘I don’t know them … The Doctor knows them …’
‘What did he tell you about them? There has to be something?’
For a long time Marcus didn’t speak, then finally he glanced up.
When she’d finished passing on Marcus’s information to Hately, Monica rushed out to the Volvo in the Raigmore Hospital car park. She almost ran straight into Crawford, who was on his way to meet her, carrying two paper cups of coffee. She knew he’d spent a frantic but futile day trying to contact anyone who had worked on the tunnels back in the 1950s.
‘I think I know how to find her.’
Crawford gave her a sceptical look but was intrigued enough to hurry across the car park after her. Trying to hold the cups steady while simultaneously doing his best to maintain his cool. In the Volvo she reached across and shoved the door open for him, virtually at the same time turning the key to start the engine with her other hand.
‘What did he say?’ Crawford shuffled into the seat. ‘I got hold of a couple of old boys from the 1950s, but no one who’d worked on the tunnels or knew anything,’ he said, trying to balance the cups and fasten his seat belt as Monica accelerated impatiently towards the junction. She hit the indicator to turn right and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she waited for the lights to change.
‘Karen said he knew the tunnels.’
‘I was there, remember?’
‘I played him part of the tape. He told me the tunnels are like a labyrinth but they eventually lead to a cave system. The cave system isn’t anything like as complex as the tunnels, and there’s no obvious way in or out, except through the mined tunnels.’
‘No obvious way?’
‘Marcus says there’s a flooded chamber.’
‘A sump?’
‘I guess so … if a sump’s a name for a section of flooded cave,’ Monica said impatiently, annoyed by his insistence on the technical term. The lights changed and she gunned the engine, pulled the car hard right through the junction. She took another right at the roundabout then headed straight down towards Carsegate Industrial Estate.
‘Where’s the sump then?’ It was his turn to sound impatient as Monica had gone quiet, concentrating on the road ahead as she overtook a string of slow-moving cars.
‘In a cave he called St Magnus’s Chamber. He told me how to find it.’
Monica’s phone rang as they were approaching Little Arklow, the afternoon slowly fading to a hazy evening, the skies directly to the west beyond the mountains burning down into flaming reds and oranges.
It was Hately. ‘They’ve explored the pool. Marcus Slate wasn’t lying. There’s definitely a deep sump. They’re going through it now.’
CHAPTER 104
When the noises started up again Annabelle knew not to respond to them. How could her mind cope with another horror like the last one? This time they began with the distant sound of water, moving very g
ently at first. As if someone was gently stirring a bath, and the water was lapping at its sides. Such a comforting sound, and yet so terrible when her body was dry like a desert corpse, and water was a myth. Something so perfect that it had surely never existed.
But the noises grew louder until they became splashes, the sound of someone breaking the surface of a pool. The noises were so clear, so believable, although distant. So obviously real that she turned her head to stare into the darkness and had to resist the overwhelming impulse to begin crawling towards them.
She dug her fingernails hard into the scraped and cut palms of her hands. Desperate to stop the maddening hallucinations. It was better to be dead than tortured like this. Finally low voices were added to the splashes. Murmured conversations echoing off the cave ceiling.
When Annabelle opened her eyes there were distant lights, white and ghostly this time from somewhere far off in the cave. But they seemed to be moving closer and were so real that it seemed impossible they could be from her mind. But she’d thought the same the last time.
The voices came closer, and she heard her name being called, echoing softly from the ceiling above her, from the walls.
‘Annabelle?! Annabelle!’
Could it really be someone? She clenched her eyes tight shut and clasped her hand over her mouth. ‘Please go away,’ she whispered. ‘Please go away.’
CHAPTER 105
It was almost completely dark when Monica and Crawford reached the gate that blocked the road into Glen Turrit. Two nights before, the place couldn’t have felt more lonely; this time it was alive with activity. A pair of marked police cars blocked the road, and journalists sat in cars parked on the verge on either side, waiting for more news from the bottom of the glen.
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