I try each in turn, but none of them fit. Then I shove my shoulder against it, but it doesn’t give even slightly. Handing the keys back to Adam, I get out my phone.
The DI answers immediately.
‘Sir? We’ve found a locked room among some converted outbuildings at Mason’s place. The estate agent doesn’t have a key, nor does the space appear on his floor plan.’
‘We need to see what’s inside, May. Can you force it?’
‘We’ve tried. It’s pretty solid, sir.’
‘Right. I’ll get someone over to help. Stand by.’
I turn to Sarah. ‘The DI wants us to check it out.’ I glance at Adam. ‘Could you give us the code for the gate? If you’ve finished what you’re doing, you don’t have to hang around. But if you could leave the keys with us, it might be useful. We’ll make sure everything’s locked and if you give me the address of your office, I’ll drop them back to you later on. Meanwhile, if you hear from Mr Mason, I’d be grateful if you didn’t tell him we’ve been here.’
It’s clear from Adam’s face that he’s out of his depth. When he hands me a business card, I add, ‘You might want to be careful. Mason’s slippery. If he leaves you any contact details, call me.’ I hand him a card.
After leaving us the code, he starts to walk back towards the house. I look at Sarah. ‘The DI’s sending someone over. It might be a good idea for you to wait on the drive.’
As she walks away, I cross the gravel onto the grass and gaze at the open space that stretches into the distance, wondering if Mason owns the woods beyond too. My blood chills at the thought that people can justify exploiting the vulnerable for their own gains, but it’s something that happens all too often. There are too many powerful people driven by pure greed and self-interest. James Hampton is one, and it helped that he was weak so that Mason could take advantage of him when he was desperate. And then there’s Andrew Buckley. From what I’ve seen, I have no shadow of a doubt that Buckley is cold and calculating, capable of almost anything. But in spite of what James Hampton told us, there’s still no proof that he’s involved.
It isn’t long before my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of voices coming closer. Turning around, I see Sarah with a couple of uniformed police officers making their way across the grass. They didn’t waste any time. Then to my surprise, I see the DI behind them. By the time he reaches us, he’s out of breath.
‘Too much time behind a bloody desk,’ he wheezes. ‘Right, May. Let’s not hang around. Where’s this door?’
‘This way, sir.’ I lead them around the back of the L of buildings. ‘This is it.’
Standing back, I watch him try the door, then shove his not inconsiderable bulk against it, but just as earlier when I tried, it doesn’t budge. Nodding at the uniformed PCs, he stands to one side.
When two of them together fail to force it open, one of them opens the bag they’ve brought with them, then starts to work on the lock. It takes a few minutes, but finally the door opens silently, and one of them reaches for a torch. But when they shine the beam around the room, it’s completely empty.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jo
I follow the DI inside, disappointment washing over me as the beam of his torch illuminates empty space and dusty floorboards. My eyes scan the room before settling on the floor. ‘Sir? That far corner …’ The DI’s beam flashes back to the spot I’m talking about. ‘The floorboards are different.’ As I look more closely, I see it isn’t just the corner. There’s a four-foot strip of floorboards along the length of that wall that are considerably narrower than all the others.
‘Emerson? Prise those up, will you?’
In silence, we watch as the floorboards come up easily – too easily – revealing a narrow staircase. Stepping forward, the DI nods at Sarah. ‘Collins? Stay here. Keep an eye out, will you? The rest of you …’ He glances at me and the two policemen. ‘With me, please. Let’s check this out.’
At the bottom of the stairs, the DI shines the beam of his torch around, settling it on a switch. Then, as the lights come on, I gasp at the row of screens that have been illuminated. There must be half a dozen, each with a chair in front of it, while along one of the walls are shelves on which discs and folders are stacked. The DI goes further in and calls me. ‘May?’
As I reach him, I see he’s holding back a curtain, revealing an area just big enough to hold a large bed. It’s covered in black sheets, and above it a number of cameras are mounted on the wall. I feel sick, imagining what goes on here.
‘Looks like Mr Mason is exactly who Operation Rainbow have been looking for.’ His voice is grim. ‘Ask Collins to secure the scene. Then call forensics. I want them over here, right away.’
‘Sir.’ I head upstairs, then outside to where Sarah’s standing. ‘We were right,’ I tell her. ‘It looks like it’s all there.’ Moving my phone around, I manage to get a signal at last. ‘He wants you to secure the scene. I’m calling forensics. This looks like the break we’ve been looking for.’
As I go back down to Mason’s cellar, a horrifying thought occurs to me. What if Mason had groomed Hollie? What if she was one of his models? According to several of the villagers, she’d been noticeably more distressed shortly before she died.
The DI is still carefully looking around. ‘They’re on their way, sir.’ Then I tell him what’s just occurred to me.
He nods. ‘You’re right. We can’t ignore the possibility. We’ll get her photo over to forensics and ask them to check it against Mason’s images. ‘Meanwhile, see if you can find anything, May. Names of investors or any photographs of Hollie … Anything.’
In the dim light of Mason’s cellar, even the air seems laden with darkness as I search for any evidence.
‘Hard to believe that no-one would have known what was going on here. Look at these.’ The DI passes me a handful of photos of naked and semi-naked girls.
It’s a measure of how depraved so many people are that what might have shocked, even a few years ago, has become normalised, acceptable. But it’s how the human brain works, and with mounting human desire for the ever more shocking, there is a growing market for acts of escalating obscenity. And for as long as there’s a demand, there will always be Masons.
But to use children and young girls is to cross an unacceptable line. As I look at the photos of girls of a variety of ages and nationalities, I find their exposed bodies distressing enough, but far worse are the expressions in their eyes. Some are obviously drugged – oblivious – while others are simply terrified. Unable to take any more, I go outside.
Leaning against the wall, I glance at Sarah. ‘Hampton deserves everything that’s coming to him,’ I tell her. ‘As for Mason …’ I shake my head, failing to find the right words.
‘Even in our job,’ she says slowly. ‘You think you’ve seen it all, but there’s always a lowlife who manages to surprise you. Doesn’t say much for the human race, does it?’
I shake my head. There are many good people in the world, but at times like this, it’s easy to believe that they are outweighed a thousandfold by the bad. ‘We just have to make sure we get him.’ Mason – and everyone else involved. To let them carry on with what they’re doing is inconceivable.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Elise
After work, I see a missed call from DI May, but when I call her back it goes to voicemail yet again.
But I don’t have time to worry about it. By the end of the day, having viewed a small cottage on the outskirts of Tangmere, I’ve managed to fast-track the usual rental process by paying a deposit and putting down three months’ rent in advance. It feels like a momentous step, even though it’s the easiest part of my plan. What will follow is going to be much harder.
By the time I get home, I’ve decided there’s no time to waste; that the sooner I remove Niamh from Andrew’s toxic influence, the better for both of us. And I don’t want Andrew getting wind of our plans. It will take less than a day to pack what we nee
d of our clothes and personal things – everything that used to be so important to me. But only one thing matters now, and that’s freedom.
Already, I’ve mentally listed what I want to take – surplus china and cutlery in the kitchen that we’ve never used, spare bed linen, but most important are my photographs, books, and the old case I have that’s filled with mementos of Niamh and Dylan growing up. As unwanted emotion wells up in me, I smother it before it takes a hold. This isn’t the time. I have to stay strong.
When Niamh comes home, I wait for her to get herself a drink and go upstairs to change. When she comes back down, I seize the moment.
‘Niamh? I need to talk to you about something.’
When she looks up, her eyes are troubled before the familiar guarded look masks them. ‘Come and sit down.’ I walk over to the sofa, sit, and wait for her to do the same. She seems reluctant as she perches next to me. I study her face. ‘You know how, the other day, I told you I was going to do something to change things? Well, I’ve found a house, Niamh. For you and me.’ I watch her blink several times. ‘We don’t have to stay with your father anymore, or put up with the way he treats us. I’ve let it go on too long. What he does isn’t right – and it isn’t how families are supposed to be. You do realise that, don’t you?’
To my horror, she starts to cry. I try to reassure her. ‘It will be OK, Niamh. I’ll make it OK, I promise you …’
Just then, I hear Andrew’s car, back two hours earlier than I expected him. Before I can say anything else, Niamh gets up and runs from the room. As he throws the back door open a few moments later, I can sense his mood even before I see his face.
Sudden, inexplicable fear strikes me, that Niamh will tell Andrew what I’ve done. After hurrying upstairs, I knock softly on her door, then push it open. Sprawled on her bed, Niamh is sobbing her heart out.
Pushing the door closed, I tiptoe over to her. ‘Niamh,’ I whisper. ‘Honey …’ The endearment is unfamiliar to both of us. ‘What is it?’
My blood chills as I make out her words through her muffled sobs. ‘I don’t want to go.’
‘Niamh …’ Beside her, I’m frozen. I’d been so convinced I was doing what we both wanted. Now, I don’t know what to say to her. ‘We’ll have a lovely home. It will be happy …’ I’m so desperate for her to believe me.
She sobs harder. ‘No …’
‘I don’t understand.’ I’m utterly bewildered. ‘He’s hateful to you, Niamh. To both of us.’ Or is it that she’s used to it? It’s what we’re both used to, after all. She doesn’t know any other way to be. The thought horrifies me, and I understand how blind I’ve been; how damaged she’s become because of me and Andrew. I sit on the edge of my daughter’s bed, thinking of what she’s seen and heard, how she’s lost her brother, and now Hollie, and in that moment, I recognise that she’s more frightened of Andrew than I’d known.
Niamh
Sometimes it isn’t possible not to hurt people. But life is a dilemma of impossible choices – between right and wrong, between what to tell and what must forever remain a secret.
Hollie knew that. Even when she wanted to put things right, she couldn’t. Too much had happened. The damage ran too deep.
My dilemma is my parents. The light shining in my mother’s eyes when she told me she’d found a cottage for us to move to. The happy life she imagines for the two of us, in which everything will change. Light that I know will be shattered by my father’s cruelty, his darkness. My father will find a way to stop her. He won’t let us leave. He’ll do anything, including hurt her, if that’s what it takes to make us stay.
There is no escape from my father. So, this is my dilemma. What matters most? Who is more important? Do I go with my mother, knowing my father will destroy her, or do I stay and let him destroy me instead?
I have to stop her. I have no choice, because otherwise he will kill her, just like he killed Dylan with the blunt words, the rejection, the hatred and the cruelty that leave no physical trace. Not that he’d admit it, instead blaming the pills my mother left out the morning Dylan took an overdose.
But she wasn’t the one who left them out. It was my father. He doesn’t care about lying, or who he hurts to get what he wants. He doesn’t care if people die. My father is capable of anything.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Elise
Hearing Andrew moving around downstairs, I go to my bedroom, closing the door behind me before going over to the window. I’d thought Niamh would embrace the chance to get away from her father. I never imagined she’d want to stay. I feel the walls close in, knowing that if she refuses to leave, I have to stay, too.
The sense of freedom I felt earlier evaporates. Instead, the future feels like a jail sentence, the house a prison, to which Niamh holds a key she can’t give me.
Knowing my only hope is to talk to her again, I get up. But as I reach her bedroom, I hear voices coming from downstairs. Crouching down at the top of the stairs, I try to make out what Andrew’s saying. But instead it’s Niamh’s words that reach me, filling me with dread as suddenly I realise what she’s doing.
My heart thumping, I tear down the stairs, almost tripping at the bottom, as Niamh rushes out of the kitchen and past me, her face ashen.
‘Niamh …’ But my cry is lost as she reaches her bedroom and slams the door behind her. Swallowing, I walk into the kitchen, my uneasiness building, knowing I have to face Andrew.
Leaning against the worktop, Andrew is cool as a cucumber as he watches me. For a few seconds, relief floods through me. Niamh hasn’t told him after all. He’d be ragingly angry if she had.
But if she hasn’t told him, what had upset her?
‘What did you say to Niamh?’ I stare at him, guarded.
Shaking his head, he smirks. ‘I simply told her that you and I were going to have a little chat.’
There’s a pit of dread in my stomach and my eyes are riveted to his. ‘What about, Andrew?’
His voice is deadly quiet. ‘Your naïve little plan, Elise. What else?’
So Niamh had told him. I stare at him. ‘You can’t force me to do anything. Not anymore.’
‘Can’t I?’ His upper lip curls into a snarl. ‘I can do whatever I like.’
Trying to suppress the fear rising inside me, I swallow again. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want my wife to stop dreaming up ludicrous ideas and feeding them to our daughter,’ he says lightly. ‘I’m not letting you leave, Elise. And I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you. You should know that.’
His threat isn’t even thinly veiled. As he steps towards me, fear swirls around me, so dense that I can almost grasp it. But I have to stop giving in to him. Nothing will change if I don’t stop this toxic cycle. ‘This is no way to live, Andrew.’ My voice is desperate. ‘You’ll have another affair – we both know that. It’s over between us. It’s been over for years. We don’t love each other. There’s no point.’
But as I look at him, I know our relationship was never about love. It’s always been about control. As though reading my mind, he nods slowly, then his hand reaches out and he clasps my arm.
I try to shake free, but his grip is too tight, pinching my skin. ‘Let go.’ I say it as forcefully as I can. Then I feel the first of his blows across my face. It’s swiftly followed by another, then another. His control gone, he unleashes the full force of his anger on me.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jo
‘This is Elise Buckley. Please leave a message.’
I’m uneasy. Given her multiple missed calls, it’s clear that Mrs Buckley has something urgent to tell me. I think about going around there, then put it off. It’s been a long enough day and if she wasn’t able to speak to me, Elise may well have called the police station instead.
*
When I arrive at work the next morning, however, I realise I shouldn’t have put off calling her.
It’s Sarah Collins who tells me. ‘Elise Buckley was admitted to hospital la
st night.’
Shock hits me. ‘How did you find out?’
‘The DI called Andrew Buckley to ask him to speak to us about Mason. Apparently he sounded flustered, then he told him he couldn’t because his wife is in hospital and he needs to look after their daughter.’
I’m already shaking my head, alarm bells ringing loudly. ‘What’s happened to her?’
‘He said something about her having a fall.’
It’s a classic cover-up for domestic abuse. ‘He may have said that, but believe me, Andrew Buckley wouldn’t normally be taking time off to look after Niamh. Her mother is a flight attendant and he doesn’t bother taking time out to care for his daughter when Elise is away working. Niamh’s used to looking after herself.’ My suspicions of Andrew Buckley are quickly building; I’m sure there’s more to this. ‘I’m going to the hospital. She’s in St Richard’s?’
When Sarah nods, I grab my keys.
*
As I drive, my doubts grow that Elise has fallen. She’s almost certainly covering up an attack by her husband. Too much about Andrew Buckley reminds me of my ex-husband, just as Elise reminds me of how I used to be. I know first-hand how it feels to be caught in a psychopath’s web, what it’s like when they block your escape route. How, little by little, they diminish you until you feel worthless. I’ve seen it in Elise’s eyes. She doesn’t believe she deserves better.
I’m going on gut instinct, but if Andrew Buckley has beaten up his wife, it brings into question everything he’s told us. But for now, my concern is for Elise.
Mercifully, the hospital car park is quiet, but it’s too early for visiting hours. I stop in reception to find out which ward Elise is in and as I start walking in that direction, my phone buzzes. It’s the DI. I know I should answer it, but I let it go to voicemail instead.
The Secret Page 19