Not Dead Yet

broadcast, as well, Andy, just in case.’
    ‘Do we know Whiteley’s vehicle?’
    ‘He’s got a Nissan Micra, but it’s still in the garage. It’s possible he rented something bigger – he wouldn’t be able to conceal a person in a Micra very easily.’
    He was staring at a small sign just by the rear window of the bedroom. EMERGENCY EXIT .
    He had to walk around the far side of the bed to reach it, and then he saw the handle in a raised, unlocked position, as if the door had recently been opened – and not properly closed from the outside.
    He ended the call with Kille, pushed the door open and looked out and around the rear of the vehicle. Two other smaller motorhomes were parked directly behind, blocking the view of this exit from anyone more than a few yards away. No windows overlookedthem. This seemed the likely route that Whiteley would have taken her, but they would have had to come into open view within ten yards or so, surely?
    Then, looking down, he noticed the jagged, uneven dark rectangle in the grass, as if it had been made with a very thin trail of weed killer.
    He knelt down, and the rectangle wobbled beneath him, just a fraction. He clambered back into the vehicle, checked that the two officers were making progress on freeing the victims, then rummaged in the kitchen drawers, and took out a heavy-duty knife and a metal spatula.
    Then he got down on his hands and knees behind the motorhome, and using the two implements as a lever, prised open an ancient, heavy metal cover, the top of it turfed, which he lifted aside. He could see steep stone steps leading down into darkness. He’d often heard rumours of secret passages under the Pavilion, and wondered if this was one of them.
    He went back into the motorhome and asked if either of the officers had a torch on them. One produced a small, sturdy-looking one and handed it to him. He switched it on, went out again, then began to descend the steps, breathing in dank air. After about twenty feet he found himself in a tunnel just high enough to stand in. It had faded whitewashed walls and a whitewashed brick floor, and stretched away into the distance toward the main building of the Pavilion. Lagged pipes, copper tubes and bare power cables, clipped to the top of the walls on both sides, appeared to run its full length, and every few yards there were unlit lights mounted on the walls.
    He began walking along the tunnel, as quickly as he could, being careful not to trip on the uneven floor, shadows jigging ahead of him from the throw of the beam, his nerves jigging inside him. He passed an old wooden door lying on its side, then a large dusty pane of glass, and a short distance further along, a busted wicker chair. Two tiny pinpricks of red momentarily froze in the darkness, then vanished. A rat. He passed an orange and white traffic cone, incongruously placed on the floor, then reached an old, grimy white door,with a shiny new chrome handle on it. He hesitated for a moment and glanced down at his phone. There was no signal. Which meant no chance of calling back-up if he needed it. If Whiteley came at him, he would have to cope on his own.
    He gripped the handle, switched the torch off, not wanting to make himself a target just in case. Then he jerked the door open and snapped on the beam again.
    It shone on a fire hose attached to a brick wall. He stepped forward and swung the beam down another corridor, much wider and higher, angled off to the right, with some dim lights on further along it. All the cables and piping were bunched together in this section, running along the ceiling. The brick floor was uneven and unpainted, repaired in places with ugly concrete patches. He passed a row of plastic chemical drums, then saw a decrepit green door, sagging on its hinges, with a yellow and black DANGER – HIGH VOLTAGE sign on it, to his left. A broken cobweb across the top left corner of the door showed it had been opened recently. Bracing himself, and stepping aside as he did so, he pulled it open. The hinges shrieked, the bottom scraping noisily on the bricks. Then he stabbed the beam inside. It lit up a wall of fuses and electrical switchgear, and pipework lagged in asbestos, but otherwise it was bare.
    He walked on and saw a pool of light ahead of him now. Then he heard voices, and froze.
    They sounded directly above him. Then footsteps. Clumping down steps. Now his nerves were really jangling. He took several deep breaths, firmly gripped the torch