‘This ring’s missing,’ said Harry.
‘Of course it is,’ said Gareth. ‘With the ring here, it would be too easy to access the bore hole. It was probably removed for safety. Or Gillian could have it.’ He dropped flat on the boards. ‘Joe!’ he yelled. ‘Joe!’
Harry couldn’t stop himself shuddering. Gareth was pushing himself to his feet again, reaching out for his tool-box, taking out a sharp chisel and hammer. He pushed the sharp end into the gap between two boards and slammed the hammer down hard. The wood splintered. Gareth banged again and again. Then he stopped, found another chisel and hammer and threw them to Harry. ‘Other side,’ he ordered.
Harry found the tiny, narrow gap and started copying. The wood was old and crumbled easily enough. After hammering through just over an inch of wood, the chisel almost slipped from his hand.
‘I’m through,’ he said. ‘It’s hollow underneath.’ Gareth was already threading the end of the rope through the hole he’d made and aiming it towards Harry. Harry stuck his fingers into the gap, fumbling around until he felt the rope. He tugged and it came.
Taking it from him, Gareth tied the end together and then jumped up and strode to the other side of the hut. He looked at Harry. ‘Stand back,’ he said. ‘Next to the wall.’
Shuddering with every step, Evi was back in the house, intent on getting her mobile phone from her car. As she opened the front door, she had to clutch at the frame – she was going to fall any second now. A dark shape appeared from around the side of the house.
‘Alice?’ Evi called, uncertain. Too tall to be Alice.
‘It’s me.’ A woman’s voice. The figure stepped into the light. Jenny Pickup, Alice’s friend. She’d been here earlier, helping with the children. Thank God.
‘Jenny, Tom’s missing too.’ Evi found herself ridiculously short of breath, every word an effort. ‘We have to get help,’ she managed. ‘He’s gone with that girl he’s been talking about, the one with the hormone deficiency. The one who’s been hanging around the house.’
Jenny frowned for a split second and looked back over her shoulder. Then she stepped forward. ‘Evi, you look dreadful,’ she said. ‘Come back inside. Let me get you something.’
‘We have to call the police. Tom’s missing. I have no idea where Alice is.’
Jenny put a hand on the door, the other on Evi’s arm. ‘Take it easy,’ she said. ‘Get your breath back. The police are on their way.’
‘They are?’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ replied Jenny. ‘I called Brian myself. He said ten minutes. Now, Alice asked me to check on Millie. And you really need to sit down.’
‘You’ve seen Alice?’ said Evi, stepping back because the other woman was so close it seemed impossible not to. ‘Look, Tom is missing, we have to get people looking.’
‘Evi, calm down, they are. Listen to me.’
Evi made herself look at Jenny, at her calm hazel eyes. Something about the other woman’s composure seemed catching. Evi’s breathing began to feel more under control.
‘A group of us bumped into Alice in the lane just now,’ said Jenny, speaking slowly, as though she were the psychiatrist and Evi the hysterical patient. ‘Me, Dad, Mike, one of Mike’s men. They’ve all gone to help her look. Tom can’t have gone far.’ She stopped speaking and ran a hand through her long, blonde hair. It was loose, sprinkled with snowflakes, damp around the crown. ‘Especially if he’s gone with Heather,’ she went on. ‘She hasn’t the energy to go any distance. And the police will be here any second.’
Thank God. What did she have to do now? Check on Millie. Evi turned to the stairs, took two steps forwards and grasped hold of the banister. Behind her, Jenny pushed the front door shut.
‘Heather?’ repeated Evi, turning back as Jenny’s words finally sank in. Heather – pronounced by a two-year-old – Ebba. ‘The girl who took Tom,’ she went on. ‘Her name is Heather? You know who she is?’
Harry pressed himself against the door of the hut and watched as Gareth began pulling on the rope. At first nothing happened, then the length of board the two men had been hammering through started to judder. Another tug from Gareth and then the entire floor, apart from a twelve-inch strip around the edge, started to lift up. It was a huge square trapdoor, hinged near the far wall. Once it started moving it came up easily and within seconds Gareth had raised it until it fell with a dull thud against the rear wall.
Harry stepped forward on to the rough stone of the original hut floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gareth tying the rope and then moving round to join him. Suddenly nervous of the chasm at his feet, Harry dropped to his knees and moved forward on all fours.
A smell that made him think of churches long since abandoned rose up from beneath the ground. He’d expected the bore hole – if indeed they found one – to be perfectly circular. This one had been crudely dug and looked unfinished, the stones around its edge roughly cut and angular. He could see two, maybe three feet down into the hole. After that lay a blackness so solid he could almost have stepped out on to it. By this time, Gareth was kneeling at his side.
‘Pass me the light,’ said Harry, still not taking his eyes off the well. Gareth didn’t move. ‘I need the light, mate,’ Harry tried again. ‘I can’t reach it.’ He prodded the other man on the arm and pointed to where the torch lay on the ground. Like a man moving in his sleep, Gareth turned, reached out and then handed the light to Harry.
Despite the cold, Harry’s hands were damp with sweat. He gripped the torch and moved forwards until he could lean over the edge. The beam seemed to fall like a rock, plummeting away from him into the depths of the earth. Harry saw stonework, roughly held together with crumbling mortar, and could just about make out the clinging slime of some form of vegetation that could exist without light. He thought he might even be able to see water, many feet below. But the only thing he could be sure about was the one thing he couldn’t take his eyes off: the rusting chain, hammered into the wall nearly two feet below the edge and disappearing further than the torch beam could reach.
He glanced round and knew that Gareth had seen it too. Speaking seemed like a ridiculous waste of time and energy. Harry made his way round the well until he could lie down flat and reach the chain.
Jenny was standing just inside the front door. The street lamp outside shone through the coloured hall window, turning her hair a strange shade of purple. Her face, though, was as white as the snow outside. ‘Of course I know who she is,’ she said sadly. ‘We lived in the same house for nearly ten years. She’s my niece.’
For a second Evi thought she might have misheard. ‘Your niece?’ she repeated.
Jenny nodded and seemed to pull herself together. ‘Christiana’s daughter,’ she said. ‘Shall we go up? Alice did make a point of saying we should check on Millie.’
Evi could only stare. She and Harry had talked about isolated farmhouses, cottages way up high on the moor, yet the girl had been living round the corner all this time, right in the heart of the town.
‘Her condition, it’s congenital hypothyroidism, isn’t it?’ she said.
Jenny took a step closer. ‘A direct result of the soil up here,’ she said. ‘It’s been the plague of our family for donkey’s years. If we’d just buy some of our food at Asda it wouldn’t happen.’ She’d reached Evi at the foot of the stairs.
‘But the condition can be treated now,’ said Evi, taking a small step to the side and planting herself firmly in the other woman’s path. ‘It’s picked up on antenatal scans and the baby can be given medication. It’s practically been eradicated.’
Jenny sighed. ‘And yet we have a fine specimen right on our doorstep. I really should check on Millie, you know. Can I get past?’