Vogel was barely listening. He interrupted Hemmings to repeat what Vera Court had just told him.
‘There could be an old air raid shelter at Willis’s place, and I’m banking on it being beneath the garage. Aeolus’ lair. He’s hidden Dawn at that house somewhere, I feel sure. He just wouldn’t have had time to do anything else. And the bastard believes she’s too well concealed for us to find her. I’d like to go round there myself. I know Willis.’
‘Umm,’ muttered Hemmings, ‘Not as well as you bloody well thought, it would seem.’
Vogel couldn’t argue with that. He said nothing.
‘What makes you think you can find something the search team haven’t?’ Hemmings persisted.
‘I’m gonna dig, boss,’ Vogel said. ‘Aeolus think’s his lair is safe. Thing is, I don’t remember any mention of pneumatic drills in Greek Mythology.’ Vogel almost made himself laugh. It must be the onset of hysteria, he thought. ‘I want to get some hairy-arsed, construction workers out there, sir,’ he continued.
‘If you think you’re onto something, go for it.’
‘Yes, boss, if I’m right and he’s made some sort of a den out of an old air raid shelter, we don’t even know what ventilation system it has. We need to find Dawn fast, whilst she’s still alive. If she’s still alive.’
Thirty-Two
Vogel took Polly Jenkins with him to Willis’s home. He knew she and Dawn Saslow were friends. If they found the DC there, he had no idea what state she might be in, and he felt that Jenkins’ presence could only help.
As soon as they arrived, they both suited up and joined the search team already at work in the detached, double garage at the top of the small back garden. It contained a mechanics inspection pit, which clearly demanded close attention. In spite of assurances from the CSI team that they had checked out that area thoroughly, Vogel clambered down, armed with a lump hammer which he smashed with all his strength against the walls and floor of the pit.
‘Careful, sir,’ admonished a young woman CSI.
Vogel glowered her.
‘We have an officer missing,’ he growled. ‘Our first priority is to find her. We can worry about forensics after that.’
‘Yes sir, of course, sir,’ said the young woman. ‘But you should know we’ve done more or less exactly what you’re doing all over the garage. Everything is solid as a rock. There’s no false floor or anything like that. We’re sure of it.’
‘Some of these wartime shelters were five, or more, metres below ground level,’ muttered Vogel.
‘Yes sir, but they had to have an entrance. We’ve found no sign of anything.’
Vogel started to climb out of the pit. As he did so, the workmen he’d asked for turned up; two of them, both carrying heavy-duty, pneumatic drills.
Ignoring the obvious disapproval of the CSIs, Vogel ordered them down into the pit and told them to dig.
The noise, in a confined space, was overwhelming.
After a few minutes, the workmen paused.
‘We’re down three feet and it’s still solid concrete,’ reported one.
‘Three feet of concrete?’ queried Vogel. ‘Isn’t that odd?’
‘Well yes. Unless it’s the roof of an old shelter which no longer has an entrance at all.’
‘It must have an entrance.’
Vogel was adamant.
‘Try drilling down the sides.’
They did so.
‘Anything?’ yelled Vogel after a few minutes.
The men switched off their drills so that they could all hear themselves speak.
‘Well, there does seem to be the narrowest of gaps around three sides of the pit and down the centre,’ reported one of the workmen. ‘Hair’s breadth. But then, concrete is sometimes laid like that — well, it’s always laid a bit like that, in blocks, to stop it cracking as it sets. Do you want us to carry on digging, mate?’
‘Hold on a minute.’
Vogel lowered himself into the pit and bent over to examine closely where the men had been drilling around the edges. He asked to borrow a screwdriver with which he prodded and probed.
‘This couldn’t be some kind of giant plug, could it?’
‘A plug, mate?’
‘Yes, exactly that. A plug made to fit precisely into a bloody great hole.’
‘Well if it is, then it looks to be permanent.’
‘It can’t be permanent. It has to move. The only question is how it moves.’
Vogel hauled himself up and began to root around the garage.
‘What’s that,’ he asked, pointing at a large piece of machinery propped in a corner. ‘Isn’t that some sort of hydraulic pump?’
‘Well yes, but it’s just the sort of stuff that ends up in a garage, isn’t it?’ said the same young woman CSI.
‘Is it?’ queried Vogel. ‘Look, you can see it’s in decent working order. No dust. Could have been used recently. Hydraulics can be channelled to move large objects. Did nobody think of that?’ The CSIs exchanged uncertain glances. ‘If this is what I think it might be, that pump must connect to something,’ muttered Vogel.
Jenkins spoke then, pointing to a cupboard over to Vogel’s left.
‘Look at that, boss,’ she said.
The door to the cupboard was slightly ajar. Vogel could just see a wheel inside, fitted to the wall, and a complex of pipes emerging from the floor.
‘Have you checked that out?’ he asked the CSIs.
‘Probably some sort of old water supply,’ replied one of them. ‘We did look at it, yes…’
His voice tailed away as he glanced back from the cupboard to the pump.
‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered.
‘Let’s get on to it,’ snapped Vogel.
‘You guys.’ He turned to the workmen. ‘Either of you two know any more about engineering than this lot seem to?’
‘A bit, I’ve worked in mining in South Africa,’ said one of them, a big man with an abundance of red hair that matched his complexion. ‘We used hydraulic rams over there. I’ll have a look if you like.’
‘Good, get on with it.’
Vogel turned to the second workman. ‘And you, clear all that rubble away in the pit. They’ll help you.’ He gestured at the less-than-thrilled-looking CSIs. ‘If I’m right, we need to make sure there’s nothing down there that might impede smooth movement.’
The redhaired workman was already at work.
‘The pump’s petrol driven and its tank’s half full,’ he reported. He moved the pump close to the cupboard. Vogel was no longer surprised when it became apparent that the pipe-fitting connectors in the wall cupboard and on the pump itself matched perfectly.
The workman was able to attach the pump with little difficulty.
‘Shall I fire her up?’ he asked.
‘Quick as you like.’
The man paused.
‘You know, it would be quite an engineering feat to construct anything like this. Can’t be many people capable of it.’
‘No,’ agreed the DCI, thinking about Willis’s background as a mechanical design engineer.
‘Just the one,’ he continued. ‘But he is Aeolus.’
The man looked confused, perhaps he was one of surely only a handful of people in the country who’d managed to avoid the massive media coverage.
‘Just get on with it,’ instructed Vogel.
The pump fired at the third attempt.