The residents were allowed to use the cavernous area for storage if necessary, but Cath had forgone that option. Others she noticed, had not.
The basement wasn’t crowded, but there were over a dozen large chests, some marked with the numbers of the flats upstairs, dotted around gathering dust.
There were cupboards on the walls too, also for storage.
In the centre of the room was a boiler, a massive metallic monolith which, she reasoned, at one time had perhaps provided heat for the entire building. It was no longer functional, the pipes leading from it along the ceiling now cold. It stood like some lifeless heart, the thick pipes that had once carried heat from it resembling wasted useless, arteries.
As Cath moved deeper into the basement the smell of paint grew stronger, closing around her.
She realised it was the wall closest to her that had been re-covered in a dark, iron-grey coat of emulsion.
The basement was lit by two large banks of fluorescents and, as Cath moved through it, she could hear them fizzing and buzzing above her like predatory insects. One flickered and she glanced up at it, seeing the long white tube flash quickly on and off, then glow brightly once again.
She crossed to the cupboards closest to her and began pulling them open.
The first two were empty.
As she opened the third a large, bloated spider scuttled across one of the shelves.
Cath gasped as the hairy creature disappeared into a funnelled web at the back of the wooden storage unit.
She checked several others and found little inside except a few old newspapers and magazines. One or two contained some yellowing paperbacks. There was even a set of copper pans in one, unusable because the handles were missing.
Cath moved towards the boxes, the tea-chests stacked in places like huge wooden housebricks.
She peered inside the first and saw that it was half full of children’s clothes.
The journalist reached inside, fumbling around, trying to find the box she sought.
About six inches long, wooden. Rectangular.
Nothing.
She moved to the next.
And the next.
There were several board games inside. Monopoly. Cluedo. Others she hadn’t seen before, the boxes of most were yellowed and ripped.
At the very bottom was a small wooden box.
About six inches long.
Rectangular.
Cath swallowed hard and reached for it.
She could feel her heart thudding hard against her ribs as she inspected the box.
It was sealed with black masking tape.
She tugged at it with her nails, cursing when one broke but she continued to pull at the tape until she finally freed the lid.
It slid back easily.
There was a number of chess pieces inside.
‘Jesus,’ breathed Cath, dropping the box.
As she raised a hand to push back a strand of hair she noticed that her hand was shaking.
She looked around relieved.
The furnace stared back at her, its rusty door closed.
Cath sucked in a deep breath then took a step towards it.
Talbot had sat in virtual silence since he and Rafferty had left Theobald’s Road Police Station.
The traffic was heavy, their progress slow.
There’d been an accident in Old Street.
Talbot tapped agitatedly on the side window, glancing across irritably as Rafferty lit up another cigarette.
‘At least wind down the fucking window,’ hissed the DI, waving his hand in the air to dissipate the smoke.
Rafferty was in the process of doing so when the two-way burst into life.
‘Puma Three, come in. Over.’
Rafferty reached for the radio.
‘Puma Three receiving. What is it? Over.’
‘Bill, this is Penhallow. We’ve found something. Over,’ the DC informed him.
Talbot looked across.
‘Where are you, Colin? Over,’ Rafferty replied.
‘In the garden of Neil Parriam’s place. If I were you I’d get here as quick as you can. Over.’
Talbot took the radio from him.
‘This is Talbot. What have you found? Over.’
‘It’s easier if you come and look, guv. Just one thing. Do you want us to open this now or wait until you get here? Over.’
‘Open what? Over.’
‘We’ve found the box.’
Eighty-nine
Cath tugged at the furnace door, finding, as she had expected, that it was wedged shut.
A latch sealed it and, by the look of it, whoever had been painting down in the basement had given the furnace a coat of emulsion too. It looked as if they’d painted over the latch, making it impossible to move by hand.
Cath pressed the tip of her finger tentatively to the metal, ensuring that it wasn’t wet. Seeing that it wasn’t, she tried to release the catch, but her efforts proved useless.
She glanced around and saw another large box close by. It was filled with tins of paint, rags, brushes and a bottle of clear liquid which she guessed was turps.
Cath rummaged in the box and found a thick piece of wood, which she guessed had been used to stir the paint.
It might just do the job.
She slid the thick wood between the latch and furnace door and levered the catch upwards.
For a long time it resisted her efforts then, finally, paint flaked off and the latch gave way.
Cath tossed the piece of wood aside and pulled at the furnace door.
It opened with a loud creak, which echoed around the large basement.
A chill breeze seemed to blow from the open mouth of the furnace, like cold air from some yawning set of metal jaws.
The furnace was clean inside. No ashes left over from the days when it had been fully functional. Cath reached for her lighter and flicked it on, squinting into the darkness beyond.
It was huge. Large enough to allow her passage if she wished.
The door might be a tight squeeze but, once inside, she could see that the furnace was large enough to allow her to stand upright. She could see the outlet pipes leading off from the centre.
Could the box be hidden in one of those?
She paused for a moment.
Who would bother to clamber through a furnace door four feet square to secrete the Misfortune Box inside?
Someone who wanted her dead.
She paused a moment, flicked off the lighter. It was growing hot in her hand.
Inside the furnace?
Cath sucked in a deep breath. A breath tinged with the smell of paint. Then, cautiously, she ducked through the furnace door into the blackness beyond.
She flicked on the lighter once more and checked the pipe closest to her.
Nothing.
And the next.
Empty but for a few ashes at the bottom.
The air inside was stale, acrid.
She coughed, the sound reverberating around her.
The open door offered her a little extra light but she still needed to use the lighter to peer into the darker recesses of the pipes leading off in so many directions from this central point.
Cath checked a couple more.
Both were empty.
The lighter grew hot in her hand again and she flicked it off for a second.
The furnace door swung shut with a dull clang.
She was plunged into darkness so impenetrable it was almost palpable.
Cath couldn’t see a hand in front of her.
She flicked wildly at the lighter.
All she saw in the thick gloom were sparks.
It wouldn’t light.
She pushed it back into her pocket and pushed at the door.
It was stuck fast.
Cath felt sudden uncontrollable fear grip her. It raced through her veins like iced water. She pushed harder against the door.
Jesus, what if the catch had dropped back into place?
She banged on the door, but still it wouldn’t budge.