Хилари Боннер - Deadly Dance

He had to remind himself that he didn’t even know for certain yet that Willis had gone to his home, let alone taken Dawn Saslow there. But every instinct, coupled with Hemmings’s irrefutable logic, told him that’s what had happened. If Saslow was no longer with Willis in his car, or heaven forbid, lying dead or injured on the floor or in the boot, then she could still be at the house.

But Willis lived in an ordinary suburban semi. A cursory search had already been completed and the CSIs were now going through the place with a fine toothcomb. Vogel knew all about deficiencies in police searches. The Tia Sharp case came to mind; the twelve-year old’s body, concealed in the attic of her grandmother’s East London home, was missed twice by police searching the premises. Vogel had personal knowledge of CSIs failing to notice an obvious murder weapon, even a bloodied knife, at a crime scene. But this time they were looking for a fellow police officer. Everyone involved was on red alert and hopefully Dawn Saslow was alive. Surely her presence in a three-bedroomed semi couldn’t be overlooked.

Vogel called Vera Court on her mobile. The woman had not quite reached home. She still sounded in shock. Her life was going to change, thought Vogel obliquely. She mightn’t still be married to this monster, who had fooled so many, but she had been once and their children still bore his name.

‘Look, this might seem crazy,’ Vogel began. ‘But is there anywhere at your old, marital home where a person could be hidden? A place that we wouldn’t find, unless we knew it was there?’

‘No,’ replied Vera at once. ‘It’s just an ordinary, small house. I mean, there’s an attic, not much space up there. Then there’s the garage. John was always very protective about the garage. I called it his man cave. Nobody else had a key to it and the kids weren’t allowed in. He kept stuff in it for tinkering with the car, for the garden, just ordinary things. I hardly ever went in there. He kept the car in the garage, but if we were going out together he’d fetch it and drive round the front to pick me up. But I’m sure your people have looked in the garage by now, haven’t they, Mr Vogel? And I expect it was as tidy as ever, too. Not much of a hiding place.’

Willis muttered his agreement.

‘You really can’t think of anything else?’

‘No. Well… just something, but it’s probably nothing…’

‘Go on, Mrs Court.’

‘Well I remember one of the elderly neighbours there, old Willy Fox, who used to talk about playing in the air raid shelter, which was built in his garden just before the war. I suppose it would have been used when the docks were bombed in Bristol. Our house didn’t have one as far as I know. John never mentioned it certainly, nor anyone else, but it’s just a thought…’

Vogel sat up straight in his chair.

‘John lived in the house before you were married, didn’t he? Might he have known things about the house that you didn’t?’

‘I suppose so, but he couldn’t hide an air raid shelter from me and the kids, surely?’ said Vera.

‘I don’t know, Mrs Court,’ responded Vogel. ‘I do know that he appears to have hidden multiple identities and multiple murders from all of us. You said you thought John was capable of anything. He thinks that too. He thinks he is super capable, super clever and that the rest of us pale into insignificance by comparison. That may be his only weakness.’

As he ended the call, Hemmings walked in.

‘The CSIs have been on again to say that there’s nothing at all at Willis’s house,’ said the DCI. ‘A neighbour saw him pull out of the back alley leading from the garage about an hour ago, but couldn’t tell whether there was a passenger in the car. Indeed, they couldn’t actually see Willis, but just assumed it was him. Nobody, that we know of so far, saw the car arrive. There’s no sign of any hurried packing or anything like that and certainly no sign of DC Saslow. They found his passport, in the name of Willis, but we know he has at least one other in another name…’

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.’

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?’