Leah Giarratano - Vodka doesn't freeze

At least Big Nose hadn't been back. They called him Jamaal. Jerome had seen him opening and closing his hands like he wanted to choke something. He did it mostly when the big one was talking. Once when he saw Jerome watching him, Jamaal had smiled and Jerome had nearly gone to the toilet in his pants.

Until today, he hadn't left the underground room, but maybe half an hour earlier, after Tadpole had found him crying again, he'd told Jerome he'd take him to see the ocean if he promised not to say a word. With a tea towel wrapped around his eyes, he'd climbed some stairs with Tadpole behind him. He'd smelled the outside air, but then Jamaal's voice made him freeze. Tadpole had shoved and sort of carried him back down the stairs, back to the big room. Tadpole had been giggling, with his hands over his mouth, but Jerome didn't think it was funny. He wanted to be at home, but down here was much better than up there with Jamaal.

He wondered what time it was. What his mum and dad were doing. He hoped they were still looking for him. Maybe Assam Ravinder's father would be trying to find him too. How long do people keep looking for you when you've been kidnapped? Is there a time when they decide you're not coming back and they stop looking?

Jerome rubbed his eyes, and focused hard on his sneakers.

Although she was fully alert before she picked up the phone that woke her, Jill still couldn't make out the identity of the caller. She sat upright in her bed, telephone receiver in hand; it sounded as though the speaker was trying to disguise their voice. She flicked the switch on her bedside lamp and wondered how this person had got her number.

'I'm there right now,' the voice sounded muffled. Jill struggled to determine whether it was male or female. 'I can't make it all stop, but tonight I'm going to try.'

'Would you please tell me who this is?' Jill's eyes were grainy; her body urged her back to her pillow, the warm quilt. The red numbers on the clock next to her registered 12.18 a.m.

'I'm on Kensington Drive, Hunters Hill. I'm in my car out the front of Sebastian's house. I know you know who he is. The Owner.'

'How did you get this number?'

'Is that really all you've got to say? I thought you, if no-one else, would want to put a stop to what these men are doing.'

'What are they doing?'

'Why, they fuck children, Jill. But you already know that, don't you?'

The voice sounded like the person was speaking through cloth.

Jill got up and walked with the phone now, pacing through her living room.

'Jill, they have a child there tonight.' Jill gripped the phone in her hand. 'I think it's a boy called Jerome Sanders; he was snatched last week. There's a party going on right now. Some Japanese high rollers have come here to celebrate, and Jerome is the party favour.'

Jill stood very still. 'How do you know all this?' she asked.

'I've been watching. I know you got my photo.'

'What is that address again?' Jill scribbled it down on a notepad in the kitchen; she tasted acid at the back of her throat. 'I'll be there within half an hour. Whoever you are, do not enter that house. If there is a child in there you cannot risk him being hurt.'

'Jill, there is a child in there. I told you. And it's probably a little too late to hope that there's just a risk of him being hurt. You know what kind of men these are.'

Jill unlocked her door; a jacket over her tracksuit would have to do. She slipped her firearm into the pocket of her windcheater. She'd telephone Scotty from her mobile, in transit.

Scotty confirmed what she already knew. The kidnapping of Jerome Sanders had been in the news and on their bulletin boards for a week. Scotty promised he'd meet her at Hunters Hill within half an hour.

'Jill, you don't know what this is. Do not get out of the car until I get there. Are we clear?'

'Yep. Just get there fast, and bring the cavalry.'

She knew neither of them could get there in less than forty minutes, and because Scotty would need to find Andreessen and arrange for back-up, he'd probably be considerably longer.

Jill stayed not more than twenty over the speed limit, overriding the instincts that were urging her to floor it. Jerome Sanders was with them right now. She blinked her eyes rapidly to stop images forming of what could be happening to him, what had happened to her.

She did not have to look to know that the girl with the white eyes sat in the passenger seat next to her, staring fixedly ahead, on her way to help Jerome. Somewhere Jill was faintly disturbed that this girl from the basement, who since then had lived only in her nightmares, was taking this ride with her.

She tried to ignore the girl's burning presence as she drove into the night. Jill had rarely used the portable navigation system her father had bought her for Christmas a few years ago. Being told where to go by the British nanny voice irritated her. Tonight, however, she obeyed the voice, and at 12.50 a.m. she pulled into the sleeping wealth of Kensington Drive, Hunters Hill. Crawling forward with her headlights off, she saw Mercy Merris's red Mercedes parked with a group of its newer, more expensive cousins. She felt no surprise. She rolled past the car, lights still off, and glanced inside. Empty.

She drove to the next street and turned left, parked a few houses down. Hands in her pockets, one cradling her gun, Jill jogged back towards the Mercedes, sticking to pools of darkness. She could see no-one. The homes in this street were set well back from the road. The night was still, the air cool on her face.

She reached Mercy's car, parked close to the house with the street number she'd been given. She assumed the caller had been Mercy. So Mercy had sent the photo. What was she doing?

Next to the Mercedes, a long sandstone wall protected a high, perfectly maintained hedge; the hedge protected a million-dollar view from those too poor to see it from their own homes. There was still no movement on the street.

Jill felt the girl with the white eyes jump over the wall before her. Shit. She waited a beat and followed her over, then she pushed her way through the hedge, the fragrant twigs pulling at her hair, clawing her clothing, trying to trap her within. When she finally broke through, the white-eyed girl was running down a hill towards the house. 'Wait for Scotty,' she wanted to yell after herself. Instead, she moved cautiously down velvety lawns towards the dark house.

She was halfway to the back of the huge home when the floodlights flared, turning night to day. Jill threw herself into a bush at the side of the gravel drive and lay there, her heart in her mouth, watching. The girl with the white eyes lay next to her, breathing evenly, waiting for Jill to get up and do something.

I should wait for Scotty, she told herself, even as she moved from her stomach to a crouch, readying to move. The lights had not brought anybody to the yard, and there was no noticeable movement in the house. Jill could see all of the grounds now, a wave of dark green flowing down to the inky harbour fifty metres away. The owners were perhaps used to large water birds triggering the sensor lights. In any event, they had not bothered to come and check why they'd been activated.

Jill made her way along the edge of the driveway, creeping through the shrubbery to avoid the crunch of the gravel on one side and the well-lit lawn on the other. When she drew parallel with the back of the house, she saw huge windows filled with light, and movement inside. She froze again. Should she try to get closer to the house? Scotty would be on the way, but she knew it would have taken him some time to wake the inspector, explain the situation and coordinate a plan of approach. The boss would probably want a search warrant before anyone came near the place. He'd have started out, but she knew he'd be a while yet.