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  But now none of this counted for anything.

  When she realized that this was it, that the cruel one really might kill her, the fear was like nothing she'd ever experienced before, far worse than the previous days when she'd at least had some kind of hope that the nightmare might end with her being reunited with her mum. Now she was sure this wasn't going to be the case. As soon as she was no longer needed, that'd be it. The cruel one would get rid of her, and there'd be nothing she could do about it, because she was totally helpless down here.

  She wondered how they were going to do it. With a gun, or a pillow over her head? Or maybe with that knife of his? She couldn't bear that. To be stabbed to death. It would be slow, horrible, and there'd be blood everywhere. She couldn't bear the idea of her mum having to identify her in some morgue somewhere when they finally discovered her body. If they ever did find it, of course. She might end up missing for ever, like one of those kids who disappear and are never heard from again. If they had to do it, she hoped they'd give her pills so she could just go to sleep, and that would be the end of everything. It would be awful, and she'd miss her mum and her friends, and even her teachers – well, a couple of them – but at least it would be painless.

  But she didn't want to die. God, she didn't. And just thinking about it made her cry again.

  And then, as she sat there all alone, something within her changed. She realized that she couldn't just lie there weeping. She had to do something, anything. There was a topic they'd covered in history when she was in Year 9. It was about British prisoners in Germany during the Second World War and how they were always trying to escape. How often they weren't successful, and got punished for it, but how they kept on trying, and some – quite a few – even managed it.

  It was hard, but once the thought of escape was in her head, she got this weird burst of hope. She stood up and tugged frantically at her handcuffs. In the days since they were first put on she'd lost weight, and with a lot of effort she was able to pull the cuff a half inch or so up over her left hand. It wasn't nearly enough to release her, but at least it was a start. Another half inch and she'd be in with a chance. She decided not to eat again. It would make her feel sick and weak, but it had to be worth a try.

  Then she pulled at the chain attached to her ankle, trying to yank it free from the wall. It didn't budge the first few times, but then she gave it a huge tug, leaning back and putting all her weight into it as if she was doing a tug of war, and she was sure she heard something give. The metal plate attaching the chain to the wall was brand new and had obviously been put there just for her, but it felt very slightly loose in her hands, and because the wall itself was so old, she felt sure she could get it out somehow. It would still leave her handcuffed, and trailing a chain, but at least she'd be mobile.

  She started scraping at the brickwork round the plate with her fingernails, breaking most of them in the process. Some flakes came away, but the plate didn't get any looser. She needed a tool of some kind, so she scoured the floor all over, hunting in every nook and cranny, until she found an old rusty nail in the corner just beneath the bed frame. Slowly, carefully, she began cutting away at the brickwork with the nail, methodically chipping away at it. It was a slow, painful job, but every time more brick dust fell to the floor she knew she was getting that little bit closer.

  She just had to keep praying she had enough time.

  Twenty-four

  'So, Pat Phelan might be in the frame after all?' said Mo Khan as he and Bolt drove to Andrea's house.

  'Well, he's certainly got a motive. He owes a lot of money to a very dangerous man who's likely to use some pretty extreme violence to get it back. He also called that man two days before the kidnapping to ask him for a few more days to get the money he owed him. That's a pretty big coincidence if he wasn't involved, isn't it?'

  Mo nodded. 'And he's not exactly the most upstanding citizen. A layabout and petty criminal who's sleeping with his wife's business partner. The problem is, it doesn't lead us to Emma, and if Phelan is involved, and she knows he's involved, he's not going to want to let her go.'

  'I don't know,' said Bolt slowly. 'I would hope that it would mean he's less likely to hurt her because of the personal relationship they have.'

  'That's assuming he's got a conscience. Anyone who can kidnap their own stepdaughter and put her through a living hell that's going to scar her for life just to pay off a gambling debt is capable of most things in my book.'

  Bolt's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. 'But what I still can't work out is that if he is involved, why did he disappear too? Why not set everything up, make sure he's got an alibi for the time Emma's snatched, and simply stay behind and act innocent, advise Andrea not to go to the police, and wait for his money? Why implicate yourself?'

  Mo shrugged. 'Maybe he's stupid.'

  Bolt shook his head. 'No, one thing we do know for sure is the people behind this aren't stupid.'

  The reason they were going to Andrea's house was to talk to her about these latest developments. Bolt had spoken on the phone to Tina Boyd for more than fifteen minutes and had been impressed by her detective work in uncovering the leads, but also concerned that she'd been abducted from the street and threatened by Leon Daroyce. Bolt was unfamiliar with the name, but a quick check on the PNC had revealed Daroyce as an unpleasant thug with several convictions for violence. He'd also been charged with a number of offences over the years, including extortion and, more ominously, attempted murder, all of which had ended up being dropped as witnesses retracted their statements, refused to testify, or in one case simply disappeared. Clearly he was a dangerous man.

  But Tina hadn't sounded unduly distressed. If anything, she'd sounded excited, which wasn't like her. The thing with Tina was that she tended to keep her emotions in check, and usually exhibited a businesslike calm that her colleagues occasionally found disconcerting. He'd offered her the rest of the day off, knowing that however brave a face she put on it she was still going to be shocked by what had happened, but knowing too that she'd refuse the offer, which of course she had. Tina Boyd wasn't the type who liked being treated with kid gloves, something that Bolt had always admired about her, and he'd told her to return to the Glasshouse and help out there.

  Bolt was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on anything but Emma's whereabouts and he knew he looked under stress. His fingers were glued to the steering wheel, and twice Mo had asked him whether everything was OK. He'd replied that he was fine, just tired, which wasn't an uncommon occurrence on his team. They regularly did sixty-, even seventy-hour weeks when they were on a job, but he'd felt bad not saying something to Mo about his plight. They were good friends who knew each other well. But Bolt was well aware that the moment he opened his mouth he'd put his colleague in an impossible situation. He'd done that once before, and had sworn then that he wouldn't risk their friendship a second time.

  It had just turned twenty to six when they pulled up outside Andrea's house, having called through to the surveillance team to announce their arrival. Not surprisingly, the team leader reported that there'd been no suspicious activity in the street all day. The kidnappers, it seemed, were continuing to keep a low profile.

  Bolt pressed the buzzer on the security gate, and they were let through without preamble. The garden looked even prettier in the dappled lateafternoon sunshine as he and Mo walked towards the front door. It opened and Andrea appeared, dressed in a white LA Fitness T-shirt and ill-fitting trackpants. She'd removed her make-up, and looked older. Her eyes were red, and there'd been recent tears.

  'Any news?' she asked.

  'I'm afraid not,' answered Bolt as she moved aside to let them in, 'but we've got a few questions we need to ask you.'

  Matt Turner and Marie Cohen, the liaison officer, were in the hallway and Bolt nodded to them both as Andrea led them through to her living room. She took a seat on a long leather sofa while Bolt and Mo sat down in armchairs opposite her.

  Marie leaned
round the door and asked if anyone fancied a cup of tea. Bolt declined. Mo and Andrea both asked for coffee.

  'What do you want to know?' she asked, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands and blowing out a line of pale blue smoke.

  Bolt wasn't looking forward to this. It felt akin to kicking her when she was already down.

  'We've heard from very reliable sources that Mr Phelan has a very large gambling debt. Did you know anything about that?'

  She looked genuinely shocked. 'Are you sure? How big?'

  'We believe it's tens of thousands of pounds.'

  'Oh God, no. He's been staying out late quite a bit, but I had no idea he was gambling. What's he been betting on?'

  'He's been losing it in a casino, but the point is, he owes a lot of money to some very nasty people.'

  'Have you ever heard the name Leon Daroyce, Mrs Devern?' asked Mo, speaking for the first time.

  She shook her head. 'Is he the person Pat owes the money to? Do you think he's the one who snatched Emma?'

  'It's possible,' Bolt conceded. 'We don't know for certain. We think it might be that Mr Daroyce is currently looking for your husband to get the money he's owed.'

  Andrea took another urgent drag on the cigarette. 'But surely he's the one with the motive. Are you not going to arrest him? Do something?'

  'Mr Daroyce and his people are currently under surveillance, so if they are involved, we'll know about it very quickly.' Bolt paused. 'But our source tells us that your husband phoned Daroyce last Sunday night, saying he was going to get him his money in the next few days. That was only two days before the kidnapping.'

  'So you're saying he is involved?' she asked, her voice cracking.

  'We have to face up to the possibility that he is, yes.'

  'He wouldn't do this, you know. He really cares for her.'

  The room fell silent. Bolt leaned forward in his seat.

  'What we keep coming back to, Andrea, is that if your husband wasn't a part of this conspiracy, how did the kidnappers know his and Emma's movements? We think the abduction happened in the car park of the dental surgery where Emma had her appointment.'

  Andrea's eyes filled with tears. 'Don't use that word, abduction. It makes it seem, I don't know, like some paedophile snatched her and she's not coming back.'

  'I'm sorry. Snatched. But the point is, the kidnappers knew she was going to be there. And we need to know how.'

  Marie came back into the room with the coffee for Mo and Andrea. Andrea waved hers away.

  'Who's got access to this house, Mrs Devern?' asked Mo, taking his coffee and thanking Marie. 'And who knows the code to your burglar alarm, aside from you, Mr Phelan and your daughter?'

  'No one except the cleaner, and she's been doing the house for years.'

  As Mo took down the cleaner's details, Bolt's mobile rang. It was the surveillance team leader. Bolt excused himself and walked to the other side of the room out of earshot.

  'We've got an IC1 female stopping at Mrs Devern's security gate. Black hair, early forties. She'll be ringing the bell any moment now.'

  The buzzer sounded in the hallway, and Matt Turner poked his head round the living-room door.

  'Are we expecting anyone?' Bolt asked him.

  'Not that I'm aware of.'

  'OK, ignore it, then. Let's hope they go away.'

  A few seconds later the buzzer sounded again, longer this time.

  'Oh shit,' said the surveillance team leader down the phone.

  'What is it?'

  'She's unlocking the gate, and now she's coming through.'

  Bolt cursed. This was the problem with operating out of a private address. He hung up as the key turned in the lock and the front door opened.

  'Andrea?' came a woman's voice, followed immediately by an accusatory 'Who are you?' as she saw Turner.

  'It's all right, Isobel, I'm in here,' Andrea called out, getting to her feet quickly. 'It's my business partner,' she added by way of explanation.

  Bolt and Mo exchanged glances as Isobel Wheeler, the other half of Feminine Touch Health and Beauty Spas, came into view. She was a striking woman in her mid-forties whose shoulder-length black hair and olive skin suggested eastern Mediterranean parentage. She was wearing a short black dress that finished halfway down her thigh, and which Bolt thought would have suited a slightly younger woman, and black high-heeled court shoes. She didn't do a lot for Bolt, but he could see why some men might go for her.

  Isobel and Andrea greeted each other with a kiss on both cheeks.

  'I came to see whether you were feeling any better,' Isobel said, breaking away and surveying the room with a cool confidence that was only a hair's breadth short of arrogance. 'What's going on? Who are all these people?'

  Bolt opened his mouth to reply but Andrea beat him to it. 'Pat's gone missing,' she said worriedly. 'I haven't seen him for days.'

  Isobel looked shocked. 'Is that why you haven't been in this week? You weren't ill, then?'

  Andrea shook her head. 'No. I've been waiting for him to come home, and he hasn't. The police are looking for him.'

  'What do you think's happened? Did you have an argument or something?' There was something accusatory in Isobel's tone.

  'No, it wasn't like that. He just didn't come home one night. I don't know what's happened.'

  Isobel turned to Bolt. 'Why aren't you out there looking for him?'

  'I don't believe we've been introduced,' he said coolly. 'You are?'

  'Isobel Wheeler,' she snapped. 'Why aren't you looking for him?'

  Bolt didn't like this woman at all, but knew better than to react to her rudeness.

  'We are looking for him,' he explained calmly, 'but unfortunately there's no law against a man leaving his house, even for an extended period of time, and at the moment there's no suggestion of foul play.'

  'Pat wouldn't just walk out,' she said firmly.

  'You know him well, do you?'

  'I know him well enough,' she said curtly before turning back to Andrea. 'And you can't think where he might be, Andi?'

  Once again, Andrea shook her head. 'I've tried everywhere. I've got no idea where he is, or why he went.'

  Bolt was impressed by the way she was holding up, but he also found the smooth and natural manner in which she lied unnerving.

  Isobel stared at Andrea for a couple of seconds, then leaned forward and gave her a hug.

  'Do you want me to stay here with you?' she asked.

  'I'll be all right, I promise.'

  'Keep me posted of progress, OK?'

  'Of course I will.'

  'And don't worry about anything at work; it's all being sorted.'

  Andrea managed a weak smile. 'Thanks, Iz. I appreciate it.'

  'Now, if you'll excuse us, Miss Wheeler,' said Bolt, 'there are details we need to take down from Mrs Devern.'

  Isobel nodded brusquely. 'Call me,' she told Andrea, then pushed past Turner and walked back out into the hallway.

  Bolt followed her out and opened the front door for her.

  'Have you any idea what's happened to him?' Isobel whispered as she stepped past him on to the steps. 'I mean, really? Because four police officers seems an awful lot to come round to take a missing person's details.'

  Bolt shook his head. 'No, we haven't, I'm afraid.'

  She gestured in the direction of the living room. 'Watch her,' she said, but before Bolt could ask her to elaborate she'd turned and walked away down the garden path.

  Bolt watched her go, wondering what she meant. And wondering too why at no point had she asked where Emma was.

  Twenty-five

  'I thought you said only the cleaner had access to the house, Mrs Devern,' said Mo as Bolt reentered the living room.

  Andrea was back on the sofa, looking flustered. 'Sorry, I forgot that I'd given a key to Isobel. It was last year. I asked her to check the place while we were on holiday.'

  'And there's definitely no one else we should know about?'

  She sh
ook her head firmly. 'Definitely not.'

  Bolt thought of what Isobel had said on the doorstep.

  'Do the two of you get on well?' he asked.

  Andrea nodded. 'Well enough. She's my business partner. I've known her for years.' Then her expression changed. 'You're not saying she's got something to do with this as well, are you? First you accuse Pat—'

  'No, no,' he said hastily, 'of course not. But we don't think this is a random act. If your husband wasn't involved, we still need to know how the people targeting you knew your movements, and one of the ways would be by bugging your house.'

  'But you said you found no bugs.'

  'There were none when we looked this morning, but if someone other than you had access, they could have removed any listening devices.'

  'Jesus, this is ridiculous. Isobel's a lawyer, not something out of MI5. What would she gain by any of this?'

  'We're just trying to cover every angle, that's all,' he said, knowing that if he told her about Isobel's affair with her husband it would probably prove the last straw.

  Andrea reached over to the coffee table and picked up her cigarettes again, taking one out of the pack and lighting it.

  'Mike,' she said, looking him squarely in the eye, 'is there something you're not telling me?'

  The question caught him off guard, as did the fact that she'd called him by his first name again in Mo's presence. Bolt had to consciously resist looking at him.

  'No,' he said, shaking his head. 'As I say, these are just routine enquiries.'

  As he spoke, he caught sight of an old framed photo of Emma on top of an antique chest of drawers in the corner next to the French windows – a smiling child's face staring at him from an odd angle. For a second he couldn't drag his gaze away, and he felt a bead of sweat run down his temple.