Kim moved away from Bryant’s prying eyes. At times like this it did her no good to know that he could read most of her thoughts, never mind her feelings. They were no good to her now. If she submitted to them she would find herself tearing out of the building and running the streets, shouting Stacey’s name, convinced that she could find her better than anyone else.
‘Okay,’ she said, getting everyone’s attention. ‘We have two prime locations. Thoughts?’
‘Looking at this manor house, it’s huge, derelict, spooky and a great location…’ Lynda’s words trailed away when she saw the look on Kim’s face.
‘I mean, it’s ideal for what we think they have in mind. Nearest property is a mile away. There are a few barns out back and…’
‘Gotta disagree,’ Gibbs said. All eyes turned to him.
‘Before the Second World War, Denton Army base was developed by the Ministry of Defence as an ammunition dump. Basically, a storage facility for live ammo and explosives.’
He tapped a few keys and an aerial view showed on his screen.
‘It has a buffer zone, a cleared area of two miles in the event of an explosion. All that land now belongs to the Preece family.’
‘Why haven’t they sold it on like the rest?’ Travis asked.
‘Developers prefer land where they have no chance of discovering an undetonated bomb,’ Gibbs answered with a shrug.
Kim stood behind him as others wheeled in their direction.
He used his pen to touch the screen.
‘There’s a metal fence around the whole site.’
‘What are they?’ Kim asked, pointing to a row of humps on the east side.
‘Igloos, sorry, bunkers for storing ammo.’ He moved his pen along. ‘I think those are pits to divert the force of the blast. And that over there,’ he said, pointing to the top left of the screen, ‘will be the destruction area: the demolition range used for burning or detonating defective, surplus or obsolete explosives.’
‘And this?’ she asked, pointing to a large structure at the centre of the site.
‘Transit building for transferring ammo. There’ll be a workshop, ammo repair space and facilities for the troops,’ he said, knowledgeably.
She raised an eyebrow.
‘Visited the derelict Bandneath Munitions Depot in Scotland a few years ago. Had its own railway distributing munitions to more than thirty warehouses. Denton is much smaller but with a similar layout.’
She stood silently for a moment.
This had to be the right call.
Bryant caught her eye. ‘Don’t they do that paintballing shit at these disused army places?’
Never did he let her down. He was sharing his thoughts without trying to make the decision for her. But now there was a picture in her mind of individuals running around with guns, hiding behind structures, ducking, diving, laughing.
‘Denton it is,’ she said decisively.
And silently prayed she was right.
NINETY-FOUR
‘Just tell me what you mean,’ Stacey said for the hundredth time.
She had asked him what was going on, and he had told her she really didn’t want to know. After that Flint had fallen silent but she could hear his breathing somewhere to her left.
If only he would speak to her they could find some way out of this, despite their differences. Were his racist views more important than his life?
‘Look, if we work together, surely we can—’
‘Don’t you get it, you stupid bitch? It’s over for both of us.’
Stacey opened her mouth to argue when the door swung open. His words had drowned out the sound of the key.
Damn it, they could have had a plan ready to execute next time the door was opened.
A bright light shone into her eyes and then moved left and right. She dropped her lids in defence but a thousand white stars danced in front of her eyes. She heard a groan as Gary Flint was hauled to his feet and taken from the room.
Stacey felt the tears sting her eyes. She suddenly thought about her mother’s concern when she’d said she wanted to be a police officer. Horrific images and untold worry must have plagued her mother while constantly praying that she would rethink her decision. Stacey wondered if this was an image that had crossed her mind. A tear spilled over and rolled over her cheek.
Yes, she was a grown woman in her twenties, and yes, she was a police officer and a detective, but right now she just wanted to feel the warm embrace of her mother. She fought back the rush of emotion that prompted the tears to form. She swallowed them down.
Suddenly her mother’s voice sounded in her head. And it wasn’t pleased. Stacey had never been allowed to indulge in self-pity. Her mother had offered comfort when the situation warranted it, but had been equally fond of a stern rebuke too.
Snap out of it, Stacey, she would have said, with impatience on her face.
She had to stop thinking like a victim. She had to think like a grown-up. A police officer.
What could she do? What did she always do?
She looked for information. She searched for data. She explored for clues.
She moved her left buttock forward and then her right. The darkness had not lifted and still cloaked itself around her but perhaps she could find clues. How big was the room? Was there any furniture? Where was the door?
Each time she moved she swallowed down the fear. Sitting in the dense blackness was terrifying enough but moving around with no clue of potential hazards or dangers intensified her fear.
After each few shuffles of her bottom she paused and lowered her bound hands behind her. All she felt was the dusty, concrete floor.
She had no clue of the direction of travel. She could have been moving away from the door. She paused and began to inch backwards. She had been against a wall. Her mind began to work. If she edged around the perimeter, she could estimate the size of the room based on distance from corner to corner and, wherever she was, she would eventually reach a door. Inching around in the centre of the space would simply disorient her more.
Her back hit the wall and she suspected she was where she had started. She contemplated trying to stand but she recalled the ease with which she had fallen into unconsciousness earlier. She couldn’t risk it again. She had work to do.
She began to shuffle sideways, which was much harder than moving forwards or backwards.
She hit the first corner after what must have been only a couple of feet.
She turned and began to head along the next wall.
Her shirt had ridden up her back and a cry escaped her lips as her skin scraped along a metal grid. A trail of blood began to ooze towards her buttocks. She felt along the wall until her fingers met with some kind of vent.
She continued her journey along the wall estimating she’d travelled approximately eight or nine feet.
She cried out as her foot met with something solid yet yielding at the same time, like a firm cushion.
She paused, before jabbing her foot at it once more.