The woman rolled her eyes, tipped her head back and yelled: ‘Morris! It’s the pigs again!’
Morris came into the hallway wearing jeans, a T-shirt and in bare feet. He was holding a yoghurt pot and had the spoon in his mouth.
‘I ain’t done nothing,’ he said, taking it out. Erika saw his front two teeth were missing.
Just then two police cars pulled into the drive behind their car, the blue lights rolling above. Morris took one look at them and bolted back down the hallway. Erika and Peterson dashed past the woman and the pudgy baby. The hallway led past a tatty living room, to a grubby kitchen. The back door was already open, and they could see Morris running barefoot across the waterlogged garden. He dodged a small plastic swing set, and went to vault the chain fence, but slipped and landed in the mud. Erika and Peterson bundled over to him, just as two uniformed officers appeared out of the back door.
They all slipped around in the mud, the rain still pelting down, and Morris still resisted as Erika tried to handcuff him and read him his rights.
‘Where are you trying to go with no shoes?’ shouted Peterson, himself slipping over. He got up and slammed Morris against the fence, pulling his arms behind his back.
Erika put him in cuffs.
‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the kidnap, false imprisonment, and murder of Janelle Robinson, Lacey Greene, and Ella Wilkinson, and the kidnap and false imprisonment of Beth Rose…’ Peterson turned him round, and he spat at Erika. They handed him over to the uniformed officers, who dragged him away.
‘That’s him? You can’t be serious,’ said Peterson, wiping his face.
‘I know, he’s an idiot,’ said Erika, running her hands through her hair. They were both drenched.
Chapter Eighty-One
The rain had started to fall harder, roaring on the roof of the Oast House. Below, in the brick furnace chamber, Beth was sitting with both hands tucked between her thighs. She had made an attempt to pick the padlock, but her hands were bound together and her fingers had been numb, and it was as if she’d been holding the tiny pieces of the safety pin wearing boxing gloves. They’d warmed up a little, because she felt a dull ache with pins and needles, as the sensation came back into her fingers.
‘Okay, come on, come on, let’s do this,’ she said, lifting her hands and flexing them. She was worried he’d soon be coming back. She took the two pieces of the broken safety pin, one in each hand. Now to make the key, or something that would mimic a key. The padlock was behind her head, and she couldn’t see what she was doing.
She took several deep breaths and then shifted her body down, so that the padlock rested against the nape of her neck, upside down. Her hands were bound together, and chained, but there was just enough slack in the chain so she could lift her hands behind her head. Gripping the two pieces of safety pin, she found the lock and inserted the longer piece with the safety head in at the top, pressing it into place and holding it fast. Then with her other hand she pushed in the straight piece of metal with the pointed end.
With her arms in the air behind her head she gripped the padlock with her free fingers.
‘Shit, what the hell do I do now, turn it? Yes, stay calm… Think CSI… You’re going to get out of this and you’re going to be on CSI.’ She smiled at the thought. ‘Or even if not, you’ll have a great story to tell.’
Clasping the two pieces of metal in place and holding them between her thumbs and forefingers, she started to twist. It was awkward and fiddly, and wouldn’t budge. She pushed the two halves of the safety pin into the lock harder and twisted again.
Suddenly the padlock sprang open and landed on the concrete floor with a loud clatter. Beth gasped in shock and pulled her head forward, quickly un-looping the chains from around her neck. She flexed her body, feeling a sense of joy and elation. Her hands were still chained together, and the chain was padlocked to the opposite side of the cage, but she could move around; she flexed her stiff neck and body and moved to the padlock where the chain around her wrists was locked to the opposite side of the cage.
Then she realised that she was only holding one piece of the safety pin. The bent end was still lodged in the open padlock lying outside the cage. She tried to fit her fingers through the bars. It was out of her reach.
‘The chain! Use the chain!’ shouted a voice in her head.
It took several attempts, but Beth managed to use the chain as a lasso to grab the padlock and pull it back towards the bars. The wounds on her arms had now reopened, and the exertion had caused her to start bleeding. The bandages were sopping wet. She wiped her hands on her unrecognisable T-shirt and grabbed the padlock. She retrieved the piece of her key from its lock and started to work on the second padlock. It took three attempts and then the lock sprang open. She quickly unwound the chains around her wrists, gingerly shaking out her arms.
The padlock on the door of the cage took a lot longer, but eventually she managed it, and it sprang open.
Beth laughed in delight, quickly unhooked it, and opened the cage. The feeling of freedom was immense, and she moved around quickly, shaking out her numb legs, willing the blood into her feet. She pushed open the door of the furnace, and the roaring of the rain grew louder as she stepped out into the outer room of the Oast House tower. It was gloomy, but she could see up through slatted beams to the funnel-shaped roof above. A cool breeze and some flecks of rain fell against her face, but despite the cold she welcomed it. She found a light switch and flicked it on.
In the corner was a small table with the black backpack, and a small plastic box. She went to it and fumbled with the catch. Inside was a syringe, some small glass bottles filled with liquid drugs, and a selection of razor-sharp scalpels.
‘Oh my god,’ she whispered.
It was a stupid to stay there any longer. There were two doors; straight ahead was a large metal sliding door and behind her a small wooden door. She tried the metal door first, heaving it with all the strength she could summon, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried the other door, and it opened out into a huge barn-like structure with what looked like three floors. However, there were just bare beams where the floors should be, and she could see right up to the roof tiles. There was no door, no way out. Just some tiny windows high above the third level of beams.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Erika and Peterson rode in their car behind the police van carrying Morris Cartwright. They bumped along country lanes on their way to Sevenoaks Police Station, where they would be conducting their interview.