‘Give me your car keys, house keys, mobile phone.’

Norma opened her bag and handed Clay her keys and phone.

‘You can open the garage door with the fob on the car key ring,’ said Norma.

‘Take your glasses off. It’s not a bit sunny.’ Norma didn’t move. ‘Take them off and look me in the eyes,’ insisted Clay.

Norma lifted the glasses from her face and looked at Clay. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to but you’re making a huge mistake.’

Cole walked into the hall.

‘This is Detective Constable Cole. He’s going to take you to Trinity Road police station. Before you go, would you like to tell me where Francesca Christie is?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Norma Maguire looked at Clay as if she was completely insane. ‘I’m not saying another word until I have a solicitor with me.’

‘Now that is sensible, Norma. Take her away, DC Cole.’

He positioned himself behind Norma’s wheelchair.

‘Take your hands off my chair. I’ll push myself, thank you very much.’

‘I’ll see you soon, Norma. Interview Suite 1’s been booked for you in Trinity Road police station. Hurry up, Norma. From now on, every second counts.’

109

6.33 am

In Norma Maguire’s kitchen, Clay lifted up the plain mat at the back door and flicked on a torch. She raised the hatch, the entrance to the basement.

‘Hello,’ she shouted. ‘Police.’

The silence that came back filled Clay with horror.

She shone torchlight down the wooden stairs leading into the basement.

Clay identified a switch on the wall near the top of the stairs. As she descended, she flicked on the light, watched irregular red light flickering, interspersed with crackling darkness. She turned the faulty fluorescent light off and used the torch to guide herself down the steps as she combed the space with light.

‘Hello!’ she called again, even though there was no one in the basement, just a smell of damp and earth, and something vaguely chemical. Beneath the blanket aroma there was a stench of what could have been human waste or just a dead animal decomposing in the soil around the walls of the basement.

On the wall near the stairs was a long rectangular chunk of exposed brick that looked like it had been hacked out. A mound of plaster dust and chippings lay on the ground and particles of dust danced in Clay’s torchlight.

There was a door in the wall to her left.

‘Hello,’ she tried again. ‘Police.’

In the lock, there was a key. She turned it, built herself up for whatever was behind the door.

She pushed the door and a blast of stale sweat hit her in the face, but a quick inspection showed that the only thing in the room was a large mirror on the wall. She walked around the walls, sensed a vibration in the air that chimed in her marrow.