The other half of the room could have come from a parallel universe. It has painted walls, a small bed and a fake window, letting in some approximation of daylight. An antique bedside table has a plastic lamp on it. A mirror. Clothes are scattered all over the floor. A skimpy nurse’s uniform. A police outfit, but not the kind a real police officer would wear. They’re like Halloween costumes, half buried under mountains of heels and lingerie.

Thick plexiglass separates the bedroom from the rest of the panic room. The glass is scratched but not dented from weeks or months of battering. Air holes have been cut in it, and there’s a transparent door. Four hinges on one side and three padlocks on the other.

A camera is mounted on a tripod on this side of the glass. Through the lens, this would look more or less like a normal bedroom, except for the two paint buckets in the corner.

Thistle’s voice: A doll can work twenty-four hours per day, seven days a week. And Howard’s: You know how many cam girls are prisoners in those little rooms?

A young woman in a schoolgirl’s skirt and sweater is slapping her palms on the glass. Her cheeks are hollow after days of starvation. I assume she hasn’t eaten or drunk since Luxford fled. Her bloodshot eyes are wide with desperation and terror.

‘Get me out of here!’ she shrieks. ‘Please, just get me out of here! Help me!’

‘Holy shit,’ Thistle breathes.

I rattle the padlocks. I didn’t see any keys when we were searching the place. ‘We’ll need Albrecht’s tools,’ I say.

‘On it.’ Thistle runs back out of the room.

‘No! Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me!’ The woman is sobbing with terror. ‘Come back!’

I’ve only been in here for fifteen seconds, and already I know how she feels. Even with the remote in my pocket, it’s hard to suppress the panic. What if the door closes? What if the batteries in the remote die and we get trapped? No daylight. No fresh air. No one would be able to hear us shouting for help.

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘We’re gonna get you out of here.’

The woman doesn’t even seem to hear me. ‘Please, just let me out. Let me out. He could be back any minute.’

I stick my fingers through the air holes. ‘There are two more police officers downstairs. He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s over.’

The woman is shaking, long dark hair falling all over her face. Wheezing like an asthmatic. Now that rescue is so close, she’s freaking out. I bet she wasn’t this scared when the situation seemed hopeless. The mind is a funny thing.