They all began to speak at once:

‘He says he’s going to—’

‘Please, get me—’

‘I want to go!’

‘Shut up!’ Ian lifted a hand to reveal a long knife, and they whimpered. ‘Is she here? Did you bring her?’ Sasha walked further into the small, dreary room, the low ceiling only inches above her head, and he barked, ‘That’s far enough. Where is she?’

‘Why do you want her?’

‘She has a choice to make,’ Ian told her.

‘And then these kids can go?’

‘That very much depends on her,’ he said impatiently. ‘Once again.’

Sammi started to say something, but Sasha put a finger to her lips, let me handle this.

‘Karin,’ Sasha called.

Karin came down the stairs and stepped into the cellar. Ian couldn’t take his eyes off her.

‘I’ve thought about this moment for a long time.’ He looked almost relieved. ‘I never thought we’d meet, not like this.’

‘We’re here now, so say what you have to say, and then we can all go home.’ Sasha nodded at the kids. ‘All of us.’

‘This is nothing to do with you, so stay out of it.’ Pacing, Ian waved the knife dismissively. ‘And move – further – back.’

Sasha edged back. She was too far to be able to lunge forward and disarm him by bringing the baton down on his wrist. All she could do was maintain eye contact with the three teenagers. Smile at them, try to give them silent encouragement that their nightmare would soon be over. She prayed, for Angel’s sake, and for the sake of the other two kids, that’s what would happen.

‘Did you like my messages? They were so much fun to send.’ Ian looked very pleased with himself. ‘I sent you one as a joke and never for a minute thought you would believe it was Becky, but you really fell for it. You needed to believe, with every fibre of your miserable being, there was a chance that your friend was still alive, despite everything. You really are a sick, sad little girl, aren’t you? And then, I thought, well, it’s a good way of telling you what will be expected of you.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Karin. ‘What do you want?’

‘There has been a massive miscarriage of justice and nobody seems to care in the slightest. My father has been maligned, his good name trashed, his reputation destroyed. He was hounded out of the job he loved, his health suffered. When I was a lad he was a good father, the best, but after it happened, he became… volatile. His family suffered… I suffered. My mother died early thanks to the stress of it all. And the hate he received, oh you wouldn’t believe the hate, it was as if he cut Becky’s throat himself.’ Ian’s voice was choked with emotion. ‘When all he tried to do was save her.’