She took a second to catch her breath. There was still a cold wind blowing through the house. Then the door of the living room blew shut.
She crossed the hall and pushed it open again. The window at the far end of the room was wide open. As quickly as she could, Evi walked across the room and leaned out. There was no sign of Alice in the garden any more.
‘Tom!’ Evi called.
Tom didn’t reply, nor had Evi expected him to. Tom had gone. A clear set of footprints leading across the garden to the churchyard wall, far too small to have been made by an adult, was indisputable proof of that.
Evi leaned out further and looked at the ground more closely. A second pair of prints lay in the snow just to one side of the boy’s. Knowing how much it would hurt, Evi sat on the window ledge, swung her legs up and twisted round until she could lower herself into the garden.
Already the snow was beginning to cover the prints; in less than an hour they might hardly be visible at all. Now, though, they were clear enough. Not very long ago, someone had crossed the garden from the wall and had then turned and retraced their steps, taking Tom along too. Tom’s footsteps were clean and regular, with no indication that he’d been dragged or forced along. Evi peered at the second set of prints. They were adult sized, although not huge, and quite different to the swirled and ridged pattern made by the soles of Tom’s trainers. Evi could see the outline of a large big toe, the curve of an instep. These were the prints of someone who didn’t wear shoes.
Tom had gone with Ebba.
The door gave way on the fourth blow and Harry caught hold of Gareth by the shoulder to stop him racing in. ‘Bore hole,’ he reminded him.
Pushing himself in front, Harry shone his torch all around the small stone hut. It had just one room, about four metres long by three wide. Looking up, he could almost touch the beams of the roof. A large metal ring had been screwed into the central beam. Under their feet was pitch-pine flooring.
Gareth moved in, banging the floorboards with the heel of his boot.
‘Sounds pretty solid,’ said Harry.
Gareth shook his head. ‘This is different,’ he said.
Harry listened as Gareth moved from one spot to the other, banging his foot down hard on each. The difference was minimal.
Harry began moving slowly round the hut, shining his torch downwards, looking for any discrepancies in the boarding that might indicate that the floor could be raised. There was nothing that he could see. Except, eighteen inches in from the door, there was a small round hole in one of the boards. He bent down.
‘What is it?’ asked Gareth.
Harry’s little finger was circling round in the hole. ‘Screw hole,’ he said after a second. ‘I can feel the thread. Something is supposed to screw into here.’ He looked up, shining the torch around, as though whatever was supposed to be screwed into the hole might be lying conveniently by on a hook. ‘Something like that,’ he said, shining the torch directly at the ring in the roof beam.
Gareth glanced up and then moved to the back of the hut. ‘Like this,’ he said, pointing at a similar ring that had been fastened into the rear wall. Several feet below the wall ring was a twisted piece of metal. ‘This is a lifting mechanism. Give me that rope.’
Harry tossed the rope over and watched the other man thread the end through first the wall ring and then the roof-beam ring. Then he brought it over to where Harry was kneeling.
‘This ring’s missing,’ said Harry.
‘Of course it is,’ said Gareth. ‘With the ring here, it would be too easy to access the bore hole. It was probably removed for safety. Or Gillian could have it.’ He dropped flat on the boards. ‘Joe!’ he yelled. ‘Joe!’
Harry couldn’t stop himself shuddering. Gareth was pushing himself to his feet again, reaching out for his tool-box, taking out a sharp chisel and hammer. He pushed the sharp end into the gap between two boards and slammed the hammer down hard. The wood splintered. Gareth banged again and again. Then he stopped, found another chisel and hammer and threw them to Harry. ‘Other side,’ he ordered.
Harry found the tiny, narrow gap and started copying. The wood was old and crumbled easily enough. After hammering