Chapter 96

Chapter 96

He gripped hold of the metal shelves, yanking them roughly off the wall, before hurling them across the room. They clattered noisily to the floor, the sound echoing off the bare brick walls, but he didn't care. It was speed, not stealth, that mattered now.

David Reynolds set to his task energetically, systematically working his way along the false wall, removing the shelving units that had been put there to conceal the real purpose of the partition. Had anyone stumbled down here previously – squatters, junkies, police officers or council workers – they would have found only an old storage room, a forgotten basement full of junk, before hurrying on their way. They would have no concept of the tiny cell concealed just beyond this specially constructed barrier.

It seemed strange to be pulling it apart now, given how carefully and painstakingly he'd constructed it. He had fussed and fretted over the details, and on more than one occasion had misjudged the strength of the plasterboard, the loaded shelves too heavy for their mooring. Eventually, he'd got it right, however, and had been justifiably proud of his endeavours, but he cared little for past successes now. His sole focus today was protecting himself, of destroying the evidence that could damn him forever in the eyes of the world.

Pausing to breathe, Reynolds took in the unadorned wall in front of him. Stripped of its shelving, it looked strange and intriguing, the thin line that ran down the centre of the wall, where the two hinged doors met, now obvious to the eye. For a moment, he was lost in memories, of the many times he'd snuck here, throwing open the doors to reveal his cowering captives beyond. Those days were gone now but the remembrance would linger long, and fondly, in the memory.

Stepping forward, he cast around him as he prepared to finish the job. He half expected to hear muffled cries from behind the wall – he'd been away from the girls for a long time now and they must have heard the din he was making – but oddly all was silent within. This both unnerved and intrigued him, but this was no time for idle curiosity. Walking purposefully across the floor, he found a large, plastic bucket. Placing it directly in front of the hinged wall, he then grabbed the sack of powdered plaster. This he emptied into the bucket, before picking up a six-pack of water bottles, emptying them inside, one after the other, before tossing the empties away. Then, grabbing an offcut of wood, he begun to stir, happily watching on as the plaster mixture slowly thickened. Taking a break, he dipped his finger in it. Pleased with the consistency, he scanned the room for the last piece of the jigsaw. For a moment he couldn't find what he needed, panicking that he would be frustrated at the last, but then his eyes alighted on a plasterer's hawk lying discarded in the far corner. Hurrying over to it, he returned to the wall with his prize.

Taking a breath, David Reynolds composed himself, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of regret, then he plunged the hawk into the bucket, making sure the surface was fully coated with soft, pliable plaster, before he lifted it to the hinged doors, smearing the thick substance carefully over the join.