Chapter Forty-One
Josie
‘Sir,’ I call, pulling the rug back further.
Roy steps in from the kitchen, eyes lighting up. He always comes alive when the pieces start falling into place.
‘You got a basement?’ he asks Neal.
Neal blinks, coming out of his daze. ‘Uh, yes. I was converting it into a gym for Jo. It was supposed to be a surprise. I’d planned to check out the equipment the week she… disappeared.’
‘Is there heating down there?’
He nods.
‘Right. Go carefully,’ Roy says as we roll the rug aside.
A key sits in the hatch’s lock. ‘Why does it have a lock?’ Roy asks.
‘Because of Joel,’ Neal replies. ‘I didn’t want him falling down there.’
Roy lifts the hatch; it isn't locked. He descends cautiously, each wooden step creaking beneath his feet. I follow him.
At the bottom, we’re faced with another door. ‘It’s steel,’ I say, heart racing.
‘It’s a Yale lock,’ Roy notes. ‘Opens from this side. You’d need a key to get out.’
I shudder.
‘Ready?’ Roy asks.
I nod.
‘Police!’ Roy calls. ‘Coming in.’
He opens the door. I step in behind him and stare in amazement.
‘What the hell?’ Roy mutters.
The door swings back. I catch it just in time and wedge my baton underneath to hold it open.
‘This is where she was held,’ I say grimly.
It’s not a typical basement. The space has been transformed into a replica of a luxury hotel room.
Plush furnishings, soft lighting – all completely unlike the filthy, cramped spaces we usually find in abduction cases.
But the metallic tang in the air tells the truth.
Blood has soaked into the stark-white carpet near the entrance, and a red horror is smeared across pristine walls.
Then I see it: a brown padded envelope, neatly propped against the wall.
It reads: Danny boy.
‘The mementoes,’ I whisper.
I place a plastic evidence bag on the floor, open the envelope carefully, and tip out its contents. They comprise a lock of hair and a wedding ring.
Roy’s voice hardens. ‘Cordon the area. I want Forensics to go over everything. We miss nothing.’
I check the adjoining bathroom, bracing myself for the worst. But it’s spotless. If it weren’t for the bloodstains in the main room, you’d never believe violence had taken place here.
Then I spot a wall-mounted phone and a small note pinned above it.
‘Sir,’ I say, pointing.
I lift the receiver and press a button. I hear the ringtone. Then a click.
‘Where are you?’ I ask when Dario answers.
‘The kitchen.’
‘It’s an intercom,’ I tell Roy. ‘That’s how the kidnapper communicated with her.’
Roy photographs the note. I glance back at the blood by the door.
‘She tried to escape,’ I say quietly.
At the top of the stairs, blood smears cover the floor; it looks like a body was dragged along it. I flick on my torch. Faint droplets speckle the steps.
‘He must have wrapped her in something,’ I say. ‘Otherwise, there’d be more blood.’
Footsteps echo from above. I rush up to intercept Daniel Neal.
‘You can’t go down there,’ I say firmly. ‘You’ll contaminate the scene.’
He falters, looking as if he might collapse. His eyes meet mine, full of disbelief.
‘She was held here? In our home?’
I give a small nod.
He hesitates, then slowly makes his way up the narrow steps. I follow closely.
Upstairs, officers in protective suits are sweeping the house.
‘I want to see her body,’ he says, voice cracking.
‘There’s no body,’ I say gently. ‘What he said on the memory stick was true.’
***
Outside, I breathe in fresh air. ‘He left behind a lock of her hair. And her wedding ring,’ I tell Daniel. Forensics needs to examine them.’ I place a hand on his arm. ‘The house and garden must be sealed off.’
His gaze remains fixed on the house.
‘Do you know anyone who calls you Danny boy?’
He shrugs. ‘Maybe a few people. I’m not sure.’
Roy joins us. ‘Mr Neal, you said the basement was being turned into a gym for your wife?’
Neal nods.
‘What did it look like, the last time you saw it?’
He frowns. ‘It was empty. We hadn’t bought the equipment yet. Then Jo went missing. Why are you asking this? Shouldn’t you be out there catching whoever did this?’
‘We are,’ I say. ‘But we need every detail. So it was just an empty basement?’
‘I’d had a shower and toilet installed for post-workout use. That’s all.’
‘No furniture? No couch or table?’
‘It was meant to be a gym.’
‘Did you install the intercom down there?’
He shakes his head. ‘What intercom?’
‘Okay. We’ll need the name of the builder and your interior designer.’
A bead of sweat rolls down his temple despite the chill.
‘Logan Builders Ltd,’ he says, pulling a card from his wallet. ‘Neville Logan. Good guy.’
‘Would you like someone with you right now?’ I ask gently.
He shakes his head and hands me the card. ‘I need to tell her parents.’
‘You’ve had a shock,’ Roy says. ‘We’ll send an officer with you. We’ll arrange to have your car brought home.’
Neal doesn’t argue. He slides into the back of a patrol car.
‘Alice Myleen,’ he says. ‘The designer. Jo kept her info. I’ll find it.’ Before the car pulls away, he lowers the window. ‘I want her body found,’ he says, his voice hollow.
‘We’ll do everything we can,’ I tell him.
What I don’t say is what I’m thinking: Why didn’t you call us sooner?
But it’s too late. Joanna Neal is gone. And we all failed her.
Once the car disappears, Roy turns to Dario. ‘Open the garage.’
I brace myself as the door lifts, but there’s no white van.
‘They’ve dumped it. Or torched it,’ Roy mutters.
There are spots of blood on the garage floor.
Dario frowns. ‘The basement… If the Neals didn’t furnish it, who did? And how did they get in?’
‘Start with the builders,’ Roy says. ‘Find out when the work was completed, and who had access.’
We step aside, letting Forensics take over. I stare into the distance, one thought louder than the rest: How do you tell parents that their daughter was murdered in her own home?