Page 122 of Little Children
‘Shut it,’ the woman called back to Lewis, who pushed the door closed but not locked.
Thank God she’d let Lewis know she was there. Both his quick thinking about moving in front of her and not locking the door of the van had given her a fighting chance.
She pushed the blanket aside and took a moment to breathe in slightly cleaner air.
Then she moved slowly towards the van doors, ensuring she did nothing to move the vehicle. She waited and listened so she didn’t push the door open too soon.
Within a couple of minutes, there was silence.
She had no idea what was outside this van. The rush of cold air told her it was parked somewhere in the open air, not in a garage. But was it in a position where she’d be spotted the second she opened the door?
She nudged it open just an inch and saw the building. Its last coat of white paint was peeling, and a drainpipe ran down the side of the wall.
Part of her hoped she’d given enough detail to Bryant and wondered if she should sit tight and wait. With a better signal she would have sent her colleague a Google Maps pin, but she knew if she tried, it wouldn’t reach him and she’d just be wasting time she didn’t have. The other part of her pictured Lewis being tied up like a piece of meat.
The visual spurred her into action.
She pushed the door a little at a time until there was enough of a gap to squeeze herself through, then she dropped out of the vehicle and lowered her body into the shadows.
The van was parked at the side of a two-storey farmhouse. There was just a single small window on the upper level, which she guessed was probably on the stairs landing. She inched around the front of the house, taking care to step lightly on the gravel. The front windows were dirty, and the double glazing had failed, giving a misted effect to the glass.
She crawled beneath the windows to the other side of the property.
On the west side of the house was a barn with metal doors. Seeing no other buildings, she quickly crossed the thirty-foot space that separated it from the house. Once at the doors, she stopped for a moment and listened. Although lights were on in the farmhouse and she could see movement, the only sounds to meet her ears came from the inside of the barn.
She could hear a soft, muffled cry and then a shouty whisper telling the crier to shut up.
She took another brief look at the farmhouse windows and saw two figures moving around the kitchen. As long as there were only two captors, she was safe to enter the barn.
Kim cracked the door open to see that the lights were on. That probably meant they weren’t yet finished with the boys, so she had very little time to form a plan.
She pulled the door open, praying there would be no creaking to give her away.
She stepped inside and quietly pulled the door closed.
There were no windows in the building, and the stench hit her immediately. The space reminded her of an old stable block. The entire area was divided into pens. Four on each side with a walkway down the middle. The first pen on her left held food supplies, tins and cereals. The pen on her right held tools, wood, rope, offcuts of stumps and spare plyboard.
She took a few steps forward, and a voice cried out in terror. The boy hadn’t even seen her, but he was afraid because there was someone coming. What had those bastards done to these boys? she wondered, pushing down her rage until she needed it.
Two more steps forward and she was between the next two pens.
Both boys were huddled in the far corners of their straw-filled pens.
‘It’s okay,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here to help. I’m a police officer.’
One of the boys had turned his face into the wall, but the other looked at her doubtfully.
She continued moving forward to the next two pens.
Like the ones before, they were filled with straw. She saw two boys there too. Again, she was overcome by the stench of urine and faeces.
She put her fingers to her lips as she passed by. Kim realised they should have been making more noise. Clearly it had been drilled into them to remain silent.
Her insides started to vibrate with anger. They were like dogs in a pound, terrified, broken… but even the dogs in the pound were allowed to fucking bark.
She moved forward to the last two stalls.
On her left, she was relieved to see Noah, who had come as far forward as his chain would allow.
