Silent Scream

Sixty-Seven

Kim’s feet landed on the Formica worktop and the glass crunched like gravel beneath her boots. In the dark silence, the sound seemed deafening.

She eased herself down onto the ground and cast the torch around the kitchen. Nothing had changed in the few days since her last trespass and this wasn’t the area that held her interest.

Still, she paused for a moment, visualising the girls sneaking in when no one was around for a packet of crisps or a drink. How many times had Melanie wandered in and out of this room before she was so brutally beheaded?

Kim headed forward through the room and jumped when something settled on her face. She clawed at her cheeks, dislodging the soft fibres and raised the light to a head-shaped hole in a cobweb at the doorway. She shook her head and rubbed at her face and hair. A single thread tickled at her ear.

As she stepped from the hallway to the corridor a gust of wind howled from above, entering the building through the broken windows. A beam creaked above her head.

For a second, Kim questioned the sensibility of her own choice to enter this building alone and at night, but she would not be frightened off by insects and wind.

She moved along the corridor, taking care to mute the torch as she passed open doorways of rooms that were on the front of the property.

Although the building was surrounded by fencing she couldn’t take a chance that the light would be seen from the road or the houses opposite.

On her left she passed a utility room and on her right was the common room. She pictured Louise in that room, holding court, rallying her troops as the group leader ‒ until some bastard tried to saw her in half.

Kim headed for the room at the bottom of the hallway. The room where the fire had been started. The manager’s office.

As she entered, she switched off the torch. A streetlight next to the bus stop cast a shadow into the room.

Did you stand in here and ask him for help? Kim silently asked Tracy. Did you come to Richard Croft and seek his advice before you were buried alive? Kim suspected not.

Kim shook away the thought and surveyed the room. Two filing cabinets stood behind the open door. She opened each drawer in turn. The light from the street lamp did not illuminate that far into the room. She searched each one by hand.

Nothing.

She moved to the bookcase on the other side of the doorway. It was a heavy, wooden structure that ended six inches from the ceiling. She ran her hand along each empty shelf, standing on the second shelf up to examine the top. Although her hand was blackened by dark, dusty soot there was nothing to find. She blew away the loose blackened powder and wiped the remainder on her jeans.

She moved to the desk nearest to the window and opened each of the drawers. In the bottom she found a small petty cash tin. She shook it lightly. It was empty.

Kim stood and surveyed the room. The denture was here. She felt it. Where would it be placed to try and ensure its destruction?

Her eyes wandered back to the bookcase nearest the door. The fire had been started in the hallway outside the office door, at the furthest point from the bedrooms of the girls. Somehow the fire had chosen its own direction and headed down the hallway, leaving Croft’s office intact.

She put the torch in her pocket and stood before the bookcase. This time she examined every shelf, top and bottom and side panels. She knelt on the floor searching for any gap beneath the lowest shelf.

Nothing.

She sneezed as the dust and soot lifted from the surfaces she had touched.

She stood before the bookcase and opened her arms. She could just about manage to embrace the whole object in a giant hug. She pulled at one side and then the other, budging it forward by an inch at a time. After a few attempts, the bookcase and the wall were separated by about eight inches. Not much, but enough for her to reach behind.

Kim started to move her hand across the plywood backing, sweeping from side to side. Her face was pressed against the side panel as she reached for the furthest point.

The tips of her fingers glided over a smooth surface at odds with the rough plywood. She pushed as far as she could, straining at the shoulder. She touched again. Tape. Her fingers had found the edge of a strip of Sellotape. With one almighty push, she forced herself into the corner.

Instantly, she was reminded of foster family number three, who had used the naughty corner as a form of punishment. She would estimate that approximately one-third of her five-month stay had been spent in that corner. And it hadn't always been her fault. Sometimes it had just been made to look that way.

Kim froze as her hand closed around the unmistakeable shape of a tooth.

The word punishment flew around her head and she closed her eyes. She shook her head with disbelief. Why the hell had she not seen it sooner? It had been staring at her from the wipe board. Beheading, Premature Burial and Death by Sawing; all forms of capital punishment.

She retracted her arm from behind the bookcase. The denture could wait. It no longer held the importance that it had earlier.

She had to call for back up. She now had the pieces to finally solve this case. One last visit and her girls could rest peacefully.

Too late, Kim saw a shadow in the hallway cast by the streetlamp.

And then she saw nothing.