something utilitarian like that. The cement floor had been exposed long enough for a couple of centimetres of powdery grey soil to build up on top.
‘Nobody can find this place,’ said Stan proudly.
Only someone obviously had, because Stan showed us the cast-iron metal door mounted in the side of the plinth – it looked like the rubbish chute at my parents’ flats. Streamers of plastic, green, white and transparent, drooped from the edges of the door – the remains of carrier bags. Stan pulled on the door, which opened with a creak to reveal more strips of plastic and an evil smell – old meat and rotting paper. There looked to be quite a large void behind the door, but I wasn’t that keen to investigate.
‘What did you keep in there?’ I asked.
‘My stash,’ said Stan.
‘Yeah, but what was in your stash?’ I asked.
‘Bennies, some blues, some billy whizz, a bit of deer, a couple of coneys and some red.’
Bennies, blues and billy whizz I knew – Benzedrine, diazepam and amphetamines. I asked Dominic what the rest was.
‘You know,’ said Dominic. ‘Deer as in Bambi, coneys is rabbits and red is agricultural diesel. Stan’s been siphoning it out of her dad’s tractor, haven’t you, Stan?’
She bobbed her head. I wondered what agricultural diesel was, but didn’t want to look stupid so I didn’t ask.
‘When do you think the stuff was nicked?’ I asked.
‘I found it like this on Thursday,’ said Stan. ‘Afternoon.’ She twirled a curl of hair around her finger. ‘About five.’
The morning the kids were discovered missing – Day One.
‘And when was the last time you came up here before that?’ asked Dominic, who’d obviously been thinking the same thing as me.
‘Wednesday,’ said Stan and stopped when she saw I’d taken out my notebook and was writing things down. For the police, if it isn’t written down it didn’t happen. And, if the inquiry went pear shaped, questions would be asked. I wasn’t going to risk any confusion about who said what to whom – mate or no mate.
‘Morning or afternoon?’ I asked.
Dominic made encouraging noises and Stan admitted that she’d checked the stash at around seven that evening. A really horrible thought occurred to me then.
‘Have you checked to see if,’ I hesitated, ‘anybody is in there?’
Stan shook her head.
I looked at Dominic and nodded at the yawning hatch. He groaned.
‘She’s your mate,’ I said.
Dominic sighed, pulled a neat little pencil torch from his jacket pocket and dutifully stuck his head inside. I heard a muffled ‘Fuck!’ followed by coughing and then he whipped his head back out again.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Thank god. And, Stan, do not be storing food down there in future. It’s disgusting and probably really unhealthy.’
‘We’re going to have to report this,’ I said and Dominic nodded.
Stan stuck out her lower lip.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘So the search teams don’t waste their time on it when they get here,’ said Dominic.
‘You think they’ll come up here, then?’ asked Stan.
‘The teams will be here by tomorrow’ said Dominic.
‘Oh,’ said Stan. ‘You’re still going to help. Right?’
‘Help with what?’ I asked.
Stan made a little helpless gesture at the gaping hatch.
‘They stole my stash,’ she said.
‘What?’ I said. ‘All the illegal stuff you had hidden away so that the law didn’t catch you?’
‘Rabbits isn’t illegal,’ mumbled Stan.
‘Who do you think took your stuff?’ asked Dominic.
‘Thought it might have been a pony,’ said Stan.
‘Why would a pony get into your stash?’ I asked.
‘They’re a bugger for food,’ she said.
I asked Dominic if there were any ponies nearby.
‘There are some a couple of fields over,’ he said. ‘More down the hill towards Aymestrey. But I’ve never heard of them drinking diesel before.’
‘What about the drugs?’ I said. ‘What would diazepam even do to a horse?’
We both looked at Stan,
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