The basement door creaked open, releasing a wave of cold, stale air that smelled faintly of rust and mold. The officers descended the wooden stairs, their flashlights slicing through the dark. At first the space seemed ordinary, cluttered with boxes and old furniture. Then Dana’s light caught a glint of metal.
“Detective,” she said quietly, “look at this.”
In the far corner stood a smaller wooden door secured by a heavy iron padlock.
Kerr tugged at it. It would not move. “Get the cutters.”
When the lock snapped, the door opened with a slow groan. The flashlight beams revealed a narrow chamber with concrete walls and no windows. A stained mattress lay on the floor beside a rusted bucket. Iron rings were fixed to the wall.
Dana covered her mouth. “Dear God.”
Kerr’s voice was low. “Someone was kept in here.”
Upstairs, Frank raised his voice. “You cannot accuse me of anything. I have done nothing wrong.”
Kerr stepped closer. “We found the room, Frank. You are finished.”
Nora began to cry quietly in the corner of the living room. Elise dropped into a chair, her face pale. “I did not know,” she whispered. “He said she needed discipline. I never went down there.”