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In the Basement #7


The policeman shouldered the door marked CARETAKER and broke the lock through the old wood. It gave with a splintered squeal and swang forward.

Steps down. Bare wood.

A smell. Dettol.

Antiseptic mingled with the damp metallic tang of a locked up space.

He stepped on the first step. Tentative. Testing them before putting his weight on them. They’d got a full confession. But there’d be evidence down here. The case needed closure and parents still waited for bodies to bury and finally put things to rest. Then try to piece together the remains of their life and move on.

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