He reached the bottom of the steps. Tools were outlined in black on the peg board. Everything in its place. Meticulous. Ordered. Macabre really. A mop and bucket stood in the corner.
School timetable on the wall.
A row of photos next to a chair.
The room divided into two. Simple partition. Another locked door. And that was where Clara said it had happened. So near all that time, under the school.
Jesus. He couldn’t help think of all the wasted hours. Searching for them in the woods, dredging the bloody river. And here they were right under their noses.