Those Who Feel Nothing by Peter Guttridge

card. ‘It is. For you too, I think? Weren’t you a constable then?’
    Heap flushed.
    Rachel turned to Gilchrist. ‘I understand you want to see the tunnel.’
    â€˜Tunnel?’ Gilchrist said. ‘We want to see the basement.’
    â€˜That too, but there’s a store where Mr Rafferty deposited stuff halfway along the tunnel.’
    â€˜Lead us to it,’ Gilchrist said.
    â€˜The tunnel is usually out of bounds because of asbestos so you’ll have to be careful.’
    She led them down a short flight of steps and passed over hard hats and masks. A long corridor led off to their left with, at intervals, solid wooden doors.
    â€˜We use some of these as workshops and others as storage space.’
    â€˜And you know what is in each of them?’ Gilchrist said, her voice slightly muffled by the mask.
    â€˜Only that there is nothing of real value. It’s a bit damp down here so we don’t store museum pieces. It’s mostly lumber, old files, that kind of thing.’
    â€˜Where did Mr Rafferty find the police files some months ago?’
    The woman gestured to her right. ‘In the old tunnel.’
    â€˜What was the tunnel for?’ Gilchrist said.
    â€˜How much do you know about the history of the Pavilion?’ Rachel asked with a smile.
    â€˜Clearly not enough,’ Gilchrist said. She gestured to Heap. ‘I bet my sergeant will know, though.’
    Heap reddened a little. ‘It’s a tunnel connecting the Pavilion with the Dome complex a couple of hundred yards away. The story goes that the Prince of Wales had his women smuggled in and out of the Pavilion in secrecy via this route.’
    Rachel nodded. ‘A story that is total rubbish, of course,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Women like Mrs Fitzherbert would have gone through the front door.’
    â€˜Shame,’ Gilchrist said. ‘It’s a good story.’
    Rachel led them to the right then turned left. She flicked a light switch and Gilchrist and Heap were looking down a long, slightly curved tunnel with a brick floor and plastered ceiling and walls. Utility cables and pipes ran at head height down each side of the vaulted ceiling and a bigger pipe, presumably for sewage, ran along the left-hand wall at floor level. There were electric wall-lights every twenty yards or so.
    â€˜This was in use when the Pavilion was being used as council offices. Then asbestos was discovered all down here and down the other tunnel back there, so it’s been closed to the public ever since. We’re planning to refurbish and reopen it soon, though.’
    â€˜What was its purpose, then, if not to shuttle the Prince’s totties to and fro?’ Gilchrist said.
    Rachel frowned. ‘Just a convenient way to get between here and the Dome, I suppose.’
    â€˜Why would you want to?’ Heap said. ‘The Dome was just stables, wasn’t it?’
    Rachel shrugged. ‘Maybe they didn’t want to track horse-poo on the carpets upstairs.’
    They all smiled.
    Rachel pointed. ‘See that window bay down on the left there? The files were piled there with a lot of other stuff. And there’s a storeroom on the other side a bit further along. But I think both spaces are empty now.’
    Heap went first with the bolt-cutters. Gilchrist instinctively ducked, although the curved roof of the tunnel was a good foot above her head.
    The window bay looked out on to a brick footway. It was empty. Heap walked on to a solid-looking wooden door on the opposite wall. A large padlock hung from it. He looked back down the corridor to where Rachel was waiting.
    â€˜Sure you don’t have a key?’ he called, brandishing the cutters.
    She grinned. ‘Afraid not,’ she shouted back. ‘Do your worst.’
    It was fiddly getting the blades of the cutter in the right position around the shackle but once Heap had done so he cut through without any difficulty. So easily,