They were talking upstairs now, their voices muffled, and she wondered what time it was. They'd taken her watch, or at least she thought they had. When she'd woken up in this place for the first time, it was gone, as was her handbag, which had had her mobile phone in it. All she'd been left with were the clothes she was wearing when she'd been taken – a black T-shirt, denim skirt and her favourite wedge-heeled sandals – and she was still in them now.

The smelly one had already been in that morning to give her sandwiches – Marmite this time – and to change the bucket. That was a while back now. He'd seemed in a strange mood. Normally he was quite friendly, but today he'd been quiet, and it had worried her. She'd asked him if everything was all right, and when they were going to let her go like they'd said they would, and he'd come over, sat down and put his arm round her, telling her it was going to be fine and that she'd be home very soon. Even though she'd felt like throwing up with him so close to her, she'd told him once again that she just wanted to be back with her mum and her friends, because she thought that if she said it enough times he'd feel sorry for her and would help to make it happen. He'd told her not to worry, everything would be all right, like he always did, but this time it seemed as if he was making an effort to say it, and that maybe it wasn't true.

The voices were getting louder. They were arguing. She got up from the bed and walked as far as the chain would allow until she was almost at the bottom of the steps, then stopped and listened, straining hard to hear what they were saying.

The voices stopped before she could make out any words, and then suddenly the key turned in the lock and the door flew open, slamming hard against the wall.

Emma darted back, rushing for the bed, but not before she'd seen the man at the top of the stairs, partly silhouetted by the bright light behind him. She'd only got the barest of glimpses, just enough time to note that he was of normal height and build and had dark hair. For just half a second their eyes had met, but she knew straight away that she'd made a terrible mistake.

'Get your hood on. Now,' the cruel one called out from the top of the steps.

Shaking with fear, trying hard not to cry, Emma sat on the bed and pulled the hood over her head. She heard the door shutting, followed by a pause that lasted long enough that she began to hope he wasn't coming down at all, and then she heard the footfalls moving fast, louder than last time. She tensed as she heard him stop in front of her.

'Did you see me?' he hissed, venom in his voice.

'No,' she answered, shaking her head vigorously.

'Did you see me, bitch? Tell me the truth.'

'No, I promise.' She pushed herself back against the cold stone wall, her heart pounding.

He tore the hood off and she turned her head away from him, shutting her eyes, not wanting to see him, knowing only too well what seeing him would mean. He grabbed her roughly by the chin, squeezing the flesh, and pulled her towards him.

'Look me in the eye, bitch. Did you fucking see me?'

She opened her eyes and saw that he'd put on a black balaclava. His face was only inches away from hers.

'No, honestly, I didn't,' she said, finding it hard to get the words out. 'Please, you're hurting me.'

'This ain't hurt, bitch. You don't know the fucking meaning of the word. But you will if you're lying. I'll hurt you good. I'll hurt you until you're screaming with the pain. Do you understand?'

She nodded rapidly, feeling the tears well up, but determined not to cry in front of him. 'Yes, yes. I'm not lying, I promise.'

He released his grip on her chin. Behind the slits his eyes were dark and cold. 'Good.' He pushed the hood back over her head. 'Now, we're going to send your mummy a little message. So you can let her know how much fun you're having.'

His tone had changed again. He was mocking her, pleased that she seemed so terrified. He was enjoying this. It was difficult, almost impossible to believe, but he was actually enjoying this. Underneath the hood, away from his terrible gaze, the tears flowed freely down Emma's face.

And then she felt something touch the bare skin of her arm. Something cold and sharp.

Oh God, no. He's got a knife.

There were serious logistical issues to be addressed in order to get Andrea back home, and Bolt spent most of the remainder of Friday morning organizing them. He had to operate on the assumption that the kidnappers were watching the place, even though he thought it highly unlikely. It didn't take long to confirm that no properties with views on to Andrea's house had been rented out for more than eighteen months, so any observation point being used by the kidnappers would have to be on the street itself. With Big Barry's authorization, he managed to get a twelve-person surveillance team from another area of SOCA pulled off their current job, and they were sent to Andrea's neighbourhood. Having discreetly confirmed that there was no one suspicious hanging about, either on foot or in a car, they'd set up at various points and now had the street under continuous observation.

With the area secure, Bolt had given Andrea's card key, house keys and the burglar alarm code to one of his team, SG5 Matt Turner, who'd gone to check out the property. Although Jimmy Galante had searched the place for bugs, he'd bought a cheap device from a spy shop, so it was likely he'd only have been using a radio frequency detector, and not a very good one either, which would have been inadequate for the task at hand. Bolt knew that RF detectors were designed to pick up signals from active transmitters and radio telephone taps, but couldn't detect switched-off or remote control devices, nor could they find hardwired microphones and telephone taps, or recorders. In other words, the place could have been bugged to the hilt and neither Jimmy nor Andrea would have known about it. Turner was armed with the latest cutting-edge counter-surveillance equipment, including a Time Domain Reflectometer used to detect breaks and splices in cables; a Harmonic Radar to find cables and mikes buried in walls, cavities and furniture; and a Multi-Meter to measure line voltages within the telephone line.

However, when he called Bolt just after midday, Turner hadn't found anything either. 'The place is clear, sir. I've given it a complete once-over, and there's nothing here.'

Bolt trusted Turner's judgement on this kind of thing.

'Any sign of a struggle in there, Matt? Something that might suggest Emma Devern was snatched at the house?'

'Nothing like that. The place is spotless. Also, I reckon it'd be too risky trying to abduct someone here. There's a security gate running round the property, with only one entrance from the front, and it's pedestrian access only. No room to get a car through it. So the kidnappers would have had to take her out on to the street, and I think that would have been too risky in broad daylight. That's my take on it, anyway.'

Bolt sighed. The kidnappers had managed to track Emma's movements on Tuesday, and find out about Jimmy Galante's involvement in the ransom drop, but for the moment, how they'd done so remained a mystery.

He thanked Turner and rang off, then went to tell Andrea that he would drive her home. She'd been kept in the only office in the building with a sofa all morning and, according to the female liaison officer assigned to her, had spent most of the time asleep on it. She was awake when he went in there, though, and seemed pleased by the news that she was going back to her house, even if it was without her daughter.

It felt strange for Bolt being so close to Andrea again, and their conversation for much of the journey was stilted. He wanted to bring up the past, to talk about the old days, but Marie Cohen, the very short, very earnest liaison officer, was in the back seat of his car, which made any such conversation impossible. Eventually Andrea fell asleep again, leaning against the passenger side window. Occasionally Bolt glanced across at her, trying to look natural in front of Marie Cohen. Andrea was still a very attractive woman, but the lively spark in her eyes that had drawn him in all those years ago had long since gone.