He did not know what he was doing here at all. But there was no point in turning back now, so Shane stopped at the driveway of Clive Daniel’s house, cut the engine, and got out of the car. It was deep night. One glance at the moon was enough to send a shiver through him. He had come here off duty, like an unwelcome guest, like a thief.

  As he walked deeper into the garden, he noticed a light and, beside it, a small tent. For safety reasons, lighting a fire was strictly forbidden, so a small floodlight had been set up to illuminate only the area where the officers slept and the door to the shed. Shane let the men know he was there but did not stay with them. He took a flashlight and went to inspect the building from the outside. He understood perfectly well that it would have been better to do this during the day, but something inside him would not let him rest. That feeling was exactly what had brought the detective here at such an hour.

  The beam of the flashlight slowly swept over the grass, the ground, the walls, but for now nothing particularly important stood out. Shane moved almost silently; only now and then a dry branch cracked under his sole.

  He kept thinking about why that poor girl had been locked in the basement and why the owners had sold the house, leaving her behind. Had they wanted her dead? Or had someone else hidden her there, while the owners never even suspected that anyone might be in the basement? Rats. Judging by the condition of the building, it had not been used for years—old, half-ruined—who would need it? There was another possibility: the girl had been hiding from someone, and she had been locked in completely by accident… No, a bad theory. In that case, they would not have found a dresser blocking the iron hatch. One thing was certain: she had been locked in.

  By whom?

  He stopped in front of a narrow passage between an old wooden fence—behind which there was a path down to the lake—and the back wall of the building. Shane did not need to strain his eyes to see that the police had never been here. The grass reached his chest, and climbing plants wrapped their tendrils around the walls, the fence, and the trunk of a tree standing in the middle of the passage, blocking the way. On the one hand, Shane thought, all of this could be cleared out and examined. On the other hand, there were too many “buts.” The girl could easily be frightened by running machinery. And above all, Shane was afraid of missing even a single clue.

  How hard it was when your hands were tied. No matter how much you reasoned, nothing would move forward without her. No guess would be confirmed, no theory considered. With a sigh, the detective leaned against the thorny fence and closed his eyes.

  The wind whistled a mournful tune through the branches of the trees. Shane listened to the strange sound, as if nature itself were trying to imitate a human voice. And it was beautiful. A sense of calm settled in his chest, and for a moment it felt as though he had returned to childhood, to the days when his mother sang him an old, familiar lullaby at night. He caught the melody and began to hum along—when suddenly it dawned on him.

  It wasn’t the wind.

  He switched off the flashlight, not knowing why, and stood motionless for several seconds. Then he dropped to his knees and pressed his ear to the ground.

  It was her.

  The very girl from the basement was humming a lullaby. He could only hear a soft murmur; he could not make out the words. But hope was born in his chest, followed by certainty: no imprisonment had driven the girl insane. All that remained was to figure out how to bring her out—into the sunlight.

  Shane suddenly imagined a fair-haired girl in a colorful dress, walking barefoot across a clean green meadow. A wreath of wildflowers rested on her head, bliss glowing on her face. She spun and hummed beautiful melodies, rejoicing in her freedom… And then the detective opened his eyes. Dampness and darkness surrounded him.

  “I hope that day will come for you,” he said aloud, and walked away.

  That morning, Shane O’Halloran called Dr. Leary while stuck in traffic.

  “She was singing. Singing!”

  “Are you sure, Detective, that you didn’t imagine it?”

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  “If you don’t believe me, Doctor, we can stand watch tonight, and you can hear it yourself.”

  There was silence on the line. Shane decided he had been too sharp and softened his tone.

  “Dr. Leary? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, Detective. I’m afraid I’m about to put an end to your dreams, because today I intend to bring the girl outside.”

  “Uh-huh,” Shane muttered skeptically. “Any ideas?”

  “I have one.”

  “Care to share?”

  “No.”

  Shane was furious. So he calls to share a discovery—something he owes those doctors absolutely nothing—and she hangs up on him? He took off his dark glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. The phone rang again, and Shane, thinking Leary had changed her mind and decided to share her thoughts after all, answered without looking.

  “A wise decision on your part,” he said.

  “Uh… am I calling at a bad time, boss?” Evan’s voice came through, and Shane actually looked at the display, not believing his ears. Yes, it was his partner.

  “Damn it, Gallagher! You really know how to call at the right moment,” the detective snapped, irritation creeping into his voice.

  “I just thought you’d want to know. The lab results are in. We know what was in the jars.”

  The endless stream of cars began to move. Shane focused on the road but stayed with the conversation.

  “Let me guess—you’re not about to tell me there was a rat in there.”

  “No. It’s simpler than that, Detective O’Halloran… uh… Shane.” Evan often forgot that they had been friends for years and that, in private, they could address each other by name. “Rotten vegetables, some roots, and grass soaked in water.”

  “I see,” Shane replied shortly, turning the steering wheel to the right. “Do you think she ate that?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t imagine how anyone could eat that. It’s rot.”

  “All right, Evan. Thanks for moving so fast. I’m heading to Cloraine now, and I don’t know when I’ll be back at the station. Ask Faye to call me right after the meeting with the realtor.”

  Evan promised to pass it on and hung up.

  Shane had not planned to go to Cloraine, but Dr. Leary had awakened the dragon inside him. Now he had a goal: to get the girl out of the ground before she did.

  Clive Daniel was doing renovation work on the cottage—something the police had approved. His son, Joshua Daniel, was with him. Joshua was a pleasant-looking man of about thirty-five, solidly built, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt over a T-shirt. He greeted the detective enthusiastically, introduced himself, and immediately began sharing his thoughts on the situation, gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

  “You know, Detective, they say all’s fair in cases like this,” Joshua said cheerfully. “So I tried going down into the basement. The girl showed herself for a minute, but then she started hissing at me like a wild cat. It’s as if she hasn’t seen people in years.”

  “Who allowed you to go down there?” O’Halloran asked suspiciously.

  “Well, there was no one there. My father just suggested—”

  “There are supposed to be officers on post,” Shane cut him off. Then he turned to Clive, who stood quietly nearby, twisting his favorite cap in his hands. “Has Dr. Leary been here?”

  “No, Detective.”

  “All right. I’ll go see what’s going on.”

  Shane had already taken a few steps and was about to head down the porch stairs when Joshua said quietly after him,

  “She’s pretty, you know. If you wash her properly.”

  Ignoring the remark, O’Halloran walked deeper into the garden, toward the tent, from which loud snoring could be heard from a mile away.

  “Damn it. Might as well stand watch myself,” he thought angrily. He entered the shed and went down the old, creaking stairs—this time without a flashlight.

  Hissing like a wild cat.

  She had been defending herself. From a human being. The conclusion did not please the detective, and suddenly he thought of Orla. There was no doing without her help, no matter what personal resentment he might feel. The girl needed a psychologist.

  In the darkness, a pair of wild eyes flashed. For a moment, Shane even thought he was facing an animal. But it was her.

  The hatch was wide open, and dim light spilled inside for only a few feet, but it was enough for Shane to make out some outlines. He could now clearly see the fragile figure of a young girl, clutching something to her chest.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Shane said evenly, calmly, raising his hands so she could see he would not attack. “I want to help. Help. No one will hurt you.”

  She stood in the corner, calculating how to reach her hiding place under the stairs. Shane understood this from the way her gaze darted between him and the staircase. But he was blocking the path, and she had no choice but to stay where she was.

  Shane was careful. He knew that one wrong move, and he would lose contact with her forever.

  Hissing like a cat.

  That could not be allowed.

  He managed to come very close—close enough that a chair could have fit between them. Now he could see her uneven hair, like torn rags, matted and filthy. What was she wearing? Something baggy and short. Her bare feet were scratched or caked with dirt. There was not enough light in the basement to see everything clearly. But he could see the toy in her hands, and judging by the shape of the ears, it was a teddy bear.

  Shane had a perfect chance to reach an understanding with the feral girl, but at the worst possible moment, a bright ringtone burst from his pocket. The sound distracted Shane and terrified the girl. She screamed loudly, catching him off guard, then darted under the stairs.

  “Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Shane cursed under his breath and went back upstairs.

  He had been so close.

  What a damn shame.