Chapter SixWhen I arrived at the disused railway depot to the north of King's Cross station, the ambulance had disappeared. The door to the abandoned bonded warehouse was locked from the inside. I knocked lightly and Freddie let me in. We carefully descended three flights of rickety wooden stairs passing rusty derricks, winches and other heavy lifting gear built into the stained brick walls which glistened in our touch lights. The winey smell was heady and sweet and the damp air was sticky. Both sides of the second floor were lined by glassed offices, some still glazed whilst others not, some intact with furniture, others open as if cases of wine or liquor were their occupants and not humans. It was a sinister yet innocent and blameless place where ghosts of the past walked in the shadows.
