covered in curved shards of glass and broken plastic. The TV was battered to smithereens, the sofa shredded, the standard lamp a very non-standard shape. A bloodstain marked the wall by the kitchen door, the plasterboard buckled and cracked around it. 'As far as I can tell,' said the IB's pet Goth, her face as pale as her white SOC suit,'this was where someone's head was rammed into the wall.' She knelt on the carpet and demonstrated in slow-motion. The dent was just the right size and shape. 'No idea if the blood's the householder's or PC Munro's though. We've called for the mobile DNA unit.' It wasn't the only bloodstain in the place. There were smears on the balustrade, as if someone had staggered downstairs, trying to keep themselves upright. A spatter of red infected the kitchen floor like chickenpox. Drops of scarlet on the landing. Every single room had been trashed. Faulds stood in the kitchen doorway, SOC suited and booted: hood up, latex gloves, blue plastic shoe-covers, worried look on his face. He waved Logan over, leading him though the train-wreck kitchen to the patio doors - where no one would hear them. 'I didn't know this was going to happen! It was a long shot, a safety precaution. Elizabeth Nichol wasn't even his type ...' 'They might still be alive. The floor's not soaked in blood; he's got to keep them somewhere: a basement, disused industrial unit, somewhere ...' Faulds turned his back on the ruined room. 'The bloody media are going to love this.' 'We should think about setting up roadblocks.' 'How the hell did he get past the officers watching the place? They were supposed to monitor everyone going in or out! What sort of useless, halfwit, haggis-munching bastards--' 'This isn't helping.' Logan glanced out the window: still dark, just a hint of pre-dawn light staining the horizon. 'Sun'll be up in half an hour: we need to get a fingertip search organized. Find out how the Flesher got in here.' Faulds looked at him. 'You're right. We have to focus, lay out a game-plan, strategize ...' He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingertips into his temples. 'We'll need a press release: appeal for witnesses, photos of Nichol and PC Munro. We'll tell them that ... that Munro volunteered to look after a vulnerable witness who'd refused protection.' 'Volunteered?' 'I didn't know this was going to happen, OK? Asking Munro to stay was the right decision at the time - given the circumstances. Yes, in hindsight we should have taken Elizabeth Nichol into protective custody whether she liked it or not, but it's too late for that now. We have to stay focused on how we get them both back. Alive . We can play the blame game later.' The media briefing was a disaster. As soon as the Chief Constable finished reading out the prepared statement the questions started flying: How could Grampian Police let one of their own be abducted by the Flesher? Why wasn't Elizabeth Nichol given proper protection? Who was responsible? Was there going to be a public enquiry? 'Jesus,' said Steel, standing next to Logan - as far away from the cameras as possible,'straight to the finger- pointing. Tell you Laz, we don't get Munro back in one piece we're screwed.' She pointed at Faulds, sitting up there on the podium next to his Aberdeen counterpart. 'You think they'll throw that Brummie cock-weasel to the wolves? Will they hell, it'll be one of us.' 'It wasn't anyone's fault; Nichol wouldn't take protection--' 'She shouldn't have been given the bloody choice! And we'd no've lost a police officer.' Logan frowned at her. 'Not helping.' 'Aye, well ... tough.' The inspector dug out her cigarettes. 'I've had enough of this crap, give us a shout when the dust settles.'
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