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It seemed to go on forever - dark and oppressive, smelling of earth and decay, with an undercurrent of meat. The tunnel took a sudden right - an old wooden door blocking the way. Logan stopped with one hand against it, trying to tell if there was someone waiting for him on the other side. He had no intention of finding out the hard way. 'This is a complete and utter cocking disaster.' It was Faulds, muttering his way down the corridor, following Jackie and her torch. She stopped when she got to the door and ran the beam over Logan's face. The light was blinding, making him feel sick all over again. 'Argh, Jesus ...' He held a hand up over his eyes. 'You're bleeding. And you look like shite.' 'Ow!' Logan flinched away as she prodded the side of his head. 'Thanks, I love you too.' She stared at him. 'No you don't. That was the problem, remember?' Faulds pushed his way to the front. 'We shouldn't leave all that evidence unguarded.' 'Tell you what then,' said Jackie,'why don't you stay behind, in the dark, on your own, in the Flesher's lair, while we go looking for the bastard? I'm sure you'll still be alive when we get back.' 'Are you ...' Faulds looked as if he were about to pull rank, but Jackie was right: there were only three of them, splitting up wasn't an option. Logan grabbed the old Bakelite handle and pulled the door open ... exposing a blank, white wall. 'Oh, that's just brilliant,' said Faulds. 'Dead end. And while we're arseing about here, the Flesher's getting away.' He turned. 'Watson, I want you--' 'Hold on ...' Logan gave his torch another shake and ran the jaundiced beam around the blank, featureless surface. A couple of small hinges ran down the left-hand side. 'It's a door.' It took a bit of fiddling, but eventually Logan got the thing to open. There was a store room on the other side, full of shelves and cleaning products. Jackie pulled out her extendable baton and clacked it to full length. Then inched into the room. 'Clear.' They followed her past racks of bleach, disinfectant, and tubs of antibacterial hand-wash. The door at the far end was more traditional. Jackie turned the handle and stepped out into a corridor: white walls; suspended ceiling with fluorescent lighting; stainless-steel flooring - the kind with raised diamond patterns to stop people from slipping; the distant rumble and squeak of machinery; a radio playing something innocuous; the almost overpowering smell of lamb. Logan looked up and down the corridor. 'Left or right?' 'Left. If there's a radio there's people.' Faulds set off towards the noise with Jackie hot on his heels, leaving Logan to trail along behind. Every step making his head swim. The smell, the noise and the bright white walls weren't helping. Probably a concussion and-- His phone blared into life, adding to the waves of nausea. He fumbled it out, still marching after Faulds and Jackie. 'What?' It was Rennie, talking so fast it was nearly gibberish:'I did it! It was a right pain in the arse, but I
