'I hated you so much.' His fingers wandered north, making her breath catch. 'Let me make it up to you ...' He kissed her neck, her throat, her breasts, her stomach, her-- There was a clang from outside and Heather froze. Light flooded the tiny prison. He was back. She scrabbled her clothes back into place and hurried over to the bars as the door creaked open. 'Please, I'm so thirsty.' The Butcher placed six two-litre bottles of water on the prison floor, then stepped outside again, leaving the door open. Heather grabbed them, cracked one open and drank deep. Coughing and spluttering in her haste. Twelve litres of water! And then the smell hit her - meaty and fragrant over the disinfectant reek coming from the chemical toilet. The Butcher was back, carrying a big plastic box. He dropped it at his feet, took a key from his apron pocket, unlocked a heavy brass padlock, and pushed open a gate in the bars. Heather could feel her bowls clench. This was it, he was going to kill her ... But he didn't. He opened the box and pulled out a tray covered with slices of roast meat, boiled potatoes, green beans, Brussels sprouts, Yorkshire puddings ... enough food to feed an army. Heather almost wept. All this food. All this water! She crept forward and grabbed a slice of meat, cramming it into her mouth and chewing, washing it down with deep swigs of water. He stood watching her. 'It's ... very good,' she said, picking up another chunk and a handful of vegetables to go with it. Gravy dribbled down her chin as she ripped another bite out of the tender, juicy flesh. 'Mmmphnngh ...' More water. 'Delicious, really nice.' Desperate not to sound ungrateful. The Butcher nodded, then stepped back to the other side of the bars, closed the gate and snapped the padlock back into place. Leaving her with her feast. Days' worth of food and drink ... 'Are you ... are you going away?' He stared silently at her, then pointed at the meat. 'Please don't leave me ...' But he did. At least DI Insch had calmed down a bit by the time Logan emerged from the post mortem. Whole bodies were bad enough, but Brooks ... Logan shuddered. It was like some sort of horrible jigsaw puzzle. All the chairs in the inspector's office were occupied - DI Steel in one, the Detective Chief Superintendent in charge of CID in the other. Everyone waiting for Logan's edited highlights.
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