Dark Blood

anything else done.’ She rearranged her cardigan. ‘Do you know if our little fairy princess got to see her grandad again?’

Logan shrugged. ‘I’ve been a bit—’

‘Oh for goodness sake. I’ll do it.’ Doreen pulled the phone towards her and started dialling. ‘Hello? Yes, I want to speak to someone about a little girl taken into temporary care last night…’

PC Butler stuck her head around the door. ‘You ready, Sarge?’

Logan gathered all the files together and stuck them back in the folder. ‘We got a pool car?’

Butler’s expression soured. ‘Guess.’

The Fiat groaned from second to third, then whined from third to fourth, and refused to do fifth at all. ‘You know.’ Butler hauled the gearstick back again. ‘I’ve got some friends who could arrange a little electrical fire, if you like? Claim on the insurance?’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Not that he’d get much for it – the thing only cost him two hundred pounds. Logan ran his finger across the dashboard, leaving a clean grey line in the dust. ‘Suppose you were a gangster—’

‘Cool.’ Butler grinned. ‘Do I get to kneecap that sleazy git DS MacDonald?’

‘Just shut up and listen, OK? Suppose you were a gangster and some police officer had just cost you over a mill and a half in drugs. He’s got three of your men banged up waiting for trial, and if they turn Queen’s evidence it’s going to be bad news for your other business interests. What do you do?’

She didn’t even pause. ‘Kill them. Get a couple of mentalists inside to shank the bastards. Sends out a message – no one squeals.’

Logan looked at her. ‘What if they’re loyal.’

‘Not worth the risk. Got to cut out the cancer before it spreads.’ She slowed down for a corner, the tyres rumbling over a lumpy mixture of slush and ice. ‘Then you go after the pig.’

Logan turned back to the window. ‘That’s what I was thinking.’

‘He awake yet, Babe?’

‘Dunno. Think he’s faking it?’

‘One way to check.’

Pain lances through Detective Superintendent Graeme Danby’s nipples. His eyes snap open and he roars. Or tries to. There’s something over his mouth. Something over his head, making everything dim and muffled. He rocks back and forth, fire burning across his chest.

‘Gotta love the titty-twister, like.’

Fucking hell that hurts.

Then the woman’s voice is back again. ‘Hello, Sweetheart, remember me?’

Graeme tries to shrink back, but he’s sitting on something:

can’t move his arms or legs…A chair? And it’s freezing in here.

He’d been…He’d been wearing the white fluffy dressing gown he’d found in the hotel room wardrobe – the one with the matching slippers in a little plastic bag. But now he feels a biting draught on his bare stomach and thighs.

Isn’t even wearing any underwear.

He’s tied to a chair, stark bollock naked, with a bag over his head.

With her.

Graeme tries to sit up straight, to bring his chin up. Not to tremble.

‘You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you, Danby?’ A man’s voice, Newcastle accent.

And then a fist slams into Graeme’s stomach, wrenching him forwards. Or as far as he can go with his wrists tied to the seat. He tries to breathe through the aching stabs, air whistling in and out through his burning nose. Everything smells of burning copper.

‘You see, Babe, we know what you’ve been up to. You and your pet rapist.’

Oh God, don’t be sick. Be sick and you’ll choke. Choke and die. Naked, tied to a chair with a FUCKING BAG OVER YOUR HEAD!

Slowly, he hauls himself back up, eyes scrunched tight shut. Swallowing it down.

‘Neil? Do the honours will you, Darling, I hate questioning someone when I can’t see their eyes.’

Fumbling. The whoosh of fabric against his face. Then a cool draft of air.

Graeme opens his eyes, blinks. Looks down at his pale, naked body – the big dent in his right leg where the bone poked through years ago.

‘That’s better, isn’t it?’

Julie. She hasn’t changed much since last time: still wearing the same cowgirl jeans-and-boots combo. That polished razorblade smile.

Someone looms into view over his shoulder – Elvis quiff, big nose, tufty eyebrows. ‘Afternoon, Guv. Sitting comfortably?’ Elvis has a tartan pillowcase in his hand. He drops it to the floor.

Julie pulls up a chair, wrong way round, and straddles it. Smiles down at Graeme’s crotch. ‘Didn’t think it was that cold.’

He tries on his best Senior Police Officer Glower, but she just laughs.

‘Neil?’