The boy stepped back, but had nowhere to go, the beck directly behind him, Harry directly in front.
‘I found him,’ Harry said. ‘What was left, that is. It was a room on the top floor of a deserted tower block, which was why no one had heard the screams.’ Harry paused for effect. It worked. ‘He had been tied to a chair with wire so tight it had cut into his wrists, his ankles.’ Harry drew an invisible line around his wrist with a finger. ‘Nails had been driven into his knees. They’d gone at him with a welding torch, and you could smell it in the air, the skin they’d burned off. Poor kid.’
Harry held the boy’s eyes with his own. ‘That what you want, son? Well, is it?’
The boy said nothing, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish gasping for air.
‘I’m not arresting you,’ Harry said. ‘But here’s what’s going to happen instead. One, you’re going to tell me who sold it to you. Two, you’re going to tell me where you live. Three, you’re going to never, ever do this again, you hear me? Because I do not want to be the one responsible for turning up at your parents’ door to deliver the news that somewhere their son has just got slammed into the freezer drawer at the mortuary!’
Harry didn’t move as he waited for the boy to speak.
‘It was Nick,’ the boy said. ‘He gave it me! Got it off Reedy, he said!’
‘Nick? Nick who?’
Harry guessed it was the same Nick, but always best to be sure.
‘Little Nick,’ the boy said. ‘Gets us beer, too, if we want. Cigarettes. Anything.’
Harry jumped at this. ‘When did you last see him?’
‘Who?’
‘Nick!’
The boy scratched his head and Harry thought how funny it was that people really did actually do that when they were thinking.
‘Earlier,’ the boy said. ‘He was late. We was supposed to meet at twelve, like, but he was late. Three? Yeah, three.’
‘Where?’
‘Here.’
‘But isn’t it school?’
The boy shook his head. ‘Summer holidays.’
‘Do you know where he went?’
The boy shook his head once again.
‘You sure?’
‘’course I’m sure! Probably to see Reedy, though. Get some more. I’ve not done it much, none of us have. It was Nick and Reedy!’
‘And who’s this Reedy, then?’ Harry asked, pulling out his own little notebook.
‘Lives over in Swaledale, near Reeth,’ the boy said, his words starting to tumble into each other a little. ‘Drives a Subaru Imprezza. Red one. Well posh. Goes like stink.’
‘Lucky fella,’ Harry said, then offered the boy his notebook. ‘You got Nick’s number?’
The boy jotted a mobile number down on the open page.
‘And what about Reedy’s?’
The boy shook his head.
‘Don’t know it or don’t want to give it to me?’
‘Yes, I mean, no, I don’t know it,’ the boy said. ‘He doesn’t give his number out. It’s all in person, or he calls you, or uses someone else, like Nick, but the number doesn’t show.’
Harry slipped his notebook away again. A red Subaru Imprezza, eh? Nice wheels. Probably very easy to spot as well. So he’d be taking a trip out there later, that was for sure, even though the evening was drawing on. Wasn’t like he had much else to do. And Nick was certainly becoming more interesting the more he heard about him.
‘And now for your address. Don’t think I’ll need to write it down, seeing as I’ll be accompanying you, if it’s all the same with you.’
‘What? You’re taking me home? My parents will kill me!
‘They won’t,’ Harry said. ‘But I’m hoping it’ll be just close enough to make sure you adhere to point number three.’
The boy visibly shrunk in front of Harry, and the rest of his pals upped and left.
‘Well, come on then,’ Harry said. ‘Let’s get you home, shall we?’
‘You can’t be serious!’
Harry leaned in. ‘Trust me, I’m rarely anything else.’
Chapter Fourteen
Outside the boy’s house, which was a rather grand place, with sweeping gardens and a double garage, the teenager was moving around nervously, like he either really needed to relieve himself, or his boxers were full of itching powder. Harry couldn’t blame him. Being brought home by the police was never fun, and even less so if drugs were involved. But as Harry’s sole aim here was to scare him into not being an idiot, so be it.
The front door opened and Harry was staring into a face he recognised.
‘Mr Adams,’ Harry said, and did his best to smile. The trouble was, with a face like his, a smile often made the scarring just look even worse.
Harry had met Richard Adams on his first day in Hawes. The man was a businessman who had moved to the area with, it seemed, the intent of running for mayor, even if there wasn’t one. He hadn’t exactly made friends with all the locals thanks to his plans to replace a nice bit of woodland with a building project. Harry couldn’t quite remember the details and didn’t really care. It wasn’t going anywhere fast, not least because that little bit of woodland was currently under occupation by some tent-dwelling folk who had taken it upon themselves to make sure the trees stayed exactly where they were.
‘Ah, constable,’ Mr Adams said. ‘You here about those blasted tree huggers?’
Harry let the constable thing slide and eased the boy forward. ‘This is yours I believe?’
Mr Adams stared at the boy. ‘Christian? What’s wrong? What’s happened? Are you okay?’
‘Can we go inside, please?’ Harry asked.
‘Whatever it is, you’ll tell me here and now!’ Mr Adams said, his face growing a little flush.
Harry sighed. ‘Right now, this is just a warning, okay? A friendly nod, that’s all.’
‘What is?’
‘Christian here,’ Harry explained, ‘and a few of his mates, well I found them down by the beck, smoking.’
‘Smoking? Smoking!’
Mr Adams was indignant, his
