On the right side of the room was a lime-green melamine table. A plate with two pieces of toast covered in beans, one slice half-eaten.
Considine swung back into the hall and locked eyes with Vicky. ‘Nobody here, Sarge.’
The beans on the plate looked cold. Vicky put her hand near the pot. Freezing. The whole place had a low temperature, the kind you could feel in your bones.
A noise came from somewhere. Upstairs, maybe.
‘Stephen, have you been up there?’
Considine shook his head. Typical – he’d never make a competent officer.
‘Come on, then.’ Vicky snapped out her baton and set off up the stairs. Keeping it slow, keeping it quiet.
Two doors, one half-open. Vicky nodded at Considine to enter the open one, looked like a bathroom.
He was in there a few seconds then came out, shaking his head.
‘Okay.’ Her whisper lashed around the room. Sounded way too loud. She put a gloved hand to the other handle and opened it slowly.
A small bedroom, mostly filled with a superking-sized bed, low-slung on an expensive-looking base. The blinds were open, yellow light bleeding in from the street. And ice cold, like the window was open.
No sign of anybody.
Vicky stepped over to the blinds.
Below the window. A pink leg.
Shit, shit, shit.
Vicky rested the baton on the bed and crouched down, hands out, breathing as slow as she could.
Please be alive.
A woman balled herself up on the floor, her head wedged against the underside of the table. Smudged make-up, deep-ringed eyes. Lank hair. Gripping her knees tight.
Wait. Not gripping, but tied up. With a cable.
‘Stephen, get a knife or some scissors.’
‘Sarge.’ He bundled out of the room, then thundered down the stairs.
The woman had something in her mouth, something fabric.
Vicky reached over and eased it out. A pair of black knickers. She bagged them up, then held up a hand. ‘Catriona?’
Didn’t even get a look, but got a nod. She twisted her head to the side and swallowed. ‘Who are you?’ Local accent, barely audible.
‘I’m a police officer. It’s okay. You’re safe.’ Vicky held out her warrant card and let her inspect it. ‘My name’s Vicky. I’m a sergeant. We’re looking for Catriona Gordon. Is that you?’
Catriona pulled her legs tighter, shut her eyes and gritted her teeth.
Considine rushed in with a pair of orange scissors. He passed them to Vicky, blade first.
She didn’t have time to correct his primary-school error, but set to Catriona’s wrists. Looked like washing twine, and hard to cut through. But a few quick slices through the length of the rope to preserve the knots and she was through. Then she set about the legs.
‘We believed your life was at risk, Catriona.’ Vicky got through the legs a lot quicker. ‘Do you want to come downstairs?’
‘No.’
‘It’s safe.’
‘He’ll be back.’
‘Who will?’
No answer.
‘Come on, we need—’
‘Douglas. Douglas McLean.’
‘Is that the man you’re worried about?’
Up close, Vicky could see how injured the woman was. Bruised and cut up, like she’d been punched and dragged around.
This didn’t look like a consensual sex game gone wrong.
Vicky held out her hand.
Catriona stared at it for a few seconds, then gripped it tight and used it to pull herself up to her feet. She was almost as tall as Considine. Pretty, but there was a darkness in her eyes, like she wasn’t in the room with them. And Christ, she looked barely ten, let alone nineteen.
Vicky offered a hand like she was with her daughter and led Catriona out of the room and into the hallway. Her breathing was getting faster with each step down. ‘You’re doing well, Catriona.’
She collapsed onto a chair in the tiny living room.
Vicky nodded at Considine and it took him a few seconds before he seemed to realise that he was supposed to do something. ‘Call it in.’ She waited for him to clear off, then gave Catriona a warm smile. ‘I know how—’
‘He’s going to kill me.’ She spread her feet wide, like she was ready to pounce at any second and get the hell out of there. ‘How do I know you’re not working with him?’
‘We’re the police, Catriona. Here is my warrant card. We were conducting an investigation and it led us here.’
Catriona scratched at her face again, chipped nails chewing at the flesh. She drew blood.
Vicky grabbed her wrists. ‘Hey, it’s okay. Alright? It’s over. Whatever happened, whatever he did to you, it’s over.’ She let go.
Catriona clenched her fists, but at least wasn’t hurting herself any more.
Considine came back into the room with a couple of uniforms. Sometimes the most useless could surprise you.
Still, Vicky had to shoot a glare at him in case he said or did anything inappropriate. ‘You can get back to the taxi firm.’
‘Sarge.’ He frowned, like he was disappointed at being sidelined so soon. ‘Okay. Keep me posted.’
‘Will do.’ Vicky focused on Catriona, cowering on her bed. ‘Tell me what happened tonight.’
‘I don’t know if I can say it out loud with all these men around.’
‘You can whisper it in my ear.’ Vicky cupped her hand and put it to the side of her head.
Catriona bit her lip, her gaze shooting everywhere. She nodded and leaned forward. ‘I think Doug raped me.’
‘Thank you, Catriona. I know how hard that must’ve been. We’re going to take you to hospital. They’ll check you out. The officers here are going to guard this place until forensics officers arrive.’
The nearest uniform’s chest deflated. Christmas Eve in a freezing house. Happy days.
Catriona opened her eyes and looked up at Vicky. ‘Thank you.’
11
Alison Carmichael was a few inches shorter than Vicky and almost as wide as she was tall. Natural-looking blonde hair tied back. Staff nurse blue scrubs. ‘Miss Gordon is undergoing a full examination and I will fast-track a forensic sexual assault evidence kit.’
Vicky stared back at the room off the ward where Catriona was being inspected. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’
‘Sadly, it’s a common occurrence.’ Alison stuffed her hands into her
