‘Yeah,’ Logan nodded, humouring him, ‘all those little expenses soon add...’ Swivelling around to stare across the car. ‘Hold on: you “needed themoney”? What money?’
‘Spencer says I’m meant to go “no comment” till I get a lawyer.’
‘What money, Charlie?’
His brow creased as the wheels inside groaned and squeaked their way around. Until finally: ‘No comment.’
Damn.
Still, it’d been worth a go.
LXIV
A loudSPANNNNGGGGGrang out as Natasha swung the sledgehammer – double-handed and overhead, now both hands were free – into her chain where it poked out of the concrete.
The links didn’t give way. The anchor didn’t split open and disgorge the bloody thing, because apparently Detective Sergeant Davis had made sure the bastard ran all the way down to the bottom of theshittingbucket.
So far, she’d managed to make a dent in the concrete, but only about the size of a small melon. Digging the slivers out with the bent screwdriver every dozen blows or so. Other than that: nothing had changed, except her legs wobbled more and more, her armsached, every breath rasped its way down her burnt-gravel throat, and a monster-sized headache rampaged through her skull. Howling at her every time the stupid sledgehammer hit.
SPANNNNGGGGG...
She staggered backwards a couple of paces. Clunked the sledgehammer’s head down on the barn floor, then sank to her haunches. Then onto her bum. Folding forwards till her thumping forehead rested against the hammer’s warm wooden handle.
Maybe it was time to accept this wasn’t working.
Try to find some way into the caravan instead.
Might be a phone in there?
Maybe the key to the bloody padlock at the back of her stainless-steel collar?
Or a hacksaw...
Because she’d been at this forChristknew how long, and DS Davis wasn’t going to stay at work for ever.
And soon as he got home, she was well and truly fucked.
65
It was a different PCSO behind the desk this time – a neep-faced middle-aged man with a side parting and glasses, squinting away at his clipboard, looking like the kind of person who’d kept a Tamagotchi alive since 1997.
Somewhere deep in the cells, an elderly man launched into a filthy ballad about a nun borrowing Satan’s bicycle.
Logan stifled a yawn.
The PCSO turned the page. ‘Give us a minute; been mopping up vomit since half seven...’ Then a nod. ‘Here we go: duty solicitor’s in with a Keira Longmore now, so you’re in luck. Took us eight hours to find one yesterday.’ The clipboard went back on the desk. ‘He can see your boy next. Want us to give you a bell when he’s ready?’
‘Thanks.’ Scrubbing some life back into his face. ‘Right...’ Logan pushed through into the stairwell, with its painted breeze blocks and miserable motivational posters, footsteps echoing back from the concrete floor as he slogged his way upstairs.
He’d almost reached the first landing before his mobile launched into ‘Space Oddity’. Slumping against the wall, he checked the screen before answering. ‘WELCOMETOTUFTYVILLE!’ glowed up at him.
But Logan pressed the button anyway. ‘What’s gone wrong now?’
‘Sarge? Just wanted you to know that everyone’s gone free, so we does hasring-side ticketsfor any time the circus is in town! Which is coolio. But the press turned up with their cameras and microphones and shouty questions, which is definitelynotcoolio. But then word got round that you’re doing a media briefing soon, and they all did scurry away– whoosh!So is coolio again.’
Another yawn juddered free, and Logan let it rip, ending with a sigh and a sag. ‘Tell everyone: back to the shop, write up your reports, and sign out for the night.’
You could almost hear the wee loon doing his happy dance.‘We has done good today and did catch the bad guy. That am being the most coolio of all!’
