‘Isn’t going anywhere. That’s why we put him in a nice warm cell.’ She pointed at the door. ‘Home: go.’
Yeah, he wasn’t going to argue with that one.
‘Thanks, Boss.’
‘But for goodness’ sake,properly dressedtomorrow. Detective Chief Inspectors are expected to set an example.’
Again?
He looked down at his outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. ‘We were on an undercover op!’
‘Iknowthat. When you’re back in uniform,’ she tapped her epaulettes, then held up a trio of fingers, ‘threepips, not two.’ Then marched off. ‘And tomorrow we do some spectacular detective work, rescue Natasha Agapova, get lauded in the press, a couple of shiny medals, keys to the city, and a slap-up dinner with champagne and chips.’
Aye, right...
Soon as she’d gone, Logan sagged for a couple of breaths, then stood. Powered down his computer. And sodded off home for the night.
All this pain and suffering and death and horror would still be here in the morning...
LXX
The sky darkened through the ragged window hole, purpling like the bruises spreading across Natasha’s ribcage.
And still no sign of Detective Sergeant Davis.
Not that she was looking forward to the bastard coming home, but the waiting wastorture. Knowing the horror would sweep into the outbuilding with him.
So, she sat on the dirt floor – head throbbing, hands trembling, throat like the bush two days after a fire – with her back against the anchor, forehead resting on her folded arms, propped up on her raised knees. Eyes closed as DS Davis’s music barked out of the static caravan, loud enough to make her fillings rattle.
Maybe something had happened?
Maybe that was why he hadn’t turned up yet?
Maybe he’d had a bad day at work?
Or maybe heknewwhat she’d been up to, and making her wait was all part of the punishment.
She should’ve broken into that bloody caravan, smell or no smell. Then at least she could’ve got a drink of water.
Bet Davis had a fridge in there, with ice, and maybe a chilled bottle of Pinot Gris...
God, she was such a bloody galah.
And now she—
The music got louder and clearer for a moment, then theclunk of a closing door and it went back to angry muffled noises again, pounding along with the beat.
Oh God.
The waiting was over; it was horror time...
Natasha struggled to her feet, going up on her tiptoes to park her bum on top of the bucket. Concealing the damaged concrete as the heavy wooden door squealed. She jerked her wrists up to her throat, holding them there like they were still cuffed in place – hands over her face to hide the missing mask. Peering out between her fingers. Trying to work up a little spit in her mouth.
Can’t talk your way out ofanythingif you can’t speak.
The door thudded wide open and the light from Davis’s head torch clawed across the broken walls, searching for her.
Then he lurched into the room, bringing with him the bitter smoky stench of second-hand whisky. The bottle was clutched in one hand, but the other held something else. Something that rustled as his shoulder scuffed against the wall, because his legs didn’t seem to be working all that well tonight.
