She curled up on the gritty floor and the boot hammered into her back. Then again. And again. Sharp explosions slicing through her lungs, crackling out like bloody fireworks as a dry scream howled free.
Then nothing.
No more kicks.
Nothing but the ache and tear of her tortured back.
Davis spat a glob of white onto the earth by her head, breathing hard. ‘You’ve been getting away with it for far too long. Maybe it’syourturn to burn?’
There was a metallic clang-and-clatter as he picked up the bucket again, then the scuff of boots on the parched floor.
The door squealed and rattled shut.
The flies began to settle again.
And onlythendid Natasha allow herself to cry.
37
The pool car whipped up Anderson Drive, lights flickering. Tufty poked the horn, making the sirenwhonkandwhyeeeeeoooow, parting the traffic in front of them like a shortarsed Moses.
He was hunched over the wheel, as if that would make the car go faster.
Logan shifted in his seat, one finger in his ear to block out the excess noise, because it was almost impossible to hear Ralph Hay’s voice over the phone. ‘That’s great, thanks.’
‘No problems. Hope it helps.’
Logan hung up.
Soon as he did, Tufty flipped the switch, setting the siren wailing full time as they shot through the King’s Gate Roundabout.
Right.
Logan waved a hand at the backseat. ‘Rennie: I need a PNC check on one Spencer Findlater.’
‘On it.’
Tufty accelerated up the hill, overtaking a minibus and a Mackie’s lorry, eyes firmly fixed on the road. ‘Sa-arge, not that I’m not enjoying the wheech, butwhyare we wheeching? I mean, this Spencer bloke hasn’t woken up or anything, so it’s not like we can question him.’
‘Because you heard Randolph Hay – Charles MacGariochis hyper-loyal to his friends.’ Pointing towards Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. ‘Well, his friend’s just been in a horrible accident; of course he’s going to visit Spencer in hospital.’
‘Yeah,’ Tufty killed the siren, ‘but nobody knows he’sinhospital exceptus, Sarge. And we only found out thirty seconds ago.’
Logan opened his mouth, then shut it again.
The wee loon had a point.
‘Sod.’
‘OK, got him.’ Rennie poked his head through from the back, reading off his phone. ‘Spencer Findlater, nineteen: handful of warnings for getting into fights; almost ended up in a Young Offenders Institution for torching wheelie bins when he was a kid; bunch of shoplifting; all about the same time.’ A grunt. ‘Guess he didn’t handle losing his parents very well.’
‘You got an address?’
‘Not a million miles away: Four Arnage Court.’
‘OK.’ Logan gave Tufty a poke. ‘You heard the man.’
Arnage Court wrapped around three sides of a nice big rectangle of grass, dotted with trees and some saggy rhododendrons. Someone had been at the road sign, adding a ‘C’ to the start of the first word.