He looked up at Gregor, who was busy wrapping tape around the dog’s muzzle. ‘Why have we got a dog, Gregor?’

  The old man bit into the tape and tore the wheel free. ‘Is extra leverage.’ He shrugged. ‘We do dog as warning first. Then we do girl.’

  Roland nodded. ‘Yes. That’s good. That’s clever.’

  Boyd had the pool car to himself. He’d left the other three out in the cold and stranded somewhere along the A27. Tough shit. They could call a patrol car or an Uber. He’d switched on the siren and lights and was now speeding along the hard shoulder past the slow-moving traffic heading towards Lewes and, beyond that, Hastings.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit!’ he hissed to himself as if that was going to expedite his journey in some way. Okeke had to get there first. She was just ten minutes away. In fact, she must have collected Emma by now.

  He fumbled for his phone, which was resting on his left thigh, and managed to knock it down into the handbrake’s recess.

  ‘OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!!’ he screamed as he fumbled for it.

  Then the damned thing’s screen lit up as it started buzzing. He glanced down and saw a sliver of Okeke’s face – a picture from the barbecue last summer of her and Jay with bottles of beer in their hands.

  He managed to extract the phone from the well and answer the call without swerving into the stationary traffic or onto the verge. ‘You got her?’

  ‘I’m… so, so sorry…’ Okeke said.

  There were more words – she was still talking – but those were the ones he heard and parsed. He slowed the car to a crawl, pulled over and switched off the siren.

  So, so sorry…

  He mentally shook himself. ‘Say all that again,’ he replied. He heard Okeke’s breath hitch. In the year and a bit that he’d known her, this was the first time he’d heard an edge of raw emotion in her voice. And it terrified him.

  ‘Sam?!’

  ‘They’ve got her, Boyd. They’ve got her,’ she said.

  ‘She’s alive?’

  ‘Yes. I… I saw them bundling her into an SUV…’

  An SUV. Of course an SUV. Bastards.

  ‘And they took off. I went inside your house. There was a bullet hole in the ceiling, your dog’s gone as –’

  ‘Jesus Christ. Was there any blood? Tell me there was no –’

  ‘There was no blood. None at all. I promise. I think the bullet hole must have been a warning shot. There’s no sign inside of any blood or restraint or… or… Looks like they just kicked your door in and snatched Emma. That’s it.’

  That’s it? He wanted to bellow into the private bubble of the car, because that wasn’t it, was it? Emma was alive for now, but this was the start of something that could well end up with her returning in pieces.

  Keep your shit together, Bill. It was Julia. Our daughter needs you. You screw this up and I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.

  ‘They obviously want to do a deal,’ said Okeke. ‘That’s what this is about. They clearly want to do a swap. They’re not going to kill her. They’re –’

  ‘I know,’ he cut in, just to shut her up for a second. ‘I know, all right.’

  He needed to think. The goons had just been to Hatcher’s place and God knows what they’d done to her. She’d sounded very shaken, but alive… so maybe – maybe – this was going to be their modus operandi – to scare the living shit out of everyone, but they didn’t intend to leave a pile of bodies in their wake. This wasn’t about Emma or him, after all. This was about Jay.

  ‘Okeke, where are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m parked up near your house,’ she replied.

  ‘We need to get our heads together. We need to figure out a plan, okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Okeke’s voice was rock steady again. He heard her light up a cigarette. ‘Right,’ she said, all business-like again. ‘Not your place or mine.’

  ‘So where?’

  The phone speaker rustled as she slowly exhaled. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  45

  ‘Oh, you shitting little arsehole!’ Warren snarled. ‘You total bellend!’

  RipperZ99 was hopping up and down in a squatted posture over Warren’s prone body, teabagging him endlessly. Warren could hear the kid cackling insanely over the voice comms. He sounded as though he was about seven.

  ‘Oh, just go away,’ Warren snapped into his microphone as he tossed the Xbox controller onto the sofa. Getting sniped yet again by the same, probably spotty, little American kid was bad enough, but the unsportsmanlike dancing over his body was bloody infuriating.

  ‘Yo pussy! Yo pussy! Yo pussy!’ the kid was yee-hawing over the game’s comms.

  Oh, to be able to reach through the screen and slap his little face.

  Warren decided he’d had enough ritual humiliation for one night and logged out of the Call of Duty death match. He pulled off his headset and let it drop onto the sofa beside the controller. There was nothing worse than feeling like a doddering old man in your early twenties, but honestly… there was no chance of keeping up with the trigger-reaction time of some prat a third his age.

  He decided to salve his wounded pride with a microwave dinner. His mum had left him a week’s worth of pre-made dinners in repurposed plastic takeaway tubs. All his favourite hits: spag bol, corned beef hash, chilli con carne – complete with the appropriate accompaniments of pasta, mash and rice. Like little aeroplane meals in a tub: no thinking or planning required – straight into Chef Mike for five minutes and voila!

  He got up off the sofa and was halfway to the kitchen when he heard someone hammering on the front door. He course-corrected and went to answer it. He pulled the door open, expecting either a DPD driver or Cecille from next door enquiring about her wandering tabby cat.

  Boyd and Okeke shoved past him and into his hallway, and a rather surprised Warren closed the front door quickly behind them.

  ‘Guv? Okeke? What’s…’ Warren spluttered.

  ‘Warren,’ said Boyd. ‘Can we come in?’

  He looked from them to the closed front door. ‘Um… sure. What’s going on?’ He had a sneaking suspicion his mum might have asked them to check up on him.

  Boyd strode into the front room and headed to the sofa.

  ‘Stop!’ Warren cried, quickly reaching around his boss to retrieve his controller and headset.

  Boyd checked to make sure there was nothing else he could squash and sat down heavily. ‘We need to stop overnight,’ he said briskly. ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘What? Like, you mean a sleepover?’

  The faintest flicker of smile came and went. ‘Yes, a sleepover, Warren.’

  Okeke sat down next to Boyd. ‘We telling him all or not, guv?’

  Boyd nodded. ‘Might as well.’

  ‘Warren,’ she began, ‘the Russians have kidnapped Emma and they’re after Jay.’

  ‘Sorry… what?’ said Warren, totally bemused.

  ‘The Georgian mafia…’ Boyd corrected.

  Warren felt as though he’d turned three pages over at the same time. ‘Russians? Georgians? Mafia? What the f–’

  Roland had kicked his three Georgian minions out of the SUV. He could see them through the tinted glass, smoking and talking quietly. Inside it was just himself and the girl with her wrists taped behind her back and her dog who was panting and snorting on the back seat.

  ‘Well, Emma…’ he said. ‘I’m awfully sorry about my goon squad. They can be a tad heavy-handed.’ He looked at the V of her robe’s neckline. ‘Tsk… they should have brought some clothes along for you. Sorry about that too.’ He reached out and fingered the hem of her robe. He hesitated for a moment; there was something indescribably delicious about this situation. He could… if he chose to, jerk her robe wide open and she couldn’t do a thing to stop him. He had the power and the privacy to do what the hell he wanted.

  But this is work, he told himself. Very important work.

  Part of getting ready for his new role – taking over from Father – involved making grown-up decisions about work and play. There was a time and there was a place. He tugged the two sides of her robe together so that there was less skin on show to distract him.

  ‘Now, I need to have a chat with your dad, Emma. Don’t worry – it’s just a little chat about some business.’

  ‘Please… please don’t hurt –’ Emma whispered.

  He put a finger to his lips to shush her, then smiled. ‘Relax. No one’s getting hurt tonight. Not while I’m in charge. I just need you to give your old dad a quick call. All right?’

  Roland pulled his phone out from his pocket, swiped it to unlock it and brought up the telephone keypad. ‘There – be a lamb and just tap his number in for me, would you?’

  ‘I… I can’t… my hands…’ she said.

  ‘Oh, of course, your hands!’ He laughed softly and rolled his eyes. ‘Silly me. Tell me the number, then.’ He winked. ‘Off you go, Emma…’

  Boyd’s phone suddenly started buzzing. He glanced at it; Unknown Caller flashed up on the screen. He let it buzz three times before sucking in a deep breath and answering.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is this Detective Boyd?’

  ‘Yes.’ He recognised the younger man’s voice from their interview. ‘Hammond?’

  ‘Well guessed.’ Hammond chuckled. ‘Now look – I’ve got a bit of news for you. I’ve –’

  ‘I know,’ Boyd cut in. ‘You’ve got my daughter.’

  A pause. ‘Well, that’s… a little disappointing. I was hoping to surprise you.’

  ‘I can guess what this is about,’ Boyd continued. ‘But first I need to hear Emma’s voice.’

  ‘Yes. Of course, DCI Boyd. I wouldn’t expect anything less.’

  Boyd could hear rustling, then Emma’s laboured breathing. ‘Dad…’

  ‘Jesus. Are you hurt, Ems? Where are you?’ he asked.

  ‘N-no…’ she stuttered. ‘I… I’m f-fucking terrified, Dad! We’re in Hastings! I’m –’

  The phone rustled as before and it was back with Hammond. He was chuckling again. ‘She’s a pickle, isn’t she?’

  ‘All right,’ said Boyd. ‘So tell me what you want.’

  ‘You know what I want, Boyd. I want Jason Turner, obviously. And I happen to know that you know exactly where he is.’

  ‘I’m still trying to find him,’ Boyd said.

  Hammond tutted. ‘We’re going to get this sorted tonight, Boyd. One way or another. So let’s not waste time playing silly games. Where is he?’

  Boyd glanced at Okeke and Warren. They would have heard everything leaking from the phone’s speaker. He was sorely tempted to say where Jay was, but that was his only leverage. If he told Hammond, then getting Emma back in one piece would rely entirely on the bastard’s good faith.

  ‘I know several places he’s likely to be,’ Boyd said.

  ‘Brighton, I believe,’ said Hammond.

  ‘He’s not where we thought he was. I need time. I’ll need to get in touch with him and find out where he’s planning to hide out this evening.’

  Hammond sighed. ‘Very well. You do that. But listen carefully: you’d better find out fast or –’

  ‘If you touch her, Hammond… if you fucking touch her, I’ll come for you.’ Boyd was shouting now. ‘Do you understand? I’ll make it my life’s work to hunt you down. Catch you on your own, I’ll take my time with you, you piece of shit… and then I’ll kill you!’

  ‘Oh, very impressive, detective,’ cooed Hammond. ‘You almost gave me goosebumps. Now, you go and call Turner – there’s a good dog. It’s nearly six, Boyd. We’ll talk again at half past and I want that location… or you’ll hear us slice off a little piece of your daughter. How does that sound?’

  46

  ‘Jay, you big plank – you left your bloody Rizzlers in plain sight.’ They were dangling from Karl’s fingers as he opened one of the big oak doors for him.

  Jay winced. ‘Bollocks… That was dumb.’

  ‘Yes, it fucking well was.’

  ‘Was it Boyd?’

  Karl nodded. ‘Yeah, one DCI Boyd and three other knuckle-draggers.’

  Jay stepped inside and Karl closed the brewery’s main door with a booming thud. ‘Boyd’s no knuckle-dragger,’ he said. ‘He’s smart.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t mention the Rizzlers, so maybe not so smart,’ Karl said, handing them over. ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Wetherspoons,’ replied Jay.

  Karl shrugged. ‘Classy. There’s more atmosphere down here,’ he said, indicating the basement and the dust-covered innards of the brewery.

  ‘What did Boyd say?’ Jay asked.

  ‘He asked about our history. Childhood stuff. Were we close? Did we see each other much? That kind of thing.’

  ‘And you said?’

  ‘All the time. We’re like besties,’ Karl said, grinning.

  Jay dropped a brow. ‘Right. Hilarious.’

  ‘I told him we don’t see each other much. Once or twice a year.’ Which wasn’t far off the truth. ‘Are you sure this Boyd guy is actually on your side? I mean… he didn’t give me any vibes that he was.’

  ‘He is,’ replied Jay. ‘He’s solid.’

  ‘Bruv, seriously,’ Karl said. ‘He’s a cop and he’s got a job to do.’

  ‘We’re friends,’ Jay said stubbornly. ‘He’d have been going through the motions.’

  ‘Yeah, well, Brutus and Caesar were friends. And that didn’t work out so well, did it?’ Karl pointed out.

  ‘I trust him.’

  Karl shrugged again. ‘Fair enough. It’s your scalp, not mine.’

  ‘How long ago did they leave?’ asked Jay.

  Karl tapped a code into a number pad by the main door, and an unseen bolt clunked into place. ‘About three hours ago. Come on, Jay… The dust down here plays havoc with my allergies.’

  They climbed the metal stairs back up to Karl’s apartment. ‘I’m going to order in some Chinese,’ said Karl. ‘Any requests?’

  ‘Ribs,’ said Jay.

  Karl smiled. ‘Of course, ribs.’ He was about to dial when Jay’s burner phone buzzed in his back pocket. He pulled it out quickly.

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘Hey, baby,’ she replied. ‘How are you coping?’

  ‘Okay, so far,’ Jay replied. ‘I think. What about you?’

  ‘There’ve been, uh… developments,’ she replied briskly. ‘Boyd’s here with me. I’m going to put you on speaker phone. Hold on…’

  Jay studied the tiny buttons on his cheap Nokia and saw that it, too, had a speakerphone button. He did the same.

  ‘Hello, you there, Jay?’ Boyd’s voice suddenly echoed around the cavernous room.

  ‘Hey, guv!’ Jay replied.

  ‘Where are you?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘Back at Karl’s place.’

  Karl shot him a WTF are you doing? look.

  ‘Say hi, Karl,’ said Jay.

  ‘Jesus...’ Karl muttered. ‘Hello… again, Detective Boyd.’

  ‘Karl,’ Boyd replied. ‘Now, Jay, listen. The Salikovs have grabbed Emma.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ Jay said.

  ‘They’re talking about a deal – you for Emma,’ Boyd continued. ‘But I don’t trust them. Not for one second. I need you to keep yourself safe, Jay. That way we’ve got leverage for Emma. Do you understand?’

  ‘Shit’ was Jay’s response. He bit his lip. ‘Jesus, this is all my fault, guv. I’m... so –’

  ‘There’s no time for this,’ Boyd said. ‘They’re calling me back in less than half an hour. They want your location.’

  And now Jay could hear the emotion in Boyd’s voice. ‘Okay,’ he replied. ‘Okay. What do you want me to do, guv?’ He could see where this was heading. It was a very simple equation. His life for Emma. And he’d caused this. The least he could do was make it right.

  ‘Surely they can be stalled,’ cut in Karl. ‘I mean… look, if Jay’s the prize and your daughter is the only way they can get him… we’ve got bargaining space, right?’

  ‘What we have is twenty-five minutes,’ Okeke replied.

  ‘So we need a plan,’ said Boyd. ‘And fast.’

  ‘I counted just four of them,’ said Okeke slowly. ‘And one of them was just that prat Hammond…’

  There was silence on both ends of the call as they all digested this.

  ‘These Russian dudes, I presume, have guns?’ said Karl eventually. ‘I mean, I’m no expert, but we can’t win against guns.’

  ‘With the element of surprise on our side,’ said Jay, ‘maybe we’ve got a chance…’

  47

  ‘Why… why is it so important?’ asked Emma hesitantly.

  Roland looked up from his phone. ‘What?’

  ‘Why do you have to kill Jay? He… he’s a good guy,’ she said.

  The three goons had disappeared. More precisely, Soprano was somewhere outside having a cigarette. Gregor and Ronaldo had spied a KFC across the car park and had gone to get a family bucket.

  ‘It’s business,’ Roland replied. ‘Now do please shut up. I’m thinking.’

  The dog whimpered from the back seat. ‘Could you at least cut the tape around his muzzle,’ asked Emma. ‘He’s struggling to breathe.’

  Roland turned to look at her. ‘And what? Let him bite me?’

  ‘He won’t,’ she replied. ‘He thinks you’re a friend now.’

  ‘That I very much doubt.’

  However, Roland was a big believer in the cyclic nature of karma; a good deed now could well play a part in resolving this shitty mess later. He got out of the car, and Soprano whipped round.

  ‘Relax,’ said Roland. ‘As you were.’

  He fished inside his jacket and pulled out a flick knife. The very same one he’d used on that bouncer a few days ago. He opened the boot of the SUV and looked down at the trussed-up dog; it was making startled whale eyes at him.

  ‘Easy mutt,’ he said softly. He bent down, carefully ran the sharp blade along the silver-coloured tape and peeled it back. The dog’s mouth opened immediately, and he thought the bastard was about to take a chunk out of his face; instead he got a grateful lick.