He poked out a reply with shivering thumbs:
No I’m not. Bloody freezing out here!!!
SEND.
Another buzz.
Want to play I-spy?
Did he...?
How about we play ”hide my boot in your arse”? You
But before he could tell Tufty what he was, the phone buzzed again.
TUFTY:
Car heading your way!
Logan peered through the bushes as a dark green Audi pulled off the road and onto the track. It wasn’t easy, holding the phone steady, but Logan took a handful of photos. Zoomed in on the car’s nose...
Sod: the Audi didn’t have any number plates.
The driver got out and stood there with her hands empty and visible. Calm, in a high-necked jumper, jeans, and trendy trainers. Dark hair tied up in a bun. All perfectly normal, except for the green snake mask that covered her whole face. And not a cheap plastic one either, it looked custom-made and expensive.
Logan took some grainy pixelated photos of it. Probably completely useless, but you never knew.
Danielle climbed out of her Clio and stalked across to Snake. Slow and menacing.
Snake didn’t move. Her accent was crisp and well spoken — one of those privately educated voices. ‘Hello, my name’s Nightshade. I’m looking for my friend, have you seen him?’
‘Arms.’ Danielle gestured with her gloves.
‘But of course.’ Snake adopted the search position, arms out, legs shoulder-width apart. ‘My phone’s in my jacket pocket — left side.’ She stood, still and quiet as Danielle searched her, didn’t complain when her phone was confiscated, didn’t so much as fidget as her car was searched.
Danielle handed her a card.
Snake nodded. ‘Thank you kindly.’ Then got in her car and drove away as if this was all perfectly normal and happened every day.
The world was full of weirdos.
Logan jammed his elbows in a little tighter, trying to hold his hands still enough to text. All ten angry-pink fingers burned and itched. Ears like someone was sandpapering them. The only plus was that his toes didn’t ache any more.
He clamped his jaws together to stop his teeth rattling.
Can’t feel my feet. No idea how many people she’s going to stop and search. Could be here for hours!
SEND.
On the other side of the broom, Danielle was rummaging about inside a mud-spattered Toyota Hilux. No number plate on the vehicle.
Its driver stood off to the side, arms crossed, quiet and patient. About six / six-two, wearing red corduroy trousers, Cabotswood boots, a checked shirt, a green Barbour jacket, and a tiger mask. None of which photographed particularly well on Logan’s phone.
Should’ve got one with a better camera.
Might as well submit a drawing in crayon to the procurator fiscal.
His treasonous phone buzzed again.
TUFTY:
Maybe we should arrest her, before you do a hypothermia?
Logan’s thumbs kept hitting the wrong keys. Every shivering word had to be corrected as the Hilux’s big diesel engine rumbled into life then faded away into the distance.
Don’t be an idiot: she’s got a gun! We’re just going to have to keep tabs and see where she
Sod.
He went perfectly still, not shivering, not even breathing as the barrel of Danielle’s gun pressed against his cheek.
She tutted. ‘Well, well, well...’
OK. He had one chance at this. If he—
She pressed the gun in harder. ‘I really wouldn’t do that if I was you.’
Yeah, maybe not.
‘Danielle. You were a police officer, you don’t have to—’
‘Oh, but I do, Inspector McRae. I do.’ She backed away out of reach, face hidden by her Number Six mask, the semiautomatic pointing right at the middle of his chest. ‘Now toss the phone over here. Gently.’
‘They’re paedophiles, Danielle, they—’
‘Tell you what, I’ll swap you the phone for a bullet. How’s that sound?’
He tossed the phone onto the ground at her feet.
‘Good boy.’ She eased down, keeping the gun on him the whole way, and picked up his mobile. Swiped a thumb across the screen. Stared. Then obviously realised the screen wouldn’t react to leather-gloved fingers, because she stuck her left hand in up under her mask and pulled the glove off. Tried again. Nodded. ‘How nice, it’s still unlocked. Let’s make that permanent, shall we?’ She fiddled with the settings then nodded. ‘On your feet: you and I are going walkies.’
It took a lot of effort to get his aching legs and stiff back into position, but Logan struggled upright.
She jerked her gun towards the track and her car.
He limped around the clump of broom, arms up as far as they’d go — given the branches overhead. Ducked under the last of them and onto the track. Dirt and gravel crunched beneath his boots, the rain pattering against his peaked cap, stealing what little heat remained in his skin.
Logan stopped. ‘You know I’m not here on my own, don’t you, Danielle? They’ll come looking for—’
Bright white light blared out, robbing detail from the world, followed by a rushing, crashing noise. Then burning daggers slashed across the back of his head as the light faded and everything went...
Down like a bag of tatties.
Danielle stood over him for a moment. Never coldcocked someone with a gun before. Certainly seemed to work, though. As long as it hadn’t damaged the gun, of course.
She pulled on her other glove, then hunkered down next to him and went through his pockets: keys; some change; a hanky; a wallet containing a photo of a big fluffy cat, a photo of a pretty woman with bright-red hair and tattoos, twenty quid in cash, a debit card, a bunch of receipts, and some business cards; a hanky; a police-issue notebook — he could whistle for that; and an Airwave handset. He could whistle for that too. Everything else got stuffed into one of his fleece’s pockets.
Probably better get a shift on now, in case he woke up. She popped open the Clio’s boot and levered the bass board out of the way — thing weighed a ton. Then pulled out her abduction kit: a packet of thick black cable ties, a roll of bin bags, and one of duct tape. A lot of people would be surprised how often something like that came in handy.
Now: first things first.
She shoved McRae over, so he was lying face down, pulled his wrists behind his back and zipped a cable tie around them. Then did the same with his ankles. Rolled him onto his side, balled up his hanky and stuffed it into his mouth. Stuck a big strip of duct tape across his face to keep it in there. It took a couple of minutes, lining the boot with the bin bags, but it was worth it. Who wanted DNA and bloodstains all over their nice new car?
Danielle dug two hands in under McRae’s armpits and dragged him around to the Clio’s boot. Heavier than he looked. She wrestled him inside, made sure all his limbs were secured, then sealed him in with the hefty pine bass board. Lovingly handcrafted for maximum solidity.
‘Sweet dreams.’ She scooped his peaked cap up off the ground and chucked it in with him, clunked the tailgate shut, and climbed in behind the wheel. Dumped the Airwave on the passenger seat, removed her gloves, took out his phone and checked the recent text messages.
Hmm... About a dozen outbound texts and the same number of replies from that idiot sidekick of his, all about hiding in the bushes like a pervert watching her. No point deleting them — they’d be on the sidekick’s phone anyway, and more people got caught trying to cover something up than actually doing what they’d done — but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make this work for her. She killed the Clio’s engine, made sure all the lights were off. Well, except for the smartphone’s screen.