Captives

EIGHTY-ONE

Gregson propped the torch up on a nearby headstone, ensuring that the beam pointed towards the grave of Gary Lucas. Then he shrugged off his jacket, draped it over a marble cross and gripped one of the shovels, driving the blade into the earth.

'Come on, help me,' he snapped, looking, up at Finn.

'This is fucking crazy,' the DS said, shaking his head, watching as Gregson lifted huge clods with the spade. His own breath was coming in short gasps now. He wondered if Gregson had gone insane.

'Dig, for Christ's sake,' the DI snarled. Finally, Finn began to drive his own spade into the moist earth.

'This isn't right, Frank,' he said angrily.

Gregson didn't answer, but continued digging, perspiration already beading on his forehead despite the chill wind whipping around them.

The two men hardly spoke as they burrowed deeper into the earth, leaving mounds of dirt on either side of the hole. Finn paused for a moment to catch his breath but Gregson kept up his labours, digging deeper all the time. His shirt was sticking to him now and he was panting like a cart horse but still he persevered, driving the spade into the soil and hurling dark mud away behind him.

They were getting close now, he knew it.

Finn ran a hand through his hair, feeling the slickness of sweat on his face, but one look at Gregson's expression persuaded him to continue digging.

There was a loud scraping sound of metal on wood.

They had reached the coffin.

Gregson immediately scrambed down beside it, scraping earth from the top of the casket with his hands.

'Give me the torch,' he said, snatching it from his companion and shining it on the lid.

'What now?' Finn asked, breathlessly.

Gregson reached up over the side of the grave and found the pick axe.

'We open it,' he said flatly.

Finn grabbed him by the shoulders.

'Frank, you can't do this,' he said angrily.

'Why the fuck do you think I dug him up, to admire the craftsmanship of the bloody box? I want to see that body.' He pushed his companion away. 'Hold that fucking torch over here,' he rasped, sliding the end of the pick-axe beneath the first of the coffin screws.

Finn wiped sweat from his face and pointed the torch downwards watching as his colleague exerted all the force he could muster on the other end of the pick.

As the screw came loose, part of the coffin lid broke away.

Gregson drove the pick underneath the lid, prizing upwards until the casket snapped again.

One more screw loose and he'd be able to remove the lid.

He forced the pick between the two edges of wood and pressed down.

Finn's heart was thudding madly against his ribs as he held the light steady over the ghoulish tableau.

The screw came loose with a whine of snapping wood.

Gregson pulled the lid free and tossed it aside.

Finn shone the torch into the coffin.

'Jesus Christ,' he murmured slowly, the colour draining from his cheeks.

Gregson stood beside him, panting, his eyes riveted. He shook his head very slowly.

'What the hell is it?' Finn whispered, his voice cracking, almost lost in the blast of wind that swept across them.

The DI leant forward slightly, still gripping the pick in one hand.

In the bottom of the coffin was a black dustbin bag, its top secured by a piece of thick string.

Nothing else.

No body. No rotting corpse.

Nothing.

Gregson used the pick to tear the plastic open while Finn shone his torch at the bag.

The DI reached in and pulled something out, holding it up.

A brick.

There were a dozen more in the dustbin bag.

'What the fuck is going on?' murmured Finn. 'Where's Lucas?'

Gregson slumped back against the wall of the grave, his eyes closed. Then he dropped the brick back into the weighted coffin.

Finn looked at him, his face pale.

'Where's Lucas?' he asked.

Gregson shook his head.

'I wish I knew.'