Dark Blood

44

Bloody jocks are useless.

Detective Superintendent Graeme Danby sits on the end of the bed wearing the white fluffy bathrobe that came with his tartan hotel room. Remote in one hand, mobile phone clamped between his ear and shoulder so he can have a good scratch at his sack.

‘Don’t really know, Val, love. All depends on how long it takes to sort things out up here, you know what I’m saying?’

Eleven o’clock. There’s a film starting on Sky, but he can’t concentrate for more than five minutes. So he skims through the channels, always ending up with SKY NEWS and their coverage of Richard Knox’s escape.

Hysterical — in both senses of the word.

Graeme slumps back on the bed, dressing gown falling open. Not like there’s anyone there to complain, is there?

‘And I managed to find this lovely blue bikini.’ Her voice goes up and down, in that sexy Fife accent of hers that always gets more pronounced on the phone. ‘It’s going to be so nice to be warm again.’

Graeme flicks through the channels: sports, music, documentary about Hitler, American sitcom…then back to the news.

‘You won’t need the top though; don’t want white bits, do you?’

He can hear the smile in her voice. ‘You’re a bad man, Graeme Danby.’

There’s a knock at the door. Graeme groans.

‘What?’

‘Hold on…’

He stands, ties the robe shut and shuffles into the complementary towelling slippers.

‘When are you coming home?’

Graeme marches over to the door and undoes the latch. ‘Told you: when I’m finished here.’

Another knock. ‘Mr Danby? Hospitality management, you have a problem with your shower?’

‘But the flights are booked for-’

‘Val, it’s not a problem, you know what I’m saying?’ He opens the door. ‘I can always meet you out there, and-’

His head snaps back. Graeme stumbles, pain bursting inside his nose. ‘Fucking…’ Everything tastes of blood. Another thump, hard in his chest, knocking all the air from his lungs.

Detective Superintendent Danby staggers against the bed.

Thump — a stabbing ache in his kidneys.

He grits his teeth and throws a punch, eyes watering too much to aim, just going on instinct.

Misses.

Something hard cracks into the back of his head. The world goes white and crackly, then the carpet rushes up to meet him, slamming into his cheek.

His phone skitters away under the bed, Val’s voice tinny and far away as she makes plans for their trip to New Zealand. His early retirement. Their happy life together.

A boot cracks into his ribs. ‘Get up you fat bastard.’ A Newcastle accent. Oh Jesus, no…Not now. Not when he was so close!

Graeme gets his right arm underneath him and pushes himself to his knees. ‘Fucking bastards…’ The words won’t come out right, his face isn’t working.

He struggles to his feet, rocking back and forth on his heels. The room swirls around him. Blink. He wipes a huge fist across his blurry eyes. ‘Bloody kill…’

A shape swims into focus. Woman. Short. Blonde hair cut in a shoulder-length bob. Jacket, jeans, cowboy boots. A werewolf smile. ‘DSI Danby, so nice to see you again. How’s the wife and kids?’

He staggers back a step. ‘You…?’

She looks to the side. ‘Neil?’

Something slams into Graeme’s head.

Darkness.

They carry him down the service stairs at the back of the building. Can’t use the lifts, cos of the security cameras.

Neil grunts, arms wrapped around Danby’s torso. ‘Christ, he weighs a ton.’

Doesn’t look too great either: his face is all covered in blood, there’s a big lump on the back of his shiny head, and the bruises are already starting to darken.

They pause on the next landing, catching their breath.

Danby’s white bathrobe is all stained red down the front. Flopping open.

Tony frowns. ‘Urgh…’

‘What?’

‘Can see his cock.’

‘Then don’t bloody look.’

Julie’s waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, where there’s a little car park and some industrial-sized wheelie bins. Tony peers out the door at the falling snow.

‘Cameras?’

‘Don’t sweat it, Babe: all taken care of…’ She frowned. ‘Why’s he got his knob out? Did you guys get all amorous halfway down the stairs?’

Neil grimaces. ‘No offence, but this bastard’s heavy.’

‘Okeydoke.’ She leads the way to the generic white van they stole earlier, the number plates fudged a bit with black electrical tape. Well, you’d have to be a right mentalist to use your own car, wouldn’t you? Some nosey bastard or CCTV camera always sees something.

Julie pops open the back doors and they tumble Danby inside, hands fastened behind his back with thick black cableties, legs strapped together at the ankle, duct tape gag over that big hairy gob of his.

She ducks into the passenger seat and comes back with something tartan — a pillowcase from their room. She slips it over Danby’s battered head, then fastens another cable-tie around his neck, just below his chin.

Tony shifts his feet. ‘Are you sure that’s-’

‘Don’t worry, Darling, he’s not going to choke.’ She smiles. ‘You can ride in the back to make sure, if you like?’

Tony looks at the scarred, rusty metal floor of the van, then at the front seats. ‘Actually, I think-’

‘You can ride in the back.’ Julie’s not smiling any more.

Tony clears his throat. Stares at the ground for a moment. Then clambers up into the cold metal interior and pulls the doors shut behind him.

Julie and Neil get in the front.

The van slips out of the car park, windscreen wipers clunking back and forth.

OK, so it’s uncomfortable and cold in the back, but it’s nothing compared to what’s waiting for Danby, is it?

Always gotta look on the bright side…

Moonlight casts a cold white bar across the bed, shining though the gap between the curtains, turning the scratchy tartan blanket monochrome beneath his naked elbows. Hands together. Head bowed in prayer.

Our Father who art in heaven,

He can hear the old man swearing in the other room. Has to hurt, all that violence — the whipping, the biting, the punches.

Hallowed be Thy name,

A tear plops onto the blanket, swallowed by the darkness.

Can’t do this any more.

Don’t want to do this any more.

Thy will be done,

That’s the razorblade in the forbidden apple, isn’t it?

Richard stands, wipes his palm across his wet cheeks. His hand aches, the knuckles swollen and cracked, covered in bruises. Cradling it against his chest, he picks his way through the gloom to the window and stands there with the blade of moonlight slicing down his naked body. The skin so pale it looks dead.

Thy kingdom come,

He peers out through the gap in the curtains. There’s a car sitting in the snowy driveway, a new-looking people carrier. Richard doesn’t know if it belongs to the old man or not.

On Earth as it is in Heaven…

Doesn’t really matter, does it? Too risky to take it — people would know. The police’ve got them cameras now that photograph your number plate and run it against some sort of database.

Richard leans forward and breathes on the glass, turning it white, then draws on it with a finger: making a circle with a cross in the middle. It’s not a crucifix unless it’s got Jesus on it, you know? His Granny Murray would have tanned his backside for drawing graven images like, so it’s just a cross.

Empty.

Waiting for its sacrificial offering.

Crying condensation tears.

Moonlight makes it glow…and then the clouds sweep back in, and the moon’s gone, leaving the world to the shadows. Icy snow rattles the window.

Richard shivers, his pale, naked skin covered with goose pimples.

Let there be darkness.