‘I’m bursting, OK?’ Logan crossed his legs. Didn’t help though, was still like a spaniel dancing on his bladder.
Steel pulled a face. ‘Serves you right for drinking all that water.’
‘I was thirsty.’
‘So go pee in the wardrobe.’
‘How?’ He levelled his voice, weighed out each word as if talking to a very small, very stupid child. ‘My ankle’s handcuffed to the bed. I can’t get off the bed like you can. If I could we wouldn’t be in this sodding mess.’
‘You’re a dick, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Going to have to pee off the edge of the bed.’
‘Oh great. So I widdle in the wardrobe like a civilised human being, and you just pish all over the floor like some sort of animal. And then we get to lie here marinating in the stench.’
He turned and stared at her. ‘You don’t exactly piddle rosewater yourself.’ Then he jerked his head at the corner of the room. ‘Shove the bed over there and I’ll pee in the corner. Well, corner-ish.’
‘Oh God, I can hear it splashing!’
‘Will you shut up? This isn’t exactly a precision instrument at the best of times.’
‘Urgh …’
‘Something beginning with “D”?’ Logan glanced around the room. ‘Door?’
‘Nope.’
‘Dresser.’
‘Nope.’
Hmm … Ah, of course – dangling from the side of the blinds. ‘Drawstring.’
‘Nah. Give up? It’s him on the floor: “Dickhead”.’
The little creases deepened between Steel’s eyebrows. ‘It’s just, sometimes, I really miss my dad, you know? He’d have loved Jasmine.’
‘He OK with the whole gay thing?’
‘Course he was. What’s not to like?’
‘Fair enough.’ Logan frowned up at the ceiling, making patterns from the light and shadow. ‘Never really knew my father.’
‘Oh aye, Mum put it about a bit, did she?’
A laugh barked out of Logan, setting the mattress vibrating. ‘Can you imagine?’ Then a shudder. ‘Actually, better not. No, he was in the Job. Constable Charles McRae. Went to pick up a bloke on a warrant for aggravated burglary in Stonehaven. Only the guy had a sawn-off shotgun and wasn’t cool with going back to prison again. I was five.’
Steel reached across the duvet with her spare hand and gave his shoulder a squeeze. ‘Sorry.’
‘Why do you think I joined the force? Couldn’t think of anything that would hack my mother off more.’
‘Pfff … Curtains?’
Logan shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘Carpet?’
‘That’s not a carpet, it’s a rug.’
‘Oh.’ She chewed at her top lip. ‘Cushions?’
‘Give up?’ He pointed at the window. ‘Clouds.’
‘What? It has to be inside the room, you idiot. Who taught you how to play?’
‘Oh-ho, Chuckles is on the move.’
Logan peered over the edge of the bed. Steel was right: Alec Hadden was twitching. Then a groan. Then a cough that left a smear of red-flecked sputum on the floorboards.
Steel raised her eyebrows. ‘Thought I’d killed him for a bit there.’
A tremble ran through Alec, wrists and ankles still firmly chained and padlocked behind his back. ‘Gnnnnnnngh …’ And then he went limp again.
‘Serves you right, you wee shite. That’s what you get for abducting police officers.’
11
‘Well?’
Logan’s fingers walked along the bedframe, tracing the corner where the headboard joined the main frame. Smooth metal, slick and cool. There – a hexagonal lump. ‘It’s a nut.’
‘So undo it!’
He grabbed the sides and twisted.
Nothing.
Tried again. Gritted his teeth. ‘Come on you wee sod …’ Fire raced through his fingers, up into his palm. Then wrist. Then, ‘It won’t budge. Too tight.’
‘Right. So we need to loosen it. OK.’ She sucked at her teeth. ‘Don’t have a spanner, just have to go back to shoogling. Clockwise shoogling.’ A breath. ‘Come on Roberta, you can do this.’ She poked Logan in the shoulder. ‘Eyes. And keep them closed.’
He scrunched them shut. ‘OK.’
She folded the duvet back on top of him, then there was some grunting.
The handcuff around his wrist twisted. ‘Ow, ow, ow, ow!’
‘You think that’s bad?’ Her weight settled on top of him, one knee on either side. ‘How do you think I feel?’
He slapped his hand over his eyes as well, just in case.
‘I swear Laz, if you get a stiffy during this—’
‘Just get on with it.’
‘Deep breath, Roberta. Think of Natalie Portman.’ Then the thrusting started. Back and forward. Harder. Making the frame creak. Then Steel added a side-to-side thrust of the hips, getting the bed to make little circles. Harder and faster.
Logan pulled his head further into the pillow, out of the way of anything that might be swinging about up there.
Creaks, groans, pinging noises, grunting.
This would be a really bad time to be rescued.
Ping, creak, groan, grunt, then thumping joined the mix. Probably the bed’s legs banging on the scarred, piddled-on floorboards. Her voice was laboured, squeezed out between breaths as she kept on grinding. ‘Try now!’
Oh God. Don’t look. Don’t look.
He slipped his hand back beneath the bed, feeling for the nut.
The whole thing rocked and wobbled, joints opening up and closing with each thrust. Be lucky if he didn’t lose a finger.
The nut was cold and hard in his hand. Logan grabbed it. Squeezed. Twisted … ‘Come on!’
And it gave. Not much, but a tiny twist. Again. As long as he timed his turn with the right point in the rotation the nut loosened. Again. And again. And again. ‘It’s coming! Yes! It’s coming!’
Then it wasn’t coming any more. The nut jolted out of his grasp and the whole side of the bed collapsed as he snatched his hand out of the way.
‘You wee beauty!’
‘Ow …’ If anything it was even more uncomfortable than being handcuffed to the unbroken bed. Now the whole frame was out of alignment and the cuff around his wrist and ankle were pulling him apart.
Steel scrambled off him. ‘Keep those sodding eyes shut.’ Then there was more grunting and groaning. But thankfully no thrusting. ‘Come on … Aggggghhhhhh … Break you wee—’
Clang.
And the other side of the bed collapsed too.
‘Woo-hoo!’
The scuff of bare feet on floorboards. Then she let go of his hand. ‘Right, I need you to sit up.’
Logan did as he was told, struggling in the darkness, dragging the headboard with him.
‘Keep going. Forwards. Grab your ankles.’
‘This better not be more kinky stuff.’
‘Just do it.’ Then another bout of grunting as the headboard shifted. ‘Going to wedge the bars over the corner post … There you go. Might want to grit your teeth for this bit.’
‘What? What are you— Aaaaagh!’ Pain ripped through his wrist as the handcuffs tried to bend it in a way it really hadn’t evolved for.
‘One more go.’ A grunt.
‘Are you trying to kill me?’
Then a ping rang out and the pressure on his wrist disappeared.
Logan risked a peek. She’d used the corner post as a lever to snap one end of the bar out of place. And now the handcuffs were free. He shut his eyes again before he saw anything else.
‘HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’m a sodding genius!’ Steel slapped him on the back. ‘Told you I’d get us out of here. Now we do the same crowbar trick with the footboard, and we’re good to go. Brace yourself.’
Groan. Strain. Ping.
Logan slid backwards down the mattress.
They were free. Naked and still handcuffed together, but at least they weren’t attached to
that bloody bed any more.
‘OK, you can look now.’ Steel stood and raised her free hand like the Statue of Liberty. The duvet cover was wrapped around her in a makeshift toga. ‘Tres stylish, nes pa?’
‘I feel like a complete dick.’ Two floral pillowcases, tied together, didn’t make a great loincloth, but it was better than nothing.
‘Look on the bright side – I can’t see yours, so we’re good to go.’ She paused to nudge Alec Hadden with her foot. ‘We’ll be back for you, Chuckles. Don’t get too comfy.’
As if that was possible, lying on a wooden floor, trussed up with chains.
Logan led the way over to the door, the other handcuff dangling from his ankle – scrapping along the boards.
‘Hoy!’ Steel hit him. ‘What did I tell you about shoogling and these sodding cuffs?’
He closed his eyes. Counted to three. ‘Fine.’ Then took her hand again. ‘OK?’
She looked down at their hands, then up at his naked torso, then down at his makeshift loincloth and the pale, pasty legs poking out underneath it. ‘Don’t think George Clooney’s got much to worry about.’
Why bother?
He opened the door. Peered out. A stairway reached down two storeys, new looking, with magnolia walls and framed prints of wildflowers. That would make this an attic conversion then. Another doorway opened off the small landing on a room crowded with boxes.
Steel sniffed. ‘What if there’s another one of him?’
‘Think they might just have heard us destroying the bed.’
Down the stairs, carpet soft and warm underfoot. A window looked out on the back garden. A whirly washing line sat in the middle of a square of green, heavy with clothes. Their clothes. Getting dark out there, the sky heading from clear blue to navy.
First floor. Three white-panelled doors led off the landing.
‘Shhh!’ Steel stopped, head cocked to one side as something growled. ‘Starving.’ She pointed downstairs. ‘Kitchen – food. Then out the back door and get our sodding clothes.’
‘Think you can keep your stomach in check for five minutes while we get dressed? Not that much to ask, is it?’
‘Hungry.’ She straightened her toga. ‘And in case you’re wondering: Detective Chief Inspector still outranks Detective Sergeant.’
‘Detective Inspector.’
‘Acting Detective Inspectors don’t count.’ She took a step down the stairs, hauling him with her. ‘You want to play with the big girls? Get a proper promotion.’
God’s sake …
He followed her down to the ground floor. Didn’t really have any option with his wrist still cuffed to hers. Holding hands as if they were on some sort of horrible, deviant date.
The kitchen lay at the end of the hallway – a pristine expanse of shiny tiles, stainless steel, and polished-wooden work surfaces.
Steel made straight for the fridge. ‘Sandwich would do … Oh.’ Her shoulders drooped. ‘All they’ve got is a carton of fake butter and an onion. And that doesn’t look too fresh.’
Logan stretched out an arm and opened the bread bin. Pulled out a loaf of sliced white and dumped it on the counter next to the toaster. Stuck a couple of slices in and pushed down the handle. ‘OK? You happy now?’
She sniffed. ‘Think if you’re going to abduct someone, the least you could do is get a bit of cheese in. Some smoked ham. Few eggs.’ Steel grabbed the butter and clunked the fridge shut again. Tried one of the cupboards. ‘Pot Noodle would do at a push.’
Steel chomped on her toast, melted buttery spread glistening on her chin. ‘Hurry it up, going full-on football studs here.’
Gloom enveloped the back garden. Two small patches of light spilled out through the kitchen window and the open back door, just enough to make their breath shine in the cool evening air.
Logan unpegged his pants from the whirly. ‘Close your eyes.’
Steel raised an eyebrow. ‘In this cold? It’ll be all shrivelled up like a half-chewed fruit pastille anyway. Get a move on.’
He hauled them on, then took his trousers off the line and pulled them on too. Then ditched the Laura Ashley loincloth. The shirt was more of a challenge – could only get it on over one arm, buttoning it up across his chest as far as possible, the other sleeve hanging limp at his side. Same with the jacket.
Steel popped the last chunk of toast in her mouth, then sooked her fingers clean. ‘Where’s mine?’
‘You were eating.’
‘Make with the bras and pants, you unchivalrous wee sod.’
He passed her the underwear, trying really hard not to see how red and lacy it was. Then stood there, cheeks like barbecues, as she struggled into both. Shifting around, handcuffed wrist twisting so she could fasten her bra behind her back.
Don’t touch her bare skin, don’t touch her bare— Agh … too late.
The figures reflected in the kitchen window looked like something from a Cohen Brothers movie. Steel with her random hair – fully suited, except for the one bare arm and shoulder – Logan her taller, slightly less scruffy, mirror image.
She scowled, then scratched at her naked armpit – where the rogue bra strap dangled. ‘Off-the-shoulder’s no’ a good look for you. No’ with those pasty arms.’
‘How am I supposed to know what he’s done with our keys?’
‘Still,’ she shrugged, ‘on the bright side: there’s no risk of you flashing your horrible man bits any more. Thank heaven for tiny wrinkly mercies.’
‘Yes, because you’re Keira Knightley meets Marilyn Monroe, aren’t you?’ He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her through into a utility room, just off the kitchen. It smelled of warm laundry. The contents of their pockets were piled up on the work surface above the washing machine: phones, keys, cash, wallets, warrant cards, and all the other bits and bobs. ‘Yes!’ He grabbed the keys and flicked through them. ‘No.’
She peered at the silvery collection in his hand. ‘No what?’
‘No handcuff key.’
‘Must be. Give.’ She did exactly the same thing that he had. With exactly the same result. ‘Bugger.’
‘I told you, didn’t I? Honestly.’
‘Blah, blah, blah.’ She picked her e-cigarette from the pile of stuff and clicked it on. Sooked hard on the mouthpiece. Closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Ooooh, God, that’s better …’
Logan powered up his phone. ‘I’ll give Stoney a ring and—’
A thump came from somewhere above.
They both looked up at the ceiling.
Steel curled her free hand into a fist. ‘If that wee scumbag’s wriggled free, he’s getting a flying lesson out the nearest window.’ She dragged Logan back into the kitchen, then out into the hall.
His left thumb skiffed across the screen, never hitting the right button. ‘Would you slow down?’
‘No.’ Up the stairs to the first landing.
‘How am I supposed to—’
‘Shhh …’ She put a finger to her lips. ‘Listen.’
Another thump. Not overhead this time, but off to the left.
She pointed at one of the three doors. Mouthed the words, ‘Three. Two. One.’ Then a nod.
Logan grabbed the handle and twisted. Threw the door open. ‘POLICE! NOBODY … Oh.’
It was a single bedroom. And there was a man on the bed. Well, not so much ‘on’ as ‘chained to’ by the arms and legs. Naked except for an adult nappy, with a ball gag in his mouth. Middle-aged, pasty skin, with receding brown hair, wide sunken eyes, and a stubbly beard.
Steel pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. ‘Aye, aye, someone’s been naughty.’
He writhed on the bed, mumbling behind the ball gag.
Logan hauled her over to the bed. Then glanced down at his own half-on-half-off clothing. ‘I know it doesn’t look like it, but we’re police officers. I’m going to unbuckle the gag, OK?’ He reached forward, pulling Steel’s arm with him, and fiddled with the buckle.
‘Gaaaah!’ Red weals cut across h
is cheeks, where the leather strap had been. He coughed a couple of times, then spat. Hauled in a breath. ‘Oh God, you have to get help! Please! He’ll be back soon!’
Logan frowned down at him. Take away the beard and … ‘It’s Chris Browning, isn’t it? We’ve been looking for you for weeks.’
‘Guv? Hello?’ Stoney’s voice came through the locked door. His silhouette rippled through the patterned glass on either side. Probably trying to see into the house. ‘Hello?’ Then he knocked. ‘Guv, you there?’
Steel squatted down and levered up the letterbox flap. ‘Give me your handcuff keys.’
‘Guv? Can you unlock the door?’
‘You deaf or something, Constable Stone? Keys, now.’
He stepped back. ‘Someone’s there with you, aren’t they Guv? Are you being coerced? Stand back, I’m breaking the door down!’
Logan slammed his free hand into the glass at the side, setting it booming. ‘Just post your sodding keys through the letterbox!’
‘But—’
Steel poked her hand through the nylon brushes. ‘Give me the keys, or I’m going to reach down your throat, grab your pants, and haul them back out through your gob!’
The second ambulance pulled away from the kerb, lights spinning in the sunset. Steel pulled her e-cigarette from her pocket, clicked it on, and took a deep drag. ‘Ahhh. That’s better.’
Logan rubbed at the thick red line encircling his right wrist. ‘There you go, we just saved an influential “No” campaigner.’
She shrugged. ‘Win some, lose some.’ She sniffed, then spat into the neat front garden. ‘Anyone asks, the naked thing didn’t happen. Understand?’
Goose pimples raced up Logan’s arms, coming together at the back of his neck. ‘Ack … I’m probably going to need therapy.’
‘Official report, we were handcuffed to a radiator or something. No naked. No bed. No piddling.’
‘Agreed.’
She turned and stared up at the building. ‘So, come on then – how did you vote?’
‘None of your damned business, that’s how.’ He lifted his chin and walked toward the waiting patrol car. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get very, very drunk.’
She shambled along beside him. ‘Good idea.’ Then reached out and took his hand again. ‘You’re getting the first round in, though.’
And however bad the hangover was, they’d just have to deal with it tomorrow.
45% Hangover [A Logan and Steel novella] Page 7