Page 18 of Savage Justice

“So, Johnny Dunbar, self-employed arsehole, what were you doing at Molly Lowe’s house in the middle of the night?”

“It was a job, just a… just a job.”

“Not good enough. Who paid you? And exactly what was this job?”

His head lolls. Bloodstained drool dribbles from his lips and down his stubbled chin. I grasp his jaw and force his head back. “I reckon it would be easy enough to drag your fucking intestines out through that hole in your gut. Messy, though. Shall we try that?”

He makes an animalistic sound of pure anguish. It might be pitiful. I might even relent and let him die quietly, but the image of him leaning over that sink, cold water gushing into Molly Lowe’s throat and nose, is stuck in my brain and has dispelled any finer feelings I might have been able to drum up. This bastard deserves what’s coming.

“Guts or the truth. You decide what gets spilled. But do it fast.”

“I can’t…” he croaks. “Just a job, just business.”

“Fuck that. It’s a simple question. Is it worth all of this? Really?”

“He’ll kill me.”

He’s more scared of whoever’s been paying him than he is of us. We can’t have that.

“I’ll be the one killing you. The only question is, how fast and how painful I decide to make it. So, who paid you to go after Molly Lowe?

He seems to be thinking, or maybe he’s just stalling for time. Then, “He wants his kid, that’s all. She should just hand him over…”

“Who does? Who wants the kid?” He must mean the baby. Noah. This tallies with what Lucy told Jenna.

“G-Glodowski,” he stutters eventually. “Borys Glodowski.”

I slant a glance at Aaron, who shrugs. “Who the fuck is Borys Glodowski?”

Dunbar’s eyes roll back. His mouth hangs slack, drooling. I slap his face but get no response. We’ll get nothing else out of him.

“He’s gone,” Aaron observes. “Or as near as doesn’t matter.”

“Looks like it.”

We step away and allow his lifeless corpse to slither to the floor, just as Megan appears at the door of the cell.

“It’s okay, Doc. Your services aren’t required after all.”

“Never heard of him.” Ethan is as much in the dark as we are regarding the mysterious would-be baby-snatcher. “Let’s try Google.”

He types in the name and furrows his brow. “Art dealer, based in London. Linked to the disappearance of several important items from galleries in the US and Europe but nothing proven. I’ll get Casey or Frankie to dig around.”

“Why would a bent art collector be interested in abducting a baby in suburban Glasgow? It must be a different Borys Glodowski.”

“Not a common name,” Ethan argues. “Let’s see what Molly has to say in the morning. Meanwhile, is it just me who thinks this could have something to do with the first abduction attempt, the one you two derailed? Two kidnap attempts on the same family in a matter of weeks? Too much of a coincidence, surely.”

“Shit,” I breathe. “Shit, you’re right. Should have seen that.”

“You know what I think about coincidences,” he growls. “What do we know about that other douchebag, the one whose legs Tony broke? Is he out of hospital yet?”

I help myself to coffee. “If he is, he’ll be tucked up nice and cosy in HMP Barlinnie. Child abduction is serious stuff, he’ll have been remanded in custody.”

“True enough. Aaron, who do we have in there just now who could have a word?”

Aaron scratches his head. “Last I heard, George Delaney was in Barlinnie. Maybe he could have a little chat with him on our behalf.”

“That’d work. Jenna’s dad. When is she likely to visit him next?” This is directed to Tony.

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