Page 41 of Savage Justice

“No, she wouldn’t. Not if she wanted to see her kid again.”

“Meaning what?” My tone is deceptively gentle. “What would have happened if she didn’t do as you said?”

“Nothing. I was just— Aaaagh!”

Tony does the honours again, just to keep our man focussed.

“Try again, arse-wipe.”

“It was up to Borys. He was the one calling the shots.” Bairstow is sobbing now, reduced to a snotty, snivelling mess.

“Borys wasn’t there. You were.”

“I did as I was told. What I was paid for, that’s all. Please, it’s the truth. You have to believe me. I would have let her go…”

“Well, you see, that’s the problem, Jonas.” I straighten to tower over him. “I don’t believe you. Neither does my colleague here. Isn’t that right?”

“Right,” Tony concurs.

“So, where does that leave us?”

“Please, I’m begging you…” Bairstow clutches the hem of my jeans and tries to drag himself off the floor. “It was just a job, a bit of work…”

“It was a ten-year-old girl,” I snarl. “Kidnapped. Terrorised. And if we hadn’t showed up and ruined your day, who knows what else? And now you’re telling us you were going to abduct a six-month-old baby, just because some greedy, fat, entitled bastard paid you to do it. You’re scum, Jonas. Pond life.”

“Please…”

“Prison’s too good for you. You’re not worth the drain on the taxpayer.”

“It’s Borys you need to be talking to. I can tell you where he is.” He claws at my ankle, abject desperation lacing every word.

“I know where he is, and yes, we will be having a word. I don’t think we need your help.”

“I can—”

“For fuck’s sake, shut it.” Tony looks to me. “Are we done here?”

“Yeah. I reckon so.” I draw my knife ready to do the honours.

Tony glances around the cell. “It’d be a pity to make a mess.”

He has a point. Up to now we’ve managed not to spill any blood. I suspect Bairstow has pissed himself, but that’s easy enough to sort with a swill of bleach. Bloodstains take a bit of shifting, and we’ve both got better things to be doing than cleaning up after this piece of shit.

“Back in a sec.” Tony strides out the door, leaving me to disengage Bairstow’s fingers from my jeans as best I can.

He’s back a minute later, a loop of rope over his arm. “You any good with nooses?” he asks me.

“Not my usual MO, but I can have a go.”

Bairstow lets out a despairing moan and at last relinquishes his grip on my ankle. He tries to crawl away, but there’s nowhere for him to go. We ignore his pathetic pleading and wailing as we set up what’s needed.

Our cells are all equipped with ceiling rings. They have a variety of handy uses and easily lend themselves to an impromptu hanging. Tony threads one end of the rope through while I fashion a noose at the other end.

“Do we need something for him to stand on?” I wonder.

“Nope. He can’t stand anyway. I’ll lift him up.”

“Fair enough. That should do.” I finish the noose and show Tony my handiwork.

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