Page 41 of The Twenty (Major Crimes)

Punishment for what, he doesn’t know. But the how will soon become clear. A hand on his back shoves him to his knees. Made to bend, his head pushed painfully between his legs. A rush of cold air on his bare back as his T-shirt is pulled up.

“Stay there.”

He doesn’t dare move. The number repeats in his head. Nine. Nine what?

He hears the jangle of the belt buckle. The swish of leather as it is pulled from his jeans.

Then the crack. The surprise. The burn, the sting as it hits his skin. He cries out. Tries to get up, but his father pushes him hard, back into place.

“Eight,” he says.

The slap of leather in the air. The next rush of agony. Hot. Wet. Blood, running. He tastes copper in his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue. Tears run down his cheeks. Disbelief in the sudden horror of what is happening.

seven

six

Numbness takes over. His hands ball into fists. He screams out for his mother, but she is gone, unconscious in another room.

five

Worse now. Blows onto broken flesh. The flick of blood from the belt onto the wall. He would look at those spatters later. Wonder if they came from four or three.

He doesn’t remember two or one; the agony dragging his consciousness into black.

The countdown from twenty ends. Seared into his skin.

With pain and hatred and fear.

PART 2

Into whatsoever houses I enter, I will enter to help the sick, and I will abstain from all intentional wrongdoing and harm, especially from abusing the bodies of man or woman, bond or free.

—The Hippocratic Oath, translated from Ancient Greek, estimated at fourth or fifth century BC

CHAPTER

23

ADAM HAS BEEN to Jamie’s house on many occasions, but not like this. The normally peaceful road, with its carefully tended front gardens and brightly painted gates, is teeming with vans and police cars. Dazzling blue lights and reflective yellow. The crackling of radios, barked instructions. Adam is directed to a police van and finds Jamie behind it, pacing a tiny patch of concrete, his hands tearing at his hair.

“He’s got her, hasn’t he?” he cries when he sees Adam. “He’s got her.”

“We don’t know that.” The shock had sobered Adam in a second. He guides Jamie to the doorway of the van and makes him sit down. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“I got home, about eleven thirty—I don’t know.” His eyes dart around the scene. “I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped in the door. I should have called you then … I should have …” He goes to stand up again, but Adam places a firm hand on his arm.

“We’ll find her. But you need to tell me exactly what you saw. Please, Jamie. You know how important this is.”

Jamie pauses, Adam’s words sinking in. He’s a police officer, he knows the drill; he’ll be aware of how much an investigation can be slowed by a hysterical witness. Jamie takes a long, shuddering breath in.

“The hallway was a mess. Mud all over the floor, the table tipped over. You saw it.” Adam nods. He had, when he arrived. Poked his head around the cordon, where SOCOs were already working the scene. Definite signs of a struggle.

“Was the front door open?”

“Was it …? Er … no. No,” he says decisively. “I had to use my key to get in.”

“Okay. Then what?”

---