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sudden burst of pain struck the back of his skull. He twisted around, and one brief, horrid instant found himself staring into the scowling face of Mark Whadcoat before blackness closed in. Panic seemed to follow on the instant as he opened his eyes to darkness and an agonised throbbing at the back of his head. His body jerked, kicking and striking out with his arms by pure instinct to meet hard metal, with fresh terror well up in his mind as he realised he was in the boot of a car.
    Time passed, his consciousness returning to normal only slowly and his feelings of fear and panic welling up time and again despite his efforts to think clearly. Yet when the car finally stopped he had managed to coil his body tightly together in the hope of delivering a powerful kick to his attacker. The chance never came, the boot swinging up to reveal Mark Whadcoat stood well back and with a gun in his hand.
    â€˜Out,’ Whadcoat ordered.
    De Lacy obeyed, moving slowly and carefully as he took in his surroundings. They were parked at the entrance to some sort of abandoned garage site, with concrete underfoot and a rusting barrier wedged open beside the car. Moonlight provided a dull sheen to the ground and made black shadows of nearby trees, while showing the glint of metal in the car boot.
    â€˜Take the spade and walk that way,’ Whadcoat commanded, keeping the gun carefully trained on de Lacy as he gestured with his free hand.
    â€˜Look, I …’ de Lacy began.
    â€˜Shut up!’ Whadcoat snapped. ‘And stay quiet. You put my old man away and you’re going down, dead, like you fucking well deserve!’
    Whadcoat’s voice was hard, pitiless, bringing de Lacy’s terror up to the point at which he could barely think at all. His hands were shaking violently as he took the spade.
    â€˜That’s right,’ Whadcoat went on as de Lacy began to walk away from the car. ‘You’re going to dig your own grave, Mr de Lacy, and then you’re going into it, alive.’
    They’d reached the edge of the concrete, which gave way to soft, mossy ground.
    â€˜This will do,’ Whadcoat said, flicking the gun sideways to indicate a smooth area in the shadow of the hedge. ‘Go on, dig, and while you dig, think about what’s going to happen to you, you fucking little ponce.’
    De Lacy’s lips parted in a whimper of fear as he pushed the spade to the earth. Whadcoat gave a brief, cruel laugh that turned to a gasp of pain as the spade smacked up against his hand, sending the gun high into the air. Whadcoat cursed, clutching his wrist, as de Lacy struck again, in blind panic, bringing the spade around with every ounce of his strength and the full reach of his long arms. The blade bit home, stuck, and pulled free as de Lacy jerked it frantically back for another blow, only to hold back as Whadcoat slumped to the ground, all too plainly dead.
    Shaking violently, unable to move and fighting the urge to be sick, de Lacy stayed as he was, but his brain was already in turmoil, running through all the possible consequences of his actions. None were at all good, and yet it seemed certain that nobody else knew where he was, nor what Whadcoat had intended to do. His kidnapping had to have been carefully planned as well, and a man of Whadcoat’s experience would surely have chosen a CCTV blind spot as well as a quiet street late at night. All that was needed was to dispose of evidence, especially anything that might link him to Whadcoat. The gun would be easy, while the car could be taken some distance away and burnt out to destroy any DNA, along with the spade, but first came the body.
    With a long sigh and still-trembling hands, de Lacy began to dig.

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Published by Accent Press Ltd 2014
    ISBN 9781783753222
    Copyright © J.J. Campbell 2014
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