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that remained.
    I figured that must’ve happened in the last twenty-four hours, too.
    “This is what happens when you fail to please Hose.” A modified, robotic voice sounded through the tinny speakers.
    And then the person holding the camera stuffed the hose into Denise Scotts’ mouth so far that she puked.
    And then he turned the nozzle.
    I looked away from the screen as the water filled up Denise Scotts’ lungs. But I caught a glance every few seconds.
    A glance at her purpling face.
    A glance at her neck, glugging away for survival.
    A glance at her bloodshot, dying eyes.
    “How long does this go on?” I asked.
    Lenny looked at his watch. “Five minutes and thirty-two seconds, I counted earlier. But my watch is slow. Swatch Watch. Ever owned a Swatch Watch?”
    Lenny’s speech was interrupted by a quick flash of images.
    Denise Scotts being held down, a green hose tightening around her neck.
    Denise Scotts’ head being pressed against as a sharp razor sliced the hair from her scalp.
    “Ah, you reached the blooper reel,” Lenny said.
    I looked away. I couldn’t watch this anymore. “Psycho. Poor girl.”
    “Right,” Lenny said. “Which is why I need your help catching this nutjob.”
    I shook my head and walked away. “I… I don’t know how I can help. I mean I’ve seen as much as you.”
    “Yeah but, like, you see things. Like, extra things. You have that weird vision thing going on.”
    “Standard detective inquisition?”
    “Yeah. Something like that.”
    I scratched my neck. The images of Denise Scotts blubbering for life as the water entered her body scratched at my mind. “I… I can’t, Lenny. Not after Chipps. I’ve… I’ve got things I care about now. People I care about. I’m sorry. I don’t do this kind of investigation anymore.”
    Lenny shook his head. Tutted. “Goddammit. My promotion, Blake. Don’t you care about your friend’s promotion?”
    “Not particularly.”
    “Then what about the kid? Poor little baby boy, Sebastian in that cot who lost his mummy and his daddy to this psychopath? What about him?”
    I grabbed the handle of the lost property closet door. I needed to get out of here. I needed to binge away on a comedy series to get those awful images out of my head. “I wish you all the best, Lenny. Seriously, I do.”
    I lowered the handle.
    “Jesus, man. I think I preferred you when I had leverage over you.”
    “I take the well wishes back,” I said.
    I opened the door.
    Someone flew into me, almost knocked me to my feet.
    “Jenkins?” Lenny said. He stood in front of the camcorder. Did up his top button, his cheeks going red.
    This gaunt, ginger officer looked at me and then at Lenny and then back at me again. “What were you two, er…”
    “Man stuff,” Lenny said. He cleared his throat. “Just… just playing around with the boy’s toys in here. Clearing the… clearing the dust from the pipes. Right, Blakey?”
    My face was on fire, as Jenkins looked at me and Lenny as if he’d walked in on something sexual. “I was just leaving.”
    “Right. See you later, Blake,” Lenny said.
    “No I won’t.” I looked at Jenkins. “We really won’t be seeing each other later.”
    I walked out from the door, my cheeks burning, my heart pounding.
    I needed to get outside.
    I needed to get away from involving myself in this case because I knew what involving myself in these cases meant: danger.
    Just before I left, I couldn’t help but hear Jenkins utter four stomach-sinking words to Lenny.
    “We’ve got another tape,” he said.

SEVEN
    “Honey, you haven’t even had a full can and already you’re looking white as a mannequin. What’s up with you?”
    I sat in Martha’s conservatory with a Fosters in hand. It had gone flat long ago. I’d slipped in a few Lockets to try and make it taste nicer, but even the sweetness of the menthol was dulled.
    “Just tired,” I said. “Been a… been a tiring few days.”
    I sipped back on the Fosters. Almost