had mentioned, he had no warrant—not even any real probable cause—just a hunch, and a trust in his brother’s nose for a story. If this was a case of mistaken identity, it was going to mean a whole other load of shite if he fucked up.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
He rapped again and shouted.
“Mr. Galloway? I’m sure this will only take a minute.”
There was no sound of a lock being engaged and no indication of any movement from inside—but the door swung open before he could knock again, revealing a dark hallway beyond.
“I’m coming in, Mr. Galloway,” Grainger said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
He walked into the hallway, reaching to either side in search of a light switch. Just as his right hand found the mechanism the door slammed shut behind him. He was startled, drew his hand back, then reached for the switch again—and met only air and blackness.
“Stop playing silly buggers, Mr. Galloway. I know you’re in here.”
Something heavy shifted in the dark farther inside. There was a smell, faint but unmistakable, of bleach. The air tasted dry and musty, as if the house had lain empty for a long time.
Maybe Galloway isn’t even here?
“Alan? Is that you?”
The only response was more shifting sounds in the dark. It sounded like something dragging—or being dragged—across a carpet.
“If you’re hurt, Alan, stay still. I’m coming to you.”
He moved deeper into the dark. Now there was no sound apart from his breathing and the shuffle of his leather soles on the carpet.
Somebody sobbed, a hitching, like a child holding in tears.
“Alan?”
A man’s voice answered.
“I’m lost, Mammy.”
* * *
Grainger stopped, keeping as still as possible. The speaker hadn’t been Alan—the voice was too deep and rough—so that left just one real possibility. He waited to see if the man would speak again, but there was just the darkness. Grainger spoke first, keeping his voice low and steady.
“Galloway—it’s the police. You don’t want any trouble—you don’t want to get put away again, do you?”
“You have no idea what I want,” was the reply. The speaker was over to Grainger’s left, some yards away—Grainger started to move in that direction as softly as he was able. It wasn’t soft enough.
“I wouldn’t come any closer, copper,” the voice said. “Not if you want your wee brother to still have a head the next time you see him.”
“We’ve got the place surrounded, Galloway.”
“What? The wee lassie you sent round the back door? I’ve seen to her already. She won’t be bothering us.”
Grainger risked another shuffle towards the direction of the voice.
“Give it up, you’ve got nowhere to go.”
“I think we both know that’s not true,” the voice said, and laughed. The sound echoed and rang, as if they were inside a large contained area.
The darkness shifted, and Grainger’s eyes adjusted as it got lighter.
“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” Galloway said.
They stood inside what appeared to be a huge stone cathedral, one of some great age for the stone was weathered and worn. Several ornate panels of stained glass partially filled the tall windows but most were broken or gone completely. A cold breeze blew through the building, bringing the tang of sea spray and the sound of frantic gulls.
Alan lay on an altar, fresh blood showing above his left eye—he was breathing, fast and shallow, but breathing. A big man, broad of chest and muscled with it, stood above Alan, wielding a large stone axe.
Grainger moved towards his stricken brother.
“No closer, copper—or I’ll do for him.”
The big man raised the axe.
“Where are we?” Grainger said softly.
The man laughed.
“Where we need to be. I brought you here to show you something—to show you that there’s no point in chasing me anymore. It’s over there, in the nave. Go and have a look. I’ll stay here with the wee man until you get back.”
“How do I know you
In for a penny, in for a pound.
He rapped again and shouted.
“Mr. Galloway? I’m sure this will only take a minute.”
There was no sound of a lock being engaged and no indication of any movement from inside—but the door swung open before he could knock again, revealing a dark hallway beyond.
“I’m coming in, Mr. Galloway,” Grainger said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
He walked into the hallway, reaching to either side in search of a light switch. Just as his right hand found the mechanism the door slammed shut behind him. He was startled, drew his hand back, then reached for the switch again—and met only air and blackness.
“Stop playing silly buggers, Mr. Galloway. I know you’re in here.”
Something heavy shifted in the dark farther inside. There was a smell, faint but unmistakable, of bleach. The air tasted dry and musty, as if the house had lain empty for a long time.
Maybe Galloway isn’t even here?
“Alan? Is that you?”
The only response was more shifting sounds in the dark. It sounded like something dragging—or being dragged—across a carpet.
“If you’re hurt, Alan, stay still. I’m coming to you.”
He moved deeper into the dark. Now there was no sound apart from his breathing and the shuffle of his leather soles on the carpet.
Somebody sobbed, a hitching, like a child holding in tears.
“Alan?”
A man’s voice answered.
“I’m lost, Mammy.”
* * *
Grainger stopped, keeping as still as possible. The speaker hadn’t been Alan—the voice was too deep and rough—so that left just one real possibility. He waited to see if the man would speak again, but there was just the darkness. Grainger spoke first, keeping his voice low and steady.
“Galloway—it’s the police. You don’t want any trouble—you don’t want to get put away again, do you?”
“You have no idea what I want,” was the reply. The speaker was over to Grainger’s left, some yards away—Grainger started to move in that direction as softly as he was able. It wasn’t soft enough.
“I wouldn’t come any closer, copper,” the voice said. “Not if you want your wee brother to still have a head the next time you see him.”
“We’ve got the place surrounded, Galloway.”
“What? The wee lassie you sent round the back door? I’ve seen to her already. She won’t be bothering us.”
Grainger risked another shuffle towards the direction of the voice.
“Give it up, you’ve got nowhere to go.”
“I think we both know that’s not true,” the voice said, and laughed. The sound echoed and rang, as if they were inside a large contained area.
The darkness shifted, and Grainger’s eyes adjusted as it got lighter.
“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” Galloway said.
They stood inside what appeared to be a huge stone cathedral, one of some great age for the stone was weathered and worn. Several ornate panels of stained glass partially filled the tall windows but most were broken or gone completely. A cold breeze blew through the building, bringing the tang of sea spray and the sound of frantic gulls.
Alan lay on an altar, fresh blood showing above his left eye—he was breathing, fast and shallow, but breathing. A big man, broad of chest and muscled with it, stood above Alan, wielding a large stone axe.
Grainger moved towards his stricken brother.
“No closer, copper—or I’ll do for him.”
The big man raised the axe.
“Where are we?” Grainger said softly.
The man laughed.
“Where we need to be. I brought you here to show you something—to show you that there’s no point in chasing me anymore. It’s over there, in the nave. Go and have a look. I’ll stay here with the wee man until you get back.”
“How do I know you
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