Wild People

‘Why didn’t anyone fucking tell me, Huw?’ I had to keep my frustration quiet.

‘You’re on sick leave, Sarge. And Ryan Shaw was outside of your jurisdiction.’

‘What happened?’

‘We don’t know exactly, but it looks like one of his dope buying expeditions went tits up.’

‘Where was this?’

‘They found his car in Cheshire. They’re working on the assumption that he was on his way back from Manchester.’

‘Had he had an accident?’

‘The car was found on a track leading to a worked-out sandpit. It had been burnt out, with him inside.’

I did a quick mental exercise. Having met Ryan twice I could dismiss suicide. And guys in his business didn’t drive down deserted tracks in the hope of spotting a rare orchid or an elusive bittern. ‘Did the fire kill him?’

‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask Emrys Hughes. He’s been appointed the liaison officer to help out the Cheshire force with what we know this end.’

‘Let me know if you hear any more on that front.’

‘One thing …’ His voice went sombre.

‘What’s that?’

‘There’s talk that he’d been tortured.’

It’s hard to emerge from a rhododendron bush nonchalantly, but I did the best I could while still stunned and fogged with the revelation of Ryan Shaw’s messy end. Our unfinished business hung there like an abandoned bridge project. Now we were never going to reach the other side. Not without hiring a fucking medium.

It could just be coincidence.

He was in a risky profession. He was a cocky bastard. He may have tried to stiff the wrong guys. Shit, knowing the reputation of some of those bastards, he may even just have sneezed at the wrong time.

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