Black Daffodil (Trevor Joseph Detective series) by Katherine John Page B

fight.
    Sarah’s assailant locked his fingers into her hair and dragged her backwards into the inner hall. She screamed and lashed out furiously to no effect before instinctively resorting to the moves she’d been taught in self-defence sessions. She flung herself forward, caught the man off balance, planted one foot on the floor and kicked back at his shins with the other, before swivelling round and grabbing his genitals.
    He screamed but knotted his fingers even more tightly into her hair before slapping her soundly across the head with his free hand. He threw her into one of the bedrooms, stepped after her and locked his arm around her throat. She could hear Tiger scratching and whimpering outside the door and fought all the harder.
    ‘You want it rough?’ Her attacker lifted her head to his. His teeth were black and broken. She reeled as a wave of stinking beer breath wafted over her. Determined he wouldn’t get the better of her, she brought back her elbow and thrust it into his solar plexus. The breath hissed from between his lips but his grip remained firm.
    He thrust Sarah on the bed, jumped on top of her and pressed the full weight of his arm across her neck, cutting off her air supply. She reached up and dug her fingernails into his eyes and cheeks, scraping and tearing at his skin. He relaxed his hold for an instant. Utilising every ounce of strength she possessed, she propped herself up. He brought back his hand and punched her across the head. Ringing filled her ears. Darkness crept inwards from the corners of the room when he punched her again – and again – and again –
    The last thing she heard was shouts from the living room and Tiger scratching at the door in the outer hall. Random thoughts sparked through her mind.
    ‘Please don’t let them hurt the dog or Chris. Please don’t let them hurt the dog or Chris … Please …’ She plunged downwards into a swirling mist.
    Peter drew up outside the tower block, glanced at the rubbish strewn parking area and remained on the road.
    ‘This is it?’ Trevor leaned forward and looked upwards.
    ‘The address we were given.’ Peter removed the ignition keys.
    ‘You see what I see?’
    Peter glanced through the window. ‘Parked pizza delivery van?’
    ‘Pizza delivery painted on the side but no telephone number or logo. Not keen to advertise and not very bright. Take a look at the driver watching the door of the tower block.’
    ‘Could be he’s waiting for someone to deliver a pizza.’
    ‘At midday around here?’ Trevor said sarcastically.
    ‘You’re right; Giro bunnies don’t leave their bed until sundown.’
    ‘Could be Chris and Sarah’s deals have annoyed the local supplier and that’s his driver. Is there another entrance to the block?’ Trevor asked.
    ‘It’s worth taking a look.’ Peter started the car and drove around until they faced the back of the building.
    ‘No door.’
    ‘Boarded up windows on the ground floor.’
    ‘Bring the torch,’ Trevor ordered.
    Five minutes later Peter had located a loose board and they were inside an abandoned ground floor flat. It was pitch black and the electricity had been cut off. The fetid air stank and the floor was littered with syringes and other debris they were reluctant to examine.
    ‘Third floor,’ Trevor checked after recalling the briefing notes he’d memorised.
    ‘Third floor,’ Peter confirmed. ‘You know what I hate most about these bloody places. The stench. Stick this in Westminster and it would be advertised as a spacious luxury block with panoramic views from the top floors. Why do some people live like bloody pigs?’
    ‘Don’t insult pigs.’
    ‘I keep forgetting you grew up on a farm. At least pigs don’t inject themselves with bloody crap.’ Peter kicked half a dozen syringes aside, shone the torch on the floor and picked his way towards the door.

Chapter Six
    Chris was soaked in blood and hurting but he sensed very little of the blood was his. He pushed