The Shadows of Justice by Simon Hall

night.
    Watching her. As he had from the start. And would until the end.
    And that moment was coming. It was in the air, all around her.
    But no easy ending. Just an inescapable agony.
    The smell. So ordinarily everyday, but here and now so fearful, so heavy with fate. In her nose and ears. Her eyes and mouth. Unmistakable, unavoidable, no matter how she turned her head to try to escape.
    Petrol. Volatile, vicious petrol.
    And the sound. The easy innocence of a soft rustling. Like the English countryside on many a summer’s day. From the walks she had taken with Dad, through fields and over stiles, on their weekend outings from the city.
    The dry sound of golden straw.
    And one more noise to reinforce her certainty. To know what surrounded her, and the end which awaited.
    Newspaper. Ripped into strips. And crumpled into balls.
    Rolled, shifted and positioned. With exacting certainty. To encircle her helpless body.
    Ready to feed the flames of the pyre.
    Annette tried to gulp, but the gag allowed no respite. She could see nothing and say nothing. She would die blind, mute and immobile.
    Able only to wait for the fire. And helpless, feel her skin bubble, blister and burn.
    She had expected the end so many times. In the van, when she was sick. When the cloth was pulled from her mouth. She was ready for the knotted knuckles of a flying fist.
    A lesson. A beating. A punishment. Blood flowing and teeth breaking. The blows growing more frenzied, the pain whitening until the grateful release.
    Never to come around.
    But there was only the thrust of a rag. The sickness wiped away. And the sudden shock of a cold cascade of water.
    How she gulped it down. Chewed it from the air, each sluice, every drop.
    Until the binding gag was restored.
    Then once more readying for the end. When the rumbling slowed and quietened, and the doors opened.
    The breeze on her face, the hands pulling her, the arms lifting her, carrying her through sightless space. The sound of seagulls in the sky.
    She had expected to fly. Soar from the clifftop, at last unbound, until the killing impact. Twisted and broken, her forsaken body claimed by the gentle undertaker of the creeping tide.
    No headstone here. No loving memorial to young Annette Newman. No forever remembered and always missed. No last resting place recorded, no black-clad mourners to lament her passing.
    But she had found only cold, hard floor. And distant noises.
    The creak of a stair. Whispers in the darkness. Perhaps a plane flying by. Maybe a bird’s cheerful song.
    A secluded door closing. The muted burble of a quiet radio.
    And always the sound of time passing. The blasting silence of the indistinct, immeasurable, hours.
    She was cold now. Shivered, twitched to shift her weight. Her flank was numbed, lying on this slab of a floor. But she was trussed too tight to move.
    A trickle of blood ran down her ankle.
    Dust was starting to settle in her nose, mixing with the petrol, forming the paste of the coming death.
    She would smell herself burn.
    Annette tried to imagine. To find a refuge in her mind.
    James, that night on the beach.
    Anywhere. Any escape. Anything.
    But the darkness was too filled with the dancing terrors of her taunting thoughts.

Chapter Twelve
    They ran for the back door. Dan had been expecting a rapid clambering up to the MIR, but Adam headed downwards, towards the basement.
    These corridors of the police station were much less trodden than others. There was no banter, none of the continual sound of feet which characterised other floors. It was quieter, darker, had the air of a lair.
    The catacombs of Charles Cross , Dan thought, with a reporter’s whim.
    In the car park, Adam had cornered the sergeant who was attempting to organise the melee. “How long?”
    “Five minutes, maybe ten.”
    The detective didn’t reply, instead turned and set off, Claire, Katrina and Dan following.
    “What’re we doing?” Dan asked. “Where are we going?”
    “You’ll see.”
    Adam