Free The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) by Heather Atkinson

wearing baseball caps. So much for their eyewitness’s statement. When he turned his back to the crowd he was seized by the feeling that he was being watched, all the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He spun back round but no one was paying any attention to him, too busy ogling the white tent that had been erected over Anita’s body. He was disgusted to see some of them filming it on their mobile phones. He grabbed one of his officers.
    “I want all their names,” he said, pointing to the crowd. If it didn’t lead him anywhere at least it would shit the bastards up, he hated how some people revelled in the tragedy of others. One of his officers was already discreetly filming the crowd. He’d study the footage later personally. Something was telling him the killer was here, right now.
    He scowled at a couple of neds who were laughing and making sick jokes. Sometimes he hated this fucking job, hated how he was constantly exposed to the worst of humanity. Anita’s parents were decent hardworking people who’d tried everything they could to save their daughter from herself and they would be devastated by this senseless loss. He rubbed a hand over his large forehead. He’d tried too and failed. Now look what had happened.
     
    Docherty watched Gray from the crowd, enjoying how uneasy he looked. Give him his due he had a nose like a bloodhound, that famous instinct of his was telling him there was more to this murder than met the eye. The DCI still looked like a monkey with his extra long arms that he threw forwards when he walked, the knuckles thick and knobbly, forehead large and domed. Despite his odd appearance he’d managed to get married - and divorced - three times.
    Docherty’s beard was coming along nicely now and with his shaved head he was unrecognisable. Gray didn’t pick him out from the crowd. It gratified him to see his nemesis up close. He enjoyed listening to the wild theories the spectators were coming up with as to who had murdered Anita. They’d get a fucking fright if they realised they were standing right next to the person responsible, he’d bet they wouldn’t be so fucking smart-mouthed then. Docherty revelled in the mayhem he’d caused but he was also a little irritated. None of them had a clue that he’d just escaped from one of Scotland’s toughest prisons and it was starting to annoy him. He wanted Freya and Gray scared, wondering when he was going to come for them. Of course that would make accomplishing his task so much harder but he wanted the fear factor, the manhunt, the entire country knowing his name and fearing it. When were the numpties finally going to discover the truth?
     
    Will was dismayed when he felt himself slowly floating back up into consciousness. For a few minutes he lay still with his eyes closed, assessing how he felt before daring to open his eyes and face the horror and scorn. The pain was still present but it was now a throbbing ache, his face no longer felt like it had been doused with petrol and set alight. He was hot and feverish too and he would have killed for a drink. He was so weak he couldn’t even raise his hand but he could feel the bandages pressing on his face, thick and smothering, and it was difficult to breathe. His eyes flew open when he started to hyperventilate, body rigid with panic, handcuffs clanking against the bed frame.
    It wasn’t Clive who peered over him this time but Harry Jacobs, the head guard. Will went rigid as he stared up into his big face. Even the rest of the guards were frightened of Harry, who liked to inflict his sadistic tortures on Docherty, the most despised of inmates.
    Jacobs’ cold hard eyes filled with scorn. “So you’re finally awake again you bastard. Just fucking peg it and stop wasting vital resources.” He misinterpreted Will’s whimper of fear. “You’re in pain? Good.”
    Will screamed into the bandages when Jacobs’ massive hand pressed down on the stab wound in his stomach.
    “That’s just