Free Keep Me Alive by Natasha Cooper

for him?’ he asked himself out loud.
    Boney winced at the sound of his voice, then moved closer to provide a little comfort. Boney was the only one he could talk to now, apart from Ron, who didn’t count.
    Tim’s teeth chattered, even though it was so hot. Boney looked up, as if to say something useful, but there was nothing anyone could say. If he wasn’t going to prison, Tim had to get some money fast. Flying for Bob was the only way he knew. Somehow he had to find the courage to go back.
    He rubbed his shoulder, where Bob had gripped it as he’d made his threats. Could he do it? Could he go back, knowing how much he risked?

Chapter 6
    Five grey concrete tower blocks reared up from a space the architect had intended to be a spirit-nurturing garden. Now it was a mixture of rubbish-strewn tarmac and straggling grass decorated with condoms and drug addicts’ leavings. Wind tore through it, making the swings jangle at the end of their rusty chains. A young woman with rough peroxided hair was desultorily pushing a toddler in one of them. Three other preschool children were kicking a ball towards the apology for a lawn.
    Will watched one of them trip and smack down on the tarmac. That was probably safer than the grass. At least it couldn’t conceal dirty syringes or dog shit. The boy lifted himself a little off the ground to reveal a forehead pouring with blood. He screamed. The woman at the swing ignored him. Will moved forwards; someone had to help. He picked up the child, who looked and felt the same size as his nephew and must have been no more than about four. Will stood him on his feet and squatted down to ask where he lived.
    ‘You leave him alone.’ The hoarse shriek made him turn. Another woman was running towards him, black hair flying behind her. ‘Let him go or I’ll have the law on you.’
    Will stood up to explain. The woman grabbed the boy and hurried him off. The other children who’d been playing with him looked after her but didn’t move. Squeaking chains told
him that the mother at the swing was still pushing her toddler. No one said anything. When Will looked around, none of them would meet his gaze.
    That’s what you get for trying to help, he thought, wanting to shout out that any parent should be grateful a stranger bothered to pick up her bleeding child, and that if the law were to be used against anyone it should be her.
    She’d meant the police, of course. Once Will would have agreed. These days he knew that ‘the law’ was something quite different, a matter of interminable arguments over minutiae fought out between two clever barristers hoping to please a third. None of the triumvirate would have any direct experience of the lives they debated, and none would care a toss about what happened to the people concerned.
    That’s not fair, he told himself. Trish cares.
    A nasty little imaginary voice he hadn’t heard for a long time asked him if he was sure of that. He smothered it and set about what he had come to do.
    He was here to walk in the steps of her friend so that he could identify the source of the poison that might yet kill her. He abandoned the children and headed off towards the block he needed. There were so many exits from this estate that he wanted to know exactly where this Inspector Caroline Lyalt had been, in order to match her journey. It probably wasn’t necessary to go to the very flat, but he’d made Trish get the full address, so he’d do it anyway. He’d found out the hard way that detail mattered.
    Ten minutes later he was standing with his back to the shining front door of flat 36B, nine floors up from the ground in South Tower, and trying to decide whether his guide would have taken the lift or the stairs. Trish had said her friend was very fit, and the lift was absolutely disgusting, so the stairs were a distinct possibility. He looked left towards them, then right again to where the lift was creaking towards a stop.
    Its doors jerked open to reveal a