Dying light

'Have you been practising that?' asked the voice on the other end of the radio. "Cos it needs some bloody work.'

'Look: he's a dodgy character, he's got a huge holdall with him and we think it's full of drugs. Now you going to give me that address or not?' It took a minute, but eventually Sergeant Mitchell confirmed that it was the same building they were now standing outside. No way that was a coincidence.

'You want me to send backup?'

'No, we got this one. Just get the letters of commendation ready, OK?'

Sergeant Mitchell said he'd see what he could do.

The building's front door wasn't locked – the Gimp had left it on the snib – so they pushed through into the building's tiny airlock lobby, their shoes scuffing on the coconut matting. It was dark in here, getting even darker as Re

'Looking for a light switch,' he whispered back.

'Are you fucking mental? Do you want everyone to know we're here?'

'I can't see a bloody thing 'Then shut your cakehole and HstenV Silence. Then slowly, a low puffing and the occasional grunt became audible from somewhere above. Jackie grabbed Re

She crept forward again, almost getting to the middle floor when the banister creaked beneath her hand. The grunting from above stopped. Now the only sound was the blood whumping in her ears. Then the torch's beam brushed the stairs behind them and swept upwards, catching Re

A glass bottle smashed against the stairs above their heads, showering the wall with what smelled like petrol. Jackie took a deep breath and bellowed at the top of her lungs: 'POLICE! HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!' then had to jump out of the way as another bottle crashed into the banister, spewing hydrocarbons across the stairs and carpet.

Re

Jackie struggled to stand, but Re

Thud, thud, thud and the Gimp was on the middle floor, ru

'Move!' Jackie slapped Re

Jackie lashed out randomly with a foot and missed, but the Gimp didn't: a heavy boot co

Harsh light, as if someone had turned on the sun, stinging her eyes, making everything leap painfully into focus.

She squinted up to see Re

More thudding down the stairs: the Gimp was nearly at the bottom. Jackie struggled upright, then ducked as another bottle exploded against the wall beside her, sending petrol everywhere. 'BASTARD!' She charged, stopping dead when she saw what the Gimp had in his hands: a Zippo lighter.

Her hair was full of fucking petrol!

Blood oozed from a gash in the Gimp's forehead, ru

Then set the world on fire.

'Christ I'm bored.' PC Steve slumped forward in the driver's seat of his scabby Fiat. Arms crossed over the top of the steering wheel, he let out a theatrical sigh, then said, 'Spits-or Swallows?' Logan said no. 'If-You-Had-to-or-Die?' Another no.

'Shoot-Shag-or-Marry?'

'No. I don't want to play anything, OK?'

'Only trying to pass the time…' They sat in silence for a whole two minutes before the constable came out with, 'Did you hear about Karen's boyfriend?'

Logan frowned. 'Who the hell is Karen?'

'You know, Karen Buchan? WPC? 'Bout so tall? She was with me when we found Rosie Williams?'

The frown turned into a scowl. 'Oh… her.'

'Aye, well.' Steve leaned over and dropped his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, even though there were only the two of them in the car and the rest of the street was deserted.

'Rumour has it her bloke – PC Robert Taylor to you and me has been playing "non-league fixtures", if you know what I mean.'

A small bout of schadenfreude made Logan smile. 'Serves her right.'

'Yeah, she is a bit of a cow. Anyway, he's been seen down the docks doing it! Actually doing it! Can you believe it? I said to Jackie, I said…' There was more, but Logan tuned it out, staring through the window at the dark, silent house.

It was nice of everyone to help out, but basically, this was a monumental waste of time. Another half hour and he was calling it quits. Tomorrow he'd talk to Insch and- The light above Chib's front door blossomed into life.

'… and then she's like,,all, "could he be any balder?" and I said-' Steve was still babbling away to himself so Logan jabbed him one in the ribs. 'Ow! What was that for?'

'Something's up.' He pointed at the house where Chib Sutherland was hurrying out of the front door, a mobile phone clamped to his ear. He went straight to the silver Mercedes sitting outside and jumped in behind the wheel.

The car roared out of the driveway, speeding away from the house. Cursing, PC Steve coaxed his grubby Fiat into life and hurried after Chib, trying not to make it too obvious he was following him.

'What d'you think's got into him?' asked Steve, as Chib jumped the red lights on Springfield Road.

'No idea…' But whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good.

Blue flames raced up the stairs, leaping from step to step on the petrol-soaked carpet. Jackie turned and ran, trying to stay ahead of the blaze. The wall behind her burst into flickering yellow where the last petrol bomb had hit, tendrils of black smoke curling around the next flight of stairs, spiralling upwards to the ceiling. She slithered to a halt on the first-floor landing where Re

'Kick it in!' yelled Jackie. Re