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I decide to go up in the lift, which takes a couple of minutes to arrive, and when it does it smells of urine. I reconsider and head for the stairs. It’ll be good exercise.
A few minutes later, I’m at the door to number twenty-eight. I knock and wait.
“Piss off,” comes the reply from within. “I’m busy.”
Fuck that.I knock again, harder. This is his last chance before I boot the door in.
There’s a lot of shuffling and rattling, but eventually he’s at the other side of the door. I step to the side so he can’t see me through the peephole.
“Who the fuck is it?” he snarls. “I told you, I’m busy.”
“Council. There’s a leak upstairs,” I reply. “I need to check your plumbing.”
“It’s fine. Piss off.”
“I have to warn you, sir, that the landlord has a right of access in such matters. If you fail to let me inspect the property and do any necessary wok, you could be liable for the cost of repairs.”
“Oh fuck. Right then…” The lock grates, and the door swings inwards.
I help matters along by planting my boot in the door. Hard. It flies open, and Waddington is flung backwards along his hallway. I charge inside, grab him by the front of his uniform shirt, and fling him up against the wall.
“Now then,” I growl. “Where did we get to?”
He wriggles and squirms, tries to land a punch or two, then resorts to attempting to prise my fists out of his clothing. I adjust my grip so my hand is around his throat and enjoy the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. I tighten my hold. He’s struggling for breath. His face goes crimson, and he claws in desperation at my forearm.
“Not nice to be on the receiving end, is it?” I smile at him. “Jenna sends her regards, by the way.”
He’s in no position to answer. I squeeze harder and wait until he’s on the point of passing out before I relax my hold and let him drag in a gulp or two of oxygen, then I start to throttle him again.
It’s the most fun I’ve had all day, but all good things must end. I choke him almost into unconsciousness one more time for luck, then I let him go. He slides down the wall, gasping and coughing.
I drop to my haunches in front of him. “I need a word with you, Nigel.”
“You bastard,” he croaks.
I smirk and land my fist on his jaw. “Now, now, shall we keep this civil?”
“You’ll go down for this,” he manages through swollen lips. “You can’t come in here—”
“But, here I am,” I reply, “and I’m going nowhere. Not yet. So, I have two questions for you…”
He glares at me but sensibly remains quiet. Well, fairly quiet, if you ignore the wheezing and coughing.
“First,” I continue, “Why did you and your pervy little chum decide to pester Jenna? You knew she was one of ours. The Hope and Anchor is ours, and you lot keep your distance. That’s how it works.”
“We had police business with her. Reports of underage drinking…”
I land another blow, this time to his midsection. “Try again.”
“It’s true. Our inspector…”
“Should know better. What’s his name?”
“Her.Hername. Susan Whymark.”
It’s not a name I know. “Is she new?”
He nods. “Transferred from Aberdeen two months ago.”
