Briefly, he was tempted to tell her the truth, but it wouldn't help the situation.
"Think it through. Toreth's a para-investigator. Senior para-investigator." This once, that was something he was unreservedly glad about. "He's not someone a corporate can have vanish. However rich his father is, he won't be able to buy off Int-Sec over something like that. So they'll take him somewhere, rough him up a little — " a lot, it would be a lot, " — do their best to frighten him, and then they'll let him go. Killing him would be stupid."
"So where is he? They took him last night. If that's all it was, where
is
he?"
That was the gaping hole in the explanation. "I don't know. But they won't kill him," he said, trying to sound reassuring for both of them.
She shook her head. "His father mightn't. But Jonny . . . you don't know him.
I
didn't. He's a maniac — you should've heard what he said to Toreth. He threatened him, right to his face. He thinks no one can touch him. He might kill Toreth and not think about the consequences until there's an armed squad kicking in his door."
He didn't want to believe her, especially not when he'd almost managed to convince himself otherwise. However, she was the one who knew Jon Kemp. Sitting still was suddenly impossible. Pacing worked better, and thinking about what he could
do
.
"Very well," he said. "There was a struggle at the flat, so they've taken him somewhere, alive. Not to the address I gave him, though, because that would be too easy to find. You don't know anywhere else? Damn. Have you told I&I?"
"No. If I tell them . . . " She shrugged.
"Everything comes out and he'd be sacked at best. Sacked is better than dead, though." He looked at her, read what she didn't dare say because of how it would sound. "But it wouldn't just be sacked and it wouldn't just be him — it would be you as well."
She nodded. "Not just me, either. You found him the address. We'd all be screwed."
He hadn't thought of that, and he dismissed it now. "If we can't think of something else, though, I&I is all we have to fall back on."
"Of course." She looked hurt that he'd even suggested she wouldn't agree, but he didn't have attention to spare to apologise.
"Do you know any other houses Jon Kemp might have access to? Most probably somewhere not too far away."
"No. I didn't even know where he lived. But I can call Daedra Kincaidy. She might know something."
While she made the call, he broke off pacing long enough to make tea. He'd had a coffee just before she arrived, but the ritual helped to calm him. Stick to the practical; don't speculate on what might be happening. What might already have happened, making all this frantic hunting for leads useless.
Toreth didn't notice the lights come up slowly, or the door open.
"Good afternoon, 'Officer'."
The mocking voice pulled him back to alertness. He turned round, ignoring the pain in his wrist. Doubts about who had sent the men were banished when he saw Jonny standing in the open doorway. He was twisting a thick leather strap between his hands — which cleared up any other questions Toreth had about the planned programme — and grinning like the arrogant little shit he was. The bruises Toreth had given him were still vivid, though, and satisfyingly worse than Sara's.
Jonny closed the door and strolled over, stopping a couple of metres away — out of kicking range. "Did you
really
think you were going to get away with it, Para-investigator Toreth? That I couldn't find out who you were?"
No, I just didn't think you'd be stupid enough to try anything, he thought, but he kept his mouth shut. He might as well make an effort to be sensible, to start with. With Jonny's native talent for pushing his buttons, it wouldn't last long.
"You're going to pay for everything you did, a hundred times over. Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement this evening, so I'm afraid you'll have to stand here," he smiled, "all night. Again. I hope you don't mind. Tomorrow will be worth waiting for, I assure you. And then, when I'm finished, I'm going to kill you. Slowly and painfully."
Toreth blinked. It hadn't occurred to him until now that Jonny would seriously consider killing him. But, Christ, he
meant
it. Sara was right — he was a maniac. She hadn't mentioned that he got his overrehearsed dialogue from bad films, though, not that that made him any less dangerous.
"Not so cocky now, are you?" Jonny continued.
"Why don't you uncuff me and say that again?" he suggested, his resolve slipping already.
Jonny took a couple of steps to the side, where he'd have a clearer view of Toreth's face. "No, I don't think so. Not while I can think of things to do with you there. Maybe later. When
I'm
listening to
you
begging for death. You can do that on your knees."
This time Toreth tried to keep his expression neutral, give no reaction.
Flexing the strap in his hands, Jonny stepped closer. "Was that stupid bitch worth dying for? I hope you got a fuck out of your white knight act, because you won't be having her again."
Toreth kicked out, sooner than he'd meant to, and missed. Jonny stepped back smartly, laughing again.
"Behave yourself, or I'll get someone in here to break your legs."
It was the tone as much as the threat that chilled him: happy anticipation, a child with a new toy.
Jonny smiled. "Well, are you going to behave?"
Toreth's first impulse was to spit in his face and tell him to go fuck himself. On the other hand, he had the strong impression that once he'd given the order Jonny would go through with it whatever Toreth said. And then leave him here all night. Toreth couldn't begin to imagine how much that would hurt, if the shock didn't kill him.
"Well?"
"Yes," Toreth said, through gritted teeth.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I'll behave." If he wanted any more than that, he wasn't getting it.
Fortunately — or unfortunately — Jonny didn't seem to be willing to wait any longer to get on to the main event. He stepped closer, still watching Toreth's face, daring him to move, then lifted the strap and brought it down hard.
The smack across Toreth's shoulder sounded loud and, Christ, it hurt. It had been telegraphed enough to give Toreth plenty of time to set his jaw, but he couldn't stop the gasp of pain.
Jonny smiled, eyes bright and mad as a fucking mink, and did it again.
Again.
And over and over again.
When Sara came back, Warrick didn't need to ask what the answer was. "Damn. All right, I'm tapped out. Your turn."
She poured herself a cup of tea, slowly stirred in milk and sugar. "I think you're right. He's still alive. Because they took him on Friday — they weren't to know he was supposed to be in work today. They'd have until Monday to . . . do whatever."
"Sounds reasonable."
"Reasonable." She looked at him briefly, and shook her head. "Anyway, if they needed that long, they won't be giving him a kicking and throwing him into an alley somewhere. They — I don't know why I keep saying 'they'. It's Jonny, it has to be. Not his father."
She trailed off, and the only sound in the flat was the spoon clinking gently against the cup as she kept stirring mechanically.
"Yes?"
"There's only one thing I can think of to try. It's a bit of a risk, though." She looked up. "For you."
"Anything," he said simply. "If there's any chance at all it will work."
"Call his father. Let him know what Jonny's done. If Jonny . . . if he kills him, then it'll cause a hell of a mess, like you said. Bad for the corporation."
He considered the idea. "Will he believe it?"
"I don't know. I never met him. I never met any of his family."
If Kemp knew nothing about Toreth's disappearance, then the idea was a sound one. If he was behind it himself, then it could place both of them in as much danger as Toreth. However, on balance, it seemed like the best idea so far. "I agree — it has to be worth a try."
Jonny had more self-control than Toreth would have credited him with, pacing himself, spacing the blows, waiting between strikes for the first burning shock of pain to fade. He must have done this before, and he was enjoying doing it now. If he screened out his own harsh breathing, Toreth could hear Jonny panting, only partly from the exertion, if he was any judge.
Nice hobby the bastard had.
Professional admiration worked as a distraction for only so long. Eventually the pain from the strap began to drown out the pain of aching muscles. Of everything except his wrist, repeatedly jolted by the blows.
Jonny might stop if he asked him to, if he begged hard enough, because that was what he wanted to hear. It was tempting, although Toreth knew he'd only switch to something else afterwards, once he'd enjoyed his first victory. Surrender would start the familiar pattern: breaking, moving on, breaking, moving on. Still, against his will, the words formed.
No. He was fucked if he was playing that game.
Toreth took a couple of breaths to steady his voice, not caring any more what was the sensible thing to say, just wanting to find something which would stop it without humiliating himself. "Getting off on it yet?" he asked.
Jonny paused, strap raised. "What?"
Toreth dropped his gaze to Jonny's crotch, looked up again slowly. "I said, 'getting off on it yet?'" He managed an unpleasant smile. "If you wanted a date, you should've asked. You like to take it, right?"
Jonny's eyes went blank with rage, and he dropped the strap, clenching his fist.
It was a reaction, anyway. Toreth took the punches, counting four of them, then let his head fall forwards. He'd seen enough prisoners passed out to allow him to fake it convincingly. But to make it look right he had to hang from the cuffs, and even taking as much weight as he could on his left arm, he nearly didn't have to pretend.
Jonny stopped at once, shook his shoulder, and gave him a couple of open-handed blows to the face. Then, close enough that Toreth could feel his breath, he reached past him, took his right wrist, and squeezed.
Razor-edged claws of pain ripped at his self-control. Toreth somehow kept his muscles loose, didn't make any more noise than an unconscious man might.
Fucking, fucking
hell
. I'm out, you moron. You knocked me out. For Christ's sake, stop it and go away.
Swearing, Jonny kicked the strap across the floor and stamped out of the room. After a few seconds, the lights went out again. Once five minutes had passed with no sign of his return, Toreth let himself take his weight on his legs, without shifting position too much, and bit back a moan of relief. Wary of the possibility of a low-light camera, he kept his head hanging forwards.
Not the most comfortable position, out of the range of extremely uncomfortable positions available to him. For the moment, though, it felt pretty fucking good. He wondered how long he'd been here now. Jonny had said 'good afternoon'. Unless he was smart enough to be screwing with Toreth's sense of time, that meant it was probably Saturday.
Eighteen hours at least, and Sara would've missed him by now. Lucky that they'd had to work today. Jonny must have been hoping for a clear run up until Monday when he'd . . . what? Let him go? If he'd come to his senses by then. Kill him, if he hadn't. Toreth knew which one he was betting on. He could only hope that the people working for Jonny, whoever they were, weren't as fucking demented as he was and that someone would put a stop to this.
Sara would have missed him. Most likely she'd tell Warrick, and they would be doing something about it. Even though he couldn't imagine what, the idea was strangely comforting.
Sara had been making yet more calls in the living room, so as not to disturb Warrick. Going back into the study, she put down the comm earpiece and looked at her nails. She'd chewed almost all the varnish off. It had taken her ages to apply it properly, too, with her finger in the stupid sheath.
"Have you got through to Kemp yet?" she asked.
"Yes." Warrick didn't look up from the computer. "I found his personal comm in the end."
"And?"
"I told him I was missing one senior para-investigator, and that it wouldn't be long before I&I missed him, too."
"Did he believe you?"
"Not at first. Possibly not at the end,either." He sounded impossibly calm. "But in his position, I wouldn't risk not checking, even if I didn't believe. Did you get anywhere?"
"No. Daedra couldn't find anything. She called her sister, and
she
managed to track down another couple of Johnny's exes. None of them knew a fucking thing about him except that they never wanted to see him again."
"Right," he said, obviously not listening beyond hearing the negative.
"She said she'll keep trying and she'll call if she gets anything. Her sister's going to get hold of some friends at the university who probably won't know anything, but it's the only thing she can think of. They might at least be able to give her the names of some of his friends. If the bastard has any."
"Good."
Sara took a deep breath. She appreciated that he was doing his best to help Toreth, and she appreciated that it wasn't useful to panic, but it would be nice to have someone there who acted as if they cared. She had a sudden urge to throw something heavy at him, but she knew she was really angry with herself.
It was all her fault. She'd let Toreth do it and maybe she couldn't have stopped him, but that didn't matter. Her stupid mistake had started it. If she'd listened to Daedrea — if she'd listened to
herself
when Jonny had started acting like a creep . . .
"What next?" she asked.
"I'm going to keep looking. There might be something out there, something to let us track him down."
He didn't sound convinced, and she didn't blame him. There was no reason to think they would be able to find their lost needle in the haystack of New London if Jonny's father couldn't or wouldn't. But anything was better than simply sitting and waiting.