Mike growled. ‘Don’t be fucking stupid. I don’t hurt kids or women. I only want to find my son. He was with her.’

The landlord nodded. ‘Well, she lives up there.’

Wasting no time, Mike sprinted over to the back entrance of the flats. He jumped the stairs two at a time, and then he was faced with two doors opposite each other. He could see that the door to the right was smashed in. His mouth suddenly became dry as his nerves tingled all over his body. Slowly, he pushed the door open, and the sight before him made him fall to his knees. Staffie and Arty were behind, looking over Mike’s shoulders. At first, all they could see was Ricky’s lifeless body. Then they saw his white T-shirt covered in blood, and, more shockingly, a hessian sack tied over his head, which was stained in dark claret.

Mike let out a blood-curdling scream like a dying wolf, while he pawed at the sack to get it off Ricky’s head. ‘Noooo, please God, no, not my boy, please, not my boy!’ With his body shaking uncontrollably, he tried to remove the strangling cord that was knotted around Ricky’s neck.

Arty pushed past, shocked at the scene in front of him. On his knees next to Mike, he watched his dad cautiously remove Mike’s hands and make headway as he untied the cord.

‘Mikey, Mikey, he’s breathing. Look, he ain’t dead,’ yelled Arty.

Finally, they managed to pull the sack off. To their horror, Ricky’s face was unrecognizable – it was swollen like a medicine ball. His eyes were mere slits, his lips were like fat sausages, and his nose was smashed to pieces.

Gently, Mike cradled his battered son’s head and cried like a child. ‘Dear God, why? Why the fuck did they attack my boy?’ The tears plummeted down his face as he rocked his son. ‘Please, don’t die. Please, don’t leave me!’

Arty got to his feet and called an ambulance while Staffie’s attention turned to a prone shape partly obscured by the sofa. ‘Fuck! Is that Kendall?’

Arty was giving the emergency service operator details, but as he turned to see his dad leaning over Kendall’s lifeless body on the floor, he said, ‘Er, you’d better send two ambulances. There’s a girl here who looks like she’s been attacked too. Please, please, hurry.’

Staffie stared at the girl in horror and disgust. Arty slid past him and kneeled by her side, feeling for a pulse. Then he looked up. ‘She’s fucking dead. Oh my God, she’s dead.’

Staffie looked around for a sheet to cover the girl’s naked and bruised body. Unexpectedly, a tear trickled down his face. ‘What animals would do this?’