Paralysed with pain and fear, he just lay there. He hated himself for not moving. It was a small consolation knowing that the man clearly had no plans to kill him; though he wasn’t sure he wanted to live through this. Adrian knew from his years of experience working on the force that this was a life changer; there was no amount of counselling, no amount of therapy that would ever make him OK again. He would never be that same person he was a few hours ago – that Adrian was gone.

‘Where are you taking me?’ Adrian called, wondering what could possibly be next.

The man flipped him over. Adrian still couldn’t see his face. Nothing about him was familiar and it should have been – this was obviously personal.

The man put his dirty fingers in Adrian’s mouth as far as he could. Adrian gagged and threw up, his vomit spilling out from the sides of his mouth and down his cheeks onto the floor beneath him. He drew his knees up to try to shield himself as the occasional streetlight illuminated the inside of the van and he felt even more vulnerable than before.

The taste of vomit was sour and unpleasant. Adrian pushed as much from his mouth as he could, aware of the hand pushing on his neck. The regurgitated whisky and syrupy Coke had pooled under his head. He tried not to think about was happening inside the van. The man let go of Adrian’s throat and sat back, allowing Adrian to curl into a ball.

The man then left Adrian alone and after a few minutes, the van stopped. The door opened and the man jumped out before pulling Adrian out until his half-naked body smacked against the cold, hard concrete. He lay there for a moment, wondering what was next. The engine started and the van door slid shut before they pulled away. Adrian was alone again.

Silence descended. Adrian pulled on his trousers and looked around; it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the light. He looked up and saw the familiar sight of his front door. The man had dropped him to his house. They knew where he lived. Just like they had known where to grab him from and how they had known he was a police officer.

Bumping into them hadn’t been an accident. There was no way this was a random attack. His phone, keys and wallet were on the ground next to him. He grabbed them and got onto all fours before standing. He looked at the time on his phone: half past five in the morning. Stumbling over to the side of the road, he threw up into the drain before staggering towards the house. He negotiated the lock as quickly as his trembling hands would allow and almost fell inside, slamming the door behind him and curling into a ball again.

Chapter Forty-Five