Shaking off the feelings of disgust with himself, he got out of the shower and patted himself with a towel, wincing as the rough fabric scraped against the parts of his body that were grazed and bruised. He pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and loose tracksuit bottoms before climbing into bed and pulling the covers around him. It was light outside, but he needed to be asleep if he could; he couldn’t face being awake right now.

Adrian was alone when he woke. He reached across the bed but there was no one there. His head hurt and his mouth was dry. A sadness came over him, a sadness he couldn’t quantify. The hard swelling in his lip and his aching body brought home the nightmare that he had endured. He gasped aloud in anguish, unable to keep the grief inside him.

He realised his phone was ringing. He picked it up and looked at it. Imogen. There was a smear of blood on the screen. He dropped the phone as if it were burning his skin. An hour late for work. He couldn’t go in, not today. He wiped the screen with a pillowcase before throwing the pillow across the room. Then he dialled the DCI.

‘DS Miles, we’ve been looking for you,’ DCI Kapoor said.

‘I have a temperature,’ Adrian rasped, sounding rougher than he had imagined he would. He didn’t need to fake it – he sounded pathetic without even trying. Just hearing his own voice set his teeth on edge. ‘I feel rotten. I’m so sorry, but I can’t come in today.’

‘You do sound terrible. I’ll let Imogen and Matt know you won’t be in.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, hanging up before he began to cry. He could feel it coming.

What was he doing? He should report this, but the thought of it made him feel bilious. His phone rang again: it was Imogen. He couldn’t face talking to her right now. He was completely lost inside himself. Nothing existed outside his own mind. He couldn’t think about his responsibility to report what had happened.

The moment he had realised what the man was about to do to him replayed over and over in his mind, as though if he could erase that one moment then none of it would have happened. He was in that van for over five hours, but he didn’t remember it. He remembered bits, but there was a lot that was unclear. Was it because he had been drunk? He was drunk at the start, but his adrenaline was coursing so quickly he sobered fast. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it; there was nothing else. He closed his eyes, praying that sleep would take him again.

Chapter Forty-Six