John Newton stared at the three grim-faced police officers. "Why's no one asking questions? And what's with this terrorist thing?"

The interview room door opened, and an older man entered.

"Newton, I'm Commander Haliwell. My security team will take you from here to a safe house. Your solicitor is aware that you are now a terrorist suspect. Sergeant, please go and collect a one-piece coverall for our guest."

Wilson nodded and left.

"Don't give me that shit. You know I'm not a fucking terrorist. My name is John Newton, and that makes me somebody. I have rights."

"You should have studied law," said Haliwell. I can and will hold you for fourteen days. You have the information I need, and you will give it to me."

"What the fuck do I know of interest to you?"

"Get that addled brain of yours working, or you might find you're put away for a long time on a charge of murder."

Sergeant Wilson returned with a white coverall and flung it at Newton. "Strip and put that on. Silver placed his borrowed clothes into an evidence bag."

As he undressed, John gazed at the men. "I bet you lot get a hard-on watching this. You can give me a blow job or if you like to play with my balls."

"Shut it," said Wilson. "Hold your arms out."

"Why?"

"Do it."

John pushed out his arms and a set of handcuffs clamped onto his wrists.

When Silver pulled open the door. Four armed police officers stood, waiting.

"Hood," said Haliwell.

"My pleasure, sir," said Wilson as he covered Newton's head.

Two armed men ushered Newton out of the room and along a corridor to the lift. As he sensed the lift descending, he asked. "Where are we going?"

"You'll find out when we get there, but I can tell you it's a no smoking and a no drinking venue. You are going to become as dry as the Sahara."

"No problem Sherlock. I can do that in my sleep."

Haliwell laughed. "Who mentioned sleep?"

The buzzer operated, and the doors opened.

Still holding his arms, two men pushed him into the rear seat of a car with blacked-out windows. One fastened his seat belt.

Haliwell settled into the passenger seat while two of his team sat alongside Newton.

"You know where," said Haliwell to the driver.

"Yes, Sir."

***

John sat between the two silent men. His hands shook, and he needed a fix.

"You can't do this. Stop the fucking car. Let me out."

Everyone laughed.

With little traffic, the driver sped along the narrow country roads. Tall Pine trees on either side obscured the sun.

Fifty minutes later, the vehicle took a hard left, forcing John to lean on the man next to him. He jumped as stones struck and rattled the underside of the car.

The winding road led to a three-hundred-year-old building. The gruesome structure came into the driver's vision. On three sides, rows of silver birch swayed in the cold autumn wind shielding the grey stonewalls from prying eyes. The car passed a marble fountain, unused and dry. Dead leaves filled the once ornate fishpond. Those locals who ventured near understood the building was a private clinic.

The driver followed the track and stopped outside a two-storey granite-faced building. Two men grabbed John and hauled him from the car and into the building.

"Take him to the backroom," said a short, plump man.

Haliwell spoke as he entered, "Is everything ready?"

"The beds have clean sheets, and the kitchen cupboards contain enough food for an army. The interrogation room is as you requested."

The two officers forced John onto a hard wooden chair and removed the hood.

He gazed around the empty white, painted space. A thought crossed his mind as he realised he might not leave this room ever."

"This is your own private room. Shout scream or cry no one will hear you. No one, apart from my team, knows you are here. When I allow you to sleep, my men will give you a mattress, piss on it, and you lose the privilege." He glanced at his Rolex. "It's late, and I'm tired, you will be fed. Tomorrow I need answers and at you will supply them."

John sneered. "Don't suppose you have any cigarettes."

Haliwell nodded to one of his men. "Let him have one but no matches."

John snorted. "Bastard." He gazed around. The walls were bare, and nothing not even a crack in the paintwork disturbed the smooth plaster. High and beyond any hope of reaching two floodlights operated. He wondered if they ever went out. Not even a shadow broke the stark whiteness.

John lay on the mattress, and his mouth dry, fear of the unknown scared the hell out of him. His drug-crazed mind wandered. His vision travelled to the corners of the room. The walls appeared to meet at ninety degrees, but then they moved. He shook his head, and they drifted back into position.

"You don't frighten me," he shouted. "I know people."

His withdrawal symptoms ebbed and flowed. Stabs of pure pain rocketed through his nervous system. They want me to scream, but I won't. Shaking, he curled into a tight ball, closed his eyes and fought the devil burning his brain.

The next morning he screamed for hours. The pain in his stomach, legs and spine erupted in waves. "I know you are watching," he shouted. "Give me a fucking fix. Please, one to ease the pain. I promise I'll not ask for another.

***

"How long before we help him?" asked a male nurse?

Haliwell turned on his chair. "Another twenty-four hours at least. In three days, we give him a lifesaver. With luck, he'll remember what he did with that laptop. I'm heading back to my office. Don't let him die. See you tomorrow.

The nurse returned his gaze to the monitor. "I might need to use a straight jacket. He'll start banging his head next to kill the pain."

"Do what you must, but I need him breathing ."

"No problem, sir."

***

The monitor showed John curled into a ball. The nurse returned to reading his book. As he glanced at the screen, John vomited a greenish-yellow liquid.

"That's all I need. Harry the fucker has thrown up." The two male nurses entered the room. Harry carried the straight jacket.

"Arms out Jonny boy. Believe me, this is for your own safety."

John did not struggle. Bloodshot eyes stared at Harry. "Fuck off. Let me die."

"You're not going to die. Well, not today or tomorrow."

With practised efficiency, one man pulled Johns arms into the air. In one swift movement, Harry fitted the canvas jacket, and in seconds, their patient lay secure.

One nurse nudged him with his foot. "The boss says you can have something tomorrow if you tell him what you did with the laptop."

John lost hope of a life without pain.

One good fix and you will tell us everything. For the moment, I'll let you have a drink of water. It'll make your mouth taste better, but the mattress goes. We need to have it washed."

"Fuck off, bastard."

The man placed a plastic water bottle on the floor, lifted the mattress clear ready to remove.

John struggled to his feet and went to charge at the wall.

The nurse's hand shot out and stopped him dead. "Go get the restraints for his feet. The governor wants him in one piece."

John kicked out, but the man's grip never faltered.

"Bad move. Now I have to feed you."

The other returned and bound John's legs with wide leather straps so that he could not stand.

"I have right's," screamed John.

The nurse pushed him onto the floors. "You left your rights at the door. You are terrorist scum. You lost any right to live when you changed sides. Tell the man what he wants to know and just maybe you'll survive."

"You can't do this."

Harry laughed. "We have and who are you going to tell. One quick injection and you'll be food for insects. The coroners' report will say death from a drug overdose. Now shut the fuck up, or I'll gag you."

For the next thirty-six hours, the nurse gave John two codeine tablets, three times a day, mixed in with his food.

Haliwell returned, dropped his briefcase on the floor. He faced the two men monitoring John. "Strap him in the chair. Do not remove the straight jacket and turn the camera towards the ceiling."

"Yes, boss," said the nurse.

Ten minutes later, John sat, secured to a heavy wooden chair, its four legs bolted to the floor.

Haliwell entered carrying a white plastic chair which he placed one metre in front of John. Before he sat, he removed the gag. "That goes back on if you scream or shout. Understood?"

John nodded.

Now I don't have a lot of time. I want answers right now, or I walk away."

John lifted his head. "You can't do this."

"Watch me, arsehole." Haliwell stood and lifted his chair...

"You can ask me questions, but I don't remember stabbing anyone."

"I never said you stabbed him. The laptop who did you sell it too?"

"This is so funny."

"Care to elaborate."

"Since I became an addict, I promised myself I'd get clean. You are doing me a favour, and now that it's happening, I find my life is boring, and the only thing I can think off is the next fix.

"The laptop. Where is it?"

"I don't know."

Haliwell stood and strolled out of the room. John screamed, "I don't fucking know."

Three minutes later, Haliwell returned with the nurse. "Inject that piece of human debris."

The nurse tapped the hypodermic to remove any air. With John's bare right foot tight between his legs, he injected he contents into a pulsing vein. "Give him a couple of minutes.

"You can go," said Haliwell to the nurse. As he watched the pain fall from John's eyes, he smiled.

"That's good stuff. What is it?"

"I've no idea. Harry calls it his concoction."

John's eyes bored deep into Haliwell's as if trying to read his mind. "Cold turkey made me hate myself for the things I have done. Today I hate you too. Since I don't give myself respect, you can fuck my arse. I don't care. For me, everything is black or white, but never right or wrong. At this moment, you are a person to make my next fix possible. Property is something that can be sold. It's another form of money. The thief always wins. My life between each fix is a nightmare of wild activity, but every hit is a winner."

Haliwell waited for John to hit a high. "Why did you murder that man, John?"

"I needed money, and I didn't kill him."

"The blood on your knife says you did."

"He fell onto the blade."

"So it was an accident?"

"Black and white. An accident."

"Where's the laptop?"

"In the fucking river. You don't get much for a crappy laptop these days. Mobile phones are better."

"Are you sure?"

"I just fucking told you where it is. Are you so old you're deaf or just fucking stupid?"

"No, John. I'm going now. The nurse will take care of you. Sleep well."

"Another concoction would be great."

Haliwell stood and lifted his chair. "I'll see what I can do."

"You do that."

On his return to the office, Haliwell let out a long breath. "Let him dry out and make sure he's in good condition for his trial. When we recover the laptop, I'll be back to charge him with the murder of Jacob Spink."

"Good hunting," said the nurse.