As Janey opened her mouth to scream he crossed over to her with two quick strides and hit her across her face with his open hand so heavily that she went down on hands and knees, momentarily stunned.
He bent over her, dragged her upright and holding her by her elbows he shook her, rocketing her head backwards and forwards. Then he gave her a violent shove that sent her reeling across the room to fall flat on the bed. She lay gasping, feeling as if she had been caught by the blast of a bomb.
He went over to her, knelt on the bed, caught her wrist and turned her over on her face. He twisted her arm, driving it up and screwing her wrist as he did so.
She screamed frantically, but his left hand pushed her face into the bedclothes, drowning her scream.
“Where is he?”
Janey wasn’t cut out for a heroine. The pain in her arm made her feel faint. She began to cry.
He wrenched her arm back again.
“No! Don’t! I’ll tell you!” Janey screamed.
“Well, come on, damn you! Where is he?”
“I don’t know where he is, but I’ve got his telephone number,” Janey sobbed.