

## 'I am now a have, but was once a have not.'

Back home by half twelve.

Giving a bottle of Grey Goose a good hiding and caning my last packet of Embassy.

Constantly flicking through the channels on Sky. Making staccato sentences from a bit of this programme and a bit of that.

Then I come across something on one of the movie channels that stops me in my tracks and brings back some real old memories.

### The Abominable Dr. Phibes.

I can remember watching this late one night when I was about 12.

I think it was on BBC 2. Right after the World Snooker Championship highlights.

If my memory serves me correct, Alex Higgins had lost to Terry Griffiths 12-13 in the second round.

I'd begged Mom and Dad to let me stay up and watch the snooker that night, even though I had school in the morning.

And because they knew how much I loved 'Hurricane Higgins' they'd gone to bed and let me stay up alone!

I was suppose to go straight up to bed after the snooker had finished, but I decided I would stay up a little bit longer to have a look at the horror film that was coming on after.

So I lit myself up one of Mom's Benson and Hedges and had a little watch of the film.

Once I'd started watching Dr. Phibes I just couldn't stop.

I was totally mesmerized by it. And by Vincent Price.

Even though it was made 3 years before I was born I'd never seen anything like it before in my whole life.

Mom would never let any of us watch anything that she thought was too scary.

As I remember, it has the best opening of any film ever made, ever!

No one talks for the first 10 minutes, but it don't matter because it grips you and holds your attention....I fucking loved it.

Not like films today. If their ain't a gun fight, an explosion and a sex scene all within the first two minutes, then no cunt'll stay to watch the rest.

And the camera work....last time I went to the cinema was to watch that Lord of The Rings cobblers.

I didn't want to go, but the bird I was seeing at the time convinced me to take her.

About half way through it there was this battle scene and fuck me....the camera was so jerky I couldn't even tell ya who was fighting who or which side they were meant to be on.

Fucking nightmare it was!

It made me feel dead sick it did, to the point where I nearly threw up all over the poor cow.

It's just coming up to the part where Phibes kills this geezer at a party with a mechanical frog mask, so I haven't really missed too much at all.

I settle back into my chair and look forward to watching the rest.

Suddenly I'm a naughty kid again, listening for the tiniest sound of Mom and Dad moving about upstairs.

Ready to stub out the fag, jump on to the settee and pretend I'd fallen to sleep before the snooker had finish and let Dad carry me back upstairs and put me in my bed.

I'm a bit scared that watching it again as a grown man I'll find it laughable, and I do have to admit that it is really farfetched.

But to me it's as good now as it was the very first time that I saw it.

I'm still totally fixated.

About a year or so later the same thing happened to me again, and again it was a Vincent Price film.

Only this time it was called;

Witchfinder General.

That was spectacular n'all.

When Phibes has finished I do a search through the electronic program guide, to see if the Witchfinder is on at any time in the next 7 days.

But it's not. And now I feel a real empty sadness inside.

I make a vow to buy them both, on DVD, as soon as I get the chance.

Then I go back to aimlessly flicking through the Sky channels again.

Suddenly I realize that I'm grinding my teeth.

I try to stop, but I can't.

Soon my head starts rocking forward.

Passed out in the chair by quarter past two.

Blowing spit bubbles in my sleep.

Awake again at seven fifteen.

Chin and chest covered with dribble.

Stiff neck and jaw on the left side, must have been how I was lying.

Drop some Solpadol and Ibuprofen to stop the pain.

Washed, dressed and out the house by eight o'clock.

In a fucking good mood. Singing along to Raspberry Beret.

Looking forward to tonight.

Drive-thru at McDonalds for some breakfast.

Couple of quick sniffs while I wait in the queue.

Two, Sausage and Egg McMuffins and a bitter coffee.

£5.30.

Gobble the plastic, processed food while I'm driving.

Coffee cup held between my legs, scolding my nut sack.

But you like the feeling.......don't you.......

Steelhouse Lane briefing room.

Waiting for the show to start.

Sitting on the front row, my arsehole numb.

Numb from the steel chairs with their hard cushions.

The overhead projector is loaded and ready to give us the matinee performance.

All around me reunions between former colleagues.

I keep my involvement down to a nod and a smile.

Blokey banter is flying around everywhere.

Some people behind me are watching porno vids on their mobile phones, before exchanging them via Bluetooth.

Like squeezing fruit before you buy it!

I hear one of 'em say;

"I've got this one right, where they shit into a pint glass and then into each other's mouths!"

"Oh mate, you've definitely got to send me that one!" is the response.

Like it's fucking normal!

The door opens and in walks Purnell followed by Dan, who is looking rather jaded this morning.

Purnell takes a seat at the end of the front row.

While Dan goes behind the lecture stand in front of us and unfolds the laptop already sitting on it.

"Gentlemen," he issues in a strong authoritative voice I never even knew he had in him. "This investigation is now officially a part of _OPERATION SALVAGE._ "

There's a hum of excitement.

"LIGHTS PLEASE!" shouts Purnell.

The whole room is thrown into darkness, except for a spear of light above our heads from the projector.

I wonder if they'll be any popcorn.......

"As you are all well aware, yesterday the body of an as yet unidentified female was found in a skip in the Heath Town area of Wolverhampton. Initial suspicions that the murder was committed by the notorious serial killer known as the Bin man were last night confirmed, after a detailed autopsy was conducted by local Pathologists assisted by our own Pathologist from the Greater Manchester area. We know that she was aged between 18 and 30 years old and was approximately 5'8". They concur she had seventy plus stab wounds inflicted to her back, and that her nose, lips, ears and tongue had all been removed Post-Mortem. It was also confirmed that there were no signs of any drug use at all."

With the click of a button on his laptop the autopsy photos appear on the pull down screen behind him.

Now I see her face all cleaned up it reminds me even more of Jack's work, especially Catherine Eddowes.

 "Currently we are checking all missing persons lists, as well as putting her fingerprints through AFIS and EURODAC. But, as of yet we've had no matches. Errr....a DNA sample has been obtained and will be run through the NDNAD later today. We do not have the offenders profile and of course no DNA has been found at the other murder scenes. The Bin man destroys his DNA by squirting a certain amount of concentrated acid solution into and around the vagina, making PCR impossible. We are also aware that she had extensive dental work. Her second lower back molar on the left side is missing and she has fillings in her upper left first premolar and her lower right lateral incisor, so she must have visited her dentist with increasing regularity. Her belly button was also pierced and had a distinctive Chanel ring with the famous interlocking double C symbol. Her bag, shoes and jacket were not recovered at the scene, but she was wearing a gold ring on the fourth finger of her right hand suggesting she wasn't married herself. We believe it could well be her Mother's wedding ring and that the hallmark is Polish dated between 1963-1986."

The grainy picture of the hallmark appears on the screen;

Some make a sketch of it, others just scratch their balls and pick their noses.

I don't do either.

"Errrrrr...."

Fucking hell Dan....he's all over the gaff this morning!

"W..we're also working with an expert from the University of Dundee to try and piece her face back together, and get an Artists impression of what she would have looked like. We did put out a press release last night, a copy of which, I believe was left on all of your chairs this morning before you arrived? Anyone without a copy can see myself or DCS Purnell afterwards and we'll give you one. Also an enquiry hotline has been set up and we've already received over 400 calls, so we're all in this for the long haul. Expect to see a lot less of your families over the next few months,"

Everyone groans, except me.

"Errm....the CCTV comes from a time lapse camera and shows an image of a dark couloured car reversing around the back of the flats at 2:35am. Possibly a Mercedes, BMW or another similar four door saloon. This footage has been sent to an imaging expert and also a car model expert. Errr....unfortunately the quality is not good enough to get even a partial plate and unluckily for us the skip is in a blind spot, so we've no actual footage of the man who dumped the body. We've got people doing a CCTV trawl of the cameras along the A4124 to see if we can identify the car arriving, and we've asked the _CMPG_ to get us the number plates of all similar cars travelling North on the M6 after 3 a.m. But as we all know that's a real long shot."

They're crazy if they think he uses his own day-to-day car, this will be a vehicle he's got specifically for the murders.

Most probably just one of a few at his disposal, all modified in some way and kept in a lock up garage somewhere.

No doubt it will have false plates and fake documentation, if it's got any at all.

He's way to clever for them.......

My guess is that it's already been burned out, or been put through a crusher.

All this dicking about will get them no nearer to catching him, believe me.

"So then, what do we know about the killer? Experts reckon he's a white male, 35-60, outwardly normal, nothing remarkable about him at all. More than likely to be married, maybe even with children. He's also well educated, has a good job and is financially secure. He is very charming and persuasive, but has a real sadistic streak. Something that he may not show during his normal everyday life,"

Well that's three quarters of the male population ruled out. Only the other 15% to go!

"He doesn't do this because he's mental, but because he enjoys it! This is no different to him than going to see a football match!"

I fucking hate football and footballers.

Fucking overpaid fannies the lot of 'em!

Rugby league.......Now there's a real sport.

Twenty six blokes charging headlong towards each other.

Dragging one another to the ground.

Slamming their bodies into the dirt.

Broken bones,

Bloody nosed,

Missing teeth,

Muddy faced,

A brutally brilliant game.

And they don't get paid a tenth of what them namby-pamby footballer cuntholes get paid.

Now there really is no justice in that!

"But then, what does he do with the body parts? Some of the offender profilers we've spoken to suggest he might eat them, others think he makes things out of them, similar to Ed Gein, maybe. But all are agreed that the bags, shoes and jackets are taken as trophies. However he never removes any jewellery, which we err....Erm."

It's getting painful to watch now, as he tries to maintain his sense of direction.

I look down the line and see Purnell moving uncomfortably, Itching to get up off his seat and take control of the briefing....fucking freak!

"Errr....we've got six confirmed victims, s..s..so far that is. All found in skips or bins in and around Manchester. One was even found behind a Aldi supermarket. But not all the Victims have been found within the M60. The last one was found on the outskirts of Bolton, and of course this victim is number seven and then there's a few other potential Vics we haven't got time to discuss now. We know that the first five Victims were street walkers and that the last confirmed Victim before this murder was a call girl, so it's fair to assume that our Vic is either one or the other. The locations where the bodies are found are only _'Deposition sites'_ not murder scenes, indicating that they are killed elsewhere and transported to the locations where they are found. There are no surviving Vics, but previous witnesses have reported seeing a middle aged man driving a dark blue or black saloon type car. Also a couple of other sex workers have told us that they were approached by a chubby man with short dark hair, wearing glasses. All have said he made them feel uneasy and so they refused to go with him. He didn't try to force them to go and after their refusal he simply moved on. Erm....Once he leaves an area he is never seen back there again. Our initial suspect was this man."

He clicks another button on his laptop and a photo appears on the screen.

"Dennis Anthony Blower."

The gaunt face of a balding man with pockmarked cheeks.

It looks old, like it was taken back in the 1980's.

Pervert yes.......killer no.......

 "He fitted the profile, even drove a blue BMW 5 series. We also found traces of his semen on two of the earlier Victims clothing," he clicks the button again and two more photos appear side by side on the screen.

This time of a couple of droopy eyed tarts.

"Namely, Patricia Northcott and Amanda Eastman. Both found in skips, in Manchester, two years ago."

"He should have been called the Compass killer sir!" giggles one of the Major Investigations Unit from out of West Bromwich.

There are a few sniggers but no one laughs.

Dan wrinkles his nose and throws a chiding look in the direction of the comedian.

There are a few coughs and splutters before silence is restored and Dan continues.

He seems to be pulling himself together a bit now, and not before time either.

"Unfortunately, Mr Blower died of prostate cancer six months ago. Before we could ever prove that he was anymore than just another client."

Don't mention prostates to me, I feel like I'm sitting on a fucking Ostrich egg!

"Then the murders stopped, until three months back when a sex worker was killed in Stoke-on-Trent, apparently with an M.O. matching that of the Bin man. However the Staffordshire boys aren't keen to share information with us on this one. We even made a request for the Coroners authority to have the body transferred up to our jurisdiction for further analysis by our own Pathologist, but they turned us down flat. They still reckon it's not a Bin man Victim. However, this is the second such murder outside of Greater Manchester, so hopefully it'll be enough to convince them otherwise."

 "What about a copycat killer sir?" someone asks.

"Maybe someone's picked up Blower's torch?" suggests another.

"It's possible, but we think he may be making subtle changes to his methods and locations simply to let us know that he is still active. Still we won't know fully until we get to see those Staffordshire reports. In the meantime I want you all to concentrate on getting this latest Vic identified. Myself and DCS Purnell have decided that you'll be broken down into three groups, all under my command. Group one will be headed by DCI Sheppard, who has kindly sent us some of his officers from the M.I.U. in West Bromwich,"

Friendly nods and winks all round.

"I want you to get out on the streets and start asking around, see if anyone knows of any girls that have gone missing recently. Group two will be headed by Acting Detective Chief Inspector Garrett. I want you lot to visit some NHS dentists, see if we can match that mouth to a name. And lastly DCI Stanwyck will take charge of group three. I need you to find out about that ring, and preferably who it belongs to. Now listen carefully, a press conference has been arranged for this afternoon, so any new information you think maybe significant needs to be called in as soon as you get it, right. Myself and my Manchester colleague Detective Sergeant O'Grady will of course make ourselves available for the duration of our stay. So if you have any more questions don't hesitate to come and ask us, okay!"

He nods and the lights come back on.

Everyone stands up and starts stretching and yawning.

_That was_ _DEAD_ _boring.......wonder if they're giving out refunds......._

Immediately Dan makes a b-line for me and it's too late to pretend that I ain't seen him.

"How you feeling after last night?" he asks, rubbing his head like its hurting.

"I'm good, why?"

"I think them whiskeys went to my head a bit mate."

Oh dear Danny boy.......maybe somebody slipped something into your drink.......you know what the people in these clubs are like.......

"I kept telling you to slow down didn't I?"

"I know, I know. I got a bit carried away that's all. I don't usually drink ya see, Karen don't like it. Anyways, I've got an appointment over in Stoke this morning and I was wondering if you'd come with me?"

This fucker won't leave me alone, he must be obsessed with me or something.

"Yeah alright."

What the fu....my mouth moves before my brain can tell it to stop, like something inside me is taking over.

I'm losing control, and its beginning to fucking scare me.

While Dan and Purnell go through the relative bureaucracy that must be adhered to before we get on with our job, I talk shit through with my team. Which is comprised of, a Detective Inspector, 4 Detective Sergeants and about 8 Detective Constables.

Including that wet prick Carlton, who is just back from his therapy session with the Force shrink, after his traumatic experience behind the Heath town flats.

They tried to get me to go and see the shrink once, but I refused.

The cunt wouldn't know what had hit him by the time I'd finished telling him my stories.

He'd end up going postal and I don't right fancy being caught up in all that.

Behind the trigger yes, and don't think I ain't thought about it!

Picking them off one by one as they scramble to get out of the doors, or at close range as they cower behind their desks.

Maybe I'll ask to see him just before I go, that might be a giggle.

Ha, hee!

I get the minions to draw up a list of all NHS dentist in _Wolves_ , most likely to have been used by the whore.

But I mean, fuck me, there's no guarantee that she's even from Wolverhampton.

For all I know, she could have come from absolutely anywhere.

I instruct them to start ringing around so it looks like I'm trying, but I know they won't find anything out over the phone.

And soon their morale starts flagging, as it becomes clear to them that it's going to take a trip there to get the answers.

If they get any at all!

You see, I couldn't really care a fuck about the rotten cunt found in that skip, nor any of the other bitches.

But there is still a part of me deep down that does, and that's the man I used to be.

I hate him!

I've tried to kill the cunt so many times it's damaged me and made me who I am now....or what I am!

I've just got a natural curiosity.

I can't help it.

I'm a sucker for a mystery, always have been and always will be.

I want to find this Bin man more than anyone else here does, but not for the same reason that they do!

I want to know....need to know....

The Yorkshire Ripper.

The Railway Killers.

The Stockwell Strangler.

The Gay Slayer.

The London Nail Bomber.

The Suffolk Strangler/Ripper.

The Bus Stop Stalker.

I know all their names now, and I want to know his.

I want to look him in the eyes and let him see what a real killer looks like.

He'll know.......

And then he'll realize how pathetic he really is!

I pair off the minions and send them on their way.

I meet Dan outside Purnell's office and we head down the stairs in silence, no words needing to be said.

M6.

Ninety in the fast lane.

Dan yammering on to me about his family.

How nice it is to be married,

How proud he is to be a Father,

Like I don't know what it fucking feels like!

The worse thing is he was an usher at my wedding.

"No seriously mate, you'll have to come up and visit us," he slaps me on my left knee. "I'd love you to meet Karen and the kids."

Oh no you wouldn't sunshine....trust me!

I accelerate up to a hundred and start chopping lanes.

Weaving in and out of the traffic to try and get him to shut up....to stop him from tormenting me.

But it's interminable!

When we hit Stoke he starts talking about all the good nights we spent at Shelley's Laserdome ( _C. 1991-92._ ) and that lightens my mood slightly.

I can remember them well.

Rattling along the motorway in a clapped out, Mark One Fiesta.

Ten of us crammed inside, like sardines in a can.

Everyone with someone else sitting on their lap, sometimes even the driver had someone on theirs!

Then it all goes a bit hazy, until I wake up back at home two days later.

Good times.......really fucking good.......

Hanley Police Station, Bethesda Street.

Sweating buckets in the office of Chief Superintendent Dave Adams.

A real old school bastard who'd worked on the Lesley Whittle murder.

"You do your job and we'll do ours, then everyone is happy." says Adams, leaning back into his chair.

"But we're not happy are we?" argues Dan. "We just need to look at your files and compare them to our crime scenes that's all. It's the only way we're going to know for definite if yours is one of the Bin mans or not!"

"And it's like I've already told you," Adams has an arrogant potteries drawl, which is getting my hackles right up....I can't bear it! "There is no evidence to suggest that the murder of our unknown lady, is in anyway linked to the Bin man."

"So what? Are you gonna make me go over your head? Because I will! I'll walk out of here right now and go to see your Chief Constable mate!"

Adams sits forward, an angry scowl across his red mush.

"And you'll find his opinion to be very much the same as mine. Now take some advice from someone who has been investigating murders since your old man was still having wet dreams. This is nothing to do with the Bin man, end of....anyway, he's dead!"

I noticed Dan wince when Adam's mentioned his old man....now he stands up, looking really pissed off!

"OH YEAH! That would suit you right down to the ground wouldn't it? So you can go out and drag in some poor spastic off the street to take the rap. Well it ain't gonna happen pal, I CAN GUARANTEE YA THAT MUCH!"

Dan storms off out of the office, leaving just me and the red faced bastard staring at each other impassively across his desk.

"You better tell your friend to concentrate on his own investigation sonny, and leave Staffordshire Police business to Staffordshire Coppers."

I jut out my bottom lip, but say nothing. I just get up and walk out of the office, leaving the door wide open behind me.

"OI YOU....SHUT MY PISSING DOOR BEHIND YER!" he shouts.

I ignore him and have a little chuckle to myself as I imagine his face getting redder and redder as my footsteps get further and further away.

Outside the station I light up a cigarette.

Dan is leaning against the side of the car, arms crossed.

"Fucking arsehole!" he spits. "He's got some fucking nerve mate, I'll tell ya that....FUCKING PRICK!" he shouts up at the building, shaking his fist.

"Just cool your boots ay....don't worry about it?"

Dan swings his foot and kicks a stone across the ground, which flicks up and hits a brand spanking new Jaguar, chipping the paint work.

"I hope that's his bastard motor n'all!"

I open the car doors and Dan gets in.

I look back at the building and notice someone is watching us through a high window.

I look right at them and once they notice I've clocked 'em they move back.

I take a long pull on my cigarette and flick the butt away.

And as I watch it tumbling through the air, my curiosity is suddenly sparked.

Just what, if anything at all are these bastards trying to hide.

Let's find out.......

On the way back we stop at a Harvester pub for some lunch.

"My treat." insists Dan.

The car park looks busy, but when we go inside the restaurant is almost empty. Apart from a few pensioners, evidently bored of sitting at home staring at the same four walls all day long.

We wait to be seated and are shown to a table by a nice looking blonde sort, with a bit of weight around her arse.

I give her the once over and it takes me no more than a second to decide I'd definitely shag the life out of her.

I look sideways at Dan and can see he is thinking the exact same thing.

"Would you like to order some drinks gentlemen?" she asks courteously.

I'm already over the limit, but I order a bottle of San Miguel anyway.

Dan has a J2O, Orange and Passion fruit.

She goes away and I look at her over the top of my menu, watching her big arse bounce in the big mirror on the wall as she prepares our drinks.

Loving the way it jiggles as she moves.

Dan wants to talk, asking me what I think about the Staffordshire cunts.

"They're shitting themselves," I say and launch in to quite a diatribe on the subject. "They can see their independence from the West Midlands Force is slipping away. They know they fucked it up when they didn't make the connection between their murder and the Bin man. They missed their chance....I mean they haven't even found out who she is yet have they? I say it's their mess, let them sort it out."

"But there might be something in them files that can help us catch this bastard John?"

Could'a.......Would'a.......Should'a.......the story of your life sunshine.......

"Well I'm sure we can find a way of getting a look at them....off the record of course."

"Yeah, your right John. There's bound to be someone willing to photocopy them for us, if we offer then the right incentive that is, ay. So how would you go about it then? I mean, you always were better than me at this kind of thing."

And still am.......

"Just leave it with me and I'll see what I can do." I say, like I've actually got a fucking plan.

You'll find a way.......

The waitress brings the drinks over and takes our food order.

I have the mixed grill with baked beans, not peas.

Dan has the cheese burger with a jacket potato, not chips.

Before my main meal arrives I have two bowls of pasta from the salad cart, with plenty of red devil sauce. And two white cobs with lashings of butter.

When the mixed grill is eventually placed in front of me I scoff it down, like a pig at a trough.

I'm enjoying this more than I have any food for weeks and weeks.

"It's nice, but not as good as your Moms boiled bacon and cabbage though....right John?"

I nod and smile, but the truth is I never really liked it all that much.

It was always way too salty for my taste.

He still wants us to be friends....but I'm not interested.

Just hurry up and fuck off back to your perfect little life in Manchester and let me get on with what I need to do here.

I've got a plan and just now your fucking it right up.

Not surprisingly I finish my food before Dan does, and now I need a quick sniff.

But it's too risky to use my contraption in front of him, so I make my excuses and go off to the bogs.

When I get back to the table the empty plates have gone and Dan is having a butchers at the dessert menu.

I pick one up and do likewise.

"What you having then John?"

The chocolate fudge cake is calling to me, when all of a sudden Dan's mobile phone rings.

He fumbles around for it in his jacket pockets and answers the call.

"Right!....Yeah....Whereabouts?....Cannock....Okay yeah....We'll be there!"

It don't sound too good!

"What's happened?" I ask.

"The hotlines had a call from someone, who said they've found a woman's coat and hand bag in a field off the A5 near Cannock. They're gonna text me the exact location."

"That's Staffordshire's patch though, you sure you want to step on their toes? Adams is already pretty miffed with ya! "

"Yeah, too right I am! He can have it right up him the muggy cunt!"

That's just fucking marvellous....no chocolate fudge cake for me then!

The waitress comes back over to our table.

"Are you ready to order your desserts now gentleman?" she asks, pen and pad poised in her hands.

"No thanks love, I just want to pay the bill please." says Dan, and he gives her £40 and tells her to keep the change.

We leave and get straight back onto the M6.

125, with blues and twos all the way.

Off at junction 12,

Then first exit at the roundabout,

Heading toward Shropshire on the A5, also known as Watling Street.

About two miles outside of Cannock a Ford Focus patrol car is parked up on the grass verge.

I pull up behind it and Dan gets out.

I stay in the car and put on the hazard lights, so no fucker rear ends me.

I watch him walk over to the sullen looking uniform guarding the entrance to the field which the coat and bag are in, like they're the crown jewels or something.

Dan has a quick word with him, then they go through the wooden gate into the field and disappear behind the hedgerow.

While they are gone I have another quick sniff to keep me alert, then look at myself in the sun visor mirror to make sure there's no powder around my nose.

I light up a cigarette and hang my arm out the window.

Big trucks rumble past at about sixty, just inches from my hand. Their turbulence makes the car rock and causes showers of embers to leave the end of my cigarette.

It's no longer than a minute before they return.

Dan is carrying the handbag in his right hand, on a thick stick poked through the handle and has the forefinger of his left hand hooked under the collar of the coat.

The uniform walks ahead of him, opens the boot of his estate car and Dan puts the garments inside.

Then Dan turns around and waves me over.

I get out the car and throw the remainder of the cigarette into the middle of the road.

The wind at the roadside is cold, like walking by the sea.

I turn up my coat collar _Cantona_ styley, put my hands into my pockets and walk over to have a look for myself.

"What do you reckon then?" Dan asks.

I look down at the white puffer jacket with a fur lined hood and the mint green fake crocodile skin bag. Both of which look like something you would get off one of those discount shopping channels on Sky.

Neither appear to have any blood on them.

"Fuck knows," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "You'll have to have a look through 'em I suppose."

"Get us a pair of rubber gloves will ya mate." requests Dan.

The uniform goes to the passenger side door, opens it, leans inside and brings back what looks like a large tissue box.

Dan plucks a pair of latex gloves from the box and the uniform offers some to me. But I keep my hands in my pockets and shake my head and he puts the box back in the car.

Dan works his hands into the gloves and once they're on properly he picks up the coat and starts patting it down, then he roots through the pockets.

Nothing but tissues and lint.

The noise and smell of the traffic thundering past is intimidating, and I'm finding it hard to concentrate.

Then slowly Dan opens the handbag and sticks his hand inside.

Hoping for a purse, a mobile or even some house keys.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" he drops the bag and stumbles back, his gloved hand covered with congealed blood.

Which leaves a stringy red trail behind, like the saliva from lover's mouths when they part from a kiss.

I step forward to have a look, and there amongst the spare knickers and tampons is the severed tongue....complete with barbell piercing.

Back at Steelhouse Lane.

Dan's is in Purnell's office, still badly shaken after holding another humans tongue in his hand.

Desperately trying to pull himself together before he has to give the press conference.

To me, it's been just another days work.

You've held a lot worse in your hands.......

All the items from the field are now with the Scientists at LGC for analysis, but I already know that they'll come back to us with nothing.

He only leaves us what he wants us to find.

Still there is no name for the whore in the skip,

No hits on any of the databases,

Nothing useful from any of the teams out and about,

And only crank callers and clairvoyants on the hotline.

But on the positive side, my crime scene photos have arrived and I take my time pouring over them with a cuppa and a few nice bikkies.

This bastard is good....really fucking good and in many ways I can't help but admire him.

My turn is coming tonight....and I'm fucking looking forward to it!

I'm just pinning my favourite snaps up on the cork board next to my desk, when my work mobile starts ringing.

I look at the screen to see who it is before I answer.

But there is no name, just an unfamiliar number.

I press the green telephone button, hold the phone up to my ear and wait for them to talk first.

There's a moment or two of silence, and I'm about to press the red telephone button to end the call when she speaks.

"Hello....Mr Garrett? It's Madeline Tilbury."

"....Yeah Madeline I'm here....sorry about that I'm trying to do ten things at once here. You know how it is?"

"That's okay sir."

"Just call me John, it's fine."

"Alright then, John....I was just calling you about that little job you gave me the other day."

"What job?" I ask, feeling slightly confused.

"You asked me to take a sample of the paint on the wall, see what I could find out about it?"

"Right, yeah I'm with ya now....so what you got for me then?"

"Well as it turns out, and your probably not going to believe this...."

"Try me!" I interject trying to sound cool.

_Brothers and Sisters_ by _2 funky 2_ playing in my head.

"Well it's not actually paint, not entirely anyway. It seems to be a mixture of red paint and blood!"

"Blood?" I repeat.

"Yes. Animal blood to be exact, of porcine origin."

I have to sit down.

 "Pigs blood? What would that be doing there?"

"I've absolutely no idea sir....I mean John."

"How fresh is it? Can you tell?"

"It's hard to say since we don't know how old the blood was before it was mixed in with the paint."

"Answer me this then, do you think it could have been left there by the killer?"

"Absolutely, but it could equally have been put there by just about anyone else. We also found _'KILL WHITEY!'_ spray painted on one of the large metal bins, so graffiti seems to be quite a problem in that particular area."

"You're telling me, it's a fucking shit hole around there!"

"Oh!" she sounds shocked.

"Sorry for my choice of language Madeline." I apologise, thinking love makes you soft.

"It's alright John, I'm getting use to it working in this job and I can imagine the stress that something like this puts on you."

"Thank you Madeline. Thank you for all your help."

"It's no trouble at all John....will I see you again soon?"

"Yeah, I'm sure we'll bump into each other somewhere or another."

Oh yes.......you can definitely count on that sweetheart.......

"Oh by the way John, this is my personal number, so maybe you might want to save it onto your phone or something? Just in case you need anything from me?"

"I will do that Madeline, thank you."

Saucy saucy tart.......

I end the call.

_Brothers and Sisters_ by _2 funky 2,_ now replaced by; _Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers_ \- _Why Do Fools Fall in Love_.

OOOO WAH, OOOO WAH, OOOO WAH, OOOO WAH....

I politely refuse Dan's invitation to be part of the press conference.

I like to keep out of the lime light.

After all, I don't want any of my workers seeing my mush on Central News and learning my true identity now do I!

I do decide to stick around for the evening debrief though, just to see how close they're getting.

But there's nothing new.

Nothing of any importance was found in the skip.

No murder weapon has been recovered.

There is absolutely fuck all to get excited about!

At the end of the debrief Dan opens up the floor for any questions or comments.

I keep my mouth shut about the pigs blood, no one took me seriously when I told 'em about it anyway.

So why should I tell them now?

After we're dismissed I quickly gather up all my shit and get the fuck out of there before Dan can pull me to one side and sell me another one of his sob stories again, about being lonely or some shit.

Or even worse, ask me to help him go through all the reports with a fine tooth comb.

Not tonight sunshine....I'm busy!

To be honest with ya I can't see him anywhere and my guess is that he's got plenty of company willing to pull an all nighter with him if necessary.

All in the vain hope that their dedication to the job might get them considered in the next round of promotions....fucking suckers.

Not for me thank you very much!

I've gone as far up the ladder as I'm going and it don't bother me one bit.

Soon Tony Rodgers will be back, I'll be gone and they'll have a Detective Inspectors job to fill.

Although with all these budget cuts they'll probably be glad to see the back of me and won't bother to replace me.

West Midlands Police reckon they need to save £126 million over the next four years, so now they can make a good start toward that with my £51,097 per annum, can't they.

I'd even except a voluntary redundancy package right now, if it was offered to me.

I leave the station and go to pick up the Volkswagen Passat _TDI_ , that I'll be using tonight.

I always keep several cars dotted around the city to use whenever business calls for it.

Usually they are parked up in quiet streets.

Around sheltered housing, old peoples' bungalows and such like.

No one bats an eyelid at cars that are parked up in those type of areas for months on end without moving.

They just assume that some old codger owns it, who now, sadly can no longer drive it as often as they use to do.

I park the Audi a few streets away and walk to the Volkswagen.

I take the key from its nearby hiding place, blow off the dirt and get in the car.

Then slip away as quietly as I had arrived, without anyone even so much as rustling their curtains.

At home, I reverse into the garage and load up the things that I need for tonight.

Strangely, the garage is one part of the house that ain't really cluttered.

Not like upstairs, up there I've still got unpacked boxes from when I moved down here.

Fuck knows what's in 'em and to be quite honest with ya I don't much care anymore.

It's all just fucking baggage.......physical.......and emotional.......

The one thing I ain't got though, and I'm absolutely positive about this, is any photos of Laura.

I burnt them all ya see, one night not long after she'd left.

I Just held 'em in my hand and put a lighter flame to the back of 'em and watched her disappear....disappear for good!

One by one, even the wedding album n'all.

But one of the worst things about the whole thing is, that she didn't even leave me a single picture of Kyle.

Not even the dog eared one of him crawling around the living room.

And she knew full well that was my favourite.

Oh God....I miss his little voice....I just wish I could....

Oh it don't fucking matter no more.......

I still miss her....even if I can't think of what she even looked like.

I can remember them, but I can't see them anymore.

Too much booze has washed them away....washed them both away for good!

Every time I close my eyes and try to remember them, it's like I'm looking at some sort of obscure painting where the faces have been smudged out.

Something by Francis Bacon. Or perhaps, Andreas Golder.

WHY YOU _BITCH_....YOU FUCKING _BITCH_....WHY YOU CUNT, YOU CUNT, CUNT, CUNT....I _LOVE_ YOU....I _STILL_ FUCKING LOVE _YOU_!

There's a rolled up hose pipe sitting in the corner of the garage and I'm tempted to just bung it into the exhaust and end it all right here....maybe things will never get any better?

Maybe this hell will last forever!

Fuck it anyway!

Now you're really fired up.......

Leading the way to Erdington.

Blue transit van filling my rear view mirror.

Listening to _Face Value_.

_In The Air Tonight_ on repeat.

Real Killer music to keep me in the mood.

Pull up at the flats.

A group of youths are standing outside the entrance, smoking and drinking. And letting two nasty looking dogs on short leads snap their powerful jaws at each other.

Our headlights shine right at the gang and they seem quite curious as to who we are.

We get out the vehicles and walk towards them.

When they see us coming at them, wearing our balaclavas and stab proof vests, they shit themselves and fuck off.

I know they're sure to tell someone we're here, so this is going to have to be quick.

_C_ I _5_ _styley.......you always wanted to be Bodie......._

Kindly, they've left the security door to the block wedged open for us, so we stroll right in and hurry up the stairs to number 33.

Immediately I'm glad to see there's no metal gate locked across the front door.

Which makes my next job a lot easier.

Cocky little cunts....they don't even know what's coming.......

I press my ear against the door, and through the wood and the wool, I can hear some chatter and the thud of a bassline from some shitty rap type music.

I give Raki and Parv the nod, then lift up the door ram. ( _which mysteriously went missing from the station eighteen months ago!_ )

In my experience the locks on these sort of places are more often than not fortified, so I always go for the hinges.

For some reason, the thick cunts never think about reinforcing them.

I take a few practice swings at the door to loosen my shoulders, then I pick a spot just below the top hinge and keep my eyes fixed on it.

Once I feel I have built up enough momentum I bring the ram forward, crashing it hard into the door.

The first hit splits the door frame and in an instant I take a second swing at it.

This time I follow through with my whole body weight and the door comes off its hinges completely and hangs right open.

Inside I can hear the pandemonium, as no one is quite sure what's going on.

I step aside to let Raki and Parv past me into the flat, to restrain the occupants quickly with their raised 12 gauges. Before any of them can get to their own weapons.

I follow them in and flash my warrant card at the four men we find inside.

Two black, one Asian and one white, all are instantly subdued.

I order them to get down on their knees and put their hands on their heads.

One of the blacks, and the Asian fella are both acting cocky.

Sucking their teeth and trying to stare us down, like there's nothing for them to be worried about.

WRONG....

I can see that the other black fella, and the white chap are absolutely cacking themselves.

Systematically, I cable tie their hands behind their backs but I don't ask them any questions.

I mean it's quite obvious what they've been up to, they can't really deny it now can they?

I look around the squalid room.

In the corner is a gas stove with dirty sauce pans stacked on top.

It's obviously being used for cooking up rocks of crack, which ironically, are known on the streets as food.

Then I see the table with the good stuff on it and go over to it.

Powder and bricks.

As quickly as I can I gather up everything that I want to take with me, putting it all in an Adidas holdall bag I find under the table.

Not too bad at all, about half a Kilo of pure uncut _Bonnie_ _Prince Charles_ all together.

Maybe just a little bit over.

I leave the wraps of _Mr Brown_.

I've never touched that shit!

Then I walk over to the main black chap, the cocky one.

The one all the others had looked to when we'd burst in.

I grab him by the collar and pull him to his feet.

"Take them three and stick 'em in the van." I bark to Raki and Parv.

They stand the men up and frogmarch them out of the flat.

Then I square up to the cocky blacky and ask him;

"Where's the fucking money?"

"What fucking money? We doh keep money here man!" he answers as calm as you like.

I lick the sharp points of my canine teeth and give a mirthless laugh.

I think it's about now that he finally realises this is no ordinary drugs raid.

His face drops and the cockiness evaporates, faster than petrol on a hot day.

"I'll ask you one more time! Where is the money?"

His eyes are full of panic.

"We doh kee...."

I drop the nut on him, spreading his fat nose wider across his face.

He screams.

"FUCKING HELL BLOOD....WHAT THE FUCK!" claret gushes from his nose and pours down into his mouth.

He spits it out and some of the spray goes onto the collar of my Ben Sherman.

Fuck it.......just burn it with the rest later.......

I stick one into his solar plexus as compensation for my loss.

"OKAY, FUCKING OKAY! I'LL SHOW YA!"

It's a good job he tells me because I'm just about to take his trousers down and shove that broomstick in the corner right up his aris....really fuck him up.

I get behind him, wrap my arm around his throat and tell him to take me to it.

He leads me through the grotty flat to a back bedroom, that looks like something out of trainspotting.

An electronic safe sits under the window covered over by a blanket.

Thick black cunts.......

I bend down and he tells me the combination to open it.

110581.

The day Bob Marley died, apparently.

Inside are rolls of notes in every denomination, all held together with elastic bands.

"Whose operation is this?" I ask.

He won't answer me.

So I stand up and smash my gloved fist into his mouth, bursting his big lips like overcooked sausages.

Now he wants to talk....

"DA BIG MANDEM! YA GET ME!"

"Well I'm the fucking taxman! And nobody shifts this kind of weight in the city without me getting my share....DO YOU GET ME?" I shout into his bloodied face.

"Look mate ya meking a bad mistake trust me....they'll find ya and their gonna fucking kill ya, believe dat!"

I smile and put the cash in the Adidas holdall on top of the bricks and powder.

"Oh my gosh....Ya really is Babylon ain't ya? Fuckin'ell! Dat's even better for dem man, they'll find ya easily now....ya dumb pig!" he spits out a front tooth and laughs.

I grab his bollocks and squeeze them until I feel a satisfying pop.

He screams again and tries to cross his legs, like a woman needing a piss.

If I had the time I'd still like to stick something into his arsehole....just to humiliate him, if nothing else!

But I'm still mindful of the gang that was outside when we arrived.

They might very well be look outs, and could right now be on their way back over here with a load of tooled up Yardies!

I pick everything up and force him out of the flat.

The landings are empty, and even if anyone has heard anything they wouldn't dare stick their head out of their front door anyway.

Round here they know to keep themselves to themselves, for the constant fear of being branded a snitch and having to face the dire repercussions.

I drag him down the stairwell, he's pleading with me and asking where I'm taking him.

I have to stop half way down and give him a hard toe poke in the stomach.

That shuts him up.

He emits just a tiny squeal now, as he tries desperately to get the wind back into his lungs.

Outside the others are already in the back of the van, taped and hooded. Flapping about on the MDF boards like fish out of water.

I stick some duct tape over cocky's broken mouth and he starts choking with fright.

Then I put the hood over his head.

I rip the thick gold rope chain from around his neck, I've had my eye on it since I first saw it.

_Gold-4-cash_ ,

Anonymous envelopes,

Cheque arrives 14 days later.

I've done it before!

Then I bundle him into the back of the van with his friends.

I take off the balaclava and bang on the vans back doors.

The engine revs.

I walk back to the Passat, put the door ram back into the boot and throw the Adidas holdall onto the passenger seat.

Then I get in and start the engine.

The van pulls away first, like we planned and I follow close behind.

Lying on my bed.

Can't get to sleep.

Adrenaline surging.

Who needs anything else after a buzz like that?

That makes it seven in four years and I'd like to do ten before I finish this thing once and for all.

I've more than doubled my total in just one night.

My whole body is tingling, from finger tips to toe nails.

£44,000, in grubby used notes is sitting under my bed.

I'll take it over to my self storage locker in Wednesbury soon.

To be safely banked with the rest, until I'm ready to cash it all out.

Plus there's another 50k or more in the Adidas holdall, depending on how its cut.

However, just now the Blue Peter totaliser says I still need more bunce!

I'd be happy with another quarter, maybe three hundred thou.

That should do me.

So please kids do keep on donating.......

Then while all these cocksuckers out there are worrying about whether they'll get their pension or not, I'll be financially secure for the rest of my days.

I'll be fucking knackered at work tomorrow, but there's fuck all I can do about that now.

I can't even close my eyes, I'm happy just lying in the dark.

No need for drink,

No sniff stick,

No smoke,

No music,

No TV.

I don't need any of it!

The room is pitch black, apart from a slant of moonlight running across the floor and up the far wall.

I stare up at the artex ceiling, it's amazing what you can see in the swirling patterns.

Three dimensional shapes, that seem to come alive and twist and turn in mid air. Right in front of your face, so it almost feels like you can reach out and touch them.

Through which, people's faces materialize, which remind me of old adventures and then of past conquests.

And then my eyes slowly close and I relive what happened tonight, right to the last detail.

Enjoy it while you can.......'cause it won't last forever.......

I get a fizzing sensation in my belly, then in my balls and then my cock.

Like I'm about to come, but I don't.

I can't possibly get to sleep tonight, so I get up and take the money back out from under my bed.

Looking down at those tight rolls of cash I get the exact same feeling that I did when I was a young lad, drooling over my first Razzle mag.

I'm whistling.

_Dirty Cash_ by _The Adventures of Stevie V_.

And I'm so excited that I'm actually shaking.

Then I rip off the elastic bands and start counting the unclean notes, again.

Next morning my guts are burning.

I sit on the toilet for half an hour while my arsehole leaks brown water.

Like what you get when your bleed a bleeding radiator!

I smoke a two sheeter, flicking the ash into the sink.

When I wipe my April there's plenty of blood, but that's nothing unusual just lately.

After I've finished I have a wash and then slather my pouting arsehole with Sudocrem.

I go back to the bedroom and open the top draw of the chest of drawers to look for a new shirt.

But there is nothing in there except empty cellophane wrappers, bits of cardboard and the can of lynx deodorant.

I pick up some shirts out of a pile of washing on the floor.

I can't tell which ones are clean and which are dirty, so I have to resort to sniffing the arm pits to check.

The only one I can find that doesn't smell sweaty, is a salmon pink double cuff that was in a pack of three shirts I bought from Marks and Sparks about two months ago.

I'd discarded it at the time, with no intention of ever wearing it.

But fuck it! If anyone asks I'll say I'm only wearing it to make the girls wink.

And you never know, if I'm lucky I might even end up getting my bollocks tickled at the end of the day.

Hope is a waking dream.......

At work sitting at my desk going through the minion's reports.

I've been farting foul smelling gas all morning, silent Agatha Christie's.

And now I've just noticed that no one who works around me is at their desks.

There must be this invisible shit cloud all around me.

Just like with any buzz there's always a comedown, and adrenaline is no different.

Always paying for yesterday.......hoping to get it all back tomorrow.......

I take a couple of Solpadol with some special water to ease the cramps and suck on a double lolly, holding the stick between my fingers like a cigarette.

It takes me no more than fifteen minutes to see that the information gathered by the minions yesterday isn't worth the paper it's written on.

They may as well have gone home to see their kids, rather than going to Wolverhampton.

I just feel like throwing them in the bin but I can't, so I put them in a neat pile on the edge of my desk for someone else to take away.

I reach down to scratch my ankle.

Which for some reason won't stop itching this morning, to the point where I've already made it red raw.

Then all of a sudden after I straighten up, I start shaking and burst into a cold sweat.

Now I'm getting palpitations.

A jolt of pain flashes down my right hand side, all the way to my knee.

I rub my right shoulder, which is starting to sting.

It must be trapped wind! I've had it before! All this gas in my body is looking for a way out.

A good burp should cure it, but try as I might I can't get one up.

I can feel the anxiety coming on, so I take some Lorazepam from my coat pocket and swallow them with some Pepsi Max.

I tilt my head back and slow down my breathing to slow down my heart.

Then I look at some pictures of the Amalfi coast on my computer.

I imagine I'm there and it seems to be working, as the fluttering in my chest subsides.

I sit back in my chair and pick a scab out of my nose.

I roll it into a ball.

I take aim at Detective Constable Wayne Phillips, who is now back at his desk in front of me and flick it at the back of his head.

But the shot is substandard to say the least, and the scab veers off to the left and falls short.

Suddenly there is an excited buzz and plenty of garbled chatter around the incident room.

It's all go this morning.......

Then, I see Dan walking briskly towards Purnell's office.

Carrying a quire or two of paper under his arm.

He stops, looks towards my desk and with a crooked finger he calls me over.

Then he disappears into Purnell's office.

I log out of my computer and push my way through the crowd to the office, closing the door behind me.

It's only when I'm inside and I notice that the blinds are drawn, that I really start to panic.

What if they know something?

What if they've guessed what I've been up to?

What if Dan knows what I was really doing at the club the other night?

Or worse still, what I did last night?

And now, have I just walked in blindly and put myself right into a situation?

I stay close to the door just in case I have to make a run for it!

"What's up?" I ask, not breathing very well at all.

Purnell and Dan exchange a grim sidelong glance and I get ready to have it away on my toes!

Then Dan looks me square in the eyes and now I feel like I'm about to hyperventilate.

Then his tightly closed lips part into a thin smile, which tells me that everything is alright.

Course they don't know fuck all.......how could they.......

"This morning we got a hit on one of the databases. She had a Biometric passport ya see." says Dan.

I breathe easy.

"Her name is Paulina Gomolski. She's a Polish immigrant, from the city of Toruń. She shared a house with other Polish nationals on Leslie Road, Wolverhampton....less than a mile from where her body was found. She came to the U.K. last June, leaving her two kids with her ex-husband back in Poland. Officially she works as a cleaner at the local cinema but apparently, she hasn't been to work for the last few weeks."

He hands me one of the pieces of paper from under his arm, which turns out to be a scanned copy of her passport photo.

I study her face carefully, but to me she just looks like every other Central European woman that I've ever seen.

Round face, narrow lips, thin nose and big eyes.

If he's taken them to eat then he'll be going very hungry.

"I'm going to the house with O'Grady to spin the place," adds Dan.

What the fuck does he expect you to do.......a fucking Irish jig.......

"I want you to send two of your men to the cinema, see if anyone there knows anything."

"Okay I will." I say and hand him back the picture.

"Keep it, it's yours, I'm gonna go and hand these out to the others." he smiles and leaves the office.

I go to follow him but Purnell asks me to stay.

"Shut the door and sit down would you John!"

His tone is soft and I try to kid myself that he might just want to talk to me about some sort of new initiative or operational matter or some shit like that.

But from past experience, I know that there's a right bollocking about to come my way.

"I need to talk to you about something John."

Told ya....this has been coming for a while now.

 "Earlier today, I received a memo from top brass. They're talking about having a major cull

of some of the pricier Basic Command Unit's....which could include closing us down."

"Fucking hell!" I exclaim, genuinely shocked by it. "Does Stanwyck know?" I ask, not really knowing why. It was just the first thing that came into my head.

"Not yet, you're the first that I've told. And just keep this under your hat for now! I don't want any unnecessary alarm spreading through the office. Jesus John, if this does happen it'll be bad for everyone. Half of the team will most likely be moved back over to Force CID and the rest....well let's just say it won't be a very happy new year for them, nor their families!"

You might just get that redundancy settlement after all then.......yippeeee.......

"But why? They know full well this region needs us! There's no way local CID would be able to cope without us!"

"Don't be so sure about that John! We stopped paying our way a long time ago. We were always just an experiment, set up at a time when everyone was living high on the hog! Now we're just an expensive luxury, and worse still, we're rapidly turning into an embarrassment! Our heads are well and truly on the chopping block here John. I mean our clearance rate is atrocious! We've not actually made any significant arrests for months. And this...."

Brace yourself.......here it comes.......

He reaches down and pulls one of his infamous red plastic folders from a drawer and slaps it on the desk.

My handwriting is on the front.

My investigation into the murder of Marcus Longsdale.

A small time drug dealer and petty thief from Small heath.

Who had grand ambitions to be much more than that!

But I'm the fucking Daddy.......

He holds up the red folder.

"Nine months this has been dragging on for now John....nine fucking months!"

He's not shouting, but that big purple vein that runs down the centre of his forehead is still starting to throb.

"I know sir, but no one wants to talk to me about it ya see. I've followed every lead and re-interviewed everyone connected to the victim, but still I've got nothing!"

"Well what about this information you got from Crimestoppers?"

Oh bollocks....I forgot I'd told him that!

Deceit is just second nature to me now ya see.

Half the time I can't even tell if I'm being honest or not.

I find I have to stop myself and think good and hard about if I've told this mistruth before.

The whole thing is exhausting, and the more time that passes the harder it's getting to remember.

But like breathing or swallowing, lying only becomes difficult when you give it a second thought.

Just leave the lie well alone and it'll take care of itself, that's what I've learned anyway.

"I'm still looking into it sir," I say. "When I find out anything pivotal you'll be the first to know."

He liked the way you said that he did.......just look at his face.......look.......

"Well, what is this information? Maybe it's something I can help you with? I haven't always sat behind this desk you know!"

I'm trying not to sound too evasive, but I've got nothing new to tell this prick and anymore lies at this point will only make my life more difficult further on down the line.

"I'd rather not say at this time sir....I'm sure you understand?"

I'm playing on his knowledge of sensitive information.

Praying that he don't pick up his phone when I leave and call Crimestoppers and find out the truth.

"Well have you spoken to any one from _Operation Box Clever_?"

The Specialist Drugs Squad....

"Yes sir. But they know even less than we do."

"His door was kicked down and he was shot five times in the head. The person responsible for this has got to be found John....and quickly. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir, of course sir!"

I already know who killed him you prick....I see him every fucking day....but arresting yourself is quite tricky....so I'm lead to believe!

"I'm thinking about giving it to Ian Gregory."

"Ian Gregory?" I echo.

What a cunt!

I fucking hate Gregory.

He's given me nothing but shit since the day he was transferred over to us.

In fact, if we were dogs, I'd piss in his water bowl just out of spite.

"Yes, why not? He worked on the Letisha Shakespeare and Charlene Ellis shootings and is more than capable of this kind of work. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes might see something that you've missed?"

"I'll get this done sir, just give me a few more days." I urge earnestly.

He ponders on it for a second or two.

"Well make sure that you do....I mean what I say John! I respect your knowledge of the gangs and their activities, even if I am uncomfortable with the rapport you have with some of the cities criminals. Just get some of these bastards in here and start putting them through the ringer, because there's plenty of other mundane shit to be getting on with around here! And I could always make you the first to leave us you know. Fraud Squad have been asking me for an Officer to assign to them, to oversee their Forensic accounting department....if you'd prefer that?"

I think that was a threat.

They're trying to pressure you.......they want you to make a mistake.......but I ain't going to.......I've got too much to lose.......

"I'm confident I can get this done sir." I insist.

He gives me a sceptical look.

"I also want you to speak to a Journo about Paulina Gomolski. Let me see now....DCI Williamson is talking to the _Birmingham Mail_. Fontaine's doing a piece with the _Express and Star,_ so you can have....the _Black Country Echo._ It's only a small publication, but you never know, we might get something from it," he smirks sardonically. "I've sent them a press release of course, but it's always nice to have a Detective's name to go with the quotes....okay?"

I nod my head, then get up and walk out.

As I stride across the incident room I have a quick sniff in plain view of everyone in the office.

No one even looks at me, let alone notices or even cares what I'm doing!

When I get back to my desk I wash it down with a long drink of my special water.

FUCKING **PRICK**! WHO DOES HE **THINK** HE IS?

I ain't no fucking Herbert.......

I COULD PUT AN **END** TO HIM JUST LIKE **THAT**!

I click my fingers, which makes a couple of the people around me look in my direction.

"You got a fucking problem?" I ask them curtly.

They shake their heads and turn back around.

I pick up my phone and dial an internal number.

There are a couple of rings before its answered.

"DS Hemmings' desk."

"Martin, it's John. I need you to go to Wolverhampton and visit the cinema where this Paulina Gomolski worked. Interview everyone, whether they knew her or not. And check if she had a locker or anything like that, right?"

"Yeah no probs, where is the cinema?"

"I ain't got a clue mate. You'll have to talk to DCI Williamson, he knows all about it."

"Okay, will do. Who do you want me to take with me?"

"Whoever you think is best for the job. No, hold on a second....take Carlton!"

"Right you are sir."

"And let him drive Mart, or he'll be chewing your fucking ear off about his wedding all the way there!"

"Cheers sir, I'll do that," says Hemmings, half laughing. "We'll get going straight away then shall we?"

"Yes please Mart, if you would."

I put down the receiver and watch him stand up a few rows in front of me.

I don't want to admit it but I'm feeling fucking rattled!

I take another double lolly from my desk and bite right through it, crunching and cracking it between my back teeth.

I log back into the computer.

Some poor bastard on this database is going down the Kermit!

But it's got to be someone who don't know me or anything about me.

I spend some time looking through the names, seeing plenty I know and not so many that I don't.

None of them are of any use to me.

But then, I come across one that is.

Kieran Thompson, 24, mixed race and a native of Leicester.

Arrested in Birmingham two years ago for an assault outside a nightclub....so he's got a bit of a temper then has he.

That'll look good when I ask for the warrant.

That's your boy.......

Once I've swallowed all the lolly I pick up the phone and dial another number.

External this time.

"Hello, Black Country Echo. How can I help you?"

"Oh hello, this is Detective Chief Inspector John Garrett from Operation Mastiff. I was just wondering if I could speak to someone about **...................**

I open the second tin of Heinz Beanz and sausages and tip its contents into the mixing bowl, on top of those from the first tin.

I push the sausages down into the beans with a fork and make sure they are completely covered over.

So they don't get burned during cooking.

Then I place the bowl into the microwave and cook them on full power for five minutes.

You can follow this recipe at home if you like.......

Now, put on the kettle and make a cup of coffee ( _or tea or hot chocolate or any other hot beverage of your preference._ )

When the microwave _'pings'_ wrap a tea towel around your hand and take out the mixing bowl.

Next, simply grate some mature cheddar cheese into the bowl ( _you can add as much or as little as you like, I prefer to use the pre-grated variety, but it really is up to you._ ) and stir it in with the fork, until the hot beans have melted it.

Make sure you bring the sixteen, mini pork sausages up onto the top of the beans and simply finish off with a good dollop of brown sauce, and accompany with half a loaf of white bread.

For dessert, I like to skin up a four sheeter out of my bag of white widow and smoke it in front of the TV.

Midlands Today.

Paulina Gomolski the top story.

Dan being interviewed outside the Mailbox building.

He'll be on Crimewatch next.......

He confirms to the Reporter that the murder is linked to the Bin man and appeals for anyone, with any information at all to come forward.

The camera is doing him no favours, making him look like he's got a double chin.

He seems tired, like a man on the edge.

Fighting so hard not to lose his grip.

Trust me, I've been there myself and I can spot the danger signs from a mile away.

The Reporter then thanks him and throws back to the studio.

The presenters seem shocked by Dan's admission and advise women to stay vigilant, then they give out the incident room number and also the number for Crimestoppers.

Then they go onto the next story, which is equally depressing.

After all.......good news is no news.......

I stub out the zoot before I'm roaching, turn off the TV and go upstairs to get dressed.

Lacoste jeans, M & S Oxford weave shirt, One True Saxon Handforth boots, Armani wool coat, Harrods cashmere scarf.

Perry Barr Stadium, Speedway night.

I show the security guard on the main gate my warrant card and he shows me a hole in the fence.

The bikes are just going around the third and fourth turn for the last time in heat 12.

And as they do, I feel the power of the engines thud into my chest.

I fucking love speedway.

My old man used to take me and my younger brother, Michael over to Plough Lane when we was nippers. To watch the Wimbledon Dons.

Dave Jessup, Kelvin Tatum , John Davies, Kai Niemi....those were the days my friend.

I still like to watch it on TV when I get the chance, but to me it ain't the same as it used to be.

For starters, half the blokes racing nowadays wouldn't even have got a team place back then.

Fucking amateurs.......

The tannoy announcer ( _who sounds like he's got someone's thumb up his jacksey!_ ) confirms the Brummies are up by four points.

I start scanning the crowd, looking for Raki and Parv and eventually find them leaning up the bar beneath the grandstand.

"Alright Gaz?" says Raki, toasting his pint of Foster's at me. "Yow 'avin one am ya?"

"I'll have a bottle of San Miguel."

The overweight woman behind the bar bends down with considerable effort and takes a cold bottle from the fridge.

She pops the cap and puts it on the bar.

"That's £2.60 plaise."

Daft cow.......

Raki pays and I pick up the bottle and have a swally.

Nectar of the God's.

I open my coat, take an envelope thick enough to choke a donkey out of my pocket and slip it to the donkey in front of me.

He takes it.

Looks at it, then back at me, then at the envelope again and then at Parv.

Then they start talking to each other in their Mother tongue.

Gunda fucking Gindi.......

I can't understand everything they're saying, but I can pick out a few words of it which I've learned in my time.

_Gora_ = _White man._

_Harami_ = _Bastard/Thief._

_Kutta_ = _Dog._

Choot = _Cunt_.

I just give them an idiot smile, so not to let on that I'm getting the gist of their conversation.

"Ten bags?" exclaims Raki. "Wha's this? A joke or sumtin?"

"No. That's your share of the other night! Why?."

"Is that it? Five grand each! We got nearly a hundred bags outta tha' place 'nd yow promised us 30%!"

"Yeah....well I'm a greedy _choot_ ain't I?"

Their eyes widen unitedly and they appear shocked by my choice of words.

I just couldn't help myself, and now I get the feeling they won't be speaking like that in front of me again anytime soon.

"Oh c'mon now Gaz, yow gotta be fair!"

"Fair? I did all the fucking work! So If you want any more than that then you'll have to earn it won't ya!"

Heat 13. 3-3. Four point advantage maintained.

"How'd yow mean like?" the dumb _Kutta_ asks me.

"Like, have you done what I asked ya to do yet?"

"Not yet nah. We'm still werkin' on it."

"Well get it fucking done....and quickly. The longer you leave 'em lying around the worse it'll be, do it properly and you can have the rest of what I promised ya. Fuck it up and you'll get nothing!"

Heat 14. 4-2 to the away team. Brummies now up by only two points, going into the last heat of the night.

I down my drink and fasten up my coat.

"Ay yow stayin' to watch tha' last 'eat decider?"

I look down at Raki's meeting programme and work out how I think the meeting will end.

Brummies need a 3-3 to win.

The away team need a 4-2 to draw or a 5-1 to win. Either way they'll be taking a bonus point back home with 'em.

"No. They'll only fucking lose! Listen, I'll drop the cake off at the club in a couple of days and you better make sure that you've got rid of that problem by then!"

At home 1 hour later.

I phone my Mom to see how everyone is doing.

"Dads well," she says, "But the Doctors reckon he's not going to get any better than he is now."

We both agree that that's better than nothing.

She tells me that Michael has finally got a new job, after months and months of trying and failing.

"That's fantastic." I say.

Her voice makes me feel safe, like everything is going to be okay.

Like all of the terrible things I've done don't really matter, because whatever has happened she'll always love me!

I'm rolling my wedding ring between my fingers, for some reason I always do it when I talk to Mom.

Even though I stopped wearing it years ago.

I'm quiet and Mom must know what I'm doing.

"What Laura did to you was wrong John. Dead wrong! Just remember that Son, right."

"Yeah Mom, I know."

But it doesn't make it any easier!

I wipe away the tears, now Mom goes quiet and I get the feeling she's doing the exact same thing.

After all, I wasn't the only one who lost something....she lost a Daughter-in-law she thought the world of and a Grandson she would have died for.

I tell her I'll come and see them soon.

Lying again as usual.......

I want to see them.

But I don't want them to see me.

Not like this!

"I love you Son."

"I love you to Mom....give Dad a kiss for me."

I put down the receiver and blow my nose.

I pick up my mobile and drop Mike a celebratory text.

He sends me one straight back, thanking me and asking when he's going to see me next.

I lie again, and tell him it'll be soon.

Then, right out of the blue I think about my older sister Rosie.

I mean, I ain't even given her a second thought for years now.

We fell out ages ago, mainly because I didn't like the bloke she was getting hitched to.

He liked to use his fists to show her how much he loved her, ya see.

But no matter what he did to her she'd always go back to him.

He even kicked their little baby out of her once. She could never get pregnant again after that.

No one seemed to be able to do anything about it.

Dad couldn't, because he was just starting to get ill and Mike was too young.

So I decided that it would have to be me, even though I was only 15 myself at the time.

So I waited for him outside our house and when he come round to see Rosie I asked him for a straightener.

The cunt thought I was joking with him, until I kicked him in the balls.

Then he knew I was fucking serious alright!

He thought he was a hard man, that he was going to kill me.

But I'm a very different animal to him.

I mean, it's not like I'm the strongest bloke out there.

Nor am I the best fighter, or even that I'm fearless.

But what I can do is take violence to the next level and commit appalling acts that other people wouldn't even dream of.

And the worse thing is, that afterwards I feel no remorse what so ever about what I've done.

So after I'd clumped him to the ground, I stood over him ready and willing to finish him off.

I looked up and saw Rosie running towards me and got ready for her to hug and kiss me and thank me for sorting this arsehole out for her, once and for all.

But she didn't....she pushed me away and took him in her arms and comforted him....after all he'd done to her and our family.

That was it for me....our Mom tried to get us to talk again but I wasn't interested after that.

Like some sort of disease that eats away at ya, the damage was too far gone.

Nothing could ever make it better again.

I haven't spoken to her since.

No one in the family even mentions her name to me, they know not to!

The last I heard she'd gone all Shirley Valentine and had ended up going kosher with some Abdullah over in Turkey.

Good fucking riddance.......

My phone vibrates on the arm of the chair and then starts beeping.

Text message coming through;

Send.

After that I do a couple of lines off the coffee table and watch an old episode of _Only Fools and Horses_ on G.O.L.D.

The one with Granddads' funeral and when Uncle Albert moves in.

I must have seen them all a million times or more, but they still make me laugh.

And when I say laugh, I mean proper laugh.

Plus it reminds me of home.

They speak my language and talk about the places I know.

South London....my home.

Some people think all the characters in it are over exaggerated, but they're really not.

I knew loads of people like that when I was growing up.

My Uncle Seamus was just like Del-Boy and my old Granddad, bless his bones could tell you a right good war story.

Flash pricks like Boycie and Mickey Pearce were ten a penny round our way.

And my Brother....well he's a sort of cross between Rodders and Trigger.

A really, really nice bloke. But just a bit thick.

It was probably all of them wallops I used to give him around his loaf when we was kids, playing wrestling.

I was always Big Daddy and he was Giant Haystacks.

After Only Fools I watch an episode of _The Young Ones._

The one where Vyvyan is pregnant and Neil joins the Police Force.

That has me in stitches n'all.

Before I go upstairs to bed I check the Brummies result on teletext.

See....I just knew they'd fucking nause it right up!

Fucking amateurs.......

I turn the TV off and head upstairs.

I just can't get to sleep.

Tossing and turning.

Turning and tossing.

So in the end I just decide to toss, and crack one off for the first time in a couple of days.

I'm thinking about Madeline, but Paulina keeps popping into my mind.

I tell her to fuck off and try to fight her, but she won't go away.

Eventually I just give up and let her join in for a threesome.

When I come I see her mutilated face.

My nuts hurt afterwards.

I fall asleep easily after that, but end up having fucked up dreams about getting married to Anne Robinson....Anne fucking Robinson?

I don't even like Anne Robinson!

Although, I don't mind a nice fat ginger minge to stick my face into every now and again!

Lovely jubbly.......

I end up knocking her up and she gives birth to a psychopathic, knife wielding dwarf that looks like Chucky!

With the denim dungarees and everything.

Somehow, through the haze of sleep I can hear my work phone ringing and eventually it wakes me.

I'm glad to be out of that dream, before my vicious seed could stab the shit out of me.

That shit was getting beyond weird!

I pick up the phone and check the time.

00:53.

Caller ID reads; _Number unknown_.

I let it ring a little while longer, while I take a slurp from the bottle beside my bed.

"Garrett." I cough, clearing my throat.

"Oh yeah....er right, Mr Garrett sir. Sorry to wake you."

It's a female voice, but it's not Madeline!

"It's DS Tracey Webb sir....can you hear me?"

One of Gregory's team. So what the fuck does she want with me?

"Yeah....I can hear ya." I slur.

"Good, there's been what appears to be a gang related murder outside the Fox and Hounds pub, at the entrance to the Hillman housing estate. There's no Senior Officer in attendance at the moment and seeing as you live quite nearby, I was just wandering if you'd come and take charge until one arrives?"

"Do I have to?" I cough again, this time bringing up some phlegm into my mouth that I've no way of getting rid of, so I just have to swallow it.

"Not really. It's just that with this type of thing you are the most experienced and best Officer sir."

Flattery will get you everywhere my girl.......

"Alright, alright. I'll be there in fifteen."

I end the call before she can thank me, get up and throw on some clothes.

The night air is cold and wet, the kind that clings to your skin and won't wash off no matter how hard you scrub it.

I almost say, just fuck it and turn around and go back to my bed.

But no, the Hillman housing estate holds a few secrets of mine that I want to make sure stay well hidden.

So I get in the car, have two sniffs up each nostril, light a ciggy and make my way across the city.

The area has been cordoned off and several patrol cars are parked across the road leading on to the estate.

Blue lights on, sirens off.

I flash my headlights at the PC on sentry duty and he lifts up the cordon tape and I drive under it.

I park up next to an empty panda car and get out into a persistent drizzle.

I zip up my Hackett quilted jacket, pull on my Mulberry leather gloves and wrap my Fred Perry tartan scarf around my neck.

I walk across the road, past what I assume are members of the deceases' family, who are nearby but still behind the cordon.

The Mother has some rosary beads wrapped around her hands and is shouting loudly;

"JESUS WHY? WHY TAKE ME BABBY AWAY FROM ME!"

Fucking Gypsies.......

Then she semi-collapses into the arms of a tall, barrel chested man and her cries are smothered.

Other family member's are consoling each other.

And they are all surrounded by a circle of young men with mean face's, like they're going to find the cunt who did this to their relative and fucking bury him!

The body is on the pub car park, lying on its back between two concrete bollards.

It's been covered over with a white plastic sheet, which is trying to take off in the gale that's whipping up around us.

The feet are protruding from under the sheet and are sticking straight up into the air.

He's wearing white _Reebok classics_ , the soles facing out towards the main road.

He must have been trying to get to the pub when he was gunned down.

Little, yellow numbered cones are dotted around on the road and pavement, marking out potential pieces of evidence.

I stop next to the body, squat down and fold back the sheet to have a look at the dead bastard.

His torso has....one, two, three. Three visible bullet wounds.

His face is fixed rigid, in a completely confounded expression.

DS Tracey Webb is pacing around behind me with a notepad in her hand, reeling off what little information they have already gathered.

"His name is Connor Burke, known locally as _Burkey_."

"Very imaginative," I say, knowing the name. Though not personally, only by reputation. "He was a Gypo?"

Webb, who has now walked around in front of me nods.

"I think the politically correct term is; Member of the _'Irish travelling community'_ sir."

"Whatever you want to call him, he's no great loss is he!" I might have Irish heritage, but I fucking hate travellers.

" _SOCO'S_ haven't found any bullet casings yet, so it looks like they used a revolver. There are two stray bullets in the pubs window frames, and another went straight through the window and found its way behind the bar, smashing some bottles of spirits."

What a waste of good booze!

The only real tragedy here.......

I stand up and look over at the _SOCO'S,_ busy digging the lumps of lead out of the flaky wood. And suddenly I become mesmerised by the spider web pattern that radiates out from the entry hole in the wire reinforced glass.

"The rounds they're pulling out look like .38 specials, sir." adds Webb.

My scalp tingles and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

A Revolver?

.38 specials?

Case closed!

I could take them straight to the killer right now, I know exactly who he is, where he lives and even what gun fired the shots.

Manurhin MR73.......

But they can't have him yet....at least not until I've had a word with him anyway!

They always come back to bite you on the arse.......

"So the shooter obviously approached from behind the houses across the road and then opened fire as he was coming across the grass," I'm trying to be as useful as I can without giving the game away. "Probably while they were still walking, hence why they missed three times. Any witnesses?"

I'm hoping he was smart enough not to leave anything that might lead them to him.

"At the moment no one's come forward, but uniforms are going to start door to door in the morning."

"You want to get a team of _SOCO'S_ over the road there, check for shoeprints in the mud."

Webb's nodding and writing all this down.

I just hope he's had the sense to destroy his shoes.

"Is Madeline Tilbury here?" I ask.

"I don't think so sir. Why?"

"She's just good at that type of thing, that's all."

Shame, the thought of seeing her again is really the only reason I came here tonight.

I spot another car arriving on the scene.

It parks up next to mine and out gets Ian Gregory.

Perfect.......just fucking perfect.......

I fucking **hate** you!

I **hate** your soppy black country accent!

I **hate** your floppy _Hugh Grant_ hair!

But most of all, I fucking **hate** your smell!

Wife's cunt and baby sick!

He was probably fucking her when he got the call.......

Recently he's been even more pissed off at me, after he was overlooked to step into Tony Rodgers's shoes.

"What the hell am you doing here Garrett?" Gregory asks irately. "Purnell phoned me and told me to come!"

Before I can answer him, DS Webb does it for me.

"I asked him to come sir, to give us his opinion on what he thinks happened here."

"Right. Well I'm 'ere now, so you're not needed anymore are ya. This is my case, so if you doh mind....what we got so far then Trace?"

Before Webb can answer him I cut in.

"Why weren't you here before me then?"

He looks up to the sky and tuts.

"Some of us ain't as close as others! I prefer living in the commuter belt, is that a problem for you?"

I shrug my shoulders.

Violent urges.......not going to be able to control them for much longer.......

"Well I suppose it is if you can't get to the crime scene quickly enough. Ain't it?"

"Just fuck off Garrett will ya! Y'am no better than me you know....so just fuck off!"

Standing over a corpse arguing....that's a new one even for me!

"Well, I am better than you Ian. Because you see, I'm Detective _CHIEF_ Inspector now!"

Just me being here tonight has ruffled his feathers. Now I may as well pluck them out one by one, while I've still got the chance.

"Yeah, that just proves it doh it? It ay what you know it's who you know! And that won't be for long anyway!"

I chuckle and wish I had my lump hammer with me to hit him with.

The increasing tension between us has brought in other Officers from around the periphery and now their gathered all around us, like we're two kids having a fight in the school play ground.

"Maybe it'll be your turn next time ay Ian....still I've heard you're odds on to be picked to organise the Christmas party this year so, every cloud n'all that. Book us somewhere nice won't ya?"

There are Ooo's and jeers from some of the others egging on Gregory, but he's got no witty come back to match mine.

"Yeah....well," he stammers on.

I can almost hear the rusty cogs turning in his head.

"Well....at least I've still got a wife and kids waiting for me when I get home!"

There are sharp intakes of breath all around, they all know he's gone too far this time.

He smiles broadly and looks about to see who's on his side, but no one wants to know him.

They can't even bear to look at him.

It takes him a second or two to realize he's got no friends here, then the smile droops and he closes his coat theatrically and fucks off.

I get pats on the shoulders from the other Coppers, before they all go back to what they were about before being drawn in by the bickering.

Webb asks me if I'm okay.

I laugh and shrug it off.

"Yeah, I'm absolutely fine."

I don't want her sympathy, I don't want anyone's.

And then she walks away, and I'm left alone with just a corpse for company.

And not for the first time.......

I watch Gregory walking back to his red Alfa Romeo 156.

My eyes are narrowing, but my mind is expanding.

Swelling up with the thoughts of all the 'orrible ways I'd like to hurt him.

When I get back home I don't go back to sleep.

I spend the rest of the night digging a dessert spoon into one of the packets of cake, taking out my share.

I like to cut my own. 80/20 with a colourless and flavour less, multi vitamin powder.

That way I know there's no nasty shit in it.

Plus, I like to make sure I get my recommended daily allowance of vitamin C....of course!

I have a liquid breakfast just after 6, then go upstairs to get washed and dressed.

Out the house just before 8, feeling fresh and looking fresher.

I sling the Adidas holdall into the back of the car and head round to see him before he goes out.

Hopefully I'll catch him while he's still sleeping.

I drive out of my pleasant suburban area, back into the down trodden streets around the Hillman estate.

It looks even worse during the day light.

A warren of unkempt houses and pitiful residents.

But like a wise cunt once said; ' _Where there's muck there's brass_.'

And these mucky bastards, with their various addictions, are lining my pockets for an early retirement.

But I won't be thinking about them at all when I'm getting fat off of all that fine food and drink.

Sitting back in the shadow of the villa, with a cool breeze blowing against my face.

Looking out on the sun drenched vineyards, sipping a vintage Barolo ( _Most likely a 78_.) with nothing to do and nowhere that I need to be.

Not like today.......not like now.......

I pass the pub, which looks completely different to last night.

If you didn't know what had happened here, then you'd be none the wiser.

Remember.......life goes on.......and so it does.......

Until you saw the flowers and burning candles placed on the spot where Burkey died.

A blue and yellow serious incident sign is propped up against the side of the pub, asking for anyone who saw anything to come forward.

Good luck with that Mr Gregory!

I continue down the road, past several lampposts with their own faded serious incident signs. Dead bouquets and tattered bandanas still tied around 'em.

Murders still mostly unsolved, the Victims names now long forgotten by all but the grieving families.

I take a left into Park Crescent, a long half moon shaped road that winds its way right through the very heart of the estate, splitting it in two.

Park Crescent, the cause of so much friction between the youths who live on either side.

Park Crescent, the main reason for the dead bouquets and tattered bandanas.

It could almost be viewed as something Shakespearian, if the whole thing wasn't so fucking meaningless.

Unlike most of the estates around here the Hillman has no high rise buildings, just _cul-de-sac_ after _cul-de-sac_ of two and three story pebble dashed town houses.

Filthy grey from all the pollution, but still some maniacs idea of a slice of heaven!

Mostly the delusional ex-council tenants, who took the opportunity to buy the houses when Thatcher offered it to them.

Their chance to own something of real value for the first time in their miserable existence.

Homes that are now worth even less than they were when the Conservatives conned them out of their money.

They can't even give these shitholes away nowadays.

Oh what a shame.......

Only to the Asylum seekers who come over from the bombed out countries, and I suppose after coming from that mess these places must be like bleeding palaces to them.

And so the Hillman just keeps on going and going.

Forever spreading like an untreated infection, until eventually, it kills its host.

I stop outside number 48, grab the holdall off the back seat and get out the car.

All the curtains are still closed.

Good.

I'm disgusted to see that they still have their Christmas lights up on the front of the house.

Plastic icicles hanging from the guttering, a shooting star next to the upstairs window and to top it all off, above the front door is Santa riding a mountain bike.

What?

A fucking mountain bike?

What the fucking hell?

You fucking tramps!

If you ain't going to take 'em **DOWN** , then **DON'T** put 'em up in the first place!

I walk up the crazy paving pathway, which is overrun with moss and weeds.

This whole fucking place is an eye saw from top to bottom.

I knock on the peeling front door, there's an exchange of muffled shouting from inside and then its opened.

It's Siobhan, his 17 year old sister.

She's half way through braiding her hair and is wearing a pissed off scowl.

I like her.

She reminds me of that singer, what's her name....Jessie J.

Yeah, that's it....and I'd definitely smash the granny out of her.

"Is Nigel In?" I ask courteously, belying my thoughts.

She flares her pug nose and chews the inside of her cheek.

"Upstairs." she sniffs and walks back into the living room, slamming the hallway door behind her.

I enter the house and jog up the stairs.

Nigel's bedroom door is shut, so I turn the handle and throw it open.

A thick fog of cigarette smoke envelopes me, and through the fog I can just about see him sitting on his smelly bed.

Back against the headboard, knees pulled up to his chest.

Wearing a string vest and shorts, he looks like he's been asleep. But by the look of the bags under his eyes, it's obvious that he's had about as much sleep as me.

Regret is written across his face, but the worry of being caught ain't quite dawn on him yet.

He's too preoccupied with feeling sorry.

When the door opens he panics, but as soon as he realizes it's just me he relaxes.

"Fuckin'ell, am I fuckin' glad t'see yow!"

I push the flimsy door shut and stand beside the bed.

"What the fuck happened last night then?"

"I fink ya know wha' happened doh ya? Dat's why yam 'ere ay it?"

"What the fuck are you playing at? It took me all of 10 seconds to work out it was you. How long do you think it will take them lot to do the same thing?"

"I'm sorry, wha' else can I say? I fucked up! He wuz after uz, mekin' threats! Wha' wuz I suppose t'do?"

"Fucking tell me about it and I would have sorted him out!" he gives me a dumb look like _'Oh yeah I didn't think about that.'_ "What the fuck was it all about anyway?"

"I giv' him a lay-on a couple of wicks agoo, onny £70's worth of weed like, but he dain't pay me for it. So I phones him up now yeah 'nd asks him for da money, an' he jus' laughs at me 'nd tells me to goo an' fuck me'self."

"And that's it? That's why you killed him? Fuck me....I'd have given ya the seventy notes if you'd have asked me for it, for fucks sake!"

"No....dat ay even da whole story boss. Ya see I phoned him agen like an' sez like let's jus' talk about it, but he sez he weren't interested 'nd arksed wha' da fuck I wuz gonna do 'bout it. So then Darren grabs da phone off me right 'nd starts threatening Burkey. He needed dat money ya see. Man's got he's missus an' kids to fink 'bout innit?"

"So Burkey said he was coming for you, so you went for him first?"

Nigel nods slowly.

"We lured him outta da pub wiv' a phone call like, sez doh worry 'bout the money let's jus' put dis shit behind uz. Den when he comes out I ran up 'nd squeezed off some shots. He jus' dropped to tha floor...."

His eyes glass over as he relives the whole sordid ordeal.

"You didn't use your own phone did ya?"

"Yeah....but I put a new pay as ya goo sim card in it."

"Where's the sim card now?"

"I took it out 'nd dropped it down a drain!"

"Good. What about the clothes you were wearing?"

"I used dem overalls they giv' me when I did dat community service, 'nd a pair of old trainers. I wuz masked up as well, so no one could 'ave recognised me if they'd sin me anyways."

"Have you destroyed them yet?"

"Darren took 'em, he sed he wuz gonna burn 'em up like."

"Who else knows about this?"

"No one, jus' me 'nd Dazza like....an' now yow."

"You did alright by the sounds of it. You sure you've never done anything like this before?" I ask, half wandering about the estates high rate of unsolved murders.

His face twitches and he shakes his head.

"Onny when I robbed dat paki shop before like, but no one got hurt durin' dat. All dis shit for 70 notes man....I cor believe it! We just got shook....carried away....worried....ya know wha' dem Gypo's iz like! We f'ought he wuz gonna kill uz!"

"And you think that's going to stop them do ya? Last night I saw about 15 of his Brothers, Uncles, Cousins and fuck knows who else standing by that pub. Their faces twisted with anger, determined to find out who killed this dickhead and then rip him to bits. I'm afraid your troubles have only just begun pal!"

"OH FUCKIN'ELL!!" he exclaims, eyes widening with terror.

I bare my teeth, then lunge forward and grab his face.

I squeeze his cheeks hard, until his mouth resembles a puckered arsehole.

"I'M THE ONE YOU SHOULD BE FUCKING WORRYING ABOUT, NOT THEM....I GAVE YOU THAT STRAP TO LOOK AFTER FOR ME, NOT TO FUCKING USE TO END A PETTY BASTARD FUCKING SQUABBLE, YOU STUPID CUNT!"

"Okay....okay boss, I understand." he lisps like Daffy Duck.

I tighten my grip, wishing I could just crush his face in my hand.

Then I let go and push him away, and he backs off from me as far as he can get in this small, stinky room.

"I should throw you to the fucking dogs pal, do ya know that! Now then, I can either tip off the Gypo's and let them deal with ya or I could have you arrested, charged and sent down for a recommended 28 stretch! Or you can do something for me, and in return I'll take care of everything."

"Like wha'?"

"Don't know yet. I'll have a think about it and let you know."

"An' yow'll sort everyfin' out?"

"No one will touch you."

"Doh yow wan' uz to keep our heads down?"

"Do I fuck! You and Darren just carry on as normal. Don't do anything different, and if anyone asks your just as shocked to hear about what has happened as everyone else is....okay?"

He smiles and nods quickly, and I can sense his relief.

"Where's the strap now?"

"Dazza's got it at his yard."

"I've got more work for ya, some more cake needs to be cut."

I put the holdall on the end of the bed.

"Sound as boss." he say's unconvincingly, like it's the last thing that he wants right now.

"I need it in two days 'cause I've got people waiting for it. Do it the same way as you did the last time and there'll be a bonus in it for ya," he wipes his brow and forces a grin. "Have the strap ready for when I come to collect as well....did you hear me? And make sure Darren does exactly the same as you, right? Cause you don't want any more unscheduled visits from me now do you boy!"

His grin falls, the sweat springs from his pores and he stares down at the manky carpet.

"Does it get any easier like, after a bit of time has passed by?" he asks, not blinking.

I don't answer him, because he's not really listening anyway.

"Here's a hundred, that should be enough to see ya through for now," I count out the money and toss the notes onto the bed. "And take a couple of these if you feel you need 'em." I take my last strip of Lorazepam from my inside coat pocket and throw them at him.

Then I walk out the door, thinking to myself of course it fucking gets easier.

After my first time I felt really guilty, and the nightmares and flashbacks didn't stop for months.

But that was only because I didn't want to do it....I liked him a lot, but it had to be done.

I had no choice....it was either that, or I'd have been fucked.

The second time the guilt had gone, the flashbacks had stopped and the nightmares only lasted a couple of weeks.

Third time it felt good, because I wanted that cunt dead....I had my reasons!

Then each time after that has just been a buzz, which only gets bigger and better the more times you do it.

And best of all, no more nightmares, no flashbacks....fuck all!

Outside the room I turn left, away from the stairs and walk to the other end of the landing.

To the box room at the rear of the house.

The door has been left ajar and I push it further open gently, just in case she's inside.

The room is empty of people but full of cheap _IKEA_ furniture and puerile shit.

A girl.......

Hello Kitty curtains and jewellery sit cheek by jowl with Playboy bags and bedding.

In some sort of weird diametric opposition that's really fucking up my head.

Not yet a woman.......

The walls are crammed with tatty posters of old pop stars from about 5 years ago.

There's even that one of the man holding the baby. L'Enfant, I think it's called.

When I was a teenager, I had that one of the tennis girl scratching her Aris.

It was up on the wall at the bottom of my bed, so it was the first and last thing I saw each day.

I step inside, leaving the door wide open behind me, just in case I need to make a swift exit.

I pick up the top pillow, press my face in to it and sniff.

Coconut.

I put it down and go over to the chest of drawers and open the top drawer.

It's untidy and full of different electrical items.

Hair dryer,

Hair straighteners,

Hair curlers,

A pink lady shave.

No dildo.......

I close the draw softly and open the second drawer down.

This one is neat and tidy.

Stockings and ankle socks to the left, underwear to the right.

I hover my hand over the underwear and pluck up a nice purple G-string.

I unfold it and rub the material between my fingers, then I turn it inside out and smell the Gusset.

Lemon washing powder.

I put it back, close the drawer and leave the room.

I walk back across the landing, avoiding the creaky floorboards and go into the bathroom at the top of the stairs.

I close the door and lock it.

I pull out my Vicks stick and have two up each nostril.

I spit in the bath, then seeing the plug hole all clogged up with long black hairs knocks me right sick.

If there's one thing I can't stand.......

It makes me retch and I have to spit again.

This time a long stringy type spit that won't detach itself from my lips, so I end up having to break it off with my fingers.

Then I notice a wicker laundry basket against the wall behind me.

I go over to it, the soles of my shoes sticking to the lino floor.

I take off the baskets lid and have a rummage through.

The clothes inside are damp and smelly, but I soon uncover what I'm looking for.

A nice red thong, with a glittery heart motif on the front.

I take it out and feel the gusset....it's still fucking moist.

Then I lift it up to my nose and sniff it hard.

Sweet teenage fanny juice, with just a hint of urine in the background.

Just then the door handle starts flapping and someone tries to get into the bathroom.

It's a good job I locked the door, because I'm standing in the middle of the room with the laundry basket lid in one hand and the thong in the other, which would have been a bit tricky to explain.

"Hurry up will ya Nigel!" booms Siobhan's big voice.

I put the lid back on the basket and stuff the thong into my coat pocket for later.

Then I flush the Kermit and open the door.

She's resting on one leg impatiently, hands on her hips.

"Oh, sorry I thought my dickhead bruvver was in there."

I grin and look down at her, she's a few inches shorter than me and from up here I can see right down her loose fitting top.

To the skimpy bra hugging her curvy tits.

I turn side on in the doorway and we rub against each other as she squeezes past me.

As she does, I push my crotch towards her so she can feel my cock rubbing against her muffin top stomach.

I love a little bit of a paunch, especially if it's got some stretch marks.

But she ain't, not yet anyway.

Oh well.......you can't have it all.......

I don't say a word to her, I just maintain my grin and gaze. Eyes like ice cubes.

Once I'm out and she's in, I stand and watch her through the open door.

Her pleated mini skirt rides up her thighs as she bends over the bath tub and it gives me a nice glimpse of her pale arse.

Just like that girl from the tennis poster.......

She knows I'm watching her....and she fucking loves it!

I have to stop myself from rushing forward and sticking my cock up her, right there and then.

She stands up straight and looks in the mirror and can see that I'm still there watching her.

She fucking loves the attention of an older man.

Daddy probably wasn't around much when she was growing up.......

She stands up and half looks over her shoulder, rubbing her neck seductively.

Then, she flicks up her leg and kicks the door shut.

I get an excited shiver down my spine and have to adjust my trousers to accommodate the burgeoning stiffy.

Then I go back down the stairs and straight out of the house.

In the car I spark a cigarette, check that the thong is still in my pocket and drive away.

One thing you can't get these days is a good Doctor.

The touch screen, self-check in computer has a piece of paper sellotaped over it saying;

OUT OF ORDER.

So now I've got to talk to the snobby receptionist.

I walk over and wait at the sliding window.

Behind the glass she's doing her best to ignore me, sipping a cup of coffee and chatting to her mates.

I'm just an inconvenience to 'em!

I know she's definitely seen me, but she's acting like she ain't.

I'll ram my fucking fist through the glass in a minute and shove her head into her computer monitor.

Then watch the sparks fly.......

Then the phone next to her starts ringing and I'm thinking, you better not fucking pick up that receiver before you see me.

Or every single one of these cunts in this place are in real danger!

Wisely she slides the window open but doesn't even say hello, that's obviously too much trouble.

She just looks at me with a gormless expression, like she ain't got a clue what I'm here for.

"I've got an appointment at ten past. John Garrett. " I say curtly.

Surprise, surprise she can't find my name on the system and I'm beginning to get paranoid and wonder if I've got the wrong day.

But then, she actually puts down her cup of coffee and does her job and finds my appointment.

"Take a seat." she says through her nose and slides the window shut again and goes back to her coffee and chat like I don't even exist.

Well funnily enough that's what I intended to do anyway....you mutton dressed as lamb cunt....take it easy on the fucking eyeshadow next time....you cunt!

I pull myself away from the window, before I pick up a chair and ram one of the legs into her face.

The waiting room is full of the usual cast of ever present characters.

Like a bag of liquorice allsorts there are all colours, sizes and shapes in here.

The old person who reeks of piss, the fat twat who can barely breath without an oxygen mask strapped to their face, the kid with a hacking cough running around spreading germs with impunity and a poor old bloke with an head bent right forward so that his chin is touching his chest....I mean how the fuck does shit like that happen?

They're creepy and they're kooky.......the Addams family.......

I sit in the furthest corner, as far away from anyone as I can get.

Then I notice a young Mom sitting directly opposite to me, I hadn't seen her when I'd come in.

She's nibbling her babies dummy, which I can't help imagining is my cock.

Well it may as well be hadn't it!

I mean, if blow jobs and licking out while you wait were on the NHS, then there'd be no need for all this zero tolerance bullshit....would there?

Anyway it's just a thought.

She's nothing special, a bit dumpy and dowdy, but she's no plain Jane either.

She's got a nice face with killer dimples and there's a cracking pair of tits hidden under them baggy clothes.

How old do ya reckon......18.......19.......20 tops.......

I might wait for her when we've finished and offer her a lift.

Maybe I'll get her number, and she'll end up getting more than just a ride home.

I'm trying my best to ignore the scaremongering posters and leaflets dotted all around, otherwise you end up going away feeling worse than when I arrived.

But even though I'm not looking at them I can feel them burning into me.

Like when you close your eyes and look at the sun.

 I pick up the copy of Metro off the table in front of me and bury my head in it.

It's a few days old now, and has a laughable article on the front cover about Paulina Gomolski.

Entirely made up of hearsay and with facts from secondary sources.

I skim read the rest. Some old shit about a toilet paper crisis, a raving review about the latest hit U.S. TV show and how crowd trouble is expected at this weekend's local derby.

All hard hitting stuff ya know....and they wonder why they have to give this bollocks away for free?

Load of old pony.......

No cunt in their right mind would pay for this shit.

Still, I suppose if we do all run out of bog roll we could always use the excess copies to wipe our arses with!

However, having said that, the story about crowd trouble at the football has bought back some happy memories of a few Saturday afternoons spent up at Millwall.

Cracking tosser's heads wide open with my truncheon.

Eventually the Senior Officer took our squad off that job, when he figured out that the violence was actually worse when we were there.

Which was mainly down to just a few us, who like the physical aspect of the job a little bit too much.

Occasionally I peak over the top of the paper to find the young Mom looking at me and then sharply breaking her gaze when I catch her at it.

Then I'm summoned through.

"Mr Johnathan Garrett to room 5 please. Mr Johnathan Garrett to room 5, thank you."

I get up, throw the Metro back onto the table and weave my way through the scum in the waiting room.

The Doctors consultation rooms are behind the reception desk, all the way down a long corridor with olden days photos of Birmingham on the walls, which I really do find quite interesting.

CORPORATION STREET 1890.

Room 1; Dr Galvin,

NEW STREET 1896.

Room 2; Dr Batth,

SAINT PHILLIPS CHURCH 1924.

Room 3; Dr Chatterjee,

COLMORE ROW 1958.

Room 4; Dr Akinyele,

BULL RING CENTRE 1967.

The sign on the door of room 5 reads;

Doctor Proctor! If you can fucking believe that?

I knock and enter to see a hobbit looking Asian sitting on the chair, who's feet are barely scraping the floor.

They're all together ooky.......the Addams family.......

"Hello Mr Garrett, take a seat please do."

Why does everyone keep fucking saying that to me?

"And what can I do for you today sir?"

"I've come for my medication."

He types furiously on his keyboard.

"Yes, right....so that is Mirtazapine 30mg, Lorazepam 2mg and Co-codamol 30/500 yes?"

He looks at me for confirmation.

I nod.

"How are you feeling now Mr Garrett?"

"I'm okay." I croak, my mouths so fucking dry I can hardly speak.

"And are these medications helping you at all?"

"Yep."

This is when I feel at my most vulnerable, when I'm being asked these type of questions.

I don't want to be here at all....I don't need to be here!

But because of my past problems it is now a requirement of the job that I attend a Doctor's appointment at least once a month.

"Excellent, excellent. And how is work? Everything there is fine there yes?"

"Yep."

"Good, tell me have you had any thoughts of harming yourself at all in the past few weeks?"

"Nope." I lie.

Only every fucking minute of every fucking day pal that's all.......

After Laura and Kyle had left, I used to sit and get drunk while starring at the noose I tied to the staircase. Hoping I would find the Dutch courage to use it....I came close a few times as well.

This once I put on her wedding dress and slipped the rope around my neck.

I wanted to be found wearing it, so there would be no doubt as to why I'd killed myself.

But I was too much of a coward to step off the stool!

I torn the dress off and ripped it to pieces....that made me feel better....for a few minutes that is.

"Really then Mr Garrett we should think about lowering your dosage again as my colleagues have done before. These are not combinations of drugs that we like to give you for a long term okay,"

I shrug.

"So, how would you feel about maybe....15mg of Mirtazapine and 1mg of Lorazepam? Would you be happy to try this?"

I don't really care pal! Just hurry up and give me my prescription, so I can get the fuck out of here!

Pronto.......Proctor.......

They've tried me on everything, all kinds of tablets and liquids.

Citalopram,

Librium,

Promethazine,

Diazepam,

Zopiclone,

Sertraline,

Prozac,

Bupropion and on and on and on and on and on and on....

And in every possible combination you can imagine.

It's all just fucking jollop anyway.......

But taking all these drugs together made me feel like a fucking zombie, and I've since found that my own forms of medication work best.

Especially for the insomnia.

Although I do still take the Lorazepam and Co-Codamol quite regularly, and if they do lower my dose then I can always just double up I suppose.

I stopped taking the anti-depressants and sleeping pills about two years ago, or maybe a bit longer now I come to think about it.

I used to collect 'em from the chemists and then just chuck 'em into a drawer at home.

I ended up with hundreds unopened boxes of pills, until one day I got the idea to start shifting 'em in the clubs as disco biscuits.

At £12 a pop they used to bring me in as much as an extra £600 a month, and that was after I'd paid my sellers their 25% commission.

"These painkillers are also quite a high dosage sir...." says Scrooge, and at this point I've got to intervene.

"Yeah, but I only take them when I need 'em you see. So I'd rather just stick to them if you don't mind!"

No way are you taking them away from us pal.......

I can almost see myself from the third person perspective, getting all defensive and looking pathetic!

"Okay Mr Garrett we will give this a go then," he clicks his mouse, prints off a prescription and signs it. "There we are then sir, tell me is there anything else you would like to talk to me about today?"

"No I'm fine thanks." I smile.

"Very good then Mr Garrett. You are making excellent progress, I will see you again in a few weeks okay,"

I get up out the chair and walk to the door.

"Bye, bye then sir."

I leave the room and walk back along the corridor, stopping this time to look at the photos in more detail.

In no particular rush, like I do when I'm enjoying myself at a gallery.

Other patients are coming out of their Doctors rooms and looking at me like I'm a mental or something!

It's alright.......'cause you are.......

When I reach the waiting room I see that she's gone and I decide that she ain't worth waiting for after all.

Plenty more fish n'all that.......less than five percent has been explored n'so on.......

On the way back to the station I drop my prescription into the pharmacy, and stop off at _Subway_ to pick up some lunch.

A foot long chicken and bacon ranch, on hearty Italian. Extra cheese with everything.

I even have olives and jalapeños on it.

Barbeque sauce, chilli sauce, salt and pepper.

I make it a meal deal, with a packet of pussy cocktail and a bottle of citrus Oasis.

Plus, three double chocolate chip cookies for later.

£9.20.

I drive back to Steelhouse Lane, park up and eat the sandwich in the car.

While I'm eating my mind is ticking over, thinking about everything that's going on at the moment.

Hatching.......

By the time I've finished the sandwich, I've decided it would be best to get my hands on Burkey's mobile phone and delete the entire memory.

Just in case.......

It won't take them very long to realise that Nigel phoned him several times in the days leading up to the shooting. And although it would be easy to explain away as just friends chatting, there must be some other people out there who know about their feud, but for one reason or another are keeping tight lipped about.

For now.......

However that won't last forever and pretty soon they might be more willing to come forward and talk.

Besides which, I've just got this feeling! That if Nigel is bought in for questioning he'll crumble like a packet of biscuits under a lorries wheels.

And that would be very bad for me indeed, and even worse for Nigel. Who would then have to be found dead in his cell.

I have another smoke and some more sniffs and some special water, then make my way up to the office.

As soon as I enter I look straight over to Tracey Webb's desk.

But she ain't there, although her computer is switched on, but it is logged out.

I'm hoping she's just gone to the toilet for a slash and that she won't be too long.

On my desk I find Martin Hemmings' report from the cinema.

I waste the next few minutes of my life reading it, again there is nothing in it that can really help the investigation.

No one knew her that well.

Blah, blah, blah, blah.

She kept herself to herself.

Yada, yada, fucking yada!

My duty is almost done, and I'm fucking glad about it.

I've followed up all the leads they've given me and fuck all has come from any of them.

The sooner I can forget the name Paulina Gomolski the better.

I look up at Webb's desk, she's just got back.

By the looks of it she's been out for a fag.

She sits down, pops a polo mint into her mouth and logs back into her computer.

I get up, walk across the office to the filing cabinets and stick Hemmings report in with the rest of the bollocks.

Then, I loiter around the walk in stationary cupboard trying to get Webb's attention, without attracting anyone else's.

Psssst....

Psssst....

### PSSSSSSST!!!!

She looks up from whatever she's doing to see who the knob causing all the racket is.

And as she does, I back up into the stationary cupboard and beckon her in.

She enters the cupboard furtively. Displaying a confused, almost wary expression.

"I should warn you now Mr Garrett," she says firmly, wrinkling her nose. "I'm not into office romances."

"Neither am I....and that's not why I asked you to come in here anyway, now just keep your voice down will ya!"

"Good," she whispers. "Because I saw something like this on a TV programme once, and let me tell you it wasn't very pleasant!"

She tries to look thankful about my lack of interest in her, but I can tell that deep down she's a little bit peeved that I don't see her in that way.

Or maybe it's just in my imagination?

Either way, there's no time for anything like that right now!

She's always been a bit to manly for my liking.

The type of woman who always wears trouser suits and never a skirt.

The one who likes to have her hair cut short or tied up tightly, making her look po-faced. Like a Victorian nursemaid.

The type who drinks pints all night and eats a kebab on the way home.

The one who could easily be mistaken for the office lesbian.

You know the sort. Every office has got one.

"Why did you want me in here then sir?" she asks, clacking the hard mint against her teeth.

"I've been thinking about last night....and I think I might've come up with something."

"Yeah, great. What is it? Have you got a suspect for us?"

"Not exactly....it only came to me when I was lying in bed. You see my victim, Marcus Longsdale was shot with a similar weapon as this Connor Burke!"

"Right. So do you think the two are linked?"

"Possibly, I'm not sure yet. What I need to do is to get my hands on this Burke's mobile phone, so I can go through it and see if any of the names or numbers on it match any in my files."

"So why don't you just ask if you can have a look at it? I'm sure no one would mind....you are a Senior Officer after all!"

"Have a think about it will ya!" I say, screwing my forefinger into my temple. "Your under Stanwyck's command not mine! So I'd have to go through him and the whole thing would end up being a right bleedin' rigmarole. Besides, you saw what Gregory was like with me last night! I don't need any more of his shit right now. But I really want to get my own back on him by solving this case as well as my own investigation."

"So what do you want me to do then?"

I give her one of them looks that don't need any words.

She shakes her head.

"No way sir....y..you don't expect me to get the phone for you?"

I nod my head.

"I can't....if Gregory finds out I've taken it I'll be up for the sack!"

"Oh come on Tracey, I did you a favour last night didn't I?"

You know, the closer I get to her in this cramped space, and the more I look into her eyes the hornier she's making me.

Especially the way she's using her tongue to move that mint around in her mouth.

"Now you're just repaying me that's all....I mean it's not like I'm asking ya to suck me off is it?"

Fuck it, I'm going to try my luck with her!

If you don't ask you don't get do ya.......

But she doesn't even register what I'm saying to her, she's too busy weighing up her options.

I continue to try and convince her.

"Just let me have it for a day, two at the most....please Tracey. Purnell is after my neck, he's talking about transferring me to Forensic accounting....if I can bring him this fucker he'll leave me well alone!"

She chews her bottom lip thoughtfully and gives me a doubting look.

I don't think she's going for it, so I may as well spill the beans about the impending closure of Mastiff.

That might just give her the kick up the Aris that she needs.

"You can have it until tomorrow but that's it!" she says right out of the blue, and I literally have to bite my tongue to stop myself!

"God damn it, I'll be a goner if they find out what I'm about to do."

"No one will ever know, I promise ya Tracey!"

"So how do you want to do this then sir?"

She's getting all hyped up, rolling her head around her shoulders and shaking her hands by her sides.

Like a substitute standing on the side line, waiting to come on for the last few minutes of the cup final.

"Well the easiest way is, if you just get it and then give it to me, okay?" she nods. "Have you got the mobile phone records yet?"

"No, we've made a request to the carrier, but we're still awaiting their authorization."

"Well if you get them I need to be the first to see them n'all, alright?"

"Yeah, sure, why not!" she raises her voice and waves her arms in the air.

"Thank you Tracey, this means a lot to me."

I wink and pick up a box of staples, and as I leave the stationary cupboard I start whistling; _'Love Will Tear Us Apart'_.

