

Chasing Shadows

Countdown

B T Coll

Author's Note

#

Countdown is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are entirely fictitious.

Copyright B T Coll © 2017

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

# Chapter One

After many months of meticulously planning her demise, there was only one thing left to do and that was to choose the right man to carry out the deed. Through a rigorous elimination process that lasted several weeks and had caused many sleepless nights, the choice was finally made. Paul Dillon was the best man for the job. This was a man who had been in and out of prison for most of his adult life and had just been released a few months ago after a lengthy prison sentence for attempted murder. It was a well-known fact that he had, in the past, taken the fall for crimes that had been committed by others in exchange for money. So, taking everything into account, he seemed the best man for the job.

The details of the plan had to been changed when the news of the murders of two women came to light. Strangulation was now the preferred method to get rid of her. All that was left now was to persuade Paul Dillon to agree to the plan in exchange for a handsome amount of money. He would be given £1000 as a down payment, with the rest being paid on completion of the murder that had been so carefully planned. The biggest challenge was not persuading Paul Dillon to commit the deed. The biggest challenge was to ensure that her murder was somehow connected to the still unsolved murders of the other two women in the area. They had been murdered a month apart and their bodies dumped in the Glasgow area. Both had been strangled and for the plan to work her murder had to be identical to the others in every way. The date of the murder had to be exact for the alibi to work.

On Friday 1st November Mayor Williams was hosting a dinner party at the Town Hall with well over 200 guests. At first the invitation was going to be declined, as the thought of attending another boring dinner party was not something to look forward to. The invitation lay on the desk for weeks until the thought of needing an alibi came to mind. It was the perfect alibi and with this Friday 1st November became the day that everything would fall into place. Everything would have to go to plan and her murder could never be traced back to Paul Dillon. To ensure this there was another plan. A plan that would be enforced after the deed was done. Countdown. Five days to go.

# Chapter Two

Paul Dillon had left prison with no money, no home and no chance of a job. Not that he wanted one anyway. He couldn't even remember when he last had a job. Now living in a hovel of a flat, arranged by the Social Work, he sat on his sofa looking at the brown envelope and the bundle of £20 notes in his hand. What the hell!

He had found the brown envelope, lying in his hall, that morning. Who would put an envelope stuffed with money through his door? Who knew he was out of prison? Was it his brother Davie? When he left prison, he had promised himself a new start and had not contacted any of his old mates but he knew that news of his release would get around sooner than later. Every time he had been freed from prison he promised himself a new start in life. Easier said than done and over the last 20 years he had broken his promise many times. This time however he wanted it to be different. At 43 years of age it was now or never. Looking around his dingy flat he wondered how long he would stay out of prison this time. He let out a huge sigh and knew that it wasn't going to be easy. Going straight after all these years would be the hardest thing he had ever done. Can he do it?

Throwing the envelope on the table he started counting the money and found to his dismay that it amounted to £1000. Was this some sort of set up? Was it his brother Davie compensating him for all he had done for him? He looked down at the money on the table. Something was going on. Something he knew nothing about. He didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit. What was he expected to do for this money?

He lifted the bundle of notes from the table and counted it all again. It was a lot of money. Laying it back down on the table he thought of what he could buy. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a folded sheet of white paper on the floor. Did it fall out of the envelope? He scooped it up and sat looking at it for several moments trying to find the courage to open it. What would it say? It wasn't going to be good, he was sure of that.

Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper and read the short message.

Paul Dillon £1000.

Will be in touch.

Mr X

What was this about? Who was Mr X? His head was pounding with so many unanswered questions. Stuffing a bundle of notes into his trouser pocket he put the rest under his mattress before grabbing his jacket and making his way to the pub. He needed a drink.

# Chapter Three

Alison Phillips sat at her office desk and let out a huge sigh. The dark rings around her eyes were visible for all to see. She hadn't slept properly for weeks now. Every night it was the same thing. The telephone would ring constantly for most of the night. There never seemed to be anyone at the other end. No heavy breathing, just silence. After a week of this Alison contacted BT who told her they would look into it for her. Maybe there was something wrong with her telephone line. In the end, she changed her telephone number but the calls did not stop. At 3am that morning, the telephone rang again and she had tossed it across the room. It was now sitting in a hundred pieces. She would clean it up when she got home.

Looking around the office she saw that Helen McKenna, the Office Manager, had risen from her desk at the other end of the room and was now making her way towards her. She suddenly felt her mouth go dry and her throat tighten. Grabbing a thick wad of invoices, she immediately began putting them into order to make herself look busy. She had already endured the sharp end of Helen's tongue for most of the day and didn't want another confrontation. To her great relief Helen walked right past her making her way to the fax machine in the corner of the room. Alison let out a sigh of relief. Another few minutes and she would be out of there.

Helen was a short stout woman in her early fifties with short black curly hair, which had more than a little grey. She wore what everyone called 'Harry Potter' glasses, which were too big and round for her long face. The large round glasses were the first thing anyone noticed about her. They were her trademark. Even if someone couldn't remember her name they all knew the woman with the 'Harry Potter' glasses. She was one of the first employees of Johnston & Jones and had worked for the company for over 20 years and had become Office Manager when Josephine Gibson retired, just over three years ago. She was the first person in the offices in the morning and the last to leave at night.

Her whole life seemed to revolve around the company although there were rumours of a husband whom she mentioned now and again to explain her bad moods. Alison and her co-workers were rather sceptical and had deduced that the husband was a figment of her imagination, seeing that there was no physical evidence of his existence not even a photograph.

Over the last year Helen's bad moods were becoming more and more frequent and she always took her temper out on others, which earned her the nickname of 'Super Bitch'.

Alison Phillips had only been working with the company for little over a year and hated every minute of it. She had been trying unsuccessfully for the last six months to find another job. She didn't let this get her down. Her ideal job, she told herself, was only around the corner.

Glancing at her watch she was pleased to see that she only had a few minutes left to work before she could go home. It had been a very long day and she regretted now that she had not called in sick.

Five minutes later, Alison switched off her computer, took her handbag from her desk drawer and rushed over to grab her coat from the coat stand in the corner of the room. Helen McKenna was still at the fax machine and Alison could see out of the corner of her eye that she was checking her watch. Without saying a word to anyone Alison put on her coat and rushed out the door, along the corridor and down the stairs.

As she pushed open the swing doors leading to the reception area she cursed as she saw through the glass front doors how dark it was outside. "Looks like rain" Janet, the receptionist, informed her looking up from her computer for a few seconds. "Bloody typical. The sun shines all day and just when you leave work it starts to rain." Alison replied curtly shaking her head. "Right I'm off before it gets any heavier." Pushing open the front door she stood there for a few seconds looking up at the sky. "Bye." Janet shouted and lifted her head from the computer just in time to see Alison disappearing out of sight.

Making her way through the car park, Alison tried to remember where she had parked her car that morning. It took several minutes before she spotted the red Fiat Punto in the distance. As she made her way to the car she jumped when she suddenly heard thunder in the distance. She could feel the rain now and noticed it becoming heavier with each second that passed.

Quickening her step, she frantically began searching her bag for the car keys and on reaching her car, just managed to open the car door and jump inside as the clouds burst. Now slamming her car door shut she wondered how long the downpour would last.

Sitting in her car listening to the heavy rain pounding onto the car roof she could feel the tension rising within her. She let out a scream as a flash of lightening streaked across the sky and covered her ears for the inevitable thunder. Was she safe sitting in her car in the middle of a thunderstorm? Should she run back to the office? Should she try and drive in the heavy rain? Undecided on what to do she switched on the car radio and decided to wait and see. That was her new philosophy ever since Mark left her. Don't make rash decisions. Don't worry about things. Just wait and see what happens.

She had waited and waited for Mark to return to her but he never did. The last she heard, he was living with his new girlfriend somewhere in Paisley. No mention of divorce. No mention of anything. She had half expected him to contact her about selling their home but he never did. She shook her head. No use dwelling on the past. Anyway, she will soon be off to sunny Spain. Her friends Mary and Laura had arranged the holiday as a surprise to cheer her up. They told her that they were sick to their back teeth of looking at her gloomy face all the time and seeing that her gloomy face was too pale, decided a trip to sunny Spain was in order.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the familiar ring tone of her mobile phone. It was the garage around the corner returning her call from earlier that day. She was furious to be told that they would not be able to repair her car for at least a week due to a backlog of repairs needing finished. Something to do with mechanics having Swine Flu but she wasn't interested in excuses all she wanted was her car repaired. She had thought of claiming on her car insurance but her friends had advised her against it, as it would put up her premiums.

Ending the call rather abruptly, she found herself cursing mechanics, then the swine flu but most of all, the person that had scratched the entire length of her car. She would call some more garages tomorrow.

Feeling a headache coming on she switched off the car radio and rummaged through her handbag for some painkillers. She cursed as she remembered that she had left them on the bedside cabinet the night before. Tears started to well up in her eyes. She was tired and felt more than a little depressed as everything seemed to be going wrong for her these days. She chastised herself for feeling so low; this was not like her at all. She was normally a bubbly cheerful person and always dealt with whatever life threw at her with a positive attitude.

Shaking her head, she knew her low mood was due to lack of sleep. An early night was what she needed. That and a holiday with her friends would soon have her back to her normal self again in no time. The rain began to ease off and she started the car and made her way out of the car park to join the queue of traffic trying to reach the main road. The thought of going off with her friends to the sun lightened her mood and she found herself thinking of buying some new clothes. Countdown. Ten days to go.

# Chapter Four

#

Paul Dillon had just finished eating a fish supper and was now sitting in front of his new 42in HD TV, with a can of lager in one hand and the remote control in the other. Sipping from the can and flicking through the channels he suddenly heard his letterbox rattle. Rushing out to the hall he stopped in amazement as he saw that yet another brown envelope had been put through his door.

He pulled the front door open and rushed down the stairs two at a time but on reaching the front of the building saw that the street was deserted. Returning to his apartment he quickly slammed his front door shut and began tearing open the envelope. Half expecting more money he was disappointed to only find a folded piece of paper and a small photograph. Standing in the hallway he read the note.

Redmond Street

Red Fiat Punto

Photo enclosed

Details to follow

Turn your lights on and off three times, at 9pm, if you agree

Mr X

Bloody Hell! Paul studied the photograph. It was of a young woman in her early thirties, he guessed, with long dark curly hair. It was a passport sized photograph showing a close up of her face. Someone wanted him to have a good look at her. He wondered who she was and turned the photograph over to see her name, Alison Phillips, written on the back. The note said she lived in Redmond Street and drove a red Fiat Punto.

Why was he given this information? What was he expected to do? Paul didn't like this. It was all too sinister. Someone was playing games with him but why? There was no way he was playing along with this. Turn his lights on and off three times. No way! He wasn't getting mixed up in this, whatever it was. No way in hell! If this Mr X wanted his money back then he would need to whistle for it. He had spent most of the money that day and only had a few pounds left. Money had a way of disappearing from his grasp very quickly. Easy come, easy go. Paul Dillon lived for the moment.

He looked at his watch. 9pm. What now? He switched off the living room light and creeping towards the window, positioned himself behind the curtains. Carefully pulling the side of the curtain back, just enough to see down the street, he wondered if Mr X was watching him. The street was empty.

A few moments later he heard a noise and saw two men, obviously drunk, staggering and swaying along the street singing. They stopped for a moment while one of them relieved himself against a wall. A few moments later they had disappeared around the corner and the street was empty again.

Paul shook his head. Mr X would be more devious and keep to the shadows, he was sure of that. A few minutes later a blind man, with a white stick, came along the road. The man, wearing dark glasses, a long grey raincoat and matching hat, stood waiting to cross the road at the traffic lights directly across from Paul's flat. When the lights changed colour and bleeped, the blind man made his way across the street and Paul watched as he too disappeared from view. Straining his neck to see further along the street, Paul saw that there were a few parked cars. Perhaps Mr X was in one of those cars. Ten minutes later he gave up. Mr X wasn't stupid he would make sure he wasn't seen. Opening another can of lager he settled down to watch some television.

At 10pm he found himself falling asleep and had to drag his weary bones from the sofa to get to bed. Making his way to his bedroom something caught his eye. It couldn't be. Paul Dillon rubbed his eyes. Yes, it was another brown envelope lying just inside his front door. Suddenly finding himself wide awake he grabbed the envelope and tore it apart. Rubbing his eyes, he tried hard to focus on the handwriting.

Will you get rid of her for £10,000?

At 10.30 pm turn your lights on and off 3 times

Ignore my request and you will regret it

My patience is running out.

P.S. Remember Robbie Cullen

Mr X

Shit! What to do! What to do! Remember Robbie Cullen. Yes, he remembered Robbie Cullen. His murder was the talk of the prison for months. The rumour was that Robbie had crossed some big gangster from Edinburgh. He had known Robbie Cullen for years and had even shared a cell with him on more than one occasion. He was only 32 years old when he was murdered. His burned out remains were pulled from the Clyde. He, like Paul Dillon was a petty criminal all his life and as far as Paul knew was never involved in anything big but his murder was brutal. It was said that he was stabbed over 30 times and that his eyes and tongue were cut out before his body was burned and dumped. It was obvious to everyone that Robbie Cullen got involved in something that was way over his head. He annoyed someone.

Was it Mr X? Did Mr X kill Robbie? If he did why wasn't he killing this woman himself? Or did he pay someone to kill Robbie. Yes, that's what he did. Mr X wouldn't get his own hands dirty. Why did he kill Robbie? Did Robbie refuse to do a job for him?

Paul Dillon looked at his watch. Less than 20 minutes to make up his mind. What to do! What to do! He didn't want to end up like Robbie. If he did what Mr X wanted, how hard could it be? Damn hard. Even though he had spent 5 years in prison for attempted murder the truth was he was in fact innocent. He took the wrap for his younger brother Davie who was 18 years younger than him. With the big age gap between them he felt more like a father than a brother. Davie was the brainy one of the Dillon family. He was studying Chemistry at Glasgow University and had a girlfriend called Rose whom he met at the university. As brothers, they had never been really close but when push came to shove Paul couldn't let his brother go to jail, not when he had such a great future ahead of him.

His thoughts returned to that night when Davie arrived traumatised at his door. Collapsing into Paul's outstretched arms, he was covered with blood and rambling incoherently about stabbing someone. Paul heard something about a fight and a broken bottle. It was clear to him that Davie was not only drunk but had taken drugs too. He was angry as hell. How could his brainy brother be so damn stupid?

Shaking him and trying to get a semblance of sense out of him was useless. He had stripped him, cleaned the blood from him and put him to bed before throwing all of his brother's clothes into the washing machine. After switching on the machine, he looked down to see that he himself was covered in blood. This was when the police arrived. It was over in less than a minute. The police kicked down the door, saw Paul Dillon covered in blood and had dragged him off to the police station. He didn't know until later that Davie had been dragged off too.

Paul Dillon was sitting in the police interview room waiting to be questioned when he had heard Davie crying in the room next door and decided then and there to make the ultimate sacrifice and plead guilty to the attack to protect his brother. In the past, he had pled guilty to crimes he hadn't committed in exchange for money so this wouldn't be any different. What odds anyway, Paul had told himself. He was a nothing. Davie was the one with the bright future ahead of him.

Before that night he hadn't seen his brother for well over a year. Davie was ashamed of him and had told him this on more than one occasion. He would hang up on his brother every time he called to see how he was doing. Well, really it was to borrow money but also to see how he was doing. But now when he was in trouble Paul was the first person he came to for help.

So, it came to pass. Paul admitted assault and Davie kept his mouth shut. The only thing that Paul Dillon hadn't counted on was that the charge was changed from assault to attempted murder and he was sentenced to six years imprisonment. When the sentence was announced Paul nearly collapsed. Six years! He hadn't expected that.

On the day of his sentencing he had scanned the courtroom desperately looking for his brother but he was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't believe that his own brother would not turn up at court to support him. After all, he pled guilty to a crime he hadn't committed in order to save his brother from going to jail and messing up his career. Where was he? Paul kept scanning the courthouse hoping that he had somehow missed seeing him in the crowd of onlookers. But he was not there. In fact, he never heard from Davie again. No visits. No letters. So much for brotherly love.

Paul Dillon was released from prison a year early from his sentence, due to good behaviour. Once out he had thought about contacting Davie but had decided that there was no point. He often wondered what his younger brother was doing with his life. Davie was probably now a successful Chemist or whatever people do after a degree in Chemistry or he could be lying in a gutter somewhere high on cocaine. Wherever Davie was or whatever he was doing their brotherly link had been severed five years ago and with no other family Paul Dillon knew he was on his own. Nevertheless, he often thought of Davie. What was he doing now? Did he marry his pretty girlfriend?

Glancing at his watch, he saw that the time for indecision was up. What to do! What to do! Paul went over to the living room window and pulled back the curtain. The street was deserted. Where was this Mr X? Why wouldn't he show himself? He shook his head. There was only one thing for it. He had to play the game. He would pretend to go along with this Mr X. That would buy him some time to think. He went over to the light switch and turned it on and off three times as the note instructed.

A shadowy figure stood in a shop doorway, across from Paul Dillon's flat, watching the lights as they flickered on and off. It was an ingenious idea to mention Robbie Cullen. The money may not have been enough to convince him to carry out the deed but mentioning his old pal Robbie had made up his mind for him. Paul Dillon after all was no big shot heavy. He was a pathetic creature but then again attempted murder was nearly murder. All that was needed was for him to go that one step further.

The figure emerged from the shadows, unfolded the white cane and walked along the darkened street. Turning the corner, the dark glasses were pulled off and the cane quickly folded before walking the last 200 yards to the black BMW parked along the road. Everything was falling into place and the plan would soon come to fruition. It would soon all be over. There was only one thing left to do and that was to pass on the details. Countdown. Three days to go.

# Chapter Five

#

It had been raining constantly for the last three days and as Alison Phillips travelled along Dumbarton Road, she found it hard to keep herself calm and her anxiety resulted in her driving slower than usual.

As cars tried to overtake her and drivers beeped at her with frustration, she became more and more panicky, resulting in the car stalling at some traffic lights. Cursing she started the car again and slowly continued her journey home. The torrential rain made visibility near impossible and turning the corner into her street she suddenly saw a dark shadow running across the road in front of her car.

He had waited for nearly an hour for her to arrive. He was soaking wet but the only thing he could think of was his trembling hands. This had to be done the way Mr X wanted it or there would be trouble. He himself would be found brutally murdered and his body pulled from the Clyde if there were any mistakes, he was sure of that. This thought made his hands tremble even more. No time for thoughts this was it.

As she braked suddenly she let out a scream. "Fuck sake! You idiot!" He stood in front of her glaring through the windscreen and when he suddenly slammed his hands down hard on her car bonnet, she immediately regretted her outburst. He was dressed in dark clothing and barely visible in the heavy rain. All she could see was the glare in his eyes as he stared back at her. He stood in front of her car, for what seemed like an eternity, without uttering a word. Then walking around to the driver's side, he peered through the window at her and mumbled something inaudible and she found herself trembling.

It only took him a few seconds to pull open her car door and show her the knife. He put his hand through and pulled up the button to open the back-passenger door, before slamming the driver door shut and jumping into the back of her car.

She found herself rooted to the spot wanting to move, wanting to scream but unable to do either. As he leaned forward and she could feel his hot breath against her ear. "Drive." he whispered as he flashed the knife in front of her eyes before pressing it against her neck. She opened her mouth and tried to speak but found herself unable to utter a word.

Turning her head towards him she was suddenly stopped with a quick slap to the side of her head. "Keep your eyes straight ahead and drive. If you do what you're told then you won't be hurt." he lied. She felt the knife pressing further into her skin and knew she had to do as she was instructed. Starting the car, she drove down the street, praying that the nightmare would end.

# Chapter Six

#

Paul Dillon had followed the instructions; he had received, to the letter. He had played for time agreeing to do what Mr X had wanted until he could think of a way out of the situation. But the threat of ending up like Robbie Cullen was too much for him to think about.

In a moment of terror, he had thought of running away. Was that what Robbie did before he was caught and brutally murdered? No there was no way out. Do the deed, take the money and get as far away as possible.

He had worn gloves, as instructed and he had made sure, as best he could, that he was not seen. Now that the deed was done he felt sick, sick to his stomach. How could he have committed this heinous act? Who was he? He didn't know any more. It had not gone as smoothly as he had wished. She had put up quite a struggle. What did he expect? She was fighting for her life. Nevertheless, it was a lot more than he had anticipated.

Walking home he remembers the look of terror on her face when she saw the rope, which Mr X had provided, in his hands. He remembers her pleading. He remembers the look in her eyes. Walking along the street he looked down at his hands and saw that they were once again trembling. The hands of a killer. He tried hard to focus. He tried to remember the rest of the instructions. He shook his head. It was no good, he felt sick. His heart was thumping so hard that he felt that it would jump out of his chest at any moment. He was no killer. Yet he had killed. In order to save his own life, he had killed. Did that make a difference? He wasn't sure. He needed a drink. If there was any time in his life that he needed a drink it was at that moment. He had to get home as quickly as possible and drink the bottle of Whisky he had bought earlier that day. He needed desperately to blot out the last few hours. He needed to forget the look on her face but knew deep within him that he would never forget. Her face would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Turning the corner onto Glasgow Road he suddenly felt the sickness rising in his stomach again and could feel it hanging at the back of his throat. Rushing over to a nearby lamppost he clung to it and was violently sick.

A few seconds later he stood up and wiped the sickness from his mouth. He hoped that anyone seeing him would just think that he was drunk. He didn't look like someone that had just committed murder. Or did he?

The gloves. He had been instructed to get rid of the gloves. He looked around. It was 9pm now and a few people had put out their litter bins for collection the next day. Passing a half empty bin, he threw his gloves into it quickly and carried on walking. The rubbish would be collected first thing in the morning and the gloves would disappear forever.

The rope. He had been instructed to get rid of the rope. He put his hand into his jacket pocket and on feeling the rope, felt sick again. He had to dispose of it quickly and passing another rubbish bin tossed it inside.

The car. He had been instructed to wipe the door handles clean and abandon the car at least five miles from her home. It had been raining heavy all day and now after walking home in wet clothes all he wanted was a hot shower and some whisky.

The body. He had been instructed to lay out her body in a very specific manner. She was to be laid on her back with her hands crossed over her chest. What was that all about? Paul Dillon could only guess. It was strange. The body was not just to be dumped; it was to be laid out in a very specific way. A single red rose was to be placed on her chest. Mr X had supplied everything, the gloves the rope and the single red rose

The package along with instructions had been delivered to Paul the day before and for a split second he thought of running away again. But how far would he get before Mr X found him and he ended up in the Clyde like Robbie Cullen. No. He had no choice. He would do the job, get paid and then run as far away as possible. All he had to do now was to wait for the last brown envelope to arrive with the £10,000. How little a life costs.

He had decided that when it was all over he would run off to England somewhere and start a new life. But he would keep the notes from Mr X as insurance in case he didn't pay up. If that happened the notes would somehow find themselves in the hands of the local police force. Forensics would find out who sent the notes and Mr X would find himself in prison. How could he have been so stupid as to leave hand written notes with him? He didn't even ask for them back or tell him to destroy them. What was going on? Surely, he would know that if they ever fell into the hands of the police that they would soon figure out who wrote them. And if Mr X pointed the finger at him, then the police would have a damn hard job finding him.

Get the money and run. That was what he was going to do. But for now, a hot shower and more than a few shots of whisky would do him fine. Tomorrow, the rest of the money would arrive. Countdown. A new start was only around the corner.

# Chapter Seven

#

Mr X sat at the top table with Mayor Williams. The meal had been delicious and now it was time for the speeches. Mr X could not be bothered with it all. The Mayor was being honoured for something or other. Who cared?

Looking at the clock Mr X knew that if everything went as planned the deed would be done. If something went wrong then Paul Dillon would be arrested for murder. Not just one murder but three. As so carefully planned, Alison Phillips murder would be an exact copy of the murders of the other two women. Mr X had nothing to lose and everything to gain and decided to drive by Paul Dillon's flat on the way home to see if there were any sign of life about the place.

The second part of the plan would have to be executed soon. Paul Dillon was waiting for his money. Money, which he would never receive. Mr X let out a stifled laugh and saw heads turning. In a second everyone in the room was laughing. What the hell! The person sitting to the right, Mrs Thompson, whispered that the Mayor had inadvertently burped while accepting his gift and that no one had wanted to be the first to laugh. When one laugh was heard, they all began to laugh including the Mayor himself. Mr X forced a smile and looked at the clock on the wall above the Mayor's head. Surely it must be nearly time to go?

An hour later, after yet more boring speeches, Mr X was soon fleeing down the stairs and out the door. The alibi part of the plan had gone well but what about Paul Dillon. Did everything go well for him?

Driving up to Paul Dillon's flat Mr X parked across the street and was pleased to see that his lights were on. The curtains in his flat were open and his shadow could be seen moving about the living room. Did Paul Dillon do everything as he was instructed? Did he lay her body out in the proper manner? Did he remember the red rose? Everything had to be carried out as instructed, for the plan to work.

The familiar sound of a mobile phone broke the silence of the night. "Hello." Mr X answered. "Hi baby. It's me. Where are you?" the voice asked. "I'm on my way home. It was a bloody boring night. You are lucky you didn't come. You would have hated it. Be home in 20 minutes." Mr X turned off the mobile and took one more look up at the flat before starting the car. Paul Dillon would be taken care of tomorrow but tonight a peaceful sleep was promised. Countdown. The real planning could now begin.

# Chapter Eight

Detective Inspector Mike Watson was looking forward to his upcoming holiday and found himself counting the days. Just him, his wife Susan and their two young sons, David and Daniel. A week's holiday, in sunny Spain.

Things hadn't been going too well between him and Susan for some time but it was after he had been promoted to Detective Inspector in the Serious Crime Squad, and transferred from Govan to Pitt Street Police Station, that their relationship had become more strained. He hadn't noticed it really but had to concede that they were having a lot more arguments than usual.

According to Susan they were drifting apart. Women are so melodramatic. In order to make peace Mike suggested the holiday and Susan was overjoyed. They booked and paid for it months ago and now it was only around the corner.

Mike wanted to make sure that his family life did not go down the same route as so many of his colleagues. There were three divorces in the station in the last year. A policeman's lot, they would say in the office when another separation was announced, by a gloomy colleague, trying to justify his or her bad temper. Well he wasn't going to be the next police officer that lost his family because of his job. No way! He had thought that perhaps he wouldn't be able to get his annual leave due to the recent murders but his leave was approved and now he was looking forward to going away.

Setting off to work early to miss the rush hour traffic, Mike wanted to clear some of his cases before going on holiday. He was also due in court at 11am to give evidence against Jimmy Robertson. Caught in the act of burglary, Jimmy Robertson was none too pleased to be apprehended at the scene of the crime and had lashed out at several of the police officers. Mike, along with a few others were witnesses to these assaults.

Resisting arrest and assaulting police officers would add several months to his sentence. Mike wished it could be several years but knew that his Social Worker, Pat Brown, would get his sentence reduced. It was the way of the world, Mike often thought. The police would arrest and get assaulted in the process, only for some social worker to relay a sob story to the court and the offender would get a much lower sentence than he/she should have received.

He often saw this happen. Too often, for his liking. Jimmy Robertson was well known in the area and Mike had arrested him more times than he liked to remember. The young man was a moron who thought nothing of causing mayhem wherever he went. Now after only spending two weeks out of prison he was going back inside. He found himself wishing that the judge would lock him up and throw away the key.

He drove around looking for a parking space close to the station. The station car park was once again as usual full. It was always an impossible task to try to find a free parking space. After several minutes of driving around the streets he spotted a space and with some difficulty managed to manoeuvre his black Peugeot 307 into a space not far from the station.

Walking the short distance to Pitt Street Police Station he saw that the street outside the station was a mess with litter. As he approached the front door of the building he found himself kicking all the rubbish out of his way. With all the fines handed out to litter louts how was it possible that the street outside the station was a mess. It looked as if someone had collected all their litter and deliberately discarded it right outside the police station. He sniggered to himself. That would be funny. The revenge of the litter louts.

As he entered the building, PC King looked up from the front desk to say good morning. Mike nodded to him and as he walked through the doors and along the corridor to the CID office, he suddenly became aware of a great deal of activity and raised voices coming from the Incident Room. The first person he saw as he entered the room was DCI Collins. "What's going on?" Mike asked. "Right, glad you're in early DI Watson. We have another murder on our hands? announced DCI Collins, rubbing his large sweaty hand across his balding head.

Mike noticed that the DCI'S face was flushed and sweat was dripping onto his glasses from his forehead. He really should have retired years ago. The DCI was now nearly bald, apart from a few strings of hair combed over his head to give the illusion that he still had some. It was a nervous habit of his to use his hand to comb down the last remaining hairs on his head.

The DCI had blood pressure and heart problems, and all the work- related stress he was constantly under was not good for his health. Mike had told him this many times and even the DCI's own doctor had wanted him to take some time off work as his blood pressure was too high even after doubling his medication. In the last discussion between Mike and DCI Collins, the DCI had informed him that he had at least two more years before he reached retiral age and that he was fit and well and no doctor was going to tell him what to do. Mike knew the DCI didn't want to retire and would only do so when forced by a higher authority.

His wife had died three years before and, as they had no children, the DCI was on his own. He had told Mike many times that if he had a heart attack he would rather have one at work than when he was all alone at home. Mike secretly admired the man, even though they had butted heads many times throughout their years of working together. They had first met many years ago at Govan Police Station and had worked together before the DCI was moved across to the other side of the River Clyde, to Strathclyde Police at Pitt Street Police Station. A few months later Mike was promoted to Detective Inspector and he too was transferred to Pitt Street Police Station.

The new DCI, who had taken over at Govan, when DCI Collins was transferred, was a tyrant and Mike was more than happy to get out of there. He had always found DCI Collins to be firm but fair unlike DCI Green who had ruled his detectives with a rod of iron. If he never saw that man again it would be too soon.

Looking over at the DCI he could see from the expression on his face that he was more uptight and stressed than usual. They hadn't made any headway with the two murders they were already investigating and now they had another one to deal with. Mike suddenly thought about his holiday and hoped upon hope that his annual leave would not be cancelled.

"DI Watson." the DCI shouted from the door. "Organise a briefing will you. I want everyone in this room by 9am. I will be back shortly." "Sure thing Gov." Mike answered as the DCI rushed from the room. He knew some of the detectives would be in the canteen having breakfast and rushed off to find them. Passing DS Wilson in the corridor he told him to pass on the message to anyone he met. "9am sharp George." DS Wilson stood in the corridor with a worried look on his face. He was flying away for a romantic short break, with his girlfriend Grace and was planning to propose to her in Paris. Now on hearing of yet another murder he hoped that his annual leave would not be cancelled. Please, please, please don't let the annual leave be cancelled. But he had a bad feeling.

At 9am sharp DCI Collins was standing at the front of the room scanning his detectives. They weren't making any headway on these murders and if a breakthrough did not happen soon, someone's head would roll. And he knew it could be his own. They would probably force him to retire. No damn way. If he was forced to go then he would damn well take some of these so-called detectives with him. The room was suddenly quiet and DCI Collins noticed that everyone was staring at him waiting for him to speak.

"Right. As you have probably heard another body has been found. But before we get into those details I want you all to go over the other two murders first, just to refresh our memories." he said sarcastically indicating to Mike that he was to take over. DCI Collins rushed out the room without saying another word. Mike was stunned and hoped that he could remember all the details.

As Mike walked to the front of the room DS Wilson handed him a manila folder. Opening it up he saw that George had put all the information regarding the murders into one folder. When did he do this? Thank God for George Wilson and his organised brain. Mike indicated to George his extreme gratefulness with a wink before turning on the white board. Immediately, three pictures popped up. "Right." said Mike "Let us get down to business."

"Two young women have been murdered. Three if you count the newest addition to the list. For the moment, as DCI Collins indicated, we will refresh our memories and deal with the information gathered regarding the two murders here." said Mike moving over to the whiteboard. "Victim No.1. Paula McDonald. Her body was found on 10th September hidden among some bushes in Victoria Park."

Mike went on to explain that Paula McDonald, aged 24 years, lived with her boyfriend James Bryson in Morris Villas, near Victoria Park. She was a secretary in her boyfriend's engineering business. At 8.00 am on 10th September Paula McDonald left home telling her boyfriend that she was going to jog around Victoria Park for an hour or two. Her body was found by a man walking his dog, at around 9.30am that morning. "Her body was not just dumped but laid out with her legs straight and arms crossed over her chest. Why? We don't know. A single red rose was placed on her body. Why? Well again we don't know." said Mike more than a little confused.

"Are we all taking notes?" Mike asked and looked at the bemused faces in front of him. "I know. I know. We have been here before but we are starting from scratch. So, get your notepads out." instructed Mike to a chorus of mumbling. "What's up?" he asked the detectives and looked at all the blank faces. "Most of them don't have notepads." George replied looking around the room. "Well you have two minutes to grab a notepad and pen and get back here. Hurry." Mike shouted to the detectives. He found himself getting more and more annoyed. This was all so unprofessional. At a briefing, you take notes. Any idiot knew that.

Chairs were quickly pushed aside as five detectives ran out the room only to return minutes later complaining that they couldn't find any pens. "For fucks sake!" Mike exclaimed. "This is a fucking joke." He quickly rushed over to the cupboard in the corner and pulled out a box of pens. As they all grabbed a pen each Mike stood watching them and shook his head. This was a circus, a bloody circus.

"Right! Is everyone ready now?" Mike asked sarcastically. A hush went around the room and Mike suddenly realised that he was beginning to sound like the DCI. With all eyes on him, he opened the folder and continued reading the report. "Time of death was given as around 9am. The post mortem results state that she was strangled, ligature strangulation. Fracture of the hyoid bone. There was damage to cartilage and soft tissue of the neck. Abrasions and bruises were found around the ligature mark, which were made by the victim's nails trying to pull the ligature away from her neck. No signs of a sexual assault. The murder was not sexually motivated."

Mike scanned the room and was pleased to see everyone scribbling down on their notepads. "Robbery can be ruled out as the victim had quite an expensive iPod on her body when she was found. Forensics examined the pattern of the ligature left on her neck and have identified the braided pattern of the rope but unfortunately it can be bought pretty much anywhere." He stopped and took a deep breath. He hated reading post mortem results never mind speaking aloud about them. He always felt as if he was some sort of ghoul.

He took another deep breath and continued. "She was killed where she was found. There were signs of a struggle in and around the area where her body was discovered and it appears that the assailant attempted to cover up his tracks however, partial footprints were found and forensics are still working on them. She was most probably grabbed from behind, a ligature tied around her neck, which resulted in her losing consciousness very quickly. If that was the case she would not have had time to put up much of a struggle so the chance of her leaving any kind of scratches on her attacker, are very slim."

Mike took another deep breath and said with disappointment. "We were hoping for some DNA under the victim's fingernails but no joy. As I said she would have lost consciousness very quickly." Looking around the room he was pleased to see that everyone was still taking notes. No-one had as yet lost concentration or start to stare out of the window. He continued. "The single red rose that was left on the body has been identified as a hybrid tea rose called Black Magic, freely available to buy in shops or online."

DS George Wilson put up his hand and interrupted him. "Do you think that is significant? You know, Black Magic." Mike shrugs his shoulders. "Just the name of a red rose until something else turns up." George asked him another question. "The other red rose left with the second victim did that have the same name?" Mike wondered about that himself and began flicking through the papers, in his folder, to find out. "Yes, it does. The second red rose was also called Black Magic." he replied in astonishment. "Anyway, back to our first victim." said Mike returning his attention back to the murder of Paula McDonald. "The boyfriend has been interviewed, along with friends and family of the victim. The man who discovered her body is actually blind and it was his dog that alerted him to Paula's body. Any new developments?" he asked.

He waited for an answer. Silence. "Who was put in charge of this investigation? Why is no one speaking? Come on now don't be shy. I will repeat the question. Any new developments?" he asked again. He looked over at George and saw that he was shaking his head. "What is it DS Wilson?" Mike asked him. "Nothing." George replied nodding over towards DI Brown. "DI Brown I think you were in charge of this particular investigation. Am I right? Any new developments?" Mike asked wondering why the detective had not spoken up when the question was first asked. "No new developments. We interviewed everyone we could think of and their statements are in the report." DI Brown answered giving George a dirty look.

So, he thought, George Wilson is Mike's snitch, thought DI Brown making a mental note to tell the others to be careful what they say in front of him. "Well I think we should speak to the boyfriend again. Organise that DI Brown. I want more details of their relationship." Mike instructed and as an afterthought said "And speak to the family and friends again. Maybe they will remember something. And get on to the florists. Someone bought these roses from somewhere. Remember Black Magic roses DI Brown." DI Brown sighed. This was a waste of time; all of this had already been done. Who did Mike Watson think he was working with, amateurs? DI Brown felt his dislike for DI Watson beginning to turn into hatred. Who did Mike Watson think he was the DCI? Another mental note. DI Watson had to be brought down a peg or two and he was the one to do it.

DCI Collins had asked Mike to go over the reports and discuss the murders again not to hand out any orders. DI Brown never liked Mike Watson much. Ever since he appeared at the station, just over two years ago, DI Brown found himself taking an instant dislike to him. He couldn't quite put his finger on why he disliked him so much but he was sure that Mike's cocky and arrogant behaviour had a lot to do with it.

DI Brown knew that DI Henderson had a few issues with Mike too but he never really went into details. Mental note, find out from DI Henderson why he dislikes Mike Watson so much. It wasn't anything he ever said about DI Watson that made him think DI Henderson disliked him. It was more to do with the brusque manner in which he always spoke to DI Watson that made him curious as to his true thoughts on the arrogant detective.

"Next victim." Mike said pointing to the second picture on the whiteboard and opening the folder. He went on to explain that the next victim was Rose Gallagher. A 24 years old student of Glasgow University who was found strangled in a lane off Sauchiehall Street in the early hours of 14th October. Mike looked down at the notes. "She lived in a flat in Byres Road with her fiancée, David Dillon, also a student at Glasgow University. They had been at a club in town together and she left sometime around 1.30 am after an argument with him. She stormed out the club and set off to go home on her own. She never made it. Her body was found at 3 am that same morning." Mike took a deep breath before reading out the post mortem and forensic reports. They had all heard them before but nevertheless he explained them again. "Same M.O. Ligature strangulation. Forensics have told us that the same rope or the same type of rope was used in both murders. Once again, a single Black Magic rose was left on the body. It's beginning to look like what we all thought. Both murders were probably committed by the same person."

Mike was interrupted once again by a question from George Wilson. "Do you think she was targeted because of her name?" "Her name?" Mike asked wondering what he was going on about. "Well you know. Her name was Rose. And a rose was left with her body. Now was that a coincidence or does it mean something?" George asked. "Oh, I see. Well DS Wilson that is what we are going to find out. Every little detail will have to be scrutinised again in these investigations." Mike replied and George slowly nodded in agreement.

"Right. Who was in charge of this investigation?" Mike asked knowing fine well it was DI Henderson. "Me." DI Henderson shouted from the corner of the room. "Before you ask. The boyfriend and all the friends at the club that night were interviewed. The parents were interviewed. It's all in the report." DI Henderson said glaring at Mike. "Are there any new developments?" Mike asked knowing fine well what the answer would be. "No." DI Henderson replied quickly with indignation in his voice. "Well you know what I'm going to say next." Mike said trying not to look at him. DI Henderson had a way of glaring at people he disliked and Mike had seen that glare on more than one occasion. Somehow, he always felt intimidated by DI Henderson who was at least 15 years his senior.

"I know. You don't need to tell me. Interview everyone AGAIN! Check out the florists AGAIN! Is tomorrow quick enough for you or does it need to be today?" DI Henderson asked rather dryly. "Tomorrow would be fine." Mike replied once again not looking directly at him.

Glancing at his watch Mike shut the folder and placed it on the table. "Time for a break. See you all back here in 20 minutes." The words were hardly spoken before the chairs were quickly placed to the side as everyone rushed out the room.

DI Henderson paused as he passed Mike and opened his mouth as to speak but changing his mind, shook his head and followed the rest of the detective out the door.

Mike saw that George was still seated and noticed that he seemed to be deep in thought. "What's up?" Mike asked as he walked towards him. "You not wanting a break?" "I just had a thought. Do you think I'll still be able to get my annual leave next week? I'm going to Paris with Grace. It's all booked up and paid." George told him with a worried look on his face.

"Don't see why not. Has the DCI said anything about cancelling holidays?" asked Mike hoping upon hope that the DCI never mentioned cancelling any holidays. "No, as if. The DCI wouldn't tell me anything anyway. I'm just a DS." Mike knew that George Watson was desperate for promotion and knew that it was only a matter of time before he got it. "Not for much longer. Your promotion is in the pipeline I'm sure of that. Anyway, don't worry about your holiday; I'm sure everything will be fine. I'm going away myself for a few days. Come on let's go for some tea." Mike suggested as he walked towards the door. "Tea." said George following Mike out the door. "As if. I only drink coffee as well you know." "It's only a figure of speech." laughed Mike.

After their break, everyone settled down in their chairs again. DI Brown and DI Henderson were the last two detectives to enter the room. Mike had noticed as soon as he walked into the canteen that the two men seemed to be having a very cosy chat. They had been huddled together at the back of the canteen and looked up briefly when he had entered. He never knew them to be so friendly with each other. Usually they gave each other a wide berth. What was going on?

As the detectives gathered again in the Incident Room, DCI Collins appeared at the door. "Finished yet DI Watson?" he asked as he moved towards him waving a piece of paper in his hand. "Yes Sir." Mike replied handing the DCI the manila folder. "Keep that." DCI Collins said, brushing his hand away as he walked towards the front of the room. The DCI turned to face the detectives. "I just want to inform you all that, DI Watson will be lead detective in these murder investigations."

DI Brown and DI Henderson, who were both whispering at the back of the room, were suddenly struck dumb. They wanted to protest but couldn't find the words. What the hell! They were both more senior than Mike bloody Watson. DI Brown could tell by the glare in DI Henderson's eyes that he, like him, was more than a little outraged by this announcement.

"Please take a seat." the DCI indicated to Mike. "Well as everyone knows another body has been found." DCI Collins pulled his glasses from the top of his head and began reading the sheet of paper he had in front of him. "Alison Phillips, 28 years old, separated from her husband and lived alone. She was a secretary at Johnston & Jones, an accountancy firm not far from here. She lived at Redmond Street, a flat on the third floor. Forensics are over there now." DCI Collins explained. "Her body was found last night just after midnight." DCI Collins stopped and let out a deep sigh before continuing. "Like the other two victims she was strangled. Time of death was put at between 6pm and 7pm last night. Her body was found on a piece of waste ground next to a primary school."

DCI Collins stopped to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He was too old for all this. Maybe it was time for retirement after all. "It was the janitor, Peter Thomson, who discovered her body when he went to open up the school." The DCI told them shaking his head. "Of course, the school is shut now until forensics have finished with the area." DCI Collins scanned the faces of his detectives and found that none of them seemed to be as shocked as he was to discover that the body had been dumped beside a primary school. "Anyway, here's the report. Her body was laid out like the other two with her arms crossed over her chest and a red rose. It looks like our guy has struck again. I want you all to discuss it among yourselves." The DCI handed Mike the sheet of paper.

"I have phone calls to make so get things moving DI Watson and I'll speak to you later." Mike informed the DCI that he was due in court and asked to be excused. "No need DI Watson. The trial has been postponed to a later date. Sorry, I thought I told you already." Mike shook his head but the news hadn't come as a total surprise. He half expected it anyway. He knew that Jimmy Robertson's Social Worker, Pat Brown would have asked for a postponement. He always did. "Anything else detective?" DCI Collins asked. Mike shook his head and the DCI rushed out of the room.

Mike looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. Nothing much on it but he read aloud the rest of the preliminary report. "Post mortem under way as we speak. Forensics are at the site where her body was found and also at her home address. She had money and a credit card on her person, when she was found. So once again, robbery was not the motive. As the DCI just explained, her body was laid out like the other two and a red rose placed on her chest."

He was interrupted by the telephone. On answering he discovered that the red rose found with Alison Phillips was not the same variety as the other two. He was perplexed. What did this piece of information mean? "That's odd." Mike said aloud as he hung up the telephone. "What's wrong?" George asked. "Well it seems that the red rose left with our latest victim was from a different variety than the other two."

Mike wrote the name of the rose down on the sheet of paper DCI Collins had handed him. "What the hell's odd about that." said DI Brown from the back of the room. "A rose is a rose." Mike wasn't so sure of that. He had a gut feeling that placing a Black Magic rose on the victims meant something to the killer. So why would he use a different rose now?

"Right then. I think we'll have an early lunch. I want you all back here in one hour. We have a lot to go through." Mike had no sooner said this before the room was once again empty. Walking over to the window he found himself deep in thought. This was strange or was it? Maybe the killer just bought another red rose. Maybe the variety of the rose is not important. The florists had to be checked and double-checked. The killer was buying the roses from somewhere. Mike suddenly had a thought. Can a person buy roses and somehow keep them fresh for a long time? Maybe that's what the killer did. If that was the case he would have to buy more than one rose at a time and if so why did he leave a different rose this time, an Opening Night red rose.

Mike was so deep in thought he didn't hear George coming up behind him. "What's up? What are you looking at?" he asked peering out the window. "Nothing. Do you know I was thinking? Something doesn't feel right." Mike said turning away from the window and walking towards the desk. "Is that so? I thought you were walking funny. Maybe you should see a doc." George said laughing. "Very good. Ha Ha. No, I was talking about the latest murder. Something isn't right."

George saw the worried look on his face. "You know." he replied. "I was just thinking the same thing. The murderer left a different variety of red rose. Why? Do you think this murder was committed by our nutter or a copycat?" Mike thought for a moment. "Our nutter, George. We don't know if we are looking for one nutter or several nutters. But to be truthful it is looking very likely that we are looking for one killer. The bodies were all laid out in the same way. The fact that a rose was left at the crime scenes was not something that was disclosed to the media." Mike grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

"Maybe Mike but you know the fact that a different variety of rose was left this time might mean something." Mike shrugged his shoulder. "I don't know but what I do know is that we need some expert help. I'm going to talk to the DCI after lunch." George nodded slowly in agreement before moving over to the coat stand and taking his jacket down. "Going to the canteen?" he asked Mike. "No. Their food is bloody rotten. I think I'll go to the cafe across the road. Fancy joining me?" Mike asked making his way towards the door. "Sure thing." George replied, putting on his jacket and quickening his step to catch up with him.

# Chapter Nine

#

As he entered the canteen, DI Brown pulled DI Henderson to the side. "Can I speak to you for a minute? In private, over here." he said indicating to the empty table at the far end of the room. "Interesting." replied DI Henderson. "I take two." he said, rubbing his chin. "What?" DI Brown asked not understanding what the other detective was talking about. "I take two sugars, in my tea. And, I think I will have a chicken sandwich. No, make that, two chicken sandwiches. Brown bread, though. Then I'll talk to you." DI Henderson told him as he walked towards the table.

A few moments later DI Brown returned with tea and sandwiches for both of them. "With these sandwiches, you are spoiling me." DI Henderson said laughing to himself. DI Brown didn't laugh. He wanted information and it was no laughing matter. Mike Watson had to be pulled down a peg or two. He needed some ammunition and was sure DI Henderson would give him some.

"Mike Watson. What is it between you two?" DI Brown asked. "None of your damn business and don't think tea and sandwiches can loosen my tongue." The older detective replied, taking a bite from his sandwich. "Come on Brian, spill the beans. That guy is getting on my nerves. I mean who does he think he is dishing out orders? I know you don't like him much and I was wondering why?" DI Brown asked desperate to get any dirt on Mike Watson, the super detective. Brian Henderson finished eating his sandwich without answering and all DI Brown could do was, wait patiently. When he was finished DI Henderson licked his lips and stared at the other detective with disdain. The truth be told he didn't like DI Brown either.

Henry Brown had been a detective now for over 15 years. Not a good detective, Brian Henderson thought, going by his track record of solving crimes. Why was he wanting him to dish the dirt on DI Watson? "So, has Mike Watson put your noise out of joint or something?" he asked more than a little curious. Henry Brown reached over the table and whispered. "He's a pain in the backside. A cocky, arrogant, son of a bitch." He quickly looked around to make sure no one overheard him.

The older detective let out a loud laugh that echoed all around the room. He had never heard Henry Brown being so vocal and opinionated about anything. "You just figured that out then, did you?" he asked giving another loud laugh. "Well come on tell me. I know you and he don't get on. It's obvious to everyone. But why? That's what I want to know." Henry Brown asked, wondering if he ever would get a straight answer. "You want to know, do you? Are you sure?" Brian Henderson asked as he sipped the last of his tea. Placing his now empty cup on the table he grinned at wide-eyed man across the table. "Well get me another cup and I'll tell you." Henry Brown shook his head and let out a lough sigh. It wasn't only Mike Watson that was a pain in the backside. Brian Henderson had always been a stubborn son of a bitch. Truth be told he never much liked him. Yes, they worked together now and then but apart from that the two men had nothing in common.

"Well you know Mike's father was a detective in Govan. Don't you?" DI Henderson asked as he bit into his sandwich. Henry Brown nodded and wondered what Mike Watson's father had to do with anything as he had died over a year ago. "Are you eating that sandwich Henry?" asked Brian Henderson. "No. You can have it I've suddenly lost my appetite." he replied getting more than a little agitated with older detective. Getting information from him was like getting blood from a stone. "Well guess who his best buddy was?" Brian Henderson asked biting into his sandwich. "Who?" asked Henry Brown wondering what this had to do with anything.

The two detectives had never spoken to each other about anything other than work. DI Brian Henderson had been a detective for 20 years. Not a very good one going by talk around the station. Nevertheless, he wanted information so he had to keep him sweet and went up to get more tea as instructed. On his return, the two men began to talk.

"DCI Collins, that's who. He and Mike's father worked together for years over at Govan. Why do you think Mike Watson made detective quicker than anyone else we know?" Brian Henderson whispered across the table. DI Brown thought for a moment before answering. "Because of the DCI." "Give the man a prize. Yes, now you see. Your eyes have been opened. It makes me sick." DI Henderson said through gritted teeth.

Henry Brown saw the anger in the other detectives' face. "How long do you think it took Mike bloody Watson to move from DS to DI?" Henry asked and saw the other detectives' mind was working overtime. "How long?" DI Brown asked him and saw the look on the other detectives' face. "Well he was based at Govan, the DCI's old stomping ground. Worked his way up to DS, very quickly. Then he made DI even more quickly and moved here. It took Mike Watson. Wait for it. Less than two years. Can you believe it?" "Are you sure?" Henry Brown asked finding himself disliking Mike Watson more and more. "I've got my contacts. Don't you worry about that. My info is right. Less than two years." he said as he finished off his tea. "The little brown-nosed piece of shit. I didn't like him before and now after listening to all this I like him even less." Henry Brown said screwing up his face in anger. You bust a gut for promotion and all you really need is a friend in high places.

Why didn't you tell me this before?" he asked. "Well you know me Henry. I'm not one to gossip. But he really got my blood boiling dishing out all those orders. And now to top it all he is leading the murder investigations. Makes me sick, to my stomach." Brian Henderson leaned across the table and whispered.

"You know who else knows this?" "Who?" DI Brown asked rather puzzled by the question. "George Wilson. The little creep. He's after promotion. That's why he's Mike's little snitch and always hanging around him like a bad smell. The little shit wants promotion. He knows that Mike and the DCI are best buddies and he wants to stick close to them." Brian Henderson replied. The other detective nodded in agreement and was pleased to discover that he wasn't the only one to have sussed out George Wilson for the little brown-nosed shit that he really is. "He's only been a DS for little over a year. Brian Henderson informed him. "Two. Well nearer three I think." DI Brown said contradicting him, much to the other detective's annoyance.

"Well so fucking what. I was a DS for five years before I made it to DI. What about you?" DI Brown tried hard to remember. "Six or seven years, I think." he replied. "You know I never really liked George Wilson. Too smarmy. Always running errands for Mike, like a little puppy dog. Now I know why." The older detective nodded slowly in agreement. "You know, maybe the DCI is planning more promotion for his little buddy, Mike Watson." DI Henderson whispered across the table. "Do you think?" Henry Brown asked wondering where this was going. "Wouldn't be surprised. All I'm saying is watch this space."

Meanwhile, in a small cafe across the road DI Watson and DS Wilson were eating lunch. Mike suddenly had a thought. "Do you know something, George? I think I know the latest victim. Alison Phillips. I think I recognised the name but I need to check out a few things when I get back to the station." Mike informed him. "How do you know her?" he asked. "I'm not sure if I do. But if it's the same person I'm thinking of, I'm sure she's married to a cop." he told him. George eyes widened and wanted to know more. "I need to find out for sure. I'll ask the DCI when we get back." Mike said looking at his watch. "Time to go. Are you finished?" George swallowed down that last few sips of his coffee. "I am now." he replied rising from his seat.

On arriving back at the station Mike ran off to speak to DCI Collins. A few minutes later he returned and beckoned for George to follow him down the corridor. DI Brown and DI Henderson were coming around the corner and gave each other a knowing look when they saw the two detectives walking down the corridor together deep in conversation. "I was right George. It's the same person. Alison Phillips was married to a detective called Mark Phillips. DCI Collins has just confirmed it." Mike said. George was intrigued and tried hard to remember if he had ever heard the name before. "You won't know Mark Phillips. I worked alongside him for years when I was stationed at Govan. But you will know the name of the police officer he had an affair with. DC Anne Gibbs. It caused quite a scandal at the time and broke up both their marriages." Mike said noticing the odd expression on George's face.

George Wilson always seemed to screw up his eyes and tilt his head to one side when he was deep in thought. It was obvious he couldn't remember and Mike decided to put him out of his misery. "DC Anne Gibbs, George. She was married to James Gibbs. DI James Gibbs." Mike informed him expecting some sort of instant flicker of acknowledgement. George still didn't have a clue who he was talking about. He cast his mind back but there had been more than a few scandalous affairs at the station. He wondered which one Mike was referring to.

"DI Gibbs has worked in more police stations than I've had hot dinners. He must have been all of 20 years older than his wife, a scandal in itself. Anyway, she left with Mark and went up north somewhere. There was a rumour at the time that she left the police force." Mike told him looking at the expression on the other detectives' face as it suddenly lit up with recollection of the scandal that Mike had been talking about.

"Yes. I remember." replied George. "DI Gibbs. He was an old arrogant bastard. Never liked the swine." Mike nodded in agreement. "Now you remember." Mike said laughing. "Yeah and I also remember another scandal. When his wife ran away with this Mark guy, I seem to recall some sort of investigation by Internal Affairs. Something to do with missing money or something." George said screwing up his face trying hard to remember the exact details. "It was Mark Phillips, with some other detectives, that were investigated and it wasn't money that was missing George, it was drugs." Mike whispered to him looking around to see that no one was eavesdropping. "Yes, I remember it now." George said screwing up his eyes in a way that only he could do and Mike laughed at the funny expression on his face.

Mike glanced along the corridor and saw that DI Brown and DI Henderson were standing together and appeared to be deep in conversation. He wondered what the two detectives could be chatting about. For some reason, they seemed to be becoming quite friendly with each other which was quite unusual as he had heard that they couldn't stand the sight of each other. His thoughts were interrupted. "Whatever happened with that investigation?" George asked and Mike thought for a moment. "I think it fell through, lack of evidence or something. All I know is that the media had a field day. Confiscated drugs going missing from a police station. It was quite the scandal."

As the two detectives returned to the CID room, George whispered to Mike. "Well this is going to cause a stink. A detective's Mrs being murdered. Wait till the newspapers get a hold of that piece of news. Are you going to tell the others? Mike nodded. The DCI had told him to inform the others. "The husband will have to be interviewed." he said wondering who would be the best man for the job. "Surely he's not a suspect?" whispered George. "Everyone is a suspect; surely you know that by now."

When Mike informed the rest of the detectives about Alison Phillips there was a hush around the room. "DI Brown. I think you should speak to DC Phillips. I don't know where he is based but you can find that out quite easily." Mike instructed. "When?" DI Brown asked. "No time like the present. Take someone with you. And I also want you to interview everyone you can think of friends, neighbours and work colleagues. Anyone that can shed some light on her last moments." DI Brown nodded.

"I'll take DI Henderson." DI Brown said rising from his chair. "No, you will not!" Mike told him harshly. "DI Henderson I want you to work on Paula McDonald's murder. I want you to talk to everyone again." Mike told him. "Hold on a minute. That's my investigation." said DI Brown feeling his blood beginning to boil. "Not any more. I want new eyes on these investigations. You deal with the Alison Phillips case and DI Henderson will deal with the Paula McDonald case." Mike replied beginning to lose his patience. "I should stay on the same investigation. I know everything about it, inside and out?" DI Brown insisted waving his hands about like he was about to hit someone. "Assign someone else the Phillips case." A hush fell over the room and as he looked around he found everyone staring at him with open mouths. "Are you telling me how to do my job DI Brown?" Mike asked calmly walking towards him. "It's just more logical. That's all. Surely you can see that." DI Brown stuttered, chastising himself for being a little too vocal with his thoughts. He heard a few gasps of astonishment from his colleagues and more than one smothered giggle. He didn't care. He was livid.

As the two men stood face to face, the anger on both their faces was plain to see and everyone held their breaths waiting for the inevitable explosion. "I'm giving you a job to do and I don't want any arguments." Mike told him in an authoritarian voice. He waited for a response but none was forthcoming. DI Brown stood staring at him. George was shocked by the saw Mike's response and seeing his face getting redder and redder by the minute, wondered what he could do to defuse the situation. DI Brown had pushed a button with Mark and George wondered how it would end.

"We are wasting precious time here, so choose someone to help you and get on with it." Mike practically shouted at him. Once again, the room was silent with everyone wondering if DI Brown would back down or blow like a volcano. DI Henderson gasped as DI Brown moved even closed to Mike and quickly left his seat to try to calm him down before things got out of control. Quickly rushing across the room, he placed his hand on DI Brown's shoulder. "Come on Henry, time is wasting. Just let us get on with it." he said positioning himself between the two detectives.

The silence in the room was deafening as everyone held their breaths to see what would happen next. DI Henderson dug his fingers into the other detectives' shoulder to try to show him that he had to walk away. DI Brown took a deep breath and when he looked at the expression on DI Henderson's face, knew that this was not the right moment to go head to head with Mike Watson. He would sort him out at a later date and turning his back to Mike mumbled, "OK. OK." before returning to his seat.

DI Henderson turned to Mike and asked. "Who is working on my case then? Rose Gallagher?" Mike stared at him with a stony face. "Take your seat DI Henderson and I will tell you all how this is going to work." As everyone returned to their seats, Mike turned away from them and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He didn't want anyone to see his anger that had now reached boiling point. DI Brown knew how to push his buttons and he had to muster up all his strength just to stop himself from punching him right in the face.

A few moments later he felt calm enough to speak. "Just to make things clear, here is how it's going to work. I am going to shake things up a little. DI Brown along with DS Henley and DC Bolton will work on the Alison Phillips case. DI Henderson along with DS Norton and DC White will work on the Paula McDonald case. DS Wilson along with DC Peterson and myself will work on the Rose Gallagher case. Is all that clear? Any questions?" The room was silent. "OK then everyone knows what they're doing so go and do your jobs." Mike looked over at George and was amazed to see him looking more than a little shocked. George had never seen him angry but at least he didn't punch DI Brown in the face as he had wanted to.

Mike found himself sighing. Why did the DCI lay all of this on his shoulders? The room was now empty apart from him and George. Mike saw DC Peterson standing outside the room deep in conversation with DI Brown and DI Henderson. He would have to keep his eyes on those detectives and was sure they were up to no good. DI Brown would want his revenge Mike was sure of that but how that revenge would manifest itself he wasn't quite sure. DI Brown was beginning to get on Mike's nerves. Mouthing off in front of everyone like that. Who did he think he was? He wondered if he should speak to the DCI about what had just transpired but quickly decided that as lead detective it was his responsibility to deal with any problems himself.

"OK Mike?" George asked seeing the agitation still on his face. "Bloody hell George. That was nearly a fight. Nearly but not quite." Mike said, finding himself laughing and not knowing why, maybe it was nerves. "DI Brown just likes to mouth off every now and again. You showed him whose boss so don't worry about it." George informed him. "Right. I want you to get DC Peterson away from the clutches of dumb and dumber." Mike said pointing towards the door. "Who?" he asked rather bemused and saw that Mike was pointing towards the three detectives standing just outside the room. "Oh, I see." George nodded and walked towards the door to rescue the young detective.

Mike let out a deep sigh. Was DI Brown right? Was he being illogical when handing out the assignments? This was all new to him and he wondered why the DCI would give him so much responsibility. DI Brown or DI Henderson would have been the more logical choices to be lead detective in these murder investigations.

DCI Collins approached the detectives standing in front of the office door. They quickly dispersed when the saw the scorn in his eyes. DCI Collins was not a happy man and seeing his detectives standing around chatting when work was to be down was more than he could bear. "DI Watson." The DCI shouted, beckoning for Mike to follow him to his office. Mike obediently followed. Did someone tell him what had happened? What would the DCI say about it all?

As soon as he had entered the DCI's office he was immediately informed that all annual leave had been cancelled for the foreseeable future and that everyone was to pull their finger out and do as much overtime as possible. According to the DCI the newspapers were giving Strathclyde Police a battering for not making any arrests in the recent murder cases. "Right Mike. Get your detectives to work. I want results." DCI Collins told him." I have to rush now for a meeting with the Chief Constable. He's breathing down my neck Mike. The pressure is on and to tell the truth I don't know how much more of this I can take. Retirement looks pretty good to me these days."

With that the DCI rushed out the room and Mike was left on his own wondering how the hell he was going to tell Susan that their holiday was not now going to happen. The DCI was not the only one under pressure. Countdown. A few hours to a huge row, followed by days of sulking and probably weeks of not speaking.

DC George Wilson and DC Peterson found Mike pacing up and down the corridor outside the Incident Room. "What's up?" George asked and all that Mike could reply was "Shit. It's all shit." "What is?" DC Peterson asked shaking his head. "All annual leave has been cancelled. We have all to do as much overtime as possible." Mike informed them with a disgruntled look on his face. "Double shit." said George pulling the same disgruntled face. DC Peterson had to muster up all his self-control to not burst out laughing. DI Brown was right with his observations. DS Wilson mimics DI Watson at every opportunity DI Brown had told him. Why had he not noticed this before?

The three detectives walked into the Incident Room and gathered around the large table beside the whiteboard. "Susan is going to go mad. What the hell am I going to tell her?" Mike said sighing heavily. "I'm in the same boat. I was going to propose to Grace in Paris." George informed him. "Well you can still propose." DC Peterson butted in and the two men looked at him in astonishment. They had forgotten he was there. "Right. We have a lot of work to get through so let's get started." Mike told them. "I think a visit to Glasgow University is in order. We have an appointment with the Dean in about 30 minutes." Mike looked at his watch.

DC Peterson watched as the two detectives walked out the door and along the corridor. Even their steps were in unison and the laughter that he had so successfully stifled suddenly broke free with the sight that he saw in front of him. "What." Mike asked turning his head and wondering what was so funny. "Oh, it's nothing." DC Peterson replied as he hurried to catch up with them.

DC Peterson was to observe the two detectives and report back to DI Brown. DI Brown wanted to know everything they go up to. Why he agreed to do this he didn't know? He had thought of telling Mike what DI Brown wanted him to do but thought better of it. DI Brown was friendly with DCI Green and rumour had it that DCI Green, who was based in Govan, was preparing to take over from DCI Collins any day soon.

DI Brown had practically promised him promotion as soon as DCI Green was in the driving seat. So, for now, he was DI Brown's spy and the thought of that made his skin crawl. How did he find himself in this situation? What would happen if DI Watson ever found out what he was doing? The three detectives left for Glasgow University, in virtual silence.

An hour later they returned and spent the rest of the day timetabling their interviews for the next few days. It was going to be a bigger deal than they had first thought as they soon found out that Rose Gallagher had been a very popular student.

Arriving home that night, with a bottle of Champagne and some flowers, George proposed to Grace there and then. She accepted and he apologised for the cancelled holiday and told her that he would make it up to her in the very near future. After a few glasses of Champagne, he informed her that he had booked a table at the Italian restaurant around the corner. They had been together for over four years now and it was only a natural progression for them to get married. This is what Grace had told George on more than one occasion. The constant arguments that they had been having, over the last year was due to his lack of commitment, she had told him. He wondered if the arguments would stop, now that they were engaged to be married but something told him that it was highly unlikely. At that moment, she was ecstatic and if she was happy he knew that life would be a hell of a lot easier.

Mike arrived home to a blazing row. At first when he told Susan she had sat stony face on the sofa and didn't utter a word. Suddenly, without warning, her face had turned scarlet and her eyes filled with what Mike could only describe as pure rage. She looked as if she would explode at any moment. A few seconds later she had turned the air blue, calling him every name under the sun. Storming out of the room, she slammed the door hard behind her. Mike stood in the living room wondering how the hell he was going to make it up to her. He knew from past arguments that she would probably not speak to him for weeks but he would be glad of that, after listening to all the obscenities coming out of her mouth. Susan wasn't just angry; she was livid. He wondered if George had faired any better.

DC Peterson arrived home to a telephone call from DI Brown. After a short conversation informing him of what occurred that day, DC Peterson spent the rest of the evening feeling guilty. Was promotion really worth being DI Brown's undercover spy? Within a few moments he had the answer. YES. But that didn't stop him from feeling more than a little guilty.

# Chapter Ten

#

It had to be done tonight. Paul Dillon had to go and how he was to go had been planned so meticulously. In a stolen car that had been picked up less than an hour before Mr X waited outside The King's Arms for Paul Dillon to appear. It was now nearly midnight. It wasn't easy for Mr X to sneak out of the house at such a late hour but now that it was accomplished all that had to be done was wait. Countdown. Any minute now Paul Dillon would be out the picture and life could go on as normal.

As Paul Dillon staggered out of the pub to make his way home he was oblivious to the fact that a car was following close behind. The car had its lights turned off as it travelled slowly down the road. Whistling to himself, Paul Dillon couldn't help but wonder when he would get the rest of his money as promised. The alcohol had loosed his tongue that night and he had told a few friends that he had come into a bit of money and would be moving down south quite soon. When questioned further about the money he had managed to keep his mouth shut. Nobody's business but his own. Any day now he would be off. Should he find Davie and tell him that he was starting a new life for himself? As he staggered across the road to his flat, the car sped up and it was all over in a few seconds. He was now lying in a heap in the middle of the road. As the street was deserted Mr X put the car into reverse and drove over him again at high speed before screeching down the darkened street and around the corner.

The air was silent with the sound of death. Paul Dillon did not stand a chance. A few moments later a scream echoed through the quiet streets. As a small crowd gathered around Paul Dillon's body, the once quiet street was now a hub of activity.

Parking the car just over a mile away, Mr X left the driver's door open to signify that the driver had ran off in a hurry. A hit and run. There was still one thing still to do and that was to break into Paul Dillon's flat and retrieve all the notes that he was sure that he would have kept.

By the time Mr X reached the scene of the crime an ambulance had already arrived. Walking over and mingling with the crown of onlookers Mr X peered down at Paul Dillon's now lifeless body. Listening to people talking it was apparent that there were no witnesses to the 'accident'. A hit and run they were all saying. Someone walking past had seen him lying in the middle of the road and had called an ambulance. Now time was of the essence. The notes had to be recovered quickly. The police would be on their way.

As the body was lifted unceremoniously into the back of the ambulance, Mr X quickly walked along the road to Paul Dillon's flat. With a little bit of twisting, the lock to his front door was soon open. Closing the door quickly but quietly the search began. The obvious place to start was the living room. Where to start? Where would someone hide something important? After spending ten minutes in the living room it was obvious that they had been hidden somewhere else.

Moving to the bedroom Mr X began rummaging through the wardrobe, before moving on to the chest of drawers. Nothing to be found. Maybe he destroyed them? No. Paul Dillon wasn't that stupid. He would have them somewhere, but where?

Standing in the middle of the room, a thought suddenly came like a bolt of lightning. Under the mattress. The mattress was pulled from the bed to reveal a large brown envelope. Whooping with glee the envelope was soon opened and sure enough the notes were inside, every last one of them. At last. All the planning, all the worrying had been worth it. The only thing left to do was to get as far away from the apartment as soon as possible. Throwing the mattress back on the bed Mr X failed to notice the small photograph that had fallen down against the wall at the side of the bed.

Knock, knock, knock. With baited breath Mr X slipped back into the bedroom. It couldn't be the police. Who was it? Knock, knock, knock. Silence. Then suddenly a voice was shouting through the letterbox. "Paul. Paul are you there?" Silence. "Paul? I know you're in there. I hear you walking about. Let me in." the voice demanded. Shit. What to do? What to do? Silence. "Paul it's Davie. I want to speak to you. Open the door." the voice pleaded. With baited breath Mr X waited. What to do? All that could be done was to wait for the person to go away. What if he didn't? What if he had a key? A few moments later; a clink of the letterbox. Was someone looking through the letterbox? Silence. Was he gone?

After ten minutes Mr X tiptoed out into the hall. Putting an ear to the door, all was silent on the other side of the door. Quietly opening the door, Mr X crept quietly down the stairs and was soon on the street again.

# Chapter Eleven

#

Mike arrived at the police station earlier than usual. Susan was still not speaking to him and in order not to have a fight at the breakfast table he had slipped out early to work. How long would the silent treatment last this time? Hanging his jacket on the back of his chair he sat down and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

An hour later DS Wilson appeared at the door. "How did it go with you last night George?" Mike asked. "Perfect. We haven't set a date for the wedding yet but at least she said yes." he informed him before taking off his own jacket and hanging it up on the coat stand in the corner of the room. "What about you? How did you get on?" asked George. "Please don't ask. Let's just say I'm getting the silent treatment." answered Mike.

"Right. Let's start work. Rose Gallagher. Let's see what we have." Mike said opening up the manila folder and setting out the papers all over his desk. "I think we'll start with the post mortem results first." "Shouldn't we wait for DC Peterson?" George asked. "I forgot about him. Is he in yet?" Mike asked feeling rather guilty for forgetting all about him. DC Peterson was an easy person to forget as he was far too quiet for a detective and Mike had noticed that he never ever voiced any opinions on anything that was being discussed. He wondered how he had ever made detective. He suddenly realised that he knew nothing at all about the young detective.

His thoughts were interrupted by George. "I think I saw him walking towards the canteen." "Go find him and bring us all back some tea." Mike said with a twinkle in his eye. "Yes sir." George answered mockingly saluting him and pretending to march out of the room. Mike shook his head and smiled. George Wilson was funny.

George found DC Peterson and the detectives went off to the canteen and returned ten minutes later with tea, coffee and a selection of sandwiches. "Thanks George. I'll settle up with you later." Mike told him taking a bite from his sandwich. "Oh, I didn't buy these. It was DC Peterson here." George replied taking a sip of his coffee. Mike looked over at DC Peterson and smiled. "It's OK detectives. This treat is on me." DC Peterson told them. Before long the detectives were huddling around the desk going through every interview that had been done and marking them off. Looking at the list in front of them Mike knew that they still had a hell of a lot of people to talk to yet.

In the afternoon, the post mortem results for Alison Phillips arrived. Yes, Alison Phillips had been strangled with a piece of rope. Her injuries were a near exact copy of the injuries to the other murder victims. Forensics preliminary report told them that the rope used was not the same type of rope as the other two murders. The braiding was slightly different. What did this mean? Mike remembered the red rose. The rose that was left beside Alison Phillips body was different from the other two. What did this mean? Her body was laid out like the other two victims so surely it must be the same killer.

He would hand all this information to DI Brown as soon as he saw him. He was busy dealing with his own murder case, although Mike thought he had better inform the DCI as soon as possible about what forensics had turned up. Sending George and DC Peterson out to talk to Rose Gallagher's family and friends he wondered if anything new would turn up.

DS Wilson and DC Peterson returned to the station at 5pm just in time to see Mike come out of the DCI's room.

"The DCI is blowing a gasket and wants results. Please tell me you have some interesting news for me. George shook his head. Mike frowned. "Right. Let's see what we have." With that the three detectives pulled their chairs closely together and went through all the statements. Mike hoped that something would turn up. "What have you found out about the girlfriend or fiancée, I should say. What was his name again?" Mike asked. "David Dillon. Nothing to report there." George informed him. "He's in his last year at university something to do with repeating a year that he had flunked. He and Rose were planning to marry in the summer when they had both graduated with their Chemistry degrees." "Well there is something else." DC Peterson said to George's astonishment. "Nothing criminal turned up about him but it did about his brother, Paul Dillon. He's a petty criminal in and out of prison all the time but his last stretch was for attempted murder. He was released a few months ago."

George couldn't believe his ears, why had DC Peterson not informed him about this discovery. "Why was nothing about this mentioned before?" Mike asked puzzled. George shook his head. DC Peterson informed Mike that he had taken it upon himself to check on David Dillon and had accidentally came across the information about his brother Paul. "Excellent work DC Peterson. Now all we have to do is ask David Dillon about his brother. I want that done today." Mike instructed. George wrote the order down on his notepad. "Already done sir." DC Peterson said to Mike's amazement.

"I spoke to him a short while ago and he said he hadn't seen his brother for years. He doesn't even know where he's living." DC Peterson glanced over at George with a smirk on his face. George glared at the young detective. If looks could kill DC Peterson would have dropped down dead at that moment. George was furious. They were supposed to be a team and yet here he was keeping vital information to himself and spilling it to Mike at the first opportunity making George feel and look incompetent.

When DC Peterson had disappeared for a few hours George had wondered where he had got to and now he knew, following leads without letting telling him. "Good work detective. Anything else I should know?" Mike asked looking over at George who had a face on him like thunder. George shook his head. "Only that on the night of the murder they had had an argument." DC Peterson informed them. "Yes, we know that." George said through gritted teeth. "But he didn't tell you the truth about the argument. He said she had been angry with him spending too much money when they were supposed to be saving for their wedding. But in fact, they had been arguing about his brother." DC Peterson informed them. "David Dillon wanted to go to the prison and tell his brother about his wedding. Rose was furious and wanted him to have nothing to do with him. She called off the engagement and went home on her own. He didn't tell us about his brother because he thought he was still in prison. He was surprised when I told him that he had been released a few months ago." Mike was astounded by what the young detective had uncovered.

Looking over at George he saw that he was glaring at the young detective with disdain in his eyes. What was going on between them? He didn't know but made a mental note to find out. "Interesting. Listen it's getting late now so why don't we resume this tomorrow morning first thing. I want everything we have on this Paul Dillon. You never know this might be the lead we have been waiting for. Good work DC Peterson. Good work indeed." Mike said rising from his chair.

As soon as Mike had left the room George turned on DC Peterson with a verbal tirade that turned the air blue. "What the fuck are you playing at you little prick." DC Peterson stood up and with his mouth hanging open in shock went towards the door. George stopped him leaving, by standing in front of him blocking his exit from the door. "Birdie got your tongue. I asked you what you are playing at." George said through gritted teeth. DC Peterson did not reply.

"I don't know what your game is but that is the last time you make me look like a tit, do you hear me?" George pointed his finger at the young detective's face. "We work as a team. Do you understand? You had ample time to tell me all of this before you told DI Watson." DC Peterson found himself unable to deal with the confrontation. It had seemed a good idea at the time to keep all the information that he had discovered to himself, before telling DI Watson. Now, looking at DS Wilson standing so close to him that he could feel his breath on his face, he knew he had gone too far. George found himself shaking with fury. "Don't you ever keep me in the dark again now get out of my fucking sight, you little shit."

DI Brown was standing in the corridor staring at the antics in the CID Room. Something was going on and it looked like DC Peterson was getting a verbal hammering. Wondering if he should break it up he decided to keep on walking. DC Peterson could take care of himself. He would call him later to find out what it was all about.

It was late by the time Mike eventually got home. Susan had left him some dinner in the microwave but was nowhere to be seen. Probably gone to bed, to avoid seeing him. The silent treatment would last a long time, he was sure of that. He would leave her for a few days to calm down before attempting to speak to her. Maybe some flowers and chocs would put him back into her good books but somehow, he had his doubts. He would have to come up with something spectacular but what? He would ask George the next day. George was a romantic type of guy and would know what he should do.

# Chapter Twelve

#

The next morning Mike slipped out of bed very quietly so as not to wake Susan. She was always at her worst in the mornings and he couldn't face another argument. He had enough to contend with at work.

Now sitting at his desk drumming his fingers he made a few telephone calls to some of his contacts. No information from them either. The word on the street was – nothing. He sat thinking of who he could call next. He heard there was a murder of a young woman in Perth and decided to call his old friend DI James Vickers for details. DI Vickers informed him that the girl's boyfriend had now been charged with her murder and that there were no similarities to the murder cases in Glasgow.

Mike sat once more drumming his fingers on his desk and was now deep in thought. He was waiting for DC Peterson to arrive with the file on Paul Dillon. Something told him that somehow this man was important to the investigations. He needed to move these investigations forward and wondered how the other detectives were getting on. He would need to call a meeting.

George came into the room and by the look on his face he was in a foul mood. "Morning George, are the other two with you?" George shook his head. "You know dumb and dumber." Mike replied with a big grin on his face as if he said something really really funny. "I don't know where they are." George replied rather dryly. "How do you know who I'm talking about?" Mike laughed. George rolled his eyes and Mike looking at the expression on his face decided that now was not the right time to joke with him. He wondered if George had had another argument with Grace, as that would explain his foul mood. Mike himself was in a good mood even though Susan wasn't speaking to him. He was used to her moods but had to admit that she had surprised him, even shocked him, the night before with the things that had come out of her mouth.

"George, could you please see if you can find out where they are. I want to call a meeting but there's no point if they haven't finished their interviews." George nodded and walked towards the door. "We really should have more officers. I'm going to ask DCI for some constables. I know door to door enquires have already been made but I want them done again." Mike said before the two detectives left the room together.

George returned to the CID room a few moments later after discovering that both of the detectives were still interviewing and although Mike wanted them back they said they would return as soon as they could. DI Henderson had been a little more cryptic than DI Brown who informed George that his team were busy investigating and if DI Watson wanted to pull them from their work then he would have to send out a task force to drag them back.

Ten minutes later Mike returned and his face was like thunder. "Didn't go well then?" George asked, looking at the expression on his face and wondering why he had asked such a stupid question. "Did you know we were understaffed?" Mike asked sarcastically. "He said he would see what he could do. Did you manage to contact those two pains in the ass?" Mike asked sitting down at his desk and opening his files. "They said they will be back soon, still interviewing." George told him, deciding not to repeat their exact words.

Mike looked as if he was under enough stress and George knew fine well that DI Brown just wanted to cause trouble. Mike glanced at George and shook his head in annoyance. "Well has DC Peterson appeared yet with the file on Paul Dillon?" Mike asked George and was unprepared for his answer. "No. That little piece of shit has not been in." Mike saw his face screwing up in anger at the mention of the young detective's name. "What is it with you two?" Mike asked. "I noticed something was going on yesterday. What is it?" George tried to remain calm but found himself getting more and angrier.

"What is it? I'll tell you what. He made me look like a complete tit yesterday. We had been together for hours and then he disappeared without telling me why and suddenly I find out he's interviewed David Dillon and got all that information about his brother. The little prick." George replied trying to keep calm but failing miserably. "I see. Well I will have more than a few words with him today. What is he playing at? And why did he not share that information with you." Mike said beginning to get angry himself. They were supposed to be working as a team and for some reason DC Peterson wanted to make himself look better by making George look a fool. "I don't know. I guess he has something against me." George said feeling more than a little angry. "We are supposed to be working as a team not as individuals and I'm going to tell him that as soon as I see him. This is not about making oneself look better and scoring points, this is about finding a killer." Mike replied lifting the telephone to find out the exact whereabouts of DC Peterson.

Mike knew everyone was under enormous stress but he had to keep the team together. The last thing he wanted was cracks to appear in the very foundation of his team. He needed to sort out all this nonsense once and for all.

A few moments later DC Peterson arrived carrying the file on Paul Dillon. "Sorry it took me so long sir but I have all the information here." Mike nodded for George to leave the room and suddenly DC Peterson became apprehensive. What was going on? Did DS Wilson make a complaint about him?

Twenty minutes later DC Peterson left the room with a flea in his ear after enduring a lecture about team working and how information had to be shared amongst colleagues. So, DS Wilson had complained about him. Mike had not mentioned George by name but DC Peterson was under no illusion that DS Wilson had complained about him. Walking towards DCI Collins room, DC Peterson had a complaint of his own. After discussing the whole situation with DI Brown the night before, he knew what he had to do.

Mike was deep in thought when the telephone rang and an old familiar voice spoke to him. He recognised the voice of his old friend DI John Mitchell. They had worked together at Govan Police Station before he took early retirement, due to ill health, four years ago. John told Mike that he had read in the newspapers about the murders and that he had contacted him to offer his assistance.

He wanted to come into the station to talk to him and Mike agreed, as there wasn't much more to be done until all the detectives had returned. It was looking like the meeting would have to be held in the afternoon now as all the detectives had disappeared. He found himself getting angry when he thought of DI Brown and DI Henderson and decided to have a few words with them on their return.

An hour later Mike saw John Mitchell as he hobbled along the corridor and hardly recognised him. He couldn't quite recall when it was that he last saw him but the change in him was dramatic. He was a lot older than he remembered and was now completely bald. He had put on a lot of weight and was limping down the corridor with the use of a walking stick. John noticed the astonishment on Mike's face. "I'm a bit heavier than the last time we met Mike." he said putting out his hand which Mike immediately shook. "I need a hip replacement. The hospital promised that it wouldn't be long but I've waited for nearly two years now. It's murder to get around even with this stick." he told him and started waving the stick in the air. "So, I tend not to walk around unless I really need to, hence all this extra weight." Mike took him into the office ushering him to a large comfortable leather chair in the corner.

John asked him about the investigations and he informed him that they were at a standstill, although they were hoping for progress after forensics had completed their reports. John then told him about Sarah Jones and how she had helped him many times over the years when he was in the force. Sarah was a psychic, John explained, and although he was skeptical she always came up with clues that helped him solve more than one case. "I didn't know you used a psychic." said Mike, wrinkling his brow with astonishment. "It was all hush-hush but she was a great asset and helped me with the most difficult of cases." John told him. "Well I don't think we're at that stage yet and the police don't employ psychics." Mike had hoped that that would be the end of the discussion but John wanted to tell him all about Sarah Jones.

John told him that Sarah never asked for or never received money. He went on to tell him that she had become a close friend over the last ten years although he hadn't spoke to her much since his retirement. She had approached him years ago offering her assistance on a purely voluntary basis, when one of her friends was murdered. John had been sceptical but with her help, that was never acknowledged by the police, the killer was caught. Since that time John always turned to Sarah for help and although his DCI knew, it was something that was never discussed.

After an hour and several cups of tea, John decided it was time to leave. "Don't want to take up any more of your precious time Mike. Remember, time is of the essence but don't try to rush things. Go over the evidence very slowly and things will fall into place. They usually do." John eased himself out of the chair and shook Mike's hand. As John was leaving he handed Mike a piece of paper with a telephone number on it. "Have a few words with her. It won't do any harm, now will it? And it may do some good?" Mike told him he would think about it and he decided to run the idea past DCI Collins. The DCI was more than a little surprised that Mike would even entertain the thought of using a psychic. However, he had confessed to knowing of Sarah Jones. He had seen John Mitchell with her a few times at Govan Police Station many years ago.

He told Mike that rumour had it, at the time, that she was very good and had helped solve some difficult cases. The DCI told him that it was up to him whether or not to talk to her. It wouldn't do any harm but then again it wouldn't do any good, the DCI told him. Mike informed the DCI that he owed it to John to at least speak to this Sarah Jones and as he got up from his chair to leave the DCI tutted and indicated for him to remain seated.

He suddenly felt the atmosphere in the room getting more than a little chilly. "I want to let you know that one of your detectives came to see me today. With a complaint." DCI Collins told Mike, taking his glasses from his face and rubbing his nose. "With a complaint!" Mike was shocked. "I told him to go through the proper channels and take it up with you first and if he still wasn't happy to come and see me again." Mike didn't know what to think. He hadn't heard anything that would make him think that someone wasn't happy unless it was DI Brown. "Who are we talking about Gov?" Mike asked wondering if it was in fact DI Brown complaining about being taken off the Paula McDonald case.

"DC Peterson. He came to see me and told me he felt he was being bullied by DS Wilson." The DCI put on his glasses again and looked at Mike who was now deep in thought. What was DC Peterson up to? "What did he say exactly?" Mike asked. "Something to do with DS Wilson cursing him out and striking him on the face, with his finger. He said that DS Wilson was always putting him down and felt he had no option but to make a complaint." the DCI replied. "Is it an official complaint then?" asked Mike. "No, not yet. He didn't want to make it formal. He said he wanted to talk to me and get some advice. I told him to talk to you." DCI Collins shook his head. "Sort this out Mike. We really don't need all this when we are in the middle of these murder investigations. I know tempers are getting frayed and everyone is stressed but get this sorted out. Find out what is at the bottom of this and remember if DS Wilson has stepped out of line get him straightened out."

Mike noticed that DCI Collins expression had suddenly changed and his mood seemed to have darkened. "Sort it out quickly Mike. I don't want the Chief Constable getting involved." Mike was curious wondering why something like this would involve the Chief Constable. "What do you mean? Why would the Chief get involved?" DCI Collins leaned across the tale and spoke to Mike in a whisper. "DC Peterson is the second cousin of the Chief. It's all hush hush and DC Peterson doesn't want him involved."

The DCI could see the shock of that statement written all over DI Watson's face. Mike would be worried now and he didn't blame him. Chief Constable Williams was a formidable man who didn't put up with any kind of discord between his detectives. If he got wind of this he would be done on them like a ton of bricks. Mike nodded slowly and understood exactly what the DCI was telling him. He would need to sort this mess out very quickly and the first person to speak to was George. He had to get his side of the story first before tackling the delicate matter with DC Peterson.

He left the DCI's office unsure of how to proceed. This needed careful handling. Somehow, he had to get George and DC Peterson back on good terms but how? Shaking his head, he decided to leave it until later as he had to concentrate on Paul Dillon and what he could mean to the investigations.

When Mike went back to the office he was surprised to see George and DC Peterson squeezed together as they looked over the file on Paul Dillon. "Right what have we got?" Mike asked pulling over his chair to join the other two detectives. George opened his mouth to speak but suddenly changed his mind. "After you, DC Peterson. After all you found out all the information." George said to the young detective. Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise. What on earth was going on?

"Thanks DS Wilson. Paul Dillon is 46 years old and has been in and out of prison for over 20 years. He's a petty criminal. In fact, rumour has it, that many of the crimes he pleaded guilty to he did not fact commit. Seems that he did time for others, in exchange for money." DC Peterson informed them. "Do we know where he is staying?" Mike asked. "I think we should pay him a visit." "Still working on it." replied DC Peterson angry that he did not possess this information. "Right. Let's get onto that right now. I want that piece of information ASAP. I have to prepare for the meeting this afternoon so I will leave that in both your capable hands." Mike left the room to find out exactly where all his detectives where and round them all up.

By late afternoon there was still no sign of DI Brown or DI Henderson. Mike busied himself making notes of everything that had to be covered and what he wanted to say at the meeting, which looked like it would now have to be staged the next day. George asked if DI Brown or DI Henderson had returned to the office yet but the look on Mike's face told him the answer. Mike told George about John Mitchell and asked for George's opinion. "It's all rubbish really, but if you want to speak to some psychic it's your call." Mike called Sarah Jones and explained that he had been speaking with John Mitchell and asked her to come to the station the next day.

A meeting was arranged for the next morning and Sarah told him she would be there around 9 o'clock. Mike put down the telephone and turned to George. "No harm in talking to her." George gave him a look as if to say he was mad. "No. I suppose not." was his reply. "Keep this between us for the moment. I don't want anyone else finding out." Mike told him. "OK." George replied with a nod of the head. If anyone found out about this it would not be from him and wondered if the DCI knew anything about this.

It was 4.30pm by the time DI Brown and DI Henderson turned up at the station. PC King informed Mike as soon as they arrived, as instructed earlier that day. Mike wondered why they would have arrived at the station together when they were working on different cases. DI Brown was working on Alison Phillip's case while DI Henderson was working on Paula McDonald's murder case. Mike waited for them to appear.

After twenty minutes Mike called PC King to confirm that they did indeed arrive and that they had not left the building again. Did PC King tell them that Mike wanted to speak to them immediately? PC King informed him that he did pass on the message just as instructed. Mike slammed the telephone down. Where the hell where they? If they didn't turn up in the next few minutes, heads would roll. Just then the telephone rang. It was PC King informing him that the two detectives had left the building saying they would be back tomorrow morning. "Damn them to hell!" Mike exclaimed in anger as he slammed down the telephone nearly breaking it in the process. What kind of game were they playing? He would have a few choice words with both detectives tomorrow and by the end of their little talk everyone would know where they stood.

George grabbed his jacket and was making his way out the door when Mike called him over to his desk. "Sit down a minute George. There's something I need to talk to you about." He explained to George everything that DCI Collins had told him. At first George was silent then suddenly it seemed as if a light had just gone off in his head. "That's what his game is. I didn't know why he was doing all these things. He was goading me into an argument so he could report me. He wants rid of me." "What are you talking about George? Listen to yourself. You're talking as if there is some kind of conspiracy." Mike said perplexed as to George's statement. "I know what I know." George said with a look in his eyes that intrigued Mike. "And what is it that you know?" Mike asked thinking that George had completely lost his marbles. "It's all right Mike. I know what I must do. Two can play at that game. Is that all? Can I go?" George asked rising from the chair. "Sit down George, we have to talk. I want to know everything that went on between you two."

George told Mike all about his argument with DC Peterson and Mike informed George that he had spoken to DC Peterson about working as part of a team. "So, he went straight to the DCI after your little talk." George said nodding his head. "Yes. Come to think of it he must have done." Mike said and let out a sigh of annoyance. "But George did you curse him out as he claimed and did you really hit him on the face with a pointed finger?" Mike asked smothering laughter. "No, I did not hit him. It's a game. He's out to get me." George replied with anger in his eyes. "Well don't let him. Did you know he was related to the Chief? A second cousin or something. It came as a shock to me." George was surprised by that piece of information and quickly replied with exasperation. "Of course I bloody didn't."

Mike rose from his chair and walked around the desk to stand in front of the window. Looking out at the busy road outside, he slowly turned to George. "We have to sort this out. It isn't official yet so we have to make sure it doesn't become official." George walked over to join him at the window. "Leave it to me Mike. I know how to play the game. Don't worry about it." George knew what had to be done. "I have to speak to DC Peterson tomorrow first thing about all this." Mike told him and saw George shaking his head. "Wait till I speak to him first. I'll give you the nod after I've spoken to him. Don't worry Mike everything will be fine. Just you wait and see. I know how to play the game." he replied with a large grin on his face. Mike stared at him and saw that he was grinning from ear to ear. George had a plan, that was evident, but what was his plan about and would it have the desired effect?

# Chapter Thirteen

#

The next morning at 8am sharp DI Brown and DI Henderson arrived at the station. Walking into the CID office they saw that DI Watson and DS Wilson were already sitting at Mike's desk, flicking through some statements. It was a few minutes before Mike lifted his eyes and acknowledged their presence. DI Henderson opened his mouth to speak only for Mike to put up his hand to stop him. "The computer is over there. I want your statements typed up this morning and I'll look them over before we have our meeting after lunch." Mike told him without lifting his head from his desk. He did not have the time to deal with them at the moment but later they would both feel the full weight of his wrath. Who did they think they were dealing with and why did they think they could get away with it?

Little over an hour later DI Henderson handed his statements to Mike. "Anything new turn up?" DI Henderson shook his head. "No. We talked to the boyfriend and parents of Paula McDonald again but nothing new." Mike tutted, showing his disapproval. "Right I want you, DS Norton and DC White to help out on the Rose Gallagher case. Seems that DC Peterson needs some help. There were too many students to interview. Can you do that?" Mike asked looking at his watch. DI Henderson nodded. "We have a meeting today at 1pm. DCI Collins has asked a criminal psychologist to speak to us, so tell your team. After the meeting, I want to talk to you and DI Brown so don't rush off." Mike said looking over at DI Brown typing away on his computer. DI Henderson nodded. He knew exactly what DI Watson wanted to talk about and so, he was sure, did DI Brown.

A few minutes later DI Brown was standing in front of Mike with his statements freshly typed up, just as Mike had ordered. Mike made him wait. DI Brown coughed a few times. Mike made him wait. Eventually Mike looked at him. Taking the statements from his hand he asked. "Have you interviewed Mark Phillips yet?" "Not yet." Mike found himself getting angry again with DI Brown. "Why the hell not?" he asked rising from his chair.

"I thought we would get the friends, work colleagues and family interviewed first. Get all that out of the way before talking to Mark." DI Brown replied rather hesitantly. "Is that right? Do you remember what I said to you or are you deaf as well as dumb?" Mike asked with anger in his voice. "Mark Phillips should have been interviewed by now. You deliberately disobeyed a direct instruction." Mike said slamming his hands down on his desk. The room fell silent. "I don't have time to deal with this just now. Get Mark Phillips interviewed now. I want to know when he last had any kind of contact with his wife."

Mike stared at DI Brown and after a few awkward moments DI Brown looked away. "Sorry. I will get DC Bolton to do that right away." Mike couldn't believe what he had heard. "No you will not. I want you to do it. Do you have a problem with following orders DI Brown?" Mike asked through gritted teeth. DI Brown opened his mouth to protest but seeing the look on Mike's face decided not to reply. Turning to leave he saw that all eyes were on him and cursing under his breath went off down the corridor.

"Where is DC Peterson this morning?" Mike asked George, who informed him that he didn't have a clue where the young detective was but surmised that he would probably be finishing off his interviews at Glasgow University. "DI Henderson. Find out where DC Peterson is and let him know that you and your team are going there to help. He is to return to the station." DI Henderson nodded and immediately ushered his team out the door. "Remember to be back here at 1pm sharp." Mike shouted after them. DI Henderson nodded again before disappearing down the corridor.

A short time later PC King arrived at the door with Sarah Jones. With so much going on Mike had forgotten all about their meeting. "Sorry I'm late. I'm looking for Detective Inspector Watson." she said scanning the faces of the two detectives unsure as to which one of them was DI Watson. "I'm DI Watson and this is DS Wilson." Mike said shaking her hand and nodding towards George who immediately rushed over to his side. "Sorry detectives the traffic is horrendous at this time in the morning." she said apologetically.

"Please come in." Mike said taking her by the elbow and leading her towards one of the more comfortable chairs in the office. Mike offered her some tea but she declined and smiling sweetly asked for a glass of water instead. Mike sent George off to fetch some. "Who's that?" PC King asked George as they walked along the corridor. "Don't ask." was the reply and PC King wondered why he bothered to ask anyway.

Sarah Jones was younger than Mike had expected. For some reason, he thought that she would be old but realised that she must be somewhere in her early to mid-thirties. She was smartly dressed in a black trouser suit and white blouse. Her long black hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail. Sarah Jones wore thick designer glasses that made her look like a lawyer. Mike knew that everyone at the station would be puzzled as to who she was. Sarah smiled at him.

"I was very surprised to get your telephone call detective. I haven't seen John Mitchell for a few years now." she said squirming in the chair trying to get comfortable. It wasn't the chair that was the problem; it was her ongoing back problems. She had suffered from low back pain for years but she hadn't felt any pain now for the past few weeks. Mike watched in astonishment as she jumped up from the chair shrieking. "What's the matter?" Mike asked getting very concerned. "It's my back detective. Don't worry it comes and goes. The pain will go away soon, in fact, it's starting to ease off as we speak." Sarah painfully replied. She reached into her handbag and retrieved a bottle of painkillers and putting two in her mouth, reached out and grabbed a cup of water out of George's hand, just as he entered the room. George wondered what was going on. "Sore back detective." Sarah said looking at his raised eyebrows. "If you don't mind detectives I think it would better if I remained standing." Mike nodded that he understood.

Their conversation soon returned to John Mitchell. "I hadn't seen John for some time but on talking with him he was full of praise for you." Mike told her. Sarah studied Mike Watson. An athletic looking man, in his late thirties. He looked like a typical policeman. Short hair, immaculate suit, clean shaven with an all too familiar stressed out look in his eyes. She looked over at DS Wilson and studied his face. He was younger than DI Watson and she noticed that he wore contact lenses. With his dark hair slightly spiked in the front, he looked like any other young man in the street.

"I believe Sarah that you used to work with DI Mitchell. We have a bit of a problem and John said that perhaps you could help us." Mike said, reaching across his desk to retrieve his notes. "I understand you helped him with several cases he was working on a few years back." he said. "How is the old bugger? He never believed me you know, not until the things I told him proved to be right all along. He always pretended to believe in my gift but I know he was skeptical. Just like you, DI Watson." she said, smiling sweetly at him.

Mike was astounded by her intuition, maybe there was more to Sarah Jones than met the eye. "Detective Mitchell retired a few years ago but always keeps in touch." he told her. "Good. I hope he's well. We worked well together." And leaning towards Mike, she said in a whisper, "I have the gift you know, since the day I was born. My mother and my grandmother had the gift too. Some people call it a curse, but I call it a gift." Mike smirked and lifted his hand to his mouth so that she would not see him. What a load of crap. He suddenly became aware that she was staring at him with a weird disapproving look on her face. A look that somehow said that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Mike opened his folder and began to relay the details of the murders to Sarah. Not too much information just the basic details that every newspaper in the country had printed. "Do you think you can help?" he asked, leaning towards her. "Well I'll need some personal items from the deceased. But I'm sure I can be of some help. That is, if you really want my help detective." Sarah replied smiling at him with a glint in her eye. Mike didn't know how to reply. Did he want her help? It couldn't do any harm, could it?

As if reading his mind, she put out her arm and touched his elbow. "My help wouldn't do any harm, now would it?" Mike looked over at George who was standing with a stupid grin on his face. He too looked like he knew what Mike was thinking. "No Sarah it would not do any harm whatsoever. We are at a standstill just now and if you can help in any way it would be most appreciated." Mike said looking at George, standing behind Sarah, shaking his head.

He couldn't believe that Mike was entertaining all this nonsense. Mike Watson had the reputation of being a very rational and meticulous detective not given to flights of fancy. So why would he even give her the time of day? Maybe he didn't know him as much as he thought he did. Or maybe it was desperation. Desperation can make usually sensible people do all kind of stupid things.

"DS Wilson will bring them around to you tomorrow if that's alright. John gave me your telephone number but not your address." said Mike, lifting a pen and some paper from his desk. "No. I will pop in tomorrow, early in the morning. I'm leaving to catch the lunchtime train to Manchester. I'm going away on holiday for a few weeks." Sarah informed him. The two detectives gave each other a look to say that too wished they could get away on their holidays. But that little dream was all up in smoke now.

"When you come in tomorrow morning I will arrange for the items you want to be here waiting for you." said Mike, shaking her hand. "Unfortunately, I won't be here tomorrow. I have a meeting to go to but DS Wilson will take good care of you." Sarah Jones shook his hand and reaching over to George held his hand far longer than was comfortable. It was George who broke off the handshake first. For some reason Sarah Jones unnerved him.

The two detectives watched as Sarah walked along the corridor towards the swing doors. "Strange woman!" George exclaimed. "She gives me the creeps. Are you serious Mike?" he asked, not believing for a second that Mike believed in all that rubbish. "Look George. It won't do any harm. We need as much help as possible at the moment." he replied, rather curtly, before returning to his desk. George stood beside the door deep in thought. What was Mike doing? What will everyone think of this?

As soon as DC Peterson walked through the front door, he was met by George, who guided him along the corridor to the canteen for a chat. By the time the two detectives joined Mike in the CID Room everything had been resolved. George nodded to Mike to indicate that he had spoken to DC Peterson and he in turn guided the young detective into the room next door to have a talk. After a frank discussion regarding what had occurred Mike was relieved to be told that it was all a misunderstanding and how everything was back to normal. He made a mental note to ask George how he had handled the situation but at that precise moment DC Peterson and George were the least of his worries. He still had to deal with dumb and dumber and flex his muscles as lead detective but not enough for them to go running to the DCI.

At 1pm sharp DI Henderson and DI Brown entered the Incident Room closely followed by DCI Collins and a very attractive woman. Mike glared at the two detectives as they walked in the room but they avoided eye contact as they rushed to their seats. Within a few moments the room became silent as everyone waited for the DCI Collins to begin speaking.

Standing at the front of the room, beside the DCI, was a very embarrassed Melissa Wainwright who suddenly became aware of everyone staring at her. DCI Collins introduced her to the detectives and told them that she was a Forensic Psychologist, who was brought in to help with the murder enquiries. The first thing Mike noticed was how tall she was. She towered over the DCI and he was around 5' 11'' so Mike could only guess at her height. He put her age at early to mid-thirties although she looked a lot younger. She stood with her arms at her side and appeared very confident. Wearing a very short black skirt that emphasised her long lean legs, Mike could hardly keep his eyes off them. Her long blonde hair was tied up with a black ribbon and her white blouse was tight enough to show off her more than ample breasts. She was a vision to behold and looking at the others gaping at her he knew that he was not the only one to think so. "Right. Listen up everyone." DCI Collins announced, looking around to check that everyone was present. "I went over all the details of the murders with Miss Wainwright and I want her to speak to you about profiles and what nots. Miss Wainwright." The DCI beckoned on her to speak.

As Melissa opened her mouth to speak the DCI pulled over a chair for her before sitting down himself. "Thank you, DCI Collins."

Sitting down in the chair, she immediately noticed that her short skirt had suddenly become even shorter. Pulling down her skirt she found herself slouching over in order to keep it at an acceptable length. She chastised herself for wearing the skirt and not the trousers that she had picked out to wear that day before changing her mind at the last minute. How could she have been so stupid? She had agonised for hours on what to wear and somehow chose the skirt. Now looking out at the sea of faces all staring at her legs she knew she had made the wrong decision.

Glancing over at DCI Collins she noticed that he too was busy travelling up her body with his eyes. When his eyes reached hers, he could see the anger in her face, he had been caught ogling. Quickly sitting up straight in his chair he let out a few nervous coughs. "What are your thoughts on these murders Miss Wainwright?" DCI Collins asked not making eye contact with the now angry psychologist. "Well if the murders are connected, as we think, then that would suggest a serial killer." she replied re-adjusting her position in the old and very uncomfortable chair. She suddenly felt herself beginning to blush. She hoped that she wouldn't start to stutter as this had happened on more than one occasion, which she found extremely embarrassing.

"The victims all lived around the same area so we are more than likely dealing with a local killer." she said trying to get more comfortable in the hard chair. George found himself trying not to look at her long slender legs but it was no good he was mesmerised. "Well that could well be true." he said finding himself smiling at her and was surprised to see that she was smiling back at him. The room suddenly became silent. Melissa had moved her long legs again and everyone was struck dumb with admiration for the spectacular figure sitting in front of them. Mike looked around the room and sniggered to himself. There was now an awkward silence and Mike took it upon himself to try and get the discussion started again.

"What type of serial killer do you think we are dealing with then?" he asked, looking over at George who by this time was sitting on the edge of his chair with his mouth hanging open looking like a child on his first visit to a sweet shop. "It's too early to tell." she replied, noticing that Mike had turned from George and his eyes were now travelling up her legs. "Have you received any letters from the killer?" she asked dryly. He noticed the dryness in her voice and shook his head. "Why would we?" Melissa explained that some killers liked to taunt the police by sending letters. "Well that hasn't happened yet." The DCI informed her just as PC King popped his head around the door to tell DCI Collins that the Chief Constable wanted to see him. He excused himself saying that he would return as soon as possible.

"Carry on Miss Wainwright. Carry on." The DCI instructed and looking around at his detectives made a mental note to chastise them about their behaviour at a future date. Their ogling and smirking had not gone unnoticed. Melissa Wainwright was an educated, professional young woman who did not need to expose to that kind of behaviour.

"Tell us about serial killers Miss Wainwright." George asked really only wanting to hear the lilt of her English accent. It was music to his ears. "Serial Killers. There are four types. First, the Visionary Serial Killer who hears voices telling him to kill. Second, the Thrill Seeker Serial Killer who wants to outsmart the police and will see it all as a game. Third, the Mission Serial Killer who think they are doing society a favour by eliminating certain people and fourth, the Power and Control Serial Killer who likes to inflict horrific injuries upon their victims." She paused and took a deep breath.

"I would say that the killer is more than likely a psychopath. He will appear to be normal and be able to blend into the community." She scanned the faces of the detectives who were busy noting down everything she said as if she was giving a complete description of the suspect.

"There are only two reasons for a serial killer to stop: 1 - He's been caught, and 2 - He's dead. He very rarely has a criminal record and always keeps a low profile and would most probably killed before." She turned to look at the DCI as he re-entered the room for a second to say he had to go to a meeting and everyone was to carry on with their discussion. He informed Melissa that Chief Constable Williams wanted to see her when she was done. Melissa nodded. At the mention of the Chief, Mike looked at George who in turn looked at DC Peterson who in turn stared at the floor.

"What kind of serial killer do you think we have Miss Wainwright?" George asked suddenly finding himself blushing. "It's a bit early to tell. I need more information before I can make a determination." She found herself staring into his very pale blue eyes. "As he may have done this before perhaps you should look into other unsolved murders." she suggested. "First thing we do Miss Wainwright." Mike shouted out shaking his head. Was she trying to tell them how to do their jobs? His actions did not go unnoticed and Melissa blushed as she suddenly realised what she had said. She had stated the obvious and made a fool of herself on her very first day at the station.

When the meeting was over Mike instructed George to take Melissa Wainwright along to see the Chief Constable. By the look on his face, George was more than willing to do so. "I think everyone should have a break. DI Brown and DI Henderson can you stay behind please." Mike told them and soon the room was empty apart from the three men who stood in silence. "DI Brown have you spoken to Mark Phillips yet?" Mike asked staring into his face. "I have spoken to him. He's very busy but said he would speak to me later in the week." DI Brown informed him. "And what time can he fit us into his busy schedule, pray tell me?" Mike asked sarcastically. "We are conducting an investigation into his wife's murder. You will call him back and tell him you will be out to speak to him this afternoon and make sure you do. Do you understand?" DI Brown nodded and shrugged his shoulders. It was clear to him that Mike was letting him know who was the boss.

Mike beckoned for the two men to sit down before taking a seat himself. "I think we need to have a talk to clear the air. I know you both will be more than a bit surprised and can I say somewhat angry that DCI Collins has entrusted these investigations to me. Believe me it was the last thing that I wanted to happen." Mike told them and notices the two men glancing at each other. "If there's anything you would like to get off your chest this is the time to do it." he stated. Silence. "Well then let me start. DI Brown I don't want you to question my orders. DI Henderson did PC King tell you that I was looking for you both yesterday as it seems that you both disappeared without coming to see me?" Mike asked. Silence.

"Right. If no one wants to speak let me make myself very clear. I have a rough idea how you are both feeling but orders are orders and if anything like this happens again you will both be reported." he said very calmly trying to keep his emotions in check. "I'm putting all this down to miscommunication this time but there will be no more chances. Do you both understand?" he asked looking from one detective to the other for some semblance of understanding. DI Brown and DI Henderson nodded. "Have you both lost your voices? If you have anything to say, this is the time to say it. If not I suggest you both get back to work." he said rather perplexed at the silence from the two detectives who were usually more vocal with their opinions.

DI Brown and DI Henderson both stood up and nodding to Mike before leaving the room. He could hear DI Brown cursing under his breath and had a feeling that this was not over. Something told him that these two detectives would have to be watched very carefully. What kind of game were they playing? He didn't have any time to play games he had a killer to find.

The two detectives made their way along the corridor to a meeting of their own. Inside the canteen DC Peterson waited patiently for the two detectives to arrive. DI Watson had asked them both to stay behind. Why? Did it have anything to do with him? George had sussed him out and boy did he have something to tell DI Brown today. By the time DI Brown and DI Henderson arrived tea break was over. "We can't talk now, I'll call you tonight." DI Brown told DC Peterson who knew by the expression on his face that he was in a foul mood. What had DI Watson said to them?

Most of the detectives spent the rest of the afternoon at Glasgow University finishing off all the interviews. Mike had instructed them to finish speaking to everyone they had to speak to by the end of the day and if anything interesting turned up, they were to contact him immediately.

At long last DC Peterson had been given an address for Paul Dillon. It had been difficult work trying to track him down but now he had an address. He had thought of running off to tell DI Watson straight away but thought it better to let DS Wilson know of the new development. George was delighted with the news and more than a little surprised that DC Peterson had decided to inform him first before running off to tell Mike. He smiled to himself. It looked as if their little chat, earlier in the day, had done the trick.

The two detectives told Mike about their discovery and were instructed to drive over and speak to Paul Dillon. Mike told them to go softly softly with him. After all the man hadn't done anything and it was just the fact that his brother was engaged to Rose Gallagher that connected him to their investigation.

George and DC Peterson drove to Paul Dillon's flat in virtual silence. Pulling onto Glasgow Road they turned the corner into Granger Street and glancing at the piece of paper in his hand, George parked the car outside Paul Dillon's tenement building. "This is it. He lives on the third floor." DC Peterson nodded in agreement and the two detectives got out of the car. "Secure entry. How are we going to get into the place?" DC Peterson asked and George turned his head to stare at the young detective. "Let's try the buzzer." he answered in a sarcastic manner. DC Peterson rolled his eyes.

After three attempts, George had to concede that Paul Dillon was not at home or if he was at home was not answering his buzzer. "Now what?" DC Peterson said shifting from one foot to the other. He was cold and the freezing wind cut through him like a knife. He wished he had worn his black woolen coat to work that morning, instead of the light jacket that he had on.

"Let's try a neighbour." George suggested and pressed the first buzzer. No answer. Trying three more buzzers, George found that no one was at home. Pressing the very last buzzer he was pleased to find that someone answered. "Hello." the voice said. "Strathclyde Police sir. Can we come in?" George answered with his hand on the handle of the outside door, ready to pull it open. Silence. George pressed the buzzer again. "What is it?" the voice growled. "Open the door please sir." Silence. A few moments later George heard the man speak again. "Fuck off." the voice shouted down the intercom. George looked at DC Peterson and found himself laughing when he saw. DC Peterson's raised eyebrows. "Don't tell me you're shocked. You'll get used to being told to fuck off. It's the standard greeting for police officers these days." George told him and the younger detective shook his head in amazement. "What next?" he asked unsure of how to proceed. "I'll tell you what's next. I'm going to keep my finger on that bloody buzzer until he opens the door." George told him pressing the buzzer. "This is a bit unorthodox." DC Peterson muttered but George ignored him.

Three minutes later they heard the click of the door that signified that it was now open and that his plan had worked. "Thank God for that. I thought we would have to stay here all day." George said rubbing his now numb forefinger.

"Should we find out who this person is and charge him with obstruction or something?" DC Peterson asked and watched as George shook his head. "But it's obstruction. We could do him." he insisted. George shook his head again. "Do you want to be filling out forms for the rest of the day? I sure as hell don't. Just let it go." DC Peterson had to agree that it was more trouble than it was worth.

The smell of stale urine hit them as soon as they walked through the door. How could that be, with the place having secure entry? "Keep away from the walls DC Peterson. You don't want to get anything on your jacket." George told him but the other detective had already sussed out that someone had been using the place as a public toilet and had no intention of touching anything.

When they reached the second lot of stairs they could smell bleach. Puddles of bleach lay on the stairs and DC Peterson cursed as he accidentally splashed some onto his trousers. The smell of bleach was overpowering and George held his breath as he ran up the stairs to the third floor, closely followed by DC Peterson still cursing. "What's up?" George asked looking at the sour face on the other detective. "Bleach splashed up on my trousers. They are bloody ruined. Look at them." DC Peterson said looking down at his trousers and groaning. "Hazards of the job." George replied shaking his head. "Do you think the guy that cursed at us could have thrown the bleach down the stairs on purpose?" DC Peterson asked wondering if people would stoop so low. "Could very well be but you try and prove it." George replied shrugging his shoulders and moving over to Paul Dillon's front door.

George knocked on Paul Dillon's front door remembering what Mike had told them. They were there to tell him about the death of his brother's fiancée and to note his reactions. Nothing more, nothing less. After several minutes, they had to concede that he wasn't home. George looked through the letterbox half expecting to see Paul Dillon hiding behind the door but the place was empty.

DC Peterson then suggested asking some of the neighbours if they had seen him. "You know fine well that only one neighbour is at home and I think you want to speak to him about something other than Paul Dillon. Let it go DC Peterson." George said and saw the disgruntled look on the other detective's face. "Come on let's get back to the station."

Walking down the stairs DC Peterson heard the creak of a door opening and was sure that the swine, who poured the bleach down the stairs, was watching them leave and laughing to himself.

Back at the station Mike was disappointed to find out that his detectives were unable to talk to Paul Dillon. Deciding to double check the address Mike made a few telephone calls and eventually found out that Paul Dillon had in fact stayed at the address they were given but had moved elsewhere just a few days ago. Writing down the new address Mike decided, as it was late, to wait until the next day to look up the elusive Paul Dillon.

As George and DC Peterson got ready to go home, Mike asked George to stay behind for a moment. George nodded and DC Peterson waved his hand in the air before rushing out the door. It had been a strange day, the young detective thought and rushing out the front door wondered what the next day would bring. He loved being a detective.

"What's up Mike?" George asked and looking at his face knew that something was puzzling him. "You know what's up. What did you say to DC Peterson to make him say that your argument was a misunderstanding and how he got everything wrong and does not want to pursue a complaint?" Mike asked as he leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest.

"Well if you must know I apologised to him." George replied with a smirk on his face. "And?" Mike asked knowing fine well that George would never apologise to him. Something went on between the two detectives and George was not going home until he told him all about it. "I told him he couldn't be the Chief's second cousin because I was." George said looking at the blood draining from Mike's face. The two men burst out laughing. "My God George. Why did you say that? And how did you know he wasn't related to the Chief? I don't understand." asked Mike patting George on the arm as if congratulating him for a job well done. "He is a little shit stirrer and little shit stirrers lie." George replied. "What if he was the Chief's cousin? Then what would you have done?" Mike asked shaking his head in amazement. "He couldn't be Mike because I am." George insisted and the two detectives started laughing again. "Yes I am. It's all hush hush." George said with a wink. "George, you're a nut. If any of this gets out you'll be in trouble. You bloody nutcase." Mike said laughing once again.

At 8pm true to his word DI Brown called to speak to DC Peterson. He seemed excited to find out the fact that DI Watson had called in a psychic to help him with the murders. If this little titbit of information ever reached the press then the credibility of DI Watson would be in tatters. He told the young detective to keep him informed on any further developments. DC Peterson went on to explain that he had done everything that DI Brown had asked him to do, even going as far as to provoke DS Wilson into an argument. How he had reported DS Wilson to the DCI and how DI Watson had a long conversation on the importance of team work. The fact that he told the DCI that he was second cousin to the Chief was a last- minute idea and now it had backfired on him.

DI Brown was shocked by the last statement and wondered why anyone would make up a story like that. He was even more shocked to be told that DS Wilson had informed the young and now stupid detective that he in fact was the second cousin of Chief Constable Williams. DI Brown nearly choked on his whisky and as the young detective listened to him coughing and spluttering he became more than a little worried. "DI Brown are you ok?" Suddenly there was complete silence on the other end of the telephone. "DI Brown are you there?" A few moments later the silence on the telephone line was interrupted when DC Peterson heard hysterical laughter on the other end of the line. It was so loud he had to move telephone piece away from his ear. "You're an idiot." DI Brown said through gritted teeth. The laughter had suddenly been replaced by fury. "He sussed you out you idiot. He's no more the Chief's second cousin than I'm the DCI's brother." DC Peterson wondered if this was indeed correct. He was angry at being called an idiot but if DS Wilson lied to him then he had really been duped and was indeed a bloody fool.

# Chapter Fourteen

#

Sarah Jones arrived at the station the next day at 9am and was waiting at the reception area when George came down to meet her and take her up to the office. She had a large luggage bag with her and George handed it to PC King, telling him to make sure it was locked away somewhere safe. Walking along the corridor to the CID room, George told Sarah that DI Watson was at a meeting and could not see her but that he was to make sure she had everything she wanted. Mike was at a meeting with DCI Collins and Melissa Wainwright.

Truth be told George would rather be at the meeting than with this so called, psychic that somehow made the hair on the back of his neck stand up whenever she spoke to him. By the look on George's face when Mike told him that he himself could not be there and that George was in charge, made Mike feel sorry for him. So, he told him to take DC Peterson with him and to remember to take notes. DC Peterson was less than happy with this arrangement. Not only did he think the whole thing was a waste of time but the thought of sitting across from DS Wilson was not something that he wanted to do. He was still angry and wanted to tell him what he thought of him but DI Brown had told him to bottle up his feelings and act as if nothing was bothering him. Easier said than done DC Peterson had told him but DI Brown was adamant. They would deal with DS Wilson after they had dealt with DI Watson. DC Peterson found himself unable to sleep after speaking to DI Brown. The whole thing was getting out of control. When he had a moment, he would voice his concerns to DI Henderson, who as far as he was concerned, was the more logical and less temperamental of the two detectives.

George took Sarah into the office and everyone lifted their heads and turned to look at the tall elegant woman entering the room. She looked like a lawyer but rumour had it that a psychic had been at the station the day before and instinctively they knew that she would be that psychic.

He pulled out a chair for her to sit on but she declined, saying that as back was still bothering her, it would be best if she remained standing. George glanced over at DC Peterson and was surprised to see indignation in the other detective's eyes. Misreading the sign George thought that DC Peterson was unhappy about being there with Sarah Jones instead of tracking down Paul Dillon. He like George was desperate to find him and George himself would rather be doing that than being stuck here with a psychic. Mike had asked her to come into the station so it should have been him that was speaking to her not them. George shook his head, it was so unfair but quickly remembering his manners, he introduced Sarah Jones to DC Peterson.

Sarah shook hands with DC Peterson and quickly had a feeling that this young detective was not all that he seemed. He looked a lot younger than the other detectives in the room and with his black hair cut so short that it was practically invisible, looked more like a thug than a detective. Something about him made her feel uncomfortable and looking into his eyes she saw something that told her that here was a man that would do anything to get on in the world. He may look young but he had an old man's head on his young shoulders and something about him made her feel uneasy.

"Would you like some tea first?" George asked trying to break the awkward silence that had suddenly appeared. Sarah Jones turned and smiled. "No thank you. I don't mean to be rude but could we get down to business." George nodded and was thankful that she, like him, wanted to get all this over with as soon as possible.

Sarah suddenly became aware that she was being stared at and looking around the room, saw that all eyes were on her. She had over the years became accustomed to people staring and sometimes it made her feel a bit like a celebrity but without all the money. Today however the stares annoyed her. She had places to go and things to do, so why on earth she agreed to help out with these murder cases was beyond her. She knew that they didn't believe in her abilities anyway but then again deep down she wanted to help. The murderers of these women had to be caught and she hoped that she could be of some assistance. The streets were not safe for anyone these days.

George sent DC Peterson off to fetch the items that Sarah needed. As he turned to leave the room he saw that DI Brown was giving him a strange look. DI Brown mouthed "Is that her?" To which DC Peterson simply nodded before rushing out the room.

DI Brown nodded to DI Henderson and the two men immediately went to the back of the room to discuss the situation. "That's her." DI Brown said. "What the psychic you were talking about?" asked DI Henderson. "Who else? Keep up for goodness sake." said DI Brown disgusted with the lack of enthusiasm shown from his colleague. "I wonder what the Chief Constable will make of this." The other detective asked, raising his eyebrows. "Never mind the Chief what will the newspapers say if this gets out?" DI Brown replied rubbing his chin. "And how is this going to get out?" DI Henderson asked knowing full well that his partner in crime was just the man to make trouble. "Let's just say that this time tomorrow DI Watson will be in all the newspapers for all the wrong reasons. The Chief will blow a gasket and Mike Watson will hopefully get what he deserves." DI Brown said through gritted teeth. "Which is what exactly?" DI Henderson whispered. The other detective looked around the room before answering. "Well personally I would like him hung, drawn and quartered but realistically he'll get a slap on the wrist and be replaced as lead detective. That's as much as we can hope for. DI Henderson nodded slowly in agreement. "Let's go for our tea break. I'm starving and I'll update you on what DC Peterson told me last night." DI Henderson was intrigued and with that the two detectives slipped out of the room.

George gave Sarah the items that she had requested. Personal items from all three victims were laid out on the tray for her. Paula McDonald's keyring, Rose Gallagher's lipstick and Alison Phillips' car keys. Sarah looked down at the items and rubbed her hands with delight. It had been a long time since she had used her gift. She held Paula McDonald's keyring firmly in her hand, closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Almost immediately she stopped. "Sorry, nothing here. She's not wanting to speak to me." she informed George, placing the keyring back on the tray. George rolled his eyes. It was going to take every bit of strength he could muster to stop himself from walking straight out the door. Why did Mike do this to him?

Next, she lifted Rose Gallagher's lipstick and closed her eyes again. "She tells me she had been to a club the night she died." George was astonished by this statement. Sarah took a deep breath before continuing. "She met someone when she left the club." Everyone in the room was now mesmerised by Sarah Jones and hanging on to her every word. "She was upset and he was nice to her. For some reason, she felt safe but she doesn't say why." George was now scribbling everything she said down on his notebook.

Suddenly the expression on Sarah's face changed. She opened her eyes and George could see the fear. "This man has killed before. I can feel his anger." Sarah could feel herself getting more and more frightened by the experience. As she put the lipstick back down on the tray she turned to George and announced. "He will kill again." George's mouth fell open and he looked over at DC Peterson who by this time was visibly shaken by the whole experience. George rolled his eyes again. Everything Sarah Jones was saying was more or less as he had expected. Apart from the fact that the victim was at a club the night she died, this psychic had stated the obvious. It was damn obvious that this killer would kill again. George rolled his eyes again in desperation but this time he was not so discreet and everyone in the room saw him. Everyone except Sarah, who seemed too deep in thought.

DI Brown and DI Henderson returned to the CID room to find everyone sitting in silence. "What's going on?" DI Brown asked. Silence. Something had happened and the two detectives were more than curious as to what. "What did we miss?" DI Henderson asked DC Peterson only to be snubbed by the young detective. "Can you give us any more information?" DC Peterson asked handing the lipstick back to Sarah. "I don't know. I don't know." she replied shaking her head. "Please try?" he asked, wondering why he was now suddenly being sucked into the whole business. There was something intriguing about Sarah Jones and looking around the room he could see that he was not the only one to think so.

She held the lipstick tightly in her hand and closed her eyes. "I'm asking her to describe him." Sarah told George, who shook his head and handed his notebook and pen to DC Peterson, indicating to him that he was to take over and write down everything she said. George had had enough of this nonsense and wanted it all over and done with quickly as he had more important work to do, like catching a killer. DI Brown looked over at DI Henderson.

The room was silent. Everyone was hanging onto Sarah's every word. "He was tall and smartly dressed. He was wearing a dark suit and a shirt and tie." she said opening her eyes for a few seconds before slowly closing them again. "Anything else?" DC Peterson asked writing everything she said down on the notepad as if it was a true eyewitness description of who they were looking for.

DI Brown smirked as he saw the young detective scribbling frantically in the notebook. George glancing over at him and seeing his smirk couldn't condemn him for his reaction. The whole thing, as far as he was concerned, was a complete waste of precious time. DI Brown smiled to himself. The newspapers will definitely have a field day when he lets them know about all this rubbish. The room gasped at Sarah's next statement. "Something about a rose. He gave her a rose." George gasped in dismay and glancing over towards DC Peterson could see that he had suddenly turned white as a sheet.

George wondered how she could know about the rose. No one knew about the rose. That piece of information had never been disclosed to the media. "I'm sorry that's all the information I could get." Sarah announced, returning the lipstick to the tray. "I'll try contacting the next victim."

She picked up the car keys that had belonged to Alison Phillips, from the tray and clasped her hands around them. Taking a deep sigh, she closed her eyes tightly and the room was silent. DI Brown let out a snigger and George glared at him. "Something to do with her car. I think she's trying to tell me he was in the car waiting for her. I could be wrong but there's something about the car." Sarah said breaking the silence. "We think she may have been murdered in her car. Forensics are checking it over right now." George informed her.

"Anything else?" Sarah appeared to be deep in thought. "She didn't know him. He was a stranger." she replied shaking her head. "Sorry, nothing else." "Well thanks very much for your help Sarah." George said. "We may want to speak to you again at some point." George nodded for DC Peterson to open the office door and George guided Sarah over to the door, rather too hastily for her liking. "Sorry I wasn't of more help. Goodbye for now."

As Sarah walked into the corridor she suddenly stopped and turned around to speak to George again. "There is something else. Something I didn't want to say in front of the others." she whispered grabbing him by his arm and pulling him out into the corridor away from the prying eyes of the other detectives. George was surprised by her action but was more than slightly intrigued. "There is a common theme with these murders." she whispered. "Well we think they may have been committed by the same person, although that hasn't officially been stated yet." George said before quickly chastising himself for giving away more information than he intended. "It's not that." she whispered. "What is it then?" he asked. "It's about the man who met the girl outside the club. He is somehow involved with the police and I don't mean as a criminal." she whispered. "What!" George exclaimed rather too loudly.

DI Brown nodded to DC Peterson to go and see what was going on. "Need any help DS Wilson?" DC Peterson said noticing the odd expression on George's face. "No everything is fine." he replied. "I'm just going to walk Miss Jones down to the front door." DC Peterson walked back into the room and seeing the quizzical look on DI Brown's face shrugged. "What do you think that was all about Brian?" DI Brown asked rubbing his chin. "Maybe she gave him the killer's name." DI Henderson replied laughing.

As George walked along the corridor he made sure he was out of reach of any eavesdroppers before turning to Sarah and asking what she had meant. "I don't mean he was dressed in a police uniform, he was not. But I had the distinct feeling that somehow, he works for the police but in what capacity, I don't know." Sarah said staring straight into his eyes. "And why do you think that? he asked rather perplexed by this revelation. "I have a feeling." was all that she replied. "A feeling." George said rather sceptically. "Yes detective, a feeling." Sarah was sick and tired of people not believing in her abilities. "One more thing detective." she said turning to face him. "Two of the girls are the same and the last one different." "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in amazement. "I'm just letting you know what I feel detective. There is something different about the last girl. I don't know what but I trust my feelings detective." she told him walking over to PC King to retrieve her luggage.

Turning to George she asked if there was any way she could get a taxi to take her to the train station. He nodded and asked PC King to call her a taxi. Lifting the telephone PC King looked at Sarah. "What train station are you going to? Queen Street or Central?

Sarah thought for a moment before answering. "Central." PC King nodded and lifted the telephone. "You don't have to wait with me detective." she told him reaching out and shaking his hand. George smiled and thanked her for coming into the station. "Hope I've been of some help." he smiled again but didn't answer her. He wasn't sure if she had been of any help. As he turned away to return to the office he glanced back over his shoulder at Sarah who was now in a deep conversation with PC King. What did she mean when she said two were the same and one different? What did she mean that somehow the police were involved?

George waited anxiously for Mike to return and when he did, he hardly got a foot inside the office before George had grabbed him and told him about Sarah. "What does that mean? Two are the same one is different." asked Mike. "Don't know. But what I'm more concerned with is this police involvement. What does that mean? And she mentioned the rose. No one knows about the rose." he said feeling slightly weird about the whole experience. "I thought you didn't believe in all that psychic rubbish?" Mike asked taking his jacket off and hanging it over the back of his chair. "I don't. I mean I didn't. I'm more than a little confused. She was very convincing." he answered, not really knowing what he thought anymore. He had found himself confused by some of the things Sarah Jones had said to him. Mike told him to put the notebook on his desk and he would look at it when he had time. George beckoned to DC Peterson to put the notebook on Mike's desk and the young detective did as he was instructed.

"Did you and DC Peterson get over to that new address I gave you for Paul Dillon yet?" asked Mike changing the subject. "Yes but he wasn't home." George replied. "Check the neighbours see what you can find out." he told him and with that George turned before Mike informed him that it would need to wait until later. The DCI had called a meeting in the Incident Room at 1pm sharp. Everyone was to have an early lunch and be back in time for the meeting or heads would role. "Tell everyone that George. Heads will roll if anyone was stupid enough to be late for the DCI." George nodded.

Glancing at the notebook on his desk Mike could not contain his curiosity and lifting it began flicking through the notes. Reading what Sarah Jones had said to his detectives made him more sceptical than before but there was something about her.

At 1pm sharp the DCI entered the Incident Room, carrying a large folder and immediately looked around to see if anyone was missing. Walking beside him was Melissa Wainwright. This time she was wearing a smart navy blue trouser suit much to the disappointment of most of the detectives. "Miss Wainwright will take any questions you have and try to answer them. Hopefully her knowledge will help us with our investigations." DCI Collins told everyone in the room.

The DCI pulled out a chair for Melissa and waited until she was seated before he sat down himself. This time DCI Collins made sure his eyes were squarely focused on Melissa Wainwright's face and looking around the room, hoped that his detectives would show her a little more respect this time round.

George was the first person to ask a question. "Does the fact that a red rose was left with the victims mean anything? Is it some kind of signature?" Melissa smiled at him before answering his question. "Signatures being left by the serial killer are not always true. It is in the movies but not usually in real life." "But the red rose, surely that is some sort of signature, isn't it?" George insisted. "Maybe, maybe not." she replied. "The killer may be playing a game. As I said, a signature is extremely rare in real life." Looking deep into George's eyes, Melissa could feel herself beginning to blush. There was something about the detective that she liked. Maybe it was the way he dressed every day, turning up in a smart suite with a shirt and tie and his hair immaculate, with not a hair out of place. Maybe it was his smile, he had a lovely smile. The kind of smile that was sincere and not lecherous, like so many of the other detectives. Or maybe it was just simply his aftershave, that she recognised as the citric scent of Giorgio Armani.

"Anything else about the crimes you can tell us?" Mike asked suddenly disrupting her thoughts. "Well the women were not sexually assaulted so these are not sexually motivated crimes, and I believe that there were no signs of robbery either. More than likely the killer is a misogynist." Melissa stared at Mike and he raised his eyebrows. "Misogynist. Well it does look like he hates women. What does that tell us about what we are dealing with?" Mike asked writing the work misogynist down on his notebook and drawing a circle before adding eyes, nose and a smiley face. DC Peterson looked over at Mike doodling and wondered if he had lost the plot. It was so unlike DI Watson to be so laid back and uninterested in discussions. Maybe he had things on his mind.

"He finds it hard, if not impossible to form a relationship with a woman. He was badly let down by a woman, maybe a girlfriend, wife or even his mother. When he is killing these poor women, he is really killing this woman who let him down or hurt him over and over again." Melissa explained. George smiled over at Melissa and she quickly returned his smile.

For some reason Melissa intrigued him. Maybe it was the way she dressed, looking so smart in her trouser suit, even though he much preferred the short skirt. Maybe it was her smile. A kind, warm and very sensual smile. Or maybe it was just the floral aroma of her perfume that seemed to engulf the room. George found that he liked everything about her and staring at her was suddenly overcome with a feeling of guilt. He was engaged to be married and shouldn't be feeling these things about another woman. It was just harmless daydreaming; Melissa Wainwright was way out of his league.

"Right Miss Wainwright." DCI Collins said. "Can you work with my detectives today?" Melissa nodded. "DI Watson I want you to take care of Miss Wainwright. I have a meeting to attend and will speak to you later." With that the DCI gathered up his large folder and made his way to the door. Mike glanced over at George who was busy looking in the direction of the psychologist and saw that they were both smiling at each other as if they were lovesick teenagers.

He immediately noticed the chemistry between them and wondered if George knew the kind of trouble he would get himself into if he wasn't careful. Walking over to where George was sitting Mike tapped his shoulder to bring him back down to earth. He told him to escort Melissa to the CID room as he had to rush off to make a telephone call. George nodded and rose from his seat making his way towards her.

As she watched him moving closer and closer towards her, she found herself being to blush. What the hell was going on? She was a grown woman for goodness sake and chastised herself for behaving like a love-struck teenager. There were murders to be investigated.

# Chapter Fifteen

Over the next few days Melissa found herself working closely with DS George Wilson. They ate breakfast at the station in the morning, went over the case notes and ate lunch together every day. There was still no sign of Paul Dillon and all enquiries to the Social Work Department were passed from one person to the next. Paul Dillon's Social Worker, James Cole, was on holiday and would be back at the beginning of the following week. The person standing in for him could only tell Mike that the last known address was exactly the same as he had. So why was Paul Dillon not at home and why did the neighbours not know anything about him?

Mike looked over at George and Melissa who seemed to be deep in conversation. He had noticed how close they had become over the last few days and hoped that George wasn't getting in over his head. Melissa was a beautiful woman; even Mike found himself attracted to her and had noticed a few of the detectives giving her the odd admiring look. There was something about her and for some reason he couldn't quite think what it was. To be truthful, Mike thought, it was not just one thing about her that put her heads above any other woman he had ever met. Everything about her was beautiful, from her smile to the way she dressed, to the way she walked. She had an air of confidence that was very appealing. He shook his head to bring him back to reality. He had Susan and she was all the woman he needed. He was happy with his life and more than happy with his job. Yes, being a detective was hard and being married was harder but both were well worth the time and effort to make them successful.

Melissa laughed and the echo of her laughter filled the room. All the detectives immediately stopped what they were doing to give her admiring glances. Even her laughter was beautiful and the lilt of her soft English accent, when she was chastising George for something or other, made her somehow sound exotic.

At that precise moment, everyone envied George including Mike to his bitter disappointment. He knew he shouldn't be hard on himself he was a man after all and being married didn't mean he couldn't admire a beautiful woman from time to time. When Susan had asked him about Melissa, all that he said was that she was a middle aged very unattractive criminal psychologist that lived with her cats. No more was asked about her. If he had said she was a very beautiful woman and that all the male detectives ogled her every day at work, his life would not be worth living.

As everyone put on their jackets to leave for the night, George asked Melissa if she would like to join him for some dinner. She looked at him and he saw her eyebrow lifting. There were a few seconds of awkward silence before she replied. "That depends detective are we going to talk about work all evening?" "No, I promise. I've had enough talk about these murders. To tell you the truth my brain can't take any more. Please say yes." he pleaded pulling a desperately sad face. "You're an idiot." she said, throwing her head back to laugh. "Oh and another thing, you don't have to call me detective when we are alone." George smiled at her waiting for her reply.

"OK. George, I would love to go for dinner." Melissa found herself once again blushing. "I know this lovely Italian restaurant not far from here." Melissa nodded. "Italian it is then." She couldn't help wondering if this dinner could be construed as a date. She found herself hoping that it was the first of many dinner dates and smiling at George, joined him as they both walked out the room together.

George decided that it was best to take his car to the restaurant. He would drive Melissa back to the station for her car later in the evening. Melissa nodded in agreement. She had offered to take her car but a look of horror appeared on his face as if somehow, she had questioned his masculinity in some way. She needed to be careful and not scare him off as she had done so many times before with others. She was a confident and independent woman and sometimes men found her too much to deal with, she had told her friends, after yet another relationship hit the dust.

Her friends had told her that she needed to calm down and sometimes let the man take the lead in the relationship. She had laughed thinking they were talking rubbish but on reflection knew exactly what they had meant. So agreeing to allow George to take his car and drive her to the restaurant, was the first step in the right direction and congratulating herself for her restraint, smiled sweetly at him.

The restaurant was quite busy by the time they arrived but they were soon ushered to a table in the corner. The waiter suddenly appeared as if by magic, to give them their menus and stood by their table with his pen poised awaiting their orders. "Could we have a few moments please." he told the waiter who seemed to disappear just as quickly as he had appeared.

George scanned the menu. "What are you having?" he asked and Melissa glanced at him before closing the menu, she knew exactly what she wanted. "Well for an appetizer, I think I will have Bruschetta." she told him and he pulled a silly face. "I don't want to appear ignorant but what is that?" "It's a topping of tomatoes and basil with olive oil and it's served with toasted ciabatta bread." she replied. George grimaced. "Yuck. Tomatoes with toast." Melissa laughed. It was so refreshing to go out with someone so funny. "I think I'll have the Sicilian Scampi." he told her looking over for her approval. Melissa nodded in agreement. "Now about the main course? I'm going for the herb-grilled salmon. What about you?" He stared at the menu and couldn't quite make up his mind.

Several minutes later he closed the menu, he had made his choice. "I think I will push the boat out and be adventurous." he replied with a smirk on his face. "Spaghetti and Meatballs." Melissa found herself laughing again. George Wilson was so amusing and she had a feeling that tonight was going to be very enjoyable indeed. "What about desserts?" he asked wondering if she was one of those women who never ate desserts so that they would keep slim. "Well you can have one if you like but I never eat dessert." she replied patting her very flat stomach. So, he was right after all, she was watching her figure. "Watching your figure? Well you don't need to I can watch it for you." he said smiling at her with a glint in his eyes.

Opening the wine list, he looked over at her wondering if she was a white wine kind of girl or more of a red wine girl. "Last thing to order is the wine. Red or White?" "Guess." Melissa said teasingly with a seductive look. George studied her closely, looking her up and down which made her blush. "I think white." Melissa nodded. The truth was she never much cared for white wine and preferred red but decided to keep that piece of information to herself.

George lifted his hand and beckoned for the waiter to take their orders. Along with the food he ordered a bottle of Chardonnay. "Good choice detective." Melissa whispered across the table to him. "George." he insisted and once again she found herself blushing. She couldn't understand why she felt so nervous; maybe it was because she really liked him.

Enjoying her meal, Melissa began to feel more relaxed and later, after another bottle of Chardonnay, George asked her to tell him everything about herself. He discovered that she had lived most of her life in Potternewton and had attended Leeds University before coming up to Scotland. Both of her parents had passed away and she had no brothers or sisters. She intended to stay in Scotland for the time being but not necessarily in Glasgow. "Have you plans to move away any time soon?" he asked, feeling his heart sink with the possibility of moving away. "No, not really. A friend has asked me to go to Edinburgh for a few days. She is convinced that I would much prefer Edinburgh to Glasgow." she told him, noticing the disappointed look on his face.

Melissa asked him to tell her about himself. He told her that he had wanted to join the police force ever since he was a child. How becoming a detective was the best thing that had ever happened to him and how his long-term goal was to become a Detective Inspector. He lived in an apartment on the south side of Glasgow and had two brothers and four sisters. His father had died several years ago but his mother was still going strong and worked as a care assistant in a local hospital. He wondered if he should mention that he had a fiancée but decided to keep that piece of information to himself.

George suddenly became aware of the disapproving stares of the waiters who were now standing huddled together in a corner of the room, muttering to themselves. Looking at his watch he couldn't believe that they had spent nearly three hours at the restaurant. "I think they want us to go." he told Melissa nodding over to the waiters. Checking her wristwatch, she reluctantly agreed that it was time to go home. He drove her back to the station and walked her to her car. "Thanks George for lovely dinner." She had wanted to pay her half of the bill but George had insisted that he would pay, as he had asked her out for the meal. For a moment, she was going to insist but her friends words came flooding back to her and she simply smiled and thanked him.

She rummaged through her handbag to find her car key and standing with the key in her hand smiled over at George who by this time was shifting from one foot to the other. There was an awkward silence for a few moments as they both stood facing each other. She saw him moving slowly towards her and before she knew it, he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently on the lips. She found his kiss both warm and inviting and responded without a second thought. After what seemed like an eternity the kiss was over. "I will see you tomorrow then Melissa. Goodnight."

With that he turned and walked back towards his car. Melissa was speechless and lifted her hand to touch her now tingling lips. She hadn't expected this to happen, or did she? Sitting in her car she glanced in her side mirror and watched as he walked back towards his car. Inserting her key into the ignition she paused and touched her lips again. They were still tingling and suddenly she was laughed. Tonight, had been a good night.

It was late by the time Melissa returned home and she immediately ran off to have a shower before getting ready for bed. Making herself a mug of hot milk she decided to look over all her notes again before going to sleep. It was now over a week since the last murder and they were no nearer to catching the killer. The killer would not stop by himself, she knew that. He had to be caught, and caught quickly, before another young woman's life was taken. Looking through her notes she wondered if she had missing something. Was there a pattern of some sorts to these murders that no-one had yet figured out? The victims all looked pretty similar with long dark hair. Was that significant? The victims were also all around the same age.

She wondered if all this was linked somehow or just merely some sort of coincidence. After an hour, she started to yawn and, feeling tired, reached out to turn off the bedside light. As she lay in bed she could still feel her lips tingling with the thought of his kiss and wondered if he was thinking of her. Little did she know that George had been wanting to kiss her for some time and had waited patiently for the right moment.

George was tired by the time he reached home. Grace started as soon as he stepped through the door. She was fed up with him working late every night. She was fed up with him not spending enough time with her. She was fed up with eating alone most of the time. The list was endless. So much for getting engaged, thought George. It didn't stop the arguments in fact the opposite was true. Grace was worse than ever. He had kissed another woman tonight and he had enjoyed it. What did that mean? Surely if he was in love with Grace, he wouldn't be kissing Melissa. It suddenly struck him like a bolt of lightening. He was no longer in love with Grace; he had fallen in love with Melissa. He and Grace were finished, he knew that but when was he going to enlighten her about this discovery. That was the million-dollar question.

After a quick shower and a coffee, he jumped into bed. Grace was already asleep and looking down at her he knew he had to tell her they were over sooner than later. Maybe tomorrow night, if he could summon up the courage. As he fell asleep he visualised a familiar face. A face he looked forward to seeing day after day. Countdown. A broken engagement, a massive row and eventually being with the woman he truly loved.

# Chapter Sixteen

#

The next morning, after another argument with Grace, George rushed out to work without any breakfast, slamming the door shut behind him. He would get something to eat at the station. Grace was driving him nuts. It couldn't go on. He had to call it a day. The last thing he needed was all this extra pressure. What the hell happened to their relationship and when the hell did all the arguments start?

Tonight, he would tell her that their relationship was over. He nearly blurted out to her that very thing that morning but bit his tongue. There was a time and place for everything and first thing in the morning was not the best time to have a frank discussion about their relationship.

As he sat in the office, looking out of the window deep in thought, he saw Melissa walking into the station. A few minutes later she was at his door. "Hello detective." she said, standing outside the office as if too scared to enter. "Come in. Please take a seat." George said, jumping up and pulling out a chair for her. "It's very early, have you had any breakfast yet?" he asked looking at his watch. Melissa shook her head. "No. I couldn't sleep last night. So, I decided to come in early. What's your excuse?" "The same. These investigations are causing more and more sleepless nights. Would you like to join me for breakfast, Miss Wainwright, I'm starving?" Melissa immediately rose up from her chair. "Sure." A few moments later they were walking along the corridor to the canteen, talking and laughing together as if they had known each other for years.

As Mike arrived at the station he had no sooner took his jacket off when DCI Collins came rushing into the room "Right have we made any progress?" The DCI asked sternly. "Not yet sir. We have one or two leads we are looking into but nothing new to report." he told him noticing the exasperation in his face. "Well get your finger out. The press are having a bleeding field day and making us look like incompetent idiots. I want to see everything you have." the DCI insisted indicating for Mike to follow him. Quickly gathering up his folders, Mike rushed along the corridor after him. Soon he was sitting across the large mahogany table facing the DCI.

"Has forensics come up with anything new?" the DCI asked knowing that if he did he would have heard about it. "Well you know forensics they take forever but nothing new has materialised. Not much that can help us at the moment but there is still a lot of work to be done yet." Mike told him. "Well that just isn't good enough. What the hell is going on? I have my best detectives working around the clock on these murders and we still haven't got a breakthrough. My patience is wearing thin not to mention my blood pressure getting high." DCI Collins shook his head in frustration. "We are missing something Mike. We are missing something." he said banging his hands down hard on the desk. This startled Mike for a moment as he had never seen the DCI look so angry. He was normally quite positive and never ever was one for showing any kind of emotion. "What about this Paul Dillon?" DCI Collins asked. "Rose Gallagher, one of the victims, was engaged to his brother David. We discovered that he had just been released from jail after serving a sentence for attempted murder." Mike told him.

Mike had a feeling that DCI Collins was disappointed in him. The investigations should have moved further along but somehow things just didn't pan out that way. "We really just wanted to speak to him. Seems like he and his brother hadn't spoken for years and we just thought we would have a quiet chat with him." Mike closed his folder and looked at the DCI waiting for some indication that he was not, in fact disappointed in him after all.

"Is he implicated in Rose Gallagher's murder in any way?" Mike shook his head. "No sir. As I said we just want to have a chat with him. At this stage in the investigations we just want to cover all angles. And the fact that we can't find him is making us think that maybe he has something to hide." "What do you mean you can't find him?" the DCI asked rather confused. "He's not at his last none address. If he is there, he is not answering the door and none of the neighbours have seen him. It's just a bit of a mystery but we will find him."

Mike heard the DCI tutting and felt more than a little disappointed in himself. The DCI had entrusted him with the position of lead detective and somehow, he felt as if he had let him down. "Well get to it detective." DCI Collins instructed pointing towards the door.

When George and Melissa returned to the office they saw that Mike was sitting at his desk with his hands on his head. George could tell that he was worried about something. "What's up?" George asked and Mike lifted his head and stared at him. "What's not." he replied brushing his hands through his hair. "The DCI is blowing a gasket. He wants us to pull our fingers out and get some results. It's very frustrating George we seem to be at a bloody standstill."

Just at that moment DC Peterson rushed into the room flustered and spluttering something about Paul Dillon. Mike told him to calm down and after a few deep breaths DC Peterson had regained his composure and told them that he had just found out that Paul Dillon had been killed in a hit and run incident a few days before. Mike looked at George and wondered if their only lead was now lost forever. George saw the look on Mike's face and frowning, wondered why he seemed so worried. It wasn't as if this Paul Dillon was implicated in the murders, so why did his death seem to have such an effect on Mike.

"Right. This is what we are going to do. DC Peterson will inform his brother and George and I will get a search warrant for his home. You do have his home address, don't you?" Mike asked and DC Peterson looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand to memorise the address before passing it to Mike. "His Social Worker returned early from his break and contacted us with the news of his death and his home address." Mike took the sheet of paper from his hand and looking up saw the look of disappointment on the young detective's face. "If you inform the brother quickly you can join us at the address DC Peterson." he said to the delight of the young detective who immediately turned on his heels and rushed out the room.

"Can I tag along too detective." Melissa asked. "Don't see why not although I don't know how long it will take to get the search warrant. DS Wilson do you know anyone in high places that could process this fairly quickly?" Mike gave the sheet of paper, with Paul Dillon's address to George and smiled. "See what you can do to hurry things along a bit. We need a search warrant as soon as possible."

"Well I could ask the Chief." George replied staring into Mike's bemused face and giving him a wink. "But why would they issue us with a search warrant, on what grounds?" George asked, knowing fine well that obtaining a search warrant would not be an easy task. "Just say he is connected to the murder investigations but we don't know how. He had just been released from prison for attempted murder and one of the victims was his brother's fiancée. If he was alive we would speak to him but now that he is dead then we need to search his flat. Shouldn't be a problem, if you ask the right person." Mike told him with a smirk on his face. "They can only say no."

With that George disappeared and less than an hour later arrived back with the search warrant. Mike stared at him in amazement. "My cousin rushed this through." George said and Mike laughed at the absurdity of it all. As if George had anything to do with the Chief. If it was true everyone would know all about it and decided that George was indeed nuts.

Now standing outside Paul Dillon's flat Mike tried the door handle before giving the front door a quick push of his shoulder. To his delight the door swung open. Immediately they were overcome with the stench. It was overpowering and Mike looked over at George who by this time had a handkerchief around his nose. "What the hell is that smell?" George asked wondering what they would find in the flat, a dead body maybe.

Mike couldn't quite decide if the stench was stale tobacco, urine, rotten food or a combination of all three. Whatever it was it was overpowering and looking at George and Melissa knew that they felt the same.

Giving a quick glace around the flat Mike saw that the place had been ransacked. Someone had been looking for something. But what? Glancing into the bedroom he saw that the bedroom cabinet doors were lying open with their contents now strewn all over the floor. The mattress from the bed had been overturned and thrown against the wall. The flat was in darkness and Mike put on a pair of white gloves, that he always carried around with him in his jacket pocket, before rushing through the rooms opening all the curtains, in order to shed some light into the dingy smelly flat. Paul Dillon lived like a pig, that was for sure. The dust was at least an inch thick and by the looks of it, he hadn't hoovered the carpets for months.

DC Peterson arrived to find them all standing in the middle of the living room and noticed that DS Wilson and the psychologist were holding handkerchiefs to their noses. He shook his head and laughed. What amateurs. He himself had got used to such smells and had smelt much worse in his time in the force. He would never forget the first time he had broken a door down, as a young constable, to find an old man that had lain dead for several months. Now that was some stench. The smell in this flat was nothing compared to the smell of that the old man.

Mike walked over towards the windows. "I think I'll open a window and get some fresh air into this place." It took him several attempts before he managed to slide the window up just an inch. It was apparent to him that these windows hadn't been open for a very long time, probably years. The slight breeze from the window blew some dust around the room and Melissa found herself sneezing. Blowing into her handkerchief, she wondered why she had insisted on coming along with them.

"What's happened here then?" DC Peterson asked to no one in particular. "It looks as if someone was looking for something. It's a right mess." George replied sneezing into his handkerchief. Dust was everywhere and the breeze coming through the small gap at the window was dispersing it throughout the room. "By the way how did David Dillon take the news of his brother death?" Mike asked DC Peterson. "To be truthful he didn't really seem that bothered. He hadn't seen him for years. He said he was sad and all that but didn't really seem upset." DC Peterson informed him. "Right let's get searching." Mike instructed. "What are we looking for exactly?" Melissa asked unsure of why she had asked to come along.

"Anything pertaining to our investigations. Anything you might think is somehow relevant." Mike replied looking at the empty cans of lager lying on the floor beside the sofa. Mike shook his head. It was apparent that Paul Dillon was a slob and a heavy drinker but why had someone ransacked his home and what had they been looking for? Walking from the room he announced to George and Melisa that they were to search the living room, DC Peterson was to search the bedroom and he would search the kitchen.

Melissa reached out and pulled a small table away from the wall and immediately let out a loud shriek. "What is it?" shouted Mike rushing in to see what was going on. "It's just a dead mouse." George replied looking over at Melissa and winking. "Sorry about that detective." she whispered with embarrassment. "I think we will find more than one mouse in this place." Mike said laughing and shaking his head, as he made his way back to the kitchen.

"Here put these on." George said reaching into his pocket and handing her a pair of white gloves. "You really shouldn't be touching anything without wearing gloves." Melissa was more than a little surprised at his manner. He had suddenly turned back into a detective and she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. "Looks like he was a heavy drinker." Melissa said looking at all the empty cans of lager on the floor. "Well he had been in prison for years so I suspect he was just making up for lost time." George said searching down the sides of the lager stained sofa. He hoped that the stains were just lager but his nose was telling him something different. He decided to take off his brand new expensive jacket, that he had worn to work that day, just to impress Melissa and hung it over the top of the living room door.

"This place is a complete and utter dump." Melissa said tutting to herself. "I've seen worse." George told her and saw that she was gently sifting through some old newspapers that were lying on the floor in the corner of the room and wondered why she had wanted to come along. Shaking his head, he carried on with his search. "Well he had some money. Do you see the size of that television? How could he afford that?" she said and George turned his head and took good look at television and had to agree. Something wasn't quite right.

Meanwhile Mike was in the kitchen and looking at all the half- covered plates of rotten food knew that this Paul Dillon was one dirty son of a bitch. No wonder the place was stinking. The rubbish in the bin was spilling out onto the floor and looking at the mouse droppings all over the worktops he knew that there would be more than one mouse living in this hovel.

The sink was full of dirty dishes full of half eaten and now rancid food, the worktops were full of dirty dishes and looking behind him he saw that the small table against the wall was also full of dirty dishes. The half- eaten food was now covered in blue mould and the mice droppings, visible for everyone to see, told him that this was a feast for the rodents occupying this place.

Rummaging through the near empty food cupboards he heard someone shouting his name. "Mike! Over here." Mike rushed into the living room. "George. What is it?" When he saw George shaking his head he turned and rushed into the bedroom. "Were you shouting on me?" Mike asked DC Peterson who quickly apologised for being so familiar as to call him by his first name. "I think I found something. You won't believe it." DC Peterson said handing Mike the photograph he found lying on the floor against the wall. Mike took the small photograph and studied it closely.

Within seconds Melissa and George were standing at Mike's side and they too were staring at the photograph. "Is that Alison Phillips?" George asked not believing his eyes. "It sure looks like her." Mike replied. "Turn it over. There's something written on the back." DC Peterson said feeling excited by what he had just found. "Yes. It is Alison Phillips. Her name is written on the back. Right we need a team over here. I want the whole place searched from top to bottom." Mike said and George took out his mobile and called for assistance. "Why would Paul Dillon have a photograph of Alison Phillips?" Melissa asked. "I thought we were looking for something to do with Rose Gallagher." Mike looked thoughtful "Why indeed, Miss Wainwright. Why indeed."

"Right don't touch anything." Mike told them. "We will wait until forensics get here and then we will return to the station and let DCI Collins know of our discovery. This photograph connects Paul Dillon to one of the murder victims. A great discovery."

A short time later forensics arrived and the detectives along with Melissa returned to the station. "I have to update the DCI. I'll be back soon." Mike said rushing along the corridor to the office of DCI Collins. Knocking on the door he rushed inside and was surprised to see the DCI was with Chief Constable Williams. "Sit down Mike. Chief Constable Williams wants to speak to you." The DCI said pointing to a chair. Mike sat down as instructed. He opened his mouth to tell them what was found at Paul Dillon's flat when the Chief suddenly threw some newspapers onto the table in front of him.

Mike looked at the headlines. "Well. A psychic, DI Watson. What the bloody hell were you thinking?" The Chief asked and Mike could tell by the expression on his face he was out for blood. "The newspapers are having a field day. They are making us look like bloody idiots. Whose idea was this psychic? Was it yours? Because your name is mentioned here in black and white, for all to see." Chief Constable Williams said banging his finger down on the newspaper. Mike looked over at the DCI, who at that moment was staring down at the table fiddling with his pen.

Mike quickly steered the conversation towards the new discovery. "We have had a breakthrough. We found a photograph of Alison Phillips in the home of Paul Dillon." he informed the Chief trying to change the subject. "I know that already DI Watson, my cousin informed me as soon as it was found." Chief Constable Williams replied and Mike for once was speechless.

"Your cousin?" Mike suddenly managed to mumble. "Yes. DS Wilson. I believe he told you already. Is that not so?" Mike slowly nodded. "Yes, he did but I didn't quite believe him." he replied rather sheepishly. The DCI opened his mouth to speak. "But I thought." "Yes, DCI Collins. You thought what?" Chief Williams asked. "Oh nothing. I'm mistaken." the DCI said staring over at Mike with more than a little anger in his eyes. Mike knew what he was thinking. One of his detectives had the audacity to lie to his face. Mike pitied DC Peterson who would be in a whole heap of trouble once DCI Collins had caught up with him.

Mikes thoughts were interrupted by Chief Constable Williams. "He wants it all hush hush. I don't mind if the whole station knows but George wants to keep it private. Anyway, enough of that what are we going to do about these newspaper reports?" Mike shrugged his shoulders. "We could deny it." DCI Collins suggested rather nervously. "Are you trying to be funny? You want us to lie to the media? Is that what you are suggesting DCI Collins? You want Strathclyde Police to lie to the media?"

The Chief Constable stood up banged his fist down hard on the table and leaning over to DCI Collins, stare directly into his face. There was an awkward silence and Mike could feel the atmosphere in the room turn hostile. The Chief eventually sat down again shook his head. "You are lucky we have people to deal with this kind of thing. Our Media Spokesman, Michael Hamilton, is an expert and he will deal with it. He won't like dealing with it but he will. "

The Chief Constable rose from his seat and walked out the room without even as much as a backward glance. Mike looked at the forlorn expression on the DCI's face. "I'm so sorry Gov. I don't know how the media got a hold of that story but I will find out." he said, wondering who hated him enough to tell the newspapers about Sarah Jones. A few names came to mind, DI Brown, DI Henderson and even DC Peterson.

Mike's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by DCI Collins. "I'm going to retire Mike. I truly have had enough. It's time." "No Gov. You don't want to retire." he said shocked by the news but the DCI was adamant. "I'm too old for this now. Just before you came in the Chief offered me a retirement package and I'm going to take it. Now please go and wrap up these investigations. I want everything tidy before I retire." The DCI said with sadness in his voice.

Mike looked at the DCI and felt a lump in his throat. Using this stupid psychic had cost him his job. Sarah had been nice enough but was of no help whatsoever in the murder investigations. It was DC Peterson who linked Rose Gallagher, David Dillon and Paul Dillon together. It was DC Peterson who found the photograph of Alison Phillips in Paul Dillon's flat. Mike had been so happy to rush in with the discovery to the DCI and now he felt deflated. There was no way in hell that DCI Collins wanted to retire. Mike knew that for a fact. Now because of the reports in the newspapers he was being forced to retire.

When Mike returned to the CID room, George could see that he looked none too pleased. "Problems Mike?" George asked. "DCI Collins is retiring. Their forcing him to retire, the bastards." Mike replied looking at George and wondering if George knew his cousin, the Chief Constable was one of the bastards he was referring to. George lowered his eyes. "So, he is your cousin then after all." Mike whispered. "I told you the truth. And another truth, the DCI wants to retire. The Chief never forced any retirement package on him and if he says he did he is lying. He asked to retire Mike and that is the truth." George told him. "Is that the truth or just what your cousin told you?" Mike asked.

George looked down at the floor. "Anyway, how is the search of Paul Dillon's flat coming along? Anything else been found?" Mike asked changing the subject. "They are still there. We will know soon enough." he replied. "Melissa and I are going for lunch; do you want to join us?" Mike shook his head. "No. No. Two's a crowd and all that. Off you both go." he replied before sitting down at his desk. He sat and watched George and Melissa walking along the corridor.

George knew that the DCI was offered a retirement package and didn't tell him anything about it. He wondered what else George Watson was keeping to himself? He wondered if Grace knew about Melissa, he doubted it. George was changing, right in front of his eyes. He was becoming more secretive and he began to wonder if he knew George as well as he thought he did.

DC Peterson popped his head around the door and told Mike he was off to lunch." Would you like to join me DI Watson?" he asked. "There is something I want to talk to you about." "I don't like the canteen but thanks anyway." Mike replied. "How about the café across the road? I hear their food is pretty damn good." DC Peterson suggested and Mike had a sudden change of heart and accepted the invitation.

Pulling his jacket from the back of the chair he wondered what George would think when he found out that he had been to lunch with DC Peterson. "By the way, you don't have to keep calling me DI Watson. Just call me Mike." DC Peterson nodded. "And your name is?" Mike asked. "George. George Peterson." The young detective replied to Mike's astonishment. Walking out the station Mike had to stifle a snigger when he thought about George and what he would say when he found that DC Peterson was also called George.

Mike had just sat down in the cafe, when DC Peterson informed him about DI Brown. The young detective told Mike how DI Brown had wanted him to spy for him. He left out the bit about the promised promotion and made out that he was more than a little scared of DI Brown. He told Mike that it was DI Brown who informed the newspapers about the psychic and how DI Brown wanted him to accuse DS Wilson of bullying to cause trouble. He didn't want to go along with it, he told him, but after all he was only a DC. Mike listened intently to all of what DC Peterson was telling him. He fully intended to report all of this to George, who in turn would tell his cousin Chief Constable Williams, who in turn would tell higher command. DI Brown would have a lot of explaining to do.

He wondered if DI Henderson was involved too but DC Peterson did not think that was possible. DI Brown had never mentioned DI Henderson to him. In the last conversation that DC Peterson had had with DI Henderson, the older detective had told him to be careful of DI Brown. He also warned him that if the shit hit the fan then all the blame was to land on DI Brown only and he was not to implicate anyone else or there would be trouble. DC Peterson was more than a little intimidated by DI Henderson and knew he could make trouble for him. If he did then all his hard work of trying to get ahead in the police force would all come tumbling down.

Mike gestured to the young flame haired waitress to take their order. "Good afternoon Alice." Mike said, looking at her name badge pinned to her uniform and smiling.

She smiled back at him and was really pleased that he had even bothered to call her by her first name. No one had bothered to call her by her name for years now. "Steak and chips, with plenty of onions and mushrooms and some tea, please." Mike ordered. "I'll have the same but with coffee instead of tea." DC Peterson said not understanding why the other detective was laughing so loudly. Mike wondered if everyone named George drank coffee instead of tea.

When they had finished Mike left a tip on the table for the waitress to DC Peterson's amusement. As far as he was aware no one bothered to leave tips anymore.

Arriving back at the station DC Peterson asked him if he thought that they had got their man. Well not really got him as he was dead but nevertheless maybe now the cases could be closed. "Early days George. Obviously he knew Alison Phillips but we need more than that to go on. Let forensics do their job but the investigations are still ongoing." he informed him.

There was something about this detective that he couldn't quite put his finger on but he knew he was one to keep an eye on. "I never told you what good work you have done on these investigations detective but I will now. Well done." Mike said patting him on the shoulder. "I'm sure there will be promotion in the pipeline very soon. Just you wait and see."

The young detective smiled at his superior. He would be a DS very soon and with no help whatsoever from DI Brown. He had done all this on his own. All the hard work he had put into these investigations would soon pay dividends.

After lunch George and Melissa returned to the office and asked if there was any news from forensics. Disappointed to find that they were still waiting George suddenly had a thought. "When did Paul Dillon die?" "A few days ago. I can't remember the exact date why?" Mike replied wondering what he was getting at. "A post mortem. He wouldn't have been buried yet. A post mortem might just connect him to the murders." George said excitedly. "Already onto it DS Wilson." DC Peterson said looking at the shock on the other detective's. "The post mortem had already been done but I told them that we would need another one and it's being carried out just as we speak. Forensics are also involved so we should hear something soon." the younger detective informed him.

Mike watched with amusement at the two detectives stared each other out and decided to have some fun at their expense. "I need the report on his death. Will you get that for me George?" Mike said looking at the younger of the two detectives. "Sure." both of the detectives replied in unison. "I think he asked me." George said turning to the younger detective. "Well no actually. I asked DS George Peterson." Mike intervened with a smirk on his face. DS Wilson's face was a picture to behold. Suddenly realising that your nemesis had the same forename as you would shock anyone to the core.

The two George's stared at each other for a moment before DC Peterson turned and left the room to carry out Mike's orders. "His name is George. I don't believe it." George stuttered in amazement. "Are you just trying to wind me up?" he asked. "No. It's true, unbelievable but true. I only found out today while we were at lunch." Mike informed him and sniggered as George's face turned a bright shade of red, with anger. "You had lunch together. I don't believe it." he said feeling himself getting more and more angry.

DC Peterson was a little brown-nosing worm and Mike was being taken in by him. He couldn't believe it. Melissa could see how angry he was becoming and trying to defuse the situation asked him if he wanted some coffee. George nodded not really listening to her question. Mike declined the offer and as Melissa turned she planted a kiss on George's cheek before walking off to the canteen.

"What's going on with Melissa Wainwright as if I didn't know?" asked Mike. "Never mind me and Melissa. What is going on between you and that little shit DC Peterson?" George asked with indignation in his voice. "I asked the question first." Mike replied much to George's annoyance. "Well if you must know we are seeing each other." he replied looking down at the floor. "What about Grace. Seems that it wasn't long since you two became engaged." Mike said and saw the colour rising in George's cheeks.

"That is none of your business, we are splitting up and I'm now with Melissa. Is that all right with you?" he asked sarcastically. "That's fine with me but does Grace know you're with Melissa? In fact, does Grace know you are splitting up? I noticed you said you are splitting up and not that you have split up." Mike replied. "She will know by tonight and once again it is none of your bloody business." George told him. "Well you might want to cut down on the public show of affection." Mike said, referring to the kiss from Melissa. "Those sorts of things are frowned upon in the work place and if you haven't told Melissa about Grace then someone else might tell her before you have the chance." George grunted and Mike could see the daggers in his eyes. He had hit a chord and knew fine well that Melissa knew nothing about Grace. "George lighten up. I was only kidding." he told him. "Anyway, there are few things I want to discuss with you." George looked at him. "Like what?" he asked. "There are a few other things you won't believe." Mike told him. "I'm finding out a lot of things that are unbelievable today. What else is there to find out?" he asked shaking his head wondering what the hell was going on today. Mike told him all about DI Brown and he could see George's mind working overtime. Yes, he would tell his cousin, Yes, DI Brown would get his just desserts.

By the time Melissa had returned from the canteen with hot coffee for George, she saw that the two detectives seemed to be back on good terms again. All this fuss about the Chief being George's cousin seemed to have put a wall between them. Or was that her imagination? That was the trouble with being a psychologist she tended to look too deep into situations and over analyse everything. Chastising herself for worrying so much, she handed the coffee cup to George and leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek. He moved away. Why did he do that? Was he going off her so soon?

She had been surprised to discover that she had fallen in love with George and felt sure that he loved her. She hadn't expected it to happen so quickly but it had and she was very happy. Now he was acting strangely and giving her the cold shoulder. Why? She left the two detectives talking saying that she had to make a few calls. Mike nodded and George shrugged his shoulders. She gave him a frosty stare before turning on her heels and rushing out the door.

"Need to sort things out George and quickly by the look on Melissa's face. Women always know when something isn't right. Mike told him. George was feeling guilty. How was he going to tell Melissa about Grace and how was he going to tell Grace that they were over?

He could tell that Melissa was thinking that there was something going on with him but he was too much of a coward to tell her the reason. Now with her public display of affection he had to resolve the situation quickly before someone else told her about his fiancée. Tonight, he would sort everything out but for now he had a piece of information for his cousin.

At 4pm DCI Collins called Mike into his office. "Seems like DI Brown has been a naughty boy. Blabbing to the papers. Tried to deny it but after we told him we talked to his contact in the media, he confessed. Just letting you know he has been transferred and as of today he no longer works at Pitt Street. He is moving to Govan." DCI Collins informed Mike. "Right Gov. What about you, are you still retiring?" he asked with a worried look on his face. "Funny thing that. They have asked me to stay. It's unbelievable." Mike nodded in agreement.

It had been a funny sort of day. "There has been a lot of unbelievable things happening today. So, are you staying?" he asked him. "Sure. Why not? I have a good few years left in me yet Mike." DCI Collins replied with a big grin on his face. Mike returned the smiled. Yes it had all worked out pretty well George must have relayed the information about DI Brown to the Chief, just as he had predicted, and now as he had hoped the DCI was no longer being asked to retire.

DI Brown would be furious about being transferred back to Govan but he had got his just desserts. Mike tried to feel sorry for him but couldn't. He was an arrogant swine who liked causing trouble. Well, thought Mike, he can now cause trouble at Govan.

The ringing of the telephone interrupted Mike's thoughts and he watched as DCI Collins answered the call and let out a huge sigh. The news was good he told Mike. Paul Dillon was their killer. Forensics had found DNA under his finger nails that matched Alison Phillips and he had rope fibre all over his skin and hair. "Yes." Mike shouted punching the air. The mystery had been solved but unfortunately the killer could not be brought to justice. Why he had killed these women would never be known but at least he was off the streets. "I think you should tell the rest of your team Mike and well done." DCI Collins said reaching over the desk shaking his hand.

When Mike informed the rest of the detectives the jubilation and whistling could be heard all over the station. Melissa hugged George but before she could kiss him he took her by the arm to the back of the room. "Sorry love but kissing in the police station is strictly prohibited. I hope you understand." he told her. "What the hell are you talking about? When did kissing become a crime?" she asked feeling more than a little angry. "Are you ashamed of me? Is that it?"

She felt the tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She wanted to cry but taking a deep breath she stopped herself. She would cry in private, not in a room full of detectives. "No of course not but I just think all the kissing can be kept until we are alone. Mike has already had a go at me about it. You have to understand Melissa it is just not the done thing." He told gripping her hand a little too tightly. She nodded signifying she understood. He still gripped her hand as he took her to the front of the room before making an announcement. "As some of you have already guessed Melissa and I are an item and we are very happy together." Everyone in the room clapped and whistled. "Thank you George." Melissa whispered in his ear and had to stop herself from kissing him on the cheek. Kissing will now be private and not for public display. "This had been one hell of a day Mike." said George smiling like the cat that had just got the cream. Mike nodded. It truly was one hell of a day.

An hour later everyone had their coats on and were making their way to the door to go home. It was still early but as everyone had worked so hard the DCI told them to leave early, they deserved it. George went over to speak to Mike. "Sorry if I was a bit short today, Mike. I didn't mean to be snappy when you asked about Melissa. We are very happy. I'm the happiest I have ever been. Truly." he told him. "I'm sure you are." Mike replied grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. "Grace and I are splitting up even if she doesn't know it yet. I'm going home to tell her right now so I'll probably have a black eye or two on Monday." he said laughing but half wondering if that would indeed be the case. He knew she wouldn't take it well.

"I couldn't take all the arguments. Morning, noon and night. I don't know what happened between us. We used to be very happy together. Well no, that it a lie we have not been getting on too well for years now. I thought when we became engaged everything would get back to the way it was. But it didn't, so we are better off going our separate ways. She can get on with her life and I can get on with mine." George told him." You don't need to explain anything to me George." Mike said looking over at Melissa as she walked out the door. "I'm going to tell Melissa about Grace." George whispered. "Good. It's not a good idea to start off a relationship with secrets." he said wondering why he was being philosophical. "Do you think Melissa will understand?" George asked him with a worried look on his face. "Of course she will." he replied trying to dispel George's fears but not really believing for one minute that she would be as understanding as he hoped she would be.

"What about you and Susan?" George asked. "Were fine. At least she has started to talk to me again. I think I will tell her to book up another holiday. We should be allowed our annual leave back now. What do you think?" he asked and the two men laughed. "Yes, until the next case we are working on. So, book you holiday up quick Mike before our annual leave is taken off us again." George said half- jokingly but knowing that it could work out like that. "All we have to do now is tie up all the loose ends.

How long do you think that will take?" he asked Mike. "Not long. We have all the forensic evidence we need to connect Paul Dillon with the murder of Alison Phillips." he replied putting his jacket on and inching towards the door. "We still have some more detective work to do to get the evidence to connect him with the other murders. How long that will take is anyone's guess." Mike looked at George who had a thoughtful look on his face.

"Do you know Mike, there is still something bothering me?" Mike wondered what he was talking about. "I'm sure there is George and I'm sure you're going to get it off your chest. What is it?" George looked at him. "It's just something that the psychic said." he told him and Mike rolled his eyes. "She was rubbish. Don't give what she said one moments thought. Asking her to help, nearly cost the DCI his job." Mike said shaking his head. "What do you mean nearly lost him his job?" George asked rather confused by this statement. "Another piece of unbelievable news. The DCI is not retiring after all. As soon as it was decided to transfer DI Brown to Govan, DCI Collins was asked to remain. Strange isn't it? In fact, I would say unbelievable." Mike said laughing to himself.

George nodded. He knew that Mike was very fond of the DCI but he also knew that it was only a matter of time before he would be asked to retire again. It was on the cards. His cousin had told him so. Maybe a month, maybe a year but the DCI would retire sometime very soon, that was for certain.

"Sorry George what is it that's bothering you?" Mike said watching everyone rushing down the corridor. They were all going to the pub along the road for a celebratory drink before heading home. DC Peterson popped his head into the office. "Are you coming for a drink with the lads Mike?" "Yes George. I think we all deserve it." He replied as he moved even closer towards the door. "You and George Peterson are getting pretty friendly these days." George said looking at the odd expression on Mike's face.

"Yes. George Peterson. Don't you think that it's quite a coincidence that his name is George?" Mike asked. "What do you mean? Is he lying?" George asked. "Well a little bit. I know for a fact that his real name is Geronimo." He informed him and the two men burst into hysterical laughter. "His mother must have liked westerns." Mike said looking over at George who by this time had tears running down his cheeks.

After a few moments, the two men composed themselves. "What a day George. What a day." Mike said as he eventually reached the door. If George would just stop talking then they might get to the pub to join the others before they had all gone home for the night.

"Do you trust him? I mean there is something about him." George asked. "Don't think for one minute that I trust him. He's a scheming little shit and I'm not stupid." Mike replied. "And do you know something else. I always thought that DI Henderson was involved in all this skullduggery along with DI Brown. But George Peterson said he wasn't involved. I don't trust him one bit and I will be keeping an eye on him. But give the man his due. He did come up with all the pieces of information that we needed to find our killer. So, he is a good detective our Geronimo." said Mike laughing again. "You know George; it's been a good day today. We have discovered our killer. We have got rid of DI Brown and we have still got DCI Collins."

Mike had now managed to get two inches outside the room door and looking down the corridor saw that Melissa was standing at the end with her arms crossed giving him a dirty look. "Melissa is waiting for you George." he said pointing towards her. George waved his hand and ignored the dirty look that Melissa was giving him. "Mike. Do you think this Paul Dillon was really responsible for all three murders because the evidence only links him to one?" he asked. "Obviously we have still a lot of work to do but at least the pressure is off. We will find the evidence." Mike told him trying to usher him further along the corridor.

Why could George not keep all these questions until the after the weekend. It was Friday and George was wasting good drinking time but Mike knew, from past experience, that George wouldn't be put off from voicing his opinions.

Mike tried to dispel his concerns. "Remember Rose Gallagher was engaged to his brother. So, there is a connection there at least. Paula McDonald may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You worry too much." George grunted. "Now come on let's go before Melissa comes back and gives you an ear full for keeping her waiting so long." But George would not let it go.

There was something bothering him about these murders and if he didn't get it off his chest then he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. "It's just that the psychic said two were the same and one was different and she also mentioned that these murders had something to do with the police." George told him. Mike rolled his eyes. "All murders have something to do with the police. Now come on let's get out of here. And that is an order." Mike told him laughing and pushing him along the corridor to the waiting Melissa.

"We will find the evidence don't worry about it. If we don't then the cases will remain open until we do. We can talk about this on Monday. Let's go to the pub. I need a drink." Melissa became impatient and began walking back towards them, telling them that she had been hanging around waiting for them for over twenty minutes, showing them her watch. George and Mike muttered their apologies. "Let's go for that well-deserved drink." Mike announced and George reached over and took Melissa by the hand. Mike walked along the corridor with a big grin all over his face.

Everything had worked out fine at work with just a few loose ends to tie up. At home, he knew he would have to grovel and somehow sweet talk his way back into his wife's affections. Walking through to the front desk he nodded at PC King. It was funny, Mike thought, he knew nothing about the young constable but always greeted him when he entered and left the station.

PC King watched the detectives as they rushed out the door and knew exactly where they would be heading and wished he was going with them. He knew it would take him some years to get to where he wanted to be but he was determined to work as hard as possible and one day become a detective just like them.

Pushing open the front door Mike was confronted with George and Melissa, embracing on just outside the station door. "Hey, what have I told you about all these shenanigans?" Mike said jokingly. George kissed Melissa hard on the lips. Turning to Mike he suddenly pulled a face. "We are not inside the station now Mike so I can kiss her and I will."

Pulling Melissa into his arms he kissed her again and heard Mike laughing at his cheek. "Right come on you two lovebirds. We have serious drinking to do." he said, waiting for them to move so he could get out of the door.

He looked at the couple embracing and found himself thinking of Susan. She was talking to him again but only just. He needed to move things along a bit and thought of buying her flowers on his way home from the pub. Red roses were the symbol of love but he quickly dismissed that thought from his head as a bad idea. He would never be able to look at red roses again without thinking of Paul Dillon and the poor women he had murdered. Some other kind of flowers, perhaps. He would ask George as he was now officially the most romantic officer at the station, even if he turned up for work on Monday morning with two black eyes.

George and Melissa stayed at the pub far longer than they had wanted. Every one of the detectives were buying rounds of drinks and it didn't take long for George to get drunk. After going back to Melissa's for a few hours he called a taxi to take him home. Melissa had begged him to stay until the morning but he knew that he had to go home and face Grace and tell her they were over.

Being drunk gave him the courage that he needed and he wanted it all over and done with as soon as possible. Melissa had tried insisting that he stayed, saying that he was too drunk to go home by himself but seeing how drunk he was, decided to let him go. There was no use arguing with a drunk. When a drunk made up his mind to do something then nothing in the world would stop him. Anyway, she was sure that they would soon be moving in together, after all he had actually told her that he loved her. Feeling quite drunk herself she decided to skip the usual night time shower and just flop into bed as soon as she had locked the door behind him.

It was the early hour of the morning before George found his way home. Grace glanced at the clock on the wall and seethed when she saw that it was 2am. She had gone to bed earlier but unable to sleep had got up and made herself some coffee. Now sitting on the sofa, she heard his key in the door and knew that she would have some choice words for him. He hadn't told her that he would be late and he hadn't even bothered to answer his mobile, when she had called over a dozen times. If they were to be married then she would have to put her foot down. He had just walked into the living room when she screamed at him. "Where the hell have you been to this time and why the hell did you not answer your mobile?" She stood with her hands on her hips and saw that he was swaying from side to side and the smell from his breath told her he had been to the pub, which made her angry.

He knew that she hated drunks. Her father had been a drunk and now here she was engaged to a drunk. "I need to talk to you." George slurred moving towards her. "Well come on let me hear your excuses." she said watching as he staggered across the room and flopped down on the sofa. "I need to talk to you. I need to... I need to tell you something." he slurred trying to get up from the sofa but failing miserably and flopping back down again. She glared at him and remained standing. "Well spit it out, what do you want to tell me?" she yelled at him. He managed to pull himself from the sofa and staggered towards her. "I need to talk to you." he said again, much to her annoyance. "Just get out of my way. Your drunk." she yelled pushing him aside and making her way towards the bedroom. Seconds later he heard the bedroom door close with an almighty bang.

The whisky he had been drinking all night gave him the courage to go after her. He had to tell her they were over, he was with Melissa now. Staggering towards the bedroom he opened the door and saw that she was in bed. "Grace, we need to talk." he said flopping down on top of the bed beside her. "Not now, you're drunk." she shouted, turning her back to him and pulling the duvet even further over her head.

He reached out and pulled the duvet down before grabbing her by the shoulder, and pulling her round to face him. "We are finished. I don't want to be with you anymore." he told her. Grace sat upright in the bed, stunned at what she had just heard. "Don't talk rubbish. One little argument and you want us to finish. Get into bed and we will talk about this in the morning." she said staring into his eyes and hoping that it was just the drink talking.

Grace leaned over and started to undo his shirt buttons. "Come on I'll help you undress." He reached out and grabbed her by both arms. "I mean it. We are finished. I don't want to live like this anymore. Arguments, day and night. I can't take it Grace. We are finished." She yanked her arms free and reaching out, slapped him hard across the face.

He pulled himself to his feet, rubbed his cheek and stared at her with anger in his eyes. "You're stinking drunk. I don't want you sleeping with me tonight. Get out of the bedroom." she screamed at him. George grabbed her by her arms again and pulled her out of bed and onto her feet. She could feel his fingers digging into it her arms which made her screech with pain. "You're hurting me you bastard. Let go." She screamed before pulling away from him. He saw her rubbing her arms and knew that he had been more than a little heavy handed. When she looked up at him there was hatred in her eyes.

"You drunken bastard. Look at the marks on my arms." she shouted at him before jumping into bed and pulling the duvet over her face. As soon as her head hit the pillow she began to cry. Not because he bruised her arms but because he had bruised her heart.

George opened his mouth to speak but after the first word, was told to stop by her hand coming up quickly from the duvet. "I'm tired and you're drunk. We will talk in the morning." she said trying hard not to let him hear the tremble in her voice. "But." he said trying to get all the words out that he wanted to say. It was no use; he would have to wait until the morning. He was tired and more than a little drunk and try as he might to find the right words, he couldn't.

The tiredness overwhelmed him and he found his eyes beginning to shut. Stripping his clothes off and dumping them on the floor, he pulled back the duvet to jump into bed but Grace stopped him. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get the fuck away from me." she screamed at him. "I'm going to bed." he replied trying to get into bed but finding that she had blocked his way. "I 'm not sleeping with a drunken bastard. Sleep on the sofa." she screamed pointing towards the door.

George was too drunk to see the tears running down her face and grunting made his way to the living room. He had thought of insisting, after all it was his bed too but found that he didn't have the energy.

Standing in the living room shivering, he returned to the bedroom and pulled some blankets from the wardrobe. He slammed the wardrobe door and stomping out of the bedroom, slammed the door shut behind him. Grace sighed and wondered what the hell had got into him. Maybe he was under stress at work or maybe he had taken to drink like her own father had done many years before, when she was just a child. Her mother had put up with him, saying that she had made her bed and had to lie in it. Well not her. She was a modern independent woman and would not put up with having a drunk for a boyfriend or even worse, a husband. She lay in bed hoping that things would blow over in the morning and they could get back to normal but with one exception. She would put her foot down and insist that he stopped drinking.

Crying herself to sleep she was more than a little apprehensive of what the morning would bring. What had happened to George to make him behave like that? It was so out of character but she knew deep down that it was the alcohol. She had seen how alcohol had turned her father into a violent animal when he was drunk. Her mother had bruises to prove it. She wouldn't let that happen to George.

He lay on the sofa and pulled the blankets over his shivering body. Drifting off to sleep all he could think of was Melissa. In the morning, he would tell Grace that they were definitely, absolutely over and his new life with Melissa could begin. He wondered how angry Melissa would be to find out about Grace. He was sure she would forgive him and that they would be happy together. Grace had changed since they first met and he was sure that it would not come as a surprise to her that their relationship was over. He had told her that tonight and tomorrow he would reaffirm his belief that they would be going their separate ways. Countdown. Freedom and a new and happier life with the woman he truly loved.

# Chapter Seventeen

#

The alarm clock went off at 6am and reaching out to switch it off, Mike couldn't believe that it was Monday morning already. The weekend seemed to have disappeared in a flash and now it was time to return to work. Looking over at Susan he saw that she was still fast asleep and gently pushed her by the shoulder to waken her. "I'll make us some coffee sleepy head." he said dragging himself out of bed. Opening the children's bedroom door, he saw that Daniel and David were beginning to stir. "Is it time to get up dad?" Daniel asked rubbing his eyes. "I will call you in a minute, once I have breakfast on the table." he replied before rushing off to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later the breakfast was on the table and Mike grabbed himself a piece of toast before shouting on Susan and the boys. As soon as the boys were sitting at the breakfast table, he hurried off to get dressed. Reaching the bedroom, he saw that Susan was out of bed. "I've put breakfast out for the boys." he told her and Susan nodded sleepily.

After breakfast, he rushed off to work with a spring in his step. He had managed, through some sweet talking, chocolates and flowers to wiggle his way back into Susan's good books again. With a promise of a family holiday to Florida, the cold shoulder had been replaced by warm and loving arms. Before going off on holiday however, he had a mountain of work to get through. There were a lot of loose ends to tie up in the murder investigations and Paul Dillon, so far, had only been linked to the murder of Alison Phillips but he was sure forensics would turn something up. Nothing to worry about, he told himself.

As he entered the station he nodded to PC King at the front desk as usual but this time instead of walking away, decided to stop and speak to him for a few minutes and get to know him a little better. "PC King, I was wondering how long have you worked at the station?" he asked more out of curiosity than anything else. "Two years, sir." PC King replied. "Well I thought it was about time we had a chat in the morning instead of just the usual pleasantries." Mike told him. "But I expect your kept busy and I don't want to interfere with your work."

PC King found himself confused. All the detectives at the station behaved like they were above everyone else and no one had ever stopped to chat with him before. He found the whole experience rather amusing. "I'm always busy but not too busy that I can't have a chat." PC King informed him. "Good. Good." Mike said wondering what else he could chat about. "I'm DI Watson, Mike Watson." "I know that. Of course, I know that." PC King replied. "Good. Good. I expect you heard all about our breakthrough with those ghastly murders." he asked the young police constable. "Oh yes. It was an excellent result." PC King replied feeling more than a little uncomfortable. "Right then I'd better get to work. We still have a lot to do." Mike told him. "I'm sure you do." PC King replied shuffling some papers. Mike nodded to him before walking towards the swing doors leading to the corridor. "Oh, by the way, PC King I was wondering what is your first name?" he asked hoping upon hope that he wouldn't say George. "John. PC John King." The young constable replied with a smile on his face. "Well, I'll talk to you later John." Mike said before turning on his heels and walking through the swing doors.

PC King watched the detective as he walked away with bemusement. Shaking his head, he decided that DI Watson was a strange character but quite friendly for a detective. Only one or two of the detectives had ever had the decency to acknowledge him, when they entered the station. Now one of them, DI Watson, had actually spoken to him. He laughed to himself, maybe DI Watson had started a trend and detectives might decide to mingle with the lowly police constables, now and again. Highly unlikely, he thought to himself, but you never know. Just then the telephone rang and PC King found himself taking a report about a stolen car.

As Mike sat down at his desk he wondered how George got on when he had his little talk with Grace. Would he stagger in with a couple of black eyes or maybe some broken teeth? Deciding to get some tea to waken himself up he passed by DCI Collins door and decided to pop his head in to say good morning. The DCI was not in yet so he carried on to the canteen.

Returning to the office he saw that George was sitting at his desk. "No black eyes then I see. How did it go?" he asked taking a sip of his hot tea. "It went as well as could be expected. She went absolutely ballistic, threw furniture and ornaments at me which I managed to duck and stormed out slamming the front door breaking it from its hinges. I fixed the door myself but it's still a bit of a mess. So all in all, it went pretty well." George replied. "Good." he said trying not to laugh with the picture in his head that George had just planted. "How was your weekend after all that?" Mike asked. "Just let me get a coffee and I'll tell you all about it." he said rushing out the room.

Moments later George had returned. "I haven't told you the best bit yet Mike." he said pulling his chair over beside Mike's desk. "I stayed with Melissa on Saturday and yesterday I went back to collect some clothes. You'll never guess what Grace had gone and done. Cut up most of my bleeding clothes. The nutcase." George told him taking a sip of his coffee. "Cut up your clothes. With what?" he asked shocked but rather amused. "What do you mean with what? Bloody scissors what else would she use, her teeth? Trousers, shirts, jumpers and even my ties. I had bleeding nothing left. Melissa had to take me shopping or I would have come into work stark bollock naked." George said and Mike suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed so much that he nearly choked on his tea.

"You are nuts George. I think I've told you that before." Mike said coughing and spluttering. "I'm glad to see that my domestic troubles amuse you." George said and when Mike raised his eyebrows and pulled a funny face, he too found himself laughing. "If you don't laugh you would cry George. Laughter is the best medicine in the world. In fact, if more people laughed then there would be less crime. What do you think?" he asked a bemused George. "I think you're the one that's nuts." he replied.

"Where is Melissa today?" Mike asked after he had composed himself. "She's away to Edinburgh for a few days visiting a friend." George told him." "How did she take the news about Grace? You did tell her I take it?" he asked. "Tears, tantrums but eventually she calmed down." George replied with a pained look in his eyes, as the memory of it all came flooding back to him. "She took it fine but went off to Edinburgh. Sounds fishy to me." Mike said as he finished the rest of his tea. "She's only gone to visit a friend. We are fine, honestly." George assured him. "Have you seen the DCI anywhere in your travels?" Mike asked. "No. But his car is in the car park so he must be somewhere in the building." George replied. "I want to see him about some holidays. I promised Susan I would take her and the kids to Florida for a couple of weeks next month. I need to get my annual leave sorted out." Mike told him. George nodded. "You better get your holidays in quick then."

"What have you got planned for us today." George asked as he finished off the last drops of his coffee. "We still have the murder investigations to deal with. I want to know what Paul Dillon got up to when he was released from prison and who he was associating with." he told him. "Also, can you get onto forensics and try and hurry them up a bit. They take forever and we want all these cases wrapped up as soon as possible." George nodded.

"Has Mark Phillips been informed about the new developments?" Mike asked and George shrugged his shoulders. "Well DI Brown was in charge of that investigation and he has been transferred so I think I will leave it up to DC Peterson. He'd probably do a better job than that shit bag. When I saw DI Brown's transcript of his interview with Mark Phillips I could hardly decipher his handwriting. He hadn't bothered to type it up and hadn't even checked out his alibi. He just took it for granted he was in the clear because he was a police officer.

DC Peterson typed up the transcript and even checked on Mark Phillips alibi. It was confirmed that he was on duty at Govan on the night his wife was murdered. DC Peterson did all this off his own back without being asked." Mike said in astonishment at the young detective's dedication to duty. "He's a good detective I'll give you that but he's still a little prick." George said rolling his eyes. He was sick to the back teeth of constantly hearing about the efficient DC Peterson. Mike sniggered in response to George's statement and made a mental note not to mention any of DC Peterson's accomplishments to him ever again.

They were interrupted by DC Peterson who informed them that the DCI had just been found on the toilet floor unconscious. "What the hell!" Mike exclaimed rushing out the door closely followed by George and DC Peterson. "Is he all right? Has an ambulance been called?" Mike asked DC Peterson. "Yes, but it doesn't look good. Seems he has been there all weekend." DC Peterson replied. "For fucks sake!" exclaimed Mike rushing along the corridor bumping into PC King on the way. "Sorry." he shouted. "Emergency."

The folders that PC King was carrying were now strewn all over the corridor. Paper was everywhere and PC King wondered how the hell he would get everything back into the correct folder. Scooping up the document he cursed under his breath.

Mike, George and DC Peterson arrived outside the toilet just as the paramedics were rushing in. Quite a large crowd had gathered. "Excuse me. Out of the way." The paramedics instructed, pushing past them. "Please keep the doorway clear. Let us do our job." A big burly paramedic told them in an authoritarian voice. "Yes, everyone back to work." Mike shouted at the top of his voice. He heard a few grunts but everyone eventually moved away. He watched as the paramedics rushed over to the DCI who was lying on the floor unconscious. He was very pale looking and Mike feared the worse.

The paramedics immediately rushed to the aid of DCI Collins and after giving him a quick check over attached a saline drip into his arm and an oxygen mask to his face. He was still alive but was barely breathing. "God George. He must still be alive or they wouldn't be putting a mask on his face. Imagine lying here on that cold floor all weekend." Mike said with a tremble in his voice.

The three detectives watched as the paramedics strapped the DCI onto the trolley and wheeled him out to the waiting ambulance. "How is he?" Mike asked the burly paramedic rushing with them towards the ambulance. "Looks like he's had a stroke. We will know more when we get him to the hospital." Mike looked at George. "He's still alive then?" DC Peterson suddenly asked and when Mike suddenly glared at him he knew he had asked an inappropriate question. "Barely." The burly paramedic replied.

Mike told George that he was going with the DCI in the ambulance. "If anyone wants me, I'll be at the Western Infirmary." "Do you want me to run and get your jacket? It's freezing outside." George asked but he shook his head saying that he had no time to wait. Turning to DC Peterson he told him to inform Alison Phillips' husband about the developments in his wife's murder. With that he rushed out of the station and jumped into the back of the ambulance.

DC Peterson wondered why DI Watson had given him the responsibility of informing Mark Phillips instead of DS Watson. Secretly pleased of being chosen over the other detective, DC Peterson rushed back to his office for his jacket. He had a job to do.

As soon as the ambulance arrived at Accident & Emergency, Mike was asked to sit out at the front waiting area. There were tests to be done and he would be called when needed. Walking into the waiting area he could see that it was still busy from the night before. Everyone seemed subdued and the place was very quiet apart from the odd cough here and there. The majority of the people looked as if they had sat there all night and probably had. Now and again a nurse would appear, shout out a name and someone would leave their seat and disappear through the door.

Mike hated hospitals. That wasn't strictly true. He hated the Western Infirmary. It was the smell that got to him along with the memories that the smell evoked. The Western Infirmary was the hospital where his mother, sister and father had died. Sitting staring at the posters on the wall in front of him, the memories came flooding back. Memories he had managed to suppress but memories that were now fighting for his attention and could no longer be ignored.

It was now over 10 years since his mother had died but he remembered that day as if it was yesterday. His mother had collapsed at home one night and his father immediately called for an ambulance, much to his mother's annoyance. She didn't want to make a fuss and told them she was fine and that it was only a fainting spell, nothing to worry about. She hadn't wanted to go to hospital but his father had insisted.

Many hours later, after an ECG and some blood tests, they were informed that she was fine. Her blood pressure was a little low and they wrote out a prescription for her and told her to visit her own doctor in the morning. Her heart was healthy, the doctor told her, and it was the sudden drop in her blood pressure that had caused her to collapse. She was discharged later that night with a clean bill of health. The family had fussed over her for the rest of the day and felt relieved that there was nothing seriously wrong with her health. But by the next morning she was dead. She had been fine first thing in the morning but when his father had taken her up some tea a short time later he found her dead. A heart attack they said, even though 24 hours before she had been given a clean bill of health from the hospital doctor. He never trusted doctors after that and hadn't been to his own GP since that day.

His thoughts were interrupted by the receptionist, a young girl barely into her twenties, calling out his name. The look on her face was a look of someone who had just jumped out of bed after partying all night. She yawned as he approached and barely looked up from her keyboard when she spoke to him. She asked him the DCI's full name, address and date of birth. "Robert Collins." he informed her. "Address?" she asked. "Date of birth?" Mike shook his head. He had no idea of the DCI's address or his date of birth.

He explained that they worked in the police station not far from the hospital and that DCI Collins was his immediate superior. She looked up from her keyboard and shook her head before telling another receptionist to call the station for the personal details of Robert Collins. He asked how the DCI was doing and the look on her face instantly told him that she didn't have a clue. "I'm sorry I can't be of much help but could you please find out how he is doing?" Mike pleaded. The young receptionist told him to take his seat and she would find out for him, when she had a spare moment.

"Did you see the state of him?" the young receptionist asked her colleague who was standing beside her searching through some forms. "What about him?" her colleague asked staring over to where Mike was sitting. "He has tea stains all down his white shirt. Him a policeman too." the young receptionist replied staring over at Mike, who was now sitting in the waiting room, rolling down his shirt sleeves. When he suddenly noticed the tea stains on his shirt he was mortified. He was in such a rush to go with the DCI that he had left his jacket back at the station.

He rushed off to the toilet to try to wash the stains from his shirt. Drying his now wet shirt under the hand dryer, he was glad to see that most of the stains had now disappeared. He wondered what the receptionist must have thought of him looking such a mess. Hoping that she didn't notice, he returned to the waiting room and kept his eyes on the floor.

Twenty minutes later the receptionist called him over and informed him that a Dr Patel would be out to see him shortly. Mike looked at his watch and sat down again. He had already been waiting for over an hour but was determined to find out how the DCI was doing and if his conditioned had improved since he was brought into the hospital.

In the quietness of the waiting room he started to think about his sister Rachel. His father had been so proud when he had joined the police force and he ended up being stationed alongside his father at Govan Police Station. Six years later, when his sister announced that she too was joining the police, his father was ecstatic. Rachel was seven years younger than Mike and had always told her family that she wanted to become a nurse. So it came as a surprise when she announced that she was joining the police force.

Somehow his sister didn't seem old enough to join the police and Mike had found himself wondering how he had missed seeing her grow up. It was true that he had seen less and less of his younger sister since he joined the police and whenever he visited his father she was hardly at home. She always seemed to be out with her friends.

Two years after joining the police force, his young sister was dead. Killed in the line of duty, they said, a brave police officer. She had been shot while on a call out, to a local jewellers, when their alarm went off in the middle of the night. She and her partner thought that it was just a routine call out to check a faulty alarm, nothing to worry about. They had been called out before to the same place so were not overly concerned but vowed to have a word with the owner about buying a new alarm.

What they didn't know was that the place was in the process of being robbed. The shop was in darkness and she left her partner in the car to go and check the door. Before she had the chance to call out, her partner heard gun shots. He saw her trying to get away but after another shot she fell to the ground. She was shot twice in the chest and once on the leg but miraculously was still alive when she reached the Western Infirmary.

On hearing the news, Mike prayed that she would pull through but by the time he had reached the hospital she had died of her injuries. Her partner, who had been shot in the arm, when the robbers ran out to their getaway car and had only survived because he had ducked behind his patrol car when more gun shots rang out. The robbers were never found and no one was brought to justice for the murder of his beloved sister.

After her death, he had seriously considered leaving the police force but never found the right time to leave. He had a wife, two small children and a huge mortgage to take care of, so he stayed in his job and the years just flew away from him. Now and again he still thought about changing careers but what could he do. He was only good at one thing and that was being a police officer, a detective, but one of these days, he kept promising himself, he would find something else.

He thought of the times that he himself had been attacked. Too many to count but he was never seriously injured, not like some of his colleagues. The majority of police officers at his station had been attacked at one time or another. Some had been kicked, punched, hit on the head or even run over by a car. Being a police officer these days was a dangerous occupation and he wondered if the general public had any idea of how dangerous it was.

Over 4000 police officers a year, had been assaulted in Scotland over the last four years alone and he heard on the grapevine, only last week, that Strathclyde Police were thinking of introducing Taser stun guns to all its police officers throughout its 29 divisions. At the moment, the Tasers were only used by trained firearm officers but after a trial period in England, the details of the proposal were to be passed to the Police Authority for consideration. The Taser stun guns were first introduced in Scotland by Strathclyde Police in September 2005 and were first used in an incident in November of the same year. When used the Taser gives off a 50,000 volt electric shock to the suspected offender and causes temporary paralysis.

He wondered if the proposal would be adopted, as he knew human right campaigners would raise questions on their use, as it had been claimed that several people had died in the US after being targeted by the weapon.

He for one was all for the introduction of the Taser and hoped that the proposal to distribute them would be accepted by the Police Authority but on reading about this matter in the newspapers knew that the probability of them being introduced were virtually nil.

He was angry about the sentences handed down to the scumbags that assaulted police officers. The courts were far too lenient and the sentences handed down were far less than he or his colleagues expected. If the courts got it right with the sentences then maybe, just maybe the scumbags would think twice before assaulting a police officer. Feeling himself becoming irritated he decided to walk around the room and stretch his legs. The receptionist glared at him as if he had committed some sort of offence but he ignored her and made his way towards the noticeboards. Several minutes later he found himself bored and glancing at his watch, decided to take a seat again.

Sitting staring at the floor, his thoughts turned to his father who had been completely devastated by his young sister Rachel's death. His father's health deteriorated and it wasn't long before he took early retirement from the police force. Mike had suggested many times that he should move in with him, Susan and the boys but he always refused.

He loved his little house and although frail was determined to be independent. So, every night after work, Mike would pop in to see him and check that he was well. It was one night, little over a year ago, that he had found his father lying unconscious on the living room floor and had immediately called for an ambulance. At first Mike thought that he had suffered a heart attack but on closer inspection knew that it was a stroke. He died two days later, at the Western Infirmary.

Jumping from his seat he walked outside to get some fresh air, clear his mind and to put his memories back were they belonged, locked away inside were they couldn't hurt him. He didn't want to remember all the bad things that had happened in his life. The boredom of waiting in a dingy and busy hospital waiting room had brought all of his hidden memories to life and at that moment in time he did not want to deal with them.

Stepping outside he found himself shivering with the cold, as he had left his jacket at the station when rushing to the hospital. Taking a deep breath of the winter air, he found himself inhaling cigarette smoke instead. A group of people were huddled in the corner of the building puffing away on their cigarettes. Mike gave them a disgruntled look and shaking his head walked back inside.

Eventually Dr Patel came out to speak to him. The doctor wasn't very forthcoming with information until Mike informed him that DCI Collins didn't have any living relatives. Hearing this, the doctor explained that the DCI had suffered a stroke and that his condition was serious but stable.

The next 24 hours were crucial the doctor told Mike. "Can I see him?" Mike asked. "Only for a moment." the doctor replied and beckoned for him to follow. Walking through the swing doors and along the corridor he found himself becoming anxious at the thought of what he would find. Stopping at a room, Dr Patel pointed inside. "You have two minutes." the doctor told him looking at his watch. "The porters are coming soon to move him upstairs. Don't expect too much from him. He won't even recognise you but he's stable for the moment." The doctor informed him before rushing off to see his next patient.

Mike nervously stood at the door looking in at DCI Collins. He was lying in the hospital bed covered with a white sheet, right up to his neck that made him look like he was wrapped in a shroud. He shuddered as he looked at the sleeping man in front of him and sighed when he saw how pale and ill he looked.

A nurse was standing at the head of the bed adjusting some equipment and on seeing Mike enter the room, gave him a nod of acknowledgment before turning and leaving the room. He sat beside the DCI's beside until the porters arrived to move him upstairs.

Returning to the station Mike updated everyone on the DCI's condition. "Maybe you should tell the Chief Constable." suggested DI Henderson, who for some reason had suddenly become more civil to Mike, since the departure of DI Brown. Mike glanced over at George who was speaking to DC Peterson. "I'm sure he already knows."

DI Henderson saw the look that Mike gave DS Wilson and wondered if the rumours about George and the Chief were actually true after all. "I'm off to get a bite to eat. I have been sitting in that hospital waiting room for hours. Any news from forensics?" he asked and DI Henderson shook his head. Mike grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and without a backward glance walked out of the room.

Thirty minutes later Mike returned to the CID room and immediately called the hospital for an update on the DCI's condition. He was told that his condition was unchanged but that he could call back later in the day. As Mike ended the telephone call George rushed into the room to tell him that David Dillon was at the front desk screaming to speak to someone about his brother. "I was intending to speak to him today at some point anyway, so come on then George lets get this over with." Mike said rising from his desk. "You want me to go with you?" George asked. "Sure I do. We need to get as much information about his brother as possible. Remember take your notebook. I think we will take him to an interview room." he said and George grabbed his notepad from his desk. The two detectives walked along the corridor to speak to David Dillon.

Arriving at the front desk they saw PC King nodding towards the corner where David Dillon was sitting. He looked around his late twenties and was casually dressed in jeans, a black Iron Maiden t-shirt and a grey duffle coat. His white trainers had seen better days and his long bushy blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. The young man stared at the two detectives, with fury in his eyes, as they walked over towards him. "David Dillon?" Mike asked and the young man jumped to his feet immediately. "What the fuck is going on? What's all this about my brother being a murderer? It's all fucking shite." he shouted at the top of his lungs.

PC King glanced over at the detectives wondering if this young man was going to cause trouble. "Could you come with us please? We would like to speak to you in a more private environment." Mike said just as the front door opened and an old woman walked into the station. David Dillon nodded.

Escorting him along the corridor Mike and George took him into one of the empty interview rooms. "Hey what the hell is this? Am I to be interrogated or something?" he said rather too loudly for Mike's taste. George shook his head and Mike opened the door to the room. "Of course not but we do want to talk to you. We want to ask you some questions and I am sure you want to ask us some questions. This is an empty room that's all. My name is DI Watson and we are not going to record our little talk but my colleague DS Wilson will take notes." Mike told him and stared at him half expecting him to start shouting at them again.

It was going to be one of those days, Mike thought, a day that everything went wrong. The young man hesitated for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and walking into the room. Mike pointed to a chair and David Dillon sat down. Mike and George sat across the table from him and immediately George opened his notebook and placed it on the table in front of him. Taking a pen from his shirt pocket he lay in down on top of the notepad and sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"Right let's get started." Mike said staring across the table at David Dillon. George lifted his pen and waited for the interview to start. "Let me start first." The young man said sitting back on his chair and crossing his arms mimicking what George had done moments before. "My brother is no killer. I don't care what kind of evidence you think you have and I don't care what you tell the newspapers. He didn't kill anyone." he said screwing up his eyes and glaring at the two detectives.

"Why don't we start at the beginning? When did you last see your brother?" Mike asked as George began scribbling on his notepad. "I've told you all this before. It was about six years ago." David Dillon replied, feeling himself becoming more and more annoyed. "You didn't see him in prison or go to see him when he was released?" Mike asked. "Look I didn't go to prison to see him. I wanted to but Rose wouldn't let me. I didn't know he was released from prison. Why do you have to keep asking me the same damn questions over and over again?" The irritation in the young man's voice was apparent and Mike asked him if he would like a coffee in an attempt to calm the situation down. David Dillon shook his head.

"Right. Alison Phillips did you know her by any chance?" Mike asked and the young man shook his head. "How about Paula McDonald?" Once again David Dillon shook his head. "Had your brother ever met your girlfriend Rose?" Mike asked and suddenly David Dillon jumped to his feet. "Are you actually suggesting that my brother killed Rose?" he said pacing up and down the room and waving his arms around as if he wanted to hit someone. "Please take a seat." Mike said forcefully.

David Dillon took a deep breath, sat down again and crossed his arms across his chest. "Answer the question. Had your brother ever met your girlfriend Rose?" the young man nodded his head. "We have forensic evidence that your brother murdered Alison Phillips. He even had a photograph of her in his flat. There are another two women who were murdered in the same way and forensics is still investigating to see if the murders are connected." Mike said and saw the fearful look in the young man's eyes.

David Dillon shook his head in amazement. "No bloody way." he said twisting himself in the chair. Mike leaned across the table. "Look David. Three women have been strangled over the last few months. One of them, your fiancée." David Dillon sniffed. "They were murdered just after your brother was released from prison. He knew two of the women and we would like you to help us and tell us anything that you think may help us with our enquiries." Mike told him and saw that the young man was thinking. Sniffing again David Dillon took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.

Mike knew that he was pretending to have a cold, as he saw the tears in his eyes when the murder of his fiancée was mentioned. It must have been a shock for him to hear that the police thought his brother may have murdered her. He felt sorry for him but knew that he had to squeeze as much information from him as possible. Mike thought he was making headway with him until he shook his head. "Look there is no way my brother killed anyone and to say that you think he killed my Rose is preposterous. I won't believe it for one second and I don't care what kind of forensic evidence you think you may have to link him to any murder." Mike looked over at George and shook his head.

"David, we have DNA. You're studying Chemistry for pity sake. You know science never lies." George told him. David Dillon thought for a moment. "Your right, science never lies but the police do. You lot planted that evidence on my poor dead brother when he was lying in the mortuary." the young man said banging his hand down hard on the table.

"Why would we do that David?" Mike asked perplexed by the young man's words. "Cause you all fucking lazy and don't want to do the work. You planted evidence on my brother as he lay dead and that helps your fucking statistics. Am I right? Now you're trying to pin two other murders on him. Well I won't let you get away with it. Do you fucking hear me?" the young man screamed before jumping to his feet and kicking the chair across the room.

Mike looked over at George and knew that he was thinking the same. Things were beginning to get ugly. "Please sit down David." Mike said pointing to the other chair but the young man shook his head and walked towards the door. "I have nothing more to say." Mike and George watched as he pulled the door open and as he walked along the corridor they could hear him cursing to himself.

Mike turned to George, who was now closing his notebook. "One very angry young man." he said and George nodded his head in agreement. "At least we learned that Paul Dillon had known Rose Gallagher." George said rising and walking across to pick up the chair that David Dillon had thrown across the room.

As the two detectives made their way back to the CID room Mike stopped in his tracks and George saw that he was rubbing his chin. "You know something George. I've always thought that Paula McDonald wasn't targeted by her killer. I think she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. What do you think?" he asked. George thought for a moment before agreeing with him. "I think you could be right. And maybe that was what Sarah Jones meant when she said two were the same and one was different." George replied and Mike nodded.

On entering the room DC Peterson informed them that the Chief Constable was coming along in a minute to speak to them all. He had no sooner told them this when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed along the corridor. Chief Constable Williams walked through the door first, followed by another man that Mike recognised from his days at Govan Police Station, DCI Aitken. Mike's heart fell when he saw him. "Please take a seat everyone." Chief Constable Williams instructed and everyone immediately obeyed. "This is DCI Aitkin from Govan and he will be working here for the foreseeable future. He is standing in for DCI Collins, who as you know is in hospital at the moment." Mike glanced over at George who by the surprised expression on his face, new nothing about this new development.

DCI Aitken walked to the front of the room and faced the detectives. He was built like a tank and had authority in his voice that DCI Collins lacked. Ex-Army, he had a reputation of being a ball buster. Mike remembered the story that he heard about how DCI Aitken was attacked by a gang of six, when he tried to arrest one of them for drug dealing. How when it was all over the six thugs had sustained plenty of broken bones and he had barely a scratch on him. He had always thought that the story was just made up to make DCI Aitken appear tougher than he really was. The story was probably passed down through the ranks by the man himself. Nevertheless, everyone at Govan was on their very best behaviour when DCI Aitken was about. Mike knew from listening to others that he was a force to be reckoned with and this worried him greatly.

Chief Constable Williams beckoned for DCI Aitken to speak. "As we still have ongoing murder investigations, the Chief Constable has asked me to step into help. Just carry on with your work and if I need to speak to you I will." DCI Aitken said scanning the room and staring into the face of each detective individually.

Mike knew that he was using this tactic to try and assert his authority and more than likely to try and intimidate them. His eyes fell on Mike and a spark of recognition fell over his face. "DI Watson we meet again. Well you know how I work and you know how I expect my detectives to work." Mike nodded. "I believe that you're lead detective in these murder investigations, so I want to see you in my office in one hour's time." Mike nodded again and with that DCI Aitken marched out of the room followed closely by Chief Constable Williams.

George rushed over to Mike. "What do you think of that?" he asked. Mike opened his mouth to tell him exactly what he thought but paused remembering who his cousin was. He simply shrugged his shoulders while making a mental note to keep his opinions of DCI Aitken to himself, otherwise what he said may find its way back to the Chief. "You have worked with DCI Aitken. What's he like?" George asked. Mike thought for a moment. "He's tough." he replied, unwilling to say any more than that. George gave him a knowing look. He like the others had heard of DCI Aitken.

Mike saw George rush over to DI Henderson. It was clear to Mike that he was asking DI Henderson what he thought about the situation. DI Henderson looked over at Mike and shrugged his shoulder. He too was going to watch what he said in the future. Now that the Chief had a spy in the team he had to be very careful about what he said to DS George Wilson.

The office buzzed with everyone speculating as to why DCI Aitken had been brought in from Govan. DC Peterson voiced his concerns stating that someone from the department should have been promoted to Acting DCI instead of bringing in a DCI from another station. Everyone nodded in agreement. Mike kept his opinions to himself.

An hour later, as instructed Mike went off to see DCI Aitken. He knew that he had taken over DCI Collins' office and knocking on the office door, was surprised to feel more than a little apprehensive about the meeting. DCI Aitken shouted on him to enter and indicated for him to close the door behind him. "Please take a seat, DI Watson." DCI Aitkens told him with a surprisingly gentle voice.

Mike did as he was told. "Well, I have looked over all the reports. Is there anything else I need to be told about?" he asked looking up from his desk. "We are still waiting for forensics to come up with any new developments. Apart from that I think we are at a standstill." Mike told him trying not to look at him directly. "Not good enough." DCI Aitken barked, thumping the table with his fist.

This was the DCI that Mike remembered. "You are lead detective so bloody well lead. Get your detectives out of the office and onto the streets." He demanded now glaring at Mike. "We can't just assume that this Paul Dillon murdered all three women. We can only connect him to one murder and until forensics come up with anything to connect him to the other women; we still have murders to investigations." DCI Aitken rose from his desk and stood over Mike. "I know that sir. We are still investigating." Mike said, wishing that the meeting was over. "Investigating are you? All I see is detectives sitting around twiddling their thumbs. I think DI Watson that DCI Collins made a mistake in appointing you as lead detective. I think DI Watson that maybe you are not up to the job."

Mike did not reply but simply sat staring at the mahogany desk in front of him, wishing that DCI Collins was still sitting behind it. He felt more than a little uncomfortable with the DCI standing so close to him and was sure that this was exactly what DCI Aitken intended. He was trying to intimidate him and at that moment in time it was working. Mike took a deep breath. "Do you think that we should simply sit around waiting for forensic to come up with something? We would be waiting a long bloody time, I can tell you that." DCI Aitken said shaking his head and walking over to the window. He stood with his back to Mike looking out the window and sighed heavily.

DCI Aitken was far from pleased to be working at Pitt Street Police Station. Why he was chosen to stand in for DCI Collins was a complete mystery and he had thought of declining the idea when it was first put to him. However, when Chief Constable Williams had contacted him directly he felt somehow unable to refuse his request. He was promised that it would only be for a short time, a few weeks at most. Chief Constable Williams told him that the detectives were still in the middle of their investigations and they needed his expertise to move thinks along.

His old friend DI Brown had relayed all his experiences of Pitt Street including his opinions of some of the detectives working there. DI Brown and the DCI had worked together at various stations throughout their years in the police force. And although DCI Aitken didn't particularly like Henry Brown, he often found himself socialising with him outside work. The last time they had met was at the Mayor's banquet when they found themselves sitting at the same table. At that time, DI Brown had told them that they were investigating two murders but shortly afterwards another woman was found murdered.

Now he found himself at Pitt Street, while DI Brown was transferred to his beloved Govan. DCI Aiken shook his head. He wanted to get back to his own stomping ground as soon as possible and to achieve this he knew that pressure had to be put on these detectives to get their fingers out and get these murders solved.

Mike watched the DCI shaking his head and thought he heard him mumbling to himself. Turning to Mike he stared at him with such intensity that Mike thought he felt his eyes burning. "Get your detectives out on the streets and tell them not to come back until they find something to report back with." the DCI growled.

Mike stood up and stared directly into the DCI's eyes, keeping his gaze on him as he spoke. "My detectives know exactly what they are doing and if anything materialises, you will be the first to know. I am lead detective unless you have plans to replace me. Now if there's nothing else, can I get back to work?" Mike said trying hard to keep his anger under control. An awkward silence ensued for several moments until suddenly to Mike's surprise the DCI threw his head back and laughed. "Perhaps you're right DI Watson. I don't want to keep you from your work, so off you go." DCI Aitken pointed towards the door and Mike nodded before walking out.

Walking along the corridor to the CID room, Mike was more than a little confused as to what had just occurred. DCI Aitken stood at the door watching the detective as he walked along the corridor and smiled to himself. DI Watson had guts and had stood up for himself and the work of his detectives. He admired Mike Watson for his fortitude but he wasn't pleased with DCI Collin's decision to make him lead detective. Countdown. In a few hours, DI Watson would be taken off the murder investigations.

# Chapter Eighteen

The next morning Mike took some time off work to visit DCI Collins and dragged Susan along to the hospital with him. Susan was more than a little reluctant as she didn't really know the DCI and had only met him a handful of times but Mike had been very insistent. Before visiting the DCI, he had called the hospital to see if visitors were permitted.

The nurse was pleased to tell them that there was a huge improvement in his condition overnight. He was paralysed down the right hand side of his body and although unable to speak, he could move the fingers on his left hand to indicate that he understood what was being said and was more alert. However, the nurse informed Mike that would only be allowed a short visit as the DCI was still quite ill and needed to rest.

When they reached the DCI's room they found that the bed was empty and immediately Mike feared the worse. Had the nurse got him mixed up with another patient, when she told him that he had improved? His fears were dispelled however, when a nurse told him that DCI Collins had been taken for a scan and wouldn't be back for at least an hour. On hearing this he let out a huge sigh of relief. He told the nurse that they couldn't stay and asked her to tell him that they would return the next day to see him. The nurse asked their names and told them that she would pass on the message.

"Thank God for that Susan. It looks like he is on the mend." he said squeezing his wife's hand. "He will have to retire now." Susan commented. "I know. Did I tell you they tried to make him retire not long ago?" he asked. Susan shook her head. Mike rarely told her anything about his work and whenever she asked, he would simply shrug his shoulders and tell her that the last thing he wanted to do when he got home, was to talk about work.

"Well they did and then they changed their mind and asked him to stay. The poor bugger ended up lying on the toilet floor all weekend. He could have died." Mike told her and found himself shuddering with the thought. "Why don't we go for a coffee before I return to the station?" he suggested and Susan nodded in agreement. Walking back to the car he told her that he had asked for and was granted, his annual leave and told her to book up a holiday to Florida for the whole family.

Susan was delighted and kissing him on the cheek, told him to hurry home from work that night, as she would have a candlelight dinner waiting for him. He smiled at her. "Do we have to have wine?" he asked turning up his nose at the very thought of it. "No darling, I will have wine and you can have a glass or two of whisky. Does that sound good to you?" she replied snuggling up to him as they sat in the car. He turned on the ignition. "Wine for you and whisky for me. Sounds perfect." he replied before driving off down the road.

When Mike returned to the station he told everyone that a meeting was scheduled in an hours' time as he wanted to be updated on what everyone was doing. He had told DCI Aitken that his detectives were busy investigating these murders but the truth was he wasn't sure what they were doing. Perhaps DCI Aitken was right when he said that everyone was sitting waiting for forensics to do their work for them. It was true that everyone thought that Paul Dillon was their man but the evidence had still to materialise.

If no forensic evidence could be produced to connect Paul Dillon to Rose Gallagher or Paula McDonald then their murder cases would remain open. Mike sighed with frustration. He knew fine well that there were more than ten murder cases that had never been solved and wondered if perhaps that figure would now reach twelve.

At 2pm Mike sat waiting for everyone to arrive for the meeting. He needed to motivate his detectives and wondered how he was going to achieve this near impossible task. Some of the detectives had been taken off the investigations due to further murders in the city. Three men had been murdered in Glasgow, shot as they went about their daily business. One when leaving a shop in the area, one sitting at home watching the television and one as he was picking his children up from school.

The murders looked gang related and Mike knew the police were under immense pressure to bring the perpetrators to justice and restore peace once again to the Glasgow streets. Another two men had been assaulted in separate incidents that weekend and he also heard of at least three rapes. He suddenly wondered how many detectives he had left in his team.

PC King came into the room to tell him that DCI Aitken had left a message with him to say that he wanted to see him immediately. Mike raised his eyes in surprise but took the time to thank the young constable for passing on the message.

As he waited for the detectives to arrive George came in to inform him that he and DC Peterson were now involved with the investigations into the gangland murders. Mike nodded and asked about the other detectives. George told him that as far as he knew DC Bolton and DC White were both working on the rape cases but he didn't know about the other detectives.

As the room was still empty with no detectives in sight for the meeting he went to see DCI Aitken as instructed. As he reached the door it suddenly opened and Chief Constable Williams walked out onto the corridor in front of him. He glared at Mike before walking past him and Mike wondered if he was somehow in trouble. DCI Aitken beckoned for him and pointed to a chair before closing the door behind him.

"I'll get right to the point. You are no longer lead detective in the murder investigations. I am putting that responsibility onto DI Henderson's shoulders." Mike opened his mouth to protest but knew that it would be a futile gesture. When DCI Aitken made his mind up about something, then nothing on earth would make him change his mind. "DI Henderson is a good detective." Mike told him and saw the DCI smirk.

The DCI sat down and leaning across the table stared at Mike for a few seconds before speaking. "You are off the murder cases. From now on I want you to work with DI Taylor and DS Thompson, who have been drafted in from Govan to help. They are working on the brutal assaults of two young men at the weekend. DI Taylor will be lead detective." Mike felt the anger rising within him and bit his tongue. He wanted to tell DCI Aitken exactly what he thought of him but decided he wouldn't give the DCI the satisfaction of knowing that he had angered him. Was it his imagination or did the DCI want to punish him for something? DCI Aitken looked at him and raised his eyebrow as if he knew what Mike was thinking. "I hope you don't think that this is anything personal DI Watson. I just think you don't have enough experience and would be better suited in DI Taylor's team."

Mike was silent for a few moments. "Of course not. Anything you say DCI Aitken. Now is there anything else?" he asked trying hard to keep himself calm. The mention of DI Taylor made his blood run cold. He knew the detective had it in for him and had hoped that he would never see his face again.

Years ago, he had accused Mike of reporting him for withholding evidence in an investigation. Why he assumed it was Mike and not one of the other detectives was not something he would discuss with him. Mike had denied the allegations saying that he knew nothing about it but after the investigation DI Taylor went out of his way to make life difficult for him. Mike was glad when he was transferred to Pitt Street and thought he would never see the detective again.

Now he would be working with him. The thought of it made him feel physically sick. Mike shook his head. He wasn't prepared to work with DI Taylor and wondered how he could get out of it. He looked up and saw DCI Aitken staring at him. "You can go now detective." the DCI said pointing to the door. He watched as Mike rose from the chair and opened the door. "DI Taylor is holding a meeting at 3pm in the Incident Room. I trust you will be there." DCI Aitken said and Mike simply nodded.

Glancing at his watch Mike saw that he didn't have much time to try and get out of meeting with DI Taylor. He had to think of something quick. Walking along the corridor he knew that DCI Aitken was watching him and made sure that he stood up straight and gave the appearance of someone who did not have a care in the world. DCI Aitken stood at his office door with a smirk on his face. For some reason, he had thought that DI Watson would have put up a fight and objected to being taken off the murder investigations.

The DCI had been prepared for a heated debate and felt more than a little disappointed that DI Watson had taken everything in his stride. Even when he mentioned DI Taylor, the detective had not batted an eyelid. Closing his office door DCI Aitken walked over to the mahogany table and lifted the telephone. "This is DCI Aitken. Get me DI Brown." he said tapping his fingers on the table. A few moments later he found himself speaking to Henry Brown. "It's done. DI Watson has been removed from the murder investigations and moved onto another case where he is working under DI Taylor, just as you requested." DCI Aitken said and after a few seconds of silence he heard laughter on the other end of the telephone.

"Good. I wish I was a fly on the room when you brought him down a peg or two. Thanks, I owe you one Michael." DI Brown said feeling as if he had just won a battle. "Why can I ask, did you want him to work with DI Taylor? I don't understand." The DCI asked rather confused by the request from his old colleague. "It's a long story but lets' just say DI Taylor hates his bleeding guts and would love the chance to get his own back. Something to do with an investigation they were working on. Mike bloody Watson accused him of withholding evidence and there was an inquiry. Jeremy Taylor was exonerated but has held a grudge against Watson for years." DI Brown informed him wishing he had been there to see the look on Mike Watson's face. Revenge is sweet.

"Well you remember you owe me one Henry." DCI Aiken told him. "Sure, you just need to ask." DI Brown answered. The DCI put down the telephone and swinging his chair to face the window looked outside. How he hated the view from Pitt Street but for the foreseeable future he would just have to get on with it. One day he would be back at Govan where he belonged.

Mike went to the canteen for some tea and also to have a think. What could he do? He would say he was sick and ask to go home. Would that work? Maybe he could say he had toothache. He shook his head all the excuses he could think of seemed so lame.

PC King rushed over to him to tell him he had a telephone call and Mike followed him out of the canteen. On reaching his desk he took the call and sighed with relief. He was due in court. Unknown to Mike, Jimmy Robertson's court date had been set for that day. Rushing off to see the DCI, he told him that he was due in court for the Jimmy Robertson's case and would not be available to attend the meeting with DI Taylor. "Why didn't you tell me that earlier?" DCI Aitken asked giving him a quizzical look. "I didn't tell you because I didn't know. They informed DCI Collins but before he could pass the message onto me he ended up in hospital. I've been told that the trial may last for the rest of the week. Could you tell DI Taylor for me?" Mike asked.

"Tell him yourself. You will be passing his room on the way out the station." DCI Atken said with irritation in his voice. Mike glanced at his watch. "Sorry I have no time. I have to be at court as soon as possible." he told him before turning and rushing down the corridor.

PC King watched as Mike walked out of the door laughing to himself and wondered what was so funny. Did it have something to do with the telephone call? Shaking his head PC King shuffled the papers in front of him. For some reason, he was always rushing about taking messages for detectives. It was bad enough with the detectives at his own station but now they had drafted in some from Govan.

Mike walked towards his car with a big grin over his face. Good old Jimmy Robertson. The trial would keep him busy for the next few days and after that he would call in sick with a mysterious virus, which would keep him off work for another week or two. Hopefully by then all the Govan detectives would have gone back to their own station and if not, then he had plenty of time to think up some other excuse for being absent from work.

# Epilogue

#

"You look really beautiful Susan." Mike said admiring his wife in her new outfit. "Well it's not every day we go to a wedding. Now stop ogling me and get finished dressing we don't want to be late." Susan tutted as she looked over him, at the other end of the bedroom, struggling with his tie.

He had been trying to fix his tie for the last ten minutes but somehow it still wasn't looking quite right. He was getting nowhere fast so she went over to help him. "Did your mother call? Are the boys all right?" he asked. "Of course, they are fine. Now stand still until I fix this tie." Within a few seconds the deed was done to both their satisfaction. "Come on give me a kiss." he said puckering up his lips and pulling her closer to him. "Stop it you." she mumbled trying to be angry but finding herself laughing. "All this wedding stuff has made you all mushy." Mike looked at his wife and pouted. "No kiss for me then." Susan shook her head and smiled. "Maybe later. We have a wedding to go to."

As they traveled in the car to George and Melissa's wedding, Susan asked him about their forthcoming holiday to Florida, booked for the next week. "Now are you sure we are going? The boys would be devastated if we didn't go now that it was all booked and paid for. Mike raised his eyebrows and frowned. "I swear Susan we are going on holiday. We are going and that is final. I promise."

He leaned over towards her and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Keep your eyes on the road for pity sake." she said giving him a quick slap on the arm. She checked the time on her watch. "How long will it take us to get to the church?" Mike told her not to worry they would arrive in plenty of time to see the happy couple get married.

"How is DCI Collins now after his stroke?" she asked rummaging through her clutch bag and taking out her hand mirror before re-applying her lipstick. "He's coming on quite well. I went to see him yesterday at the care home and he managed to say a few words. It will take him a long time to recover, if he ever fully recovers at all." he replied with a faraway look in his eyes. Susan nodded in agreement. "How is the new DCI? What's his name again?" she asked now patting some powder foundation onto her nose and forehead. "DCI Aitken." he reminded her.

"I thought you put your makeup on before you left the house." he said shaking his head. "I did, I'm just re-touching it, that's all." she replied checking her appearance in the small hand mirror and smiling. "Are you finished now?" he asked and received a slap on the arm for his question. "This DCI Aitken. You said he was a bit of a bastard, didn't you?" she said returning her makeup to her small silver clutch bag. "Not a bit of a bastard, a total bastard. Anyway, he's back at Govan now, him and the detectives he brought with him. To tell you the truth they were all bastards."

Susan looked at him and smiled. "Well it's not like you worked with them for long. You were off sick for nearly two months and as soon as George called to tell you they had gone back to Govan, you had a miraculous recovery. Funny that." Mike laughed. Susan must have known that there was nothing wrong with him but she never once questioned him for being off work sick. "Who will take over now?" Mike shook his head. "I haven't got a clue but he couldn't be any worse than DCI Aitken or any better than DCI Collins." "What do you mean he? Didn't you say that the Acting DCI was a woman?" she asked rather confused at his chauvinistic remark. "Acting DCI Robina Bell. She's cool, too cool for a DCI. I would be very surprised if she was kept on." he told her. "Would you now and why would that be?" she asked with a serious look on her face. "Keeping detectives in line is hard work. Now I'm not saying she couldn't do it, she can. All I'm saying is that I would be very surprised if her promotion became permanent." he told her trying not to look at her eyes that were now piercing through his skull.

"I'm very disappointed in you Mike. I never took you for a chauvinist." she said trying not to get angry. "I'm not honey. She's great and I would be very pleased if she stayed. I'm just saying it's unlikely, that's all. And for your information you know me a better than that. A chauvinist I am not, as well you know." he told her and she had to agree on that point but his comment nevertheless surprised her. She hoped that Acting DCI Bell would remain in her post and was sure that it could only be a good thing for the station. There weren't enough women in a prominent position in the police force for her liking.

"You know Susan. I'm really looking forward to this wedding. It has been ages since we've been to a good party. Just the two of us." he told her. "Well don't be getting drunk and making a fool of yourself just as you did at my cousin Jacqueline's wedding last year." she told him. "I did not get drunk. Well, maybe a bit but I did not make a fool of myself. Anyway, I'm sure you'll keep note of how many drinks I have." he replied with sarcasm in his voice. "You bet I will." she replied firmly.

"The happy couple haven't really know each other for very long." Susan commented to Mike. "You told me that yourself. A few months and now they are getting married. It all seems a bit of a rush. What do you think? Is she pregnant?" Mike groaned at his wife's questions. "Yes, they have only known each other for a few months. And no, I don't think she is pregnant. I think the reason they are getting married is something to do with, let me think, yes, love." he replied giving his wife a wink. Susan shrugged her shoulders. "Didn't you tell me he was engaged to a girl that he had been with for years? Maybe he's on the rebound." Mike rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Look Susan. When it's right, it's right. When it's wrong, it's wrong. Grace was wrong for him and Melissa is right. It's as simple as that."

Nearing their destination Mike began scanning the streets looking for a parking space. "Keep an eye out for somewhere to park, will you?" he told her, noticing how busy the streets were. "I wonder how his fiancée took the breakup. She must have been fuming. Did she know about this Melissa?" she asked and Mike glared at her. "Not now Susan. Can you not see I am looking for somewhere to park?" Susan glared back at him. Why was he being so snappy? "Over there." she shouted pointing across the street. Mike looked over at the space she was pointing to and found himself snapping at her. "How the hell am I supposed to park my car in that bloody small space. For God's sake woman." Susan glared at him. "Find your own bloody parking space then." A few moments later Mike manoeuvred his car into a parking space and switching off the car engine could feel the atmosphere between them becoming a little frosty. He wanted to enjoy himself today so he decided to do the sensible thing and apologise.

"Sorry for being a bit snappy honey." he said reaching out to hold her hand. She pulled her hand away and gave him one of her legendary dirty looks. "George told me that his girlfriend didn't take their break up very well but he didn't tell me anything else." he told her trying to melt the ice by answering her earlier question. George had told actually told him that Grace had flipped her lid, wrecked the house and cut up all his clothes but he was sworn to secrecy. Susan shrugged and got out of the car.

The couple crossed the road and walked along the street towards the church. "Another thing." Susan asked. "Why are you not his best man? I thought you were supposed to be friends." Mike tried not to let his annoyance show but she was beginning to get on his nerves. He turned to her and snapped. "What is it with all these questions? You're giving me a bleeding headache."

Susan immediately stopped dead and the look on her face told him that he was in trouble. "Don't you get snappy with me." she said rather huffily. "I thought your good mood this morning was a flash in the pan, you grumpy git."

She quickly took off down the pavement and Mike had to run to catch up with her. "His brother Ben is the best man. And I really do have a headache. Can we start again please?" he pleaded but she simply shrugged her shoulders. It was too late, she was now in a foul mood and at that precise moment she couldn't care less about his apology or his bleeding headache. "Damn it Susan. Wait for me." he shouted rushing to catch up with her. Susan slowed down. "How can woman walk so fast in high heels?" he asked shaking his head. "They can't." she replied lifting her long pink dress and exposing her feet showing that she was not wearing high heels but flat silver sandals. "Sorry we have quite a bit to walk but the parking around here is diabolical." he said trying to smile but now feeling moody himself. "What does his brother do then? Is he in the police force too?" she asked looking over at his still scowling face. "Susan will you please, for the love of God, stop asking so many questions. I told you I have a headache. Do you have any painkillers in your bag?" he asked but she ignored his question and carried on her journey towards the church.

"We are nearly there. See, I can see the church." she told him pointing to the large grey church just a few hundred yards ahead of them. Reaching the church steps Mike grabbed her by the arm. "Susan." he said through gritted teeth. "Have you any painkillers in your bag?" She turned to him, shrugged her shoulders and gave him an icy stare before turning her back on him and quickly walked into the church. He cursed at her under his breath and with a now raging headache followed quickly behind her.

The wedding service took less than an hour and as Mr and Mrs George Wilson left the church Susan rummaged through her handbag and handed Mike two painkillers. "Water?" Mike asked. "How the hell would I have water in my bag." she whispered with anger in her voice. "For heavens' sake Mike, you don't need water. Just swallow the damn pills." As he swallowed the pills, Susan got up to leave but he pulled her back down on the seat. "Can we stop this right now." he demanded with firmness in his voice. "This is supposed to be a happy occasion and I for one want to enjoy myself this evening."

She sat thinking for a moment and suddenly surprised him by leaning over and planting a kiss on his cheek. "I'm sorry too. I have been a bit off today." she told him who was about to apologise again just to keep the peace but she put her finger to his lips to stop him from speaking. "It's my hormones." she told him. Mike was more than a little confused. "What do you mean your hormones?" he asked with a puzzled look on his face. Susan took his hands in hers and smiled sweetly. "I'm pregnant." Mike was lost for words. "Tell me what you're thinking?" she asked rather worried, as she knew that they had decided that the two boys had completed their family. "It's a bit of a shock but a nice shock." he replied pulling her closer towards him and kissing her gently on the lips. Susan began to sob. "Why are you crying?" he asked wondering how long these hormone mood swings would last but knowing from past experience, that they would continue for many months after the baby was actually born. "I just thought you might be angry." she stuttered through her tears.

"Honey. I'm not angry. I'm very pleased and you never know it may be a girl this time." he told her putting his arm around her shoulders.

"How long have you known?" he asked and immediately Susan began sobbing crying again. "Why are you crying now?" he asked confused at his wife's behaviour. Susan stopped crying and looked at him and whispered. "Three months." Mike was flabbergasted. "Three months and you didn't tell me till now. Why?" "You were stressed out for months and then you were off work sick. I was waiting for the right time. I didn't know how you would take it." she told him. Mike shook his head and took her hands in his. "Susan, you are a beautiful, caring wife and I love you. I'm sorry for being a bit of a swine these last few months and I am sorry for being snappy today. Can you forgive me?" Susan nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I must look a state. I will have to do my makeup again." she said taking the mirror from her bag and wiping the smeared mascara from under her eyes. "You look beautiful. Now come on let's join all the guests in congratulating the happy couple." He pulled her gently to her feet and they walked from the church, hand in hand, to join the rest of the wedding guests.

Congratulating George and Melissa on their marriage, Mike told them of his good news and George patted him on the shoulder and told him that he too was going to become a father. Mike glanced at Susan who by this time was giving him a knowing look. He knew that she would nip his ear all night about how she was right all along. Love may have played a small part in a rather rushed wedding but the expected patter of tiny feet was the more logical reason.

Mike and Susan stood watching the happy couple, as the photographer fussed about them positioning them so he could take their photographs. When the photographer beckoned them over, they found themselves squashed together with the rest of the guests and smiled when instructed by the photographer. Several minutes later the photographer was finished and they all set off for the reception. Mike and Susan walked along the road towards their car holding hands like a newly married couple. At that moment life was good.

Sitting curled up on the sofa, wiping the falling tears from her now swollen eyes, she heard the familiar ring tone of her mobile, which suddenly made her jump. Who could it be? Was he returning her calls at long last? It had been over a month now since he had walked out on her telling her that they were over. He said that he had never wanted to see her again. She disgusted him. He didn't mean it. Did he?

She had called his mobile constantly nine or ten times a day over the last month but it always went to voicemail. She had left dozens upon dozens of messages begging him to contact her but he never called back. Out of desperation she had even called his work just to be told he was busy and would call her back. He never did. The messages she knew would have been passed on to him but he never acknowledged them.

Off work sick ever since that night, she felt as if her whole world had collapsed. Why would he not speak to her and let her explain? Why did he find it so easy to walk out on her? She knew what she did was wrong but she did it for the right reasons. He didn't know the whole story and she needed to tell him but for that to happen they needed to talk.

Just then her mobile rang and glancing at the unknown number, debated on whether or not to answer it. Eventually curiosity got the better of her and when she heard his voice she gasped and felt her heart skip a beat. Holding her mobile closer to her ear she found that her hands were shaking. The tears started flowing again and this time they could not be stopped. Why was he calling her now? Did he miss her, as much as she missed him?

Anne Gibbs had been forced to tell him the truth when he had found her mobile phone bill that listed how many times she had called his estranged wife. His now dead wife, Alison Phillips. He wanted to know what on earth she could be talking to her about. She had to confess that she had never spoken to her but had made constant nuisance calls to try to unnerve her and make her move away from the area. If she moved away then perhaps she would give him the divorce that he wanted and then they could get married themselves.

By the look on his face he was more than a little confused by her reasoning. He told her how stupid she was and how she could have been implicated in her murder. If the police had not quickly discovered that Paul Dillon was responsible for her death then they would have checked her telephone calls and that would have led them straight to their door.

"I don't bloody understand you. You're a fucking detective after all. You bloody know the police would check her telephone calls. For God's sake Anne, what the hell were you thinking?" Anne could hear the anger in his voice and had quickly tried to bluff her way out of the situation. The last thing she wanted was to arouse his suspicions. "She wouldn't give you a divorce. I know it was a stupid idea but I was desperate. She was hanging over us all the time Mark and I just thought if I made her life miserable then she would move away and we could make our own plans for the future." she answered and added. "I didn't know she was going to end up murdered."

Mark stared at her and at that moment she could see his mind working overtime. Would he believe that all she had done was make a few malicious telephone calls? She held her breath wondering what he would say next. She did it all for their relationship.

Mark Phillips had told Anne that he had begged his estranged wife Alison over and over for a divorce. But she had always refused and the last time he had asked her she told him she would tell the police what she knew of the missing drugs.

Mark had somehow became involved with some senior detectives, who had a scheme going at the station, where they syphoned off some of the stolen drugs to sell on to others for money. It only lasted for a few months because Strathclyde Police had become suspicious and none of the detectives wanted to lose their jobs or worse still end up in prison.

It was a scandal that every newspaper in the country had reported. Drugs being stolen from a police station was unthinkable and immediately an enquiry was set up. Everyone closed ranks and in the end, there was no proof and the scandal was soon old news. Mark had received a substantial amount of money from the venture but he had also many sleepless nights too and was glad when it all ceased. He swore he would never become involved in anything like that ever again. Anne had known all about the situation as her own husband, at the time, had been involved.

When Mark had told Anne all this a few months ago she was livid. She wanted to go around to his estranged wife and have it out with her once and for all. She was a lying, manipulative, scheming, blackmailing bitch, trying everything to try and get him back. How dare she stoop to blackmail. Anne was furious and wanted to go and confront her but Mark would not allow her, saying that it would only make matters worse. That was when the idea of anonymous telephone calls manifested itself. She had hoped that Alison Phillips would get so fed up and move away and leave her and Mark alone to plan their lives together. Anne had seen first- hand the effects of his estranged wife's manipulation on Mark. He had not been his usual self for months and it was all her fault. She felt she had to do something. Mark had promised that he would sort it out but months went by and still he could not get a divorce.

She knew that something had to be done but how was this situation going to be resolved? It was clear that Alison Phillips wouldn't be persuaded to move on with her life. Mark had made it quite clear that she could cause a lot of problems for him if he started divorce proceedings. How could she plan their wedding if he couldn't get a divorce?

She herself had got divorced without a problem so somehow Alison Phillips had to be persuaded to let Mark go. A woman like her made Anne sick to her stomach. She was just so pathetic, clinging on to a man who didn't love her any more. That was when she had sat in her car outside Alison Phillips flat; waiting for her to arrive just to see what this pathetic excuse for a woman looked like. When she saw her parking her car she had to use all of her strength to stop herself from jumping out of the car and attacking her right there and then.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly she watched, as she entered the building and cursed under her breath. Exiting her car, she held her car keys tightly in her hand and walked along the road towards the red Fiat Punto belonging to her love rival. Looking around to make sure she could not be seen, she scratched the whole length of the car, before rushing back to her car and driving off. Somehow that act of vandalism gave her a little bit of satisfaction

It was a few days later when Anne had heard through the grapevine at Govan that another woman had been found strangled. That day was when the plan for the demise of Alison Phillips was formulated. If she could find someone to carry out the deed and somehow make her murder look like the other two, then she and Mark would be free to live the rest of their lives in peace and she could start planning their wedding.

What Anne didn't know at the time and Mark didn't want her to find out, was that he had never asked Alison for a divorce. He had his own plans and marrying Anne was not one of them. Stringing her along for so long was now bringing its own set of problems and he had come to realise that the situation could not go on any longer. Anne nagged him constantly about getting a divorce and he had made up the excuse of being blackmailed to try to stay off the wedding plans that he knew Anne was wrapped up with. Why did women always want to trap men into marriage?

One morning Anne bumped into one of her old colleagues, DI Brown in the street. Going for coffee she asked him about the murders and how the investigations were going. Sipping his coffee, he told her about how the women had been strangled, laid out with their arms crossed and how a red rose was placed on their bodies.

As soon as he told her about the red rose being left beside the victims he knew he had let slip a vital piece of information that was not supposed to be divulged to anyone. He had made her promise to keep that bit of information to herself and she was more than willing to oblige him. They were at the early stages of their investigation, he told her, with a lot of man hours being put in to try to find the killer before he struck again. Returning home Anne knew what had to be done but one more thing had to be considered and that was how to find the right person to do the job and how to motivate them into carrying out the deed. Money, she had decided, was the best motivation and all she had to do now was find the right person.

Over the next few days she spent many hours searching through databases at work and armed with a few names, that she thought might be right for her purpose, she looked up their files on the computer. She had to make sure that the person she approached would not run off to tell anyone and cause trouble for her. She would offer a substantial amount of money but realising that the promise of money may not be enough, she looked for information that she could use as a manner of persuasion if the need arose.

She eventually decided on Paul Dillon. With the promise of money, she was sure that he would do anything, after all he had just been released from prison for a lengthy sentence for attempted murder and all she wanted him to do was go that one step further. Finding out about the gangland murder of one of his old associates, Robbie Cullen, was a stroke of luck and she would use this information in some capacity, if the need arose. Taking £1000 from her savings she knew that a hardened criminal like Paul Dillon would not carry out orders from a woman, so the idea of Mr X came to mind. The offer of £10,000 would be made and if not accepted than the threat of ending up like Robbie Cullen was sure to change his mind.

Now that the deed was done she often found herself filled with remorse. Not for Alison Phillips but for her part in the death of Paul Dillon. Many a night, after running him down in the street, she found herself tossing and turning in bed. She knew that these feelings would eventually subside and also knew that until they did, she had to put a brave face on and carry on with her life as normal.

She was surprised and relieved to see that Mark had taken Alison's death pretty well, considering the circumstances surrounding it. Somehow, she had thought that given the fact that he was married to her, he would feel worse than he actually did. Something told Anne that he was in fact relieved. This was good for Anne but that realisation worried her a little. Was he really so uncaring?

To Anne's dismay Mark spoke of quite a large life insurance policy which was something that Anne had not even thought about. Finding out that he was still the beneficiary in her will and that he would also inherited her flat, completely took Anne by surprise. Many a murderer had killed for property and insurance money. She had not killed for material possessions. She had killed for love.

The next few days after Alison's Phillips death she had jumped at ever knock on the door and kept thinking that at any moment they would come for her and drag her off to question her.

She was relieved when somehow they had connected Paul Dillon to the murder of Alison Phillips but was still on edge in case they connected him to her. It was only after Alison Phillips funeral that she began to calm down and feel secure enough to start planning her wedding. The funeral had been a nightmare with people staring at her as if they knew what she had done.

Mark had advised her not to go to the funeral, as Alison's family and friends would be there and he didn't want things to get ugly. She ignored his advice and insisted that she should attend and show the world that they were a couple. She would be there to support him.

The service was at the local crematorium and only lasted around 20 minutes. Afterwards she stood outside watching as Mark went over to speak to the family. The mother glared at him and then turned her head away from him before walking off. The father refused to shake Mark's hand pushing his hand away in disgust. Anne tutted at their rudeness. If only they knew what kind of person their daughter had really been.

A blonde-haired woman came over to speak to her saying what a horrible shock the whole thing had been. She went on and on about how lovely Alison had been and what a tragedy it all was. A tall dark-haired man came up to her, whispered in her ear and immediately her face turned sour and she walked away. Obviously, he had told her that she was talking to the scarlet woman, the mistress of the dead woman's husband.

One night a few days after the funeral, Anne sat on the sofa surrounded by wedding catalogues. Flicking through the pages of one of them, she asked Mark if a spring wedding sounded good. He had stared at her in amazement, insisting that it was too soon to be talking about weddings. "But there's nothing stopping us now darling." she had said wondering if she really was being a little insensitive but there was no reason to stop thinking of their marriage.

Watching him as he grabbed his jacket and stormed out the room, she shouted after him. "It doesn't need to be the spring we can get married in the summer." She heard the outside door slam and wondered where he was going as it was quite late in the evening.

Deciding that he had gone to the pub to meet some friends she went to bed early and didn't hear him coming home. In the morning, he was apologetic and she realised that his wife's death must have affected more than he had shown.

Over the next few weeks everything went back to normal. Mark seemed happier and she kept herself busy looking through tons and tons of wedding catalogues. She wanted this wedding to be perfect and in order for it to be perfect she had to take her time and select everything to her satisfaction.

Mark put his old flat up for sale but told her that it would probably take some time to sell due to the fall in the housing market. She didn't care as long as she had Mark. She didn't care about money or where she lived. The flat they were living in was quite small but she liked it, it was homely. Mark wanted something bigger and she left the planning of where they were to live up to him as she had enough on her mind with the wedding.

Everything was going great in her life until the night Mark found her mobile telephone bill. Why hadn't she hidden it? Questioning her on why she had called his dead wife so often, she had told him that she had made nuisance calls in an attempt to her move out of the area. Mark stared at her with disbelief. She tried to bluff her way out of it but he wasn't stupid.

Mark Phillips was a good detective and he knew instinctively when someone was keeping something back from him. Somehow everything she had done came tumbling out. The fact that she had paid Paul Dillon to do commit murder. How she had lived with that knowledge since that night and how it tormented every day. She left out the bit about killing Paul. That was something that she had pushed to the back of her mind. Why did she confess to being involved in such a heinous crime? She didn't know. All she knew was that would never forget the look on his face when he heard what she had done. Her life was now in tatters.

The dream wedding that she had been so carefully planning would not now take place and her one true love was gone. The look on his face when he realised that she, his beloved, was behind his estranged wife's murder would haunt her to her grave.

She had tried to explain and when she reached out to touch his arm, he pushed it away and told her that she disgusted him. As he went to leave, she had fallen to her knees and begged him to stay and let her explain but he had pushed her aside like a piece of rubbish.

Since that night she found herself unable to work, unable to function and unable to stop crying. It looked like Alison Phillips had won the war after all. Even in death she had somehow put herself between them.

Now after a month, he had called her wanting to speak. Every nerve in her body was tingling. Had he forgiven her at last? "Good to hear from you." she said trying to control the tremble in her voice without success, the tears now streaming down her face. "Have you a new mobile sweetheart?" she asked realising that she had asked such a trivial question.

"Yes. I smashed the other one against the wall the night you told me you murdered my wife. Don't you remember?" Mark asked with sarcasm in his voice. A few moments of awkward silence followed. Why did he call? He must still love her. Why else would he have not called the police that horrible night, over a month ago, when he slapped her hard across her face and thrown her to the floor when he had found out what she had done. "Listen I need to see you, we need to talk." he said and she felt her heart beating fast with the anticipation of seeing him again. "OK. Come over." she told him trying to keep her voice from showing the excitement that she now felt at that very moment. Had he forgiven her?

He hadn't asked why she did what she did. It was because of love. Love for him and now they were free to marry, have children, to do whatever they wanted together. "No. Meet me at the casino. You know the place where we first met." Mark asked and she thought that he sounded a little strange. "When?" she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her hands were shaking and her heart was beating so fast she couldn't breathe properly. "Now. I'm waiting." he replied rather gruffly and the phone went dead. Anne jumped up from the sofa and pulling on her boots, rushed over for her long black wool coat. Countdown. Twenty minutes and she would be back in the arms of her one true love.

Slipping her mobile into her coat pocket, she quickly lifted her car keys from the table and rushed out the door, slamming it shut behind her. She was now going to see him, speak to him. She had dreamed of this moment ever since he left her and now her dreams were about to come true. Could she persuade him to return home with her? She didn't know. She was sure that after she had spoken to him and given him her reasons, he would forgive her. It might take some time to regain his love but at least he is willing to speak to her and that was a start.

Full of anticipation and excitement she started the car and made her way to their rendezvous, The Blue Casino at the Broomielaw, in Glasgow. Many a night they had spent at the casino. It was their place. The place where they had first met. The place where they had fallen in love. Anne thought of the significance in the fact that he wanted to meet her there. Why would he want to meet her at that particular place unless to rekindle their love for each other? She would make it up to him. She would make him trust her again, love her again. She would explain everything and he would understand.

As she turned the corner and neared their rendezvous she could see his tall lean body silhouetted, in the moonlight, against the building. She looked at her watch. It was early in the evening. The streets were empty. In another hour or two crowds of people would descend on the casino and they would have no time to talk.

She looked in her rear-view mirror and imagined that he was sad. He was yearning for her, she knew that. Her heart was bursting with love for him and she would run into his arms and he would kiss her. This was when the doubts crept into her mind. He was waiting for her and it was a trap. The police could be hiding waiting for her to appear and jump out and arrest her. Would he do that to her? Could she trust him? He was a detective just like her. He wouldn't do that to her.

He could have called the police months ago but he didn't. He loved her even if he didn't understand. She would make him understand. She shook her head to get rid of the of the doubts that had somehow crept into her mind and wondered where they had come from. She did trust him and she knew that he loved her as much as she loved him.

Opening the door, she waved to him and within seconds found herself running to his side. She had news for him. News that would make things good between them again. She was pregnant and had planned to tell him the day he had found out about what she had done and stormed out the door. Now she can tell him and they can get married and live their lives together as they had planned. The baby would make their lives complete she was sure of that.

Within seconds of reaching him, she flung he arms around his neck and held him close. "Mark darling, I've missed you so much." She didn't want to lose him again. Leaning over to kiss him, she was hurt when he pulled away from her. "I don't know Anne. We have a lot to talk about." he said with an anguished look on his face. "I know we do darling and I know in my heart that everything will be fine between us. It may take some time but I'm willing to wait." Anne once again leaned over to kiss him and this time he didn't resist but pulled her closer and kissed her hard on the lips. She felt the urgency in his kiss and quickly responded knowing that he would forgive her, he loved her as much as she loved him.

The headlights of a passing car lit up the young couple embracing by the riverside. The driver smiled as she watched them kissing and noticed that the man was hiding something behind his back. A gift for his lover, the driver thought, as the beams from her headlights landed briefly on the red rose in his hand.

The End

