

For:

Harvey

You have not been here very long, but already you have done so much.

&

Lynda, Rach & Phil

Whom I love the most, and have hurt beyond measure.

Sincere thanks to:

Stephen Leece, for his unbridled enthusiasm, all too frequent 'editorial meetings', his modesty, but above all to use his own words 'All the best bits'.

Mark A Jones for helping me to improve my plastering skills.

'F & B', Kenco Smooth & BBC Radio 5 Live, for making writing overnight so bearable.

Ian J Lightfoot, for his pyrrhonism, and the title.

Cliff Anderson, for allowing me to 'use' the 'Quay Taphouse'.

Bill Llewellyn aka 'Lighthouse Billy' and finally David S Black guitarist and human being extraordinaire 1953-2015.

&

The real stars of the show:

Tyneside & Northumberland.

If you feel that you should have been mentioned above, or credited in some other way, please accept my sincere apologies. Feel free to append your name here to claim your place in literary history:.........................................

Ian Douthwaite © July 2015.

CHAPTER ONE

The Present.

Jim Hodder hated this room.

Or to be more precise, Jim Hodder in the guise of Detective Sergeant Jim Hodder, hated this room. The room itself held no particularly bad or painful memories for him, but it was just that the stagnant airlessness got to him, together with an overriding sense of claustrophobic foreboding.

However, this time, for arguably the first time, it felt much different....he was having the kind of adrenalin rush that not everyone has the opportunity to experience. It was exhilarating, intoxicating and exhausting all at the same time and Hodder thought that if he had been able to bottle and sell it, then he would corner the market in 'legal highs' overnight.

Drug wars would be a thing of the past...but that did not enter his mind right now, he was focussed. Really focussed. To Hodder at least, it felt like he and Dean Parks, serial criminal, and long-time 'drain on the system' could have been the only two persons in the world. This was a unique occasion, and at least one of the lives' of those in the room was about to be changed for ever.

The room, for it had been a linen store, and document repository at various times in its tawdry history, had on this occasion, taken on a wholly new and insignificant vitality, and it really lived down to its new found billing as a temporary interview room at North Shields Police Station.

After formal introductions and legal obligations, Hodder said 'How are you doing?' Parks took a sharp intake of breath and through his clenched, unnaturally clean teeth, delivered a barely audible 'No Reply'.

Hodder, a skilled and experienced interviewer, did not lose a heartbeat or indeed, any composure at all, he simply adjusted his tie, and said with a barely perceptible smile 'I'll take that as an 'Okay' then'...he paused briefly before continuing 'there really is no need to be embarrassed. If you are not feeling up to it...I can always come back later... it really is your call...time, at least for now, is on your side'.

Parks' head seemed to drop for a moment, feigning disinterest but immediately, he was invigorated with a new found enthusiasm, which seemed to radiate outwardly, from his blank, vacant eyes, and with all the gusto he could conjure up he said in a slightly exaggerated falsetto, almost effeminate tone, 'Fuck You'. And so it was, a less than beautiful relationship had been born.

Hodder continued 'Now that we are friends, perhaps we could talk'. However, this strategy clearly wasn't working, because Parks hid his bloodshot eyes beneath the most convenient eyelids that he could find, and then failed quite miserably, to disguise the trembling of his hands.

This was all very intimate. Parks was beginning to show the first signs of tension. Hodder quietly turned in his chair to face his adversary, and put his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, as he uttered, just loud enough to be heard, soothing, some may say hypnotic, but most certainly penetrative words. 'Say something...anything'.

Parks, a veteran of many an interview, was convinced that Hodder was staring deep into his eyes. Of course he wasn't, he was staring at a point just above the bridge of the nose, but it had the same effect. It unsettled the second man, who may actually have had an itchy ear or, it may have been a psychosomatic invention. Who could tell? None the less, he scratched it with undiluted enthusiasm.

Zeroing in on Parks' behaviour, Hodder saw him avert his gaze and stare silently at the ceiling, and focus on the gently decaying body of a moth trapped inside the casing of the fluorescent light buzzing away above their heads. The light, that is, not the moth. 'Time to bring him back to earth' thought Hodder as he gently laid a hand upon Parks' thigh. He felt him shudder, a muscle contracting ever so slightly. This was working. Working way better than the Detective had anticipated.

'Hey, Hey, I may have my way with you yet'...thought Hodder

For the first time in what felt like an age, words were spoken....Hodder said 'Please help me to help you'...and not waiting for an answer he went on to say...'Help yourself...please'. The silence was deafening, only the buzz from above offering an alternative to the aphony. Parks' left leg launched into an impromptu display of involuntary 'judders', little jittery jerky nervous bounces off the ball of his foot. Hodder put his foot upon the second man's foot. It stopped moving immediately. However, his right leg took up the 'chalice' and began doing its own version River Dance.

Hodder was closing him down. Good.

'I understand you know' said Hodder. Parks took his eyes off the moth, pinned Hodder with his gaze and responded with an execrable 'Fuck You'. Any words were better than silence so Hodder continued...'I know that we have only just met and I rather hoped that we could get on but....'Parks spat out 'No Chance'.

Hodder continued 'How does it feel to lose control of yourself'? 'Uncomfortable?...I bet it is...but it must have an upside...power?., control?, what is it? What are you? Are you a Bully? Misogynist? Rapist? or Victim? You choose! Without your side of the argument you could be any or all of those things'.

In the staged, contrived world of the interview room, nothing is off topic as long so it leads to effective communication, and sensing a breakthrough Hodder continued...'You know that you do not have to talk to me, but surely you must want to answer the allegations or at least protest your innocence'.

Something, somewhere must have struck a chord with Parks, because he began to quiver, and quite visibly shaking he said.....'I can explain, but you would not listen. You and your kind just want to screw me over' as his voice trailed off into silence. Hodder felt that this was beginning to work and a minor celebration erupted in Hodder's head. Parks' vocabulary did actually extend beyond profanity.

The celebration was interrupted as the Police Officer said...'I am prepared to listen....really, I am.' Whilst he was waiting for a response Parks secured eye contact with Hodder and said 'You are just like me'.

Parks was beginning to talk, and not wishing to 'spoil the moment' Hodder did not respond but privately thought 'Not in this or any other life time'. However, those words would prove to be the most profound and prophetic that the young criminal would ever utter.

Hodder then moved his hand up the second man's inner thigh, and if truth be known, he gave him a sensual, almost sexual squeeze, just enough to know, by two sudden flickers of the eye lid that he had elicited the required response, and that he now, he had Park's total attention.

Both men reacted differently, one erotically, the other being hit by a power surge...At this point in time, no one beyond the two could tell which was which. After a brief silence Hodder said 'So, tell me, how does it feel?

'How does what feel?'

'The power, the moment...How does it feel? Does it feel the same every time?'

Parks did not respond, but he was clearly thinking about something. Hodder did not know if he was contemplating an answer or mentally reliving previous events. He let him briefly savour the moment before pressing on 'You know, I could respect you if you had the courage to talk to me'...Silence and halitosis filled the void between them. 'In my book' continued Hodder 'Silence is a weak man's retreat....and as I see it right now you are a very weak man...had problems with your mother? Were you bullied as a child'?

Taking a wild stab in the dark Parks said 'Your daughter was a good fuck. But I still hope that she dies of cancer'.

'Nothing new there then' thought Hodder having heard numerous similar remarks on countless previous occasions. These spontaneous remarks were designed to offend, divert and mislead the officer. However, as Parks looked at Hodder he would never know that Hodder was privately reflecting on an impending domestic with his 'Goth' stepdaughter.

Hodder, a man not normally prone to intimidation, was not about to show any weakness now, and he was about to speak when the third man in the room said 'Officer, I demand that you halt this interview immediately...I wish to see you outside. With that, as per the rules of the game, Hodder terminated the interview and against his better judgement he left Parks and the moth in the temporary interview room. However, on the plus side, the two remaining occupants of the room, were at least, intellectual equals.

Outside the room, the Detective ushered the third man, a solicitor called Francis Randall-Ord, into a detention room just across the corridor. The solicitor was a minor partner in the longstanding firm of Fagen, Becker and Wendell. He was a balding, corpulent man, mid to late forties, of indefinable sexuality. He had a penchant for the theatre, field sports, tweed suits and as Hodder would later to find out, Highland Park whisky.

Local legend had it that he came from a long line of Industrialists and that he was just not up to the 'cut and thrust' of the world of big business, and so, his family coerced him into law where his ineptitude would earn him a decent salary and a modicum of status, a bit like the legal equivalent of a 'Safe Parliamentary Seat'. However, of much more importance to the family, was the fact that he could not do any lasting damage, to their reputation, or share price. And to his family at least, that was all that really mattered.

Randall-Ord had only a tenuous relationship with the concept of truth, honesty and justice, and over the years he had learned to revel in his nickname of 'Ord the Fraud'. Indeed, his personalised registration number boasted this fact, much to the provocation and annoyance of the local Police. He was also said to be an avid advocate of a local charity supporting homeless young men. However, not all of his 'donations' to these hapless souls were believed to be entirely financial in nature.

Jim Hodder, immediately rounded on the legally funded parasite making no effort to conceal his vitriol. 'What the fuck were you thinking of in there! You know that he is guilty as sin!

'Look Sergeant, you know that it is my job to stop him incriminating himself....if he keeps talking to you he, is going to prison...you know he is guilty, I know he is guilty. He is to put it bluntly...'in somewhat of a pickle'. If you are going to convict him you are going to have to do it without his help'.

If the entire population of the world had been watching at this point in time, not one person would have known that an idea had just been born.

Hodder said 'In the idle chat before that interview started you told me how concerned you were that your niece was going to university in Birmingham. What were the words you used...? Oh yeah, you said when a parent has a son you only have one penis to worry about but when you have a daughter...'

'Yeah, yeah, I know what I said but, this is different'.

'How on earth is this different? You know that your client stalks, identifies and befriends young female 'Fresher's' in the first few weeks of the university term, and usually, as in this case...he rapes them. Typically, he at least breaks into their homes...we have recovered evidence from his latest victim, and more importantly, from him...What do you not understand? You know because you have represented him before, that he is forensically very savvy. Just where in your job description does it say that you can pervert the course of justice?' How do you sleep at night'?

'Listen', said Jim...'you and I have some serious thinking to do, mine will be with the Detective Inspector. You can do your thinking alone. I won't be long'.

As the weathered Detective left the room, he switched off the buzzer/intercom at a control panel situated outside the room. With the solicitor's mobile phone safely with the Custody Officer, the solicitor was more alone that at any time in his life. After a few uncomfortable minutes, the solicitor noticed that there wasn't a handle on the inside of the door. He was immediately consumed by a deepening claustrophobic anxiety and tried pressing the buzzer to call the Custody Officer. When he got no response he assumed that all of the custody staff were busy.

How little he knew.

The confused 'other' prisoner was returned to his cell, but effectively at this point in time, both he and his solicitor were in solitary confinement.

Hodder did not see the D.I. that day, this was largely due to the fact that the D.I. was a total knob, who was more interested in closely supervising the female temporary Detective Constables. He excelled in regaling them with wild tales of his crazy crime fighting escapades, interspersed and frequent references to their erogenous zones. The cacophony of girlie giggles erupting from his office was endless. His room was starting to resemble a cross between a youth club, social club and strip club. But, hey, looking on the bright side, at least the D.I. did not get in Hodder's way.

The D.I.'s work ethic was exemplary, and he was often heard to say that he was 'Too busy for Police work' He was, a clear example of someone being promoted well out of harm's way. He was, in the opinion of Hodder, destined to go very far in the police service.

Instead, Jim went to the CID office and made himself a cup of coffee. Then the most important paperwork of the day was then completed. This essential administrative task was an IOU for a penguin chocolate biscuit bar which he got from the CID shop which was located in the corner of the small fridge in the corner of the small office.

It was his maxim (at least in the case of 'goodies' from the shop) 'Do the paperwork straight away', because it wasn't entirely unknown for people to be barred from the shop for not paying their debts. Not only was this embarrassing, it was also inconvenient, especially if someone had nabbed all the unmarked cars, and it was pissing down outside and you had to walk to the local shop. There was clearly a lot more to modern day policing than meets the eye!

There was a serious discussion going on amongst the other Detectives in the office. It was getting increasingly animated...tempers were beginning to fray...things were heating up amongst those at the cutting edge of the fight against organised crime. The England football team had been beaten yet again...no change there then! 'Why was it', thought Hodder, 'That the only people who had absolutely no idea of running a football team were the team managers'. He surveyed his colleagues closely, every one of them a potential England manager. Personally, he wouldn't trust most of them to run a bath.

He looked at one in particular, 'God's Gift' (to himself at least). He always had an opinion, which was consistently either ill-considered or more often than not, just plain wrong. Hodder was convinced that his erstwhile colleague possessed a deep seated level of stupidity rarely seen amongst vertebrates. He was however, highly skilled in the dark arts of work avoidance, a talent so well developed that it was in some perverse way admirable.

He did however, wear nice ties...'Well you gotta start somewhere' thought Hodder. This workshy blockhead was an infrequent visitor to the cell block, and it was rumoured that a conducted tour of the police station was going to be organised to acquaint him with parts of the building which were clearly off his 'beaten track'.

'God's Gift', (also more commonly known as known as 'Gee-Gee' because of his innate ability to back losing horses) looked directly at Hodder who ruminated as to exactly how long 'Gee-Gee' had been suffering from what appeared to be a very serious case of 'Tanorexia'. 'Gee-Gee' 'switched on' his remodelled ceramic smile, and said 'What do you reckon James, did you see the game'?

Jim, christened 'Jim' hated people 'reworking' his name, 'If this arse keeps this up I may just 'rework' his smile' thought Jim who replied 'Bit on the busy side mate...police work got in the way again. You might want to try it one day. Really... there is nothing to be afraid of'. Despite being long in the tooth and long in service, it was widely put about that 'Gee-Gee's' last arrest was his first one, and that his next one would be of the cardiac variety. 'Well, you've got to have some hope haven't you'? thought Jim.

A team of wild horses would not drag 'Gee-Gee', who reminded Hodder of 'Ken', Barbie's plasticised partner, down to the cell block. And what was even more certain, was that the horses that he backed, wouldn't even make it that far. It was at moments like this that he thought 'I should have joined the Masons when I had the chance. Life would have been so much easier, plus I would have improved my knowledge of football'.

Ignoring his chattering colleagues, Jim then made a call to his colleague Detective Constable Jeff Baxter, who had been tied up at Newcastle Crown Court for the best part of two weeks with a trial for an armed robbery at an ATM. The hearing was entering its final stages and Jeff told Hodder that he hoped to be released from court duty early the next day.

Hodder let his partner read between the lines by stating that he had a 'bit of a runner'...coded language for...'If you don't get back here soon, I may be forced into working with some of the Muppets in the office'.

Coffee break over, equilibrium had been restored and English football had been saved. The team were back on track. Quarter finals and elimination here we come! Time for some sport of a different kind!

All was good with the world. That twat of a solicitor s stewed long enough!

One of the rare luxuries in the police station is 'your actual' ceramic mug...it's a wonderful psychological tool, though known to be considerably more dangerous than its polystyrene counterpart. Granted, the contents of both can scald, but to his certain knowledge, Hodder knew of no recorded cases of serious head injuries being caused by our light weight friend in white.

So, armed with a mug of steaming coffee, and a lightly salted poly cup of weak tea, he returned to the detention room and looking through the window in the door, he saw that a very fractious solicitor was pacing back and forth across the room. This vista took Jim back to a trip to Chester Zoo many years previously...where he had seen a caged lion doing the same thing. What he wouldn't give for that lion now. Chuck it in the room with the gallant 'Officer of the Court'... That would be certain to focus his attention.

On this occasion however, it was Hodder who was about to pounce. He turned the buzzer back on and entered.

Walking in, Hodder nonchalantly said 'Got you a drink'...Reaching for the mug the agitated solicitor said 'Where have you been, what took you so long'? 'Err Hmm...This one is yours', said Jim pointing to the poly cup and feigning disinterest he continued...'The Custody Officer is a bit busy to process you right now, and he would go absolutely spare if he found out that I was giving a prisoner a proper mug'.

Hodder felt as if he had scored a minor victory.

'I demand to know exactly what going on'? I've been ringing that buzzer for ages'.

'Really'? replied Jim.

The Detective went through the partially open door, pressed the buzzer saw a red light illuminate on the panel and heard the buzzer sound at the Custody Officer's desk. 'Seems fine to me...mind you they have been a bit on the busy side...it's all this crime you know... If you ask me society is falling apart at the seams... It's absolutely outrageous! I blame it on the parents'!

Jim watched the solicitor wince as he tackled his saline drink...'The D.I. is a busy man you know. It took a bit longer than expected. He has had to run your arrest past the CPS. And whilst I'm not normally offended by profanity, can I respectfully suggest to you that you moderate your language. Please try to keep on the good side of the Custody Officer when you speak to him...he can be a right moody cunt when he wants to be!

Inwardly, Hodder was doing cartwheels...he hadn't had this much fun since running over an escaping prisoner with a CID car. Over the years, Jim had learnt that every 'up' has a 'down' and as ever, and on that particular occasion, the insurance forms were a right ball ache to complete.

Whilst speaking about the D.I. he had to fight hard to stop the image of the D.I. conducting yet another intimate search upon a hopeful young female Detective. The D.I.'s knowledge of current legislation and case law seemed to diminish in direct correlation to his increased knowledge of gynaecology. Hodder concluded that the two events were most certainly connected.

But of course, he knew...he had seen it all before. The irony was not lost him that it should be the D.I. in the cell down the corridor, he was probably a bigger threat to the female population of the north east than Dean Parks would ever be!

Continuing, the Detective said, 'What's going on is that unless you come up with a new strategy very quickly, you are getting locked up for perverting the course of justice. I bet that goes down a storm with your colleagues not to mention The Law Society'.

Silence and steam filled the void between them, and it was only broken when Hodder said with a broad smile 'However, the good news is... I can recommend a good solicitor'. It was as if a really magical magic potion, (or it could have been the salt in the tea), sapped the very life out of Randall-Ord. He slumped down on the hard wooden bench on his side of the table and held his head in his hands. 'You are joking aren't you'? Hodder went on 'The D.I. isn't. However, I do know that he is amenable to making this go away if you were minded to 'assist' us in protecting our female intelligentsia. He (the D.I.) did suggest that if we charge both you and your client, we will not, given your standing within the community, oppose your bail.

Under the circumstances, I think that that is very generous of him. In fact, at this very moment he has one of our lads' making enquiries with our colleagues in Birmingham to see if they could house your co accused in a bail hostel there. Mind you, he would be very upset if you and your new 'best mate' got your heads together to concoct a story whilst you were visiting your niece. Hey, perhaps you could introduce them to each other. I mean, she could probably do with a friendly face around the place'.

Exasperated, the solicitor feebly mumbled 'You are joking aren't you? Officer, I would suggest that you reconsider ...this is most inappropriate'.

'Yeah, I am joking'. There was an audible sigh of relief from the other side of the table.

'The D.I. wants you remanded in custody too'.

Hodder was enjoying this.

'What...surely not. Get me your immediate superior NOW!'

'Please don't interrupt, this is the good bit...what the D.I. wants the D.I. usually gets. In fact, he was just telling me that he will be seeing the Chairman of the Bench at the Lodge tonight. Would you like him to pass on your regards...no worries if you don't, you will be seeing him yourself tomorrow morning at court...from the dock. Is 10.00am good for you?' In fact, I'll give you an early morning call'

The brief was about to say something but was silenced by Hodder's raised hand.

'Look' said Hodder, **'** Your client is a piece of shit. Surely even you can see that. For your own sake give me a hand to screw him. I am not after you. Is he really worth the risk? Look, you know as well as I do, that you will never get convicted but your arrest will sure as fuck put the skids on your life, bang goes your career, bang goes the big house, bang goes your reputation. And what for? A tosspot who would stab you and rape your grandmother...alive or dead'.

The arrogance and confidence seemed to drain from the solicitor. 'Are you serious, I should advise you that I am good friend of...'

Standing tall above the Solicitor, Hodder cut him off mid-sentence said seriously 'Save it, tell it to the bench'. With open palms as a gesture of feigned sincerity Hodder said 'As you know, I am not by nature a vindictive man, but sadly, you give me no choice...you need a friend, and like or not'...the Detective made a broad cartoon 'toothy grin', and pointing to himself, thumbs raised in exaggerated mime...he continued 'I am, I am afraid to say, as close as you have got to a friend right now. Take it or leave it'.

'Look, I know the balloon will go up as soon as I arrest you but, hey ho, it keeps me off the streets and my back is not what it used to be'.

The solicitor, a man by trade used to thinking on his feet was sitting on his ample, well upholstered backside, largely to keep his world from falling out of it. He had the desperate look of a man found by his wife with the wrong wife.

Hodder was feeling better by the second.

'You gotta realise' said Jim 'You are just the same as everyone else, and your Audi A6 does not entitle you to super powers or a 'get out jail for free' card. You get yourself arrested and you can watch your practice loose clients like lemmings going over a cliff. By the way do you know that was staged, it didn't actually happen...but this... oh yes, this is happening. You sure are heading for a fall'.

'Come on let me introduce you to the nice Custody Officer and remember...mind your fucking language'.

The Detective shelved his guilt and thought of the overtime. Look' said the solicitor...'I really do not want this to get out of hand. For the sake of everyone concerned, I urge you to see sense'.

'This makes perfect logic to me...prepare to join your client'

'Okay, I am breaking every rule of client confidentiality. If this gets out I really will be fucked'...'

Now, now', said Jim, with the tone of a scolding parent 'Language Timothy...Listen up'...you and I have more in common than you think. We both deal with shit it's only the level that fluctuates. I do not want a statement from you. You can even defend him to save face, it does not bother me one iota. But, and this is non-negotiable, I want him stopped'.

'Okay, but I want you to know that this is most irregular. I really do not approve of your methods' said the solicitor, his words dropping to a conspiratorial whisper...'Last September he was arrested in Sunderland for an identical offence he was not charged and the case was discontinued.

I know that there was forensic taken from the victim and scene. DNA was not taken from him and he was alibied to the hilt by a couple of alcoholic friends and he was released within hours. Even though I only attended the police station, he thought that I was wonderful, hence why I find myself in this sorry mess today. Notwithstanding the 'dodgy alibi's', the truth is that your lads in Sunderland really messed up and let him go without doing a thorough investigation. I think there must have been a football match or some other important event on that night...

Getting a second wind the brief continued with his rather protracted answer. 'I don't want to sound too critical, but even my client thought that the officer in charge of the case was pretty incompetent. I have to say that if I was guilty I would certainly want him to investigate me. No offence but he was utterly useless'.

Struggling to protect the integrity of a colleague, Jim crossed himself and said 'We are a very broad church. We embrace all comers, incompetent or otherwise.' He continued...'So how can this help me'? I am no nearer to solving my crime and I am most certainly not doing someone else's work'.

With an earnest look, the solicitor pleaded, 'Why don't you do an interview with him and no matter what he says charge him with your offence. In the meantime, get Sunderland to resubmit their forensic with his new DNA sample whilst he is remanded in custody. So, what if he gets off with your offence, the evidence from Sunderland will do for him. Does it really matter how you convict him'.

'Do you know' said the Detective with a wry smile...'you should have been a Detective'...

And just like the car salesman who says that he is going to speak to the sales manager to get you that (non-existent) 'Once in a lifetime deal' Hodder said 'Give me five minutes, I will have a word with the D.I. I promise that I will be back'. As he left the room he turned off both the detention room buzzer and his covert voice recorder. A broad grin spread across his face as he fumbled to remove the microphone concealed in his lapel.

The day was looking up, detections for serious offences were on the horizon, a solicitor was on the rack, and in no order of preference, he knew that later that day, several pints of Ruddles County would have his name upon them.

Returning to the office, a quick search through the force crime recording system revealed several things. The rape did occur, last September and Parks had been arrested for it. He had subsequently been released without further action being taken against him and the crime remained undetected.

'Oh no'! And worst of all the Officer in Charge of the case was only his poxy D.I. prior to his promotion and transfer 'out of harm's way'. Well, he was most definitely in harm's way now.

A call to the Property Officer at Sunderland nick confirmed that the Forensic samples were still in storage. A second call to the female officer from the Public Protection Unit who was dealing with the current victim confirmed that a positive identification of the prisoner had been made.

Hodder began walking back to the custody suite as shrill girlie giggles erupted from the D.I.'s office. He needed a plan and he needed it in the next two hundred yards, as his mind drifted back to the number of times he had ran along this corridor to answer assistance calls. On those occasions it seemed endless. Now he was covering it in record time despite walking slowly.

Shame it wasn't an Olympic year. As it was, he really did need something to enhance his performance... like some kind of crime fighting of Viagra or may be just some good luck for a change.

As the custody suite drew ever nearer, a quote from a book that Hodder had read many years earlier came into his consciousness...' There is no situation that a Police Officer cannot make worse'.

CHAPTER TWO

Six Months Ago.

Gillbridge Avenue Police Station, Sunderland.

'Twelve pounds forty seven pence in assorted notes and coins'.

'One pack of condoms'.

'One pack of Love Heart sweets'.

'Please sign here Mr Parks'.

'Thank you'.

Speaking to a Civilian Detention Officer, the Custody Officer said 'Can you show him out please'.

A few minutes later Dean Parks was enjoying his first taste of natural light in almost twenty four hours.

As he walked away from the grey building that is the police station, Parks exhaled loudly thinking 'My God, that was a close shave'.

CHAPTER THREE

The Present.

In the world of uncertainty that passes for Modern British Policing, there are a few things that haven't changed very much since Robert Peel was a probationer.

On or around the 25th anniversary of joining you will:

a) Develop Agoraphobia, thus rendering you unable to face the Great British Public in the Great British Outdoors.

b) Develop a chronic lower back condition. And,

c) For some unaccountable reason, you will develop advanced mathematical skills enabling you to calculate with atomic like accuracy when you will retire. Naturally, for reasons of fairness, and not to build one's hopes up too highly, all annual leave and any periods of planned or unplanned sickness should be deducted from this figure. The purpose being that this prevents an officer becoming too optimistic about his immediate future, and it helps to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground.

However, the overriding, incontrovertible fact that cemented most of the ranks together was, and remains to this day: 'That the bosses are idiots'. Even those idiots who achieved high rank thought that their predecessors were idiots, and that they were actually the first of a 'new breed' of leader. Even the 'Bramshill Brigade' (The Police Staff College, in Sussex designed to identify and train officers' showing the potential to achieve high rank) shared one thing in common with their illustrious forebears. They resolved to get off the streets and as far away from the public as soon as conceivably possible.

Senior Officers were oft heard to say 'I did it (got promoted into the stratosphere!) so I could make a difference'. Never has a truer word has been spoken...it certainly makes a huge difference to their lump sum and final salary pension! The fact is, that the vast majority of officers were happy to remain at the sharp end...'cos after all, that's where the fun was to be had.

And so it was, with some three years of the marathon left to run, and full of foreboding that Jim Hodder returned to the cell block and faced his new partner in crime. As he did so an idle thought passed through his mind. What with having a 'friendly' solicitor on board and all...would there be any possibility of some cheap legal work should the need arise? All things considered, Hodder concluded that it would probably be best not to ask right now.

As a matter of courtesy, Hodder advised the Custody Officer that he had spoken to the Public Protection Unit, who had obtained the necessary witness statements and arranged for the intrusive, but vital, forensic samples to be taken from the victim. To crown it all, the victim had positively identified Dean Parks, twenty two year old, miscreant of this parish. Not so much a career criminal, more of a criminal without a career, he had been a constant thorn in the side of the police all over the force area since the age of eleven.

Parks had graduated from simple acts of theft and violence to 'creeps' (household burglaries) to good quality commercial burglaries. However, as CCTV and other crime prevention techniques became much more widespread and sophisticated, he was obliged to re-evaluate his career and consequently, he returned to good old fashioned 'hands on offending'.

Certainly, the chances of arrest were high, but he figured that he could always thwart any prosecution case by putting forward, just enough mitigation to cast sufficient doubt as to why his forensic was on a person or in a property. And that, my friends, is sufficient in this fine country of ours. He was certainly not 'bright' in the accepted sense of the word, but he was street smart with a very keen sense of survival and a raging libido. Hence, his current plight.

Whilst discussing the case with the Custody Officer, Hodder had occasion to look at a bank of CCTV monitors and quickly located the one covering the detention room housing his lame, tame solicitor. Except he was not quite so tame...the devious bastard was listening to a small digital voice recorder which he had removed from his shirt pocket. It had obviously been concealed by his jacket.

What a sneaky, conniving, lowlife, scumbag, shithead, mother fucking arse wipe of a wank stain! Had this bloke got no morals? He was in a police station, for God's sake! Had he no respect? Thinking aloud Jim told the Custody Officer that he wanted a quick word with the D.I. to clarify a couple of minor points.

Not really.

Hodder wanted some time alone to clarify a couple of major points namely, how on earth was he going to get that recording device from the brief and delete anything on it that may incriminate him. The solicitor, the devious snake, had obviously been spending far too much time in the company of criminals and he had picked up some pretty bad habits along the way. 'I'm not having that' thought Jim. Secondly, and more importantly, he wanted to emphasise to the brief that he (Detective Sergeant Jim Hodder) was the dog and that the brief was most certainly the tail. But How?

Rapid thoughts flooded his mind. He could tell the D.I. who would doubtless haul him over the coals for acting without his knowledge and authority...he really wanted the Sunderland detection conviction to appear to be an accident. A mere 'spinoff' with the added unexpected bonus of showing the world exactly what a prick the D.I. really was! That way, he could play down the inevitable 'Loose Cannon' or 'Lone Ranger' criticism which was sure to come his way. He did not rate the D.I. very highly but he certainly did not want him on his back.

He could double cross the brief arrest him, and seize the recorder during a body search. Then it hit him. And for the second time that day, as the eyes of the world were looking elsewhere, another idea popped out of the ether. Now, this would put the brief very firmly 'in his box'...if it came off.

Back in the CID Office he casually mentioned to the D.I. that though, Dean Parks was yet to 'cough' he was confident that following a second interview he would have him on a charge sheet.

Without any sincerity and even less interest the D.I. said 'Well done mate' 'Do you want anyone to give you a hand? The lads are going for a pint but I could get a couple of them to help you out'.

As if one, 'The lads' ignored this very helpful suggestion, and as Hodder listened to the conversation going on amongst the D.C.'s...he noted that the sport of Rugby Union was now occupying their collective consciousness. Football and Rugby fans everywhere, could sleep well tonight, safe in the knowledge that North Shields CID were on the case.

Brimming with false confidence, Jim said that he was 'fine'. He lied and said that his junior partner, Jeff Baxter was due back from court any time soon and that he would 'muck in'. The interview would be a stroll in the park, a mere formality.

'Okay' announced the D.I. 'Charge him...there is some serious drinking to be done'

Without any conviction whatsoever, Jim said 'His brief is still here. I will see you in the pub as soon as I can'.

'No prob' said the D.I. He was walking on air as he waltzed out of the office linking arms with two nubile young temps.

After a quick consultation with the brief, there was an even quicker consultation between the brief and the prisoner. Essentially, Jim and the brief had 'decided' that Parks would be charged with rape, and that he would appear before the court in the morning, where an application would be made to remand him in local custody. The purpose of the remand was to enable enquiries into the burglary and other potential offences to be completed. The prisoner, was after all, the least important person in this 'unholy trinity'.

It was all systems go...shit or bust. Tapes were inserted into the recorder, in the linen cupboard, a room which was most unsuitable for interviewing. It was unventilated, and by this time it was beginning to smell of body odour, socks, an unwashed prisoner and a very large 'rat'. Not only did all concerned have to endure the sound and vibration of the (Tyneside) Metro system thundering back and forth, beneath the room during interview, but also the typical sounds associated with a busy cell block.

A common agreement between co accused is for them to make it known to each other when they were being interviewed. This could occur by simply shouting to a cohort or using a pre-arranged signal. This tactic had two purposes. Firstly, it served to sabotage the interview, making it almost impossible to transcribe. Secondly, and much more hilariously, if the tape was ever played in court, it quite frankly made the police look and sound ridiculous.

Back in the interview room legal formalities were completed and predictably a standard 'No Reply' interview commenced.

A number of personal items recovered from Parks had been positively identified by the victim and were discussed during interview. Nonetheless, 'No Reply' remained Parks' answer of choice. The Detective's heart was clearly not in it, and he found himself asking a question that generally induced him to suffer from a catatonic seizure if any of his colleagues asked it... And it was ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls... the one question in investigative interviewing which requires absolutely no skill whatsoever. As soon as he said: 'Are you going to say 'no reply' to all of my questions' Hodder knew that he had crossed the Rubicon. He was now relegated to the same division as 'Gee-Gee'...all he needed now was a larger tie collection and a false suntan.

In keeping with such occasions the prisoner said 'No reply'. The moth did not reply either. Hodder would certainly get some stick when the other lads in the office heard about this. The interview was subsequently terminated and to coin the vernacular in 'the job' the 'prig' was 'topped and tailed' in record time. Hodder then resolved to come in early in the morning to 'knock off' the remand file.

To Hodder this was an investigation that was losing its appeal by the second. The one constant being, 'Paperwork was, and always had been, a pain in the arse, but an investigation with self-inflicted complications was even worse'.

Hodder hung around the custody suite for a while, and was relieved to see the brief leave his client for the final time that night. He approached him and said in a matter of fact way...'Hey, that was one hell of a day...don't want many more like that'. The brief nodded in agreement and they left the police station together, both being struck by the chill of the bracing easterly wind.

Jim said...'Do you fancy a quick pint, I am drained.... (Please say yes! Please say yes!).

'Yeah' said the brief, with a heavy sigh 'I will see you at The Quay Taphouse, on the Fish Quay. I'm not going anywhere too local with you. After all, I do have a reputation to think of'.

'No worries' said the now delighted Detective, happy in the knowledge that he was about to consummate their new relationship.

North Shields is located about half a mile inland from the mouth of the River Tyne. Indeed, local rumour had it that as long as the imposing headland of Pen Bal Crag, which for the last 1300 years, had been home to Tynemouth Priory, remained standing, then the town would not be swept into the sea. Hodder however, had not been around quite so long, but, for the past twenty two years, he had watched as the town was swept without any apparent resistance into the gutter.

For centuries, travellers had approached 'Shiels' by dangerous waters. These days, the estuary was protected from the ravages of the North Sea by the protective north and south piers. The piers never failed to give one the impression that mariners were about to get swept up by the broad arcing arms of a giant poker player greedily collecting his winnings. This image was to Hodder, both comforting and somewhat disturbing.

Outside the piers, the waters were littered with sunken wrecks whilst inside the town, the streets were littered with drunken wrecks, largely an unforeseen and tragic by-product of the now defunct fishing industry.

Once inside the calming breakwater of the Tyne, sailors were greeted by the sight of Collingwood's Monument, completed in 1849 to recognise the actions of Nelson's second in command. Lord Collingwood took over at Trafalgar and completed the task in hand, following Nelson's demise. He was viewed by many, and north easterners in particular, as being the real hero of the battle. Despite being an imposing and impressive structure, cynics described it as a 'Lego land', version of the Statue of Liberty. Hodder thought it much more impressive...it had to be. After all, it was not French.

Whilst making his way to the quayside, Hodder reflected how much it had changed over the years. He remembered being 'cast out', and afraid, on his first solo foot patrol on a dark winter nightshift. These were the dying days of the fishing fleet where knife crime was still a daily occurrence long before Oxbridge educated politicians suggested 'knife amnesties' and 'hoody hugging'.

These were the days of 'The Jungle' a watering hole of global repute. Even back then, 'The Jungle' originally the 'town house' of the Duke of Northumberland, had clearly seen better days, it seemed to operate in a parallel universe ignoring all conventions, with no need of the police. There, was a kind of peaceful co-existence based on mutual loathing and suspicion.

Nowadays, the quayside had moved upmarket, smart apartments, restaurants and bars now occupying premises that had previously been rat infested filleting sheds and wholesale fish merchants. It seemed to Hodder at least, that the only launderette in the town was not located upon Howdon Road.

Hodder and Randall-Ord agreed not to talk in public about their 'deal' and set about making a substantial dent in the Ruddles and Highland Park at the Quay Taphouse. As the alcohol intake increased, and using a not wholly thought out logic, Hodder figured that the solicitor had plundered enough of the public purse, in legal aid for one day, and he felt honour bound to ransack police expenses. Jim went to get more drinks, and then some more.

At 10.45pm the brief announced with a privately educated slur 'Hee Nuff...itz ohm for me...shee you shoon'.

Hodder's plan appeared to be working, but he was absolutely sick of drinking Ruddles shandy and shorts of ginger ale. He was going to have a proper pint and a proper short... After all, he still had some work to do...but not before a private celebration.

Whilst standing at the bar he watched through the window as Randall-Ord clumsily sauntered over to his silver Audi A6 and get in behind the wheel before driving off.

Now, as a public servant of many years standing, Hodder felt impelled, not to say obligated, to report his suspicions that a driver of a silver coloured A6, registered number FR04 ORD, may well be over the drink drive limit. It was, after all, what all good public spirited individuals should do. Besides that, the Chief Constable was always banging on about 'Inter departmental cooperation'. Well, never let it be said that Jim Hodder didn't take his work seriously. He went over to the public telephone in the corner of the bar, and speaking in his best false Brummie accent, he gave a bogus name and reported the actions of an 'overly refreshed' motorist.

Okay, time for one last pint and a wee dram. Then, back to the 'fun factory'. However, as a responsible member of the community, Hodder got a cab back to the nick, leaving the CID car on double yellow lines, just outside the 'Taphouse'. However, he took the precaution of putting the vehicle log book on public display on the dashboard to prevent it being ticketed by the 'wooden tops' (Uniformed Police Officers).

Black coffee in the deserted CID office, followed by another IOU and a bag of cheese and onion crisps addressed the 'sloshing' fluid in his stomach. Listening closely to the police radio on his desk he would know when it was time to 'accidentally' pop into the custody suite. He did not have to wait very long. For some unknown reason, the corridor to the custody suite had returned to its normal length and the leisurely stroll along it helped to clear the fug in his head.

As he entered the custody suite, voices were raised...'Do you who I am'?...the young traffic officer beamed and responded...'As well as being pissed, the poor bloke has lost his memory too. Can anybody help him out? Should we call a doctor?'...Oh how they all laughed...As the saying goes 'the oldies are the goodies'

Looking at newly arrived Detective Sergeant Hodder, the brief said 'Tell them, go on tell them...I only had a couple of beers...' Years of service had taught Hodder when to stick and when to twist...he quietly gestured to the apoplectic brief to calm down and that he would see him soon.

He left his uniformed colleagues to deal with the solicitor, whose breathing became hastened and erratic. Suspecting an impending coronary, or worse, Hodder thought 'I'm out of here'. Guilt just did not come into it. That parasitic freeloader would use the contents of his voice recorder to screw Jim. That, in the view of Hodder quite simply, was not going to happen.

Coffee time again, and on this occasion two ceramic mugs (one with a generous touch of scotch in it) were taken up to the custody suite. The traffic guys were waiting for the 'Camic' (Breath Test) machine to calibrate, as Jim seized this opportunity to speak to his new best friend, in the detention room, where they both enjoyed a hot beverage, Jim coffee, Francis Randall-Ord **a** soothing Irish Whisky.

Jim had once seen a David Attenborough documentary during which it was proposed that man was separated from other animals because man displayed hospitality and compassion. Jim felt that he was standing shoulder to shoulder with the great Sir David by being so caring to his fellow homosapien, but in reality he was only looking after himself. Survival instinct...maybe we are not too different to the other creatures that walk this earth after all?

'Jim, you got to get me out of here...This will ruin my reputation! As if today has not been bad enough, come on, we're friends aren't we'? Though not particularly good with relationships, Jim could not deny that they were bound together by an invisible umbilical.

'Okay, I will do what I can but you have to understand that Traffic are a law unto themselves and I am not exactly bosom buddies with those lads out there from the 'Hitler Youth' movement'.

Wheezing heavily the brief said 'Can you get me my asthma inhaler, it's in my personal property, surely they can give me that?

'Leave that to me' said Jim helpfully, as he left the room feeling like a mischievous 'Good Samaritan'.

Hodder signed for the inhaler and whilst the Custody Officer was distracted he palmed the solicitor's digital recorder, and put it into his pocket. He arranged for a reunion between the inhaler and the brief whilst he, took his 'booty' to the CID office to listen to the recordings which he had no doubt would have evidence of him conspiring with the brief.

He switched it on and listened intently.

A letter to HMP Durham regarding a client on remand.

A letter to the secretary of his golf club complaining about misuse of parking spaces reserved for committee members.

A letter to a successful applicant for a paralegal job at his practice.

The solicitor had also dictated a letter confirming his transfer to the Local Masonic Hall in the position of Worshipful Master and how he hoped to play a full and meaningful role in the activities of the lodge.

Holy Fuck! Not a thing about Dean Parks, or the 'deal' that they had brokered about him. It seemed that Randall-Ord was going to be as good as his word.

Hodder's cynicism knew no boundaries. He looked at his watch. Was it really that time? No matter, it was time to get the recorder back into the brief's property and get the fuck out of here before the shit really hit the fan. So, on the premise of returning the inhaler, the recorder too was returned to Randall-Ord's property and whilst sealing the property bag he also inadvertently sealed his own fate.

Yet another cab home and yet another feeble explanation to his wife as to why he is late, and, more importantly, why he smells like he has been doing a sponsored swim at a Whisky Distillery.

His side of the bed suddenly felt very narrow. Paralysis overtook him as he was rendered motionless by an elbow to the ribs and a hefty kick to his shin. Is sex out the question he mused? For the umpteenth time that day, 'No reply' seemed to be the predominant answer.

He drifted off into a light dreamless sleep and he awoke to hear the thunderous 'Nordic Goth' sound of 'Theatre of Tragedy' bursting out of his stepdaughter's room. He resolved that he would have to speak to Lauren...just because she kept to a student's clock and lifestyle, did not mean that the rest of the house should not get any sleep.

Both Jim and his bladder were wide awake now, and at least one of them was intent on a visit to the bathroom. He listened to his innards demands, and putting on his robe he padded along the landing just in time to see a youth coming out of the bathroom. He had long black hair, with deathly pale skin, wearing 'y fronts' with flame patterns upon them. He gave Jim a derisory glance, mumbling 'Okay' as he headed towards his stepdaughter Lauren's, room.

Today had been difficult, tomorrow could be worse. The conversation with Lauren was best left for later...perhaps even for his wife, ever mindful of the 'mother-daughter' relationship. He was not in any mood to have an argument with his stepdaughter right now, particularly in front of another member of the 'living dead'. He returned to bed and buried his head under his pillow only surfacing periodically, to check the bedside clock. He did not return to the land of nod that night.

An early start, to a drab miserable overcast day, saw Jim take a cab from home to 'The Quayside Taphouse' to collect the CID car. He walked the last two hundred yards, breathing in the damp coastal air and feeling the first drops of rain.

He approached the car from the front, and was delighted to see that the log book had done the trick. To his relief there wasn't a parking ticket on the windscreen. That was largely due to the fact that there wasn't a fucking windscreen. Some bastard had lobbed a brick through it.

As the rain began to fall heavily, he checked the driver's seat for any hypodermic syringes that may have been pushed up through the upholstery from the underside...the last thing he needed now was to share a needle with some smack head.

It wasn't really the prick who put the needle there, or the prick from the needle that really bothered him. What concerned him most was the wait for the results of the inevitable HIV test that would follow, and the associated lack of sex that went along with it. He didn't get a lot of sex, but he certainly did not want any less. He imagined that the conversation with his wife may go something like this...'Honest darling, I have not been shagging around, but it may be a good idea if you had an HIV test...No, of course I do not inject heroin'.

Giving the car a clean(ish) bill of health, he drove through driving almost horizontal rain that the gods had saved up especially for him. Upon arrival at the police station, he parked the CID car at the side of the building just far enough away from the front door and out of sight of the prying CCTV cameras. With any luck, the car would not be seen or needed until much later in the day, when he hoped to be long gone.

He was going to 'wing it'. He had enough on his plate right now. Someone else could fill in the insurance forms. Dripping wet, he secreted the keys in a uniform shift in-tray and pondered what he would have to write on the insurance forms if he was ever 'bubbled'... and it went something like this...

'After a hard day conspiring with a corrupt solicitor to pervert the course of justice, I decided to 'fit up' said solicitor by getting him drunk at the unauthorised expense of the police. I later orchestrated his arrest and prosecution. I later stole from the prisoner's personal property with a view to blackmailing him. When this failed miserably, I abandoned my co-conspirator to his fate. Oh, by the way, I also dropped some innocent uniform guy 'right in it' for damage to a CID car that he has probably never even seen before.'

This was all in a day's work, and Jim resolved to do what all good Police Officers would do in a similar situation. He was going to fall back on his years of experience and training and lie like fuck. Self-preservation at all costs was Hodder's mantra. Though it is true to say that he was not alone within the police service in adhering to this philosophy.

The CID office was still deserted when he got there and whilst his suit dried on the radiators, Hodder managed to cobble together a passable remand file, and some other 'unrelated paperwork'.

Later on, with a heavy heart and a damp suit, he squelched over to the nearby courthouse, where more in hope than expectation, the CPS lawyer would attempt to secure the remand in local custody of Dean Parks.

Randall-Ord was in the waiting room speaking to a client. He looked up, saw the Police Officer, made a brief insincere apology his shell suited meal ticket, and steered Jim by the arm to a small consultation room just off the main waiting area.

'Where did you get to last night'?

Having already used up his quota of lies for the day, and unsure of how convincing his improvisation would be Hodder replied...'It's Traffic, they wouldn't let me anywhere near you. What happened'?

Doing his best Julian Fellowes impression which he normally reserved for court, Randall-Ord said 'Actually, old chap, it all worked out rather better than one might have imagined. Something was wrong with the Camic machine. It just would not calibrate. My asthma was really playing up so they contacted a Doctor to take blood. It took him hours to arrive. Apparently, he had to sober up before he could drive, and when he did finally arrive, it should have been him who was locked up not me. I think that the blood will come back negative...even if it doesn't I've always been pretty creative when it comes to mitigation...if you know what my mean'.

As he said this he tapped his nose in a 'Monty Python' 'Say No More, Nudge, Nudge, Wink, Wink' kind of way.

Jim Hodder was puzzled for a micro second, then, it dawned on him...this bloke was only the new boss of the Masons. He was clearly in a position to pull a few strings and boy was he going to pull them. The words 'damage limitation' once again meandered through Jim's consciousness and on this occasion he was only thinking of himself.

Hodder was delighted to escape from Randall-Ord when the CPS prosecutor, called to him and asked him to hang around for a short while just to answer any queries that may spring up. Obviously, Jim had no choice in the matter, but he really wanted to be back in the office where he needed to surreptitiously 'burgle' the D.I.'s in-tray and retrieve the 'unrelated paperwork', a report, that he had submitted prior to going to court.

After court, Jim walked into the D.I.'s office and reported that Parks had been remanded to in local custody on a 'three day lie down', to as the ambiguous statement goes 'assist with enquiries'. Whilst talking, he glanced at the in and out document trays on the desk. Both were empty!

There was nothing for it. He would have to do the decent thing. He was going to have to lie to the Boss. He said that he had made a typo on a report he had submitted earlier and wanted to correct it. The D.I. said he hadn't read the report...'Why should I? You're a D.S. for god's sake...it's your job to check other people's paperwork before it comes to me. I'm not paid to check yours...I just put it through...I trust you'.

That was the D.I.'s first mistake.

A broad smile and an impish wink filled the senior man's oval face as he said 'Besides, I've got my hands full with the temps'!

By the time the paperwork was traced through the 'black hole' that is the police service admin system, it was too late. Francis Randall-Ord was now officially a Registered Police Informant.

The informant system is supposed to be highly confidential, with informants using pseudonyms to protect their true identities. However, the facts are that most Detectives working within an office, generally knew who was 'working for' whom within that office. This system generally served two purposes.

One, it prevented you accidently 'shafting' a colleague's informant, and, two, by far the most frequently used option, it actively assisted you to deliberately 'shaft' a colleague's informant. Hodder resolved to do whatever he could to keep his registration of Randall-Ord a closely guarded secret. If this got out Randall-Ord would be inundated with requests for discount rates on conveyancing, wills and divorces. He would in the truest sense of the phrase be 'working for the police'. Jim, was by nature an optimist, but he was also a realist. He knew that he had a created a monster and he hoped against all expectations, that he could control it.

However, he also knew that in an organisation based entirely on truth, trust, responsibility and justice, that as well as there being no truth, trust, responsibility and justice, there were also no such thing as a secret.

And so it was that Detective Sergeant Jim Hodder came to the conclusion that he was fucked!

As he walked back into the CID office, Hodder felt that he was entering a 'hard hat area'. He had to stay cool, and in order to ascertain the mood in the office, he set about ringing his mobile (which he had had the foresight to turn off) and leave a long, pointless and utterly bogus message. It looked like he may be in the clear after all, either that or the damaged car had not been discovered yet.

The main topic of conversation appeared to be a recent very serious crime...someone had screwed the CID shop and an almost full box of 'Kit Kat's' were gone. And worse still, there was not even an IOU in sight! This was major stuff. Jim wondered if they were going to set up an incident room and draft in staff from other Command Areas. This was just the sort of crime that attracted big money funding from the Home Office, and perhaps even a mention on Crimewatch.

'Gee-Gee' announced that he was certain it was 'that lot along the corridor', by which of course he was referring to his uniform colleagues. In the best traditions of the police service, he resolved to get to the bottom of the matter, thus scuppering any chance of him visiting the custody suite any time soon.

'Gee-Gee' a man reputed to have an attention span that, even a gold fish would mock, was soon onto another topic and this time it really was important. By all accounts, there was going to be a 'bit of a do' on at the 'Lodge' that evening and the lads agreed to set off for home early, 'cos it was to quote 'Gee-Gee' 'A D.J. job'.

The guys agreed to leave when the 'back shift' came in. That would give them enough time for a couple of pints before they all went home, before they all came back again, arranging to meet 'Upstairs' (in the Police Social Club) at 6.30pm.

Jim declined the offer of an early pint lying that he had a few errands to run for the CPS, but that he would happily look after the 'factory' until the back shift came in. The lads did not have to be told twice. He reflected how quickly that 'Kit Kat Gate' had lost its importance amongst his colleagues as they scrambled out of the office, making a 'bee-line' for the pub.

When the late shift came in, Jim briefed them and collected the keys for an as yet undamaged CID car, and headed off for some peace and quiet which entirely by accident he found in a pint of Ruddles County in 'The Quay Taphouse'.

As he entered, he recognised a large jovial man who had been behind the bar the previous evening. On this occasion he was doing the Times crossword with a balding friendly man who was displaying an encyclopaedic knowledge of American States, Geology and for some unknown reason Japanese Knotweed. Looking at Jim the large man said...'Two days in a row...you will be becoming a regular at this rate...I saw you in here with 'Francis' last night. Is he your boss? You spent a fortune getting him pissed. I hope he got home alright'.

Jim mumbled something about them working together 'occasionally'. By way of diversion he offered a couple of crossword answers, had a corned beef toastie, a few more beers and before he knew it, it was 10.15pm.

Time to go.

Where the hell was Jeff Baxter? He had better be back tomorrow. He was probably the only realistic chance he had of 'keeping the wheel on'. He needed to work with someone that he could really trust.

When Hodder returned to the office, the main topic of conversation was damage to one of the CID cars and how no one could find the log book, so a witch hunt was bound to ensue. Apparently the D.I. had diverted all resources from 'Kit Kat Gate' and the entire department had turned their attention to identifying the mystery driver of the damaged car.

As Jim walked out of the office and upstairs to the Police Social Club, he said to no one in particular, but loud enough to be heard...'probably that lot along the corridor'.

As he entered the club, the' post party, party' was in full swing. All the usual suspects were there, looking for all the world like the woodwind section of the BBC Symphony Orchestra. Surveying the crowd Jim saw the D.I. in 'full flight', minions laughing loudly, at his boorish, unfunny jokes. The D.I. back slapped a very familiar looking slightly taller overweight man.

Oh No.

It was Randall-Ord **.**

The D.I. turned around unexpectedly and caught Hodder's eye and frantically waved him over. There was nothing he could do...he walked towards the men and as he got closer Randall-Ord said 'Hello Sergeant, I was surprised that you were not at this evenings function'. As he was the only person not in Penguin attire it was a fairly pointless question. Before he could answer the D.I. said 'Didn't know you two knew each other'.

'Oh yes' said the brief as he slowly sipped his whisky, narrow, snake-like eyes pinning Jim to the spot...'Oh yes,...we know each other'.

Hodder was really beginning to believe that 'There is no situation that a Police Officer cannot make worse'.
CHAPTER FOUR

The relationship between prisoner and Police Officer is not quite as adversarial as the uninitiated may imagine.

This may be because, they, and they alone, share the rarefied atmosphere of 'reality', or to put it rather more bluntly, a 'la David Cameron and George Osborne that they are 'In it together'. In fact, Cameron and Osborne felt so deeply 'In it together' that they 'borrowed' the phrase from Sir Winston Churchill. However, they were clearly not 'In it together' enough with the great man to attribute the line to him even though he first coined it on 8th May 1952, almost twenty years to the day before Osborne entered this world.

Naturally, the interviewer and interviewee have entirely different agendas but it is only when there is a true meeting of their minds that genuine progress can be made. And the one essential catalyst that is known to accelerate the building of these intellectual 'bridges' is... tobacco.

It was the one 'gateway' drug that Jim approved of. He had never smoked a cigarette in his life, but regularly bought a pack of twenty with his daily newspaper, and like all non-smokers he always forgot to buy matches or a lighter. Over the years, cigarettes had opened more doors for Hodder than any number of crow bars, battering or hydraulic rams, and on this occasion, he hoped that, once again, he could pull a rabbit out of the hat, and before long have Dean Parks singing like a bird and smoking like a beagle.

And so it was whilst standing in the internal exercise yard of the police station that the embryonic beginning of what the Detective hoped to be a fruitful relationship was born. Simple acts of kindness, a rare act of humanity to a person used to being put upon by the system are one of the few legal pleasures in his life.

Hodder mused how this was probably the first time in a very long time that Parks had actually smoked 'real tobacco' and not some cheap imitation or 'snide' copy. It was at times like this that he wondered if the approved pedlars of death i.e. the major tobacco companies felt superior to their counterfeit counterparts in that 'At least we tell you what is going to kill you...we have researched it properly...buy our product...you can rely on us to kill you by a variety of means whilst collecting duty for the government of the day'.

Leaning against a wall, hands in pocket and his right leg on a deflated football which had been in the yard for as long as he could remember Jim said ' We have three days before you go back to court...we really should talk I can help you despite what you might think.

'Mr. Randall-Ord said that you should not talk to me without him'.

Kicking the ball across the narrow yard, it barely made it to the other wall as Jim said, 'It's okay for him to say that, he is not looking at a lengthy stretch'. He went on 'I bet that he would not swap his converted barn for your cell...sometimes mate, just sometimes, these posh guys, they do not understand...Your future does not bother him one bit...it bothers me tho'.

'Why should it bother you'?

'The system is going to shaft you. It needs no help from me, but I can help you through the system but I need something in return'.

'What would that be then'?

Jim slipped a packet of sweets from his pocket, popped one into his mouth and offered the packet to Parks...'No thanks...I don't eat sweets' he replied as he kicked the ball back towards Hodder. 'You can get me a paper though, the one in the cell is ancient. I'm sick of reading last year's news'.

'That should not be a problem. Now, assuming that you have not assassinated any presidents or popes or committed 'nunnocide' recently, we can sort things out'.

'And why would you do that'?

Feeling confident, for the first time in a long time Hodder continued, 'You see, I like a quiet life. I don't expect you to fully understand this right now, but, I am a victim of the system too. In order for the system to exist it has to be fed. Unfortunately, for both of us it is my job to feed the system. The good news is that the system does not mind who is put through the 'mincing machine' as long as someone is. So, what I am saying to you is give me something for the system and I will make sure that the system gives you something in return'.

'What do you have in mind'?

Sensing a flicker of understanding Hodder said 'Do you like your friends'?

'Of course I do. What sort of question is that'?

'Do you like your family'?

'Well, apart from the time my cousin shagged our lass. Yeah. But I sorted that fucker out'

'Do you like your enemies'?

'Yeah. Top of me fucking Christmas card list! What do you think'?

'Who do you hate most in the world'?

'Kurt Shapp....he screwed my mother's house last Christmas, and stole all the grand bairns presents. I never get sick of punching his fucking face in'.

'Who do you hate second most'?

'David Palma, he must be a grass, that's why he keeps getting bail'.

'Give him to me. I don't want to deprive you of the pleasure of regular liaisons with Mr Shapp'.

'My solicitor says that I should not trust you'.

Hodder drew closer to Parks wincing at the smell of stale tobacco and an even staler body....'And you can trust your solicitor, can you?...you need to learn a lot about the system...look at your previous convictions and the amount of time you have spent inside...looks like he really plays a blinder for you in court doesn't it'? And with that Jim said cheerily 'Okay, tea break over, gonna call your brief soon so we can all waste our time going through another 'no reply' interview. Then I'll go and have a beer, before coming back here and call your brief again for another interview just in time to spoil his lobster bisque. Then I call my colleagues from Sunderland who want to talk to you about another offence and so it goes on and on'.

'You are wasting your time there...they tried to do me for the Sunderland one ages ago...got no evidence'.

'No', said Jim 'What you mean is that they do not have any DNA...'But I have...'

With that Dean Parks was taken back to his cell and was left to stew on a slow regular heat.

Before leaving the cell block Hodder returned to the exercise yard and taking a clear plastic evidence bag from his inside jacket pocket he picked up four discarded cigarette butts from the floor. He figured that they may 'come in handy'. By the time Hodder got back to the CID office, he once again turned off the covert recording device, which was proving to be a pretty useful addition to his armoury.

By now, the damage to the unmarked car had assumed even greater significance, and a number of uniformed nightshift staff had been woken from their sleep and grilled over the telephone. The mystery was no closer to being solved and all that had happened was that an even greater chasm (than usual) had grown between uniform and CID. It was far too late to be struck by a crisis of conscience and come clean regarding the damage. Besides, Hodder had bigger fish to fry and sacrificial lamb was most definitely off the menu as was, still, apparently, Kit Kat.

In the corner of the office a serious discussion was taking place over whether a combination or key lock should be fitted to the CID fridge in order to stem the 'crime wave' within the office. The United Nations have addressed the Middle East crisis with less gravitas. The general consensus was that a key lock would be better, but then 'Gee-Gee' had to go and spoil it all by talking about nominated key holders. He was then promptly 'volunteered' by one of the lads.

It was even suggested that he could place his name on the key holder system on the force computer, so he could attend to the fridge should it ever be the scene of another serious crime. Hodder could not resist 'chipping in' and helpfully suggested that he was confident that 'Gee-Gee' would not mind being called out at 3.00am if someone wanted a twix or a sherbet dib dab as a matter of urgency. He had to fight an intrusive image as he visualised 'Gee-Gee' turning out in the small hours wearing an embroidered silk dressing gown, carpet slippers, a 'Marquis of Bath' fez and cigarette holder in hand.

A telephone rang in the office, and as usual it was greeted by frenetic false activity. Hitherto inert persons grabbed whatever piece of paper that may be at hand, studying it earnestly as if it were proof of extra-terrestrial life or the latest guide to internationally renowned North Korean comedians. In short, the phones were generally ignored. 'After all, suggested Gee Gee' helpfully, Isn't that why God invented temps'?

Washed over by a tsunami of indifference, Hodder answered the phone and spoke to the irritatingly jovial Custody Officer who told him that Parks wanted to speak to him. Jim said 'What time is his brief coming'?

'Doesn't want his brief...he wants you'.

Jesse Owens, Valerie Bortzov, Michael Johnson, Usain Bolt. Eat your hearts out. They would have all been trailing behind in the wake of Hodder, fighting it out for silver and bronze as he 'ate up' the yardage from the CID office to the custody suite in what was sure to be a world record time.

The ever obliging Custody Officer gave Hodder access to Parks on the strict instructions that he should not give him any drugs or alcohol. Violence was not mentioned so, therefore, apparently acceptable. Taking him from his cell as quietly as possible...there really was no need to alert the other prisoners, and provoke the 'cell chatter' that continued around the clock.

Once in the exercise yard Jim produced a cigarette and a borrowed lighter and said in mock 'Adams Family' voice 'You Rang'.

'Did you mean what you said'?

'Which particular part...I said quite a bit to you'?

'Can you get me out'?

'I can get you out for a few hours today. But, you have to do it my way...can't stop you having to go back to court, but I can ease the way for you. Your brief cannot do that. He is not inside the system...he just feeds off it'?

'What do you want'?

'I want David Palma first'

'Then what'?

'I want you'?

'Not that way inclined mate... Me rapist remember'!

'Not that way you fuck wit! You have to come clean with me so that together we can sort you out...stop you getting arrested time and time again. As you know the more that you are arrested the more likely that you are going to face a whole new set of charges...and in this game charges equals jail time. Let's call it damage limitation'.

'How do I know that I can trust you'?

'The facts are you don't...but do you see any better offers on the table right now...I could give your brief a call but the truth is mate...he does not care about you. You are just a meal ticket. Are you aboard or not'? (Hodder made a mental note to complete his expenses form for the last evening's entertainment!)

'He is supposed to be on my side'.

Hodder moved in a bit closer...'Has the penny not dropped Dean?...he is on HIS side...as long as you sign the legal aid forms he does not give a flying fuck about you. It is in his interest to keep you remanded in custody on a not guilty plea...he makes a fortune, disputing strong prosecution evidence, gathering futile defence evidence and you pay the price with your time...You just keep the wheels of the legal profession and his Audi turning. He will happily throw you to the dogs and blissfully represent the owners if the same fucking dogs savage you'!

The Detective let the silence grow...he knew this was good... It was one of the few things he remembered from his interview techniques course...'It's called managing the silence', he would often say to his wife when she was berating him for coming home reeking of alcohol when the truth of the matter was that he was simply incapable of coherent speech

Returning to the Custody Officer Jim said that his prisoner wanted to officially speak to him and that it would be very helpful if the fact could be noted on the custody record together with a signature from Parks indicating that he would he delighted to have this discussion without the benefit of legal representation.

Duly obliged, Hodder and his prisoner sat in the 'linen cupboard' with ceramic mugs of just coffee where the reprehensible actions of David Palma were outlined. Jim learnt that said 'Mr Palma' was presently the proud custodian of a consignment of some two hundred smart phones that had mysteriously appeared in his lock up barn at Friardene Farm having previously, and very mysteriously, disappeared from a container that was parked upon the Tyne Tunnel Trading Estate two days ago.

BINGO....Phase one was now complete.

When they had finished talking...Hodder made sure that Parks had drawn a diagram of the precise location of the barn complete with Park's fingerprints and scribbled instructions....well, you can never have enough evidence can you?

Parks said **'** You said you could get me out for a bit. Can I go and see wor lass'.

Jim said 'Yeah, of course you can. As you know we operate an 'open door policy' here. Can you be back by 7.00 o'clock otherwise the Custody Officer will go nuts if you are late for dinner... It's Chicken Chasseur tonight, and as you know... he is a stickler for punctuality'....

'You don't quite understand the way it works Dean. I have to take you out and it is at this point that you volunteer information to me about offences for which you have not been arrested or charged and at your request we go out and you show me what you have done. The good news is that because we are not on tape, nothing will be recorded that will cause you too much bother. Now, if you are a good boy, we can swing by your place, say 'hello' to your lass, but, seriously, there will be no time for a quick shag or anything, shagging after all, has got you in enough trouble already'.

Parks said 'I should get my brief, when we go out...just to be sure'.

Conveniently forgetting to tell the prisoner that his solicitor would advise him not to leave the discomfort of his cell, Hodder said 'By all means give him a call, but I think that you will find that he is not covered by the terms of your legal aid certificate to accompany you out of the police station'.

With a shrug which strongly suggested that he was going to accept the inevitable, Parks said 'Didn't know that'. 'Neither did I' thought Jim...'but it was worth the punt'.

For the next twenty minutes or so Hodder and Parks spoke about his recent activities there were a number of good quality burglaries, naturally, Parks steered clear of any intrusions into students, or their accommodation, but Hodder was not too concerned because he still had the Sunderland offence up his sleeve.

Parks was then returned to his cell whilst Jim made a number of necessary office based enquiries to establish:

Was there any record of the offences that Parks had just mentioned?

Were they still 'undetected'? It was not unknown for crimes to be 'detected' in 'error'...or so the official report would state should the 'wheel come off'.

More importantly, was Parks at liberty at the times of the offences and therefore capable of committing them.

Had the theft of the smart phones been reported? Yes it had. Had it been detected? No. it had not. Hodder's sleeve was feeling somewhat congested...because this information was going to have to remain up there along with 'Fr-Ord-gate' and 'Car-gate'.

So far, so good. All Jim had to do now was to wait for Jeff Baxter to get back from court. He trusted Baxter implicitly, and they had a deep understanding of what each was required to do when they were out of the 'nick' with a prisoner.

Naturally, Hodder would tell Baxter everything about his 'cell conversation' with the brief, apart from his error in registering Randall-Ord as an informant. For his part, Baxter would play 'the dumb driver' feigning disinterest, but listening intently, only occasionally throwing in the odd 'prompt' from the front of the car...only marginally assisted by the pile of undetected crime reports upon the adjacent passenger seat.

When Baxter returned from court he was in truth exhausted, having just been 'filleted' by an aggressive young barrister. He was less than enthusiastic about taking Parks out but, he did see it as recognition of the level of trust and confidence that Hodder had in him. In truth, he had learnt a lot from Jim, enjoyed his company, and was secretly flattered that the man who was effectively his boss showed so much faith in him.

And so it was, that armed with a clip board, a pile of undetected crime reports and a paper continuation of the custody record that they left the police station. The purpose of the continuation sheet was to enable a contemporaneous record to be made of the journey, together with any 'comments' that the prisoner may elect to proffer whilst they out of the station.

Baxter brought an as yet, undamaged car into the secure cage at the rear of the police station, and with handcuffs on one wrist, Hodder led Parks to the rear of an unmarked Vauxhall Astra. Jim 'cuffed' him to the interior door handle and settled down in the rear beside him. Hodder was nothing if not at traditionalist and he used the old fashioned 'chain link' cuffs. He did this largely because he was resistant to change and additionally, from a practical point of view, they fitted snugly into a small leather pouch upon his belt.

Hodder soon came to the conclusion that sitting in the rear of the car with Parks had been a very unwise move. Jim should have insisted that Parks had had a shower before they left the nick. In the heat of the day Parks was percolating along just nicely, and before they were finished Hodder was confident that they would all smell the same...utterly rancid.

As they left the police station and passed the court building, Hodder told Parks to pull his 'hoody' up and to get his head down. Hodder did not want him to be recognised by a bunch of 'knuckle trailers' who were standing outside the building, chain smoking, spitting and obviously celebrating that one of their number had just been granted bail or even better had been acquitted.

Jeff Baxter had learnt well from the older man, and in keeping with an age old custom, he sounded the horn of the CID car and waved at the group outside the court. Without even looking, one of their number instinctively waved back at the vehicle. Oh how he regretted it! It was too late, a broad grin spread across Baxter's face as he watched the melee in the rear view mirror. His mates were laying into the 'waver'...'No wonder the bastard got bail...he's a grass...he's waving at the fucking CID'.

All was fair in war. Besides, you got to get your laughs anywhere you can. Jeff directed the vehicle to areas where he knew that a high proportion of students lived. These areas were traditionally areas of high crime, and true to his 'dishonest' word Parks started pointing out a number of dwellings that he said that he had broken into. Neither officer pressed him for too much information, they could cover any confessions made during an additional tape recorded interview later. Furthermore, they certainly did not stray into the area of any undetected sexual assaults for fear of Parks 'closing down'.

After an hour or so, the smell was getting all too much, and it felt to Hodder that the usefulness of the exercise, unlike the smell inside the car was beginning to evaporate. Consequently, Baxter pointed the car back towards the office. However, whilst passing a street of large semi-deserted Victorian terraced houses which were earmarked for demolition, Parks said 'Go down the back lane...I will show you where there is a shotgun'.

Now, Hodder liked nothing more than unexpected bonuses and the real truth of the matter was that he was a bit of a glory hunter. He was not really concerned about the prisoner's welfare, he was more concerned about his own. Experience had taught Hodder that it was easier to write off undetected crimes by way of having them 'taken into consideration' at court rather than to do a separate prosecution file for each detection.

It was an economy of effort that had stood him in good stead over the years. Good for force detection figures and good for the environment. Just how many trees had Hodder saved over the past two decades? He was confident that the command block would have approved. It was after all, their system. He even felt sure that his actions would meet with the approval of Friends of the Earth too!

As they negotiated their way down the narrow back lane and around the burnt out shell of a Transit van, Parks told Baxter to stop the car beside a solid wooden gate set into the eight foot high wall. 'If you go into the yard there is a shotgun just inside the back door of the house'.

'How do you know that' asked Hodder....'I put it there' said Parks

Getting out of the car Hodder tried the back gate. It was closed, so he scaled the wall and stood on the roof of a brick outhouse, presumably an outside toilet, and he looked at the rear of the house. He saw that it was vacant but insecure. He shouted down to Parks 'Where is it then'?

'Told you. Just inside the back door. Go and have a look...it was there a couple of days ago'.

Sensing a chance to distinguish himself, Hodder jumped down into the yard and made his way towards the open back door. He was already formulating a plan. If, indeed, as Parks had said, there was a weapon on the premises he would have to call out an 'Authorised Firearms Officer' to make the weapon safe and oversee its recovery. A.F.O.'s were by nature, according to the gospel by 'St Jim Hodder', trigger happy, gung-ho frustrated SAS men and women, short on patience and overly aggressive, but he had to concede that they did have their uses.

Jim had one theory when it came to firearms, and A.F.O.'s in particular, 'You should never give a firearm to anyone who has expressed an interest in having one'. As he walked across the yard towards the open back door, broken glass crunched under his feet and a ginger cat hissed loudly as it ran from the interior. Once over the threshold, Jim smelt the all too familiar odour of human excrement...what was it about people with loose bowels and empty buildings? He looked around the musty interior, being careful where he placed his feet and in the half light, he pulled a small 'maglite' from his jacket pocket.

It barely flickered, and he reproached himself for not replacing the batteries earlier...just then his right foot stepped into the source of the disgusting smell. Flies buzzed around his head as he inspected his footwear. Why does this always happen when you were wearing new shoes? After impatiently looking around the kitchen and living room, he went back outside and climbed back onto the outhouse roof. Speaking to Parks through the open car window he said 'Nothing there...if it was there it has gone'.

Parks said 'Look I will show you...it was definitely there'.

Hodder told Baxter to get Parks out of the car. It was clear by the look on Baxter's face that in his opinion, that this did not rank amongst the wisest of Hodder's suggestions. Baxter liked Hodder, but not right now.

Hodder said that he would slip the other end of the handcuff on his own wrist so that Parks was not able to run, all he had to do was to help him onto the wall where Hodder would secure the prisoner to himself.

This did not even sound good in theory, but Baxter did not want to show open dissent to his senior colleague, especially in the presence of the prisoner, so, very reluctantly he released Parks from the door handle. Baxter then got him out of the car and made Parks reach up with his handcuffed wrist as Hodder pulled him up onto the top of the wall before steadying himself on the slightly sloping outhouse roof.

As Hodder held Parks by the arm to steady him he told him to slip the handcuff on his (Hodder's) wrist. Suddenly Parks pushed at Hodder who stumbled backwards almost falling off the outhouse roof over the wall and onto the roof of the police car below.

Hodder frantically grabbed at thin air with great windmill movements of his arms, and miraculously found himself hanging onto the back of Parks' hooded jacket. He pulled at it in an effort to prevent himself falling further backwards. As he did so, the material began to tear and Parks began to lose his own footing as if he, too, was going to fall onto the vehicle. Finding a burst of strength from somewhere, Parks dug his heels into the concrete roof of the outhouse and forced his upper body away from Hodder and springing forward he jumped from the roof and into the yard.

The momentum of this was enough to pull Hodder forward and off the roof and once again into the glass strewn yard. Hodder landed on all fours cutting his palms as his arms absorbed all of his weight.

Keeping his eyes on the disappearing Parks, Hodder watched as the prisoner flew through the open door of the property his feet clattering loudly on the bare floorboards. A partially completed thought flashed through Hodder's mind...'Hope the bastard slips on that shit just inside the door'...he didn't.

Hodder ran through the kitchen reaching to his belt clip for his radio...what a time to realise that he had left it in the police car. He quickly looked into the living room there was no sign of Parks. It was now time for a fully formed thought to pass through his mind...' I am fucked...I have lost a prisoner...How am I going to get out of this...more importantly...How can I protect Baxter...he was just doing what I told him to do'.

Thinking that he had been in more than enough shit for one day, Hodder sprinted from the living room and back into the yard. He shouted over the wall, telling Baxter to get the car around to the front of the property. He also suggested, but not entirely calmly, that Baxter should call for assistance on his radio.

Once back inside the property, Hodder heard footfalls stomping noisily upstairs and clattering across the naked floorboards above, the sound was deafening, and echoed around the upstairs bedrooms. Parks was obviously checking all of the rooms and looking for a way out of the building. Then he found it.

Hodder heard an almighty crash from above as an armchair landed in the front street outside. The chair had obviously been launched out of the window. Hodder instinctively sped into the living room and looking through the bay window and into the street outside he saw Parks 'flying' past the window from above, landing heavily in the middle of the road amidst much broken glass. He clumsily got to his feet before turning to his left and smiling broadly at Hodder he sprinted from view.

Baxter was not yet in the street, so Hodder made his way to the front door where he opened it from the inside.

The fucking door was boarded up from the outside. No amount of kicking would force the plywood board loose. Why was it thought Hodder that criminals did not seem to encounter such obstacles whilst going about their unlawful business? There was only one way out and that was through the kitchen and back out over the wall again.

Finding an untapped source of energy, Hodder vaulted onto the outhouse roof and down from the wall, before sprinting around the block to the front of the property. When he got there Baxter was getting out of the car which was parked a couple of houses down from the house with a shattered first floor window.

Wheezing and panting heavily, Hodder shuddered to a halt where he saw that a crowd of a dozen or so locals had gathered from inside one or two of the still occupied houses.

Oh how they laughed. And laughed and laughed.

Just at this point, a number of police sirens could be heard in the distance. Hodder, told Baxter to ignore his radio and not to update the control room...Jim knew that his head was going to roll but he was in no mood for a public execution.

When the uniformed officers arrived Hodder told them that they were in pursuit of someone they wanted to arrest and that he thought that he was inside one of the houses nearby. The truth was that Parks could have been anywhere. He had had plenty of time to get out of the street before either Hodder or Baxter had arrived at the front of the property. This, for Hodder, was all about saving face, and showing that he had done enough to cover his back. More importantly, he needed to save Baxter's skin because he was clearly not at fault for this debacle.

The indifference from the uniformed officers was obvious. Some of their number had just been 'fitted up' for damage to a CID car. No one was going to bust a gut to get Hodder out of the hole he was digging for himself.

In an attempt to show some form of authority, Hodder approached one of the 'spectators' and announced that he suspected that Parks was hiding inside his house. The man who was holding a Liquorice Allsorts mug sipped confidently as he said 'You're not coming in here without a warrant'.

Sensing his confidence draining quicker than the contents of the mug Jim said 'I am in pursuit of someone unlawfully at large. I am going to search your house'.

'No you are fucking not' and with that an almighty brawl erupted during which woman and children hurled abuse and anything else close at hand at the officers. Three of their number, were arrested for minor public order offences.

For his troubles Hodder got a badly bruised ego. To make matters worse, the Liquorice Allsorts mug found its way through the windscreen of the CID car. The windscreen and the mug immediately shattered into countless small pieces, but not nearly as many pieces as Hodder's ego. As a face saving exercise the man who threw the mug was immediately arrested for criminal damage.

Worse still however, was the major loss of credibility in front of the already less than enamoured uniform staff. At least, if there any form of justice...none of them would be blamed for the latest damage to the latest damaged CID car.

By the time the prisoners had been removed from the scene and the house searched Parks was well away, probably enjoying a quiet pint and a not so quiet laugh at the expense of the police and Hodder in particular.

Back at the office and fielding calls from the control room, who were demanding an update Hodder waited to see the D.I. and as he did so the following words meandered through his consciousness. 'There is no situation that a Police Officer cannot make worse'.

CHAPTER FIVE

Whilst waiting to enter the 'Mine Field', otherwise known as the D.I.'s office Hodder set Baxter the task of processing the four arrested persons as he circulated Parks as being 'Wanted' on both the Force Computer and the Police National Computer.

He knew that Parks would show up sooner or later. They always did. He knew from experience that people like Parks were like homing pigeons...they always returned, maybe not always to the correct 'loft', but somewhere pretty close. It was only a question of time as to when and where he would surface. Hodder had to be patient, however, he knew that the D.I. would not be quite so generous with his time.

Walking into the D.I.'s office, clutching the 'Wanted Folder' containing all that he wanted the D.I. to know about Parks, Hodder knew that he was in trouble when instead of being invited to sit he was told to close the door.

Feeling like a schoolboy standing before the headmaster, Hodder placed the file on the desk and decided that if blame was going to be apportioned, then he was going to take it. After all, none of this had been Baxter's fault, and he would make sure that the D.I. knew that. Hodder did not want to put the skids under Baxter's career before it had really got going.

It may not have been entirely charitable, but Hodder thought 'Well, he can take the blame for his own mistakes, God knows, he will make a few and will have enough time to atone for his own sins'.

The D.I. was in the view of Hodder, an over promoted fool...he was however, still the D.I. and as such, his rank, if not the man, required the requisite amount of respect because stupid or not, he could still make life pretty difficult for him. The senior man barely lifted his head in an effort to 'create the moment' and increase any tension that Hodder may have been feeling at the time. It didn't really work, but Hodder did not let it show. The truth was that Hodder who was infinitely more experienced than his boss had been grilled in court by many a skilled advocate, all, bar none, were far more intimidating than the D.I.

Apart from one occasion, when he was young in service, Hodder had never taken in any water, but he was of the opinion that you had to be burnt once or twice, just to learn how close to the flame it was comfortable enough to stand. In the seasoned opinion of Hodder, this was not likely to be the second such occasion, so, he felt comfortable leaving his 'cerebral extinguishers' outside the office.

Hodder, however, knew that he had to hold his nerve, but he was mindful that he was still walking a very dangerous path, and that an explosion could occur at any time. He was determined not to be a casualty...and he secretly resolved that Parks would pay for this, even though he accepted that he was in this position largely because of his own folly. He also had to concede, privately at least, that when the adrenalin starting pumping he acted in a wholly unprofessional, erratic manner, bordering at times on the obsessive. It could so easily have turned out far worse than it had done, and it was more down to good luck than good management that it had not.

He also knew that deep down that The Control Room, the D.I. and the uniform staff who came to his assistance, did not believe a single word that he was saying. He felt like a laughing stock. The D.I. would probably accept a lie, but not one that brought scorn firstly on him (the D.I.) and secondly, upon his department. He could only imagine how The D.I. would feel when the truth got out as he knew it eventually would.

There was a knock on the office door and turning around Hodder saw that 'Gee-Gee' was standing there with one cup of coffee and a plate of digestive biscuits. Clearly, this was a pre-planned power play to demonstrate to Hodder that he was an outsider, persona non gratis, and that the D.I. was the boss, and that being the boss, that he meant business. It was not very subtle, or very effective, but once again he could not let it show.

If 'Gee-Gee' could be relied upon for anything, it was for siding with the bosses. Popularity was not an issue for people like 'Gee-Gee', survival was the order of the day, as far as he was concerned, and as he had consistently demonstrated over the years, 'Gee-Gee' was a born survivor. Indeed, the rumour in the office was that in the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust only cockroaches and 'Gee-Gee' would survive. If there was any truth in that theory, Hodder did not wish to have any part of that world, and indeed, given time, he suspected that even the cockroaches would find no comfort in the arrangement.

A small smile spread across Hodder's face...he knew that the meeting would not last long...the stench from a trail of excrement leading from the office door to the desk was beginning to fill the warm air conditioned office. At this moment, contrary to how he felt on uncharacteristically temperate days, Hodder was incredibly grateful that the architect who had designed the building did not include any windows that could be opened.

Security at any price! However, it may just secure Hodder's imminent release. As his mood improved, Hodder also knew that 'Gee-Gee' would get the blame even though the evidence of who was responsible for the 'pollution' was clearly still visible on the soles of his own shoes. Lifting his head, and with a barely perceptive wriggle of his nose, the D.I. said 'Bit of a mess here Jim...you have put me in a difficult position. The D.C.I. has been onto Professional Standards, they are obviously, going to want to talk to you. I am under a bit of pressure to suspend you...but I don't want to (he lied)...'

Hodder jumped in and said 'I understand that, the prisoner was violent and determined to get away, there was nothing I could do about it. By the way, young Baxter was just doing what I told him. He is in no way responsible. I would hate to see Professional Standards come down on him. What happened was entirely down to me. There is no need to suspend me I have some leave to take, why don't I take a few days off...Parks has been circulated, he will turn up. The 'Rubber Heelers' can visit me at home. That way I am out of your hair, but still able to assist Professional Standards'.

After what seemed like hours of endless indecision, the D.I. said 'I have to be seen to be acting in a decisive way. I will tell the D.C.I. that I have sent you home on enforced leave. But I warn you that you may yet still be suspended. Do not do anything that makes things any worse for yourself (meaning himself, the D.I.). And I am warning you now: Do not interfere with this enquiry...Am I making myself completely clear...You are not out of the woods yet. Keep in touch with me. Remember this, if I get touched by this in any way that is bad for me, I will burn you alive.

When we are finished here go and see the D.C.I. he wants to know what we are going to tell the press. Meanwhile, I am going to allocate the wanted file to Baxter, and when you see him tell him that he is a very lucky lad not to be in the same boat as you. After a few seconds quiet study of the file in front of him the D.I. said 'By the way...Parks? He sounds familiar. Why would I know him'?

'Got no idea boss', lied Hodder...he was not about to drop himself further in it...he had not included the Sunderland evidence in the 'Wanted File' for fear of stirring up some long forgotten memory within the D.I. and therefore some brand of revenge that he had hitherto managed to keep suppressed.

It was clear to both men that the meeting was coming to a natural conclusion and as Hodder turned to leave, the D.I. sniffed the air and complained about the smell in his office.

Ignoring the trail of excrement on the carpet, Jim left the office, but before going upstairs to the 'Command Corridor' to see the D.C.I. he decided to go to the outside workshop and clean his shoes with a 'jet washer', which was normally reserved for cleaning the police vehicles. As he was going outside he heard the D.I. scream at the top of his voice 'Gee-Gee, get your fucking arse in here and bring a fucking mop'.

'Life was not too bad after all' thought Hodder.

Minutes later, walking along the 'Command Corridor', he approached the D.C.I.'s office with considerably less trepidation than he had entered the D.I.'s. This was largely because Hodder and the D.C.I. went back a long way, and they had successfully worked together as Detective Sergeants in a branch of the Home Office which did not officially exist. Indeed, its funding appeared on audited accounts as 'Stationary, Vehicle Costs and Building Maintenance'. Its very existence had exercised investigative journalists for years, though none had come closer than mere innuendo.

They were both very much of the 'old school' both mavericks, but unlike Hodder, the D.C.I. was a skilled politician. D.C.I. Benjamin Heath QPM, was universally regarded as being one of the most professional investigators the force had ever produced. He had a calm, authoritive manner, cool under pressure, and not in the least bit 'senior officer-ish'. It was almost as if he had achieved his rank by accident. In truth, he was quite the most devious man that Hodder had ever met. They were kindred spirits and they had a deep professional respect for each other that manifested in a genuine friendship outside of work.

Knocking on the open door, some conventions must after all, be adhered to. There could have been anyone (i.e. Professional Standards) sitting out of view within the office. Hodder stood on the threshold. Heath looked up over his half-moon glasses and seeing Hodder, cheerfully said 'Hello Jim, come in mate, have a seat'. Without further ado, he picked up his telephone dialled an internal number and obviously speaking to his secretary, asked for coffee.

A few moments of genuine 'pleasantries' 'How are the kid's' etc were exchanged before the coffee and CHOCOLATE digestives were brought in. Hodder was eating at the top table. Who needed plain digestives when there were chocolate digestives to be had? Rank clearly had its privileges. Jim had arrived.

'Well, Jim, if I am to believe that lot downstairs, you should be clearing out your locker and planning your leaving do.

But...But, I know you, and there is more to this than meets the eye. So are you going to tell me...it's got something to do with you 'registering' that solicitor hasn't it?

Hodder, for the first time, feeling that he was getting into deep water shuffled uneasily in his seat and said 'Look Ben, I tried to pull that report. I may have acted a bit hastily doing that, but I had very good reason for doing it'.

'And are you going to tell me?...no one downstairs knows a thing about it and I only recognised the name because I have come up against him in court myself...so, what is going on'?

Irrespective of rank, Hodder, knew that he could trust his friend. He also knew that if anyone could smooth things out and give him the 'heads up' it was going to be Ben Heath. And so, Hodder told the whole story. Everything. Everything from the covertly recorded conversations, to the solicitor's apparently unfortunate arrest to losing the prisoner. Nothing was left out. Apart from, that is, the damage to the Police vehicle.

When he had finished, Heath ordered more coffee saying to Hodder, 'When my secretary lets it out that we have been having a bit of a 'bun fight' in here it will really set the cat amongst the pigeons downstairs, so look out'. Ben Heath said that he would deal with the press release, the safety of Parks' victim and ensure that anything that come up would be dealt with. 'Now...Go home. Forget about this and relax.

Hodder looked at his old friend and said 'Would you'?

Ben Heath said 'Of course I wouldn't. Do you know it's at times like these that I really wish that I was back on the tools. I mean, apart from the occasional bit of 'specialised handling' of which we are not allowed to talk, I do not even get to investigate murders anymore...learnt loads about Home Office statistics and budgetary constraints though. Jim, watch your back and tell young Baxter not to worry. If he is good enough for you he is good enough for me...don't tell him that bit though, it may go to his head. Now fuck off I've got some coffee to drink'.

Hodder returned to his desk, submitted a duty report regarding the damage to the (second) CID car and collected a couple of personal items including his covert recorder. He needed a drink, but not anywhere where the rest of the lads were likely to turn up.

On his way out of the building, Hodder dropped into the custody suite where Baxter was just finishing off with the last of the four prisoners. It seemed that three of them were candidates for an adult caution, whilst the fourth, the man whose house was now depleted by one Liquorice Allsorts mug, was to be charged with criminal damage to the CID car.

A basic file to write. 'That shouldn't take you too long to do Jeff 'chipped in Hodder helpfully. In not the greatest known attempt at black humour Hodder suggested to Baxter that he should consider discussing the damage to 'the other vehicle' with the prisoner. The 'offer' was impolitely declined by Baxter with a 'Fuck off Sergeant'.

Baxter said that he had had enough for the day, but demonstrating the breaking strain of 'a warm crunchy bar', and because he knew he was being kept in the dark he acceded to Hodder's invitation, agreeing to meet him at 'The Quay Taphouse' for a strategic meeting and much needed drink.

There was no way Hodder was going to leave this for other people to sort out. Despite the threat of suspension or worse, Hodder had created this problem, and he was going to sort it out. He did not know how or when, but he was going to find Dean Parks.

Walking alone along the quayside towards 'The Quay Taphouse', Hodder felt that he was being prodded in the back and propelled along the footpath by the icy fingers of the bracing nor easterly wind which was one of the least attractive climatic features of life at the coast. Once inside, he was again greeted by the large man who was doing 'The Times' crossword, presumably, not exactly the same crossword.

'You are becoming a regular after all...would that be a Ruddles and a Highland Park'? Pointing to a secluded corner he said 'Francis is over there he seems a bit down today it's not like him. He's usually larger than life'.

Taking his drinks together with a Highland Park for 'Francis', Hodder had no alternative but to join the solicitor who was studiously doing his own 'Times Crossword'. As Hodder approached, he cast a shadow over the newspaper, as well as 'Francis's' life which caused the solicitor to look up and sigh 'Oh, no not you...bad things happen to me when I drink with you'...

Without thinking Hodder was about to apologise but then he realised that 'Francis' still had no idea that he had been responsible for his arrest. 'Best not raise the matter' he strategically suggested to himself internally.

They drank in an uneasy silence, both concentrating on the crossword, speaking only occasionally, to suggest an answer. The large man stood at the bar doing the same crossword, chipping in now and then with an answer, but obviously keeping an eye on their consumption because, uninvited, he walked over to the table with another round of drinks saying 'There you go, thought I would bring them over to save you and your colleague having to walk to the bar'.

'Francis' reluctantly paid for the drinks and said to the large man 'Colleague? Colleague? He's no colleague of mine. Anything but...he's a bloody Police Officer'.

The large man whom Hodder learnt was called 'Big Cliff' winked at the Detective and said 'Do you want me to throw him out Francis'?...Turning to Hodder he said 'You lot should come around here more often. After you two left the other night a car had its windscreen smashed just outside of here, it's getting worse...if the bastards did it to my car I wouldn't be calling you lot . Mind, I am surprised that the Police didn't show up 'cos I heard on the grapevine that it was a copper car that got done'.

Looking at 'Big Cliff' Hodder concluded that he probably wouldn't need the police, and that no criminal in his right mind would go anywhere near Cliff or his property.

'Actually' said Cliff, 'I found something on top of my bins this morning, a book of some sort, I'll go and get it for you'. He disappeared momentarily before returning with a small pink book which he handed to Hodder. It was the log book from the damaged CID car, and the last listed user of the vehicle was Hodder.

'I'll take that said Hodder' hoping that he was not flushing too visibly as 'Big Cliff' said to 'Francis' 'Well, your pal did the sensible thing he got a taxi...mind you he didn't really start drinking until after you left'.

'Francis' said 'Tell me, would you Sergeant Hodder, how exactly did you get to the 'Taphouse' the other night'?

Hodder was flushing now...'I err...got dropped off by one of the lads on the backshift'.

'Did you really' said Randall-Ord 'How interesting'. Turning to 'Big Cliff' he then said...'So, it was a police car that was damaged. How very, very interesting'. These last few words were said with the very precise enunciation that reminded Hodder of a tri-nipple 'Bond Villain'.

An uneasy silence grew between them as Hodder tried to re-focus his attention on the crossword...Sensing this, Randall-Ord studied the crossword and said quietly but ever so clearly...' Six down...four letters...Person Who Is Economical With The Truth....Oh, I know....LIAR'. He glared at Hodder.

If there was a God he intervened at this point by sending his ever reliable disciple, Baxter, to 'The Quay Taphouse' who upon seeing Hodder and Randall-Ord sitting together stood at the bar swapping weather predictions with 'Big Cliff'.

Seeing his colleague, Hodder went to the bar, putting the log book into his inside pocket. He ordered another round of drinks and invited Baxter to the table and introduced him to the solicitor. Hodder then made his excuses and made his way to the gents from where he texted Baxter...he sent 'Stay quiet, he is Parks' brief, slippery as an eel'.

By the time he returned to the bar, having first made sure to activate the hot air hand drier, purely for special effect purposes, he hoped that Baxter had read the text. There was no hint from Baxter that he had done because he was happily engrossed in thirteen across with Randall-Ord. Unlucky for some thought Hodder. A lack of progress with the clue resulted in a growing boredom setting in.

Soon the conversation meandered through some fairly neutral topics before, not entirely unexpectedly, Randall-Ord raised the subject of Dean Parks. Randall-Ord was concerned that he had not been called to attend any further interviews with his client. He also mentioned that he was of the opinion that his client was being held in local custody without good reason, and that he would be making such representations at his client's next court appearance.

Hodder assured the brief that his client was not being held without good reason. In fact, he had to concede to Randall-Ord that his client was not being held at all. Searching for an explanation, and sporting with Hodder, Randall-Ord said that the fact that he had been released demonstrated just how little evidence the police actually had. Hodder, knew that his adversary was well aware that the police could not sanction his release, only a court could do that, and so, when pressed further, Hodder was forced to come clean and concede that Dean Parks had escaped.

'You see' said Hodder 'He has managed to dig a deeper hole for himself...if he does contact you, can I urge you to ask him to give himself up'? 'So, that's the reason that you came here? Do you really think that he is going to contact me? People like him only want people like me because we can get them out. He has effectively 'cut out the middle man' and managed this all by himself, so I suspect that until he comes to light, I will not hear from him again'. Hodder recognised the truth of this statement and was put more than slightly 'on the back foot' when Randall-Ord said 'Which idiot lost him'?

Knowing that it would eventually come out Hodder said 'Guilty as charged Mr Randall-Ord'.

'Francis' was barely able to conceal his delight, his ruddy cheeks inflating like great red balloons as he roared with laughter...'Bet you are popular with your D.I....been measured up for your new uniform yet'?

This was getting just a bit too unsettling for Hodder, because he knew that Randall-Ord would find out the truth from the D.I. at their next lodge meeting. He wished that Randall-Ord would just fuck right off...but he knew there was little chance of that whilst the brief was able to turn up the heat. Additionally, Hodder did not want to say too much because he knew that (quite correctly) the solicitor would use it against him. For some reason, perhaps sensing a change in fortune, Randall-Ord's mood seemed to lift and he enthusiastically made his way over to the bar for yet more drinks.

At the bar, Randall-Ord ordered doubles. They seemed appropriate under the circumstances, the brief, at least was in a mood for a celebration. Now, no one would find out what he had told Hodder about Parks and it looked as if he could minimise any potential damage as a result of his drink driving arrest. Yes, given the circumstances, doubles seemed just about right.

Whilst he was away Baxter whispered 'What is this all this about...coded text messages, log books and drinking with the opposition. What is it that you are not telling me'?

Hodder was about to respond when 'Francis' came back with Highland Parks' all round, and three bags of crisps hanging from his mouth. Seconds later 'Big Cliff' arrived with three pints. This was going to be a long and difficult session.

Randall-Ord ate all three bags of crisps with unrestrained enthusiasm. He smiled glibly to himself, making short grunting sounds, which would do justice to the best Sus Scrofa-Scrofa that you may ever eat or meet. Ord ate greedily whilst attempting to stifle laughter, and as he did so, moist, half chewed crisps were jettisoned from his mouth flying in all directions. 'The devious bastard, may have the table manners of Gloucestershire Old Spot but, he clearly has a plan' thought Hodder. 'Best get planning myself' he cogitated briefly, then fully.

Drink followed drink. Paranoid thought followed paranoid thought as Hodder hoped that the inexperienced Jeff Baxter would not fall under the spell of 'Francis' and inadvertently 'spill the beans'. At what seemed to be the natural conclusion to the early evening session, Baxter announced that he was going to have to go. Hodder agreed, and got his mobile out to order a cab. He gave the taxi firm a fictitious destination because he did not want 'Good Old Francis' knowing in what area of the town he lived.

Within ten minutes or so, Hodder got a call back from the taxi company and he and Baxter left promising 'Francis' that they should 'Do it again'.

Within seconds of their departure, 'Big Cliff' had brought another Highland Park for 'Francis' and as he was clearing empty glasses from the table he said 'Strange that'.

'Strange what'? asked the semi inebriated solicitor. 'Your mate' said Cliff. 'Told you, he's not my mate, what about him'? hissed 'Francis'.

'He used the payphone the other night to call his taxi. You would think that someone doing his job would have a mobile with him all of the time'.

Returning to the land of temperance for a few seconds 'Francis' picked up his glass drained it and said 'Yes. Yes you would. Wouldn't you? Thanks Cliff'. With that Bertrand Hall asked Cliff to call him a taxi. He had a home to go to and plans to make.

Once inside the taxi, Hodder instructed the driver to drop Baxter and him off at 'The Bee Hive', a pub that was equidistant from both their homes. Upon arrival, Hodder paid the driver. As he entered Baxter banged his head on one of the distorted oak beams that supported the upper floor the genuine 'Olde Worlde' pub. Hodder made his way to an isolated corner table as Baxter cursed his way over carrying two pints of real ale. Forgoing any formalities Baxter said 'Are you going to tell me what is going on? All this cloak and dagger stuff, it's just not good for my health'.

Sipping his frothy beer, Hodder looked over the rim of his glass and whispered 'It's complicated and I think that it is going to get more complicated. I have been put on leave. It was either that or get suspended for losing Dean Parks. Don't worry, you are in the clear...if the wheel comes off tell them that you protested but I ordered you to get Parks out of the car. The radio cock up is down to me. That should never have happened'.

'Tell me something that I don't know...What is it, exactly, that you are not telling me' said Baxter.

'The less you know, the less trouble you will get in. But, I do need you to do me a favour and if it comes off you should come up smelling of roses. But you have to keep me informed every stretch of the way and trust me. If it turns to 'Rat Shit' just say that you were acting on information received from an untried, unregistered informant'.

Things were happening just a little too fast for Baxter, who was by nature, a cautious, studious man. Unlike his colleague, Baxter considered his options and planned the outcomes. He would, if there were any justice within the police service, which of course there was not, go far.

'You're still talking in riddles. Just spell it out Jim. What exactly is going on and what do you want me to do'?

With a sharp intake of breath and making sure that he was not being overheard...who could hear him?... the place was deserted, that was, after all, one of the reasons that he had decided to go there, Hodder said 'Parks told me that David Palma has two hundred Smart phones. They are in his lockup in a barn on Friarsdene Farm, just along the road from here. I need you to get a warrant and turn it over. I want Palma locked up. Then call me so I can come in and have a word with him'.

Baxter was apoplectic, 'No way'! No Fucking Way'! Parks is the reason you are in this mess and you are prepared to let me take the flak for another crock of shit. Has it not occurred to you that he was just spinning you a line. Do you want me to take a fall too'?

Hodder gestured for his partner to calm down and said 'It does not matter whether we get the gear or not, that is just a bonus. I want Palma'.

Still not convinced, Baxter as restrained as he could be said 'But why? What good is he to you'?

'I'll tell you what good he is to me. I have Parks recorded giving me the information about the Smart phones...we just need to cause Palma some inconvenience, let him hear the recording and let him out on bail on the understanding that after he is finished with Parks that he gives him to us'.

'Us! Us! Since when has this nightmare been US...I've just finished getting my arse kicked from pillar to post around the courtroom, and believe me that was far more appealing than this'!

'Look, Jeff' said Hodder, all doey eyed, with 'a little boy lost/you are the only person that I can rely on' look...'I need you. I trust you'.

'Well, I don't need this' said Baxter...'I am not happy. You know it's not personal. Can't you just give it a rest? Let things quieten down a bit, let the dust blow over, get yourself back to work and then get him' You know that he is a creature of habit. He will come again'.

'Actually', said Hodder 'That's what I'm worried about. He is a creature of habit, I don't think that his last victim is safe if he is out and about, or that worse still that she IS his LAST victim'.

Hodder sensed a softening as the younger man said 'It's not that I don't trust you, but, I need to hear the recording, just to satisfy myself'.

'Perfectly understandable' can you come around to my house in the morning and I will let you listen to it.

Baxter sat quietly for a few seconds, exhaled loudly and said, 'Okay, but it had better be the real thing. You know that I will recognise Parks voice, so it has got to be pucker. Now, go and get me a beer before I think about it again and change my mind'.

Whilst Hodder was waiting at the bar for service, he was grateful that he had the morning to figure out how he was going to get the recording of Francis Randall-Ord off the digital recorder and safely stored somewhere else. He might need some help with that, but he figured he knew who could do that for him. In truth, Hodder felt very deceitful, about not telling Baxter about the recording of Randall-Ord but, he reasoned, quite correctly as it happened, that what Baxter did not know could not hurt him and he certainly did not want him swimming in open waters with sharks like 'Good Old Francis'.

God knows. It was difficult enough for himself and he had been around the block a few times. They finished their drinks in silent agreement and got separate taxis home. Another late night. Another cold shoulder. The good news was Hodder could probably collect a few 'Brownie Points' during his enforced leave, doing gardening, which he despised, decorating which he despised and sitting on his hands which he also despised.

This was going to be harder than he had anticipated. But, he would get through it, or so he blindly hoped.

However, He knew that experience had taught him that there was no situation that a Police Officer could not make any worse.

CHAPTER SIX

At about 9.30am, Hodder was abruptly awoken from his drunken slumbers by the distinctly non-melodic sounds of 'La Ventura' just another one of those Nordic Thrash Metal bands so adored by Lauren. Naturally, he knew little of them, but it was enough to know that they were merely the latest in a long line of Vikings to disturb life upon the northeast coast as they pillaged and stole his sleep. However, he was mindful that he couldn't afford to fall out with Lauren. He needed her to transfer his recordings onto memory sticks. One, his, was to have the recordings of Randall-Ord and Parks whilst the other, which he would give to Baxter would have only the voice of Parks upon it.

Notwithstanding, he had to tread carefully, he had absolutely no idea how to transfer the audio files. He could not ask Baxter. He could not take it to the Technical Support Unit and he certainly could not take it to the local computer dealership. He knew that he was not quite in the Gary Glitter league, but he was aware that his request could draw unnecessary attention. He had also decided to keep the original recording of Randall-Ord on the digital recorder, even though it had been unlawfully obtained, it may be required to be disclosed as evidence, as or more than likely, if events 'panned out' as normal then as 'insurance'.

Hodder's relationship with Lauren was generally good, but occasionally it could be strained. This probably had less to do with the step daughter/step father relationship than her chosen lifestyle which Hodder found puzzling to say the least. There had been a few occasions over the recent past that he wished that she had went away to university rather than study locally. Whilst trying to ignore his natural selfishness, he thought that it would have widened her horizons and broadened her experiences. More importantly, from a parental perspective, he would not have to see what she was actually up to, and quite bizarrely, he felt that he would worry less about her.

Ignorance was bliss, and as always had been the case with Hodder, he was happy to be blissfully ignorant. He was however, certain that Lauren would eventually leave the 'dark side', return 'into the light' and that she would forge a decent career for herself. He was confident that all of this was just a minor, temporary, if somewhat baffling phase of her life. A mere distraction. She was, underneath all of the mock funeral attire, and shock make up, a really sweet girl. Hodder had to reluctantly concede that all of the 'Goth's' that he had met, either through Lauren, or during the course of his work, were despite their chosen look, very decent people. They were generally, very gentle people whose appearance belied their true demeanour.

He worked on the theory that under some circumstances, that it was better to look like the real thing than to actually be the real thing. Hodder was certain of few things in life. He was however certain that neither Lauren nor her friends were amateur embalmers actively engaged in grave robbing or necrophilia. Yes, given her recent 'bedroom guest' he could certainly rule out necrophilia! Hodder also had to suppress his 'Goth humour'. Otherwise innocent lines like 'I bet you've got a few skeletons in your closet' or 'Are you working late tonight... Oh, that will be the graveyard shift', took on a new and wholly unwelcome significance.

So, coffee cup in hand (decaffeinated of course) he gently knocked on Lauren's bedroom door. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. Hodder was sure that she was in because of the loud music coming from the room. He tried the door. It was locked.

He sensed that the 'song' if indeed, that is what it was, was coming to a close, and as he was standing outside the door, about to knock again, it suddenly burst open and 'hot pants', the young man that he had seen on the landing a couple of nights earlier, bounded out of the room, satisfied look, and broad grin spreading across his face. A job well done! At least his day had started off better than Hodder's!

He walked straight into Hodder, almost knocking him over.

Without a word, Hodder raised the mug of steaming coffee handed it to the 'guest' turned on his heels, and he went back downstairs. He was not about to make another cup and take it upstairs. That was going just a bit too far. Shagging my stepdaughter is one thing...drinking all of my coffee, well, that is something quite different altogether...where will it all end? Toast as well? Was it Hodder? Was he a prude? Was he over protective? Had he forgotten what it was like to be young?

The answer, of course, was 'Yes', 'Yes' and 'Yes'. He was a parent but his job forced him to confront behaviours that challenged him every day of the week. Sure, the world was changing, he just did not want his world to change so quickly, and certainly not for the changes to take place in his home and under his nose. He naively wanted to think that for a little longer at least, that a few things that he regarded as precious and important, and over which he felt utterly powerless, would remain as they were. How stupid he was.

In truth, he felt that his home was probably the only remaining place where he could fully relax. The last bastion against a world that he was programmed to respond to, no matter how distasteful or disturbing it may be to do so.

He felt that his job gave him a passport to a different world, but the good news was that he got a return ticket from that world, bringing home with him at night what was left of his shredding sanity. Others, victims, vulnerable persons of all ages, were left behind, trapped in a never ending cycle of crime, violence, poverty and worse.

He knew deep down what lay at the core of his problem with Lauren. He realised that it was a big bridge to cross when you realised that your (step) daughter was sexually active. He was, in truth, a little embarrassed, but probably no more than Lauren would have been if she had spent some time considering that he and her mother were, albeit only occasionally, at it too.

Notwithstanding, when Hodder became a parent, admittedly by proxy, he resolved that no issue would be beyond discussion and that openness and frankness would prevail. He wanted to banish all of the 'pseudo hang ups' and 'psychobabble' that affected so many other families. How wrong he was proving himself to be.

Hodder realised that he barely knew Lauren in any real sense. He seemed to show little interest in her world, or what she was doing in it. He did not know who her friends were or what she was really interested in. He rarely sought her opinion on any subject. Parenthood...he realised like so many of his other responsibilities, required so much more from him.

More noise from upstairs. Does this bloke not have a home to go to?...Drifting off he imagined that 'hot pants' was probably saving up for a second hand hearse adorned with a window sticker saying 'Goths are up all night'. And judging by the package concealed in his flame retardant underwear he probably had been....and with Lauren...the dirty bastard!

The increasingly, agitated Detective prowled his living room, like a caged, caged thing, waiting for footsteps coming downstairs. He wanted to get these recordings transferred so he could give Baxter a call and get the ball rolling just enough to get back to work. Still daydreaming he heard the front door slam and was disappointed to see Lauren and 'Hot Pants' walking along his short drive. He ran to the door and shouted. 'Lauren, can you do me a favour'? By the look on her face she was not in the least bit impressed but she walked back to the door leaving 'Herman Munster' at the garden gates.

'I really need a big favour'.

Standing directly in front of him, Doctor Marten's 14 hole boots, (naturally) spread apart, arms folded across her ample chest she stared at him darkly and fired one word at him...'WHAT'?

'I need to get some recordings copied for work'.

She began to turn away and said curtly 'Then go to work'.

'I'm on holiday. I just need to do a bit of work before I can enjoy myself. I might even take your mum away for a few days'.

A light seemed to flicker. Then the switch was thrown then her eyes illuminated. Internal floodlights lit her up. Was that the sound of pennies dropping? Her tone softened and she said 'When do you need it'?

'Well, it's pretty urgent. The sooner I can get it done the sooner that we might get away'. Without speaking she turned on her heels and walked over to 'Herman'. She said a few words to him. He smiled broadly...he had great teeth for a resident of the underworld...'they must have good dentists there' thought Hodder.

Lauren stood on 'Oil Resistant' air cushioned tiptoes and kissed 'Herman' deeply. She spun around and walked back to the still open front door. Hodder felt terrible, he had just duped his step daughter...had he no scruples? He did not have to ask himself that question.

He knew the answer.

Was that the sound of more 'pennies dropping'? This time it was him. Shit! He would probably have to take his wife away now! That would teach him. On reflection, he thought that that may not be such a bad thing. He had been neglecting her of late, working and playing too hard.

Every cloud and all that. But this was a case of first things first.

Without disclosing the nature of the recordings, he told Lauren that he wanted to transfer them onto memory sticks. She said that it was easy and that she could do it on her laptop. 'Where are the sticks'?

Hodder realised that he did not have any memory sticks, so, he and Lauren jumped into his car and went to the local computer shop where armed with her knowledge and his money, two memory sticks were purchased.

Just being in the car, felt strangely intimate to Hodder. For too long now, Lauren had been the person who just passed him on the landing or kept unsocial hours. Hodder realised that he barely knew her, and as usual, in keeping with all of his many failings, he resolved to do something about it. Whether he would remained to be seen. It was however, one of Hodder's many shortcomings that he always seemed to have something more urgent to attend to first. He resolved to do something about that character trait too...eventually!

On the way back, and in an effort to break the uneasy silence that had grown between them he asked about 'Herman'. He's not called 'Herman'.

'Well, unless you introduce your friends to your mum and I how are we to know'?

'His name is Ricky and he is studying History of Politics' at my Uni'. She rebuked him further...'If you spent a little more time at home you may actually get to know him...mum really likes him'.

'He seems like a nice bloke'.

'He is' she said 'and I don't want you scaring him away'.

'Well, judging by the way he looks, he's the one who will be doing the scaring'

'There you go again. Why do you do this dad?'

Hodder was taken aback, Lauren had not called him 'dad' for years. Was this a sign of her growing maturity or an indication of the size of the gulf that had grown between Hodder and his family? Embarrassed for the second time that day, Hodder apologised to Lauren and said that it was just his sense of humour.

'Do you know what the first rule of comedy is? He was about to interrupt her and shout 'Timing' but she beat him to it and said. 'Being funny...you might want to try it one day. It's known to do wonders for jokes'.

Touché. He knew that he had deserved the ridicule.

Back at home, Lauren went to get her laptop as Hodder made her the second cup of the day. When she returned, she set up the device, took the digital recorder from Hodder and her hands became a blur as she navigated across screens, menus, pop-ups, pop-downs and the occasional put-down for Hodder. He used computers on a daily basis whilst at work, but derived no pleasure from them whatsoever. He did not or invest any time in improving his computer knowledge or skills...that was best left to younger people!

Hodder was not quite the Luddite that Lauren accused him of being. His genuinely held view was that he did not care how these machines worked. He just accepted that they did. He observed the global digital revolution from afar, and the local one from across the breakfast bar. He accepted technology as a fact of modern life, the same way that he accepted in no particular order, lying incompetent politicians, delays at airports, third world poverty and gout.

Within a matter of minutes Lauren had finished transferring the data and they sat together. Talking. Talking about nothing in particular, but he remembered that he could not remember the last time they had done this.

It occurred to Hodder that he really did not know anything at all about Lauren these days. Though residing under the same roof she was living a virtually independent life. What were her likes? Dislikes? It seemed an age ago that as a two year old Lauren and her mother unexpectedly came into his life and changed it.

When was the last time he asked her about her university course? When was the last time they sat down and laughed together? When was the last time they did anything together other than argue? How, he mused did the 'drip drip' effect of losing people whom you should never lose creep up on you so silently? How could he have been so blind? When did he really stop showing an interest in Lauren and for that matter, his wife? And, above all, did it show?

Truth was that he spent his life putting others first, often not because he wanted to, but because if people like him did not, who would? He felt that he had no choice in the matter but resolved at that moment that everything was going to change for the better. He WOULD become more attentive.

He WOULD spend more time with his family. He WOULD. He definitely WOULD...the minute this problem was sorted...then an inner sadness enveloped him, spreading like a cold chill through his innards. Could he really change? Hodder did not answer that question...he did not really have to. He knew the answer and he was already afraid.

Before he could do anything else he had to get the recording to Baxter. He had to get Palma arrested, he then had to get Palma to look for Parks. Then, and only then, with his professional life in order that he could he start to repair his family life.

Hodder heard someone talking to him, from afar. Silently at first, then gradually getting louder and louder...it was Lauren...he had done it again drifted off into his internal private world whilst talking with Lauren. Her voice brought him back...' Okay, all done, I have marked which stick is which so you can't get them mixed up'.

If she was angry with him, she did not show it. Growing maturity, or just the prospect of she and Ricky shagging in his bed? Even in moments like this he could not banish the cynical demons that haunted him.

Hodder thanked her and she said 'Does mum know that you are taking her away? I would give her a call at work if I were you...she may not be able to get the time off at such short notice'.

The 'Old Hodder' instantly re-emerged and his inner voice said 'Never thought of that...I may be able to get out of this after all'. However, he immediately felt guilty, picked up the phone called his wife Grace, a Human Resources Manager at a local Pharmaceutical Company. She was busy but a colleague promised that she would return the call. Hodder left a message saying that it was not urgent. No need for her to worry.

His 'new' relationship with Lauren left him feeling good, and it felt better when she showed him how to access the sound files on the memory sticks and lent him her laptop to do so. What a difference a day makes!

Hodder was by nature an impatient person. A doer. He would much rather be getting' his hands dirty' than be sitting on the side lines. Unlike 'Gee-Gee' he did not consider policing to be a spectator sport, which, was probably why he found himself into so many scrapes. That said, recent events had got him around to thinking that maybe he was getting just a little bit too old for this kind of work. However, when he considered the options a 9.00-5.00, Monday to Friday office job, he concluded that 'No danger meant no scrapes and therefore no fun'.

His impetuosity got the better of him. He weakened gave into it, and immediately called Baxter who said that he would come around within the hour. It actually took Baxter about twenty minutes to get there and over a coffee Baxter brought him up to speed with the office politics in order of importance. The D.I. was shagging Kim the buxom young temp. They were no closer to solving the mystery of the damaged CID car and what made matters worse, a local drunk had been found by the river, not just drunk but apparently unconscious too.

Apparently, 'Gee-Gee' and one of the temps were looking into this with a strict brief from the D.I. that 'No matter what this is...do not come back here and tell me that this is a crime'.

Hodder was surprised that his sudden leave of absence was no longer headlines of the police station 'gossip columns'. It's not every day that you lose a prisoner with the potential of causing serious embarrassment to your bosses. He thought that such a monumental cock up demanded more column inches than he was getting...arrogantly, he felt that his ego had been dented.

When they did get down to serious business, it was clear that Baxter was still not fully convinced of the wisdom of Hodder's plan. He changed his position somewhat when he heard Parks' voice clearly giving Hodder information about the haul of goodies in Palma's lock up.

'So' said Hodder 'What about it?...Are you going to turn it over, you should not have any problems getting a warrant with that information'.

Baxter looked at him for a few elongated seconds before he said 'There is only one problem. The D.I. has asked me to focus exclusively on finding Parks. If he thinks that I am either not doing it, or on a wild goose chase he is not going to be very happy about it whether he is getting his end away or not...In fact, he probably wouldn't sign the warrant application. Sorry to say this Jim, but, he has told me that he regards you as damaged goods'.

'Damaged goods! Damaged fucking goods! I'll show that idiot'!

'How? You are out of the game, and any freelancing by you will not be welcome along the corridors of power'.

Hodder jumped to his feet. 'Out of the mouths of babes...Corridors of Power...have you ever considered a career in politics Jeff'?

'What do you mean'?

'Stay there. Help yourself to more coffee. If Grace calls on the landline tell her that I will call her back in five'. With that Hodder disappeared. Baxter was at a loss as he watched Hodder's taillights disappear. Moments later, he heard muffled voices. Hodder was clearly speaking to someone on his mobile telephone. He came back a few minutes later and said 'Okay, it's fixed...When you go back to the nick make sure that you cannot find the D.I. don't worry he and Kim will probably be at Boots getting a pregnancy testing kit! Go and see Ben Heath he is expecting you. He will fix up the warrant application for you'.

'No. No way...you're not even at work and you are playing political games with the bosses. It's me who is gonna get scorched over this not you. You are on your holidays for God's sake. You just can't leave things alone...Are you enjoying your hols Jim'? Before Hodder could answer Baxter continued...'Cos, I sure as fuck am not'.

Baxter made to leave but Hodder grabbed him by the arm. 'Will you please just listen...Ben Heath and I go back a long way...he knows about the significance of the recording. He knows that there is no love lost between the D.I. and me. This is the way it is going to work Jeff, go back to the nick, and just before you get there call me. I will give you a minute and place a call through to your desk. Answer it. After the call, let whoever is the office hear you complain about having to go and see the D.C.I....when you get back downstairs with the signed application form just continue to complain about getting extra work from the D.C.I. as well as having to clear up my mess. Do you think anyone is going to question where the D.C.I. gets his information from'?...I have told you before young Jeffery, this game is all about learning to manage the managers...what do you reckon'?

Baxter stared deep into Hodder's eyes and said 'You do know that you are a manipulative twat don't you'?

'Actually D.C. Baxter could I respectfully remind you to moderate your language, there is an impressionable young child in this house'.

'If I said 'You are a cunt Sergeant' what would you do'? said Baxter.

Sensing victory and smiling, Hodder said 'Well, naturally Constable, I would have to take the appropriate disciplinary action that the circumstances may dictate'.

'Okay' said Baxter 'I only think that you are a cunt Sergeant'...call me later'. With that Baxter left.

When he got back to the police station Baxter did not return to the CID office. Instead, he went to the uniform parade room, knowing it to be the one place where a fellow Detective would not disturb him.

Sitting at an available computer terminal, he set about researching the Smart phone theft. It was not so much that he did not trust Hodder, it was more to do with his concerns that he was risking the wrath of the D.I. It did not matter what Hodder had said...if the wheel came off and he ended up in an argument with the D.I. there would only be one winner and right now he really did not fancy walking the streets in the middle if the night shaking hands with door handles wearing a hat right out of a 'Punch and Judy Show'.

Marginal relief spread over Baxter. He confirmed all he needed to know about the offence. It was still undetected so at least he could go to a magistrate and hand on bible, state that his information was, at least, in part accurate. He could basically say that the offence had been committed. Baxter then set about filling in the warrant application which he would later present to the D.C.I. for approval.

He did not have as much faith in Parks as Hodder appeared to be investing. After all, Parks did take leave of the police as soon as he possibly could, albeit, in circumstances which if he were ever caught, would cause him additional inconvenience, which he could reflect on at leisure, and at Her Majesties' Pleasure.

At this time, in a smart semi-detached house some miles away, Hodder was pacing the floor anxiously waiting on a call from Baxter.

Strangely, at the same time, Dean Parks was enjoying a 'Whopper' at a 'Burger King' restaurant upon Northumberland Street, Newcastle, having just had his hair shorn and died jet black. As he munched away, he considered the comparative merits of 'Burger King' v 'McDonalds' fries. 'B.K.' got his vote, probably more to do with the 'belch factor' than any comparative nutritional benefits.

He got up leaving ketchup stained cardboard containers behind him before departing that fine food emporium. He had decided that he needed a flop for a couple of days, but not before a spot of shoplifting. He needed some new clothes, a new look, and a junior hacksaw before he decided what he was going to do next.

As Dean Parks walked up Northumberland Street, he was scanning the shop fronts, deciding which stores in the city centre were likely to offer him the best chance of 100% discount on all non-purchases under the price of exactly nothing. He knew that he was spoilt for choice, but was keen to avoid the major outlets and their CCTV systems and store Detectives. This could be the perfect time to give some footfall to an independent trader. After all, they complained often enough about a dearth of customers entering their stores, though he did recognise that he would not be shopping in the 'traditional sense'....

As it rang Hodder ran to the breakfast bar to pick up his mobile.

'Hi Jeff. What took you so long'?

It was Grace.

He sighed, not loud enough to be heard...he hoped.

'Hi, how are you doing'?

'Why are you not at work'? Without any hesitation Grace continued...

'Why did you ring? Is anything wrong? Lauren left a message saying that you and I are going away. What's all this about'?

At this time a vivid vision of Edvard Munch's famous work filled his head space. He was the living embodiment of the picture...His inner voice screamed...'Too many questions! Give me a break! I've got more important things to do right now'!

'Oh, no problem, (he lied...just when he thought that things were about to get better between Lauren and him, she goes and spoils it all) I'm okay, Admin found some unused leave of mine (he lied again). If I didn't take it I was told that I would lose it (he lied again) so, I just thought that if you could get some time off maybe we could...Grace interrupted and excitedly said...'I've got it sorted. I can have three days off, so we can make a weekend of it'. Without pausing for breath she continued 'Where do you want to go? Not abroad not enough time to go shopping for clothes unless we go tonight what do you think? Do you think Lauren will be okay'?

Here we go again. Questions! Fucking Questions!

Hodder let some of the heat from the pressure cooker that was his head release slowly...'Why don't we talk about this tonight. We can probably book online. I do have a couple of things to clear up for work first though'. Grace sighed heavily...as if she was expecting him to let her down again as per usual. Just then he heard an incoming call through the ear piece of his mobile. 'Hey, got to go, I have another call coming in. With any luck (he lied again) that should be work telling me not to bother to go in. I will speak to you later'.

She was gone, and he was speaking to Baxter...'What took you so long'?

Baxter had been simmering for a while, he was slowly coming to the boil still suspecting that things were about to go awry. That was the problem with working with the eternal optimist that was Hodder. He did see the dangers, often before others...however, he just chose to ignore them!

Transcending himself to a Zen like state, or something which equated to near normal blood pressure, Baxter said 'Call me in one minute'. Baxter then walked into the building and was heading for the CID office when the civilian Property Officer asked Baxter whether he could release some exhibits from his recent court case back to the owner.

Baxter hurriedly said that he would discuss the matter with him later. He started running towards the CID Office. When he got there the agoraphobic 'Gee-Gee' was at Baxter's desk about to answer the telephone. He looked up, saw Baxter, who said 'It's okay, I'll get it'. 'Close shave there' thought Baxter, for both of us. 'I nearly got found out and 'Gee-Gee' nearly got a job. Two jobs in one day that must be a first'!

'What was all that crap about' said Hodder.

Baxter 'Well, I've just come in, Sir'.

'And the Oscar for this year's best supporting actor goes to...'

'Yeah, no problem, I can come up and see you now'...with that Baxter put the phone in its cradle'.

'Has the D.C.I. been looking for me lads? He said to no one in particular...'Wonder what he wants'?

Once he was upstairs and walking along the Command Corridor, in the direction of the D.C.I.'s office, Baxter saw a number of persons whom he recognised but did not know by name. These were the type of people who could spend an entire day walking around, bobbing from office to office with the same empty manila internal mail envelope.

It was rumoured that several of these gallant crime fighters, for not all were lowly paid civilians, had spent many years doing the same thing. Not a very efficient way to run a police service but a great way to organise your social life and garnish pension credits at the same time. Obviously 'polluted' by Hodder's cynicism, Baxter wondered whether there was a waiting list for such positions. If so, it was better than even money that 'Gee-Gee' was jockeying for a position somewhere near the top of that list.

The D.C.I. was alone when Baxter arrived. He knocked and waited for permission to enter, closing the door behind him. In the rarefied atmosphere of the D.C.I.'s office Baxter felt a little uncomfortable, he usually only went there for his annual staff appraisal or a dressing down. Coincidentally, both these events usually occurred on the same day.

Sensing Baxter's tension Ben Heath said 'You really do not need to worry you know. Hodder is a good bloke, I know that some people regard him as being a little 'unconventional' but believe me, you could do a lot worse than listen to him'.

'Well, Sir, it's just that on occasions I just find it a little difficult to keep up with him'.

'And you think that I don't...We are Police Officers Jeff. ( Baxter flushed...'the D.C.I. knows my first name')...We deal in uncertainties. We joined not because we believed any of that shit about 'making a difference'. We do it because whether you believe it or not we actually quite like the chaos. I shudder when I think of some of the terrible things that people do to each other, but guess what? It would be far worse if we were not here to get stuck in the middle of it all...

'I'll put it this way. It's a bit like a football match except that both teams are playing by different rules.' Good Guys F.C.', that's us, apart from a few notable exceptions, we by and large, play by the rules of the game. The opposition, 'Bad Guys F.C.' don't have any rules and even if they did they would just break them. If we were not here it would be even worse than it is now. And that, in a nutshell is why I support Jim Hodder and by default you. Now give me that warrant application form'.

Baxter passed the document to his boss's boss without speaking and when it was returned Heath said... 'As far as anyone else downstairs is concerned you got this information from me...any shit from anyone, and I mean anyone, let me know. Can you wedge the door open on your way out'?

The meeting was over.

Baxter left the office in stunned silence...he did not fully understand what had just happened but it felt like he had been given an 'invisible seal of approval'. He was puzzled and at the same time strangely elated, but worryingly, he also sensed 'the ghost of Jim Hodder' walking along the corridor with him.

Baxter returned to the CID office where 'Gee-Gee' was holding court. He was speaking at such a volume that it was impossible not to hear him telling whoever did, or did not want to listen, that the old wino at the hospital hadn't been assaulted or robbed and that the cause of his 'blackout' was currently under investigation by the medical staff. If only, everyone in the office could be as efficient as him, crime would be eradicated in no time at all.

And all of this without even leaving his desk! Then, 'Gee-Gee', selfless to the last, turned his wholly inconsiderable crime fighting skills to making a lunch time sandwich list.

'Self-praise is no recommendation' was Baxter's immediate observation. He then made a quick call to the Magistrates Clerks Office and was relieved to hear that the court was still in session. He was advised to go directly to the court where his warrant application would be dealt with.

Whilst walking towards the court house, Baxter saw that the doors were obscured by chain smoking, snide wearing, 'multi sovereign adorned' knuckle trailers, bearing only a vague resemblance to human kind. Anthropologist's everywhere could have a field day here.

As he made his uneasy way through the throng, over the spittle covered paving, the usual un-attributable muffled insults filled the air 'Anyone fancy a barbecue'? 'Can you smell Pork '? And most bizarrely of all, because Baxter was neither black nor wearing the dark blue uniform of the police... 'Black Bastard'.

This was a kind of 'Rite of Passage' reserved for all young officers like Baxter, and it was one which he was still coming to terms with. He wished that Hodder had been with him...he could always rely on him for a sarcastic remark which the protagonists would not understand. But, on this occasion he was alone and felt that he had to respond...without thinking he said to the largely male gathering 'Come on lads, I hope that that is spit on the ground...you're not in a cell now you know...remember there are kid's around!'.

He walked on smiling in satisfaction. He was learning from Hodder, who usually insulted their virility or intelligence. Not bad to be going on with for now he though! A work in progress.

Once inside, he went through the security scanners aware that his keys wallet, in fact, anything personal, could be stolen from the plastic inspection tubs by one of the idlers outside as part of a dare. Baxter then made his way to the public waiting area, which rather unfortunately smelt just like a cell block. He then found an usher and he told him why he was there. He took a seat waiting for a convenient adjournment in a case so that the magistrates may be able to hear his warrant application.

After watching the frenetic activity of solicitors for both sides scurrying from court to court, case to case, he knew what Hodder meant when he said 'There is no so thing as justice'...how could such a concept be served efficiently when no one had their mind concentrated on the matter in hand...just another facet of the 'mincing machine' being fed.

'STOP'! He shouted inwardly to himself, 'You are turning into Hodder'!

As the world passed him by, Baxter returned to reality when the usher approached him saying that the Chairman of the Bench would see him now in the Magistrates Room. For obvious reasons, warrants were never heard in open court, and more often than not, they were sworn out either in the case of Lay Magistrates at their place of work or at home.

As he entered the Magistrates Room, Baxter recognised Warwick Dixon, local businessman councillor and pillar of the community who when he was not dispensing justice or serving democracy was dispensing pillows to the community at his soft furnishing shop in the town centre.

Also present was Stella Simpson, a lifelong feminist, spinster and knitter. On this occasion however, it was her occupation as Magistrates Clerk that dictated her presence. She was required to see that the 'legal process' was strictly adhered to, and much more importantly she also had typed copies of the warrant. Parliament had decreed that such valuable documents could not be left with the police, the long established tradition of using the same warrant over and over again at different premises had eventually, and quite sensibly been 'phased out'. During the course of the 'working day' having such influence over the police made Clerks, as a breed, feel very important indeed.

However, at two o'clock on a wet Wednesday morning it was seen as somewhat less of a perk of the job.

Baxter had sworn out numerous warrants and the application followed a very predictable and well-worn path. Firstly, Baxter took the Bible in his hand and despite being a practising atheist, he 'Swore by Almighty God etc...' Then after introducing himself by name, rank and number he pre-empted the obvious questions normally asked by Magistrates by stating that the information was, recent, accurate and from a credible source. He increased the self-importance of the Magistrate by further stating that entry to the premises would not be secured without the application being granted.

It always struck Baxter just how little Lay Magistrates actually knew about the law. Like Hodder, who probably planted the seed in his head anyway, he was convinced that they were nothing more than the 'nodding dogs' of the criminal justice system.

The warrant was duly granted (in triplicate) Baxter expressed his thanks saying that he would update the Clerk of the results as soon as possible. This was another Hodder ploy: 'Massage their collective ego's...Let them think that they are an important and integral part of the system...that way they are more likely to grant your next application'.

As he arrived back in the CID office, Baxter was about to ask for a couple of volunteers to supplement the uniform staff whom he hoped to organise to assist with the execution of the warrant. However, there was a strange and rarely seen atmosphere of activity and purpose in the office with the D.I. centre stage in a small gathering of Detectives. The D.I. was clearly putting together some form of team for what appeared to be an urgent but wholly unwelcome job.

Without wanting to, Baxter caught his eye and the D.I. scribbled something on a pad as he said 'And where the fuck have you been'? Don't you listen to the radio or answer your phone'?

Baxter thought better of telling him that there was a strict 'no mobile', 'no radio' policy in the court complex. 'You are with 'Gee-Gee' he will bring you up to speed, now get your arse up to the hospital and I want good news when you come back'.

Baxter stuttered slightly when he said 'But Sir, I have a warrant to execute'.

The D.I. raised his voice to a kind of high pitched schoolgirl whine, and tugging at imaginary pigtails, in a hugely patronising, sarcastic and insulting way which reminded Baxter of Joan Collins in the classic Snickers ad. Emphasising his own status...The D.I. said 'Ooh! But Sir, I have a warrant to execute'. There was embarrassed laughter all round as the D.I. continued, this time in a low threatening manner 'Get to the fucking hospital or I'll execute you'.

This was clearly not the time to suggest that he was had been in the process of executing a warrant at the request of the D.C.I. He took his cue from 'Gee-Gee' who was dangling some car keys provocatively suggesting that it was time to go...they had urgent work to do. What he was really signalling was that he was a feckless and spineless and that he would crawl up anyone's arse as long as that person was of greater rank than himself.

Baxter just hoped that the D.I. was well lubricated...he followed 'Gee-Gee' out of the office feeling resentful, embarrassed and belittled. Though he had no way of knowing it at this point in time, Baxter would later learn that there was no situation that a Police Officer could not make worse.

CHAPTER SEVEN

On the way to the hospital, 'Gee-Gee' told Baxter about Peter Sykes, the well-known local drunk who was found by an early morning rod fisherman upon the Fish Quay. Sykes had been unconscious and taken to the General Hospital where his condition had been stabilised, though he was yet to regain consciousness.

'So, what's that got to do with us? Didn't you say before that you had ruled out crime as being the cause of his condition'?

Feeling somewhat empowered by his albeit temporary, superior knowledge of the situation, 'Gee-Gee' continued 'Yeah, I know, but there is a bit of a problem...another bloke has been brought in, one of Sykes' drinking buddies.

Fred Tamblin, do you know him?...he's just a serial pisshead, nuisance, shoplifter and more importantly a fucking waste of time. He is out of it too, same symptoms. It's probably nothing. Bad batch of drugs or something.

'That's it then' thought Baxter,...'Case solved and 'Gee-Gee' hasn't even spoken to the hospital staff yet. This man truly is an investigatory genius'! 'Take nothing for granted, don't assume anything, take nothing on face value'...the basic mantra on even the most rudimentary of police courses...perhaps 'Gee-Gee' had been off that day. Or perhaps, as 'Gee-Gee' genuinely believed, he actually did know better than anyone else.

Baxter was familiar with Sykes and Tamblin, having arrested them both several years ago when he was in uniform. He would never have had them down as being into drugs. He hoped that when he had transferred to CID that he had seen the last of them. He also knew from experience, that once they got themselves into 'orbit' that they would probably consume absolutely anything. He did know however, know that 'solids' were not high on their list of favoured consumables.

Parking was always a challenge at the hospital, and as they pulled into the car park 'Gee-Gee' said that he would look for a parking space if Baxter went inside to A&E to see if he could locate Tamblin.

'Well, surely he will either be in A & E or in the same ward as Sykes'?

'Err, well, I can't actually remember what ward they said they were going to take him to' responded a somewhat hesitant 'Gee-Gee'.

What 'Gee-Gee' actually meant was 'You go inside first, you make the initial contact and 'hey presto'! 'You' get 'lumbered' with the responsibility of a) having given your name, b) in the eyes of the hospital 'You' had assumed 'ownership' of the situation and c) much more importantly from his perspective, he ('Gee-Gee') gets to 'off load' the job onto someone else.

He was a past master of the 'the body swerve' and happily drove off to look for a space. Naturally, he was in no rush to find one, because he figured that the longer that he took to park, the more likely it was that objectives a, b, and c would have been achieved. After ten minutes or so of driving around aimlessly, 'Gee-Gee' was confident that Baxter would be well on his way to achieving 'his goals' and he decided to park the CID car behind an ambulance in an 'Emergency Vehicles Only' lay by outside the Emergency Entrance. In 'Gee-Gee's' skewed logic there did not actually 'need' to be an 'emergency' just an 'Emergency Vehicle'. Therefore in his tiny mind, all parking criteria had been fully satisfied.

Keeping up with departmental tradition, he placed the vehicle log book, 'logo' side up in a prominent and clearly visible position on the dash board. He then went inside and was directed to Ward 7 where Baxter had been sent in search of Tamblin and Sykes.

'Gee-Gee' followed the raft of overhead signs leading to Ward 7 and was about to enter when Baxter and a stunning young nurse exited the swinging doors. 'What is it about nurses and Police Officers' thought 'Gee-Gee' making a mental note to find out her name and her shift pattern. His mind was on adjusting his silk tie (£39.99 from Harvey Nicks online), making eye contact with the nurse and smiling so sickeningly that Baxter almost vomited.

As usual with 'Gee-Gee' it was anything but police work. However, on this occasion Baxter too, felt equally distracted. 'Gee-Gee' immediately identified himself to the nurse and though being the same rank as Baxter he was at pains to make it clear to his 'new love interest' that he was, quite wrongly, very much the senior man on hand.

'You do look familiar. Are you sure that we have not met before'?

The nurse was not impressed. She had seen and heard it all before. 'No' she said quite curtly...'I would have remembered'.

Non-introductions over, 'Gee-Gee' said 'By the way Jeff, where are we off to? I thought that Tamblin was in Ward 7'.

'He was. He's gone.'

'Told you so. Total waste of time this lot. Discharge himself did he. Typical'.

'Not quite', said Baxter pinning 'Gee-Gee' with a serious stare.... 'He's gone. Gone to the mortuary...he died'.

Unconcealed panic spread across 'Gee-Gee's' face and he reached for his mobile.

'What are you doing'? said Baxter

'Calling the D.I. he'll want to know'.

Adding to his embarrassment the nurse said 'Oh, I thought from what you have been saying that you were the D.I. and I'm sure you will be aware that all mobiles must be turned off within the confines of the hospital'

'Gee-Gee' flushed.

The nurse looked at Baxter. She smiled.

Baxter looked at the nurse. He winked.

It was glorious...'Gee-Gee' was deconstructing before their very eyes.

Tamblin was still dead and Baxter quite guiltily thought that the simple act of dying was probably the best thing he had ever done in his pathetically sad existence. Baxter and the nurse then made their way through the labyrinth of 'staff only' corridors in the ever expanding General Hospital. 'Gee-Gee' followed a discreet distance behind. Baxter did not know whether his colleague was embarrassed or just employing 'work avoidance tactics' either way it gave Baxter some time alone with the nurse who introduced herself as Hannah White.

Hannah left Baxter outside the mortuary doors and as he 'buzzed' for access, she passed 'Gee-Gee' as she made her way back to the Ward 7. 'Gee-Gee' was clearly made of stern stuff and he was not completely defeated yet. He stopped the nurse, gave her a business card, and asked for her number 'Just in case I need to clarify anything with you'.

The nurse smiled dryly at the Police Officer and said 'Oh, its okay, Jeff gave me his card and he knows my number. Thanks anyway'. She returned his card and walked on purposely, her head elevated towards the ceiling.

At different ends of the same corridor both Baxter and Hannah wore broad grins.

The door to the mortuary was opening just as 'Gee-Gee' joined Baxter who upon seeing his somewhat down trodden colleague said 'You took your time'. Barely unable to conceal his displeasure 'Gee-Gee' replied 'Well, you fucking didn't'.

The door was opened by a tall gangly man with jam jar spectacles. He had worked at the mortuary as Senior Technician for as long as anyone could remember. He was affectionately referred to as 'Lurch', though not openly. This was largely due to the fact that he was never very far away from razor sharp instruments and he was a wholly unknown entity...to the living at least.

He was an unusually gentle man, who regarded the deceased as his personal 'charges', most of whom were in various stages of dissection and decomposition. He treated them with both respect and genuine affection.

On the first occasion Baxter had attended a post mortem, 'Lurch' talked the deceased through the procedure offering words of reassurance and heartening comfort. He was a unique individual. He rarely spoke to the living, unless prompted. He was a natural at his job, and he appeared to have advanced communication skills with the recently dead.

Baxter produced his warrant card, identified himself and explained the reason for their visit. Satisfied, 'Lurch' led them through the vaporous atmosphere to a guttered gurney where the body of a middle aged man whom Baxter recognised as Fred Tamblin lay naked under a sheet.

'Lurch' partially removed the sheet explaining to 'Fred' that the two men with him were Police Officers, and they had just come to check that he (Fred) was okay and to see if they could help him in any way. 'In life', Tamblin would have 'died' at the prospect of giving or receiving any help from the police. But there was little that he could do about that now.

Baxter could only imagine if Fred had responded in some inaudible way to 'Lurch' because seconds later the sheet was gently removed allowing Baxter and 'Gee-Gee' to conduct a physical examination of the ravaged, emaciated naked body of the career alcoholic.

Unpleasant as it was, they, or rather a latex gloved Baxter, checked through the hairline and visibly examined the body, searching for any signs of injury. When Baxter and Lurch rolled the body over, that once smelt never to be forgotten odour filled Baxter's nostrils...it was the sort of smell that clung to your clothing and impregnated your every pore.

If there was one smell in the world that you could taste, this was it.

There was nothing obvious to be seen. Furthermore, as this was not yet officially a suspicious death, it was unlikely that Fred would jump the queue ahead of the other cadavers awaiting the inevitable attention of 'Lurch' and the Pathologist.

Cursory examination completed, Baxter and 'Gee-Gee' left the mortuary and using the public corridors wended their way back to Ward 7 where Hannah was still working at the nurse's station. She stood up and smiled as Baxter entered the ward, the smile fading as 'Gee-Gee' appeared in Baxter's slip stream.

Hannah explained that the Doctor was yet to do his rounds and had left strict instructions that Sykes should not receive visitors under any circumstances. That did not concern Baxter, too much he was just pleased to see Hannah again. Before leaving, Baxter asked what would be the best time to call for an update. She said 'It's okay. I've got your number I will give you a call later on'.

There was something about the words 'later on' that resonated with Baxter.

In a fraction of a second, all manner of thoughts seemed to populate Baxter's mind...'I am imagining this'? 'I am misreading the situation?' 'Is she coming onto me'?

He lamely responded 'Fine. Feel free to call me anytime'.

'Oh. I will Jeff. I will'. Baxter turned, and without comment left the ward. The nurse did not bid farewell to 'Gee-Gee'.

Once outside the main building 'Gee-Gee' was on his mobile to the D.I. immediately updating him regarding the situation at the hospital, infuriatingly, giving the clear impression that it was he, and not Baxter who had made the enquiries. After the call 'Gee-Gee' said 'Apparently, there has been some developments the boss wants up back at the factory pronto'.

As 'Gee-Gee' walked to the driver's side of the car he let out a scream 'Oh Fuck! The bastards have clamped the car'!

Clearly, the minimum waged, commissioned based, privately employed car park attendant did not give much credence to the ownership of the CID car. Even in times of economic hardship there was money to be made.

'Gee-Gee' said 'Jeff can you get on the blower and tell the boss that we may be a while, just tell him we have got a flat or something'.

Baxter was livid. He felt like telling him to use his own phone but instead, he took his mobile and called the D.I. As he heard the D.I. answer he handed the phone to 'Gee-Gee' and said 'It's for you' He then walked off going to reception where he used a 'Taxi Free Phone' to call a cab.

When he returned to the car, 'Gee-Gee' was raging ', he handed Baxter the phone and said 'What did you do that for? Now the boss thinks that I am a right cock'!

Finding an immediate place in his memory, and filing it under 'Revenge', Baxter thought 'So, you seem to think that it is okay for me to look like a cock. We shall see about that'. Moments later, a taxi pulled up. Baxter got in but before it drove off he said to 'Gee-Gee'...'Very perceptive that D.I. of ours, don't you think'? He left 'Gee-Gee' standing, raging, fuming.

For once, Baxter was in total agreement with 'Gee-Gee' about the way the D.I. would see things.

Baxter was by nature a person who communicates readily, but during the course of the taxi journey back to the office, he probably confirmed the driver's assumption that all Police Officers' are miserable, with ideas above their station. He rarely spoke but he was not sure whether it was the impact that Hannah had had upon him, or the sense of satisfaction that 'Gee-Gee' had finally dug himself into a hole, and that it was going to be hugely entertaining watching him trying to extricate himself from the situation. So, he resolved to get his defence in first.

As he walked into the office, the D.I. was holding court. The man was clearly out of his depth, and sinking fast, he was beginning to show the early signs of panic. He was issuing contradictory instructions to all those present, which reminded Baxter of a sawn off shotgun releasing its directionless charge. Baxter tried to stay out of the D.I.'s field of vision, but it failed once again, and as soon as he was seen he was pinned down by a desperate man looking for a scapegoat.

'So, where is 'Gee-Gee' is he washing his hands'?

'He's still at the hospital, sorting out the car'

'Has he not changed that tyre yet'?

'The lying bastard' thought Baxter 'he has not told him what has happened'...without referring to the wheel clamp Baxter replied 'He must be having trouble with the wheel, which strictly speaking was true. I came back in a taxi because he said you wanted us back here'

'Well at least you showed some initiative. Give me what you have from the hospital'.

Baxter brought everyone up to speed with what HE had learnt from the hospital. Whilst doing so he once again felt the ghost of Jim Hodder brush his arm. He failed to mention 'Gee-Gee' and effectively airbrushed him out of the situation, working on the theory that 'if there is any credit to be gained, I am going to get it', and 'if there are any bollockings to be dished out, I am going to make sure that they are going in 'Gee-Gee's' direction.

The pressure was beginning to show on the D.I.'s face. What he said next explained it all...'Right guys, we (meaning him) are under a bit of pressure...the media are kicking the shit out of us (meaning him) and they have not let up since that fucking prisoner escaped. Now to add to the feeding frenzy all of our resident drunks turning up dead or nearly dead. They are going to have a field day unless we (meaning him) can get a result to get them off our backs (meaning his back)'.

Various teams were despatched to check on the last known movements of Sykes and Tamblin. Others were to research their associates, families and backgrounds.

The D.I. said to Baxter 'Just what is keeping 'Gee-Gee' surely he has got that car sorted out now. I need you two to go to Sykes and Tamblin's homes and see what you can turn up'.

Just then Baxter's mobile rang. It was a number that he did not instantly recognise. He felt a slight flutter in his stomach thinking that it may be Hannah...it wasn't. Disappointingly, it was Hodder who explained that he and his wife were staying in a Country House Hotel in Northumberland and because he had no mobile signal he wanted to give Jeff his wife's number so he could be updated re the whereabouts of Dean Parks.

Baxter felt a little awkward talking to Hodder in the presence of the D.I. and said tersely as his earpiece bleeped 'I will call you back later. I have another call coming in', Hodder was still talking when Baxter ended the call.

The display showed that it was 'Gee-Gee' calling. Baxter said to the D.I. 'It's 'Gee-Gee' do you want a word, I'm bursting for a leak'...'Fucking Right I do'. Baxter simultaneously pressed the answer button and activated the 'speaker mode' as he handed the phone to the Boss.

As he walked away he heard 'Gee-Gee' shouting down the phone 'Wait until I fucking see you'. Just before he exited the office Baxter heard the D.I. say in a cold, calculated way 'And just you wait until I see you. Get your fucking arse back here now'!

Except in times of personal emergency which were usually caused by excess alcohol, coupled with bad timing and a clear lack of toileting facilities, Baxter had never enjoyed a piss as much in his life. For the second time that day he was alone and beaming like a deranged idiot.

Returning to the office the D.I. was there alone. Fuming. 'What is it with 'Gee-Gee'? 'Now he can't start the car. I've suggested that we get our workshop to recover it but he reckons that he will be back soon. He has asked that you nip up to see him he says that Sykes is coming round'.

'Okay. If I take my car, will you authorise the expenses? I have already shelled out for a taxi once today'.

'Yeah, why not. Don't crash it though. We, (meaning him), are in enough shit as it is'.

Baxter felt a little nervous as he returned to the hospital. It took him a few minutes to find a parking space in the pay and display section of the grounds. As he walked towards the front of the hospital he heard raised voices and looking directly through the side windows of a stationary 'Variety Club Sunshine Coach', he saw 'Gee-Gee' arguing with a uniformed car park attendant who was adamantly refusing to release the clamped vehicle unless the £80.00 fee was paid.

'But it's a fucking police vehicle, you fucking moron yelled 'Gee-Gee'. I have been into the mortuary'.

'Sir', replied the warden 'shouting like that may well raise the dead and indeed, your blood pressure, but it will not get your car released'.

An apoplectic, 'Gee-Gee' screamed it's not my car. I have told you it's a fucking police car, you fucking cretin'.

Remaining impressively calm, the warden replied, 'That's as may be Sir. However, regardless of ownership, the release fee must be paid. As we say in the trade No fee, we win'. This bloke certainly had a sense of humour and Baxter was revelling in this impressively unruffled display of power.

Sensing a window of opportunity 'Gee-Gee' said...'Look, I am investigating a suspicious death and you are obstructing that investigation'.

Years of practice and repetition allowed the warden to impressively enunciate. 'Sir, not only you are obstructing me in my duties, much more importantly you are obstructing the Emergency Entrance to this large and extremely busy hospital.

The fee simply must be paid. We do accept credit cards and you can pay me now. Failure to do so may result in the vehicle being towed away thereby incurring an additional daily storage charge. The choice is entirely yours Sir. I have other matters to attend to. I shall afford you fifteen minutes to come to a decision'.

With that the warden walked away. Whistling. A man clearly happy in his work. It was then that Baxter noticed that the warden was wearing a 'Helmet Cam'...what he wouldn't give for a copy of that recording. . He may have been a 'jobs-worth' but Baxter liked him more and more by the second. It was time for Baxter to make an entrance.

Unaware that his altercation with the warden had been witnessed, 'Gee-Gee' put on a not very brave 'brave face' as he saw Baxter walking towards him. 'Oh, I'm just waiting for the car to be released'. However, his face told a very different story. Baxter loved this. The day was getting better by the second.

Without saying much more, Baxter quickly made his way to Ward 7 for two reasons. In order of preference, he wanted to see Hannah again and then get back to the front of the building to watch the latest episode of 'Gee-Gee's' humiliation. He was struck by a modicum of guilt that Sykes had not assumed more prominence in his consciousness.

As he had suspected, this was just another body swerve by 'Gee-Gee' and there had been no change in Sykes' condition. However, the ward manger helpfully handed over his house keys in exchange for a signature.

Hannah was nowhere to be seen so Baxter he made his way to the mortuary where after presumably, obtaining consent from the recently departed, 'Lurch' gave him Tamblin's house keys.

It seemed that 'Round Two' was well under way when Baxter got back outside the building. The warden had used his time wisely because on this occasion, he had brought reinforcements in the shape of a recovery truck and a rather menacing looking driver who looked like he 'moon shined' as a nightclub bouncer. What a double act these guys made. This really was the stuff of a Channel 5 documentary.

'Gee-Gee' was still attempting to 'rescue' the car with a combination of pleas and threats. Neither tactic was going to secure a draw, or a knockout. He was clearly well behind on points. This formidable duo clearly had him on the ropes.

When he saw Baxter he took him aside and said 'Don't suppose that you have your credit card on you do you Jeff mate, I left mine at home? We have to pay to get the car released'.

'Gee-Gee' was sweating heavily, his forehead creased with stress lines, his top shirt button undone, his silk tie loose and stained with perspiration. Baxter said 'We? It's you who will have to pay. It's your problem. Sort it out. And you had better do it pretty damn quick. The D.I. wants us to search those wino's houses. I can't cover for you much longer. Oh, and by the way cut out the threatening phone calls to the D.I. don't you think he has enough on his plate'.

Baxter then walked off towards his car leaving 'Gee-Gee' swearing profusely, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of the recovery truck reversing into position as the warden and the driver worked collectively to police the police and uplift the vehicle.

Before he got to his car 'Gee-Gee' ran over to Baxter and through his heavy panting managed to mumble...'Can you do me a favour'?

'What now'? Baxter sensed what was to come 'Err, can we keep this between the two of us? And can you give me a lift the bastards have taken the car I will get it tomorrow'.

'Won't say a word'...as they made their way back to the office one man was clearly happier than the other...he was the man who was thinking 'I don't have to say a single word...the camera never lies'.

Baxter made it back to the office, where the D.I. and D.C.I. were discussing whether Search Warrants should be obtained prior to Baxter and 'Gee-Gee' searching the homes of the deceased and soon to be deceased if things continued going from bad to worse.

It felt like guilt by association when referring to 'Gee-Gee' the D.I. said to Baxter 'Is your mucker back yet'? Before he could answer the D.C.I. had obviously misunderstood the question and said to the D.I. 'If you want Hodder to come back from leave you may as well have him team up with young Baxter here who can brief him. If Professional Standards 'kick up' tell them that it was my idea because we were short staffed. I would prefer to nip this in the bud. I don't want this to escalate. If H.Q. get to thinking that we have an epidemic on our hands they will open up an Incident Room and you know what that means...outside interference and loss of local control...not good for reputations'!

The inept D.I. gulped heavily...the D.C.I. was largely untouchable but a newly promoted D.I.? He was fair game for the sharks from the Command Block.

'Do you know where Hodder is Jeff'?

'He rang me earlier' said Baxter before continuing 'I can contact him. He was in Northumberland with his wife, but it will probably be tomorrow at the earliest when he gets back'

'No worries if he is booked in somewhere for a few days we will just have to manage without him'.

At this point 'Gee-Gee' stormed into the office. He was sweating heavily, tie still undone a man most definitely not at one with the world. His day was about to take a turn for the worse when he spotted the D.C.I. and the D.I.

'Ah', said the D.I. 'About the phone call before...do you have anything to say to me'?

'Gee-Gee' shuffled uncomfortably from side to side and began to focus upon his shoes as if they had assumed some earth shattering importance or maybe he was hoping that that the floor would open up and swallow him. Either way, nothing of the sort seemed to happening imminently, and as the silence grew, Baxter had to suppress his laughter. 'Gee-Gee' said 'Sorry Sir, I was just a bit annoyed that Jeff had left me stranded. You see, by the time I got back to car the recovery truck was there and they took it away'.

And surprisingly this was true.

Demonstrating the stupidity that Hodder had often told Baxter about, the D.I. said 'So, you finally took my advice and called out workshops to get it taken in. Very wise. We can't have you lot driving around in unsafe vehicles. Did they say what it was'?

Sensing hope for the first time in the last couple of hours 'Gee-Gee' said 'Well, it was just the recovery driver who came he is not a mechanic'.

Body swerve followed body swerve as growing increasingly in confidence 'Gee-Gee' said that if was nothing serious the car should be back tomorrow, in fact, he had arranged to collect it to save any inconvenience to anyone else'.

'Not to worry. No harm done. But 'Gee-Gee...just watch your language when you use the fucking phone. You never know who is listening'.

'I was' pondered Baxter 'and this is not over. Not by a long shot'.

With that the D.C.I. got up and left the office shaking his head in bewildered amusement and mumbling something under his breath.

As Sykes and Tamblin were both council tenants Baxter suggested that they contact the Local Authority for permission to enter the properties. He also proposed taking a council official along as an independent observer. It was fraught with danger, leaving oneself open to allegations of theft etc. from the grieving parasitic relatives by going into a property when the tenant was not around, even more so in cases like Tamblin, where he would never be around again.

'Good idea' said the D.I.

'Can you sort it out for me please 'Gee-Gee'? said Baxter 'I have a couple of calls to make before we go'.

'What am I? Your lackey? Fumed 'Gee-Gee'.

'I said it was a good idea' the D.I. chipped in...'you heard Jeff. He has better things to do other than hang around car parks all day, like some kind of 'Peeping Tom'.

Baxter knew that the D.I. would bend with the breeze, so he did not take this comment as either a show of support or a pat on the back. As he was making his way to the car park outside the police station his mobile rang, he did not recognise the number but it looked familiar. He was disappointed it was Hodder. 'Hi Jim. How are your hols'?'

'Getting worse by the second. What's happening with Parks? Have you done the warrant yet'?

Raising his eyes to the sky Baxter said 'I've got it. We have had a bit of a problem two of the local piss heads, Sykes and Tamblin, have ended up in hospital. Tamblin croaked so it's all hands to the pumps but don't worry I'll do it as soon as I can'.

'How did he die'?

'Don't know at the moment, but it doesn't look suspicious. His body probably gave up after years of abuse. You of all people should know about that...only joking before you go nuts'.

'Look' interrupted the very un-jolly holiday maker, 'I've got to get back and get Parks in custody the longer this goes on the more likely that the rubber healers are gonna do a job on me'.

Baxter then brought Hodder up to date with developments regarding the ever decreasing alcoholic population of the town and how the D.C.I. had suggested that he would welcome his return.

In response Hodder said that he would be back mid-morning and that he would break the news to Grace over dinner tonight.

Baxter ended the call thinking...'Rather you than me'.

Hodder ended the call thinking more or less the same thing with the added caveat that 'there is no situation that a Police Officer can't make worse'.

CHAPTER EIGHT

At or around 8.30pm that evening, four different events occurred independently. Each event would have a profound effect upon all of those involved.

By choosing a dining table by the restaurant window of Clennel Hall Hotel, Alwinton, which afforded spectacular views over the rolling Northumbrian countryside, Hodder had sought as much privacy as possible. The hall, a historic manor house dating back to 1541, was populated with the ghosts of many a High Sherriff of Northumberland and Hodder had a few ghosts of his own to exorcise as his thoughts turned to the difficult conversation that he was about to have with Grace.

This wasn't made any easier by the southern aspect of the windows because that was where he really needed to be...back on Tyneside dealing with his problems. But, Tyneside, just like the solution to his problems was way out of his immediate reach. He had considered talking to her in their room, but knew from similar situations in the past, that he was probably better off doing this in public, because as angry as she would quite justifiably become, he believed that she would restrain herself as much as possible whilst in public.

He was a coward and he knew it. He was also a lying coward, about to lie to the woman he loved and that's what hurt him the most.

Lauren was rushing around the house cleaning up. Since her parents had been away she could not rely on them to pick up the dirty laundry, crockery and magazines which littered just about every square foot of available floor space in the Hodder household.

The only real urgency was to get these things out of sight as quickly as possible, and the garage seemed as good a place as any in the short term. Her guests would be arriving soon, and she desperately wanted to convey a good impression. A few of her friends had thrown house parties in the past. These were largely disastrous affairs, usually interrupted by parents' returning unexpectedly, or by neighbours and or the police 'popping around' for a quiet chat...As the daughter of a Police Officer, she was determined that the party would be a disaster free zone and to ensure that, only her closest of friends had been invited.

Not for her, WKD wielding hooded yobs looking for free drink and a quick feel up. No, she had assured herself that this party would be different...it had to be if she was to stop her parents finding out. She was very excited. Ricky would be staying the night and they were going to be shagging in her parents bed.

On the other side of town, Baxter, 'Gee-Gee' and Steve Benfield, a housing enforcement officer employed by the local authority, entered Tamblin's first floor flat. The front door handle was thick with grease from countless unwashed hands, and as Baxter slipped on more latex gloves, he mused that as this was happening all too frequently for his liking, then perhaps, he should get some moisturiser. As he led the way, through the thickening atmosphere, the electric buzz of flies came from the kitchen. He flicked the nearest light switch which had probably once been white. It had probably been white about the same time as it had once been connected to the national grid.

In the darkening twilight of the evening, Baxter walked gingerly over mounds of unopened mail and once in the gloominess of the kitchen, the constant 'drip-drip' of the tap seemed to form a metronomic backdrop as if it was counting out time as a reminder to him to get in and out of this shit tip as quickly as he possibly could. Stacks of half empty foil containers littered the worktops, mould and maggots flourished everywhere. There was nothing in the cupboards. The fridge, now enjoyed an existence independent of a power source, and had in fact now been reduced to being no more than an empty, putrid smelling metal box. The stench was chokingly bad, but this place, the place that Tamblin had once called 'home' had to be searched.

Like Baxter and 'Gee-Gee', Steve Benfield had seen this all before. Typical bolthole of a typical pisshead. Benfield would have the unfortunate job of spending public money bringing this dump up to a habitable standard only to watch the whole sorry process of neglect and destruction start again. 'Gee-Gee', mindful of his sartorial elegance, stood by the badly damaged living room door, doing what 'Gee-Gee does best. Nothing.

Baxter had lost count of the number of holes that he had seen punched through internal doors of homes that he had visited over the years. Why did people do that? Was it a substitute for domestic violence? If it was, the figures would suggest that as a crime prevention strategy, it clearly wasn't working.

Baxter threw 'Gee-Gee' some large clear evidence bags and directed him to the living room, the centre of which was dominated by an impressively engineered pyramid of plastic supermarket bags. The bags contained dozens of empty three litre bottles of 'Chain Lightening', an industrial strength cider. This delicate little tipple, an invention of scientists, had never seen an apple in its life, and it was rumoured to have the same corrosive effect on the human brain as it had on paint.

Minutes later, Baxter joined 'Gee-Gee' in the living room, and it was clear that all of Tamblin's 'living', if indeed, that's what it could be called, had been done in this room. There was a faeces stained duvet on the sofa, with countless cigarette burns upon it. Half eaten tins of high protein food littered the floor. This culinary gem was a kind of multi-vit form of adult baby-type food. It was given on prescription to combat the effects of alcohol induced malnutrition, to those whose system could not deal with the normal digestive process. Yum yum...most definitely, not!

Save take away food, this was the staple diet of a professional pisshead, the main advantage being that they did not pay for it, thereby, having more benefit money left to spend on drink. Oh how civilisation had advanced through the centuries!

Lying amongst the detritus were a number of empty bottles of 'Snirmovv', Vodka. Baxter had never seen this brand before and as he examined the labels he saw that they were badly printed, uneven, misspelt and they did not give an abv, country of manufacture or have a tell-tale barcode. Baxter asked 'Gee-Gee' to seize a couple of these bottles as the 'best dressed man in a flea pit' made his way through the room with the evidence bags.

The bedroom was nothing more than a room full of old clothing scattered on the threadbare carpet, a very fine example of early twenty first century 'Floordrobe'. Junk mail, take away menus and a freshly dead cat filled one corner...perhaps the cat had been Tamblin's carer. Well, its work here was now done.

Despite having developed a tough outer shell, Baxter wondered who would actually mourn Tamblin. Who actually missed the invisible people? His small circle of drunken friends would for a day or two, the bloke in the off licence would, for a day or two, his family certainly wouldn't. Maybe the bloke at the dole may eventually 'twig' that he had not been around recently as their letters and claim forms remained unsigned.

'Gee-Gee' left the flat ahead of Baxter and Benfield and was waiting at the car when they got outside the building.

Now it was over to Sykes's place for more fun.

Would she turn up? It was the question that Dean Parks had been asking himself all day. Katy, a girl whom he had met in the university library, whilst he was posing as a History of Art student called Martin, had agreed to go out with him that evening.

He was excited. It had been a while.

There was a part of his personality, the part that took care of self-preservation that was telling him that he should lie low. But another, far more compelling force told him that because he had changed his appearance by having a complete Goth makeover, that there was no way that he was going to be identified by the police. Unless the wheel really did come off, he felt that he could walk around the town with impunity, especially now that he had used his junior hacksaw to cut off the handcuffs that he had been earlier forced to conceal up the sleeve of his hoody.

Besides that, he needed somewhere to sleep and where better than the arms of an unsuspecting student girl from the middle classes of middle England.

He was getting more excited. It had been a while.

Midway through her main course of Kielder Deer, Grace put her glass of wine down and quietly said to Hodder...'What's wrong.? You've hardly spoken all evening. Come on, get it off your chest'.

The fact that she appeared to be so reasonable hurt Hodder even more, but he knew that he was going to lie to her none the less. In his perverse logic, he figured that because he had never been unfaithful or done anything (until now) that may put his family in jeopardy, that a whole raft of small, in themselves, inconsequential lies, were not nearly as bad as some massive whopper. How wrong he was. Although he had not intended to hurt or deceive, he had clearly not factored in the cumulative effect of the 'serial liar'.

And so began one of the worst nights of their life together...'There have been some developments at work and all leave has been cancelled'...he winced expecting an immediate outburst. When none was forthcoming he continued...'Well, you know about all of the cutbacks and things, well, it seems...he paused...(suddenly engrossed by his River Tweed Trout as if it were about to leap from his plate)...that when the balloon goes up they just call people in no matter where they are. Courses are being cancelled, the sick are being hounded back to work and unfortunately if you are in this country they can call you back from leave'...still no response was she actually buying into this bullshit?

Grace picked up her fork and concentrating on the plate, one by one moved some organic garden peas into a sea of red wine jus. Her shoulders gently began to rise and fall in unison with the sharp intakes of her breath which got increasingly rhythmic and disturbingly stronger. She was sobbing.

As she looked up at Hodder, a single tear dropped from the tip of her nose, joining the peas in the jus. He watched as it exploded in slow motion on impact, immediately becoming diluted and invisible in the sauce. In that instant, Hodder hoped that he too could disappear.

'I knew this would happen. I knew that this was too good to be true...I married you, not your job...why do you always do this to me?...Other people would just forget about work. Why not you? Unless you haven't noticed there are other Police Officers' you know...but I don't have another husband...why is it that you have this unique ability to fuck everything up'?

Now that really took Hodder aback. Grace never, never, ever, swore...she didn't even know what was going on yet, she could still see through him...were his lies really that transparent? Yet again his flawed logic surfaced...he figured that because he had embarked on this course of action he had better stick with it for now at least.

'Look, honestly, it's not my fault (he lied) I hoped against hope that they would not call me...I had to give Jeff a mobile number (he lied)...I was told to stay in touch (he lied)...We were lucky to get away at all (he lied).

'Take me home'.

'Lets' try to enjoy the rest of the evening'.

'Take me home'.

'Grace, I have had a drink'.

'Take me home now'.

'Come on please be reasonable...let's just stay overni...'

Grace stood up, called to the waiter and asked him to order her a taxi. The clearly embarrassed waiter asked her the destination, and when she gave their home address, Hodder knew that she was serious.

He could not drive...he was well over the limit. She was so angry that she would probably do to him what he had so recently done to Francis Randall-Ord. But at least, unlike Hodder, she would have had some justification. Hodder made to follow her out of the restaurant. She turned on her heels, her tears now gone she said 'Where are you going?'

'With you...I will come back for the car later'.

'You are not coming with me...you are lucky that I am leaving the car with you! You could even get one of your precious friends from the station to come and collect you, but I do not expect to see you again tonight! Don't forget to pay the bill before you leave...Do not follow me!'

The attention of the other guests shifted from Jim to Grace and back to Jim as he tried to compose himself. He made his way to the room where Grace was hurriedly throwing her things into a bag. She calmly said 'If I forgotten anything bring it home with you when you come'. She then left the room without another word.

Hodder sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. 'Why, oh why, do I always mess things up?

After five minutes of brooding and feeling sorry for himself he got his mobile and decided to call Baxter. What with? There was no signal. Just great! He hurried from the room after Grace just in time to see the taillights of the taxi leaving the rain sodden hotel grounds. Great.

Hodder, thought for a micro-second about calling Baxter on the hotel payphone. He thought again. He decided against it, opting instead to do what he always did in a crisis. Get shit faced. He headed for the bar. Fuck the other guests.

Baxter, 'Gee-Gee' and Benfield made their way to the ram shackled bedsit in a large Victorian Terrace that Sykes shared with a variety of Asylum Seekers, Registered Sex Offenders and the recently estranged.

This was as depressing as Tamblin's place, the only advantage being that as it was smaller they thankfully would not have to spend too much time there.

Whilst searching through a small bedside cabinet Baxter found a number of used mobile phones. Assuming that they may be stolen Baxter seized these along with a couple of bottles of 'Snirmovv' Vodka...one empty the other full.

There were no other items of value in the room so, it was locked securely. Sykes was not dead yet so, Benfield and his team would, for the time being at least, be spared the pleasure of fumigating this particular palace.

Whilst en-route to the office, Baxter's phone rang. Was this Hodder? He sighed loudly as he answered fearing the worst from his increasingly paranoid colleague.

'That's a charming way to greet a girl'.

Baxter immediately flushed. 'Gee-Gee' was driving and there was absolutely no way that he was going to talk to Hannah whilst that imbecile was around and listening.

'Oh Hi, there. Are you okay? He asked in a rather boyish way. He was about to ask if Sykes had come around when a glance at his watch revealed that this was very obviously not a business call.

'What are you doing tonight? I know it's a bit forward I just wondered that if you were not too busy or at a loose end then perhaps we could...'Baxter interrupted...'I've got to nip back to the office for a short while. If I can get away can I call you'?

'You had better'...the line went dead.

'Who was that?' asked 'Gee-Gee'...'It was the car park attendant from the hospital asking how you are', responded Baxter dryly.

'You are joking aren't you'?

'Oh yeah, now let's get back to the nick, get this property through the POFP (Property Other Than Found) I have some things to do tonight.'

Once out of the car Baxter entered the mobile phones and bottles through the POFP register and left it on 'Gee-Gee's' desk expecting him to enter the property that he had seized. As usual, a tidal wave of indifference had swept over 'Gee-Gee' he had not bothered to seize any items from Tamblin's place. I was too late now because in all probability, the flat would be gutted by lunch time tomorrow if not by the council fumigation team, then by the local parasites who would strip it of everything from the fridge to the radiators and copper piping.

They would probably even use the soiled duvet cover to take things of no earthy use and even less value away from the scene.

To cover all the necessary bases, Baxter completed the search register for both addresses and made a brief call to the D.I. who by the nature of the background noise, of uncontrollable giggling was either in a brothel or out with the temps.

It was obvious that there had been no major developments but the D.I. asked Baxter if he would remain on call just in case anything happened. Baxter was not one to argue. Overtime was hard to come by. Overtime spent with a member of the health profession was certainly an unexpected bonus. However, the D.I. made it abundantly clear he did not expect to be disturbed. Yeah. That was it then...he was definitely with the temps.

Katy met Martin in the Five Swans, a new JD Weatherspoon pub in the centre of Newcastle. She was really quite nervous about meeting a virtual stranger, but as they would be going to her friend's house for a party she felt reasonably safe.

After a couple of drinks she began to relax and Martin warmed to the idea of meeting some of her friends. This was all part of the act, but he hoped that none of them would ask him about his non-existent course. He resolved as he always did in such situations to get the girl, in this case Katy, caned as quickly as possible, and he knew the bottles in his pocket would see to that.

Parks was so confident that his 'new look/disguise' would not be rumbled that he was comfortable sitting in full view of a bank of CCTV cameras. Part of what excited him about what he was going to do was the cat and mouse aftermath. All he would have to do was to change his appearance again and 'hey presto' he had licence to do pretty much what he wanted.

Deep down though, it felt 'normal' to him, Parks saw his behaviour of less to do with physical domination, than mind games with his adversaries. He was certainly not concerned about leaving a few clues behind, and as long as they conflicted with any evidence he had left at a previous crime scene, he was comfortable that his Barrister could throw enough doubt into the mix so that the morons' who populated the jury would acquit him.

In short, Parks had so much confidence in the inefficiency of the legal system that he felt that he could 'buck it' yet again. He had been around the block enough times to believe that the only persons who wielded any power, and who took the justice system seriously were the jurors, and that they were the amateurs.

Getting arrested held no fear for Parks. Getting convicted did. However, as he was still technically 'on his heels' he could not afford to take any unnecessary risks, though what he was going to do was extremely risky. Parks prided himself on meticulous planning and, as on so many other occasions, he would simply evaporate after he had done the dirty deed.

The alcohol that he had consumed before meeting Katy had fuelled his confidence, and he was feeling good about the work that lay ahead. When Katy suggested that it was time to make a move to the party he confidently took her by the hand. Little did he know it that he was heading straight into the lions' den. The Lion was not home that night, but unknown to the Lion cub the Lioness was on her way home.

Baxter noticed that his hands were shaking as he brought up the 'received calls' menu on his mobile. Was he doing the right thing? Was he heading for trouble? It really didn't matter because he was going to do it anyway. He was going to do it because if he didn't he would be asking himself possibly for years to come, what would have happened if he had made the call.

And so it was he pressed the send button. She answered almost immediately. What he asked himself should he read into this? 'Nothing' it's a mobile telephone she could be absolutely anywhere, the clue is in the name you idiot. He always reproached himself when he was nervous.

'Hi, it's Jeff. I hope that it's not too late'?

'No. Not at all. I called you earlier because I wondering...er, do you fancy going for a drink?'

'Well, I'm still technically at work. I'm on call until midnight or so, It's probably best that I don't wander too far from the office...you must know what that's like'?

Hannah sounded a little disappointed and said 'Well, if it's not convenient...I er...'

Baxter who sensed that the opportunity may escape him, jumped in...'We can meet somewhere equidistant. Why not? I could do with cheering up after the day that I have had'.

'Okay...where'? So, off he went, getting some cash on the way, not knowing what the night held in store for him.

When Parks and Katy got out of the taxi, he made his way towards the house where all of the noise was coming from, leaving her to pay the fare. Well, it's not as if he intended seeing her again after tonight, and she seemed so polite that she probably wouldn't even mention it anyway.

That was why he targeted 'posh lasses'...they had been brought up properly and would not dare complain, it was not the done thing. But, girls from his social circle, well, they were something quite different altogether. They would have had him by the balls within seconds. He knew which side his bread was buttered on.

The house was large, clean and very well furnished. He made a mental note to himself to 'come back on another occasion and check it out'.

The one thing that he did not like about these 'posh birds' was all of the cuddling and false sincerity that they seemed to display towards one another, forever thanking each other 'Sooo Much'. But, looking on the bright side it was a small price to pay for getting fed, pissed and shagged.

Parks could barely hear himself think over the pounding riffs of Nordic Goth as Katy introduced him to her friends Lauren and Ricky...they were the hosts. He had better steer clear of them because they looked like 'real Goths' and if he was drawn into conversation with them they would soon discover his short comings on the matter.

He also reminded himself to stay off the subject of 'History of Art' or any other academic subject for that matter.

He left them to it and made his way to the kitchen where he took out his bottle of 'Snirmovv' poured a liberal amount in a tumbler for Lauren before adding some Rohypnol and blue WKD to disguise the dye that the manufacturers put in the drug. He then chose a Hiball glass for himself which he filled with a generous helping of Smirnoff...'Not drinking any of that cheap shit...No one ever told me that you have to drink your own stuff at a party anyway'!

When he returned, Lauren and Ricky were talking to some newly arrived guests, thank God. He gave Katy her drink, 'clinked' glasses with her and watched nervously as she began to drink. She was fucking sipping it...He knocked his back in one and told her to do the same saying that they should sample some of the other drinks on offer...the good thing about 'posh birds' is that they nearly always did as they were told.

He was secretly pleased that the music was so loud that he was barely able to talk to her...he was after all, not here to talk. At his insistence Katy finished her drink...just like the taxi fare, he did not care what she thought about him...she would think even less of him when he had finished with her. They went off together to get more drinks.

Parks was nothing if not generous and to show his appreciation he poured two large Smirnoff's and found a quiet corner from where he could watch the comings and goings of the room. Over time, he had learnt that it's always wise to know your way around a place, but especially the way out, so, after a few minutes he decided to explore upstairs.

Large family bathroom. Four bedrooms all tastefully furnished. Hearing Loyd Grossman's voice he said to himself 'Now, who lives in a house like this'?

Once back downstairs, he set about the task of plying Katy with drink and looking for the first signs that the Rohypnol, may be taking effect. Experience had taught him that he had to get her upstairs one way or another, so that they could be alone. It was then a simple matter of finding an unoccupied room. He had also learnt that 'posh birds' really could drink when they applied themselves to the task, and that he could be in for a long night. He had however, prepared himself for that.

Grace's taxi seemed to be taking an age. Had the driver deliberately decided to give her a conducted tour of every contra flow, diversion and set of temporary traffic lights in all of Northumberland? Further to that, he wanted to talk endlessly about his holidays, her holidays, the disgusting parking costs at Newcastle Airport and the cost of fuel.

Should she go back and surprise Hodder? She knew that she could not remain angry with him for ever. They could just forget about it all. She knew he was married to the job too. It was just that she resented being second best to a mistress that she could not see or argue with. She could feel herself wavering, and was about to ask the driver to turn around and head back to the hotel...even a night of silence with Hodder would be better than listening to this idiot prattling on.

And then she thought...'No. Let him stew'.

Paradoxically, Hodder was propping up the bar, speaking to the Ukrainian barman about football when a thought occurred to him that he should get in a taxi, go home and make up with Grace. She knew that he was committed to his job. He would just have to try to convince her that she was not second best.

He was about to ask the barman to order him a taxi when he thought...'No. let her stew'.

As Baxter walked into the 'Quay Taphouse', he was surprisingly nervous. He kept telling himself that she would not turn up and that it was all a 'wind up'....'I mean. What does she see in you? She doesn't even know you, but as soon as she gets to know you, she will drop you like a hot stone, stop kidding yourself...she could have the pick of any man that she wanted'.

Quickly scanning the bar and seating area he could not see her. He knew it. He was a fool for even thinking that she may show up. He spun on his heels, eyes and spirit downcast, he headed for the door, nearly knocking over someone who was entering the pub.

He had to do a double take. Was this because he was now seeing her out of context? He had only ever seen her in uniform before. In the micro-second that followed, his mind began to process the fact that some men were fixated with women in uniform. It did not have the same effect on him. He was around women in uniform all day long, it did absolutely nothing for him. He knew that uniforms were designed to mask the female form, now, civvies they were a different matter altogether. And boy, were they working on this occasion!

He instinctively apologised. 'No. No', she interrupted, 'It's me who should apologise, I had to get some petrol, and I'm on early shift tomorrow'. As she spoke, she smiled broadly, not one of those ceramic/lazered 'pay on the never-never', walking advert for the cosmetic dentistry industry kind of smiles, but a quite beautifully, brilliant, natural smile.

'Think on your feet, think on your feet'. He flushed, 'I was just going outside to call you'.

'No need. I'm here now...can I buy you a drink'? Baxter mentally pinched himself. 'She is gorgeous, apologetic and she buys her round...there must be a catch somewhere...if this ends now, l can die a happy man'.

Being a bit of a traditionalist Baxter headed for the bar, and was most surprised to be recognised by the large jovial man behind the bar. 'Your Mate not in tonight then?...thought you may be having a re-union with Francis'. He smiled wryly and nodded over Baxter's left shoulder, where a very drunk Francis Randall-Ord was swaying behind him, looking every bit like one of those strange anorexic inflatable figures that explode from the ground at the end of football matches.

'Francis' took one look at Baxter and growled 'I'm going to start drinking somewhere else'.

Recognition at last!

Once served, Baxter and Hannah walked away from the bar, and finding a secluded corner table, he briefly briefed her on the brief details that he had of the brief. He wanted to steer the conversation away from his work and learn more about her.

Watching her eyes closely Parks saw that Katy's pupils were beginning to dilate...it was working and it was only a question of time now before he would take her upstairs, because he knew that the combination of alcohol and Rohypnol would soon render her helpless.

Time to get things ready. Parks headed off to the kitchen where he retrieved the still three quarter full bottle of 'Snirmovv'...that was something else about these posh people...they would only buy and drink the expensive stuff. More fool them. He on the other hand, bought the cheap stuff but drank their expensive stuff. It seemed like a perfectly satisfactory arrangement to him.

Back with Katy, he could see that she was 'nearly ready' and he knew that she would comply with his simple request to go upstairs with him. As they did so, Lauren and Ricky came across the room and asked how Katy was. She was in no condition to answer for herself, so he made drinking gestures with his hand and 'glugging' type sounds.

They looked at each other, laughed, nodded in acknowledgement and walked on.

Lauren and Ricky who were pretty well served themselves, looked around the room to see that most of their other guest were in 'advanced states of refreshment'...so Katy did not look in the least out of place.

It was time to make his move, he just hoped that he could find an empty bedroom, but if 'push came to shove' the bathroom or even the garage would have to do, though the prospect of dragging her downstairs again did not really appeal to him. One thing was certain though, he did not want to be seen leaving the house with Katy...that was taking an unnecessary risk, because they could be stopped by a police patrol or spotted by an inquisitive neighbour.

Certainly this was risky, he knew he could not eliminate the risks, but he knew how to reduce them.

Once on the landing, he went into a couple of bedrooms. The dirty bastards...had they no respect?...there were people shagging everywhere. Finally, he made it to a third room. Bingo. Obviously a girls' room, it was empty. He led the now semi-conscious Katy into the room and onto the bed where once he had removed her trousers and knickers he put on the condom that had been 'burning a hole' in his pocket since he met her in town hours earlier.

Parks showed no compassion...why should he...there was no need, she was absolutely out of it. As bizarre thoughts go, he asked himself if Katy was a virgin and how many other virgins he had taken without their knowledge. Strangely, he did not enjoy this...on the rare occasions that he had had consensual sex, it felt far better than this.

Warmer, nicer, kinder.

He was brutal, forceful and animalistic, but as he was finishing, he mused that warmth, niceness and kindness had nothing to do with this. This was all about power.

When he had finished...he left the condom on and pulled his trousers up. He did not even afford Katy the dignity of covering her up, in an effort to make it look like she was sleeping.

No. His work here was nearly done. He took a pillow from the bed, toyed briefly with the idea of suffocating Katy, and immediately dismissed it. Better to be a rapist than a murderer. Like so many serial offenders, Parks like to keep trophies and on this occasion he used his mobile to take a photograph of the comatose Katy as she lay helpless on the bed.

He took a long shot of her focusing on her genitalia, providing himself with a permanent reminder of his triumph. He emptied the pillow from the case, and set about ransacking the room for anything small and valuable.

Jewellery, sixty pounds in cash, a debit card and a laptop (and charger). Soon, he was out of the room and heading downstairs with the pillow case concealed beneath his jacket, as Lauren and Ricky started walking up towards him.

Lauren slurring said 'Where is Katy'...he stuttered and faltering said 'She's downstairs I have been to the toilet.

'No, she isn't we have been looking for her'...sensing Parks unease she said 'What are you hiding under your jacket'?

Parks was thrown off guard for a second, and made to push past them but Ricky put his hand on his chest to prevent him going any further. Ricky immediately felt the hard casing of an unknown object, obviously the laptop, and he attempted to grab it.

Parks reached inside his jacket and pulled out the 'Snirmovv' bottle and smashed it against the banister, shards of illuminated glass falling onto the floor together with the Vodka which soaked his shoes and the carpet. He thrust the broken bottle towards Lauren's throat, provocatively waving it from side to side and said quite coldly 'Fuck off to your posh friends tough boy...get out of my way, me and your little fuck buddy here, are going for a walk outside...if you try anything...she won't have to wait until middle age to lose her looks. Now fuck off'!

Ricky was about to start to reason with Parks...'Look Martin...no worries take what you want, we don't want any troub...' 'You're not fucking listening. Get out of the way'. With that, Parks pushed Lauren to the bottom of the stairs, followed her and kicked the base of her back as she crouched on all fours in the hallway.

The impact was such that Lauren fell onto her front and lay spread eagled and motionless on the floor, her face taking most of her weight as she dropped. Her nose burst immediately, the blood on her face and carpets making her injuries appear to be far worse than they actually were.

This was not going to plan. Parks sprinted for the front door just as the deafening music died. He pulled the door open, ran along the short drive and turned left and sprinted out of view, leaving chaos behind.

Whilst serving his apprenticeship as a criminal, older more experienced 'operators', passed on the golden rules of escape. So, in keeping with his survival instinct, and his training, he kept off all main roads, open ground and selectively chose when to walk and when to run. The last thing he wanted to do when he had escaped the initial scene, was to draw attention to himself for all the wrong reasons.

This practice had held him in good stead in the past, and so it did again. The worst thing about this escape was the ten cubic centilitres of semen oozing from the pendulum like condom that he was still wearing on his flaccid penis.

Grace's phone rang. It was Lauren she was crying hysterically. Grace could barely make a word out amongst the sobs, but it was clear from the background noise that something chaotic had occurred.

'Where are you darling? Are you hurt? Who is with you? What has happened?

Barely able to get her words out, through uncontrollable almost asthmatic panting Lauren said something about having been kicked by someone who had got into the house. She also mentioned something about one of her friends being unwell 'She may have collapsed, I can't wake her up. You and Dad have got to come home...Now'.

Dealing with one crisis in a day was bad enough, but now this! What should she do? She instinctively rang Hodder's mobile, it went directly to voice mail...'Oh Fuck'. 'What's up'? asked the taxi driver. 'Nothing just get me home as quick as you can...I'll pay any speeding tickets you get'.

Grace tried Hodder's phone again. Voice mail again. As she had booked the hotel she knew that she had telephone number in her 'dialled menu'. She got through and it was answered on the third ring by a disturbingly cheerful receptionist. She explained that she needed to speak to Mr Hodder a guest in room 337 as matter of urgency. She was put through to the room immediately. No reply. She was then forwarded to the bar. It was empty. Close to tears she asked to be put through to the room again. No reply.

As she told the receptionist that it was imperative that she speaks to Mr Hodder as matter of urgency, she gave the receptionist her number, asked her to pass the message on as soon as she saw Mr Hodder.

Meanwhile, Mr Hodder who was in a drunken coma in the room was blissfully unaware of the knocking on his door, the handwritten note that had been slipped under it, or more importantly, the shit storm that was brewing up outside it.

However, he would know soon enough.

'What to do'? 'What to do'? Grace searched through the numbers dialled menu and found an unfamiliar number and rang hoping against hope that it was Baxter's'...and that Hodder had been honest enough with her when he borrowed her phone earlier in the day.

This was certainly turning into some kind of day...straight to voice mail...'What is it with people? Why have a phone if you don't answer it'? She kept on trying...'Come on Jeff' thought Grace, 'Please answer'.

Baxter and Hannah were engrossed in conversation. This was great, she was great...the only problem that he had was to ignore the phone which though it was on vibrate only was constantly going off in his pocket. He hoped that she had not noticed this and misinterpret his look of slight irritation as boredom.

He had to give in, he shuffled uncomfortably and rummaged through his pocket before pulling the phone out and looked at the display, he was sure that it was the number that Hodder had called him from before. He apologised to Hannah saying 'I really ought to take this it may be important'. Before the word 'Hello' had left his lips all he could hear was hysterical screaming down the line. 'Jeff, Jeff is that you...its Grace something has happened to Lauren'.

As he nervously eyed Hannah, he found himself saying 'Grace please calm down'...She didn't and he could barely make out a word that she was saying. He raised his voice and said as strongly as he could muster without giving the wrong impression to his new companion...'Stop it!'

Hannah shuffled uncomfortably in her chair, and after what seemed like an age of silence to her, she quietly picked up her bag and without a word made for the door. Baxter got to his feet and followed in her wake to the door, phone still clamped to his ear, looking for all the world like someone who had just delivered the vilest, most foul mouthed insult to an Anglican Bishop whom he had just met in a railway station toilet.

Grace was bawling uncontrollably down the phone. Hannah was making her way to her car...he called after her 'It's not what you think'. As she reached for her car keys she turned around and shouted 'You don't want to know what I think'!

With that she sped off along the quayside, thinking that her colleagues who had advised her not to get involved with a Police Officer were correct.

'Just like Doctor's' they warned her 'Here today gone tomorrow, unreliable and dysfunctional'. 'Yeah', she concluded, who was I kidding to think that I would find anyone who was any different from my mates who are involved with copper's...I should just thank my lucky stars that I found out so soon...Fuck him'.

All things considered, the wine chilling in the fridge offered a much better alternative. At least she knew where she stood with the wine... headaches were much easier to deal with than heartaches, and on average they did not last quite as long.

On reflection, she thought that the ACAB tattooed on Sykes knuckles were a pretty accurate assessment of the world as she was beginning seeing it right now. Yes, she was in total agreement with him...'All Copper's Are Bastards'.

Baxter had no time to feel sorry for himself, he turned his attention back to Grace and releasing some of his anger on her he shouted 'Stop. Tell me what has happened. I can't help you otherwise'. There was silence on the other end of the phone and seconds later a sobbing Grace told him that something had happened at home and that Lauren was hurt. She failed to mention that Katy was unconscious.

Still barely able to conceal his fury he asked her where she was...'I'm about twenty minutes from home'...'When you two get home, Jim will know what to do'...A nervous silence followed as Grace began to sob again...'He's not here, we had an argument he is still at the hotel...I need your help...you will know what to do. Can you go over to our place and wait for me'?

With what was left of his already evaporating good will, Baxter felt that he was having an out of body experience when he heard himself say completely against all logic...'Yeah okay. Just be quick'.

Whilst driving to Hodder's house he was not even considering what he may walk into when he got there, he was too replaying the disaster that had been probably his first and last date with Hannah over and over in mind. Should he ring her? Should he trace her using facilities at the office? This was strictly against the rules, and she would probably make an official complaint against him or should he just forget about her?

In keeping with all other emotional crises that he had ever had, he resolved to do nothing for now. As he got out of his car, his mind focused on the job in hand. There were youngsters milling around the front garden as he walked in through the open door looking for Lauren. Baxter did not know Lauren, but he recognised her from a photograph of her mother and her which occupied pride of place in the bottom drawer of Hodder's desk.

He found Lauren lying on a sofa in the living room, with an apprentice undertaker, obviously her boyfriend, holding her hand. Her face had dry smudged blood around her nose and mouth. He introduced himself and said that he was there at the request of her mother who was on her way. Lauren in turn introduced the youth helping her as her boyfriend Ricky.

Lauren was clearly in considerable pain, telling Baxter that she had been kicked in the lower back by a guy called 'Martin' who had attended her party with her friend Katy who was ill upstairs. Lauren was clearly worried about what her parents may say about the impromptu party, but it was equally clear to Baxter that none of that was his business, and that she would have to get herself out of that particular hole. He hesitated telling her that Hodder would not be returning with her mother. That too, was none of his business.

Ricky took Baxter to Lauren's bedroom where he saw that the young girl who was identified as Katy was lying under a duvet. He checked her vital signs she was unconscious, her pulse was weak her breathing shallow and she had a very unpleasant pallor to her skin. He reached for his mobile dialled 'three nines' and requested an ambulance.

For a brief second he hesitated about calling the police, then realising that he had to 'cover his back'. This was after all, Hodder's problem and not his, he thought better of it and also requested the police, mentioning the assault on Lauren and providing the address details.

It was fairly obvious to Baxter that most of these young persons had been drinking, but he suspected that Katy's condition was not entirely down to alcohol alone though her breath did smell of the stuff.

He asked Ricky to go downstairs and get one of the other girls to come upstairs to look after Katy...he did not know what had happened to her. He did not know Ricky, and was not going to leave Katy alone with an unknown male whilst she was this vulnerable.

Ricky came back upstairs with a girl who identified herself as Valerie Simpson, a friend from Uni. He left them together telling her to get him if she deteriorated in any way. He then went downstairs to try to establish the facts and find out the names of all those who had attended the party, whether they were still present or not.

Whilst he was in the garden taking details, a taxi screeched to a halt outside the house. Grace jumped from the car and ran past Baxter and into the house. Hot on her heels was an irate taxi driver demanding the fare. Baxter stopped him going into the house, calmed him down and said...'I will get your money for you'.

Meanwhile in the living room Lauren and Grace were in floods of tears. It was a very touching, but somewhat pathetic scene, that Baxter felt embarrassed to interrupt...'Er hmm, sorry Grace but the nice taxi driver would like to be paid'.

Composing herself for a second she said 'How much does he want?'

'The figure of fifty pounds was mentioned'.

She went ballistic 'How much!' she screamed at the top of her voice, 'I've only come from Northumberland not fucking Narnia'. Her mood was clearly not helping the situation, so fearing that the taxi driver may also be in need of an ambulance if he hung around much longer, Baxter paid him with the money that he had earlier earmarked for spending on Hannah. Easy come, easy go.

A thought occurred to Baxter...'Get the fifty quid off Hodder...then kill him'.

Moments later, uniformed officers and an ambulance arrived in tandem. Baxter explained to his colleagues that he was a family friend of the Hodder's and as D.S. Hodder was out of the area at this time, his wife asked him for assistance.

Baxter was more concerned about Katy than he was about Lauren and took the paramedics upstairs to where she still lay. Her condition had not deteriorated but the crew were concerned enough to suggest that they should admit her. It was only at the point where they were putting her into a chair to take her to the ambulance that Baxter noticed that she was naked from the waist down.

He immediately feared the worst having earlier been told of 'Martins' rapid exit from the house.

Returning downstairs he suggested to the uniforms present that it may be as well to consider that Katy had been recently sexually active, but that unfortunately, she may not have been aware of it. He therefore suggested that the duty D.I. was informed, and that complete details of those attending the bash should be obtained.

He advised them to 'secure' the whole house but especially the bedroom, which for the time being at least should be viewed as a crime scene. It appeared to Baxter that he was now 'back at work', and he was not in the least bit happy about it.

Both Grace and Lauren had calmed down sufficiently, so that Baxter was able to take them to the General Hospital. He was pretty confident that the injuries were not serious. He had no idea if Lauren would be detained overnight and gently suggested to Grace that she may want to take some money for a taxi home.

Baxter, like all officers, regardless of department, spent far too much time hanging around hospitals. Furthermore, he had seen enough of these featureless corridors for one day. Plus, he had his own pressing problem to sort out.

After calling out and informing all of the 'appropriate individuals' he asked himself...'What should I do'?

He contemplated calling Hannah to apologise. He reasoned that even if she didn't accept his apology then, at least, he had tried.

He decided to give Hodder a call at Clennel Hall so, he returned to the office, obtained the number, and asked to be put through to Mr Hodder's room. The phone seemed to ring for an age and he was just about to hang up when a groggy, vaguely familiar, but obviously intoxicated voice answered with a gruff 'Yeah'.

'Jim? Is that you?'

'Yeah what do you want? Do you know what time it is?'

'Yes I do, and I could do without getting involved in your domestics'.

'Well, just keep your nose out...Anyway, how do you know we had an argument?'

'Well Jim, it's pretty difficult to avoid when your wife rings me up in hysterics'.

'I'm going back to sleep...she'll get over it'.

'Don't flatter yourself. She was not in hysterics over you. Lauren has been assaulted, Grace was miles from home and she asked me for help, so I went round to your place'

'What happened?'

Baxter filled the now rudely awake Hodder in on the facts relating to Lauren, and only scant details of Katy. Baxter knew that Hodder deserved to know everything, but it was obvious from the slur in Hodder's voice that he had been drinking heavily, and that he would only get in the way if he came home tonight especially with everyone's feelings running so high.

'I'm gonna drive down tonight' said Hodder.

'No. You are not. You are in no fit state to drive. Have some sleep and come down early in the morning'.

'Come and get me Jeff'.

'Sorry, I've been on all day...I still have things to do and to be honest, well, I'm pretty pissed off with you...This whole thing has caused personal problems for me. I will see you in the morning after I have finished covering your back'. Without another word Baxter ended the call, updated the computer regarding the minor assault at the party. However, it was the not the comatose girl but the girl of his dreams which stopped him dreaming that night.

When he was about a mile from the scene of the party, and his dirty deed, Parks got onto a bus and headed for the 24 hour Tesco supermarket upon Norham Road, in a rather anonymous part of North Shields. He figured that it was time for a change of look. He put the pillow case and contents in a bin adjacent to the door before entering this shopaholics' paradise.

He had a quick walk around the clothing department, selected two identical tee shirts, two jumpers and two pairs of jeans. He took them to the fitting room. He bit through the security tags on one item of each, and put them on under his existing clothes. God it was hot!

He then replaced, the tagged items back on display and CCTV footage, though it would never be checked would show him doing just that. He was nothing if not thorough!

Calmly walking to the hair products aisle, he chose two bottles of strawberry blonde dye, one of which he removed from the packaging and pocketed before placing the empty box back on the shelf behind the box that was still intact.

He then made his way to the 'in door' and calmly walked out as a family of four came in for a late night shop. Saves the cost of babysitters' thought Parks as he collected the pillowcase before he made his way to the charity skips at the far side of the car park. He then removed his outer clothing and condom before putting them in the skips, emerging 'butterfly-like', born again.

A glance at his watch, reminded him of two things a) there is just enough time to get to a bus to Newcastle and b) he needed a new watch because you can never tell what evidence of identification a witness or victim would remember. Once in the centre of Newcastle, he boarded another bus which took him along Scotswood Road getting off in the region of the Business Park. He had had rich pickings here in the past. The park was filled with call centres and other office blocks. The contents of parked cars were not for him tonight as he made his way to the riverside where he threw his watch into the fast flowing River Tyne.

Parks then made his way to Elswick Road, where a once grand town house had morphed into a low-life, low-cost, no questions asked doss house. The main advantage for Parks was that he was miles away from the scene of his wrong doing.

More importantly, to fuel his ego he could watch the Tyneside based television stations to see if he had hit the big time and whether or not was safe to remain in the area. It really rankled with him that he had not made the headlines in the past with his previous actions. There was a perverse kind of esteem being associated with being openly wanted by the police.

In truth, he really just craved the attention, though that would change in time.

Once in his room, it was time to dye his hair to complete his new look.

After a fitful sleep, Baxter was in the office early the next day and immediately rang Grace's phone, it went directly to voice mail. He did not leave a message. He rang her at home. There was no reply and the answer service activated. Once again, he did not leave a message. Baxter then checked the incident log and saw that both Lauren and Katy had been detained. Lauren for observation to a lower back injury and Katy, more alarmingly, remained unconscious. Reading on, he saw that Hodder's entire home was now being treated as a crime scene.

'That'll please him, but not as much as it will please the D.I. and some of the other idiots in the office' thought Baxter. 'Just what he needs. Scenes of Crime Officers' and god knows who else trawling all over his home and his private life'.

Baxter couldn't delay it any longer. He rang Hodder's phone. It was answered almost immediately. 'Grace'?

'No. Me' said Baxter 'Where are you'?

'About twenty minutes from home', he lied.

'Don't go there and don't come to the office and don't argue with me. See me at the General Hospital car park...there is nothing to worry about (He lied). I will be there soon'.

The choice of the car park served a number of purposes. One, there was a cash machine outside the main entrance, and he wanted the fifty quid taxi fare that Hodder owed him.

Two, he could update Hodder on what had happened and assure him that Lauren was not badly injured.

Three, he had to warn him that SOCO and Co, would all over his house like a rash...'I bet Professional Standards will have a field day with this...nothing they love better than to watch a career going down the shitter. It serves as a universal reminder for everyone else to stay in line'.

Four, he had to mention the condition of Katy, and far more importantly, as far as he was concerned, Baxter hoped to see Hannah and offer some form of explanation and hope that they could get things back on track. Of no importance to him whatsoever, was the reason behind Hodder and Grace's domestic though he would be involved in that soon enough.

Hodder had a history of not taking advice, and a matter of minutes later, he parked his car a few streets away from his home. He walked to his house half expecting there to be a marked car outside to secure the scene. There wasn't, so he walked to the door and gingerly knocked upon it, again expecting a uniformed officer to be inside preserving the scene. Bingo! It was at moments like this that he thanked the lord for the incompetence of the police.

Hodder entered and through the dawn light saw a scene of some devastation, broken glass on the stairs and drinks abandoned everywhere. A quick scan of the downstairs rooms revealed nothing more than scenes of general chaos and disorder...just a normal party then?

Hodder went to the bathroom, nothing obvious there.

He then entered Lauren's room the bedding had been removed, and as he looked around the room he saw a number of love heart sweets lying on the floor at the foot of the bed.

'The bastard! Parks has been here' he said loudly and angrily to himself. Hodder went into automatic pilot and with hardly a conscious thought in his head he went to his wardrobe reached into a jacket pocket and took out a small evidence bag containing the cigarette ends that Parks had so carelessly abandoned in the exercise yard whilst he was in custody.

From another jacket he retrieved his digital voice recorder.

He secreted the recorder in his pocket and deposited the cigarette ends on the floor of the bedroom a couple of feet away from the sweets.

This was war and Hodder was about to rage it. He then left his home.

Baxter made it to the Hospital car park and stood next to the main entrance where Hodder would be sure to see him when he entered. He was preoccupied and mentally rehearsing an imaginary conversation that he may have with Hannah, when he was brought back to reality by the sound of a car horn. It was Hodder.

Baxter walked to the passenger side and got in. The car smelt like a Drayman's apron. Or, to be more specific, Hodder smelt like a Drayman's apron. They found a parking space, and as they walked over to the main building, Baxter told him all what he knew about what had occurred at his home. Baxter then guided him to the cash machine where he did a little debt recovery.

Hodder was furious. Baxter was unsure whether it was the money or the situation that was causing this outburst. No matter, he was in no position to adopt the moral high ground...Hodder was going to have sort this thing out for himself.

Baxter, on the other hand, had business to attend to at Ward 7 and he was not looking forward to it.

Early in his career, Baxter had been told to prioritise his workload, and not being one to let his mentors down he was going to see Hannah followed by Katy. As he made his way to Ward 7, Baxter was hoping against hope that he may meet Hannah coming in the opposite direction...the last thing he wanted was to have to start a difficult, not to say potentially embarrassing conversation in the presence of her colleagues at the Nurse's Station.

He was in luck, she was alone at the Nurse's Station typing on a keyboard. It occurred to him that like police work, nursing was all about keeping the computer system happy and less about keeping the customers satisfied. Still, they had probably both kept countless faceless individuals gainfully employed behind the scenes for years.

She looked up from the screen as his shadow fell across the keyboard. Her face was devoid of emotion and her eyes were cold. 'Yes Officer...what can I do for you...have you come to see Mr Sykes if so you shall have to wait until the ward rounds have been completed'. She did not wait for a response, turned back to the keyboard but he could see that she had completely lost her composure.

'I've come to apologise for last night'.

'Oh, that's no problem at all Officer. I'm sure that it just slipped your mind to tell me that your wife, girlfriend or possibly even both of them were waiting patiently at home for you. Tell me...how is Grace today'?

'She's in Ward 5 with her daughter who was assaulted last night along with her friend. I've just brought her husband...my boss, in to see them...she rang me because her husband was in Northumberland last night. She called me in a panic...for help'.

'I'm sorry that I did not have time to explain, but I can understand how you came to the conclusion that you did...why don't you give the Ward a call and ask to speak to Grace Hodder. She is the mother of Lauren Weston, my boss's step daughter. Once again I apologise. I did not mean to offend you in any way'. With that he walked away and headed off to check on the condition of Katy.

It appeared that she had made some good progress and had regained a degree of consciousness overnight. The Public Protection Unit Officer had established that Katy (Surname: Bostock) was from the Manchester area, and was studying at the Uni and lived in 'halls' in the Shieldfield part of Newcastle, 'studentsville'.

Katy's parents had been informed and were travelling to Tyneside.

Following analysis in a recently acquired Centrifugal Concentrator, a sophisticated device designed to separate toxins from naturally occurring bodily substances, traces of Alcohol, Methanol and Royhpnol had been found in samples taken from her body.

The alarm bells were ringing. It was essential that intimate samples were taken, but not without her fully informed consent. And, as she was constantly drifting in and out consciousness, it was possible that the police would be seen to be on a 'sticky wicket' and the samples to have been unlawfully obtained under those circumstances. It was imperative that her parents arrive soon.

Katy's clothing had been seized and a round the clock police guard had been mounted on her. There was little that Baxter could do here, so, sometime later, he made his way to Ward Five where 'The Hodder's were congregated around a bed in the corner of the ward.

As he made his way to the bed one of the Nurses at the Station asked Baxter who he was. When he identified himself he was given a yellow 'post it' with an extension number written upon it. He borrowed the phone at the station and dialled the number...Hannah answered.

When she spoke she said 'I'm Sorry...I've done a bit of digging about you...it seems that you are a Knight in Shining Armour after all...I have met Grace...I stupidly just wanted you to feel how I felt last night. I am very sorry. Can I call you later'?

'Of Course'....he put the phone down. 'Well that's one of the hurdles out of the way...time for the rest of the steeple chase', he thought as he made his way over to 'The Hodder's. Lauren was sitting up in bed and like her parents, she wore an expression that suggested fatigue and distress.

Baxter was conscious that he was in danger of crossing the boundary between friend and colleague, and in truth he felt a little uneasy being so close to the epicentre of such a personal and potentially embarrassing incident. Hodder explained to Baxter that they were waiting for the ward doctor before Lauren was going to be discharged.

Just at this point, Ben Heath walked into the ward. Under normal circumstances, the D.I. would have attended but, out of friendship or the D.I.'s obvious loathing for Hodder, and his clear lack of backbone, Heath attended in his absence to deliver a killer blow to Hodder.

Heath explained that as Hodder's home was now effectively now a crime scene. He would therefore, not be allowed back in the short term, and that because of an obvious conflict of interest Hodder would not be involved in any aspect of the investigation. No amount of protestation would change Heath's mind. In truth, Heath was doing the sensible thing to protect the integrity of the investigation, the police and even Hodder himself.

The final blow came when Heath told Hodder to resume his 'holiday'...'You must be joking Ben, how can I do that...look let me return to normal duties...I will stay out of the way. On the plus side, you will know where I am...so, I can't interfere'. Ben Heath who knew Hodder almost as well as Hodder himself, did not believe this for a second, but at least if Hodder did force the wheel to come off he would at the very least, be within an arm's length.

In a huddled conversation with Heath, Hodder explained that if he had to tell his wife and daughter that their home was effectively a 'no-go zone' for them then he would have to attend to collect some clothing and personal items so that they would require whilst 'homeless'. Hodder also pointed out that as the 'injured party' it was essential that he attended the scene to advise the police as to what if anything was lost stolen or damaged.

Heath tentatively agreed on the condition that Baxter would accompany him effectively as a chaperone/supervisor. Heath knew that this too would attract criticism 'from the other side' in any eventual court case, but, as a veteran of many bruising encounters in the witness box he knew that he was more than capable of intimidating the most able of advocates.

Hodder of course, had another together more personal agenda...he was out for revenge.

In an instant, Hodder was faced with a number of obvious questions that Grace and Lauren would have, that he could not answer immediately. Where would they go? How long would they stay there? Were they in danger? And the universal unanswerable question...Do you know who did this and will you catch him?

And so it was with a heavy heart that Hodder turned away from his colleague, to face his family, his face ashen grey, with a look upon it which said...there is no situation that a Police Officer can't make worse.

CHAPTER NINE

For the second time in as many days, Hodder sat with Grace in a window seat having a discussion that did not come easily to him.

As he looked over the grassed quadrant outside the hospital restaurant, he mused that the gardeners who tended the plants and shrubbery, were probably amongst the most watched horticulturists in the country, including TV legends like the great Alan Titchmarsh himself! Their trapped, mostly bedridden daily audiences, more than matching that of many a daytime television programme. And though not a gardener himself Hodder found their activities far more interesting than the dirt churned over during 'The Jeremy Kyle Show' and the other such low brow 'fodder' which played incessantly on the TV in the corner of the dining room.

He was attempting to explain to Grace that his colleagues suspected that Katy may have been the victim of a serious sexual assault whilst she had been at their home. He suggested that no one, meaning him specifically, should be blamed, or could have foreseen what had happened to her. He was obviously not doing a very good job, the sparrows outside the window apparently much more interesting to Grace.

The gardeners' were busy cutting the grass outside, whilst inside, Hodder was clearly not doing a very good job of cutting the mustard with Grace.

Once again, he was troubled by half formed thoughts, and again they concerned his need for self-preservation. He instinctively wanted to distance himself from any potentially damaging situations and any blame associated with said, largely self-inflicted disasters.

Did he really not have a backbone?

Did he really have to ask himself this question yet again?

The thoughts may not have been fully formed. The answers, on the other hand, were mature, fully grown creatures capable of independent life and flight...he knew that he was a spineless coward...hiding behind circumstance.

This was bad enough, he could live with this...God knows he had done so for as long as he could remember. But breaking the news that their home was now being regarded as a crime scene, pushed Grace over some silent and invisible tipping point. Effectively, he told her that they were unable to return home until Ben Heath and the Crime Scene Manager were satisfied that every piece of available evidence had been photographed, lifted, catalogued, bagged and tagged.

Another, uninvited thought occurred to him...Not 'Gee-Gee', please God, anyone but 'Gee-Gee', sifting through his most personal possessions. What had he done to deserve this? Another, rarely aired, more rational side of his personality made a fleeting appearance and inwardly suggested that not only did he deserve to be ritually humiliated for his stupidity, but that perhaps, 'Gee-Gee' was the perfect person to do just that. Hodder immediately ignored this thought, and confined this imposter to the darkest recesses of his psyche.

Grace barely spoke and this confused Hodder, even more. After last night's outburst he would much rather that she showed some emotion, anything, instead of appearing to just accept her short term fate. He was not in the least bit happy about this...something was brewing, and it concerned him that he did not know what it was.

Eventually, Grace, eyes still fixed outside the window, spoke in a calm and measured way...'I understand that THEY have a job to do...I really do...for the sake of all concerned...especially the young girl, but....' She trailed off and after a hostile silence during which she refused to expand or complete her sentence she asked Hodder to collect some clothes for Lauren and herself, 'Enough for two or three days should do'. She then announced that Lauren and she would be going to stay with her mother who lived in nearby Jesmond, just outside Newcastle city centre.

Predictably, Hodder did not enjoy a good relationship with her mother. 'Rose'.

Rose, was a woman of some repute, whom he regarded as being controlling and manipulative. Perhaps he did not like her because he saw much of his own character in her, and perhaps she reciprocated the feeling because she recognised exactly the same traits in him, if not herself. 'It's going to be difficult. I mean, your mother only has one spare bed. Where will Lauren sleep'?

'Jim are you really that stupid...'she looked at him fully in the eyes for the first time since Clennell Hall, and on this occasion it was not sadness that he saw but a cold angry determination...'the question is Jim...where will you sleep'?

With that she got up from the table, leaving him for the second time in the past twenty four hours. 'Bring the clothes here, to the hospital. It will be a while before Lauren is discharged. Do not follow or attempt to contact us at my mother's'. She then walked out of the restaurant. This was happening all too frequently for his liking...what was it that she did not like about restaurants?

Hodder stood up and took a brief step towards Grace's rapidly disappearing back. His hands were raised in open palmed surrender. He appeared to have momentarily lost the ability of speech, his mouth doing a very creditable impression of a drowning goldfish, lots of activity, but apparently silent.

Inwardly, he knew that it was too late, certainly on this occasion, if not permanently. He reasoned that he could hardly expect Grace to forgive and forget this particular crisis when the domestic at Clennel Hall was still so fresh in their minds, still so raw and so close to the surface.

Hodder felt trapped. No matter where he looked there were problems. He wanted to run away, but he knew that there was no hiding. He had to concede that his consuming obsession with all things criminal, and Dean Parks in particular, was taking a catastrophic toll on him and those closest to him. If only he could learn to leave well alone and switch off.

No chance. Not on occasions like this. He felt like the alcoholic reaching for the drink he vowed that he would never have. He felt like the anorexic heading for the bathroom. He felt like a total bastard.

It was in rare moments of candour like this, that he reflected how his senior colleagues, those with far more responsibility than he himself, could sleep for a full eight hours? How could they switch off long enough to enjoy a movie, a walk in the hills, let alone a holiday?

He instantly knew the answer and it shook him to the core. This was because those people were shrewd enough to be as far away from the sharp end as possible and to have people like him beneath them, who would worry and carry the can if it all went belly up, and when it did he knew that they knew that he would be standing alone. He also knew that they were shrewd enough to take the plaudits for the skill, dedication and hard work of countless others just like him. It was a form of 'vicarious credit taking' by default.

Just as he was starting to feel sorry for himself, a voice inside his head said 'Exactly who are you kidding? You have your priorities all wrong...your arrogance, stupidity and professional greed caused all of this to happen...if you did not allow Parks to escape, none of this would have happened... you are going to have to confront those same failings to put this right'. For once, Hodder knew that Hodder was right. His head was down, and he knew that he was going to be at the epicentre of ridicule until some other poor sucker came into the 'cross threads' to replace him as the target of the universal ridicule that was certain to come his way.

Equally though, he knew that the events that had occurred at his home, would generate some sympathy for him, so, he would never be far away from knowing what was really going on with the investigation. That was vitally important to his plan...if he was going to salvage was left of his family.

Hodder had had enough of licking his wounds, and returning to his senses he decided that it would be better if he could find Baxter so that he could go home and collect the things that Grace and Lauren needed.

He made his way to the front entrance to the hospital, where standing at the main door, he saw an assembled crowd of pyjama clad smokers. What, he wondered, was the opinion of the staff towards these patients? Some still attached to intravenous drips or portable oxygen bottles were blocking the main door, whilst simultaneously blocking their arteries. They were not only a fire and health hazard, but were probably oblivious to the fact that they were undoing the good work of the medical staff.

The image subconsciously drew a parallel with his own situation though it did not fully register at the time. Ho Hum...so long as he kept on paying his taxes they would survive...for a while longer anyway, and then they would be replaced by another batch of 'wannabe dead people'.

Hodder rang Baxter who answered almost immediately. Baxter was back at the office having been briefed by Ben Heath as to the full extent of his baby sitting responsibilities regarding Hodder. Heath was nothing if not thorough. They agreed to meet outside Hodder's home in thirty minutes and it was with a degree of trepidation that he drove to his home mindful that uniformed staff would be at the scene controlling entry and exit. They would be under strict instructions not to allow him in unless accompanied by Baxter or some other 'Registered Childminder' or to use police jargon 'Appropriate Adult'.

Indeed, he suspected that Baxter may have contacted uniform ahead of his arrival, to ensure that he did not enter his home. Baxter arrived soon afterwards, obviously suspecting that Hodder would have made his way there early and would probably try to 'busk' his way in. Baxter was learning from his mentor...he was learning to learn to out-think him and he was not sure whether this was entirely a positive development.

On the plus side, he welcomed the idea that he was now planning and thinking ahead. On the negative side he felt a twinge of sadness, that like Hodder, he was beginning to lose faith and trust in humanity. Actually, that was a bit on the strong side. He reasoned that it was just Hodder that he did not trust at this point in time. He trusted or wanted to trust Hannah despite the less than auspicious start to their relationship.

Baxter found himself thinking about Hannah, and then his thoughts meandered to the parlous state of Hodder's relationship with Grace, he pondered that if he was falling in love, then he had to look no further than Hodder to see what falling out of love was like. He wondered if it was all worth it. He concluded that it may not be, but he was determined to find out no matter what the long term consequences may be.

When he arrived, Baxter was surprised to see Hodder still sitting behind the wheel of his car outside his home, and in that moment, for all of Hodder's faults, his heart went out to him. In truth, he found it hard to remain angry with Hodder for any length of time. Hodder cut a dejected figure, he looked utterly alone in the world. Or was it just that his hangover had chosen this moment to wreak revenge. Walking to his friend's car, for he did think of him as a friend, Baxter was a little nervous.

The full surreal significance of the situation struck a chord with him...this actually felt like the archetypal 'Teaching your granny how to suck eggs' situation...Baxter knew that Hodder knew how to conduct himself at a crime scene, but none the less, as Baxter opened the car door, he felt impelled to crouch down and say 'Let's do this as quick as we can... I feel terrible too'... He broke the spell by adding 'Please do not touch anything Jim'.

Hodder got out of the car and he stared deeply into Baxter's eyes as he sighed loudly, his breath still heavy with stale alcohol as he muttered 'Not you too Jeff. Give me a fucking break'. As their eyes locked Baxter saw a sad, battle weary man, there was a vacant, long lost, 'not quite there' expression on his face. It was as if Hodder was using some unspoken form of voicemail saying 'I'm sorry, I'm not available right now...and I may never be again'.

'Come on Jim, I'm not enjoying this either...let's get this over and done with'. As they walked towards the front door Hodder touched Baxter on the lower arm and they both instinctively stopped. Hodder said 'Look, can I get a change of clothes too. I can shower and change at the nick...just jacket, trousers, shirt tie etc'?

'Yeah No problem...' They walked in silence to the door and gave their names and 'collar numbers' to the scene guard who entered the details on the entry log, before donning paper 'scene suits' and shoe covers. This felt very strange to both men, they had done this on countless previous occasions, but never quite in circumstances like this. Baxter felt embarrassed and sorry for his colleague. Hodder felt bitterness and a barely controllable rage. To him this felt like the scene from E.T. where the scientists 'invade' the family home following the discovery of the creature. If anyone felt like an alien right now it was Hodder.

As a matter of courtesy, both men announced their arrival to the Crime Scene Manager who immediately apologised to Hodder for any inconvenience caused and promised to return his home to him as soon as he could. This well rehearsed mantra was extremely well delivered, and apparently sincere. Hodder could see how victims of crime would put with any amount of inconvenience if the explanation was delivered with such plausibility. He reminded himself that he should remember to use these tactics one day...if he ever got the chance to work again.

It transpired that the outside of the property, the upstairs rooms and the stairs had been examined and the SOCO team was about to address the downstairs where in the full light of day, he saw fragments of a broken bottle on the carpet surrounded by numbered photographic markers. He knew that samples of glass would already have been lifted by SOCO, but he was advised to walk in the designated zones only which were indicated by tape, direction arrows and 'walk on boards'.

Good. Despite his reputation, injecting just the correct amount of manufactured humility, distress and humanity could serve Hodder well. And Boy, was he looking to exploit it! Speaking in a subdued voice Hodder said... 'Jeff. Grace has asked me to collect some clothes for Lauren and herself...I think that for the purposes of fairness that you should come with me...In fact'...he said...' We should video this...we don't want to compromise ourselves do we'?

Hodder was officially a 'victim' of this crime too, and as such, he could play no active or overt part in the investigation. However, Hodder being Hodder he was determined to influence this investigation and its outcome every step of the way. This was one occasion, when as a victim, Hodder would not be required to prove his whereabouts...his highly public argument and 'post event drinking' had not escaped the attention of both staff and guests at Clennell Hall.

In short, as long as he was not seen doing it, he could contaminate the scene as much as he wished. However, apart from collecting clothing, which proved to be far more emotional than he had anticipated, he was done with the scene, and had been for quite some time now. He would never be beyond suspicion for perverting the course of justice should it ever be alleged. However, as a victim, he also knew that he would be way beyond suspicion of sharp practices because his forensic, DNA and fingerprints would be plastered all over the scene.

A fresh difficulty arose when the Crime Scene Manager asked when Grace and Lauren would be available to provide sets of 'Elims'. 'Elims' or Elimination Fingerprints were taken by the police to exclude persons who were NOT suspects from active investigations. The police already had Hodder's...he was 'printed' when he enrolled in the service, and again when Electronic Fingerprinting Recognition was introduced.

'Leave it with me' responded Hodder. I can organise that. 'Can you do me a favour please...my wife and daughter want to be back here as soon as possible...could you try to finish today'?

Hodder knew that, that was not the case...he just needed somewhere to lay his head for the night. A Travelodge just did not feel right...the office or the cell block were far more favourable alternatives...and he may even get a better sleep! Furthermore, Hodder reasoned that the more he was seen around the office, the less likely that he was going to be considered as a suspect if and when Dean Parks paid the price for his indiscretions.

The Scene Manager, a seasoned SOCO said 'Jim, I can't even begin to understand how you and your family are feeling right now...the sense of violation must be intolerable...beyond words...however...we want to catch this twat...and like me, I am sure that you want to send out a message that this will not be tolerated'.

'Have you got anything, any clues of any sort' asked Hodder.

'Well, there is the usual fibre lifts, hairs etc oh, and some sweets and cigarettes...by the way does your daughter smoke'?

'Not that I know of said Hodder...but you never really know with kids do you? I will find out when I see her'.

At that point Hodder was hit by a bombshell...'Fuck!...the media fallout'!...he was going to have to speak to Ben Heath and he was going to have to do it soon. He was now struck by a new sense of urgency.

A civilian SOCO, videoed Hodder as he collected clothes, toiletries and other personal items, whilst Baxter watched on. He was not packing for a holiday, and if he had of been he would have wished that he had packed a travel iron. Yeah...he would get a bollocking from Grace for the state of the clothing, but on the grand scale of things that did not even register.

As he left the house, the words of the Crime Scene Manager resonated with Hodder. He had been to countless crime scenes during his career ranging from murder, burglary, robbery to violence at all ends of the scale. The realisation hit him like a body blow...how could he have been so insensitive to the needs of victims for all of this time?

In all of the operations that he had been on, and there had been many over the years, it did not matter how experienced you were, you still got a tense, churning nervous sensation in your stomach...Hodder had put this down to adrenalin, pressure, the thought of going into the unknown...even excitement. Hodder was now sensing a different sensation in the very pit of his soul, and it dawned on him what it was. It was fear.

For the first time in his adult life Hodder was at a loss what to do...he felt utterly powerless, but he did know that he would resolve this problem one way or the other. He reasoned, that Parks had now made this intensely personal. There was however, one thing that he did not know...Parks obviously knew what he had done...Hodder did not know if Parks had known where he had done it.

His visit home had been like an out of body experience. Hodder did not know if he could ever fully return home again, whether he could relax comfortably in an armchair knowing what had happened upstairs. The 'For Sale' signs had already been mentally erected.

But, this was Hodder all over. He was considering his feelings before those of Grace and Lauren. Because he had seen so much violence and trauma in his life, it did not even occur to him that the effects of the incident would be far more profound and long lasting on Grace and Lauren.

Hodder was not entirely sure what the future held for Grace and himself, but it was abundantly clear that, quite correctly, her priorities lay with Lauren and that she blamed him for not being around when he was needed the most. He also knew that if Grace had of known the full facts behind their bogus holiday, he was certain that that would have put pay to their relationship then and there. Hodder resolved that he would attempt to keep the facts under wraps whilst at the same time dealing with Parks.

The risks associated with this strategy were numerous namely he would risk destroying his marriage and his relationship with Lauren. He would risk unleashing the wrath of the police, he would possible face prosecution and he would also have risk taking on Parks, a much younger, fitter man with ruthlessly violent tendencies.

Hodder knew that both Parks and he had much to lose. Parks would lose his liberty and spend much time in isolation branded as being a rapist. He on the other hand, would lose his wife, daughter, house, career, friends and what was left of his rapidly diminishing reputation. To Hodder there was no decision to be made...the circumstances had made the decision for him...he literally had no choice in the matter.

He knew that he could not work on the investigation but he also knew that he had to stay close to it....But how?

If Baxter was seconded onto the investigation he was sure to find out what was happening. He knew that he was asking a lot of Baxter...he also knew that he would have to stay operational because he would seek to manufacture the opportunity to 'meet up' with Parks, in the near future.

The full extent of Hodder's cowardice only became apparent when he asked Baxter to drop him off at the police station...he was going to have to see Ben Heath. He knew that he was pushing his luck asking Baxter to deliver the clothing for Grace and Lauren, and to make arrangements for the 'Elims'.

Baxter was no fool but he was in no mood to argue...this is just the sort of thing that any copper would have done for any victim, so, taking the line of least resistance Baxter agreed... 'You never know', He thought 'My luck may change and I may even bump into Hannah'.

As Hannah passed through his mind, so did Sykes and Tamblin. Somehow they seemed to have been forgotten amidst the events of the last few hours. That was the thing with police work, you were often multi-tasking and as such nothing ever got your full attention...How many victims were denied justice because of this...it was like being a side show juggler...the show would go on and you could carry it off so long as you kept the plates spinning and did not drop too many.

As he approached Ben Heath's office Hodder knew that this meeting could go one of several ways, none of them favourable to himself. As usual the door was open. It was Hodder's experience that senior officers who kept their office doors open broadly fell into two categories.

The first category was by far the largest, and represented those paranoid insecure individuals who monitored all activity both visual and audible in the corridor, in the region of their office. It was a kind of 'unofficial early warning system' where they would be altered by the 'jungle drums' of overheard conversations and office tittle-tattle, the primary reason being one of 'self-preservation'. In truth, it was no fault of these individuals, for they existed in, and helped to proliferate a 'blame culture'. This group, were also notable for another aspect of their organisational culture...they would usually adopt a lowly paid civilian support/clerical worker as their secretary/PA...in effect these individuals were no more than another obstacle in the chain of contact 'with the boss'. A 'Buffer' or 'Early Warning System' no less.

The second group, of which Ben Heath was a prominent advocate, were genuinely professional and talented individuals, who were not only comfortable with rank and responsibility, but more importantly, they had credibility amongst the lower ranks. These people would have excelled whatever their chosen profession. Their doors were genuinely open at all times, and to all comers. This simple act ensured that they got and kept the most talented staff possible, for it imbued mutual trust, loyalty and respect.

Most senior officers' overtly denied the existence of either group, but in private all felt that they belonged to the second, because, when all was said and done, they knew that at the end of the day, it was all just a game of politics.

As Hodder approached the door, Heath looked up from some documents on his desk and over his half-moon glasses, and without as much as a 'hello' he picked up his phone and said 'Coffee for two please'.

Pointing to a seat Heath said 'How are Grace and Lauren'?

'Upset, angry and bewildered. All of the things that you would expect, and probably in the days to come, a few things that you wouldn't. You know what it's like'.

'How are you Jim'?

Coming from most senior officers' a question like that would have had Hodder retreating into his shell and producing the 'standard' ' Oh, I'm bearing up Sir'...it was the police service's equivalent of the Medical Profession's 'As well as can be expected under the circumstances'. But this was not 'most Senior Officer's'...this was Ben Heath...his friend and close colleague and confidante of many years standing, a man who had been through the mill many times with Hodder. Professionally, Heath knew him better than almost anyone.

Actually, he did know him better than anyone both professionally and privately...including, if the truth be known, Hodder himself, and that was probably one of the reasons Hodder worked for him.

The coffee arrived and the door was closed.

'Okay, Jim...I know what the initial reports say and what is on the force computer, but what really happened'?

There was little point in going over the reasons behind Grace and Hodder being away...Heath knew all of that, what he really wanted to know was what the 'officers attending' didn't know.

Hodder was honest to the extent that he had no idea that Lauren was planning a party. He was honest to the extent that he had no idea who attended the party. The facts of the matter and initial crime enquiries at the scene would establish the identities of the party-goers and what had occurred there.

They moved onto the subject of Katy. Hodder had to concede that he did not know her personally, but understood that she was a college friend of Lauren's and that she hailed from the Manchester area and that her parents were en route. That much Heath knew.

Ben Heath told Hodder that preliminary examination had suggested that Katy had recently had intercourse, but that blood tests had indicated high levels of toxicity, including, alarmingly, Royhypnol. Further physical examination would be completed once her parents arrived and together with their daughter gave informed consent for further intrusion into her body. Unpleasant as it would be, it was essential to establish the full facts.

Hodder dare not mention that he had been to the scene and worse still that he had tampered with it.

On days like these, Heath, a highly skilled and accomplished investigator, secretly yearned to trade the trappings of high rank for the cut and thrust of the daily battle. These days the battles that he had were with were Admin Service Managers, about budgetary restraints and Home Office statistics.

The only statistic that Ben Heath truly believed was that 82.5% of all statistics were made up.

After a moment or two of silent contemplation, Hodder said...'Ben...Grace is at her wits end because I had had too much to drink to drive her home when Lauren called for help. We had an argument at the hotel. She blames me, she blames the job, she blames herself...she has left me to stay with her mother, what am I going to do'?

'What do you want to do'?

'I want Grace and Lauren back and I want whoever did this fucked for fucking up my entire life'.

In those nineteen words Hodder had confided more in a Senior Officer than he had done in the last twenty two years, and he felt that he was letting both himself and his family down. Hodder could feel that his emotions were beginning to get the better of him and as he shuffled uneasily in his seat he fleetingly thought about how he had strived for years to induce just such a reaction in the countless 'prigs' that he had interviewed and investigated.

Good Detectives are very good salesmen and call these the 'buy signs', nonverbal indicators that resistance was beginning to subside and that the 'subject' was beginning to consider the advantages and benefits of the 'deal'...Hodder knew that the longer that he was unable to control his emotions, the less likely he was going to come out of this smelling of roses.

Many times, over the years, had he convinced people that even if they did not confess, then saying something was better than saying nothing. Hodder knew that on many occasions, there was absolutely nothing to be gained by confessing, other than personal and financial ruin. It was a complete 'no brainer' but even he too, felt himself being 'sucked in'. It was prevarication for the sake of prevarication.

Ben Heath sensed this too and said 'Jim, You know that I am going to have to submit a report to both Welfare and Personnel about this matter...well, how about this? You tell me what you want me to write and I will sign it...any old shit as long as we do enough to keep the wolves off our backs and then we will sort out the real issues later'.

Hodder instinctively knew that this was the best and only offer that he would receive from Ben Heath...he also recognised that Heath was taking a brave and unusual step by putting his own reputation on the line. They both knew that the D.I. was being 'whitewashed' out of the process, which would make him (the D.I.) livid.

Both Hodder and Heath recognised that the D.I. was not powerful enough to take on Ben Heath and win. Indeed, if the D.I. took on Ben Heath, he would most certainly lose not only what little credibility he had, but possibly also the letter 'D' in front of his rank.

However, Hodder knew that the D.I. would do his utmost to exact revenge upon him for the D.C.I.'s loyalty to him and when Hodder mentioned this Ben Heath said 'What do you want me to do? Wipe your fucking arse? He is no match for you as long as you stay one step ahead of him and I can help you do that'.

Heath sat well back in his chair, eyes to the ceiling, with the kind of rocking movement that would have earned him a rebuke in the classroom. Hodder knew that something was coming, but he thought it best not to break the silence, suspecting that if he did Heath, who was so obviously on his side, may do an about turn leaving him with little room for manoeuvre.

Finally, Heath returned to what passed for 'first floor terra firma' and said...'Okay, we have some options...we can temporarily transfer you to another station because we are doubtless going to draft some staff into the HOLMES suite, or you can work exclusively on the day to day enquiries that come into this office...what do you think'?

'It's pretty obvious to me that I have some pretty serious bridge building to do with Grace and Lauren, so the closer that I work to home and them, then the easier that may be...I am sure that you can sell this to the bosses as a welfare decision'.

'You know what Hodder, just when you should be displaying all the victim signs you prove that you really are just a devious bastard', said a smiling Heath, who already knew that Hodder would jump at his only chance to remain operational locally.

Hodder was stunned by extent of Heath's loyalty to him and he was justifiably moved by it, and said 'What's the catch'?

'Give me what you have got so far...don't drop me in and don't compromise or go anywhere near the investigation AND if you come across anything, and I mean anything you give it to me. You do not act on it. Do you understand?

'Clear as a bell'.

'There is one other condition Jim...'

'Go on', said Hodder leaning forward in his chair, even though he knew what was coming next.

'If I find out that you are free lancing you are on your own'.

'Okay. Understood. Thanks Ben'.

'Jim, you would do the same for me...this conversation goes no further...Now that you are at a loose end, homeless and have been abandoned by your family, are you coming back to work or just going to sit there and lick your wounds'?

Both Heath and Hodder burst out laughing though they were not entirely sure why.

'Okay', said Heath...knowing you I think that you will have your suspicions.

'Well, actually, I don't have any suspicions. I know exactly who we are looking for. The only problem is I don't know where to find him'.

'Come on then...Pray do tell'.

'It's Dean Parks, you know, my escapee? It's him'.

'I'm all ears, but this sounds a little like damage limitation on your part. I won't have you using police resources to settle your own vendetta just because some arsehole escaped from you and you are trying to save a bit of face. Come on Jim. I'm sticking my neck out for you here'.

Over the next forty minutes or so, Hodder acquainted Ben Heath with the more salient facts regarding the similarities of the previous rape for which Parks was still on his heels, and the incident at his home, namely his penchant for sweets that he said that he heard had been left at the scene.

Hodder had thought it was prudent to mention the 'Old Sunderland Offence' electing to plead ignorance if he was ever asked as to who may have been the officer in charge of that particular case. Hodder also added that he was waiting for a full copy file to be sent from the Archive at Sunderland.

Heath, forever the politician wanted to appear to be in control and he asked to see the file as soon as it arrived.

One of the purposes of Hodder's visit to see his friend was to explain the highly sensitive nature of the incident at his home as he saw it. 'You know Ben, I do not know what the future holds for Grace and me, but I do know one thing...if even one knuckle trailer who has ever had an argument with, or an axe to grind with the police gets to hear that the offence occurred at the home of a serving officer then I think we may be in danger of declaring 'open season' not only on my home but on every Police Officer's home'.

Hodder went on to remind Heath of a number of incidents a few years back when 'Ram Raiding' was at its height and when after making substantial inroads into the gangs involved, the homes and children of Police Officers involved in the investigations were targeted.

In one particularly high profile and unsettling case, professional thieves drove a stolen high powered car through the front window of a serving officers' home narrowly missing his baby daughter who was happily playing on the floor of the living room. Thankfully, the child and other occupants of the dwelling were uninjured, but it takes little to imagine the sheer terror and distress caused by such a coordinated, planned and some may say cowardly attack.

That sadly, was the state of policing in modern Britain and it was a particularly difficult time. When officers' were at work their minds were at home worrying about their loved ones, and when they were at home they were on tenterhooks worrying about every car or pedestrian that passed their front doors.

This put enormous strain on a number of marriages, and several failed. The only people who really benefitted from this were local Estate Agents who saw a sharp rise in the number of homes occupied by Police Officers' going onto the market for a 'Quick Sale' which turned out to be Estate Agent speak for 'Below Market Value'.

It was bad enough having your private car stolen from the police station car park, for it was not entirely unknown for criminals to watch the car parks at police stations where they would identify and steal an individual officer's car. In a perverse way you had to admire their creativity, because they would often abandon the vehicle and set it on fire in a particular part of the command area, knowing that the first officer to attend would be the owner.

Cars were only metal and plastic but when they took the battle to your own door this was simply going a step too far.

Granted this was a few years ago, but on those occasions, senior officers' and the press office were able to keep a lid on the situation and fortunately the new sport of 'Polis Baiting' never really got off the ground. However, this was in a much simpler age. This was in the pre internet, Facebook, Twitter, MSN, mass communication society of today.

Hodder also pointed out that most of the 'guests' at his home had been students or friends of students all of whom were probably technologically very savvy, and most definitely not suspects. This was going to be a very difficult case in terms of 'news management', and leaks from witnesses, and even Police Officers would be almost impossible to control. The incident, was surely going to be a hot topic of debate, and Hodder pointed out that as targeting students was a significant feature of Parks M.O., then the local universities would have to be informed because naturally both the police and the Uni's had a duty of care to all students.

Heath suggested that he would speak to a contact within the press office with a view to bringing the local media on board in a deal where he would offer to exchange their 'managed silence' for 'exclusives'.

Hodder continued 'I am going to have to provide the investigation team with a stolen property list. Naturally, I do not know what if anything has been stolen because I have only had a cursory look around the house. Actually, it may be a few days before we know what if anything, had gone, because I really do not want Grace and Lauren going there whilst it is still an active crime scene, not to mention a mess'.

'Okay' said Ben Heath, 'I'm going to attempt to clear this with the Detective Chief Super on welfare grounds, because believe it or not Jim...I need an insurance policy too. In the meantime, I'm going to speak to the D.I. and tell him that I want you and Baxter working on local jobs only. Oh, and before you get any ideas Baxter will report any indiscretions to me...comprende?'

'Yes...Thank you Ben'.

As he left the office and headed downstairs, this felt like a partial victory for Hodder. Had he not been so blinkered he would have seen that any other senior colleague, other than Ben Heath would have got him as far away from his 'home station' as possible.

The incident at his home was obviously common knowledge in the nick because Hodder could barely walk ten paces without someone offering help and commiserations...'Don't suppose you have a bed for the night' was one of the many responses from Hodder.

Despite all the back biting and political infighting that formed so much of the backbone of the police service, when 'one of their own' was personally affected in such a way, the service did actually pull together in a way that to someone less cynical than Hodder would have appeared to be genuinely compassionate.

These were not the circumstances under which Hodder wanted to find out a) just how popular he was b) just how inquisitive his colleagues were and c) how devious the D.I. could be. As he was walking back towards the main CID office, he passed the D.I.'s office just as the senior man called out. 'Jim. A minute please'.

As he entered, he saw that Baxter was already there sitting in a chair in front of the D.I.'s desk. Baxter had the look of a scolded schoolchild who had been caught running down the corridor or who had forgotten his sports kit.

'Ah Jim, I've been talking to the D.C.I. about your delicate situation and I have to tell you that he took some convincing but, because of the man power that is going to be diverted towards the incident at your home, I have persuaded him, and I might say that this was against his better judgement, that you and DC Baxter should concentrate on local enquiries. Do you understand'? Hodder knew that the D.I. was lying. He had to be he was talking.

'Yes, I do. Thank you' said Hodder barely able to conceal his derision.

'However, Jim, I know what sort of person you are and Mr Heath has agreed to do this only on the grounds that you do not interfere in the investigation AND that you report any suspicions or information that you get directly to me so that I can ensure that it gets fed into the incident room in the correct manner. Do I make myself clear'?

'Absolutely Boss. You have my word'...and testing the water he continued, 'I have absolutely no idea who may have been behind this thing, but be assured if I hear anything you will be the first to know.'

'I know I will Jim, and that is why Jeff here will be working with you. Jeff is my eyes and ears on this so, you can cut out all of your scheming little plans safe in the knowledge that he has my blessing to grass you up should you transgress and if you do Sergeant I will fucking burn you alive...here endeth the lesson now fuck off'.

Walking back to the main office with Baxter Hodder said 'You turncoat. It didn't take you very long to nail your colours to the mast did it...who do you think I am Jack Bauer? You will certainly have your work cut out 24/7 if you want to play it that way'.

'Come on Jim, you heard what he said...he is trying to save your bacon he has been to see the DC.I. on your behalf. Why don't you just cut him a bit of slack and try not to see the worst in everyone'?

'First things first Jeff, you may as well go back in his office and tell the D.I. that this is not going to work...I am not having you spying on me. I don't expect you to look for any clues or give them to me if you find any but I sure as fuck will not have you spying on me. Are we clear on that'?

'Do you know that I got my bollocks savaged just before you came into his office? Do you know that he thinks that you are a loose cannon and he wants me to grass you up. Do you know that he told me that this was all the D.C.I.'s plan to shaft you? Did you even stop for a second to think that I am precisely where I do not want to be? You are making it out that you are the only casualty here. Oh no you're not. Look at me. I cannot win, but typically it's all about you...thank you very much for your understanding, support and loyalty'.

With that Baxter, turned on his heels and walked away. Hodder did not know if Baxter was off to see the D.I. but on reflection he could not blame him if he did. Hodder, went after him, momentarily losing his composure, as he followed in the wake of his junior colleague who had comprehensively called his bluff as he headed along the corridor and out of the building.

At that precise moment Hodder knew two things: He knew that he owed Baxter an apology and that there really was no situation that a Police Officer could not make worse?
CHAPTER TEN

Sleeping well after 'an event' had never been a problem for Dean Parks. He lay in his albeit rented bed watching the local news on a portable TV that had such clarity of vision, that it could have been an outside broadcast from the South Pole during a particularly brutal blizzard. No mention of him on the news then. 'Not to worry' he thought. There will soon enough!

The only criteria for staying and this delightful little 'bijou' was paying the 'no questions asked' landlord in advance. Cash of course.

Many such establishments were known to be 'connected' with...'connected' may be too bland a word here, were 'known' to be owned and run by the 'high lords' of the local crime scene who ruled with an unrelenting and extremely heavy hand.

This particular hostelry was thought to be run on behalf of Adrian Burrows, rumoured to be the lynch pin of organised crime on Tyneside. He was more widely known by the name 'First Aid' largely because of his extremely violent tendencies and the fact that he was the 'go to person' if you wanted some violence 'dished out' or even strangely enough when you had accidentally 'dished out' violence to the wrong person.

He was known to keep A & E Departments all over the region in full time employment, hence his nickname. He also sat in judgement over criminals and decided their fate as a kind of 'pseudo judge' should they do anything that may draw unwanted attention to him or any of his many business interests. He was admired and feared in equal measure depending upon your point of view.

When it came to 'rent collection', not for these entrepreneurs an agreed 'payment plan' or a simple 'I'm waiting for my Giro'. His 'staff' were known to accompany claimants to the Department of Work and Pensions. They were known to have 'staff on hand' to ensure that all paperwork went through the system without a hitch. They were known to give residents a 'daily allowance' from their (the residents') benefits to ensure compliance with 'house rules'.

This was the kind of place where the landlord would retain passports, birth certificates, National Insurance and banking cards in fact, anything that gave him financial control of the 'lodger'. They had no standards and even less patience.

Interest rates were so punitive that they made 'pay day loans' look like positively gilt edged investments.

Of course, such 'arrangements' came at a cost, thus acerbating the lodgers' financial difficulty, but guaranteeing the 'hoteliers' income and high occupation rates. Because most people are creatures of habit, even those who did attempt to abscond owing money, either left the area completely, (one way or the other) or quickly became (more) destitute and (even more) penniless and more often than not they simply returned to the 'hotel'.

It was a bit like a Victorian Workhouse but without the righteousness.

However, one very useful function of the landlord was to ensure that all court and police bail dates were strictly adhered to. This was not for any moral or welfare reasons, but simply because the last thing he and his paymasters wanted was the hotel being searched by police.

The police and landlord endured an unusual relationship. It was a strange kind of 'peaceful co-existence', whereby the landlord would feign respectability and helpfulness to the point of embarrassment, resulting in the 'guest' being thrown to the wolves, i.e. delivered into the hands of the police just to ensure the continuance of the status quo but more importantly, the business.

The men, for they were always men who were attracted to such positions, had previously, by and large, been in a similar position to many of their 'guests' themselves, be they the product of alcohol/drug misuse, divorce, mental illness etc, and it was seen as climbing some form of inverted social ladder to be elevated to the heady position of landlord.

This was the sort of establishment where customer complaints were dealt with quickly and decisively, usually with a threat or a more direct form of action.

This was the sort of hotel where customers would not comment on 'trip advisor', but whose adverse comments would often lead to a 'one way trip'.

This was the sort of hotel where the only 'reception' was a bad one.

This was the sort of hotel that welcomed neither the 'Hotel Inspector', the 'Health Inspector' nor the 'Detective Inspector'.

There were no luxuries such as tea, coffee making or showering facilities in his palatial boudoir, so Parks resolved to get up, leaving the spiders in their intricate sunlit webs which spanned every crevice and corner of the room. He decided to head to the centre of Newcastle where he had a pretty busy day ahead of him. He would eat, meet up with an associate and attempt to dispose of his booty, namely some jewellery, the laptop, and debit card. The small amount of cash was exchangeable anywhere, and required no further action on his part.

Parks was not entirely satisfied with his new appearance, he had never been attracted to the concept of shopping for clothing at Tesco before, and, as he studied his reflection in the shop windows whilst he was walking into the city centre, he instantly understood why. He looked like almost everyone else on the street at that time, but 'Hey', didn't that offer him some advantages under the circumstances, a kind of 'camouflage of the masses'. He certainly did not want to stand out right now because, though the police were largely incompetent, he also knew that when motivated they could present him with some pretty difficult problems.

Parks would get some new clothes during the day if the opportunity presented itself but he did feel unusually confident that they, the police, would not be circulating the description of a cherry blonde young man looking like he had walked straight from the pages of the 'Tesco Direct' catalogue.

Newcastle essentially stands on a hillside spreading from the north bank of the River Tyne upwards and outwards into a vast urban sprawl that was largely unbroken for several miles in all directions.

The original buildings on the quayside represented a simpler but much grander age, where the town's links with its maritime past were evident everywhere. Vast warehouses, bonds and shipping company offices, had long ago been transformed into a new playground for the Nuevo Rich of footballers, lawyers and entrepreneurs who frequented the numerous, upmarket hotels, restaurants and bars.

Parks was an infrequent visitor to the quayside at Newcastle, in fact his visits were largely enforced, when as a consequence of poor performance on his part, he was obliged to put in an appearance at the Crown Court buildings which dominated the riverside skyline as much as the Sage and the Tyne Bridge.

Furthermore, because the quayside had been redeveloped by largely private funding, the proportion of CCTV cameras and private security guards exceeded that in other parts of the city. Indeed, both sides of the river had seen considerable investment in the recent past so much so, that Gateshead was now regarded as having more of a function than merely 'keeping the other side of the Tyne Bridge up'.

Indeed, the beautiful and innovative 'Millennium Bridge' was officially known as 'The Gateshead Millennium Bridge' giving the smaller town on the south bank of the Tyne an opportunity to take the plaudits from Newcastle for a change. Gateshead had to wait seventy two years for the privilege to do so, it had however, been well worth the wait!

Of course, Parks knew and cared nothing for these facts, he just knew that 'it was a difficult place to graft', hence it should be avoided. Heading down Westgate Hill towards the city centre, he had no idea that he trod the very same pavements as Jimmy Forsyth the legendary, one eyed penniless amateur photographer who immortalised Tyneside in thousands of remarkable black and white images.

'Jimmy', whose photographs reflected the changing social and economic face of Tyneside, over the years, were in stark contrast to the image of Parks who depicted nothing more than a lost morality on Tyneside.

As he walked down Westgate Hill, which was 'the home' to about thirty motor cycle shops, Parks was consumed by the double standards displayed by the police. Bikers from near and far were known to congregate 'on the hill' in vast numbers at weekends. It was not unusual for police to turn a blind eye as leather clad accountants and lawyers had 'wheelie' competitions up and down the hill as other motorists went about their lawful duty.

Parks also knew that about a quarter of a mile 'up the hill' towards the West End, an area which bore absolutely no comparison to its similarly named cousin in London, that overzealous officers would be seizing less powerful motor bikes from youngsters. It was ironic that these kids were not breaking the law to the anywhere near same extent as their middle class 'counterparts' down the road. However, the treatment of the 'visitors' was markedly different, largely because they were bringing money into the local economy.

Midway down the hill Parks went into a nearby Tesco Express and helped himself to a couple of carrier bags. He thought to himself 'At this rate, maybe I should get a Loyalty Card'. He then made a quick diversion and headed off towards the local Gurdwara where he had previously harvested rich pickings.

Parks had no discernible religion, which of the many Gods invented by man would accept him? He knew that if he timed it correctly, then maybe during prayers, he could help himself to any of the large collection of brand new training shoes that stood in the hallway of the building as their barefooted owners prayed to their particular God.

He knew from previous visits to the Temple, that all four of its doors would remain open so that from his point of view he could harvest with impunity, whilst sangat was in progress.

He did not know, and cared even less that the four doors represented Grace, Learning, Peace and Livelihood and if he did he would site the 'last door' as the reason for his visit. He did not care that the doors were open to all comers, just so long as they were open. He was however, taking care of his own livelihood, but without any grace or peace, though he was learning about the risks associated with his chosen career.

Nike, New Balance and Adidas were just some of the brands that he could sell in any of a number of City Centre pubs. No one seemed to care that they were either stolen or part worn, so long as they were cheap.

Parks also knew from previous visits that the Community Leaders did not have CCTV installed in the temple. He did not contemplate the higher philosophical reasons for this he simply knew that if he successfully got away with some goodies then he would in all likelihood, evade justice. He also thought that the Sikh community were mildly suspicious of the police and probably would not report the thefts anyway.

Speed was of the essence as he crept into the foyer. He quickly scanned the neat lines of shoes and made a beeline for trainers which were placed randomly adjacent to a wall. As Parks was putting a sixth pair of trainers into his carrier bag, all noise ceased from within the temple. He had absolutely no idea of the protocol, but quickly ran from the building and as soon as he was out of sight of the temple began to walk at a leisurely pace as he gathered his breath and his thoughts.

Parks had never really understood the phrase 'Shooting fish in a barrel', but he assumed that it must mean that something was very easy because, this little side line had proved very lucrative to him over the recent past. He liked to keep side lines like this one to himself, because he knew that when he fell upon leaner times, as he knew he would, then would still have this exclusive revenue stream in reserve. He would never have articulated the situation as such, but he saw it pretty much as 'having something in the bank'.

Upon reaching the city centre, Parks thought at first about going to 'Cash Converters' upon Clayton Street, however, he knew that identity and proof of ownership of the laptop would have to be shown. So, with that in mind, he decided to go to 'The Clock', an 'all day boozer' where he was certain that he could off load some trainers and, if his luck was in, the pc too.

There was probably more commercial activity going within the nicotine stained walls of this once fine establishment, than in the nearby Eldon Square Shopping Centre, a concrete monolith which has blighted the city centre since the mid '70's and which was now showing every one of those years.

The construction of Eldon Square had been temporarily halted as a result of a bricklayers strike, and many an elderly local had wished the project which had effectively ripped the heart out of the city, had never been completed. Grand sandstone buildings designed by John Dobson and Richard Grainger, men who lent their name, and influence to city, were replaced by glass, plastic and concrete.

All in the name of progress.

The dirty hands of T Dan Smith, a corrupt local politician and former leader of Newcastle City Council reached everywhere, and Eldon Square forms a significant part of his unfortunate legacy.

However, right now, occupying the collective consciousness of Parks and 'Daft Larry', a serial smoker and drinker was whether, if Larry bought five pairs of trainers for £5.00 each would he get the sixth and final pair free. Size mattered less than price!

It was a strange fact of life that people like Larry insisted on wearing 'named brands' but would never consider paying full price for them or shopping for them in the conventional manner.

The deal with 'Daft Larry' was sealed and Parks knew that he had enough to eat, drink and stay on Elswick Road for another couple of days at least.

To seal the deal with 'Daft Larry', Parks gave him four pieces of gold jewellery that he had taken from Lauren's room and asked him to sell three pieces with which he was to purchase a watch and keep one piece for himself.

As a gesture of goodwill he offered to 'keep an eye' on the trainers and promised him a pint of strong cider on his return. This arrangement clearly met with his approval because 'Daft Larry' had not moved so swiftly for a number of years, his nimble movements making a mockery of his years on Disability Living Allowance.

Parks wanted £50.00 for the laptop but because it was not giro day no one had enough money to buy it. He was certainly not going to give it to any one in lieu of cash. This had happened to him once before, when he was later offered his own stolen gear in another pub, by someone who had obviously just bought it from the bloke that he had passed it onto earlier in the expectation that he (Parks) would be paid later. The folly of youth! Once bitten and all that!

It was bad for business to be seen as being too much of a soft touch. It was as bad for business to appear to be too desperate to sell, as it was to appear to be too honest. No, all things said and done, there was a protocol to be observed and a code of dishonour to be adhered to when selling stolen goods.

Shortly afterwards, 'Daft Larry' returned with a boxed 'Timberland' watch which he gave to Parks. Parks suspected that 'Larry' had kept the gold and simply stole the watch. So what, easy come easy go.

£25.00 richer and six pairs of trainers lighter, Parks headed out of 'The Clock' and feeling the first hunger pangs of the day, decided that 'The Five Swans' offered him the perfect opportunity to 'check out' the 'quality' of his new 'Man at Tesco' look as well as an all-day breakfast for £4.40.

As Parks 'lived in the here and now', he would not know when or where his next meal may be coming from, so, it was essential to top up as cheaply as possible and with as much as possible. 'The Five Swans' ticked all of the right boxes in that respect. Walking in, and approaching the bar where he had been with Katy the previous evening, there was no obvious signs of recognition, he was partly pleased but slightly subdued because he really did crave recognition for what he considered to be devious and sophisticated offending.

In moments of reflection, Parks did not consider himself to be a 'Nonce' he viewed himself as some kind of modern day Casanova, albeit one who would spend a considerable amount of time in solitary confinement, should his luck ever run out, as he knew it must. Tucking into his 'no frills' breakfast, Parks looked around and saw a number of students, like him, obviously taking advantage of the value on hand. He did not recognise anyone and from the snippets of overheard conversation, the fate of Katy had not made the headlines in 'student land'.

Feeling full of 'Tim Martin's finest', and a bit bored and restless, Parks opened up the laptop and making a private wager with himself said quietly 'What's the odds that it's not password protected'.

It wasn't, and minutes later, he was sitting centre stage in the cyber world of Lauren Weston.

Sleeping well or otherwise, held no appeal for Hodder and about the same time the previous evening, as Parks was drifting off, Hodder was in a high octane mood.

He could not go home, and he had spent a good couple of hours trying to persuade Baxter over copious amounts of alcohol, to accept his apology and that his priority was to get Grace and Lauren back home just as quickly as he could. He told the younger man that he would not do anything to jeopardise that outcome.

Emotionally dulled by alcohol, he was not really convincing himself, let alone Baxter, and he decided to retreat to the 'Premier Inn' at Holystone, rather than any of the myriad of hotels that lined the coast where he could drink all night.

He also knew that no matter wherever he was in the early hours of the next morning, that he would be lying awake enduring the full effects of a hangover. Hodder knew that there was one fact of life that should never be tampered with...one should always sleep through the effects of alcohol. He knew that in the dark lonely hours that his mind would be occupied by Dean Parks and the unwitting but devastating effect that he was having on his life.

Hodder had asked himself repeatedly over recent days whether he was obsessed with Parks, and if it was anything other than the incredible bad luck that brought him to his home. What was it with Parks that had got so far under his skin?

In his drunken logic, he concluded that he may be losing his touch, getting too old or had simply lost his appetite for this kind of work. There was no doubting that police work was increasingly a younger persons' game and though he was confident that he still had the tools get through the day, it may be that his heart was no longer be in it anymore. Notwithstanding, he knew that he would have to shelve any plans for the future until the matter in hand had been 'sorted'.

And sort it he must.

Muddled by the fog of alcohol, Hodder, probably against the advice of his sober self, who happened to be 'out of the room' at that time, he decided to call Grace. He cared not for the hour, he longed to hear her voice, and even if she rebuked him, any sound was better than the internal recriminations that he was feeling at this moment.

Her phone rang.

He was immediately cut off.

He rang again.

He was cut off again.

He rang again.

It was answered. 'Jim, not now please. Have you any idea what we are going through'?

'Please, please just listen...I would give anything for none of this to have happened...did you know that Lauren was going to have a party? Did you know who would be invited? Did you know that some monster would come to our house and spoil everything that we had? 'Cos, I sure didn't'. He rushed the words out as if he was on some form of sponsored 'speak-a-thon' fearing that if he did not say them now then perhaps, the chance would be lost for ever.

'But Jim, it's just that you watch the world go by, almost like a casual observer and you choose to immerse yourself in things that appear to me at least, to be far less important than Lauren and I. Yes, I know that your job is important to you, but, you have to admit that you really do not play any part of our lives...are these criminals more important than your family'?

'No, of course not, but...' Grace interrupted...'Have you been drinking Jim'? She did not wait for the answer, she did not need one...'Goodbye Jim'. She ended the call.

A wave of sobriety swept over Hodder...'Goodbye! Goodbye! What did that mean?...He needed a plan and he needed one pretty quickly'...and so, he spent the rest of the night devising, revising and re-plotting the plan that he hoped would bring about the downfall of Dean Parks, which he vainly hoped would coincide with the resurrection of his tainted marriage.

Strictly speaking, Hodder didn't have to 'get up' because he hadn't actually been to sleep. He stirred, tired and listless, with no appetite for breakfast or the day ahead. He knew that he would have to sandwich his private agenda between the demands placed upon him during the day and deal with the expected avalanche of mundane enquiries which would doubtless land on his desk.

Hodder showered and left the 'Inn' promising to go home during the day to collect more clean clothes and 'gee up' SOCO to return his home to him. Inhaling deeply, as if that would cleanse him of the toxic alcoholic fumes emanating from deep within his pores, Hodder stared wide eyed at his car which had been 'abandoned' across three parking bays.

'What an idiot'! 'Was I really that drunk'? He concluded that he must have been very drunk indeed. Suddenly, his memory was jolted back to the drunken phone call with Grace...'Oh God, what did I say? What damage have I done now'?

Checking his phone, he found that the call of which he had only a vague memory was made at 3.10am that morning. He reasoned that because he could not remember the call, and had no idea of what either Grace or he had said to each other, that he had better keep a low profile hoping that his memory and his mood would improve during the course of the day.

Hodder listlessly walked to his car, the door was closed but unlocked...he felt embarrassed and was secretly pleased to be alone. Getting in, he turned over the key only to hear the one sound that even the most ardent of luddites can recognise. The battery was flat, having only marginally less life in it than Hodder. Checking the switches, he had left the lights on.

Another start to another day in paradise...Hodder cursed aloud and said 'Surely today can't get any worse'.

It would.

He dug his hands deep into his pockets and set off on foot against the torrential 'perma-nor-easterly' rain towards Northumberland Park Metro Station, confident that the jolting of the carriage during the fifteen minute journey to North Shields would 'stir him up' one way or the other.

Arriving at the office late, wet and cold Hodder was in no mood for humour this morning...making reference to Hodder wearing yesterday's shirt the crime fighting phenomenon that is 'Gee-Gee' said...'Nice threads James, You will have to give me the name of your tailor'.

'Judging by the amount of time you spent going through my daughter's knicker drawer, I would have assumed your interest in clothing from my home may have faded by now. By the way...I hope that they are not too tight for you'?

For once, 'Gee-Gee' thought that he may have gone too far or could it be that the barely concealed vitriol in Hodder's voice had registered with him and he concluded that it was perhaps best not to labour the point right now. Either way, 'Gee-Gee' lived to fight another day, making feeble excuses as he made his way to the incident room to be briefed on the incident at Hodder's home. Hodder was about to follow when the D.I. popped his head around the door and said 'Where you off to Jim'?

'Incident room...just want to hear if there have been any developments'.

'Sorry...out of bounds to you...it's for the best'...he smiled with as much manufactured insincerity as it was possible for one human being to muster in one sitting. He then walked from the office.

'Bastard' said Hodder not caring whether he was heard or not...followed by a barely audible 'You just watch this space'.

Licking his wounds and licking his lips, Hodder decided that it was 'breakfast time' and it was going to be a 'North Shields Continental'...a strong black coffee and a bag of cheese and onion crisps from the C.I.D. shop...paid for in full. He was in enough trouble without falling foul of the custodians of the shop.

Moments later, a rather too cheerful Baxter waltzed into the office, without saying a word it was obvious to Hodder that Baxter was delighted with the service that he was receiving from the N.H.S. and any talk of 'cut backs' would not be entertained by him. Baxter knew only too well of the turbulence in Hodder's life and felt that it would be inappropriate, not to say churlish, to go on about his own private life when it was obvious that Hodder's was apparently in such a state of terminal free fall.

The younger man explained that he had been to the custody suite, and for once there were not any prisoners that required their attention, just the usual array of 'drunk and dizzies', absconders etc...'nothing for us to get worried about'.

At least that was something. Just as thoughts of David Palma and by default Dean Parks began to fill Hodder's mind, Baxter said 'Hospital. We have to go to the hospital'. Jim was about to reproach his younger colleague when Baxter continued...'We have a stiff and a 'nearly stiff to deal with...remember'?

Working in 'overdrive' Hodder was about to tell Baxter to deal with the 'plonkies' alone, when he realised that he could seize the opportunity whilst at the hospital, to check up on Katy...albeit unofficially, and to check what progress if any was being made to trace her attacker.

If Baxter was blessed with the ability to mind read, he would have learnt that Hodder was pre-occupied with his own agenda and not by 'the plonkies', but the words 'Okay Jeff. The hospital it is then', seemed to sate Baxter. If Hodder had been 'gifted' with mind reading skills he would have learnt that Baxter was on a 'private mission' too.

Had Baxter stopped to think he would have realised that this was just the negative influence of Hodder rubbing off on him once again. But, on this occasion, he did not care.

Just as Hodder and Baxter were leaving the office a telephone rang as he made to answer it Hodder called out to Baxter that he would see him outside the office 'At the front door'. Baxter nodded and left the office.

'North Shields CI.D. Detective Sergeant Hodder speaking'.

'Ah Jim', it was Doug, a civilian 'General Office Assistant' whose primary role was to deal with a vast and varied array of abusive phone calls and visitors to the 'front counter' of the police station...'Jim, there is a bloke here saying that he wants to talk to someone from the C.I.D. he won't say what it is about...'

'No worries Doug. Leave it with me'.

Hodder walked along the corridor to the front office not quite knowing what he was going to encounter, but this in actual fact, was not in the least bit unusual because on a daily basis one could encounter a whole variety of 'nutcases', to genuine individuals with 'pukka info'. None the less, it was still a bit of a mystery.

As he entered the foyer Hodder saw two men walking nervously back and forth like expectant fathers' at the maternity ward. Doug caught his eye and discreetly nodded in the direction of the men.

In a micro-second, Hodder had formed an opinion. Both were 'prigs' one considerably younger and blacker than the other, both extremely well built. What on earth can this be all about he thought as he extended his hand to the elder of the two, who was clearly the senior man as he introduced himself.

The elder man said 'Is there somewhere we can talk privately'.

Hodder directed the men towards a small interview room set just to the left of the main door. He held the door open for both men and invited them in. The elder man walked in without hesitation, the younger man seemed to be reluctant.

Addressing the younger man Hodder said 'Are you coming in'? The younger man did not respond but the elder man who was already seated said in a pronounced Mancunian accent 'No. He isn't'. It was clear who was leader of this particular pack.

With experience, correctly or otherwise, Police Officers learn very quickly to assimilate information and form opinions about individuals whom they encounter, and even an officer as obviously as flawed as Hodder was usually pretty accurate in his assessment.

In a flash he saw, a well-built white man in his early sixties who still cut an imposing figure, not muscle bound, but not overweight either. He had obviously been a 'handful' in his time, and probably still was. He was impeccably dressed in smart designer casual wear with slightly too much gold to be described as 'tasteful'. He was let down by the self-inflicted tattoos on his well-worn knuckles and a tell-tale 'jail-time', Swallow just below the collar line, but not far enough down that it did not fly into sight from time to time. Hodder wondered if this tattoo migrated south in the winter.

This man, in the unspoken opinion of Hodder, had obviously done some serious crime and time. He clearly had wealth but absolutely no class whatsoever. Who was this man? Hodder had not met him before...he was certainly not local and he was not one of the 'big players' from the 'the town' (Newcastle).

'How can I help you Sir'? Hodder hated calling criminals 'Sir' but as this person was a wholly unknown entity, it was probably best to err on the side of caution until circumstances dictated otherwise.

'I would like to offer a reward for the arrest and conviction of the person who assaulted the young student'.

'What student would that be Sir'?

'The one who was assaulted at a party'.

Hodder was unsure, what if any press coverage had been given to the incident and continued 'That is very kind of you, but I can assure you that we have sufficient resources at our disposal and we are pursuing active lines of enquiry'.

'Have you arrested anyone'?

'Obviously, I am not at liberty to discuss any police investigation with you or anyone else'.

Sensing that he was getting in too deep Hodder said 'Sir, it's most generous of you to offer to help the investigation, but can I ask who you are'.

'Just a concerned citizen'.

'Then I trust Sir, that you will allow us to investigate this matter in our own way'.

The man leant across the table between Hodder and himself, and said with unconcealed hostility 'Have it your own way'. With that the man stood up dwarfing Hodder, and without another word he walked from the room, the door slamming closed in his wake. Hodder went after him before seeing him exit though the automatic sliding doors at the front of the building.

Looking outside Hodder saw that a black Infiniti FX 5.0 V8S was pulling away from the kerb in an easterly direction. He frantically scanned the horizon for Baxter and he saw that he was impatiently sitting in an unmarked C.I.D. car tapping his watch in a way that reminded him of a very irritated Sir Alex Ferguson. Was there any other type of Sir Alex Ferguson? thought Hodder as he ran over to the car.

Hodder attempted to open the passenger door. It was locked, he banged impatiently on the door window and saw Baxter mouth the words 'Hang on. Hang on. He jumped in and was immediately embarrassed when he instructed Baxter to 'Follow that car'. Baxter, not usually taken to swearing said in mock disbelief 'Fuuuuurk Off'.

'I fucking mean it, just don't get clocked...something is up'.

'What would that be then'?

'I don't know, but let's get close enough so I can P.N.C. that Infiniti'. The brake lights of the Infiniti told them that it was turning left from Upper Pearson Street and heading towards Tynemouth Road. From there it could head in any of three directions and be lost within minutes.

However, much to Hodder's surprise, the driver was strangely cautious, so cautious in fact, that the manner of his driving screamed out to any experienced Police Officer...'I don't want to be stopped, but probably deserve to be'. Hodder just hoped that a passing panda or overzealous Traffic Officer, as most of them tended to be, did not come to the same conclusion and 'blow it out'. Whoever the occupants of the Infiniti were, they would quite naturally come to the conclusion that he had requested the stop, thus scuppering any chance that he may have of finding out the real purpose for their presence in the town.

Baxter and Hodder followed the Infiniti at a discreet distance, using the basic surveillance technique of keeping 'innocent' cars as 'cover' between them and the target vehicle so that any unexpected occurrence would not result in them discovering the efficiency of the rear end crumple zone of the Infiniti...other road users could have that pleasure!

The day was getting stranger by the minute as the Infiniti entered the grounds of the General Hospital. Both of the men who had just been into the Police Station, got out at the main entrance, as the Infiniti clearly not on auto pilot, was driven around the car park looking for a space. As the Infiniti manoeuvred into a 'Staff Only' bay Hodder noted the registration number and did a P.N.C. check. The vehicle 'came back' as belong to Denny Bostock from Didsbury, Manchester and there was a 'marker' showing that the vehicle was 'of interest' to Greater Manchester Police (GMP) Serious Organised Crime Team. Of immediate interest to Hodder was that GMP were asking that all sightings of this vehicle be reported to them and a note made of all of the occupants.

Hodder told Baxter to pull over. He told him to follow the Infiniti driver, another black man, obviously 'hired muscle' who was walking towards the hospital. Jim's reasoning being that he could not do it because he had been seen by the two passengers. Baxter was instructed to keep in touch if he discovered why these strangers were now visiting the hospital, and if he (Baxter) was 'rumbled' then he should tell the police at the hospital that he had been instructed by Hodder to inform them that someone was making 'unusual' enquiries about the victim.

Hodder meanwhile, was going back to the 'nick' to try to establish what interest Denny Bostock had in Katy, and from a self-preservation point of view how he was going to feed this new information into the incident room. He knew that he was going to 'freelance' to resolve this problem, but he was certainly not going to advertise the fact. And, on a not entirely unselfishly, he wanted to go home for a change of clothing, and to attempt to extract his home from the clutches of Northumbria Police.

Sensing a long day ahead, Hodder headed off to his home and once again was met by the far too efficient Crime Scene Manager who was able to tell Hodder that he expected to be free of the scene by lunchtime and that subject to the consent of the Senior Investigating Officer, he could probably move back in. This came as some relief to Hodder, who was once again 'videoed' collecting some clothing, just because his colleagues were almost finished with the scene did not mean that some devious defence lawyer would not seek to discredit him...too late he thought...beat you to it!

As he drove back to the office Hodder felt more upbeat that he had for a few days and the shower that he intended to have would only add to his rising spirits. However, once back, it was paperwork time, a short intelligence report to 'the room', a quick email to Ben Heath regarding the visitor, as an 'insurance policy', and it was time for ablutions. Whilst showering, Hodder allowed himself the luxury of thinking that he may actually sleep in his own bed for a change, albeit alone, but it was at least a step in the right direction.

Suddenly, work intruded his thoughts and he started to weigh up the pros and cons of contacting GMP to make some enquiries about Denny Bostock. He thought better of it, they would find out anyway, via the incident room. He simply could not risk being a fly in the ointment at this point in time. One way or the other, sooner or later, he would find out all he needed to know about Bostock.

Clean, dry, refreshed and changed, it was back to the office just in time to note a missed call from Baxter. A voicemail told him that according to nursing staff at the hospital, Denny Bostock was Katy's grandfather, and a very concerned one at that. That may explain the offer a reward, but it went nowhere to explaining the interest of GMP in a man who had all the hallmarks of being a 'target criminal'...there was clearly more to this man than met the eye.

Frustrated at getting no response from Hodder, Baxter decided that he needed cheering up and headed for Ward 7 where Peter Sykes was still resident. He did not think for a second that Sykes would be sitting up in bed cracking jokes and telling anyone who may care to listen about the 'hauntingly cheeky bouquet' of Snirmovv Vodka and its life reducing qualities. No, this was all about seeing Hannah, even though it had only been a few hours since he had left her. As he walked along the corridors he began thinking to himself 'Is this the real thing? How would I know'? As he turned a corner to enter the ward he was walking on air, but resolved to keep his feet firmly on the ground only.

Then he saw her. He felt a sudden nervous tightening of his stomach muscles as he watched her dealing with a patient. She was so natural, so gentle and though the pun did not occur to him at the time, so patient. She glanced up, obviously noticing some movement in her peripheral vision. She smiled one of those uplifting smiles which radiated warmth, affection and charm. He was putty in her hands and hoped to be again that evening. Hannah got up from the patient said something that appeared to be calm and reassuring and walked over to where Baxter stood transfixed like the fool he felt himself to be.

She walked passed him heading for the seat behind the nurses station and as she did so, her hand gently brushed his outer thigh. She knew exactly what she was doing and her impish smile betrayed her otherwise calm exterior. 'God', she knew how to fluster and frustrate him. 'Hi, I was wandering how Mr Sykes' is?

'Well, Officer, he has improved dramatically, he has regained consciousness and his vision appears to be coming back. It is still blurred, but all the signs are that after a quick trip to 'Specsavers' he should be okay. Would you like to see him'?

Without realising what he was saying Baxter said 'Is he allowed to see me'?

They both burst out laughing and Baxter countered by saying 'What I meant to say was...'What about the Doctor? Has he done his rounds yet'?

'Oh I don't think that will be a problem, follow me Officer'.

He found this game of 'cat and mouse' very amusing and strangely erotic, but he had to snap himself back to reality and return to 'job mode'...there would be time for fun and games later...with any luck.

Baxter knew all about the dark humour that existed amongst hospital staff and nurses in particular. He knew that like the police, that they too were at the 'sharp end' and often faced adversity in difficult and trying circumstances, and like the police it was their version of 'gallows humour' that got them through the day. He also suspected that like the police that they were also of the opinion that if it wasn't for the public it would be a really great job.

Sykes looked only marginally healthier than his former drinking pal Fred Tamblin, who was still occupying space in the refrigerator in the mortuary. Hannah spoke to Sykes in a way which exuded compassion and professionalism and as she did so, an uninvited thought passed through his mind...'Hodder could learn a thing or two from her'.

When Hannah mentioned that there was a Police Officer here who wanted to talk to him he not unexpectedly said 'I've got nothing to say'. Baxter sensed that the opportunity to talk to Sykes may escape him especially, if his condition continued to improve and he was discharged from hospital.

Baxter said 'Look Peter, as far as the police are concerned we simply want to know where you bought your Vodka...you may not be aware but it is part of a batch of counterfeit Vodka. We need to get it off the streets to stop anyone else coming to harm'

'The Doctor said that I should make a full recovery, so, from my point of view there has been no harm done'.

'There is another person ill in hospital and all we want to do is get the stuff off the streets before anyone else ends up here. We do need to know where you got it from'.

'Bought it from a bloke in a pub and before you ask, I was pissed can't remember the pub or anything about the bloke. So, I can't help you'. Baxter was learning to be resilient, that may have been because Hannah was still at the bedside or because he was actually starting to get to grips with this 'investigation lark'.

'Look Peter, you may not know this but, the stuff that you and others have been drinking contains some pretty unpleasant ingredients namely Methanol, that's Brake Fluid or De-icer to you and me. Some bottles contain chloroform, no need to guess what that can do to you. The lucky people and believe me you are one of them, actually pulled through...others don't'.

'You are wasting your time. I can't help you'.

'What you actually mean is that you will not help me' said Baxter.

'Either way it means the same thing. I'm saying nothing'.

Baxter sensed a 'chink' in Sykes' armour but was mindful that he was still seriously ill and did not want to be seen as pushing him too hard. 'That's no problem...I tried asking Fred Tamblin but he wasn't saying anything either'.

Sykes seemed momentarily buoyed by this 'good news'...'Told you mate. You are on your own'.

'And so is Fred'.

'What do you mean by that'?

'Well, you are certainly making better progress than he is'.

At this point, Hannah who was feeling increasingly uncomfortable made her excuses to leave, she sensed that a bombshell was about to be dropped.

'He is a tough old boot...'

Baxter interrupted and said 'Not as tough as you think Peter...he didn't make it'.

Sykes winced as he pulled himself up into a seated position and said 'What do you mean'?

'What I mean is that your so called 'code of honour', 'vow of silence' may be the stuff of gangster movies but it will not help your mate now...he died and it could just as easily have been you too'.

Sykes had spent the best part of his stay in hospital being restored to some form of health and as the colour drained from his face he inhaled deeply and said...'But it was only snide Vodka we were told that it was Kocher and that we were only getting it because we could shift a few bottles of the stuff'.

'Have you sold any...we have to get it back to stop anymore damage being done'.

'Bullshit. This is bullshit you're just trying to trick me'.

'Have it your own way...Do you fancy jumping in a wheelchair to identify his body? Believe me, any other deaths will be down to you. But, a word of warning...do not expect us to be so accommodating if anyone else ends up in the morgue...this is your one opportunity to get yourself out of the shit. This offer is only valid whilst I am at your bedside and I have to go now'.

Baxter got up and saw a look of utter bewilderment upon Sykes' face. He was as the saying goes 'Between a rock and a hard place'. Baxter and Trading Standards, who had provided him with his information, had no idea how many bottles of the stuff were in circulation and it was clear that this investigation was going nowhere very quickly. Baxter began to walk away from the bed and Sykes tentatively said 'Err, Mr Baxter, can I have some time to think about this. Fred croaking and all that has come as a bit of a shock'.

'No'. Was Baxter's curt reply as he walked towards the exit. He had barely taken half a dozen steps but with each step Baxter was thinking 'Quick, quick stop me before I leave...for God's sake don't call my bluff'.

Sykes did not take the bait for now. But he would.

Hannah was busy with other patients as he exited the ward. He resolved to text her when he was outside hoping that she had not walked away from him in disgust.

About the same time that Hodder was arranging for an industrial cleaning company to deep clean his home, Dean Parks was enjoying another drink in the 'Five Swans' at the expense of Lauren.

The stolen laptop was really interesting. Not password protected and once on the internet he established the email address of the (previous/lawful) owner and Parks set about installing a 'Password Finder Tool' with three keystrokes he saw that the Facebook password for 'Lauren Weston' was 'Gothisgreat'. Soon afterwards Parks was exploring her list of 'friends' and soon found one of great interest to him.

There was only one 'Katy' listed. Katy Bostock was about to become his first victim of a 'cyber-rape' and the good news was that Parks could take his time because he was going to be contacting her via Lauren Weston's Facebook account.

Parks marvelled at his cunning, and took a long celebratory gulp as he sent a message to all of Lauren's 'friends'.....it said 'Great party everyone, shame Katy spoilt it all...bitch deserved what she got LOL'. Parks smiled as he swallowed as he sent. That was enough for now.

Satisfied with his day's work so far, Parks decided to explore the darker reaches of the laptop hoping to find a pin number for the debit card which was still in possession. He decided that if he did find the pin then he would empty the account before passing on the card to some unsuspecting junkie in exchange for some stolen trainers.

He looked in the obvious files marked 'Lauren's stuff' but he just could not find the pin. He was about to power the laptop down when he decided to look in 'My Photos'....just a bunch of odd looking Goths, and family photographs. He looked at a photograph of a very attractive middle aged woman. He mused whether she may be Lauren's mother 'cos if she was he may have to make some 'plans' for her. Then he saw it...'Fucking hell' he said quietly to himself, or so he thought because his voice prompted a rather rotund bar maid with a tattoo of a faded rose on the back of her left wrist, to walk quietly over to him and said 'Can you please mind your language'.

He apologised immediately. The last thing he wanted was for the police to be called. After all, the day had just taken a turn for the better. As he closed the laptop he decided that he was not going to sell it. Not for now at least. Parks felt in total control, and the feeling was really good.

But there was one thing that Parks did not know. However, he would learn it soon enough.

Hodder sent another email to Ben Heath explaining the family connection between Katy and Denny Bostock. He knew that this shrewd method of manipulation between Heath and himself would ensure that he was kept informed of all developments, and that Heath would be seen by the investigation team as being a captain with his hand very firmly on the tiller. Shortly after sending the mail Hodder's mobile rang. It was Heath. 'Do fancy a coffee...my place...five minutes'. This was not exactly an invitation and as Hodder walked towards Heaths office he felt strangely elated. Why? His life was imploding yet he was happy to be back in familiar surroundings because he knew that the minute that he went home sober or not, he was in for a very long night.

As usual, the door stood open, he gave the cursory/obligatory knock and saw his friend and colleague pouring coffee. No digestives, he hoped that this was not a formal meeting. Heath looked and beckoned him in with a nod of his head. 'Close the door Jim'...this was not looking good but then again Hodder had a habit of viewing things from a pessimistic point of view.

There really was no need for the banalities of small talk and Heath said to Hodder as soon as he was seated. 'I have spoken to Grace on the phone'...'Oh yes' said Hodder the second word being said in such a way that it lasted rather too long and suggested a question rather than acknowledgement.

'Naturally, Jim she is devastated with what has happened and she wants you to know that she does not hold you responsible because she now understands that both you and she were duped by Lauren. The fact is that if you knew she was going to have a party then you would have went out for a meal locally, so that you could both be around to keep the lid on things if they got out of hand'.

'Ben...why is she telling this to you and not me'?

'We have been friends for a long time and I just think that she wants to clear the air'.

Hodder put his cup down knowing that what he was about to say he would never say to any other Senior Officer...'Who rang who'? For the first time in many years he saw Ben Heath looking very uncomfortable. He shuffled uneasily in his seat, he took off his spotless spectacles and began cleaning them unnecessarily. When he replaced them he said...'Well, Jim as a matter of friendship I felt that I should explain to Grace that it was me who wanted you back here and that none of what has happened was your fault, or indeed hers. I also explained that whether I had asked you to come back or not, the incident at your home would still have occurred. I did not mean to interfere with your private life and I am sorry if you think that I have overstepped the mark'.

If any other officer, senior or otherwise had have done this, Hodder would have went ballistic however, he was grateful for the support. Hodder felt strangely moved and struggled to get the words out 'Do you know what her plans are Ben'?

'Naturally, she has some reservations about going back and has even talked about putting the house on the market, but she seems to have calmed down and has come around and is seeing the bigger picture'.

'Not a picture big enough to know that it was Dean Parks, because if she knew that he knew where we lived that would screw everything up between us'.

Heath said 'Don't worry, I told her that we are pursuing a number of lines of enquiry...I take it that you are not going to tell her'.

Hodder looked across the table, fixed his friend with a stare and said...'If I told her about Parks she would never come back and I would probably never see Lauren or her again...lets just try to keep it that way'.

'Fine by me said Heath...oh by the way thanks for the info about Bostock a most interesting character...he is the Manchester equivalent of 'First Aid'.

'Bloody hell' said Hodder so he is not just a concerned grandfather he is out for blood'.

'Absolutely...Parks had better hope that we find him before Bostock does'.

'Do you know Ben, and I probably shouldn't say this I don't care if Bostock gets to him first after what he has done to my family. I find it very strange agreeing with the actions of a career criminal but I can see his point of view. He may be a 'scrote' but I kind of feel sorry for him.

'Remember the deal Jim...no interference....oh and by the way SOCO are finished with your house'.

'Absolutely Ben'. Hodder got up and as he turned to close the door he looked directly at Heath and said 'Thank you'. Hodder walked down to the office in a kind of stunned silence, moved by yet another demonstration of loyalty by Ben Heath, a man whom he knew in his heart of hearts that he was going to betray, though not out of any sense of malice but purely out of necessity.

When he got to the office he rang the cleaning company who agreed to meet him at his home in thirty minutes time. Things were beginning to look up for the first time in what appeared to be eons.

Hodder entered his home alone and whilst he was waiting for the contractors to arrive he took his time to walk around and whilst doing so he saw numerous small adhesive measuring stickers placed (by SOCO) on or next to relevant exhibits or positions. His memory was drawn back over many years to when he worked on a shooting in nearby Monkseaton. On that fateful day in April 1989, 22 year old Robert Sartin, took his father's double barrelled shot gun and began firing indiscriminately at any one within his vision. Sartin killed one man who was walking to church, and injured another fourteen. He is still detained.

The psychological injuries inflicted upon the residents of this quiet leafy suburb, for indeed, Tyneside does have then, remain to this day and the insensitivity of the police long after the investigation was over, meant that those stickers that remained on doors, walls and the street served as a constant reminder to the residents of the horrific events of that day. Hodder would ensure that there was no trace left of the incident before he would even consider allowing Grace and Lauren back home.

Leaving strict instructions with the contractors, Hodder returned to the office to be met by Baxter who greeted him with the words...'You up for a P.M.(Post Mortem Examination) this afternoon'?

'Hey, I know I don't look very good at the moment and have been having my troubles but surely I don't need one of those yet'.

Baxter was delighted to see that something resembling a sense of humour was appearing to return to Hodder and he said with a smile 'Do you want yours before or after Fred Tamblin, I'm sure the Pathologist will be able to fit you in'.

'What time is it set for'? said Hodder.

'Two o'clock...so you should have plenty of time for your lunch...what do you fancy?...Liver and Onions'?

Hodder who clearly was returning to form said 'I'm more of a steak and kidney man myself'.

Every visit to the mortuary always reminded Hodder of one of his first. This occurred way back when, as a young probationer he was encouraged to join in the 'jolly japes' of life on a uniformed shift. On this occasion, a senior P.C. told him that they were going to play a joke on the new female Sergeant.

Eager to be accepted into the fold Hodder readily agreed. So, he was briefed to climb into one of the body fridges at the mortuary. Once inside, he was told that the Sergeant would be asked to come to inspect a body in one of the drawers. All good so far, thought Hodder as he lay under a sheet, only then realising that the drawers were not separate compartments. He was shocked to see that that he was surrounded by corpses. Some fresher than others, but he could not lose face now!

The young Hodder waited and waited as the young Hodder got colder and colder. Suddenly, after about twenty minutes or so, the body next to him tapped him on the leg and said 'God, it's fucking freezing in here isn't it'?...Hodder nearly died of panic and claustrophobia as he heard the entire shift standing in the mortuary and laughing at his expense as he remained locked within the fridge. So much for the Sergeant being the target of the joke!

Just before two o'clock that afternoon, Hodder and Baxter made their way to the mortuary at the General Hospital but on this occasion, much to Baxter's dismay, they did not go through the labyrinth of corridors that make up the hospital. Instead they went to the service door which is located at the back of the mortuary. This is the route by which patients who die in the hospital or elsewhere, or are collected by Funeral Directors enter or leave the building.

In a hospital with many design faults, at least some thought had been put into the location of this door...it is not visible to any member of the public. Ringing the shrill bell, located high enough up so as not to be the plaything of annoying children, it was answered by 'Lurch'. This odd man who had seen both officers on numerous occasions before, always asked who they were, insisted on the production of Warrant Cards before allowing entry. Hodder often wondered what his response would have been if he had have said 'Officers Burke and Hare here for the P.M.' However, as 'Lurch' clearly had no sense of humour it was probably wise not to do so.

After signing in Hodder and Baxter donned surgical smocks and shoe covers, before entering the 'main arena'. Body fluids were a real pain to get out of Marks and Spencer suits! The mortuary at the General Hospital is about forty metres long and about fifteen metres wide. Set in the centre of the room are approximately six guttered dissection tables and as they entered each had a body upon it in varies stages of dissection.

There is no such thing as dignity in death.

Set along one of the walls is a viewing gallery for the faint hearted and underneath the gallery window is a vast array of stainless steel measuring, weighing and storage receptacles.

Scrubbing up at this time was Dr James Wu, the resident Pathologist, he was clearly getting ready to start and Tamblin who was laid out in all his naked glory on a dissection table a matter of yards away, was completely unaware of his fate.

Wu who knew both officers, was a tall gangly man, with a friendly disposition, who often interspersed medical commentary regarding his findings with one liners of such quality that Hodder often thought that he 'moonlighted' as a Christmas cracker joke writer. He generally got a titter or two but strangely not from 'Lurch' or his 'patient'.

Tamblin's neck was supported by a broad wooden block with a semi-circle cut out to enable the head to remain still whilst the examination was in progress.

Wu said 'Ah gentlemen, how nice of you to come to see me again, I trust you are well'...a real English eccentric, despite his oriental name. Hodder knew from previous P.M.s that Wu usually wore a garish bowtie under his gown and today was no exception...it had numerous bikini clad women upon it posing 1940's style, much like those seen on the fuselage of aircraft during the second world war.

However, as he was the man with the scalpel in his hand, and the medical knowledge in his head, his lack of political correctness and poor comical timing was tolerated by all those present, except Tamblin who, of course, had no say in the matter.

On a steel tray to the side of the 'operating table' lay a vast array of pristine stainless steel medical instruments and to the uninitiated, many, particularly the saws and bolt croppers had no place in a hospital...how little they knew.

The Pathologist began by speaking into a digital recorder making various observations regarding the physical condition of the cadaver. Dr Wu then selected a scalpel and working from each of Tamblin's shoulders made deep incision to from a 'Y' shape ending just above the pubic line. After a bit more internal work with the scalpel large flaps of skin were peeled back exposing the rib cage and lower intestinal organs of Tamblin.

The smell was indescribable but had absolutely no effect upon Wu, 'Lurch' or for that matter, Tamblin. The same could not be said of Hodder and Baxter who though having witnessed this on numerous occasions still found it extremely nauseating. Any officer who vomited during a P.M. found his reputation in tatters...it was a rite of passage not to 'chuck up' particularly during one's first P.M.

This too, did not apply to Tamblin.

The rib cage was removed using the bolt croppers exposing all of the major organs. In keeping with all in his profession Dr Wu always liked to give Police Officer's, especially those who looked particularly nauseous, a conducted tour of the internal organs as he removed them one by one before placing them in stainless trays for further examination, weighing and eventual dissection.

It was about this time when Hodder heard 'Lurch' who was standing at Tamblin's head start to talk to the corpse. This was completely normal (for Lurch) and none of the mortuary staff found this to be in the least bit unusual. Seconds later, Hodder saw 'Lurch' 'peel back' Tamblin's face before taking a stainless steel circular saw to the top of his skull which he set about removing with studied and practiced precision.

There then followed a once heard never to be forgotten 'popping' sound as the top of the skull was levered off using a short instrument. The Cerebrospinal Fluid which surrounds the brain then began dripping onto the floor. Hodder often thought about the plight of the nightshift cleaners in the mortuary. What a job! Not quite brain surgery but pretty close to it!

With an 'Aha' Dr Wu produced a liver so enlarged and diseased that he seemed genuinely impressed...'A very fine example gentlemen...now if that is not a lesson to us all, then nothing ever will be'. Wu, a keen wine enthusiast, was rumoured to have an extensive and expensive collection at his home which he consumed and replaced with equal enthusiasm.

The removal of the brain is often seen as the end of the examination, the body being now, nothing more than an empty shell. 'Lurch' had the unenviable job of stitching the cadaver back together...he would win no prizes for neatness!

Tamblin's death was still 'not suspicious' and up to this point, neither the external or internal examination had suggested his death may be due to anything other than years of neglect, excess and abuse. As a consequence Hodder felt that he and Baxter's presence was no longer required. They had formally identified the corpse which under the circumstances was probably as much as they could do but, in an organisation like the police service protocols must be adhered to, no matter how unpleasant.

Prior to leaving, Hodder reminded Dr Wu that he would be most interested in the toxicology results particularly when there now appeared to be three potential cases of poisoning due to 'snide' Vodka. Hodder and Baxter then left with indecent haste gulping what passed for the fresh air of Tyneside as they got outside the mortuary.

Hodder asked Baxter to 'swing by' his home just to check on the progress of the cleaners. When they got there the contractors were in the process of leaving. Hodder was delighted when he saw the results...even as a trained Detective he would not have been able to tell that anything untoward had occurred there...he would be able to sleep in his own bed that night.

After settling the bill, he told Baxter that he was taking the rest of the day off and when Baxter said that he fancied going for a drink Hodder was immediately apologetic knowing how many times he had 'twisted' Baxter's arm to do just that. Unlike Hodder, Baxter was understanding and left Hodder at home promising to collect him for work in the morning.

Home at last, Hodder set about changing all of the bedding and after grappling with the 'user's guide to quantum physics' that was the washing machine handbook he washed the dirty laundry. He resolved to contact Grace in the morning...one more night would not plunge him into a deeper crisis...he hoped.

It was only his own 'dirty laundry' that he had to sort out now and he was certainly not going to be washing that in public because as history had taught him there is no situation that a Police Officer could not make worse.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The limited amount of sleep that Hodder had been having recently had been more akin to an alcohol induced coma than the actual rest that he really needed. The consequence of this erratic lifestyle, was that he 'woke up' tired, and remained tired until he started the whole sorry cyclical process again. This was not, he assured himself, the routine that a 'life coach' or nutritionist would advise him to follow. For reasons not entirely clear to himself, he felt that on his first night back home albeit alone, that it was somehow inappropriate to drink, even though he felt that he was depriving himself of at least one of his 'five a day'.

His inner, more honest self, with whom he only had a fleeting relationship, would have suggested that he was keeping the place 'pure' for the eventual return of Grace and Lauren after the traumatic events of recent days. So, for the first time in a very long time, Hodder went to bed sober, and, as if by magic he woke up sober. He was alert and refreshed, and most 'un-Hodder-like' he was looking forward to the day ahead or, was it the prospect of the evening ahead when he would attempt to resurrect what remained of the nucleus of his family.

Notwithstanding, when Baxter arrived to pick him up at 8.30am he had a renewed sense of purpose and even managed a chirpy 'Good Morning' to his younger colleague. Inwardly, Baxter was worried because he knew that this would not last and that there would be tears, but, for now he would just go with the flow.

When they arrived at the office the D.I. was saying to 'Gee-Gee'...'Where is the fucking car? You told me that you were going to collect it...what are workshops doing with it?...you said it was only a minor problem...we have a fucking investigation to run'.

For a man steeped in such false confidence and bravado it brought joy to the heart of Baxter as he watched 'Gee-Gee' squirm....'Err, I'll sort it Boss, Err, not a problem Boss, consider it done Boss, I'll get onto them straight away'.

'Oh no you won't' thought Baxter...'But just keep on digging a hole for yourself'.

Completely oblivious to the real reason why the car had not been returned, Hodder piped up and said...'Jeff and I have a few enquiries to make not far from the workshops we can collect it for you no problem...Give them a ring 'Gee-Gee' tell them that we will be up about 11.00 am'.

Sensing some fun Baxter chipped in...'Yeah, that shouldn't be a problem...is that okay...do you want the car back here Boss'?

The D.I. intervened 'Thanks Jim... and looking at 'Gee-Gee said 'That's team work for you'.

At this point in time, if 'Gee-Gee' had of been armed with a gun he would have shot Baxter and then turned the weapon on himself, but given the sort of day he was having, he would probably have missed both targets. When the D.I. left the office Baxter sidled over to 'Gee-Gee' and said quietly 'Hope you brought your credit card with you today mate...looks like you are in for an expensive day. You are running out of time and the D.I. is running out of patience'....He walked away because despite his obvious enjoyment, he did not wish to see a grown man cry.

This incident did however, confirm one thing, namely the theory proffered by Detective Sergeant Jim Hodder...i.e. the D.I. really was stupid. However, on this occasion Hodder did not know that he had unwittingly proven his own theory. Baxter would have to tell Hodder about the car...he (Hodder) was obviously in such a good mood, that it would be a shame to deprive him of the opportunity to have some fun, particularly at the expense of 'Gee-Gee'.

Baxter was slowly coming to terms with the fact that if the police service is really good at one thing, that is kicking the shit out of colleagues when they are really down on their luck.

Hodder and Baxter went through copious amounts of meaningless emails returned a few calls regarding unrelated matters and after coffee, decided to make a plan for the day. Well Jim...I've checked the cell block nothing for us to worry about...so do you have anything in mind '?

'I'm going to call Grace later on and tell her that it's okay to return home and then ask her to return home. I really do think that despite what has happened that home really is the best place for Lauren and her. So, if you don't mind...I may have to take her car to her mother's house...is that okay'?

'You're the Sergeant Sergeant...it would be a bad day indeed if we let a little bit of police work get in the way of our private lives'' said Baxter with a sly smile...Hodder took this as an unconditional agreement...

Hodder went onto say 'Then we can collect the car from Workshops and if after lunch should you so desire there is the small matter of executing the warrant at David Palma's place...does that sound good to you my young crime fighting friend'?

'This won't last...he is in too good a mood' thought Baxter...'but I'll enjoy it whilst it does last'! Baxter leaned towards Hodder and said 'I need to talk to you about that'...Hodder looked at him with a confused expression on his face and for once, demonstrating the stupidity of 'Gee-Gee', if not quite that of the D.I. he said 'But you told me that you had the warrant'.

Keeping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper Baxter said 'No. Not that...the car. I'll tell you later...you will have a field day...this is right up your street'.

Hodder indicated to Baxter that he had some paperwork to do, and that he would be an hour or so. Now, if nothing else, Baxter was always a man to show initiative when it really mattered, and he suggested that he may visit the hospital. 'To see if Sykes' attitude towards the police had softened'.

'Oh yeah'? questioned Hodder and with a knowing smile, continued 'Good idea. Nothing like killing two birds with one stone' he said with a wink.

Baxter left the office and headed for the General Hospital and having parked up correctly, he broke out into a broad grin when he passed the 'Emergency Vehicles Only' parking bay. So, in order of priority for Baxter it was: Ward 7 to see Hannah to see that smile and hear that voice. Secondly, to check on Sykes...experience had taught Baxter that a few hours of isolated thought can do wonders...hopefully Sykes may, in light of the demise of his drinking buddy have decided to reveal the source of his sauce.

Once on the ward, Hannah was alone at the Nurse's Station and instantly upon seeing Baxter she broke into a warm glowing smile, 'So far so good' thought Baxter. She did not know if she was being watched or overheard by a colleague so she said with an air of 'mock officialdom'...'Oh good morning D.C. Baxter how nice to see you again...how can I help you'?....

'If you keep doing this to me' thought Baxter 'I will soon be beyond help'.

'It's very nice to see you again Staff Nurse White...and how are you today'?

'Looking forward to a cosy night in tonight....if you know what I mean...what are your plans tonight officer'? With that she got up came around to the public side of the counter and said in a tone in which she would certainly not speak to a colleague or a patient 'I take that you are here to see Mr Sykes'. She then bent forward to pick up a file from the desk and as she did so, she ran her hand up Baxter's inner thigh sending a sensual tingle to the nerve centre of his groin.

She whispered 7.30 my place, Sauvignon Blanc.

'My God' thought Baxter 'Things like this do not happen to me'.

'My pleasure Staff Nurse...anything to encourage the public services to work together in close harmony'.

'Oh I'm sure we will be able to achieve that D.C. Baxter' she said. He wanted to kiss her there and then but, there is a time and place for everything. 'Fuck it' he thought, and kissed her lips.

She stood back in mock horror 'Unhand me sir...what sort of woman do you take me for?...Oh yeah, don't forget your toothbrush'.

Getting serious she said 'Sykes discharged himself just after breakfast. I tried to talk him out of it and asked him to wait for the Doctor to complete his rounds, but he said he was leaving. Naturally, I made him sign the discharge form...I'm sorry but I am the only nurse on duty, believe me if there had only been an Agency Nurse on you would not have a signed form and the first that we would have known about Sykes being gone was his empty bed or his uneaten lunch. Sorry, I did not have time to call you'.

'Hey don't worry, if I had to eat hospital food I would have done a runner too. Sadly, he's not the first and he won't be...well, you know the rest...saves me having to come up here anyway and deal with the staff...I find that I'm being constantly sexually harassed by one in particular. The thing is I don't even know his name'!

They both burst out laughing...Baxter said 'I've got a job on this afternoon, if there is any chance of me being late I will let you know...but I will definitely be there'...he squeezed her hand gently and left the ward, only then realising that she had been holding a mucous stained dressing in her hand.

Baxter was walking with 'wings on his heels' feeling like the 'King of the World' as he made his way to his next 'port of call' a 'Porta-cabin' located to the north of the main hospital building. He knocked on the door and entered. He was delighted to see the person inside.

Back at the office, Hodder was putting the finishing touches to a report for 'Personnel' regarding the incident at his home. Unfortunately, from his point of view, he was obliged to submit a report but, in true 'Hodder-esque' style it would be short on detail, culminating with the declaration that he did not require the services of the Welfare Department or the 'Force Shrink'.

Baxter returned a few minutes later telling Hodder that Sykes had 'done a runner' from the hospital...'Don't worry, he won't go far...I'll bet that he is in the 'Bottom Dolphin' right now. The 'Bottom Dolphin' is an old style fisherman's pub on North Shields Fish Quay. It rarely closes, for years having had a special exemption on its licence to accommodate the customers at the overnight fish markets...long since gone, but hey ho, old habits die hard.

It would have been unwise for two suit wearing Detectives to go there without good reason, so Hodder rang the uniform inspector and asked if he would send a couple of his staff to the pub for a walk through just to check if Sykes was there. Hodder did not want him detained, he just wanted to know if he was there. If necessary, Baxter and Hodder could pick him up on the street later on, though in truth, he had not done anything wrong other than take up a bed and waste the time of the hospital staff.

The briefing in the incident room, regarding the events at Hodder's home, was now finished and as usual, he was being kept in the dark. 'Gee-Gee' was sitting at his desk feigning activity, but listening intently as Baxter said 'Hey Jim, have you seen the time? We should go and get that car for the D.I.'.

Baxter was learning by the second...he looked at 'Gee-Gee' and smiled at him. Years of watching the Premier League had taught Baxter the rudiments of lip reading and 'Gee-Gee' mouthed the word, euphemistically described in the media as the 'C word'. Do the media really think that grandmas', nuns' and members of the W.I. all over the country, don't have the word 'Cunt' going through their heads at that point?

Was this is... thought control on an entirely cynical level?

Baxter laughed at 'Gee-Gee', and oblivious to this, Hodder picked up his jacket swung it over his shoulder and said 'Come on Jeff, let me introduce you to the concept of police work'. They left the office, to the sound of Hodder's tuneless whistling.

Once in the car, Baxter just had to tell Hodder all about the incident at the hospital car park and that 'Gee-Gee' did not have the cash to get the car out of the compound and that he (Baxter) had been just 'winding up' 'Gee-Gee' who could not tell the D.I. what had really happened.

'Do you know' said Hodder seriously, 'You have been working with me too long...We can have some great fun with this...

'I have an idea'...chipped in Baxter 'It will be a great laugh...come with me I will introduce you to someone'.

A few minutes later, Hodder and Baxter were standing in the Security Porta-cabin at the General Hospital speaking to Danny Steel, the Security Guard/Car Park Warden who had had the 'run in' with 'Gee-Gee' over the car. Hodder apologised and explained that as 'Gee-Gee's' immediate supervisor he was appalled by his conduct and assured Steel that he would be dealt with in the most appropriate manner. Naturally, he would have to examine all of the available video evidence and there was however, the small matter of securing the release of the vehicle.

'Let's face it' said Jim 'we are all in this together and if you could see your way to easing the way for us to get our car back without the need for too much red tape, then, not only will I personally be very appreciative, but I can assure you that you have my personal guarantee that should you ever require any assistance in any way whatsoever, then all you have to do is call me. Here is my business card'.

This seemed to do the trick. Hodder had always found that those 'lower down the food chain' who wore uniforms, secretly harnessed a desire to be part of a mainstream uniform service and by flattering Steel to such an extent, and massaging his ego, Hodder knew that the release of the car was just minutes away. Yet another curious aspect of 'uniform carriers' is that they too, like to flex a little bit of muscle, and Hodder was not surprised when Steel said 'I will see what I can do'....he then went to a small side office where he pretended to make a phone call 'To the big boss'.

Predictably, he came back a few minutes later, with a dvd and a piece of paper in his hand, saying 'Well, I had to call in few favours to do it, but, take this release form to the compound at Killingworth and you will get your car'.

I can't thank you enough said Hodder...and remember stay in touch if I can help you with anything, anytime.' They shook hands and left.

Once outside the Porta-cabin Baxter said 'Are you totally mad...you gave him your card...an idiot like him will never be off the phone'.

'I know' said Hodder 'that's why I gave him 'Gee-Gee's' card...now have you got the keys for the car?...this is not over by a long shot...the fun is only just beginning'.

Hodder told Baxter that he had an enquiry at a scrap yard at Moorside. This oil soaked blot on the landscape, was located along a winding country road just outside the village of Earsdon.

Leaving Baxter in the car, Hodder negotiated his way amongst the debris, potholes and petrol filled puddles. This was a guaranteed way to ruin your shoes so Baxter was pleased when he was not invited into the yard. This may have been one of the many clandestine contacts that Hodder had developed over the years, but Baxter would only ask questions if Hodder mentioned what he was doing there.

Hodder returned several minutes later and placed a small box in the boot of the car. 'This looks dodgy...best not ask' thought Baxter. Hodder was equally silent about the purpose of his visit.

About an hour later, Hodder and Baxter walked into the office. Baxter dropped of the keys for the C.I.D. on 'Gee-Gee's' desk...a look of incredulity spread over his face. They left the office without saying a word...but 'Gee-Gee' must have heard their laughter as they walked down the corridor and out of the building.

'So then' said Hodder 'Have you got the Warrant for Palma's place'?

'I certainly have Sergeant'.

'Then how a bit of police work' said Hodder as they set off for 'Friardene Farm'.

'Friardene Farm' is located on the same road as the 'Beehive' pub, where Hodder had to been forced to come 'clean-ish' with Baxter regarding the recordings on his digital recorder, and strange as it may seem, this road is known locally as 'The Beehive Road'.

This road is a twisting, turning nightmare, of only about three miles long. Statistically, must be one of the most dangerous roads in the county. Collisions are very common, fatalities thankfully less so, but not unknown. It seems that drivers were oblivious to the speed limit despite the obvious dangers.

The entrance to the farm is located on the right side of a blind left hand turn and it is something of a lottery to negotiate it safely. The farm stands in isolation and is reached by a single track road, all visitors being clearly visible for at least half a mile before they reach the actual buildings. With that in mind, Hodder and Baxter decided to park their car in a layby about quarter of a mile away, and approach the farm on foot. The area, including the farmland itself, is 'riddled' with public footpaths and as such, walkers on the land draw far less suspicion than vehicles.

The farm is essentially a small holding on open land comprising a main farmhouse, two small cottages and a cluster of barns and outhouses some of which are let out on a commercial basis. As they walked into the deserted farmyard, the immediate problem facing Hodder and Baxter was to determine which unit was occupied by David Palma. Though it was quite vague in its wording, the warrant only authorised entry into that part of the property occupied by Palma and could not in all conscience, be used as a means to conduct a fishing expedition over the entire farm, and quite rightly so.

Suddenly a woman's voice shouted out 'What the bloody hell do you want'?

Startled, Hodder looked around and saw that a rotund elderly woman in wellington boots was walking out of a large open barn. She was carrying a number of Sainsbury's bags and had a Jack Russell snapping at her heels.

She walked directly towards the officers' and said with an air of indignation...'Well, what do you want'? Hodder was not keen to introduce himself as a Police Officer but said that he had arranged to meet Mr Palma....'Dave' at his rented unit but unfortunately he could not find it.

'That'll be the young lad with the white Transit'?

'That's him' replied Hodder, hoping against hope that he was correct.

'Go outside the main farmyard, he is upstairs in the first barn on your right...tell him his rent is due'...and with that, she and the Jack Russell turned on their six heels and headed off towards the main farm house.

The main door to the barn was open and as they made their way up the creaking stairs towards Palma's 'lock up' they were unsure if Palma was there, or what if anything, they would find inside the premises. The door was locked, and Hodder was contemplating forcing it with the jemmy that he had concealed down his jacket sleeve, when he heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. He then heard the sound of a heavy metal door being slammed and concluded that a van, hopefully, Palma's Transit had just arrived.

Both he and Baxter stood back in the shadows as they heard someone breathing heavily coming up the stairs. This was going far better than he had anticipated. Suddenly, there was Palma in all of his asthmatic glory carrying a couple of heavy boxes which he had to lay down on the landing before getting some keys from his pocket. Once the door was open, he turned around to see Hodder and Baxter standing with the boxes at their feet.

Hodder said 'Hi Dave...business good'.

'What the fuck do you want'?

'Well, by a strange quirk of fate that rather depends on what you have got inside...can we come in'?

'Fuck Off and get a warrant'.

'Well we anticipated that you may say that, so, the kindly Magistrates of North Tyneside were good enough to grant us one, which, as if by pure magic my glamorous assistant here will now produce...so we are coming in whether you like it or not...now get your fucking arse inside there now.

Palma fumbled with the lock, and once they were all inside, Baxter closed the door behind them and stood in front of it, just in case Palma developed a sudden case of claustrophobia and felt the need to experience the great outdoors. In actual fact, Baxter probably got the better of the deal because the way the old wooden floor creaked and groaned under the weight of Palma and Hodder he felt much safer staying where he was.

The loft, for that is what it was, was illuminated by a single bulb swinging from an old fibrous flex that looked likely to burst into flames at any second. There were a number of windows along the left hand wall at about shoulder height and stacked under the windows were dozens of boxes of 'Snirmov' Vodka made for all the world at first glance to look like genuine 'Smirnoff' Vodka.

Hodder said 'Ah David, going into the liqueur trade are we'?

'I'm just looking after then for someone'.

'And who would that be'?

'He didn't give his name'.

'No worries' said Hodder, 'he can always collect them from the nick'

Further along the wall were numerous boxes of 'Turner' hand rolling tobacco. 'And you're a tobacconist too? Is there no limit to your entrepreneurial skills'? said Hodder.

'Not my stuff either...told you'.

Hodder then turned his attention to the two boxes that Palma had been carrying when he arrived....they too were branded as 'Snirmov' Vodka. Bingo!

'What else is here...this place is going to get pulled apart by a search team so you may as well tell me now'.

A look of benign resignation spread across Palma's face...'There are a few phones in a box over there but all this stuff belongs to the same bloke'.

Hodder asked Baxter to contact the office and arrange for a search team and SOCO to come to the farm.

Turning to Palma he said 'Dave? Do you ever watch the telly'?

'Yeah of course I do'...

'Well', said Hodder, 'you know that stuff about cautions and not having to say anything...yeah?

'Well that is good news is that we have a special offer on today and even that applies to you too. However, the bad news is that you are locked up on suspicion of theft and handling stolen goods...do you understand'?

'Yeah but...'

'Oh, by the way' said Hodder...'Your rent is overdue...the old woman at the farmhouse is going fucking nuts so you're probably better off coming with us. Yeah, all things considered you will most definitely be safer with us...she sure as hell scared the shit out of me'.

It seemed an age for three uniform guys to arrive in a van to conduct a thorough search of the loft. Hodder asked them to keep him informed of any developments, before Baxter went off to collect the C.I.D. car from the layby.

He and Baxter then took Palma to North Shields Police Office where to use the appropriate jargon the circumstances of his arrest were relayed to the Custody Officer. He was searched and £1505 in cash was taken from him. He was then detained.

In accordance with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, detained persons are invited to nominate a solicitor of their choice to represent their interests whilst they are in custody and beyond if necessary.

David Palma elected to be represented by Fagen Becker and Wendell and Francis Randall-Ord in particular.

Hodder was delighted!

Before interviews could commence all of the exhibits seized from Friardene Farm had to be catalogued. The property broadly fell into three categories 48 x Boxes of 'Snirvovv' Vodka, 200 x 50gram packs of Turners hand rolling tobacco and 17 x Samsung Galaxy S4 smart phones.

This was a quite a haul, and Hodder felt reasonably confident that he would achieve his objectives during interview. However, unlike many officers Hodder did not use a formal 'Interview Plan', he considered these to be too restrictive, particularly when they had to be disclosed to the 'other side' and any variation from the plan usually drew criticism giving the opposition something to cling onto even when things were going against them.

Another essential and little known tactic, was to allow the solicitor to see his client as soon as convenient after the arrest, but to delay the interview for as long as possible thus frustrating both brief and prisoner.

This caused them to think that active enquiries were still being made i.e. that more and more evidence was being stacked up against the client, when in reality it just meant that the Officer in Charge was merely having an extended lunch break.

The scene was then set in the interview room. Hodder and Baxter versus Palma and Randall-Ord. The interview ran its predictable boring course with Palma insisting that he was merely 'looking after' the property for someone whom for fear of reprisals he declined to name. When the questions got just a little too uncomfortable for Palma he retreated behind the 'sanctuary' of 'No Reply' before returning to the 'just looking after the stuff' theory.

Hodder decided to change tack and he allowed Palma to think for a few minutes that he was actually 'buying into' Palmas' explanation so, he just let Palma 'ramble on' telling provable lie after provable lie.

This in itself did not prove the offence, but it did go a considerable way to destroying the integrity of the accused and casting doubt on any alibi that he may attempt to put forward now or in the future.

Hodder said 'Would you describe yourself as an honest or a dishonest person'?

Palma lied and said 'Of course I am honest'.

With a playfully wicked, almost teasing glint in his eye Hodder said 'Are you sure about that'?

Palma could not reasonably respond with a 'No Reply', so he said 'Yeah'...that was his first mistake.

Hodder then picked up a printed copy of Palma's previous convictions and said 'For reasons of fairness to you, the following conversation will not be included in any transcription of this interview'.

Hodder then read out a string of convictions dating back some fifteen years. The 'Pre-Cons' clearly showed that Palma had number of convictions for minor violence but it was the offences of dishonesty that most interested Hodder'.

Hodder said 'On 17 May 2001, you were convicted of Theft. On 28 August 2001, were convicted of Robbery. On 7 February 2002, you were convicted of an offence of Burglary. On 12 December 2003, you were convicted of three offences of Theft. Indeed between that date and today you have been convicted of a further six offences of Theft. Would you agree that these are your convictions'?

'Yes'. That was his second mistake.

'Would you agree that these are offences of dishonesty'?

'Yes'. That was his third mistake.

Palma's head was beginning to drop, Randall-Ord was apoplectic but said nothing...he knew that Hodder would not transcribe this part of the interview.

That very point was again reiterated by Hodder.

However, he too was fooled when Hodder said 'So, David, would you describe yourself as an honest person...'?

Palma fell right into the trap and said 'No, I'm not'...Hodder would however, transcribe that answer and had done so on countless previous occasions with great success.

When it appeared that Palma's resistance was being to wane, Hodder dropped a bombshell....'You really should consider your position because it would appear that your outstanding rent on the barn may not be your only imminent bill...Her Majesties' Revenue and Customs are very interested in talking to you about unpaid duty on all the booze and the tobacco and enquiries to establish the origin of those phones continue as we speak'.

'Granted, Dave, I accept that it will not run into millions but it's another headache that you could do without...then there is the matter of Trading Standards who want to talk to you about the snide Vodka...so, you see this is not going away anytime soon'. The solicitor was frantically making notes but remained silent...he knew that there was more to come...the problem was that he did not know what it was, but knowing Hodder as he did, he suspected the worst.

Then surprisingly, Hodder halted the interview on the premise of giving Palma a comfort break. The truth of the matter was that Palma's comfort was the last thing on his mind...he just wanted Palma and Randall-Ord to 'stew' for a while and this was as good a tactic as any...the thought of other 'enforcement agencies' showing an interest in Palma would eventually wear him down.

In the meantime, Hodder was going to seek authority to search Palma's home and it would be an added bonus if he recovered more evidence there. Anything at all to pile the pressure on.

As he returned Palma to his cell, he casually mentioned that he was going to search his home for evidence of this and other offences. Palma was rather too eager to assure Hodder that he was wasting his time, which actually told Hodder that it would be anything other than a waste of time.

Meanwhile, Randall-Ord was asked to sit in the public foyer...this always infuriated solicitors, many of whom treated the Custody Suite as an extension of their own offices. The thought of sitting with the 'Plebs' really did not appeal, and most were known to leave and go back to their office after a few minutes of being constantly badgered by drunks, waifs, strays, loonies and dissatisfied clients.

Hodder then took a walk outside the police office and strolled around the car park steeling himself for the call that he was about to make to Grace. He stared mindlessly at the mobile in his hand as if willing himself the courage to call his wife. He just hoped that she was alone and able to talk without the inevitable interference from her mother who was doubtless delighted that she may have been proven right regarding Hodder's reckless attitude and wayward ways.

He dialled. The phone rang Grace answered immediately. After some sheepish, hesitant strained conversation he made his 'big play'. 'Will you and Lauren please come home...I've had the place cleaned up...hopefully there no signs of what happened...please come home. I miss you both...I really need you'.

Grace wasn't going to make this easy for him, and why should she? She wanted to make sure that he really meant what he was saying...'There will be some conditions Jim'.

'Anything. Anything you say...we can fix this...the sooner we get back to normal the better'.

'Well, that's the problem' said Grace 'you see Jim...I don't want to go back to normal...you have got to change. You have got to start putting Lauren and I before your job and your mates at the nick'.

'I will, it has taken this total nightmare for me to realise how far we have drifted and I have honestly thought that I may have lost you both'.

Still intent on piling on the pressure Grace said 'Lauren is sleeping at the moment. I don't want to disturb her...I will see what she has to say when she wakes up...I will call you later'. With that she ended the call. The call had not gone exactly to plan, but at least they were talking and under the circumstances that was progress of sorts...he would just have to wait for Grace to call, but in the meantime he had Palma's flat to 'turn over'.

With the appropriate authority secured, Baxter and Hodder set off for Hotspur Street in Tynemouth to search Palma's flat which was located in a recent redevelopment on the site of the 'Old Ringtons Tea' factory.

Something about this flat did not resonate...how did a self-confessed unemployed man afford to live in this relatively prosperous part of Tyneside and in comparative luxury?

Once inside, the answer was obvious. The second, presumably spare bedroom, was full of boxes of the snide Vodka and tobacco. Palma was in far deeper than Hodder had suspected, and he was getting deeper by the second...he was going to have to come up with something better than 'No Reply' or a feeble excuse during the next interview.

However, Hodder was not planning a ticker tape celebration just yet...he had the problem of proving a) where the stuff came from, b) who owned it, c) was it stolen and d) more importantly could this particular batch of Vodka be linked to the death of Tamblin.

Hodder had decided to keep that particular 'nugget' i.e. news of the death of Tamblin from Palma until he was ready to do so. However, it seemed to him that the second interview was as good a time as any to attempt to implicate Palma in a death if the opportunity arose. Though rather cynically, even for Hodder, he was of the view that 'no real harm had been done'...though he did regret that it looked like Katy had been an innocent victim of bootleggers, smugglers or counterfeiters, all of whom were only interested in profit at any cost.

When Palma's home had been thoroughly searched and photographed, the exhibits were seized and entered through the POFP register at the office. Hodder knew that he had more to talk to Palma about but also that he was no nearer to discovering the origin of the goods. He did however, know that Palma was not a 'big enough fish' to be operating independently on this level and that the 'bigger the fish' that he was working for, then the less likely it was that he would grass them up...this was just the law of the jungle...'survival of the most violent'.

As expected, Randall-Ord had become bored and left for his office telling Doug the Civilian General Office Assistant that he had better things to do than hang around a police station all day long. Given the level of abuse that Doug endured on a daily basis, he tended to agree and wished that he could have 'jumped ship too'.

When Hodder heard this he was delighted. He could either irritate Randall-Ord by calling him back for further interview or tell Palma that his solicitor had got bored and left. Of course, giving him (Palma) the impression that Randall-Ord would not be coming back under any circumstances would be highly unethical but hey ho...if Palma got the wrong end of the stick well, that was his look out.

Palma, as is his right, insisted that Randall-Ord should return for the additional interviews. Predictably, Randall-Ord. was delighted, moaning endlessly to Doug who had been charged with the task of delivering the bad news...a classic case of killing the messenger...just one of the joys of being a G.O.A....you got shit from the police and just about everyone else. It is a thoroughly thankless task.

It was now Randall-Ord's turn to become obstructive, he was clearly in no mood to help the police expedite this enquiry. In truth the welfare of Palma was of no concern to him, he was just a meal ticket. To the casual observer it must appear to be quite baffling that the transient concept laughingly known as 'Justice' could somehow get lost amidst petty, childish squabbles between two of the most significant practitioners in the entire criminal justice system.

When eventually the second interview did commence, Hodder led with a series of questions that seemed to have little or no significance to the enquiry. Palma was questioned about his movements and associations over the previous days. Hodder was hoping that when pressed for an alibi that Palma would mention either Sykes, Tamblin or Parks. When he did neither Hodder changed tack again and enquired into Palma's employment history and financial standing.

Palma conceded he had worked only on irregular basis since leaving school about ten years earlier.

Hodder said 'Do you have a bank account'?

'Of course that's how I get my benefits paid'

'Why did you have in excess of £1500.00 on you in cash when you were arrested'?

'I won it on a horse'.

'What was its name'?

'Can't remember'.

'Where was the race meeting'?

'Can't remember'.

'Which bookies did you use...you will be on CCTV'.

'Can't remember'.

'How much rent do you pay'?

'I get Housing Benefit'

'Who is your Landlord'?

'I don't know, I got my flat through an Estate Agent'.

'Well that is interesting because when we searched your home I found a tenancy agreement between you and 'North By North East Properties Ltd'

'Do you know who owns that company?

'I have no idea'.

'Have you heard of Adrian Burrows'?

'Not that I'm aware of'.

'You may know him as First Aid'.

'I don't know him'.

'Do you work for him'?

'I don't work. I am unemployed'.

'Why would an unemployed man rent a barn loft on an isolated farm'? said Hodder

'Can I have a word with my solicitor please'?

The interview was terminated without Hodder introducing the subject of Tamblin...he could be saved (not literally) for later. To Hodder and Baxter this felt like progress. They may have been no closer to establishing who Palma was working for but it was satisfying to get so much 'snide booze' off the streets. Palma did not strike him as the sort of person who would 'hawk' the stuff round the pubs of the town. It was likely that he had 'foot soldiers' working for him.

But wasn't that just the way of business? Even sub-contractors sub-contract.

Hodder was mindful that he had to get home at a reasonable hour to prepare the house in anticipation of Grace and Lauren coming back home. Baxter too, did not have the appetite for another long night, well, not at the police station anyway!

Detained persons must (under normal circumstances) be released or charged within twenty four hours of arrest. However, PACE also states that they must also have eight hours uninterrupted sleep if they are detained overnight. Hodder decided to use this to his advantage. He told the Custody Officer that he had further enquiries to make and that he expected to be in a position to charge or bail Palma in the morning. Hence, Palma became the unwilling guest of Northumbria Police that evening.

The Custody Officer informed Palma and Randall-Ord that he would be detained overnight pending the on-going investigation. Palma was furious.

Randall-Ord was delighted too, it was, after all, 'Lodge Night'.

Whilst sitting at his desk Hodder's mobile rang. It was Grace...the conversation was short and sweet 'Jim, It's me we will be home within the hour'...he hardly had time to mutter the word 'Brilliant' before the call was ended...even more progress! Great!

Baxter completed the paperwork associated with the two searches before approaching Hodder and saying 'What now'?

'Well, its home for me and paradise for you...if anyone asks we have been trawling the pubs in search of snide booze...can you drop me off Grace and Lauren are coming back'.

'No prob...give me five minutes okay'?

Baxter used his five minutes wisely, he rang Hannah and said that he would be at her flat within twenty minutes...she responded by saying...'There is a clean dry towel waiting for you...be careful of the shower, it can get very hot'.

She ended the call. Baxter exhaled deeply...gently and delightedly muttering the word 'Wow' under his breath.

When Hodder was dropped off shortly afterwards, the house was still in darkness so he went inside showered, and set about making a chilli con carne for Grace and Lauren. There was wine in the house but despite his nerves he thought better of having a drink before 'the girls' came back.

He was putting the finishing touches to the meal when he heard the front door open. He was delighted to see Grace and Lauren enter. He took their bags and fussed over them to the point of embarrassment. 'Calm down Jim...we are pleased to be back too'. She pecked him on the cheek...'not all of the way there yet' thought Hodder 'but a definite improvement'.

Lauren looked pale and drawn. He did not know if Grace had told her that she (Grace) and Hodder had some serious talking to do, but she said she was going to bed. At least they were back!

The chilli could wait. Grace and Hodder sat in the lounge not really talking about 'the incident' but just reinforcing that despite some obvious flaws that they were stronger together and that things should and could definitely improve. Indeed, things must get better if only for Lauren's sake. An indication of this improvement came when Grace went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of wine. Hodder stretched out and relaxed, for what felt like the first time in a long time. His feet up on the sofa, when he heard the doorbell sound. Grace cheerfully called out 'I'll get it'.

'Life is good' he thought.

He heard muffled voices at the door and the obvious sound of Grace inviting someone into the house. Thinking himself selfish, the last thing Hodder wanted was for his peace to be disturbed. Grace then came into the lounge with a very familiar looking man and she said 'Jim, This Mr Bostock. He is Katy's grandfather'.

Hodder gaped speechless.

Just when things were getting back to normal it dawned on Hodder yet again that there is no situation that a Police Officer cannot make any worse!

CHAPTER TWELVE

'Internet Trolling' is a particularly distasteful act. It's probably best described as the malicious posting on social media websites of provocative, inflammatory, sarcastic, cynical, libellous, untrue statements which are designed to illicit an emotional response from the target. A secondary intention is to disrupt the normal daily routine of the victim that is purposefully harmful, in a way which affects the victim's world view and self-esteem.

More importantly, it is designed to affect how others may treat and view the victim. It is a particularly cowardly form of abuse, because the remoteness of the 'contact' often means that the perpetrators say and suggest things that they would never dare to do on a face to face basis. Indeed, it is such a cowardly form of abuse that the 'practitioners' of such acts rarely use their own identity and often adopt the name of a person known to the victim, thereby causing additional misery to others.

Though Dean Parks would never have used such a definition, he knew what he was doing, considered himself good at it, and knew above all, that he would ruin Katy's peace of mind and the way she was seen by her peers. This was particularly callous, especially if he had considered the ordeal that he had already subjected her to. He loved it, and he loved it even more when he knew that the blame for everything would land firmly at the feet of the owner of the laptop that lay open before him.

Revitalised after an early evening meal in the Mile Castle Public House located at the bottom of Westgate Road, Newcastle upon Tyne, Dean Parks thought that now seemed as good a time as any to make his second visit to Katy in the guise of Lauren Weston.

He knew that this would only be a fleeting visit because in his haste to sell the laptop earlier, he did not have the foresight to take the power lead. However, during the course of the day he had decided to hang onto the laptop for a little longer. It was, after all, still useful to him, and he would only 'pass it on' when he had finished disrupting the lives' of persons who had done him absolutely no harm whatsoever.

And so it was that Parks logged onto Lauren Weston's Facebook account and whilst online, he saw that there were a number of messages from Lauren's friends all bitterly scathing of 'her' last posting about Katy.

More of the same 'was just what the doctor ordered'...so he posted 'Frigid cow...she knew what she was doing. Fucking slapper'. He then posted the images that he had taken at the scene of Katy 'spread-eagled, exposed and vulnerable in the bedroom at Hodder's home. He would have to wait until the morning for the backlash. He cared little for the consequences that these postings may have on anyone, or what friendships that he may be destroying in the process. This was all just part of his game. A game like everything else he did, that was about him being in control.

Once again, he felt satisfied with his work. He closed down the lap top and began making his way on foot towards the doss house where once again he could slip quietly through the doors and remain anonymous amongst others who sought the same refuge.

In making plans for tomorrow, he decided to 'off load' some more jewellery on 'Daft Larry' for whom he had an extensive shopping list. The goodies on that particular list would free him from the doss house. He did not relish the possibility of a random police visit there and his revamped plans would allow him to live independently for a short time at least.

Though it was still relatively early, Parks made it to bed pretty much the same time as Baxter and Hannah, however, he was not burdened by a conscience and was able to get to sleep almost immediately unlike his adversary's sidekick, for whom a very busy, though thoroughly pleasurable, night lay ahead.

On the other hand, pleasure was in very short supply in the Hodder household. Hodder was dumb-struck. There was a target criminal standing in his lounge. Not only that, he had been invited in by his wife.

Switching immediately into 'Job Mode' Hodder said 'How can I help you Mr Bostock'?

Bostock who remained standing glared at Hodder raised his voice and said...'You knew all along when I spoke to you the other day...you knew and you brushed me off!

Hodder was not a big man and was certainly no match for Bostock, especially an 'angry Bostock'...but he stood up to attempt to redress the height disadvantage, losing what little credibility he had as he stood there in his stocking feet.

'Let me tell you Mr Weston'...'Err Hodder' interrupted Hodder...'Jim Hodder' Bostock continued 'I am after blood and I am going to get it and I don't care who I upset in the process'.

Internally, Hodder was in turmoil but attempting to appear to be as composed as possible he said 'I would honestly urge you not to do anything that you may regret and if you don't leave now I shall call the police'.

At this point Lauren walked into the room having obviously been disturbed by the raised voices...

'What's wrong? What is all this shouting about you woke me up'?

Grace who was baffled by the exchange between Hodder and Bostock, put a protective arm around Lauren, and spoke for the first time 'Lauren, this is Mr Bostock...he is Katy's grandfather'.

She continued 'Jim what is going on...why are you talking this way'?

Lauren looked strained and startled as if the full impact of the earlier events came flooding back to her...she began to sob...'I'm really sorry...I had no idea that something so terrible would happen to her...I knew everyone here apart from Martin the guy she was with...nobody knew him...she met him at Uni and she invited him...I'm really sorry, I can't sleep in my room thinking about what happened'.

Bostock seemed to calm down, maybe sensing a parallel between Katy's and Lauren's situations. Perhaps, he even thought something as basic as getting angry with Lauren would achieve nothing...but his eyes showed a simmering hatred for Hodder as they darted from person to person.

Bostock then said 'Do you know Martin's full name, where he lives or anything that may help me find him'?

Hodder interrupted. 'I want you to leave now Mr Bostock. If you leave now I may talk to you tomorrow'. Hodder walked over to Bostock and gently touching his arm ushered him from the room into the hallway and towards the front door, not knowing if he was likely to be attacked at any time.

Hodder said in a harsh determined whisper which left no room for misinterpretation 'I will meet you at 1.00pm tomorrow inside the grounds of Tynemouth Priory...I will be alone...I expect you to do the same...I will talk to you there on one condition that you NEVER and I mean NEVER come here again'. Hodder opened the door, and continued guiding the career criminal towards it and said '1.00pm. I do not expect to see or hear from you or anyone else before then or the meeting is off'. Bostock silently walked out of the house. Clearly, he was not used to being spoken to in such a way, but he recognised that he had little or no 'currency' on Tyneside.

Closing the door, Hodder leant against it, eyes closed, head tilted to the ceiling, quivering with fear and anger. A few seconds later, he was alerted by sobbing as Grace and Lauren sheepishly came to the lounge door and looked directly towards Hodder...they too were terrified. How on earth was he going to explain this one away?

Hearing their laboured breathing, and Lauren's intermittent sobs, Hodder returned to full awareness and he shuffled towards the lounge door. As he did so, Grace and Lauren, who were still entwined, shuffled slowly backwards like conjoined siblings, before silently sitting on the sofa, eyes wide in terrified, silent bewilderment.

Hodder sat opposite them on the edge of his seat, elbows on knees, head down, with his hands clasped tightly in front of him, deep in thought. Finally, he broke the silence 'There are a couple of things that you should know, but believe me it has got nothing to do with me'.

'Denny Bostock is Katy's grandfather. He is a major criminal from Manchester who is out for revenge. I met him briefly the other day when he came to the office asking to see someone from the C.I.D. I advised him not to interfere with the investigation. He left, but when I discovered who he was, I informed the incident room'.

Grace said 'But what does he want from us'?

'He wants information to track down Katy's attacker. He obviously did not connect Lauren to me, I mean, why should he? He obviously thinks that I am on the investigation but I am not. I don't know anything about it. In the meantime, I'm going to call Ben Heath to update him. I have to be seen to be doing the right thing. I know that you are upset but don't worry, he will not be coming back here again...

You know, he may be a criminal, but he just wants what any other parent or grandparent would want in similar circumstances...it's just that the way that he goes about it is somewhat alien to most people...I think he knows that he is out of his comfort zone and that it would be foolish to cause too much of a stir here'.

Grace and Lauren though still distressed seemed slightly more at ease as Hodder rose to call Ben Heath.

Mobile in hand he dialled Heath's number. He answered immediately the noise of a pub or restaurant in the background. 'Ben? It's Jim I need to talk to you'....'Can't it wait Jim? It's my daughter's birthday'.

'Not really Ben...Bostock has been to my house...Grace and Lauren are going spare. I thought that I had better tell you'. After a moments silence Heath said 'Yeah, you did the right thing...do you want them relocated for the night? I can arrange that for you. It may just be one of the dorms at H.Q. but given the short notice that's about all I can do until the morning'.

'No. That won't be necessary. He was told in no uncertain terms not to come back but I would appreciate passing attention from the nightshift just for some peace of mind for the girls'.

'Consider it done. Are you are okay' asked Heath. 'Of course I'm not. But I have just got them back and I don't want to uproot or unsettle them again, I'm sure that you can understand that...I know that he is a prig but he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He had no idea that I lived here. He knows now though'.

'Leave it to me' said Heath...'Leave your mobile on and call three nines if you are in the least bit concerned'. Before Heath ended the call he asked Hodder to come to see him in the morning.

The call ended with Hodder knowing that there would be a police presence at or near his home overnight and that should be enough to deter Bostock at least and until after his meeting with him the following day. A meeting which of course, Hodder was not going to tell Ben Heath about.

Returning to the lounge, Hodder reassured the 'girls' that they could rest easy in their beds overnight and that as a precautionary measure there would be patrols in the area. After a fraught discussion about 'Martin' Lauren decided that it was bed time. Grace agreed and together they went to Hodder and Grace's room.

And so it passed that Lauren did spend a night in her parents' bed, but under circumstances that she could not have envisaged only a few days ago. Hodder meanwhile spent another night alone.

C'est la vie.

Hodder spent much of the night wide awake, usually at the window, disturbed at the slightest sound. He was frantically working out a strategy of how to deal with Bostock. He knew that he would have to tell Baxter about his clandestine meeting with the criminal.

He was certain that Baxter would not approve, he would have to convince Baxter not 'drop him in it' but he felt that if he told him his real intentions, that he was simply placing too much responsibility on Baxter's shoulders. Hodder also reasoned that what he (Baxter) did not know could not harm him. This was after all, his problem and one which he and he alone, would have to resolve irrespective of what happened to Parks, Palma, Bostock or indeed, himself in the process.

He wanted to, but did not check on Grace and Lauren whom he felt sure would be lying awake next door. However, he did not wish to disturb them or convey the impression that he too, was deeply worried.

Which of course, he was.

He was up and active at first light, shaved, showered and ready for work before he heard the first stirrings from Grace and Lauren. He knew that he had to go to work...Palma was still in the cells and his immediate future needed to be resolved but, far more pressing was the safety of Grace and Lauren whilst he was at work.

When Grace got up, all things considered, she was in a surprisingly good mood and when he suggested a 'girls day out' with 'lashings of retail therapy' no objections were raised. He promised to call Grace on the hour, every hour, and she agreed to meet him before she and Lauren went home so that all three could arrive together. Safety in numbers felt much better under the circumstances. What he really wanted was to avoid them returning to Rose's home for another round of 'I told you so'.

Hodder met Baxter at the office and they agreed to re-interview Palma, so, Randall-Ord was contacted. It transpired that he was in court at 10.00am, but his firm agreed to send a 'Runner', a non-qualified or partially qualified employee of the law firm. This usually meant a 'hassle free' interview during which the police could press home their objectives with virtual impunity. Hodder welcomed this practice.

Often at court, an experienced solicitor or barrister would try to 'throw a spanner in works' by suggesting that the police had 'exploited' this situation and by inference, their client. Hodder always found it useful to counter that the defence had a representative on hand to advise their client, and that it was not the police's position to 'vet' the 'quality' of 'their' representative. The clear suggestion here being that law firms were not taking their client's interests seriously, because they sent under qualified staff to the police station.

Hodder loved the cut and thrust of the legal battlefield.

Ben Heath was sitting behind his desk when Hodder gave the 'obligatory knock'. As usual, the greeting was informal and friendly. The events of the previous evening were discussed and as expected, Hodder was given the opportunity for compassionate leave, predictably, as Heath had expected, he declined.

Heath assured Hodder that manpower permitting, patrols would pass his home as frequently as possible. This was typical of the police, when one of their own was threatened they all 'pulled together' in one direction and for once, all personal feelings and petty squabbles were set aside.

Before leaving the office, Hodder gave Heath the copy file of the 'Sunderland Incident' involving Parks. The Senior Officer set it to one side saying 'Thanks Jim, I'll get the D.I. to look at it later'. With an uncharacteristic show of hesitation Hodder said 'You may want to look at who the O.I.C. (Officer in Charge of the case) was'.

Heath opened the file read the frontispiece, he took his glasses off, and rubbed his eyes as if he had just read a heavy tome in one sitting. He sighed loudly, as if ejecting some vile vapour from his innards...'It's the fucking D.I. He is working on this case, and he never thought to mention this to me...is he for fucking real'?

'Thanks Jim, I'll sort it'.

This particular meeting was over, but Hodder sensed that Ben Heath would be having another much less convivial meeting very shortly.

At 10.15am a young acne ridden 'Runner' arrived for the interview. The Custody Officer let him have a consultation with Palma and a few minutes later called the office, he spoke to Baxter said that it was 'all systems go' for the interview.

Hodder and Baxter wandered up to the 'Custody Suite', a name which always amused Hodder, in his day they were called 'Cell Blocks' or an even more base description 'The Septic Tank'.

During the course of the interview, with the anonymous runner, whose face they both recognised, but whose name, neither Hodder nor Baxter could recall, they noted that he contributed exactly zero to his client's defence by saying and doing exactly zero.

Palma maintained that he could not remember who had asked him to 'look after' the variety of 'goods' retrieved from the barn loft and his home, but he was clearly relying on his earlier explanation that he only did so under duress and that he was not acting unlawfully. Hodder let him maintain this 'tack' but took the 'wind from his sails' when he said to Palma 'Do you know Fred Tamblin'?

'Who doesn't? He is one of the local drunks well known around the town'.

'Well, you are right on at least one of those scores...he WAS certainly well known...'WAS' being the operative word'.

Puzzled Palma responded what do you mean 'Was'?

'He is dead. And we suspect that he died as a result of drinking counterfeit Vodka. Counterfeit Vodka of the same brand that has been seized from your barn loft and your home...You really do need to seriously consider your position. We are awaiting the result of toxicology tests from samples taken from his body'.

'I know nothing about his death'.

'I'm not suggesting that you do, other than you know about the supply of counterfeit Vodka which early information suggests contains dangerously high levels of toxins including anti-freeze...do you have a conscience'?

'It's not my stuff' mumbled Palma his colour and confidence draining by the second'.

'Do you know Peter Sykes?

'Yeah, he's a mate of Fred's don't tell me that he is dead too'?

'No. The hospital saved him so he can continue doing good in the community...however, he did lose his sight for a while...and his first act of human kindness may be to grass you up for supplying the booze...how do you feel now'?

'Not my stuff'.

'And they do say' said Hodder 'that things come in threes well a young girl was plied with snide Vodka and seriously sexually assaulted at a party. There is a full incident room running that investigation and they will want to talk to you sooner or later. So, Dave my friend, 'Not my stuff is simply not good enough'.

Palma stared intently at his hands picking at a loose bit of skin on his left thumb...he knew that he was in trouble it was just a question of what tactics Hodder could employ to make him 'open up'.

Taking what seemed like a wholly uncalculated risk Hodder continued 'Do you know Dean Parks'?

'Yeah, I've known him for years but I haven't seen him for ages why'?

Hodder then terminated the interview leaving 'Acne-boy', Palma and Baxter all equally perplexed.

Proving he had a voice after all, 'The Runner' said 'What do you intend to do now Sergeant'?

'I am going to speak to my senior colleagues and possibly the C.P.S. but my gut feeling that our enquiries will continue to establish the origins and ownership of the property that we have recovered from your client.

Naturally, H.M.R.C. and Trading Standards may want to interview your client in the future. I think that there is a strong possibility that we will bail Mr Palma pending further enquiries. There is no need for you to hang around. I will call you before we bail him or if it is decided to charge him'.

The man who obviously bought his 'Clearosil Cleansing Lotion' by the gallon, responded by saying...'That is very kind of you. I will have a quick word with my client and then I will be on my way'.

Baxter took them to a detention room and left Palma and his legal representative discussing, who knows what. Baxter then informed the Custody Officer of the situation and that Palma should be placed back in his cell whilst his immediate future was determined.

Grace and Lauren were taking to their unplanned shopping trip with a rare enthusiasm and appeared to be in good spirits when Hodder called. He was just pleased to hear their voices and gauged their spirits as high. He hoped that after his meeting with Bostock that any dark clouds would be permanently lifted and that they could all get on with life.

At 12.30pm, Hodder and Baxter left the office by car. On Hodder' instructions they drove to 'The Spanish Battery Car Park where Hodder told his partner that he was going to have a meeting with Bostock inside the Priory grounds. Baxter, quite predictably, was furious. He quite correctly saw this as unnecessary risk taking.

He was instructed to stay in the car and monitor activity within the Priory grounds which are located opposite the car park on the other side of a small inlet known locally as 'The Haven'. The priory itself sits proudly on the rocky peninsula of Pen Bal Crag. As he left the car Hodder said 'If anything happens call the troops, I don't want you getting involved'.

'I think I am already involved' muttered Baxter as he watched Hodder's back disappear into the distance.

As the crow flies, Baxter would only be about 500 yards away but to actually get there by road along the winding Pier Road was in excess of half a mile...assuming of course, that he could get his car into the Priory grounds. Leaving Baxter in situ with a pair of binoculars, Hodder made it to Tynemouth Priory a good fifteen minutes before the agreed meeting time.

He did not trust Bostock and wanted to check out the grounds first suspecting that Bostock's two 'associates' may be waiting for him. Hodder checked the ramparts, the cemetery, the locked chapel and even the grounds of the now 'defunct' Coastguard Station. Unless Bostock arrived 'mob-handed' it looked as if he may be sticking to the deal. But he suspected not, because he (Hodder) had reinforcements in the guise of Baxter and his police radio.

Hodder had previously advised Grace that he would be busy for 'the 1.00pm phone call' but she was in such high spirits, possibly because she was out of the house that she did not appear to mind.

Shortly after 1.00pm, Bostock walked into the grounds of the ruined Priory, his muscular physique framed by the medieval arch of the entrance. He was alone and the grounds were deserted. This local landmark would never feature amongst English Heritage's most frequently visited sites and Hodder, began to rue his choice of venue now. Perhaps somewhere busier and far more public may have been safer.

The knot in his stomach began to tighten.

They met in the cemetery by a stone commemorating the internment of King Oswin of Deira.

Hodder had been inwardly 'rehearsing' what he was going to say and said to the criminal 'I know who you are. I know what you do...I may talk to you if you can convince me that you are not recording this conversation'.

Bizarrely, Bostock turned his pockets out and unless he had a very small covert device, he appeared to be 'clean'

'Mr Bostock, I have to tell you that my wife, my daughter and I are victims too...for our part we had no idea what was happening at our home that night because we were not there. I also have to tell you that I am playing no part in the investigation and I do not know what if any progress is being made...but let me assure you that I know exactly how you feel. My daughter was assaulted too...Katy and all of your family have my deepest sympathy'.

Bostock responded by saying 'If you know who and what I am, you will know that I despise you and your kind. You will also know that I will not rest until I have evened up the score...this is strictly family business...my business interests lie elsewhere and though I do not want to step on anyone's toes I will if I have to. No matter who they are'.

Feeling strangely confident, Hodder responded, 'For possibly the first time in your life you have something in common with a Police Officer, no matter how unpalatable that may be. Circumstances beyond our individual control have brought us together. I'm sure neither of us would have chosen this course of action'. Bostock listened intently, the clear sign that he had been interviewed many times over the years. Hodder assessed him as a formidable opponent...he continued...

'I am unable to give you any information, but if you happened to be passing the police station at about three o'clock this afternoon you will see a young man called David Palma leave via the front door. You may find it beneficial to talk to him.

Then quite genuinely Hodder added 'How is Katy'?

For the first time, Bostock dropped his hard-man persona and said 'She is recovering physically, but the bastard has taken something from her...it's like he has robbed her of her peace of mind, her sparkle...

Do you know she is the first of my family to go to University...I am so proud of her. Most of my family if they ever did finish school, started a life that usually ended up in prison...We had high hopes that she would be the first of our family to choose another way'...Hodder saw tears roll down the big mans' cheeks...he was certainly not recording this thought Hodder.

Throughout his career, Hodder had found out that though many criminals had a ruthless disregard for others, that they had very traditional approach to 'family values'. They may live their lives' by an entirely different moral code to 'mainstream society', whatever that may be, however, for many, the family came first and an attack on one was seen as an attack on the family as a whole.

Bostock, in the view of Hodder plainly fell into this category.

Though he was patently not very good at it himself, Hodder knew all about family loyalty. In his experience, only two groups displayed this intense level of loyalty, they were career criminals and the travelling community.

Hodder was strangely moved and said...'We are not so different you and I. We just want the best for our kids'. Then breaking the spell Hodder said 'Do you want to stay in touch...I may have to pick up the pieces of Palma...you really do not want anyone else looking into him...I can tell you that he did not assault Katy...so, leave some pickings for me'.

'Why should I'?

'Because, we both want the animal who harmed Katy...you want him for your reasons, I want him for mine. Either way he gets stopped'.

Bostock said ' I won't come to your home again...you have my word...I will call you at your office via public telephone using the name 'Mr Trafford'...you will get the number of another public telephone to call me back on. Make NO MISTAKE Mr Hodder...I am not an informant. I am a grandfather seeking redress'.

Hodder then gave Bostock a 'private' telephone number that went directly to the office, so that he could avoid the switchboard, and the need to give an explanation or identify himself to a civilian call taker. The Police Officer thought it prudent not to mention to the criminal that the number that he had been given was the 'Confidential Informants Hotline'...present in all C.I.D. offices. That additional information would not have gone down too well given Bostock's jaundiced view of the police.

With that, Bostock walked off towards the main entrance. Hodder left it a respectable ten minutes before leaving the Priory grounds. He walked into the centre of Tynemouth Village from where he called Baxter who travelled from the Spanish Battery car park to collect him.

Baxter said...'How did it go then'?

Hodder filled in Baxter with selective highlights of the meeting and when he was finished Baxter said...'You really do need to watch your back...after you left Bostock's two heavies came out of the chapel...he obvious likes or trusts you'. Then he added 'For now at least', which echoed exactly what Hodder was thinking at that precise moment.

Back in the office, Hodder decided that bailing Palma was probably the best course of action under the circumstances, though he inwardly conceded that he really should have told the team investigating the assault on Katy that Palma was in custody. This was just another example of Hodder's blinkered, reckless approach.

As usual, the ever obliging Custody Officer and his staff were run off their feet, so they did not object too much when Hodder offered to deliver the 'good news' to Palma. Entering the cell Hodder said 'Follow me' and led Palma to a vacant interview room. No tapes, no solicitor...'What's so different this time'? thought Palma.

Palma was clearly uncomfortable, and his brief but traumatic stay in custody had done much to take the edge of his previously confident almost arrogant persona. Addressing him Hodder said 'There are a number of reasons why I should charge you. Not least the death of Tamblin and your very obvious link to the supply of the lethal Vodka that we have taken from you...but I want you to listen and listen good'.

Hodder then pulled out his digital voice recorder located the sound file that he wanted and played it to Palma. A look of abject horror crept across his face as he heard the voice of Dean Parks providing Hodder with detailed information of 'smart phones' stored at the barn.

'Do you know who that is'?

'It's Dean Parks the 'grassing bastard'

'You do have a good memory for someone who has not seen him in quite some time. Where is he now'?

'I don't know'.

'I want you to find him for me'.

'Why would I do that'? replied Palma

'How many reasons do you want...you are implicated in the distribution of counterfeit goods, those phones are probably stolen, you may face charges in relation to the death of Tamblin, and you are a person of interest to H.M.R.C. and even Trading Standards. Both agencies will be happy to have a go at you...none of this will happen unless my report recommends that you are charged...you find Parks for me and I may feel inclined to view your involvement in this sorry mess as nothing more than peripheral'.

'No way...I'm not a grass'.

'You have a lot to learn David...everyone talks...only the thick and the foolish don't believe that...If you stay here any longer the incident room investigation team will be beating down your cell door to stick a serious sexual assault on you. Now, we both know that you are not involved in that. But, guilty or not, if you are charged we get a detection...case closed. You get remanded for six months to a year, and whether you get off with it or not you will be labelled a 'nonce' for ever. Entirely your choice'.

A momentary pause then...'What do I have to do'?

Hodder wrote his mobile number on a business card and told him to memorise it.

'I expect to hear from you every day whether you have anything to tell me or not. If I don't hear from you, you will be charged when you respond to bail, and if you don't respond to bail you are going to have to keep your head down and your nose clean for a very long time because you will be circulated nationally as 'Wanted'. You can change your name and your appearance however many times as you like, but you can never change your DNA'.

'Do we have a deal'? said Hodder.

'Do I have a choice'? said Palma.

'I think that you know the answer to that one Dave. Remember I want to know everything that you have.'

'Okay. Can I go now'?

'Not before you can repeat that number back to me from memory. And, as you would expect there is some paperwork to be done but tell me this. If I accept that you are working for someone you have to tell me who it is so that I can protect you'.

'I can't'.

'No problem. That means no deal. I'll go and prepare my charges and tell the incident room that you are ready for interview...I take it that you are available for court in the morning? Have you ever been remanded in custody before...I will let a few people that I know in Durham that you will be joining them for dinner tomorrow. I'm sure that they will make you most welcome'.

The pressure was clearly beginning to get to Palma. Some prisoners can take 'time' in police custody, some can even take 'time' on remand but others crack more easily. Most show some signs that the experience 'gets to them'...Palma was no different.

'You don't have to trust me' said Hodder 'but' he continued 'you do have to believe me. I will have you remanded in custody, and I will find out who you are working for and he will get to know that you have provided me with information'.

'But I haven't'.

'I know that. You know that, but that does not matter because life for you on the inside will be sheer hell. Help me and you stay out. What is not to like about that'?

Drawing ever closer, so that Hodder could hear his exaggerated strained panting Palma uttered the words 'First Aid. I work for First Aid. For fucks sake don't tell him...help me'.

'I will' said Hodder 'as long as you play by the rules...there will be no second chances for you. Do you understand'? Not waiting for an answer and keeping his voice down to a serious whisper Hodder said 'This starts here and now...I have got to get that Vodka off the streets. Where is it stored'?

'I don't know...it gets delivered'.

'If it gets delivered why do you need a Transit van? Come on, you have done the hard bit tell me where it is. I will make sure that the recovery of the stuff is not connected to you...if you don't tell me I will make sure that everyone and his dog knows that you are a grass'. At this point Hodder produced the voice recorder which he had discreetly set to 'record' after playing the recording of Parks earlier in the conversation. He quickly located the appropriate file. Palma's head dropped as if made of lead as it banged the table between them as he listened to himself implicating 'First Aid'.

Both men knew at this point, that Palma's life had changed for ever. 'Okay Dave. Where is the stuff stored'?

Palma began to sob 'This will get me fucking killed'.

'If you don't tell me, you are on your own. Tell me and you will be looked after'.

'With tears streaming down his face Palma said 'There are some containers on a small Industrial Estate off Double Row, at Seaton Deleval, they are placed next to genuine containers belonging to a double glazing company...the last three on the right belong to 'Him'...

I don't have a key...I get met by one of his lads when there is 'gear' to be picked up. They contact me using different pay as you go mobiles every time. I get one call then the phone is ditched. I am given a time to go there. If I don't arrive on time they leave and call me back later using another throw away phone. Honestly, that's all I know'.

'Who sells it for you'?

'People like Sykes, Tamblin and other 'low lifers' they only do it for a few bottles. Tamblin...is he really dead'?

'As dead as he will ever be'.

As silence grew between them, Hodder was hoping for more revelations but, quite reasonably decided enough was enough. It was time to prepare Palma for the great unknown. 'Get practising that number...I will be back soon'. Palma was placed back in his cell'.

Liaison with the Custody Officer and a check on Hodder's shift pattern found a suitable bail date three weeks hence. Hodder did not know what if anything would develop during the interim, but he knew that he could cancel Palma's bail, let him respond or re-arrest him if new evidence came to light at any time. This was certainly one of those occasions when Hodder was going to use the complexities of the law and procedure to his advantage.

At 2.55pm that day David Palma walked out of the front door of the police station, taking in his first breath of the damp air of North Shields. He felt strangely elated and internally began planning ways that he could get out of his 'pact with the devil'. In fact, he was so deep in thought and pre-occupied with his survival plans, that he failed to see the black Infiniti motor car which was slowly rolling along Upper Pearson Street behind him.

After the trauma of the last day or so, Palma decided that it was time for a drink and thought that the best place to catch up on the local gossip and about Tamblin in particular, was probably 'The Bottom Dolphin' on the quayside. He walked down Stephenson Street crossing over Saville Street before arriving on Tyne Street, which gave wonderful views over the River Tyne to South Shields beyond, though Palma was not taking in the vista.

On another day, with less on his mind, he may have been motivated to explore the origins of his surname, and he may have established that his name was derived from the popular Gibraltan name Palmier. Given the present circumstance, he neither cared nor knew that his locally born ancestors were the product of a liaison of a visiting Mediterranean seaman, who left his semen in a local girl, and that his name was a 'Geordieised' version of his name. Hence the phonetic spelling.

He was planning to walk down Naters Bank Steps which lead down to the riverside and eventually 'The Bottom Dolphin' and alcoholic sustenance.

As Palma was walking towards 'The High Lights', an unmanned lighthouse which stands upon Tyne Street, which when illuminated and aligned with the 'The Low Lights' on the quay below, helps sailors' to navigate a safe passage into the gut of the harbour. Of course, Palma did not know this crucial maritime fact, he was 'navigating' his own passage to an all-day session at the Dolphin, and with any luck, a 'lock in'.

His mind was obviously elsewhere, because had he been aware, he may have noticed the Infiniti following behind. He may even have noticed the large black man get out of the rear of the car just before it passed him. He may even have noticed the car stop about 10 yards ahead of him. He might have noticed the driver's window slide down but being an Infiniti it was probably infinitely silent anyway.

He did however, react when the driver, a black man, with a strange 'non Geordie' accent asked him for directions. Always helpful in the extreme, Palma bent down to be on the same level as the driver. He did not notice the first black man approach him from behind. He was however keenly aware that a sack which smelt vaguely of potatoes had been placed over his head a micro second before he was struck on the side of the very same head.

He was not however, aware that he had been bundled into the boot of the Infiniti, that his hands and ankles had been bound with duct tape and that he had been driven away...this would all become apparent much later on.

As Dean Parks walked into 'The Clock' he found 'Daft Larry' in his usual seat in his usual condition. In the corner. Pissed.

Parks approached him gave him a couple of pieces of Jewellery, and told him that he could keep the gold if he was able to get him the things that were on his 'shopping list'.

'Daft Larry' was called 'Daft Larry' for good reason. Parks went through the list in painstaking detail. He told him the shops that he wanted him to visit, and what goods in particular, he needed that day. As usual, Parks expected Larry to steal the goods in the mistaken belief that he was getting a good deal. He clearly did not have the capacity to comprehend that he was taking all of the risks and that if he did get arrested, he would be found with stolen gold on him. And not just any old gold. This was gold stolen from a Police Officers' home. Parks had no discernible religion but thanked the lord for idiots like Larry.

Parks left 'The Clock' making his way to 'The Union Rooms' where he ordered an all-day breakfast and 'hooked up' to the Wi-Fi. He was delighted to note that there had been a number of responses to Lauren's latest Facebook postings. These responses ranged from the outraged to the outright offensive.

He continued looking through the computer and found a number of letters from Lauren Weston to a variety of places including her university. Looking further he saw an acceptance letter to Northumbria University. Now he knew her address and her course. Surely, there was some fun to be had there.

He then searched 'My Photographs' again, just to confirm that the image that he had previously seen on the pc in the 'Five Swans' was actually that of Detective Sergeant Jim Hodder, the copper that he had escaped from the other day. He was elated. This was even better than he had expected!

Searching through the files on the computer he went to 'My music' and wondered just what sort of music 'posh birds' listened to. He saw the lists...just 'Goth Shit'.

The file 'Dad's Work Tape'.... Proved to be very intriguing. This could be a real laugh, maybe it was someone taking the piss out of their boss or something. This was definitely worth a listen.

As he was sitting in a secluded booth he did not need headphones, because in keeping with Weatherspoon's policy, there was no background music. Parks could not believe his ears when he heard two voices that he recognised. One was that bastard of a policeman Hodder, and the second voice was his solicitor. They were talking about him, about something that he did in Sunderland that the police couldn't prove. As he listened he came to the conclusion that his solicitor was 'grassing him up' to the police.

He was even more shocked when he heard the second recording it was the policeman again and him (Parks)...talking about David Palma...fucking hell!

What was he going to do about this?

Parks was quivering inside. He could not comprehend whether this was fear, anger or excitement. No matter what it was, he knew that it was a 'game changer' and that he would either have to re-think his plans or change them altogether.

He finished his meal, barely tasting it, his mind was in utter turmoil. He was not sure whether he should run, hide, stick it out or 'up the ante'. He resolved to sleep on it and made his way back to 'The Clock' where 'Daft Larry' was virtually hidden by a mountain of bags. He had clearly had a successful shopping trip. In another life he could have been a professional shopper for the rich and famous, as long as they did not mind the smell or getting arrested on a regular basis for handling stolen goods.

Parks checked the goodies...everything he wanted was there. Naturally, 'Daft Larry' had no receipts, and he could hardly return anything if it had failed to meet with his requirements. As a 'thank you' Parks gave 'Larry' the debit card in the name of Lauren Weston. Truth was 'Daft Larry' did not look much like a 'Lauren' but Parks was getting a monkey off his back. Besides that, Larry would probably pass it on to someone who did, thus putting more distance between Parks and the stolen card.

'Larry' deserved a drink for his sterling efforts and whilst at the bar Parks borrowed a copy of 'Yellow Pages' and noted two addresses on a soiled napkin.

Parks then took all of the bags to the toilet and transferred everything into a very nice 'Berghaus' rucksack that 'Larry' had 'acquired' on his behalf. He then left the pub and headed back to the west end for his final sleep in the doss house. He planned to pay for another night but he would not be staying overnight. He would be sleeping elsewhere tonight but he knew that he needed a good rest first, as there was much work to be done.

En route, he called into the Tesco Express, where he bought a pack of envelopes, first class stamps and some 'Love Heart' sweets. He was, in truth not much of a writer, but he did consider himself to be very generous with his sweets.

Once in his room, he turned on the laptop, obtained the information he required and powered it down. He addressed three envelopes inserted the contents and before he had an early night, he walked to the Post Office on Adelaide Terrace, and posted the envelopes hoping that the Royal Mail service was as 'first class' as they boasted.

He slept fitfully for about five hours. Why did people always mess with his plans?

Just after David Palma had left the police station, Hodder rang his lawyers and informed them that their client had been bailed. He gave them the bail date and lied to them that he had advised him (Palma) to contact them. The solicitors thanked him.

It was now approaching 4.00pm and Hodder made another call to Grace. As he waited for her to answer he found himself thinking 'I hope this is all over soon...I will never be able to afford my phone bill if this keeps up'.

Lauren answered and it was clear from the background noise that Grace was driving. They would, he learned, be home in fifteen minutes, and Hodder agreed to meet them at home. All things considered, things were beginning to look up.

Rank has its privileges. Hodder did not have much rank, but in the grand scheme of things, it followed that he had more privileges than Baxter who was not best pleased that Hodder asked him to get a warrant for 'First Aid's' containers on Double Row, Seaton Deleval. He asked Baxter to execute the warrant immediately and to update him of the result of the search whilst he was at home.

Hodder was about to leave the office when the D.I. stuck his head around the office door and said in a monotone voice. 'A word please Jim. Now'! There were other guys in the office. They immediately sensed the atmosphere and they looked from person to person in muted amusement and embarrassment. To a man they were all thinking 'Well, at least it's not me today'.

As he walked into the D.I.'s office, Hodder was instructed to close the door. The D.I. was holding a file that Hodder recognised immediately. It was the 'Sunderland Copy File'...The D.I. was furious. 'What do you think you are doing, going above my head making me look like an idiot in front of the D.C.I.? Are you trying to shaft me...you should have given that file to me. You have deliberately broken the chain of command I should put you on paper for it. (Formally discipline Hodder) What have you got to say for yourself'?

'The D.C.I. asked me for the file when it arrived. It arrived this morning and as per his request I gave it to Mr Heath. May I suggest that you raise the matter with him'?

'He raised the matter with me alright. He chewed my arse off...did you know that I was OI.C. on that case'?

'I did not look at the file...I simply passed it on to Mr Heath...if you had asked I would have handed it to you...you didn't. I resent your insinuation that you seem to think that I have a private agenda...I do remember you saying to me that the name Dean Parks was vaguely familiar to you...I cannot be held responsible for your poor memory. Now, if you will excuse me...My wife and daughter are still traumatised by the events at home and I am going there now'.

With that, Hodder turned on his heels and left the D.I. speechless in his office. This was typical behaviour by people like the D.I. blaming others for his own ineptitude. That said, Hodder would still have to watch his back.

Under normal circumstances Hodder would have fretted about the 'set to' with the D.I. and it would probably have kept him awake overnight. However, the events of recent days had brought a new focus to his life...he had no idea how long it (the new focus) would last, but he resolved to make the most of it whilst it did.

When he got home Grace and Lauren were already in the kitchen cooking...he liked this scene of domesticity after so much recent disruption. He apologised saying that he had been 'captured' by the D.I. on his way out of the building. This was all true, but he knew that if he even sniffed of alcohol that his 'excuse/explanation/justification' for being later than promised would not be believed.

As it was, it was all true, and, for once, he did not smell of booze. It looked like he was accumulating 'Brownie Points' no matter how temporary.

In a scene more reminiscent of a BBC situation comedy from the '70's depicting Middle Class life in Middle England, Hodder, Grace and Lauren sat around the kitchen table laughing, simply enjoying being together. Grace got up and poured some wine for all of them. Hodder began to laugh under his breath but was unable to suppress it to such an extent that though they had no idea what was making him laugh, both Grace and Lauren burst into spontaneous, contagious laughter.

This was great...they just looked at each other and laughed....when he was able to control his jollity Grace asked why he was laughing. He cleared his throat and said 'I know it's not funny but last time we tried to drink a glass of wine something horrible happened...I bet my face was a picture last night'.

Grace said 'I was going to ask you if you met Mr Bostock today after Lauren went to bed but saying as you raised the subject'....'

Yes we met. He has apologised for coming here...he is simply a man who wants to see justice done...it may not be our version of justice but to his eyes at least, it's justice. He has told me that he will never bother us again...and I believe him'.

The subject was then dropped and for the second night in a row Hodder almost suffered a heart attack in his own home when Grace and Lauren told him how much money of the plastic variety that they had spent during the day.

However, he had not been completely forgotten...he got a 'Family Guy' tie. All things considered, he felt pretty good and took this as a pretty good omen.

They all laughed again and Hodder began to think that it may be a 'coded message' from Grace and Lauren. He might just have pulled his marriage back from the brink. He also mused that if he had done so, then he may owe much to Denny Bostock for teaching him some important lessons in family values, though he could not agree with Bostock's skewed logic on other matters...no matter how understandable.

After the meal, Hodder set about washing the dishes and was joined by Lauren. He could not remember the last time this had happened. As he washed and Lauren dried he said 'I'm really sorry about what happened to Katy' and after a moment's hesitation he added 'Oh and you too'.

Lauren did not make eye contact but she said 'I'm really sorry too. I should never have went behind your back and arranged a party...none of this would have happened it was all my fault'.

Hodder turned to face her...'None of this was your fault. None of this was Katy's fault...whoever, did this will get his comeuppance just you wait and see. You know, we police are not very good at most things but we are very good at the important things, and believe me this is important and not because of who you are, who I am, or where everything happened...there are a lot of people out there looking for this guy...don't worry we will get him'.

Lauren nodded silently, tears not far from her eyes. Then she said...'Mum and you bought me a new dress...and before you ask its' not Goth...Marks and Spencer don't do Goth'...they both laughed again so loud that Grace smiled as she sipped her wine in the lounge, thinking that it was good to hear the sound of happiness at home. She felt a little uneasy as she thought that it took something as awful as the attacks upon Lauren and Katy to bring her family closer together.

During the day Lauren had told Grace that some cash, her debit card, some jewellery that she had inherited from her paternal grandmother and her laptop had been stolen. She also confided in her mother that she could not bear to sleep in her room. Grace had told her not to worry and promised to discuss her concerns with Hodder. She did however, say that she would get a new laptop in a matter of days...it was after all, crucial to her studies, not to mention her social life.

Speaking of which, her social life had suddenly become very silent. Not a phone call or text...very strange...maybe her friends were giving her some space to get over the trauma.

She hoped so.

Dishes done all three of them sat in the lounge. Lauren on the sofa, feet tucked under herself cuddling a cushion in a way that reminded Hodder of a very young child hanging onto a favourite blanket or toy for comfort. Maybe she was not that grown up after all.

Looking at her he no longer saw a 'Disciple of the Church of Goth', but a vulnerable, delicate, fallible child.

After a while, Grace said 'Jim Lauren wants to either move rooms or have her room decorated...I think that it's a good idea'...'I agree' said Hodder...'Why don't you move into the spare room until we get your room decorated, new bed, new carpet, new everything...you can choose whatever you want, or we can do up the spare room...what do you think?

'Lauren shuffled uneasily, 'Well, I like my room, but I don't want a constant reminder of what happened there...so can I move out until it is done'...a look of horror spread across Hodder's face...'Not out of the house surely'....

'No. No, not the house just the room' said Lauren.

'Phew, you had me worried there...No problem'...In that instant it suddenly dawned on Hodder that after years of false starts and failure, that he may actually be getting to grips with 'this parenting lark after all'.

'There is one other thing Jim said Grace'

He felt his cynicism mounting, 'No worries', he said. 'Nothing has happened that we can't sort out...you have to remember that we are behind you all of the way'.

Lauren shuffled uneasily and said 'Well, some cash, my debit card, some jewellery from Gran have been stolen along with my laptop'.

'Don't worry, let's hope the jewellery may turn up somewhere...I will get it circulated...Do you have any photos of the jewellery? Everything else can be replaced'.

'It's not that simple' said Lauren 'There is a load of my uni work on the laptop'.

'I'm sure that given the circumstances, your lecturers will understand. Would you like me to talk to them'? said Hodder.

'It's not just that...those files I copied for you were on the laptop too'.

Hodder's felt an internal shudder in the pit of his stomach as he contemplated the potential ramifications. From somewhere deep within himself he managed to feign a casual indifference and said 'No worries. Why don't you two go out tomorrow and get a new laptop? But remember, I am not an oil baron just a humble copper so keep the price within reason'.

Lauren burst into a broad radiant smile and quietly got up walked over to Hodder and gently kissed him on the cheek and quietly but sincerely said 'Thank You'.

He knew that she meant it but he also knew two other things for certain namely that Parks now held the balance of power and that he had the potential to inflict even more damage upon Hodder, his family and his career.

It was also blindingly obvious that there was no situation that a Police Officer could not make worse.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

As Palma 'came to' he was vaguely aware of movement. He tried to move but his limbs just wouldn't respond. He was trussed up so tightly that he could only move both of his legs together so, doing that, he began to kick out at whatever was in front of him. Almost immediately, the sense of motion stopped, and he heard the thick metallic thud of a lock opening. Because his head was still covered he could not tell if it was night or day. In reality, he was lucky because, if he had been able to see anything he would have seen a tall, muscular black man aim a Taser at him before discharging the device into his abdomen.

At least he was spared a second or two of blind panic, before 50,000 volts rendered him completely helpless apart from a whole range of involuntary movements of the like that he had never performed in his life, prior to this three second 'high voltage tango'. He seemed to enter a kind of 'nether world' he was not sure if he was alive or dead or somewhere in between.

He was barely able to string two cogent thoughts together but he realised enough to know that whatever he was in, was now 'moving again'. More importantly, he knew that he was in deep trouble...deeper than he had ever been before. Who did he know who would do such a thing...there was only one person who came to mind...'First Aid'...had that copper double crossed him?.

Palma had lost all track of time, but he did know three things for certain: he was cold, he was hungry but more than anything else, he was terrified. The dull smooth sound of what he had until now, taken to be tarmac, was replaced by an altogether much more uneven surface, so much so, that he guessed that whatever vehicle he was in, was now off road and driving along rutted tracks...was he out in the country?...perhaps heading to an isolated farm?

Though he would never have used the word 'Epiphenomenon' Parks experienced a new level of consciousness and self-awareness that had been absent for almost all of his life until this moment. He reasoned that though he was not 'angelic' by any means, and was regarded as a 'bit of a chancer' he did not deserve to be treated this way...if it was 'First Aid' he knew that he would be lucky to get away with his life...but, as clarity returned to him, he was still puzzled by the 'non Geordie' accent.

A few minutes later, the car, if in fact he was in a car, stopped and he heard what he took to be the central locking opening again. Well, if his time was up. He just hoped that it was quick and not too painful...folklore had it that 'First Aid' had tortured people in the past...he did not want to think about that. He prayed for the first time in his adult life 'Please God...I know that we have never spoken before...but please help me'. Palma once again heard a 'non Geordie' voice...'Move over'...he was then forced into the corner of what he had now decided was the boot of a large car. As he did so, a number of very heavy objects were placed in the compartment with him.

He felt the suspension drop under the weight of these objects and for a moment he thought...'They are dead bodies...they have loaded some stiffs in here with me...I am dead meat now'. In his panic, Palma started thrashing out. He instantly regretted it as he felt another 50,000 volts convulse his body.

It could have been minutes or hours, but Palma came to again, but on this occasion he was aware of an altogether different sensation...he heard it first, the gentle lapping of water and the gentle up and down bobbing. He was obviously in a boat.

Three of the four men in the vessel knew that they were floating upon Kielder Water. Europe's largest manmade lake had been designed to solve water shortages in the North of England... however, judging by the number of hosepipe bans in recent years, its two hundred billion gallon capacity had failed to fulfil its early brief.

None of the men in the boat were aware that 178 feet beneath them was the flooded village of Lower Plashetts, complete with Churchyard and Railway Station. Depending on his response to questions, one of the men, Palma to be precise, may be visiting Lower Plashetts in the very near future.

As soon as he stirred the 'hood' was taken off his head. It was darkness and he was sitting in a rowing boat that was about fifteen foot long. Two men sat in front of him, whilst a third sat behind. He turned around to look at the man behind him, and as he did so he was punched to the side of his head. He instinctively reached up to rub his wound and to protect himself from further blows, but found that he was still 'taped up'. If these guys were going to beat him up he could offer no resistance whatsoever. He was a 'sitting' or to be more precise a 'floating duck'.

All three men were dressed in dark overalls fastened up the neck. They wore gloves, identical full face balaclavas, and black boots. There was no visible skin and only one spoke...it was not the black man who had asked for directions. Goodness knows how long ago that was.

'If you look down you will see that there is a hessian sack full of boulders tied to your waist....you will also see that we are sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. If you want to see another dawn you had better talk to me'.

Palma would be the first to admit that he was arrogant, that he ideas above his station and an unrealistic view of where he stood in the 'Criminal Pecking Order'. This however, was way out of his league...these guys were real dyed in the wool heavies and through his sobs he managed to blurt out 'I don't know what you are on about...I am just a small time grafter trying to get by...I haven't done anything'.

'The Voice' continued 'You're not convincing me...who do you work for'?...In that single terrifying instant one thing was confirmed to Palma...this was not anyone working for 'First Aid'...the one thing that he hoped to work in his favour, years of loyal service, apart from the odd bit fiddle here and there, was now out of the window. Palma had no idea who he was dealing with or what they would do to him.

'Wh...What do'ya want to know...if I know it, I will tell you. Just don't kill me'

There was a young girl drugged and raped...she was given Rhohypnol and some 'bad' drink who did it'?

'I don't know', he managed to half whisper half cry, real sobs not far from the surface both literally and figuratively.

'Why were you arrested'?

'Oh fuck' thought Palma...'If I lie now I will be in the water. If I tell the truth I will be in the water'. He hesitantly continued 'I got arrested because the police recovered a whole load of snide Vodka from my lock up. All I do is sell it to people. I have no idea about this girl'.

The Voice said 'Put him in the water lads. I've heard enough'. At that point Palma was man-handled to a point where he was over the side of the boat and dangling waist deep in the water. The boulders were still in the boat...if this capsized now at least one of the four occupants of the boat was going to be in trouble. It did not take all of Palma's mental capacity or skills of logical reasoning to determine that that person was him.

'Okay, okay...haul me in and I will tell you everything.'

'The Voice' said 'I will decide when you get hauled in or thrown out. Talk Now'!

'Okay, that copper Hodder had a warrant and he turned over my lock up and my house. He got booze and other stuff back...I am honestly just a salesman. If Palma thought that this was enough to earn him a reprieve his was mistaken and he continued as the chill of the water penetrated to his bones. 'For some reason he bailed me with instructions to find someone for him. I am not a grass but he said that he would shaft me to my boss if I didn't do what he asked'.

'Who does he want you to find'? demanded 'The Voice'.

'There is a kid called Dean Parks. Hodder wants him really badly but I don't know why...he wants me to call him every day with progress reports'.

'The Voice' said 'Do you know this Dean Parks'?

'Yes. I'm convinced that's why Hodder locked me up. He only let me out to find Parks for him. He said that if I didn't he would tell my boss that I am a police grass'.

'Who is your Boss'?

'I can't say...he will kill me'.

Quite coolly 'The Voice' said 'And I will kill you if you don't...so here we are my friend, excuse the pun, 'You are in very deep water indeed'. Your next words may be your last words so choose them wisely...Who do you work for'?

Palma did not reply.

'This is your last chance. I will not ask again'.

At this point, a stiff breeze swept across the surface of the reservoir. Where it caught Palma's wet limbs, it felt like cold knives were reaching into his very soul, and for a fleeting second he wondered how long it would take to drown and what sensations he would experience. Then in an instant he thought 'It doesn't really matter what drowning feels like because I will never be able to tell anyone'.

'Adrian Burrows. I work for Adrian Burrows...his nickname is 'First Aid'. Can you please pull me in'?

'The Voice' remained impassively calm and said 'You now work for me. Is that clear? It's either that or the boulders go in the water now...agree and you will live...I have uses for you...I'm going to count down from five. You will be fish food if I reach number one....

FIVE...silence

FOUR...silence

THREE...silence...then 'Okay, okay...but I will need some protection'.

'You certainly will if you double cross me...bring him in lads'.

Palma was dragged back into the small craft as it bobbed dangerously from side to side.

'The Voice' said 'You will get a mobile phone. You will call me every day...you will tell me what you tell Hodder. You will tell Hodder what I tell you to tell him, and you will tell me what Hodder tells you...if you do not adhere to these very reasonable conditions, my associates and I WILL find you and I WILL kill you...

You do not know who we are, so you will never know when we are watching you. You do not know what we want, that my friend, is none of your business. You are in the business of staying alive...which you will do providing you follow my instructions to the letter. If you don't, I will kill you. If per chance I don't kill you, I will make sure that your previous employer who you are going to tell me all about now will kill you. Understood'?

A shivering, quivering Palma said 'Yes', and he did tell his captors all about 'First Aid'.

Back on shore, the sacks containing the boulders rocks were not replaced in the boot of the car, instead they were concealed under some gently rotting branches. The boat was returned to a nearby lakeside lodge. 'The Voice' said loud enough to be heard by Palma 'You never know when we may need to use those again'. Palma had the bag placed over his head again and was returned to the discomfort of the boot. Several minutes later, the car was on tarmac travelling, Palma assumed, back to Tyneside, but in truth he did not know. At least he was alive, for now.

Meanwhile, in the Hodder household a very heavy conversation was taking place between Hodder and Grace. She was astute enough not to have made comment when Lauren dropped the bombshell about her stolen laptop...she reasoned that Lauren had been through enough recently and certainly did not need to see or hear her parents at 'loggerheads'.

'No. No, Grace, there was a simple recording of an interview that I conducted with someone in custody...I needed Jeff Baxter to have a copy for a job that we are doing...I wanted to cut out red tape and simply asked Lauren to duplicate the recording for me. There will not be a problem...the recording means nothing to anyone other than Jeff and me. As he lied, he felt 'his old self' come back for a most unwelcome visit...he simply could not help himself.

Lying felt so natural to him.

Hodder was strangely relieved when another, equally serious matter was raised by Grace who said 'What are we going to do if Lauren can't settle here. I mean this place must hold some terrible memories for her'?

Without any hesitation and even less thought, Hodder said 'Then we shall have to move. After all, if you can't feel comfortable in your own home where can you feel comfortable...she has got to come first. Do you think decorating her room will help at all? If you don't then perhaps, we should make plans to move sooner, rather than later'.

Grace responded by saying 'Lets get her involved in every aspect of the 'make over' and if that doesn't work out then we will take it from there'...she went on to say 'After all, we have been happy here'.

That last bit certainly threw Hodder, and it took a second or so for him to work out if it was a 'curved ball' thrown at him to gauge his response. 'Yeah, I suppose that it's best that we don't overreact'...Just then Hodder's phone rang. It was Baxter. Hodder apologised to Grace, a look of sad resignation changed her face and her mood. She doubted if anything would change, she doubted if Hodder could change at all.

Hodder got up and covering the mouthpiece said to her 'I really have to take this'...with those words he may have actually have sealed his fate.

'This had better be good news Jeff'.

'It is' responded Baxter we turned over those containers and we have got hundreds of bottles of Vodka back, loads of smart phones, a whole pile of snide clothing, some porn and some drugs...what a great result. You have hit the jackpot mate. Are you coming in for a drink'?

The old impulsive Hodder would have jumped at the chance but he responded by saying 'No. Not tonight Jeff. Very well done, did you make any arrests'?

'No, but we certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons...this is going to cause a right shit storm'.

'Just make sure that everything is recorded properly and I will see you in the morning...well done again. Don't you have an appointment with 'The Nurse'?

'I did have...but the lads want to go for a beer'.

'Take my advice Jeff...go and play 'Doctors and Nurses'. I will see you tomorrow'. With that Hodder ended the call and returned to the lounge where a clearly despondent Grace was staring deep into her wine glass.

Hodder sensed the atmosphere in the room had now changed and he knew that he could not capture the convivial mood prior to the phone call. He said 'Hey, listen, I'm shattered I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow so I'm off to bed'.

'I'll be up in a minute'...responded Grace. Hodder did not know how to take that. By the time Grace slipped into bed beside her daughter, Hodder was oblivious and in a deep nasal sleep.

Under the cover of darkness, Dean Parks ordered a taxi from 'outside the shops' on Adelaide Terrace and travelled to the centre of Newcastle. He did not want to risk walking through the 'West End' with his rucksack for fear of being stopped by some inquisitive police patrol that just happened to be passing. Once in the City Centre, he boarded a metro tram and headed for Tynemouth.

This would be his base for the foreseeable future.

Breaking the habit of a lifetime, Parks bought a ticket for the journey. Normally he would not bother, but he really did not want to draw attention to himself or the contents of his bag. Most of the other passengers in the carriage had clearly imbibed copious quantities of alcohol. To a person, they were indifferent to anyone or anything, other than when or where their next drink or take away Kebab was coming from.

Strangely enough, the thought of food was occupying Park's mind. He was going to have to be very careful with his money by spending and eating wisely. He knew that he could live on what he could steal, but he did not want to take any unnecessary risks, so, he resolved to steal from only the larger shops and supermarkets where he could 'blend in' with their numerous other customers.

Getting off at Tynemouth Station he was surprised how quiet it was, the vast Victorian canopy echoing under his footfall. This was good because he really was counting on being alone. He did after all, have work to do before he could get his head down for the night.

Leaving the station he walked along Station Terrace passing the T.A. Barracks on Tynemouth Road, and once he was on Tynemouth Place, opposite the barracks, he made his way onto Priors Terrace. This grand Georgian street offered quite the most stunning sea views, he walked onwards towards Priors Park and then to his final destination...Collingwood's Monument.

Parks dumped his bag in the shadows of the monolith, and walked around the immediate area...he did not want to be disturbed by or to disturb any lovers, young or old.

All was quiet, and if he worked quickly, he could be asleep within the hour. Parks took the hacksaw that 'Daft Larry' had got for him and began to cut away at the hinges on the left side of a steel door that stood in the base of the on the western side of the monument. The door was locked on the right hand side using a heavy duty lock of the type used on sea faring containers...far too tough to cut through, so the easier option was to cut through the hinges at a point close to the wall, so as not to make the cut look obvious. After about forty minutes during which he stopped to listen out for any unusual or approaching noises he had finally cut through the bottom hinge.

He swung the door open around the lock and entered the cavernous base of the monument. It smelt damp...but probably no worse than the 'doss house' on Elswick Road. He pulled the door to and closed it behind him. Parks then 'fired up' a 'Maglite' that 'Daft Larry' had obtained for him and he looked around the interior. A number of pigeons fluttered around in startled panic...their obvious point of access being any of the numerous air gaps between the large sandstone blocks that formed the base.

Rats scurried around and in the torch light and Parks saw that some metal barriers, and old scaffolding poles were piled up in one corner. It was time to get to work. The cordless drill, courtesy of 'Daft Larry' that he had charged whilst at the doss house sparked into life and two bolts were fitted to the door one in the middle of the inside and a second outside just out of view above the upper sawn through hinge.

It was now time to erect his small tent in the corner of the large space. Once it was up, he rolled out his sleeping bag and using some old sacking blocked a number of the 'air vents' between the sandstone blocks so that light from his torch did not 'filter' outside. 'It's not quite the Hilton, actually, it's not quite the doss house, but its home for now and its rent free' thought Parks.

Lying in his sleeping bag Parks thought that the one concession to contemporary living that he had was the laptop, and even that did not belong to him. He made a mental list of 'to do things' for the morning. This was not quite the same as 'counting sheep' but it had the same effect because he was asleep in no time.

Palma, meanwhile, suddenly became aware that the vehicle had stopped. He heard two doors open and footsteps leading away from the car and muted voices fade into the distance. Palma did not know that Bostock and one of his associates had entered the twenty four hour Tesco on Norham Road, the same shop where only days earlier Dean Parks had been. Once inside, they split up. Bostock bought a mobile phone. Meanwhile, his associate visited three different checkouts buying three sim cards from each one.

Palma's instinctive reaction was to kick out and scream but he quickly did the maths...there was still one person in the car...this was confirmed when he heard the car radio being turned on and a station search that finally settled on some 'God awful' rap music...yeah he was most certainly not alone.

About ten minutes later, the head count in the vehicle was returned to 'full complement'. Palma was still terrified and the churning pit that was now his very empty stomach was beginning to take on a feeling of normality...but not a welcome form of 'normality'...he had no idea if he could continue playing this game. He had 'ran with the foxes and the hounds' for years but this was on an entirely different level altogether.

He really was in a mess...He was supposed to be working for 'First Aid', he was supposed to be working for that double crossing bastard Hodder and now he was working for 'The Voice' too. Years ago he had heard the phrase 'a man cannot serve two masters'. He had no idea who was responsible for that particular pearl of wisdom, but he assumed that 'working for three masters' was even more demanding than working for two, which, given the circumstances that he now found himself in, made working for 'just two' seem like a stroll in the park.

As the tarmac underneath him sped past, he quickly worked out the options available to him.

  1. 'I can tell 'First Aid' what has happened, or double cross him. Either way, he will probably kill me'.

  2. I can tell or double cross Hodder what has happened. Either way I will go to prison.

  3. I can lie to 'The Voice' or double cross him. Either way, he will probably kill me.

  4. I will not be safe in or out of prison. Should I do a runner and have all of them after me?

All things considered, right now, Palma wished that he had taken the opportunity of the plumbing apprenticeship he was offered when he was sixteen. He would certainly not be as wet or have as many leaks to contend with!

Palma started to feel sorry for himself as the car pulled up to a halt. The engine was killed and he heard the familiar 'clunk' as the boot lid opened. He was hauled out of the car. He felt the duct tape being cut around his ankles. Then his hands were released...

'The Voice' then spoke as something was placed in his packet. 'There is an untraceable mobile phone and charger in your pocket. It has fifty pounds credit on it. Do not register that phone and keep it safe. You will call a number that is texted to you every day and call me back. Each day, a different untraceable sim card will be used to contact you. Each sim will only be used once. If you have anything to tell me you had better have that information when we speak'.

'Do you understand'?

'Yes, but how can I contact you if I hear anything'?

'You can't. But we will be watching you'.

'Do you understand your instructions'?

'Yes'.

Sensing that at least this phase was going to be over soon, Palma let out an audible sigh. This was a really bad move because he was struck in the stomach with such force that he fell backwards cracking the back of his head on the road surface.

The bag was 'whipped' from his head as he lay rolling on the cold hard tarmac. He heard the car drive off, but by the time he was able to get into a semi-crouching position there were only tail lights disappearing into the distance. It was dark and it took a number of seconds for his eyes to adjust to the amber glow of the street lighting. Palma noticed that he was back on Tyne Street at exactly the point where he had been abducted 'God knows how long ago'.

Little did the man whom Palma knew only as 'The Voice', his associates or indeed, Palma himself, know that he was only about half a mile from Parks who was enjoying a dreamless, deep sleep.

Nursing his aching stomach Palma decided to walk home and like all good criminals 'abroad' at night he decided to keep off the main roads. So quickly working out a discreet route, he headed down to the quayside, past 'The Bottom Dolphin', with its whale bone, a reminder of the long forgotten North Shields Whaling Fleet standing by the front door. How long ago was it he wondered, when he had nothing on his mind but getting drunk inside that particular establishment!

He continued along the North Groyne, which is a promenade which skirts the north bank of the Tyne Estuary, in the direction of the Spanish Battery, at Tynemouth. At the last minute, he took one of the hillside footpaths that led towards Collingwood's Monument. As he passed the base of the monument heading towards Pier Road, Tynemouth Village and the 'safety' of home he did not know that he was passing within ten feet of Dean Parks, who slept on blissfully unaware that he was indeed a 'person of interest' to more than one 'interested person'.

Walking down Hotspur Street towards his flat and sanctuary, Palma's spirits began to lift. It had been a 'God Awful day' but after some food and rest he was sure that he could cobble a plan together that may see him through his current plight. He was in the door within seconds. He closed it and chained it against the world. He leaned back against the door, letting out a heavy sigh. Walking into the open plan living room/kitchen he turned on the light making a bee line for the fridge...there had to at least be some cheese in there'.

He was famished.

However, had he known that he had been followed home, he would immediately have lost his appetite.

A voice from behind him said 'And where the fuck have you been'....it was 'First Aid'. He did not usually do 'home visits', especially at night. Palma sensed this meant trouble. If confirmation were indeed needed, this came in the form of 'Big Neil', 'First Aid's' most trusted 'Lieutenant' who entered from the bedroom.

An already long day was about to become much longer.

With 'Big Neil' standing over Palma who was pinned to a chair by fear, he wisely under the circumstances gave a heavily edited version of events, electing to avoid mention of Parks, Hodder or 'The Voice'. Instead, he chose an almost believable explanation that the police were lucky enough to 'stumble' across some Vodka and smart phones in his loft.

Driven by survival instinct he did not mention the booze recovered from his flat. He played on the fact that 'they' (the police) had no evidence, otherwise they would have charged him with something instead of bailing him.

'First Aid' was about to drop a bombshell. 'Luck?...luck...there is no 'luck' in this whole sorry cock up...so far, I have lost loads of product, thereby loads of money...so, don't talk to me about luck. Did you tell the police about my containers? Because, they have been turned over and all of my stuff has been seized'.

'Err, I didn't mean it that way. What I meant was that they have no idea that I work for you...I will probably get the gear back when they cannot trace it. Honestly, Mr Burrows I have no idea how the police found out about the containers. You have to believe me'.

'Oh, that's okay then' said 'First Aid'...'No damage done then...you owe me for all of the gear that has been lost and you owe me for the last batch that you sold...by my reckoning that's eight thousand 'sheets', not counting the stuff from the containers, and I want it now or rather, 'Big Neil' here wants it now'.

Shuffling uneasily in his seat, Palma said 'The money is hidden...I can get it for you later'.

Turning to 'Big Neil' 'First Aid' said...'Is that how we operate big fella'?

Speaking for the first time in a voice that was surprisingly soft for such a man mountain 'Big Neil' said 'Not normally...what I normally do is....' and with that 'Big Neil' hit Palma so hard in the face that both he and the chair that he was sitting in tumbled backwards onto the floor where upon 'Big Neil' began kicking Palma about the head and body to such an extent that all Palma could do was adopt the foetal position and just hope and pray, for the second time that day that the barrage would end soon.

After what felt like an eternity, the assault did stop and Palma lay on the floor groaning, blood pouring from his mouth. Amidst his tears, he could barely draw breath because of the god almighty pain from his ribs which were obviously broken.

'First Aid' watched on impassively as 'Big Neil' righted the overturned chair and hauled the whimpering Palma to his feet and quite simply 'dumped' the injured man in it.

The big man then said...'I don't normally say 'Please' but can Mr Burrows have his money NOW please'.

Palma was unable to get up, but simply pointed to the 'cooker hood' and managed through breath more than words to utter 'In the hood, it's in the hood'.

Under normal circumstances 'Big Neil' would have simply pulled the canopy from the wall until he located his 'prize' but he was mindful that his 'boss' was the owner of the flat, and that he was watching. So, he carefully removed the filter in the hood, and once it was out, he fumbled around inside and retrieved an old wooden Cuban cigar box, which he opened.

'Bingo'...'Big Neil' counted out nine thousand two hundred pounds all of which he handed to 'First Aid'...'Looks like young Davy here has been doing a bit of 'freelancing' Mr Burrows'.

'Just as well under these very trying circumstances Neil. It will do as a down payment on the gear that he managed to 'lose'...now Davy...do you have any more secrets'?

'No. No Mr Burrows...that's all that I have...honest'.

'Oh, that's fine...you can see how upset Neil gets when I am lied to. Say 'goodnight' to Davy for me will you Neil'? at which point another 'thunderbolt' rocketed the side of his face causing Palmas head to drop onto his chest...he did not hear the door close as his 'visitors' left.

As 'First Aid' and his muscle bound side kick walked out of the main door of the building, Bostock and his cohorts watched them as they entered a 'rather over the top' gunmetal grey BMW X5. This four wheeled drive version of bling, could not have announced itself more clearly as belonging to a criminal if it had it had ornate coach writing on the side advertising the fact.

'That will be Mr Burrows boys...we may have to speak to him but not tonight...but I think that it would be the order of the day if we found out where he lived'

Bostock told one of his 'boys' to follow Burrows at a discreet distance whilst he and 'the other one' paid a home visit to Palma...they had earlier identified his flat when they saw the lights go on when he returned home. Using a form of guile only shared by Criminals, Police Officers' and Debt Collectors they randomly 'rang' one of the intercoms on the communal entrance and 'bluffed' their way into the building telling the occupant that they had a 'Take Away' delivery for one of the other residents.

Once inside, they reasoned that Palmas flat was one of two they had identified from outside and they were surprised when he answered the door.

For his part, Palma was terrified that it was 'First Aid' at the door stupidly forgetting that as the owner he had earlier let himself in using his own key. He opened the door for fear of inviting another beating. His head hit the floor when he saw 'The Voice' masked up exactly as he had last remembered seeing him. 'Oh God, will this night never end'. 'The Voice' and his partner simply walked into the flat as Palma backed away from them finding himself sitting aghast upon the sofa.

'The Voice' said...'I see that you have had some visitors...who were they'?

His voice quivering with terror, Palma managed to somehow spit out the words 'That was Burrows...'First Aid''.

'What did he want'?

'He wanted to know what happened to his gear and he wanted some money from me'.

'Think very carefully before you answer...did you mention your visit to the country today or me in any way'?

'You must be kidding...he would have killed me'.

'Then it seems to me that you may be in need of some protection...if you find Parks you will get it. If you don't I will take you to Burrows myself...anyway we were just passing and thought that we would 'pop in' to say hello and that we look forward to hearing from you very soon. Goodnight'.

With that they left. There really was no need to impress Palma with another show of force. He had obviously had enough for now, at least.

Meanwhile, oblivious to all of this, and having a 'long night' of his own, Baxter was walking out of a 'shower made for two' and heading towards a 'bed made for two'...all was good with his world.

Hodder had slept as well as he could remember. He awoke refreshed and was ready for the day ahead. His frequent hangovers had made breakfast an infrequent undertaking, and as he made his way downstairs looking forward to the prospect of toast and coffee he saw the post falling from the letter box, remembering as he bent down that he must repair the spring on the letter box because it had a habit of rattling in high winds.

Hodder took the mail to the kitchen and whilst he waited for the kettle to boil he scanned the usual array of bills, junk mail, fast food menus. He was however, intrigued to see a hand written envelope addressed to him.

Unusual.

He opened the envelope, and a 'tube' of 'Love Heart' sweets fell from the envelope dropping to the floor and rolling underneath the breakfast bar.

'The bastard...he knows that I live here'.

Breakfast was put on the 'backburner' and after a quick shave and shower he was out of the door.

As he drove to work, for once under the prescribed alcohol limit but well over the prescribed speed limit Hodder reflected that there was no situation that a Police Officer cannot make worse.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Frustration, anger and fear replaced the all too familiar feelings of nausea and fatigue which normally ushered Hodder into the day. As he walked along the corridor towards the office, he was hardly aware if he had responded to any or all of the 'Good Mornings' that had been directed his way...it was as if he was having an 'out of body experience' and not an entirely enjoyable one at that.

A number of the Rape investigation/Dean Parks team were assembled in the office enjoying a pre briefing coffee and a 'full-caff' moan about the dearth of overtime, the poor form of Newcastle United, but above all, the latest X Factor results.

Clearly, progress with the enquiry was not taxing their collective consciousness.

Using his wholly inconsiderable intellect to its absolute minimum, 'Gee-Gee' was heard bemoaning the fact he had spent the best part of thirty quid voting for a soon to be obscure boy band who reminded him of the Pet Shop Boys. And so it was that 'God's Gift' to gay men was born amidst gales of laughter and over wrought protestations regarding his self-confessed sexual prowess.

A smiling Baxter entered the office during the course of 'Gee-Gee's' ritual humiliation. Baxter was bedecked in a new tie and smelling of expensive aftershave...clearly a man at one with himself and his woman, he enthusiastically joined in the ribbing. 'Yeah guys, I have to confess I saw 'Gee-Gee' in action at the hospital the other day working his particular brand of sexual chemistry upon a nurse. I know that she was so impressed with his slippery eel approach to the fairer sex that she almost vomited'.

More laughter filled the room 'Tell me' continued Baxter 'Gee-Gee...exactly what is your secret'? It is an irrefutable fact that it is impossible to suppress a blush, but despite doing a passable impression of a baboons arse, both visibly and verbally, 'Gee-Gee' said...'Even you could see that it was me that she was after'.

'Yeah, I know. I must thank you so much for your generosity and gentlemanly conduct...I'll be sure to pass your kind comments on when I see her again tonight'. More humiliation was heaped upon 'Gee-Gee' as he tried without any success to return to the subject of the 'rigged voting' on the X Factor.

In fact, 'Gee-Gee' did not notice the DVD player in the corner of the office that was attracting the attention of his fellow Detectives. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him and he sauntered across the office to see what was attracting the collective attention of his colleagues.

The day that had started off so badly for 'Gee-Gee', was about to get worse as the others in the office roared with laughter as they watched the recording of 'Gee-Gee's' encounter with the hospital car park attendant which had been so accurately recorded for posterity.

'Gee-Gee' turned on Baxter...'You said that you would not say anything'

Barely able to suppress his laughter Baxter said 'And I haven't, as they say 'actions speak louder than words''.

At his point the D.I. sauntered into the office, sipping from a steaming cup. He casually walked over to the group of Detectives who were roaring with laughter as 'Gee-Gee's' altercation with the attendant was replayed on the screen. He looked on in silence, the steam from his ears, supplanting the steam from his cup. He had a look of fury on his face as the laughter diminished.

Without taking his eyes off the screen he said in a cold measured way 'Gee-Gee'...my office please' and with that he turned on his heels and left the office.

'Gee-Gee' flashed a glance at Baxter...and as he left the office he said 'I will get you for this you bastard'.

As he reluctantly walked down the corridor to meet his fate, 'Gee-Gee' heard gales of laughter erupting from the office. After a few seconds the D.I.'s door was heard to slam and his raised muffled voice could be heard as the guys crept to the D.I.'s office door where they listened to 'Gee-Gee' squirm and attempt to blame Baxter for the debacle.

Moments later the office door opened, and the lads scuttled back to their own office. The D.I. shouted 'Baxter...here...now'!

Strangely buoyed with a renewed confidence, Baxter walked into the D.I.'s office. 'Gee-Gee' was standing in front of the D.I.'s desk hands behind his back, head slightly bowed instantly reminding Baxter of a middle aged version of Richmal Crompton's most famous creation. Think Angus Young from AC/DC, but with a false tan and posh ties and you are almost there!

'What have you got to say for yourself?'

'Actually, Sir. Nothing'.

'What do you mean,...'Nothing'...you knew about this and you strung me along...you made me look stupid in front of the D.C.I.'

'What I actually said Sir, was that 'Gee-Gee' was having 'trouble with the wheel' which strictly speaking was true...however, I did not elaborate as to the exact nature of the trouble, reasoning that if I did you would have carpeted 'Gee-Gee', so, if I'm guilty of anything it is showing loyalty to a colleague'.

Hodder's assumption regarding the D.I.s intellectual capacity was clearly accurate because the D.I. turned on 'Gee-Gee'. 'Why can't you show some loyalty...instead of trying to cover your back every inch of the way? Now you have tried to shaft Jeff; as well as taking me for an idiot...do you really want a pointed hat? Get out of my sight! I'm not finished with you yet'!

As Baxter was walking out of the office the D.I. said 'I don't know how or where you managed to get that dvd from, but it was a good laugh...watch your back, 'Gee-Gee' will be licking his wounds for a day or two. Now fuck off'.

Scratching his head in bewilderment, Baxter walked back into the main office. A number of the guys asked him where he had got the recording from. He was able to answer honestly that he did not obtain the disc. He did however, fail to mention that he was not working entirely alone.

At about this time, one of the civilian admin staff entered the office going from desk to desk delivering both internal and external mail. Hodder was out of the office at the time, and when he returned he saw an all too familiar hand written envelope sitting upon his desk blotter.

Picking it up he felt the contents, and even before he opened it he knew that the envelope contained another tube of 'Love Hearts'. This was getting serious. Not only was Dean Parks targeting him at home, but at work too. Hodder reasoned that he could not confide in Ben Heath because that would only confirm to Heath that he and his family were targets and that more than likely, it would result in him being moved out of the department.

More worryingly, Hodder came to the conclusion that his 'bosses' would see the sweets as evidence of him 'free lancing' and probably suspend him. Whilst this thought was going through his head, he reasoned that if he was suspended then at least he could devote all of his time and energy tracking down Parks. However, it hit him that if he was effectively working outside the law and the system then he would be working without any protection whatsoever, and he may even find himself in even deeper water.

In that instant he came up with a plan of sorts.

On the subject of water, David Palma was soaking his battered limbs in a deep hot bath thinking how being immersed in this water was infinitely more preferable than the last time he had taken a 'dip'. He hadn't slept much the previous night, his mind had been in turmoil thinking about the mess that he had created for himself. Wherever he looked there were problems.

Palma reasoned that he had to keep Hodder, 'First Aid' and 'The Voice' at arm's length whilst he found Dean Parks. This was much easier said than done...he had to devise a way of keeping everyone happy whilst staying one step ahead of them. However, whilst he was confident that he could spot 'First Aid', his boys and the police, he had absolutely no idea what 'The Voice' or his crew looked like. So, he concluded that it didn't really matter how surveillance conscious he was because they could always be one step ahead of him. Furthermore, and most worryingly, he had absolutely no clues as to their motives.

He was sure of one thing and one thing only, and that was he had to make it look like he was actually looking for Dean Parks, whilst creating time and space for himself. Palma resolved to spend the first part of the day relaxing but that later on he would trawl the pubs of the town looking for Parks or any clues as to his whereabouts.

He also knew that inevitably, there would be contact with 'The Voice' and Hodder during the course of the day, and he needed something, in fact, anything vaguely positive, whether it was based on the truth or not that would help create the required breathing space that he needed.

His anticipated soak was interrupted by loud, heavy knocking at the door. 'Oh, not again, I've got bruises on my bruises...just leave me alone'. Palma, a coward by nature, did not relish another beating but he figured that if he didn't answer the door, then it was likely to be smashed in, and he would face dire consequences.

So, slipping into his bath robe, and leaving heavy wet footprints on 'First Aids' axminster carpet he padded to the door. He could not see who it was because whoever was there had a thumb over the spy hole in the door. Asking who was there would only give his presence away, thus resulting in a joiner's bill for a new door.

Taking a deep breath, he composed himself and opened the door expecting the worst.

It was Hodder.

He was alone and brushed Palma aside as he walked uninvited into the flat. 'Oh. Why don't you come in Mr Hodder'? said Palma barely able to conceal his sarcasm.

Hodder reasoned that it was pretty difficult for Palma to maintain any dignity, standing there in his bare feet, water dripping everywhere, so he bypassed the preliminaries and said 'You have your work cut out for you today...you WILL find Dean Parks today and you WILL tell me when you find him and I WILL arrest him'. There was a deep rooted anger in Hodder's voice that Palma had never heard before.

As he watched, Palma thought for a moment that Hodder 'was losing the plot'...'This had better not turn violent...I have had enough for one week thank you very much!' He contemplated what he would do if it did take a turn for the worst, and mutedly accepted his fate.

Bizarrely, Hodder changed tack and said 'Have you made any new friends recently'?

'Wh wh what do you mean by that'? His hesitation as he spoke would have been obvious to a deaf man.

'Oh, I don't know'...continued Hodder 'Any visitors from out of town perhaps'?

A light seemed to turn on in Palmas brain...'You set me up...you fucking well set me up...those fuckers have threatened to kill me'.

'And they will Davy. They will...what did they want'?

Speed of thought was not a quality that Palma demonstrated on a regular basis, but he was astute enough to work out that for 'The Voice' and Hodder this was, for some reason, personal...for 'First Aid' this was strictly business, he wanted money not blood, though of course he would settle for either if it was necessary.

'Who is the bloke who picked me up yesterday'?

'I will repeat .What did he want'?

'He asked me what you wanted from me and I told him about Dean Parks'.

'Oh well, in that case he is the man who will kill you if you don't find Dean Parks and for the record...he makes your Boss look like a boy scout...he is a very big cheese indeed....

I on the other hand am the man who will decide your fate...If you find Dean Parks for me, you will not face prosecution and you will be protected (he lied)...if you don't find Dean Parks, you will almost certainly go to prison where not only will you live in daily fear of guys working for 'First Aid' but also your visitor'.

A silence grew between them as Hodder could feel anger stirring inside himself, then he said 'What did your visitor ask you to do'?

'He asked me to spy on you and tell him what you tell me to do...this has got nothing to do with me and I am stuck in the middle. I am fucked no matter which way I turn'.

'Well Dave' continued Hodder 'You will be if you make the wrong decision...so, get out there today and find Parks it's the only way to save your bacon...call me later'.

Hodder left and returned to the office. Baxter was pestering him to tell him where he had been saying that he had a lead on Sykes and wanted to interview him to see if he was willing to talk about Tamblin's demise.

This held no attraction for Hodder who clearly had other priorities, and he was in the process of telling Baxter to do the interview alone when the informant's telephone rang. 'Gee-Gee' who was sitting at the desk was concentrating hard on stirring a 'Cuppa Soup' answered it and shouted over 'Jimbo...it's for you... Mr Trafford'.

Taking the phone, Hodder covered the mouthpiece and said to 'Gee-Gee' 'Go take a walk...this is private'. Jim rarely flexed his limited authoritarian muscles amongst his colleagues, but even the dim witted 'Gee-Gee' recognised that this was not the time or place for a flippant remark. So, he and his 'Cuppa Soup' left the office without further comment.

'Hello, Hodder speaking'.

'Ah good morning Mr Hodder. I trust that your visit to see Mr Palma was fruitful this morning...does he have any news regarding Mr Parks'?

Taken aback Hodder said 'I think that we should meet'.

'And why would I want to do that Mr Hodder...there is nothing more to be said until Mr Palma produces the goods...however, I trust that you have not divulged my identity to him because as you know Palma is a man with little honour but a strong survival instinct'.

'And why do you say that Mr Trafford...would it be because you have asked him to feed disinformation to me to lead me way from Parks...You may be a big fish in your neck of the woods Mr Trafford but up here you are in danger of interfering with an active investigation'.

'Oh yes Mr Hodder. That would be the investigation to which you are not officially attached but one on which you are actively working against the express orders of your superiors...Tell me are you passing all of your information to the incident room? I have the number if you want it or should I ask your Boss to have a word with you? I am sure that he will be interested in your extracurricular activities'.

'I'll stop you there Mr Trafford...'

Trafford/'The Voice/Bostock interrupted and 'I will stop you there Mr Hodder...I will call you with a location where you can pick up the pieces. Please don't underestimate me Sir...many have done so in the past to their cost'.

With that the call was ended and Hodder was left standing holding the telephone feeling that he may have just been the subject of a blackmail threat and that his response had been a major mistake'. As usual with Hodder, a whole variety of conflicting thoughts filled his head. Should he 'spill the beans' to Ben Heath? Should he leave Parks to the enquiry team? Should he acquiesce to Bostock's threats? Should he put further pressure on Palma?

All of these options would ensure that 'The wheel would come off'.

And it struck him as it always did...None of the above...Hodder decided that it was time to make the acquaintance of 'First Aid' and he could do it quite legitimately under the guise of the 'Snide Vodka Enquiry'.

Armed with an incomplete plan, and accompanied by Baxter who was perplexed by Hodder's sudden change of heart regarding 'All things Vodka' they set off to Darras Hall, to the north west of Newcastle. This up market area is the home to professional footballers, lawyers, accountants and a number of successful criminals all in the view of Hodder, 'bona fide low life'. It was highly likely that Burrows would refuse to see them.

That however, did not concern Hodder too much because the mere request to speak to Burrows would certainly 'put oil on troubled waters' and Hodder worked on the principal that if he could use any feeble excuse to get Burrows and Bostock at each other's throats. Then hopefully, he could focus his attention on Palma and ergo Parks.

It seemed a simple plan but like all things Hodder...

The long winding drive at Burrow's home was protected by large automated wrought iron gates. A raft of CCTV cameras covered every conceivable angle, no doubt to provide this pillar of the criminal community with just the sort of restful night's sleep that he and his heavy handed thugs deprived so many others of.

As Hodder pressed the intercom at the gate a broad 'Geordie' accent answered with a curt aggressive 'What'?

Keeping his composure, Hodder said 'Hello, this is Detective Sergeant Hodder from North Shields C.I.D. is Mr Burrows in please'?

'He is not available' and with that the line went dead and despite repeated buzzing it was not answered again.

'That was a waste of time' said Baxter.

'I very much doubt that' replied Hodder

On the way back to the office Baxter suggested that they should attempt to locate Sykes, quite a shrewd move on his part because Hodder could hardly say now that he wasn't interested in 'Vodka-Gate' given the lengthy diversion to Burrows' home. Hodder had to agree, otherwise, he would effectively be telling Baxter that he was serving his own interests. It looked like he was just going to have to grin and bear it and feign interest.

The prospect of spending an afternoon with a drunk, particularly whilst Hodder was sober, was not nearly as appealing as 'doing a job' on Burrows, Bostock, Palma or Parks. He was however, just a trifle concerned about this ever growing list of 'dodge-pots' and secretly hoped that it would not get much longer.

Back in 'Shields, Hodder and Baxter went to Sykes elegant bedsit, described by Baxter as being delightfully, yet randomly bedecked with empty bottles and cans. He called it...'abstract carpet art'...Oh what a treat! Hodder didn't disguise his relief when there was no answer at the door. However, a neighbour helpfully suggested that it might be a good idea to check out 'The Flying Stool' or 'The Burglars Arms', local names for 'The Seine Boat' and 'The Robin Hood'.

'Cos it's Giro day' added the neighbour, obviously recognising by instinct or otherwise, that Hodder and Baxter were Police Officers, clearly in the vain hope that they may cause Sykes some problems.

To Hodder at least, their 'Adopted Names' of these fine ale houses seemed much more appropriate, and certainly more accurate than their 'Birth Names'. All things considered, it was probably better to telephone the pubs to check if Sykes was there, because one thing was certain two 'suits' going inside would not be well received.

Baxter, sitting in the passenger seat rang 'The Flying Stool'. It was only two thirty in the afternoon but the nostalgic sound of a Gloria Gaynor's 'I will Survive' was being tortured on the Karaoke machine in the background. 'Giro Day' was clearly in full swing. It occurred to Hodder that the local Dipsomaniacs had been temporarily morphed into Disco-maniacs. When the pub telephone was answered with a harsh 'Aye' it was clear that staff training did not feature as a priority at this fine establishment.

Michelin would not be awarding 'The Flying Stool' a 'Star' anytime soon. Whilst sitting outside 'The Stool', Hodder was reminded of a 'Stool' fable where one of the local 'criminal bigwigs' was playing dominoes with a group of regulars, one of whom had a lapdog that was fast asleep on a chair as they played. The dog owner accidentally spilt beer over the 'doms' as he attempted to play his 'hand'. Said local criminal who was in a strong position in the game was furious, and without a second thought, he picked up the sleeping canine and used it to mop up the beer. Dominoes flew everywhere as the dog yelped helplessly. All of the others in the bar, bar one laughed mercilessly.

No luck there, so it was onto 'The Burglars Arms'. They were more successful here, and over the sound of 'Paranoid' Sykes came to the phone and was asked to 'Pop outside' or 'We will come in and get you and you know how that will look'.

Sykes who was clearly inebriated complained 'You bastards had better not lock me up'.

Baxter said 'We are not out to cause you any problems...we just want to know where you and Peter Tamblin got your dodgy Vodka from. You are not in any trouble we just want to stop anyone else getting hurt. Get outside now'!

An unsteady Sykes, as if there was another kind, wobbled out of the door, holding a pint of beer in an unsteady hand. Looking at his drink as if he were referring to a gold ingot or a Rolex watch he said 'Those bastards in there would steal it if I left it behind'.

After a deep, unrestrained belch he continued 'If I tell you anything I will be in deep shit'.

Clearly using all the skills that he had developed at 'Charm School' Hodder said 'And you will be in even deeper shit if you don't tell us, especially if something bad happens to anyone else...Now who did you get it from'?

Sykes had drink on his mind and in his hand. The veiled threat of spending some time in police custody did not appeal so after some uncomfortable moments he said 'I will get turned over'.

Sensing that a breakthrough may be on the horizon, but that a 'change of tack' was needed, Baxter tried a more conciliatory approach. 'No you won't because you are stopping people getting ill or worse. Look at it this way...you are one of the lucky ones...and you owe it to your mate to make sure that what happened to him does not happen to anyone else. There is not a single person in that bar now who wouldn't tell us if it was you who died' (he lied).

Sykes said 'I don't know nothing'. Baxter sensed that this was neither the time nor the place to raise the subject of ethno-linguistics and double negatives in particular, so he said 'In that case, I am going to arrest you for all of the stolen mobile phones that I found in your bedsit'.

'Okay. Okay, but this didn't come from me. I got the stuff from a kid I only know as 'Parky' and he works for Davy Palma...I don't know where he gets it from. Now leave me alone'. With that Sykes walked, in a fashion, back into the bar. There was in actual fact little point in arresting him because he would not be sober for hours. He could be put on the back burner for another day.

'The Winds of Change' filled the street outside the pub, as the same sentiment echoed in Hodder's head.

As the Police Officers walked back to their car Hodder said 'You're turning into a right devious little tinker D.C. Baxter'.

Baxter responded by saying 'I can't think where I get from, can you'?

Hodder laughed and said 'Do you know who 'Parky' is? And before you start he is not a chat show host'.

'That would be Dean Parks Sergeant...do I get a Parker pen for answering correctly'!

'Full marks Constable... Go to the top of the class. Keep this bit of info under your hat Jeff. I don't want anyone scaring anyone. Especially Palma who I am sure will lead us to Parks'.

'Come on Jim we have to pass this on to the enquiry team. We are working on the dodgy booze not the rape. You know the score'.

'Indeed I do Jeff, and that is precisely why I am going to find Parks. You have no idea just how much I know the score, I am doing this for my family and NOT the job. It is after all, my fault that he escaped in the first place. There would not even be a rape investigation if I did not fuck up. So for that reason I am going to make things right'!

An uncomfortable silence filled the car for a few moments, and when it was finally broken, Hodder said 'How would you feel if something terrible happened to Hannah? Think about that and you will get an idea about how I feel. I will understand if you want to stay at arm's length. I would only ask one thing of you...Don't drop me in to the Bosses. I will happily do this on my own'.

Baxter who felt like he was being reproached for a lack of loyalty or compassion said 'Okay, but let's just keep this close to our chests...no more secrets between us. To be honest Jim, I feel as if you keep me out of the loop on too many occasions'.

'If I do Jeff its only because I don't want anything coming back to harm you...My career is nearly over. You on the other hand can go a long way in this job assuming of course that....'

'Assuming of course what'? said Baxter.

'Assuming that you get a lobotomy first'.

Hodder laughed and Baxter swore.

They made their way back to the office just in time to see 'Gee-Gee' park a C.I.D. directly outside the station door.

Hodder was still fuming with 'Gee-Gee' for the 'Jimbo' remark earlier, so he resolved to make him pay. Without telling Baxter, he obtained the spare keys for 'Gee-Gee's' car. He then hid the car in one of the covered internal wash bays in the station yard. Returning to his own car he collected the small box of broken fragments of windscreen that he had earlier obtained from the friendly scrap yard and scattered them on the road surface roughly where the driver's door would have been.

Hodder then made contact with the CCTV operator and asked him to focus on the front of the station, and tell him when 'Gee-Gee' left the station. All Hodder had to do now was to wait for 'Gee-Gee' to 'discover' that the police car had been 'stolen' and watch him panic.

As it happened he did not have to wait very long because the D.I. was now in the office allocating 'actions' to the rape enquiry team. One could always rely on 'Gee-Gee' to devise a plot to escape the office, especially if there was any danger that he may actually have to do some work.

As 'Gee-Gee' left the building, Hodder told everyone to 'convene' in the CCTV viewing suite. It was wonderful to watch. 'Gee-Gee' came out of the building, and walk to where he thought that he had remembered parking the car. He could not find it, so he checked the key fob which bore the registration number of the vehicle he 'had' been driving.

Naturally, there was no sign of it anywhere.

'Gee-Gee' scratched his head, put his hands on his hips but it was only when he saw the fragments of broken glass on the ground that he turned into a manic caricature of Basil Fawlty, hoping up and down frantically. Blind panic and rage were etched on his face.

It was brilliant, he kept looking at the key fob as if willing the car to reappear. He looked around nervously, walked to the corner, peered around it. Nothing. As he trudged back to the front door of the police station, and another potential showdown with the D.I. the CCTV operator zoomed in on his face on which a defeated, crestfallen look was etched.

For the second time that day 'Gee-Gee' had become the unwitting star of the small screen, and for the second time that day, he deserved it.

As 'Gee-Gee' turned to walk back into the police station the entire C.I.D. staff sprinted down to corridor back to the office and feigned activity as an incandescent 'Gee-Gee' walked in before silently slumping into his seat. Hodder had previously told the others that he had spoken to a friend in the control room and a few minutes later his radio crackled into life as the registration number of the 'stolen police car' was 'broadcast' with information that it had been involved in a robbery and was now being pursued the Traffic Department at high speed.

There then followed a whole series of miasmatic 'bogus incidents' involving collisions and a whole variety of 'nightmare scenarios'.

Once again, 'Gee-Gee' looked at the fob in his sweating trembling hand...the day was going from bad to worse. As his head struck his desk the entire office erupted into laughter. 'Gee-Gee' slowly lifted his 'leaden' head and stared around the room with a look of bemused bewilderment on his face.

Hodder walked over to him and dropped the spare keys on his desk. 'It, is in the wash bay...Don't you ever try to take the piss out of me again'. More laughter, more blushes.

A triumphant Hodder walked over to his desk, picked up his jacket swung it over his shoulder as if he were going for a leisurely stroll in the summer sunshine, and in a comment clearly aimed at 'Gee-Gee' said 'Come on, young Jeffery...the fight against crime never ceases' and with that they walked out of the office amidst much laughter.

'Gee-Gee' had been well and truly 'kippered', and that should keep him in his box for a while, at least.

Having earlier had his therapeutic bath time disturbed, Palma got dressed immediately after Hodder had left his flat.

He decided that he had better come up with some good news for one of his antagonists because whether he liked it or not, each was capable in his own way of destroying him. Palma also reasoned that if the cost of his survival was to throw Parks to the wolves then he would readily stand back and watch them fight over the scraps.

So, his mind was made up...he had to make some kind of progress today no matter what, but one thing he did know was that he would not be staying in his flat for a few days. Palma was known amongst his friends to be a generous host, but he was now of the opinion that he was now getting just a few too many visitors for his liking at the moment.

So, before leaving his flat, Palma packed a small rucksack with enough underwear and deodorant for a few days because he did not know if he would be sleeping rough in the interim. He put on a baseball cap though in truth, he knew that it was not the most elaborate disguise in the world.

His growing sense of paranoia made him jump at any door that slammed within the building or any strange car pulling up outside. None the less, he peeked through the curtains looking for any suspect characters who may be loitering outside the building. It looked to be clear. He meekly opened the door and peered outside only to be sprayed with pepper spray before a bag was placed over his head just before he was struck by the Taser. A partially formed thought filled his mind. If that thought had of reached maturity it would have been 'Oh no. Not again'.

Palma was not a particularly well-travelled man, but when he regained his composure he was in the back of a small panel van surrounded by two hooded men. One, 'The Voice' said 'You really are very popular David, you get so many visitors, firstly Hodder and now me. It looks to me as if you were preparing for a short break, I am sure you know just how much that would upset me. I am going to take you to meet Mr Burrows and you will pass a message on to him on my behalf do you understand'?

To his surprise Palma could speak, he was not gagged or restrained in any other way but he knew from his recent encounters with 'The Voice' and his associates that any attempt at escape would be utterly futile. Palma said 'I only know him vaguely. I'm too far down the food chain for him to take any notice of me'.

'Now, now David' said 'The Voice' 'You do yourself a grave injustice, because I know that he visited you at home last night. But he will take notice of me and the message that you will pass on will go exactly as I tell you...if not I will cut off one of your fingers for every mistake that you make. You really do have a very simple choice to make'.

'The Voice' told Palma that he would be dropped off at the end of the gated drive at Burrows home. 'There will be no need to enter the grounds as the wording of the message will be as on this piece of paper...by the way don't drop it or hide it. There is no DNA or fingerprints on it or at least there won't be until you hold it'.

'So, as I say', continued the voice, 'You will introduce yourself, smile at the CCTV cameras which will probably have audio too, and you will speak to whoever answers the intercom. Do you understand'? 'It will be useless to try to run away because my associate here will be waiting at one end of the street whilst I and my other colleague will be waiting for you to return to the van. There is no means of escape. Now take your hat off I want Mr Burrows to see exactly who is delivering this massage'.

A gloved hand then passed a typed note to Palma who was asked to read it out several times to his captors before being dropped off out of view of the cameras at the property'.

Palma was utterly terrified. He had no place to run. He simply had to do what was being demanded of him and hope that 'First Aid' was not in, or that, he would somehow understand that he was doing this under duress. Palma walked towards the gates looking nervously around as he did so. He approached the intercom and he heard the gentle whir of the motorised cameras as they picked up his movement.

He pressed the 'Call' button, noticing how his right index finger shook as he did so. 'What' came the curt 'Geordie' welcome. 'Err Hello this is David Palma is Mr Burrows in? I have a message for him'.

'What is the message? You can tell me'

'Mr Burrows I have no dispute or disagreement with you but for reasons unknown to you I want you to deliver one of your junior associates, Dean Parks to me. I will give you a telephone number on which to contact me and as an honourable man I would expect you to comply with my very reasonable demands. You do not know who I am or where I am from but believe me when I say that I will get Parks one way or the other'.

Palma read out a mobile telephone number twice before running back to the van and as he did so he could hear his grandmother's voice saying 'You're jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire our David'.

Once in the van, 'The Voice' showed his gratitude by 'Tasering' Palma.

His next clear memory was one of being kicked out of the van on Tyne Street, near the top of Naters Bank Steps. He checked his pockets found thirty pounds and decided to get that much needed 'delayed' drink from 'The Bottom Dolphin'. 'Better late than never' passed through his mind as he held the rusting handrail as he 'wobbled' his way down to the quayside.

Palma was reasonably well known in the pub, but that still did not prevent the dozen or so regulars who were huddled around the bar cradling half pints and short glasses ceasing their muffled conversation and turning around in unison to look at him.

A total stranger would have been completely fazed by this 'wild west' kind of welcome, but after a moment's silence the bar banter resumed as if he wasn't even there. A hushed but not necessarily hostile reception, this was more than likely just a knee jerk reaction, which probably occurs in every 'local' in the land. Either way, Palma was in no mood for any hostility no matter what the cause. At the bar, he ordered a double Absinthe and a pint of Stella.

After what he had been through over the last few days, he needed something to numb his senses, though in truth, the 'Taser' had made a pretty good job of that!

He greedily gulped the spirit whilst still at the bar, and ordered another before taking his 'top up' and his pint to a quiet table just around the corner from the crowd. He did not see the person sitting alone at a table beside the small raised platform which served as a stage for those local entertainers lucky enough to be booked into 'The Dolphin'. He was sitting head bowed staring at the froth on the top of the Stella, as it made its way to the bottom of the glass at breakneck speed. Suddenly, another pint of Stella was placed in front of him. As he looked up he saw a vaguely familiar young man with shocking blonde hair, but everything clicked into place when he spoke.

'Hi Dave, It's me. Parky'.

Palma was absolutely dumbstruck. If 'The Voice', 'First Aid' or even Hodder saw him talking to him they would think that they were colluding together and he would be fucked. God! He hoped that he had not been followed to the pub, but he figured that even gangsters need some time off.

Speaking in his highly recognisable tones Parks continued 'What's up mate, you look like you have seen a ghost...did you not recognise me? Do you like my new image? The clothes are a bit naff but I quite like the hair'. If Parks had any idea whatsoever, of the deep trouble he was in, he would not need to dye his hair, it would have turned white naturally.

Palma had certainly been caught off guard, and he struggled to stop himself from attacking Parks himself. After all, if Parks had not 'shopped' him to Hodder, he would not be in the deep mess in which he now found himself. He responded by pointing at the glasses on the table and said 'Just had a couple of heavy days if you know what I mean'.

The last few days had certainly been 'heavy' but nearly as heavy as Parks' immediate future may prove to be. Palma just had to figure a way to get a message to 'The Voice' or 'First Aid'. This was not borne out of any sense of loyalty, but more of a genuine desire to see his next birthday.

Standing up Palma said to Parks 'Fancy another? I may as well keep on going now that I have started'.

'Yeah. Why not don't have much on at the moment anyway'.

With that, Palma rose from his seat went to the bar and ordered another round of drinks including more Absinthe. He reasoned that if he could get Parks drunk enough then maybe he could get a message out to at least one of his tormentors thus getting the 'monkey' off his back and very firmly onto Parks'.

Palma did not stop to 'factor in' that whichever of the two gangsters got Parks first, then the other, effectively the 'loser', would probably kill him. (Palma). He was conscious that he did not have much money and at 'Dolphin' prices he was likely to run out of funds very soon. That round came and went and Parks bought the next.

As the warmth of the Absinthe and the kick of the Stella began to take effect Palma said 'Hey, Parky, don't suppose you have twenty you could lend me until tomorrow'.

'I would love to, but I'm a bit short myself. In fact, I was going to ask you if you had any more gear to sell, you know just to 'keep the wolf from the door'.

Though dimmed by alcohol Palma lied, and in a thinly veiled attempt to find out where Parks was staying he said 'Yeah. Just got some more delivered. Where do you want it delivered to'?

This obviously took Parks by surprise who remained silent for a few seconds before saying 'Well, actually I'm between places at the moment. And, I'm err, trying to keep a low profile, if you know what I mean'.

Palma knew exactly what he meant, but nonetheless he said 'What's up'?

Leaning forward, though judging by the noise coming from the bar it was highly unlikely that anyone would hear him, Parks said 'The coppers are after me. I did a runner from them so I've got to keep my head down'.

'Well, how you gonna sell the stuff if you can't get out and about'?

'That's no prob. I've got a couple of 'plonkies' who do it for me'.

Palma felt disinclined to tell Parks that his 'sales team' was somewhat depleted and now actually had a 'vacancy'. Sensing desperation on the part of Parks, Palma who wanted to exact his own revenge continued by saying 'Do you want the stuff or not'?

Parks said 'I can pick it up if I can arrange a lift'. Palma 'beat him off at the pass' saying (of his seized van) 'My van is out of commission...are you still on the same number because I will see what I can arrange'.

Parks then pulled out a cheap disposable mobile, and read out a number to Palma who entered in into the 'contacts' upon his own phone. He then rang the number to confirm that it was in fact correct.

It was. At least he now had the means to contact Parks and more importantly, information for 'The Voice', 'First Aid' and Hodder, in fact one or all of them.

They arranged to meet at Palma's loft at Friarsdene Farm at 10.30am the following day, where Parks expected to collect more 'dodgy hooch', whilst Palma on the other hand just expected Parks to be 'collected'.

Palma advised Parks to park whatever vehicle he was going to bring with him, quite unknowingly, in the same layby that Hodder and Baxter had parked in just a few days earlier, and to approach the buildings on foot.

Palma inwardly congratulated himself on his devious plan. Firstly, it kept the number of witnesses down to a minimum, and secondly, he could double cross Parks with impunity. He secretly liked this game of 'cat and mouse' as long as he was not the 'mouse', but he could still not rid himself of the nagging feeling that he too may be in danger of being double crossed by any number of people including Parks.

This small time crook knew that he was way out of his league and that he was swimming with the 'Big Fish'. But, these were not just any old 'Big Fish' these were 'Huge Fucking Piranhas'! Drinks finished, Parks made to leave and Palma said 'Where you off to now'?

Parks said 'Going to get my head down...with any luck I will have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow'. 'I hope so' thought Palma before saying 'I'm just off to the bog. Back in a minute'. When he got back to the bar Parks was gone. Palma decided to remind himself to forget that bit of the encounter when he was telling whichever one of his 'persecutors' he spoke to first.

Palma plodded his way home along the North Groyne, as the first raindrops began to fall. He could not have been aware that if only he had not went to the toilet in the 'Dolphin', then he would have passed Collingwood's Monument just in time to see Parks entering the base of the monument with his Egg Fu Yung. And if he had have seen him, it would have saved him a whole lot of trouble.

'Gee-Gee' was still licking his wounds as Hodder took a call from Grace on his mobile. 'Jim. Can you come home please? Lauren is really upset. We have bought her a new laptop and she is really upset'.

'What's wrong? Is it faulty or something'?

'No nothing like that...can you just come home she really is very upset'.

'Okay can you give me ten minutes to clear up what I'm doing and I will be with you as soon as I can'. He put his phone away. Puzzled and troubled he knew that it would not be good news.

Twenty minutes later, he walked through the front door bracing himself for the unknown. He found Grace and Lauren in the kitchen fresh packaging spread out over the work surfaces. On the breakfast bar stood a gleaming new Sony Vaio laptop. The thought of the cost filled him with dread but not as much as the sight of Lauren's tear stained swollen eyes.

'What's wrong'?

Lauren pointed at the screen and simply said 'This'.

Hodder was barely computer literate, and was most certainly not a user of Facebook. However, he did possess the ability to read, and he was appalled to see the vile messages sent to Lauren from her so called 'friends'. Each one of them roundly condemned her for her 'cruel and unnecessary' attacks upon Katy following her ordeal at the house.

Scrolling back through the 'posts' Hodder saw a large number of equally appalling and abhorrent postings attributed to Lauren had been the cause of this backlash. It did not take a Detective of Hodder's experience to know that whoever now had Lauren's stolen laptop was responsible for heaping additional distress not only on Katy and by default Bostock, but also Lauren and by default Hodder too.

The sooner that he could get his hands on Parks the sooner this could be put to bed. Hodder began to reassure Lauren and Grace that her friends would not believe that she was responsible for these postings. He told her that she should password protect her new machine, set up a new account and contact all of her 'friends' explaining that her machine had been stolen and that these were 'rogue' postings.

Lauren told him that this practice was known as being 'Fraped'...'There is a whole new language out there that I will never understand' thought Hodder. His confidence drained even further when he moved some bubble wrap and saw a manila envelope with familiar handwriting upon it addressed to Lauren. He palmed it without comment and recognised the contents by touch. He did not have to see what was inside to know that the envelope contained a pack of Love Heart sweets.

'It is bad enough that he is having a go at me but now my daughter on two fronts' thought Hodder. Wholly unconvinced in his role as I.T. Consultant, but doubly convinced in his role as avenging father, Hodder sought to reassure Lauren that her friends would fully understand what had happened. To convince her of this, he pointed out the nature of her 'pre-theft' postings, they were a bit on the cheeky/racy side but otherwise harmless.

Hodder thought it prudent not to enquire into the cost of the new laptop because it would go some way to 'demolishing' his much sought after 'new image' as doting husband and father.

Lauren seemed to accept the logic behind this explanation, and when he explained that he was only a phone call away, he was 'allowed' to return to work without any of the expected protests. Love Hearts in his pocket and revenge in his heart, Hodder decided that it was time to tell Ben Heath about the 'postings' on Facebook. It may just be possible that the Technical Support Unit or the Economic Crime Unit may have tools at their disposal to trace Parks via the internet.

Hodder was convinced that Parks was behind this. It chimed perfectly with his controlling and manipulative personality, but more importantly, who else would have an interest in 'turning the screw' on Hodder in this way. Back at the office, Hodder went directly to see Heath. After the usual convivial greeting, minus, on this occasion, coffee and biscuits, Hodder brought Heath up to date with the postings.

However, Ben Heath, mindful that the D.I. was still uber-sensitive following the incident with the 'Sunderland File' suggested that it would be best to filter this new information through the incident room rather than risk the wrath of the D.I. It seemed a sensible course of action. Rather than antagonising an already antagonised soul it was better to be seen to at least, to be playing by the rules. After leaving the office and walking along the corridor, the D.I. called out to Hodder...'What did you want with the D.C.I.'?

Taken aback, Hodder said 'Well, actually it was personal'. The D.I. responded by saying 'I am your immediate supervisor. Everything should come through me'. Getting back into his stride, and sensing a forthcoming battle Hodder said 'I said it was a personal matter. Not a matter for personnel'. The D.I.'s faced flushed. He had had been outflanked again and he did not like it one bit.

The D.I. stormed off in one direction Hodder sauntered in the other sensing that this was not over by a long shot. However, back in the office Hodder submitted the Facebook information to the incident room knowing that there were a few twists and turns to go before this was all over.

With nervous anticipation almost approaching panic, Palma slid the key in the lock. No obvious signs of life inside, so, he entered his flat. He didn't even have time to close the door before he was struck so hard in the face that he felt one of his incisors collapse inwards under the force.

He fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, instinctively rolling into the foetal position and covering his face and head against the expected onslaught. It didn't come. Instead, he saw two masked men, obviously 'The Voice' and one of his associates laying into 'Big Neil' who had obviously been lying in wait for him inside the flat.

Paradoxically, he was strangely relieved to see 'The Voice' and Co, who had either followed him into the building or had been concealed in one of the communal areas, waiting for him to return. However, he knew that they had come not to 'rescue' him but to 'claim' him. Twice in one day! Oh No! Things could only get worse from this point onwards.

With one word 'The Voice' pointed to the sofa and said 'SIT'. Resistance was utterly pointless as he watched the two masked men truss up and gag 'Big Neil' with all the skill, speed and dexterity of a close up magician. They were clearly very well practiced in the dark arts of the underworld.

Masked man number two checked the corridor outside the flat. The entire building was deathly quiet. Palma hoped that this was not an omen. 'The Voice' told Palma to assist his associate to manhandle 'Big Neil' downstairs, where not unexpectedly, he found the same panel van in which he had been earlier, waiting outside.

All three 'bad guys', plus the one 'not so quite bad guy', Palma, got into the rear of the van. They drove for about thirty minutes, and when they did stop the only thing Palma could conclude was that they were not at 'the lake' because the journey had not been long enough and the road surface was even throughout.

'The Voice' said 'Let's get him out'. As Palma's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realised that they were outside 'First Aid's' home at Darras Hall. Under the instruction of 'The Voice' all three of them dragged the barely conscious hard man over to the wrought iron gates, where 'The Voice' tied him to the ironwork using long cable ties, similar to the type used by the police in public order situations.

'Big Neil' was unable to make any sounds other than short grunts and groans that were just loud enough to drown out the movement of the motorised cameras. 'Now' said 'The Voice' speaking to Palma 'Press the intercom and tell Mr Burrows that you have a 'delivery' for him'. Palma simply had no choice, so, he did as he was told as the other two men stood in the shadows.

A familiar gruff 'What' emitted from the intercom as a clearly under rehearsed but overly nervous Palma, in full view of all of the CCTV cameras repeated the mantra.

Inside the property, and looking at a bank of CCTV monitoring screens, Burrows who was alone, spoke aloud as he looked at 'Big Neil's' bruised and battered face as his head hung limply on his chest. His arms level at shoulder height, crucifixion style...'No one does this to me. Not in this town anyway'. Burrows pressed the intercom microphone button in front of him and uttered three simple three words:

'This is war'.

Having heard the response, all three men, including the only who one was identifiable, Palma, got in the van. As it sped away, it occurred to Palma that he 'was in it up to his neck' with a person whom he did not know, could not trust, and who had once again, demonstrated his ruthlessness.

He resolved that if he lived through this night, then he was going to contact Hodder whom he now concluded provided the only realistic prospect of survival for him.

'The Voice' seemed to be possessed of 'advanced mind reading skills' as he said to Palma 'You had better give me your phone. I don't want you speaking to anyone who may get you into trouble'.

Some deep seated primeval survival instinct seemed to spring to the surface, and when Palma said 'I spoke to Parks today...he wants to meet up with me but, I need to keep my phone...I will tell you the second that he calls'.

'I know you will David...what will I do if you try to double cross me'?

'I daren't think about that'

'Oh please do' said 'The Voice' but if you do need reminding make no mistake...'I will kill you...are we clear'.

'Yes we are'.

'You had better be' said 'The Voice' 'You do know that we will be watching you. Do you fully understand the rules'?

'Parks is very nervous. He knows that the police are after him. He has no idea that you are too. He is going to contact me. I have convinced him that I have some more booze to sell and he is desperate for the money. I have no idea where he is at the moment. If I did I would tell you to get this over and done with'.

There must have been something in Palma's pleading tone that resonated with the gangster who said 'Okay David, you can stay in your flat tonight and you can keep your phone. How does that sound to you'?

'Thank you. I won't let you down'.

'I know you won't David, because my associate here will be spending the night with you in your flat and he will tell me if Parks contacts you'.

Beneath the ski mask 'The Voice's' associate grimaced, swore inwardly, but otherwise showed no outward signs of dissent, thus proving that the lot of a gangster is not always a happy one. A short while later, the van stopped the rear doors were opened and Palma was ordered to ensure that the way was clear for the masked man to enter his flat. Palma did as he was told, he had to, he had no room for manoeuvre, besides, he knew only too well, the consequences of failure.

It was a surreal experience having a house guest whose steroid assisted frame was the only clue to his appearance. A guest, whose only noise was to laugh into his mask, at the sitcom on the television. This felt to Palma like a very black episode of Top Gear where a perfect negative of 'The Stig' was sitting in his home.

The same guest who when offered coffee, nodded and who held up two fingers when it came to 'sugar time'. The same guest, put the empty coffee cup into his pocket to avoid leaving any DNA in the building.

After an interminable two hours, there was a knock at the door. Palma's eyes darted over to 'his guest' who simply raised both hands in a gesture which suggested 'Who is that'? Palma did not have a clue as to who may be at the door, but whispered to the other man 'It might be him', but what he really meant was 'I might just get a chance to do a runner'. Again he whispered as the caller rapped on the door again 'Can I answer it'?

The other man nodded, held a single upright finger to his lips to indicate silence and walked behind the front door before nodding to Palma to open it. As soon as the door was open Hodder and Baxter burst in pushing Palma into the small hallway before slamming the door closed.

Suddenly the muscle bound thug was on top of Hodder, his weight pinning him to the ground. Baxter laid into him with his fists causing him to fall sideways and onto the floor smashing a small decorative table and vase as he did so. The strength of the man, whether it was gained by training or by a more chemical based strategy was quite considerable, but Baxter managed to force him onto his back and after a number of attempts slip a 'quick cuff' onto his left wrist.

The man pulled his wrist back wrenching the cuff from Baxter's grip the 'loose' cuff catching him just above the left eye. This really infuriated the normally mild mannered Baxter who found resources of strength from deep within and he struggled on manfully to retrain his adversary.

Hodder quickly regained his composure, and getting to his feet kicked the man as hard as he could between the legs, so much so that the man was 'shunted' along the carpet for a few inches. Giant or not, it seemed to do the trick. Baxter then forced him over onto his front and with Hodder's assistance he grappled the 'cuffed wrist' behind him and forcing the man's face into the carpet using his knee, they managed to secure the right wrist in the 'other cuff'.

Hodder and Baxter sat back panting on the floor blocking the door. Palma just stood there open mouthed, bouncing from foot to foot. Any escape that he had planned was thwarted for the time being at least. After a few moments, Hodder removed the man's mask and instantly recognised him as the young black thug that he had seen with Bostock at North Shields Police Station when the 'reward offer' was made.

Baxter, who was more animated than Hodder had ever seen him before, was using a tone that even Hodder found intimidating said to the man, 'Who the fuck are you'? The man did not reply and continued with his silent vigil.

As Baxter called for transport, Hodder told the man that he was under arrest for unlawful imprisonment...but being the obvious 'pro' that he was, he probably knew that anyway. Hodder left Baxter sitting on the man, he approached Palma and sarcastically said. 'Hey, thanks for the phone call...just what is going on here'?

Palma nodded with his head to the far side of the living room. Hodder followed. Palma then gave Hodder the 'full low down' on the events of the day, including the trip to Darras Hall to 'return 'Big Neil' to sender', his chance meeting with Parks, and the planned meeting at Friardene Farm in the morning.

Hodder took out his (replacement) cuffs and quietly told Palma to protest 'for cosmetic reasons' because he wanted Bostock's man to think that Palma too, was being arrested. He wasn't, but he would be going to the police station as well...it would certainly be safer than his flat.

In response to Baxter's call some uniform officers arrived at the scene and were delighted when Bostock's man began to struggle again. There was nothing they liked better than a good old bit of rough and tumble. The opportunity to use a baton or pepper spray really got the adrenalin pumping and 'set you up' for the rest of the shift. So, eventually, after some ritual 'toing and froing, common sense was restored and the prisoner was hauled off to the nick... a great start to the shift for all concerned apart from the prisoner that is.

Palma on the other hand, was taken in by Hodder and Baxter. He was kept in the car as the two Police Officers discussed tactics. It was agreed that for strategic reasons Baxter should be the arresting officer for the masked thug because Hodder expected to be contacted by Bostock very soon, and he wanted to assure him that he was not dealing with the case.

Despite saying nothing the man was 'processed' and detained. Palma was entered in the Voluntary Attenders Register though in reality that was just another devious strategy on the part of Hodder to prevent him leaving the police station, a kind of house arrest at the police station.

Going through Bostock's man's property, Hodder was keen to examine his mobile phone. It was a goldmine, and from it he got Bostock's number, and a whole raft of information that would be of immense interest to Greater Manchester Police. But, they could wait.

By far the most revealing contact was 'Babe'...clearly the love interest of the recently incarcerated heavy. Hodder rang it. It was answered immediately with a cheery 'Hello big boy, are you missing me'?

Hodder said to the recipient 'Hello. I'm sorry for bothering you, but I have just found this phone do you know who owns it'?

'Oh yes' said the person on the 'other end' 'It belongs to my partner. He is working on Tyneside. He is staying at the Village Hotel, do you know it'.

'Yes I do, what's his name'? said Hodder 'I would like to return it'.

'Neville Thompson...Oh would you be kind enough to ask him to call Malcolm when you see him'.

'No problem' said Hodder and as the call ended he burst into uncontrolled laughter. Baxter was looking puzzled, keen to get in on the joke. After calming down and wiping away streams of tears Hodder said 'He is called Neville Thompson and that was his boyfriend Malcolm'.

Cue.

More laughter.

More tears.

It took quite some time for the two Detectives to compose themselves, but when they had sufficiently recovered, they made their way to the custody suite where they informed the Custody Officer that they had discovered the identity of their 'errant guest'. Taking the cell keys they opened the door and Baxter was allowed the pleasure of saying 'Come on Neville...let's go and meet the nice Custody Officer. Oh, by the way can you call Malcolm when you get the chance...but I have a feeling that that may not be for some considerable time'.

The anger in Thompson's eyes was palpable...the catamite was well and truly out the bag.

Then in a voice that was reminiscent of a Mancunian Alan Carr, Thompson said 'Was he upset'? 'We didn't tell him you were here', said Baxter whilst at the same time thinking 'No wonder Bostock doesn't let you speak...talk about bursting a bubble'!

Thompson provided only scant details and was returned to his cell. This was justified on the grounds that Hodder and Baxter could legitimately claim that they were still actively investigating the offence for which he was arrested. They did after all, have Palma to speak to, who under the circumstances, would cooperate, otherwise he would be thrown out of the nick and effectively 'thrown to the dogs.

Palma who was being 'accommodated' in a detention room had a look of real fear upon his face when Hodder and Baxter entered. Hodder was keen to learn as much as possible about the 'working practices' of Bostock and when he learnt about the 'field trip' to 'the lake' he realised that Bostock would stop at nothing to exact revenge upon Parks.

Ironically, though Hodder despised Parks and all that he stood for, he did feel that he too, deserved the protection of the police even though to secure that he would effectively have to surrender and expect a substantial custodial sentence for his outstanding offences. But, knowing Parks as he did, Hodder suspected that he would just take his chances.

'Have you told him about 'The Voice'? said Hodder.

'No. It was my plan to lure him to the farm and let you arrest him' (he lied)

'Pull the other one Davy...you know that the worst thing I will do to you is send you to prison. 'The Voice' (Hodder did not name him), on the other hand, whether you help him or not, is going to kill you. He will not leave any trace that leads back to him and you my friend, are eminently traceable. You are expendable, merely a minor inconvenience and when you have outlived your usefulness...' Hodder then let the silence speak for itself before he 'clicked' his thumb and middle finger to demonstrate to Palma just how precarious his position really was.

It certainly did the trick, as both Hodder and Baxter watched the reality of his situation finally dawn on Palma who said 'What should I do'?

'That David, is a matter for you, your conscience and your maker, but I do have a suggestion'.

'Go on' said Palma.

'My first suggestion would be that you stay here. You will be safe, and you should arrange to meet Parks at the farm as planned. When he turns up we take him out...my second suggestion is that you return home and wait to be systematically torn limb from limb by 'The Voice'. My third suggestion is that you return home and wait for 'First Aid' to pop round for a friendly chat. Fourthly, you could leave here and just take your chances, but my guess would be that you would not make it to the end of the street. However, it strikes me that either way you will not collect your old age pension...yeah, all things considered that just about covers most of the bases...have you got any suggestions Jeff'?

If one thing overrides everything in the police service, it is that no matter how serious the situation, you can always garner a laugh, usually at someone else's expense, somewhere along the line. So, with this in mind Baxter helpfully added, 'We could always let young Davy here share a cell with Neville for the night, he looked a little bit on the lonely side to me'.

A look of abject horror spread across Palmas face 'No. No way he will fucking kill me'!

Baxter laughed and responded 'Well, at least one of those things will certainly happen'.

It was decided not surprisingly, that Parks would remain at the police station under the guise of it being a 'Place of Safety'. Under the supervision of Hodder, Palma called Parks and arrangements made for 10.30am the following morning at the farm. His telephone was then confiscated.

Though the day was 'getting on', Hodder felt that in the aftermath of 'Wrought Iron Gate-gate' that it would be worth another trip to Darras Hall to stir up 'First Aid' once again.

Baxter had other things planned, but as Hodder helpfully said 'If this goes wrong you will be spending a lot of time with Hannah anyway... probably as her patient'!

Hodder was in reasonably good spirits during the drive to Burrows' home. He knew that especially after 'the declaration of war', that Bostock's spell on Tyneside was likely to be a short lived one, albeit a bloody and violent one. Hodder as always, preferred to know where he stood, and he was all in favour of preserving the status quo.

Same old buzzer, same old whir of the motorised cameras, and the same old 'What'.

'Hello. This is Detective Sergeant Hodder again. Is Mr Burrows available please'?

'Go away'.

'When will he be available'? pressed Hodder.

'You will have to make an appointment with his solicitor' said 'Mr What'.

'And who may that be'? said Hodder'.

'Francis Randall-Ord of Fagen Becker and Wendell'. With that the intercom went dead. Baxter and Hodder just looked at each other in utter disbelief. So that was why Randall-Ord turned out for the interview when Palma was arrested. He was clearly looking after Burrows' business interests and was more than likely was on his payroll.

A small world indeed.

Hodder wanted to break out the 'hats and the hooters' as an internal celebration erupted. He now knew that the voice recording of Randall-Ord giving him information about Parks had now taken on a whole new significance. It made him smile. At this point in time, the lyrics to 'Fun, Fun, Fun' by 'The Beach Boys' filled his head. He was only vaguely aware of Baxter staring at him as he grinned like a deranged idiot.

Once back in the office, there was a message for Hodder to call Francis Randall-Ord. 'That was quick' thought Hodder as he dialled the number provided. The dulcet tones of Randall-Ord answered 'Oh hello Sergeant, how nice of you to call some promptly. Would it be possible to meet with you to discuss my client'?

'When would you like to come in Mr Randall-Ord'?

'I was rather hoping that we meet somewhere rather...eh hmm, less formal than the err, police station...would the 'Quay Taphouse' meet with your approval'? Fearing that this was becoming too much of a habit, especially when he did not want to go home smelling of alcohol, Hodder reluctantly agreed to meet Randall-Ord in fifteen minutes.

Hodder asked Baxter to interview Palma on tape, so to form the basis of a witness statement and then ordered him to indulge in vigorous sexual activity with Hannah. Needless to say, there were no objections raised, especially to the second set of instructions. On a more serious note, Hodder reminded Baxter to 'Clear your desk. Remember there is a desk search tomorrow. So, get rid of anything dodgy. I have done mine already'.

Desk searches are a strange phenomenon and largely unknown outside the police service. They are designed to 'trap' officers who retain property and documents which to put it bluntly that they should not have. Hodder had never fallen foul of a desk search and did not intend to start now in the twilight of his career, but he felt obliged to remind Baxter to 'watch his back'.

Walking into the 'Taphouse' the jovial man Cliff, was behind the bar and was as jovial as ever. The welcome was humorously sincere and he pointed to a table in the corner and said 'He is over there...he has a drink for you already'.

Walking over Hodder 'flirted' with the idea that he was going to be offered a bribe...was 'First Aid' really so worried that he was going to try to 'buy him off'.

Looking up, a very worried Randall-Ord said 'Thank you for coming at such short notice'.

Hodder thanked him for the Ruddles and was about to take his first mouthful when Randall-Ord produced a packet of Love Heart sweets from his pocket.

'How did he know'? asked Randall-Ord.

Hodder put his drink down, mindful that his hand was mildly trembling. He had been completely wrong footed, he had actually thought that he was coming to discuss Burrows. As it was a cogent answer failed to materialise.

However, what did occur to him was that there is no situation that a Police Officer can't make worse.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Walking back into the office, Baxter was startled to see 'Gee-Gee' going through the open top drawer of Hodder's desk. As he looked up, abject horror spread across 'Gee-Gee's' face as he attempted to conceal a clear evidence bag in his trouser pocket.

'What are you doing'? said Baxter in a tone which suggested that he was in no mood for frivolity. 'Err nothing'. With that Baxter walked over to the drawer and saw that there were at least one hundred small round white tablets that he immediately recognised as Ecstasy, lying amongst the spare pens, note pads and 'other regular residents' of a busy office desk.

'What are you hiding in your pocket'?

'Nothing' said the still startled 'Gee-Gee'.

'You had better come up with something better than that because I will knock your fucking head off right here and now. Give me the 'Gear''.

'Gee-Gee' silently reached into his pocket and handed Baxter the evidence bag. That too, contained 'E's'. 'Gee-Gee's' head dropped as Baxter said 'What is this all about...what has he ever done to you that most other people haven't...why are you singling him out'?

'It's not me' said 'Gee-Gee'.

'Well, who the fuck is it'? I don't see anyone else in this room do you'? spat out the normally moderate Baxter.

'It's the D.I. He is after him. He forced me to do it. I already have one foot out of the door. Please don't tell Hodder'.

'I should fucking well lock you up you corrupt little twat...Now, get out of my sight but remember this...if you ever cross Hodder or me again you will pay for it. You can explain to the D.I. why you couldn't even complete a put up job in your own fucking office'.

'Gee-Gee' stood in front of Baxter and quietly said 'Jeff, please don't tell the other lads I will never be able to hold my head up again'.

Baxter did not let him finish... 'It's all a bit late to worry about what people think about you now...you have sold your soul. You are no better than the scum locked up at the end of the corridor...I will not tell you again...FUCK OFF'!

With that, 'Gee-Gee' scuttled out of the office, the day ending pretty much as it had begun for him...on a low.

Baxter double checked first, Hodder's, and then his own desk. He gave them the all clear. He then put a narrow piece of sellotape down the inside edge of each drawer. If the tape seals were broken when they returned to work in the morning he would know that the desks had been tampered with. There would have been little point in locking the drawers...they would have just been forced during the 'desk search'.

As a parting gesture and knowing that 'Gee-Gee' was on the 'late shift' the following day, Baxter liberally sprinkled the 'E's' into the top drawer of 'Gee-Gee's' desk, thinking....'He can hardly complain about me, considering what I have just caught him doing'. Those drawers too, were given the 'sellotape treatment'.

'Checkmate'! Maybe his dilatory ways were finally catching up with 'Gee-Gee'. 'If the D.I. really wants to get rid of 'Gee-Gee' he now has all the evidence he needs' thought Baxter, but he suspected that that would not happen because the D.I. had neither the balls nor the cunning to do his own dirty work.

Could it be that the cynicism that Hodder so liberally and regularly shared with Baxter was beginning to rub off on him, or could it be that Hodder actually held a realistic point of view garnered over years of infighting and backstabbing. Was it not enough, he wondered that they had to contend with all of the 'external' problems without inventing a whole plethora of internal confrontations?

Office politics? You can keep it...perhaps Hodder was correct after all. Not to worry thought Baxter...'Tomorrow is another day....tomorrow is another crisis'. One quick phone call later, his spirits were lifted, and it was clear to Baxter that a certain nubile young Staff Nurse of his acquaintance, was on a slow burn and warming up the sheets...all good things come to those who wait.

He turned off the office lights and left.

Bostock's night, on the other hand, was not looking quite so encouraging. He was furious...'Why isn't Nev answering his phone?...I have a bad feeling about this Tiny'. 'Tiny' was the second of the hired muscle that he had brought with him from Manchester to help him deal with the matters 'Up North'.

'Come on...we're going over to Palmas place'. 'Tiny' so often a wholly unimaginative name given to people who patently were not 'Tiny', may in this instance have had some relevance. However, the name may have had more to do with his mental capacity, or clear lack of it, than any reverse sense of humour regarding his physical stature. Without a murmur of dissent, even though he had just completed a new level on 'Call of Duty Black Ops 2', 'Tiny' simply 'saved' the game and gamely drove to Tynemouth.

There was no answer at the flat, so, 'Tiny' did what 'Tiny' does best, and he 'stoved' the door in. Once inside, there was clear evidence of a struggle, but more importantly, there was no sign of Neville or Palma. Neville was expendable, Palma on the other hand, held the key to Bostock's success or otherwise on Tyneside. It was important to Bostock that he held onto Palma, at least until he had outlived his usefulness.

He was furious and he kicked himself for allowing Palma to stay at his flat that night. There were only two people who could have done this. Burrows or Hodder. Either way, Bostock was determined to get to the bottom of the matter and exact swift and compelling revenge. He then rang the number that Hodder had given to him. No reply was the answer. Bostock 'toyed' with the idea of going To Burrows' home again, but concluded that after the 'declaration of war', that Burrows was probably getting some 'troops' together for an inevitable 'showdown'.

Self-praise is no recommendation, but Bostock considered himself to be a serious and forceful criminal who had stayed at the top of his particular tree longer than most. This was not the first time that he had faced a difficult and perplexing dilemma and history would show that he had always come out on top in the past. Having given the situation some serious consideration, Bostock decided to 'keep his powder dry' and return to 'The Village Hotel' where he would collect his belongings.

Once there, he left the hotel without checking out there was after all, little point in advertising the fact that he was on the move. Additionally, he was booked in under a false name so, that unless his adversaries had advance information he was well ahead of the game and he intended to keep things that way. Bostock also knew that there were plenty of budget hotels and guest houses in the Whitley Bay area of North Tyneside, where he and 'Tiny' could stay without drawing any unnecessary attention to themselves.

Other major considerations were that if the police did have Neville, then it was highly likely that they would eventually search his room which he shared with 'Tiny', and he reasoned that it would be prudent not to be around when that happened. There was little point in handing things to the police on a plate. However, if Burrows had 'Nev' then the 'encounter' would be so much different therefore, it would be better to be at least one step ahead of him.

Bostock had no time for the police, but at least they did play the game by some form of rules whereas Burrows' retribution would be just that. Swift and violent. And so it was that Bostock and 'Tiny' booked into separate guest houses next to each other on North Parade, Whitley Bay, an anonymous street 'home from home' to visiting contractors, asylum seekers and D.W.P. dependants.

The Infiniti was parked on the first floor of the new 'one floor multi-story car park' adjacent to the town's new shopping centre, whilst the van which blended in with the myriad of other similar vehicles was parked outside 'Tiny's' 'flop'.

Bostock was intrigued to see who may surface first...the police or Burrows, and whoever did show up first would determine his course of action. Bostock inwardly hoped that it would be Burrows because he knew that the only 'rules of engagement' were that there were no rules. Besides, no matter what his reputation he knew that he could not defeat the resources of an entire police force. He also knew that as he was not playing on 'home soil' and as such he was at somewhat of a disadvantage.

The Mancunian gangster felt very isolated. To his 'troops', he always strived to appear to be decisive and determined, with a clear vision about what he wanted to achieve, and how he was going to achieve it. He rarely consulted with anyone and as he looked at 'Tiny', he fully understood why that was the case.

There was nothing to do now but to sit and wait, and if he needed reinforcements then he would arrange that in the morning. So, it was off to bed for Bostock and it was back to the battlefield for 'Tiny'...probably a wise move on his part because he may just need to rely on his combative skills in the near future.

'So', said Randall-Ord, staring at Hodder, 'I will repeat how did Parks find out that I had spoken to you?...You know as well as I do, that he uses Love Heart sweets as his calling card, usually as an indication that he has done something or is about to do something'. With that, Hodder reached into his jacket pocket and placed a further packet of Love Hearts on the table in front of Randall-Ord. As a look of incredulity spread across his face it emphasised his hound dog 'chops' as he sat open mouthed staring at the Detective.

Finally, Hodder said 'I remember saying to you recently that 'we are all in this together', well, we are now. Not only that, he is targeting my daughter too, and you think that you have it rough'. With that, Hodder got up and went to the bar. This had more to let Randall-Ord savour the moment, than the need to get more drinks because he really was not in a celebratory mood.

'Big Cliff' had obviously sensed that the meeting between policeman and solicitor was to say the least 'tense', and may not be entirely of a social nature. On this occasion, he served efficiently, but without the usual jocular remarks. Clearly, he was a keen student of the human condition, sensing just what was needed to be said and more importantly, when things should not be said.

Returning to the table, the previous look upon Randall-Ord's face had been replaced by one of fear...this was way out of his league. He may deal with criminals of all persuasions on a daily basis, but for him to actually be the focus of attention of a particularly disturbed one, seemed to concentrate his mind. Whispering to Hodder he said 'What are we to do'?

'I know what I'm going to do' said Hodder.

'And what would that be'? said Randall-Ord.

Hodder replied 'You are his legal representative. Do you really expect me to confide in you'?

'As you said' continued Randall-Ord 'We are in this together'.

'It's interesting how you are now keen to form an alliance with me, and therefore by default with the police, when you feel intimidated. This sounds very much like a marriage of convenience to me. What I do I get out of this cosy arrangement'?

'I will give you Parks'

'He's hardly yours to give, and bear in mind that it is he who is causing you so much distress I hardly think that you are in a position to deliver on that particular front'. Knowing where he wanted to lead the conversation Hodder continued 'What else do you have to bargain with'?

Randall-Ord looked genuinely puzzled and after a faltering start said 'Wh Wh What do you mean'?

Hodder had him on the rack and boy, did this feel good, and after letting the tension rise he continued 'Not what...I was thinking more of a 'Who'.

If brain cells were made of a metal, the clatter of the cogs turning would have been deafening or, was that thought Hodder, the sound of yet another 'penny dropping'.

Hodder said 'I know who you work for or would it be accurate to say I know who your paymaster is...it should have been obvious to me before. Mr Burrows will be calling you soon, shortly after I arrest him. Be warned that when I casually mention to him that not only are you trying to set up deals with me, but also, and here's the rub, that I recently registered you as police informant that he will probably not only dispense with your services but more than likely dispense with you per se'.

Randall-Ord said 'This is unethical I should...'

'You should what?...tell him yourself, report me...go ahead but first I would advise you to listen to this'.

Hodder then took out the digital recorder that had served him so well in the past and which until two seconds earlier had been recording the entire conversation. Hodder located the 'relevant' sound file and watched Randall-Ord's face contort with pain as he listened to himself 'grass up' Dean Parks'.

Confidence at an all-time high Hodder said 'Now Francis, I hope you don't mind me calling you that, the reason you have received 'sweeties' from Parks is that he has raped again. Only this time it was too close to home. My home in fact! Add to that that he stole my daughter's laptop which unfortunately for you contained a backup of the file that you have just heard. So, yes...we are in this together'.

As if treading on egg shells Randall-Ord said 'What do you propose doing'?

Sensing a strong wind behind him Hodder said 'Well that rather depends upon you I have no desire to harm you. But rest assured that Burrows and to a lesser extent Parks will harm you. The ball as they say Francis is 'very much in your court'...here is my number. Call me tomorrow. I have a distressed wife and daughter to look after'.

Hodder left and returned home via the custody suite where as a matter of courtesy, he explained the progress of the enquiry and suggested that Neville may benefit from a good night's sleep.

That night, Hodder (and family), Baxter (and nurse) fell into the 'Slept Well Category'.

That night, Randall-Ord, Burrows, Bostock, Thompson (plus Malcolm), Palma, Parks and 'Gee-Gee' all fell into 'Slept Badly Category'. 'Tiny' was not troubled by such weighty, worldly matters, but that was hardly surprising because he found warfare particularly taxing, but the good news was that he had completed another level on 'Call of Duty'.

Burrows would not have batted an eyelid if any of his foot soldiers other than 'Big Neil' had taken such a beating. It was after all an occupational hazard which many accepted, but Burrows had a level of trust in 'Big Neil' that he did not extend to the others, and he often used him as his 'enforcer' to keep the other plebs in line. So, that evening, Burrows was troubled by a number of factors namely that: He felt insulted that someone should do this to 'Big Neil' and therefore by proxy to him. Furthermore, the fact that they had taken the 'battle' to his own front door added further insult to 'Big Neil's injury.

But of greater concern to him was just who was behind this action and exactly what was Palma doing with them. He knew Palma well enough to know that he was, largely borne out of fear, loyal to him, so, he figured something was amiss, but he didn't know what.

So, whilst nursing a large tumbler of 'Cragganmore Scotch Whiskey' he decided to enlist the services of his legal representative Francis Randall-Ord. Sorting out difficult and unforeseen problems was after all, one of the main reasons why he kept him on a monthly retainer. 'Well', thought Burrows, 'You are going to have to earn your corn now and put up some legal barriers', (by which he meant an alibi) so I can concentrate on what I do best...cracking skulls! So, Burrows made a call to a number that only he rang and that only Randall-Ord answered.

Lying in a crumpled heap in his king size bed in his king size converted barn, Randall-Ord heard the phone ring. Although the conversation that he had had with Hodder was still fresh in his mind, the last person he wanted to speak to right now was Burrows. However, he also knew that Burrows only rang in an emergency. He also knew that if he didn't answer a couple of heavies would be despatched to deliver him unto their master. Reasoning that the 'line of least resistance' was the best policy, he reluctantly answered the phone.

So, with his mind heavy with the additional alcohol that he had consumed since arriving home, he answered...'What took you so fucking long'?

'I was in the shower' he lied

'Well, that's good. You should be feeling refreshed...I have a problem. Get yourself over here now'!

'I've been to a dinner party. I've been drinking' he half lied.

'Are you pissed'?

'Of course not' he said and feeling drunkenly confident added 'Gentlemen do not get pissed'.

'That's good news. One of the lads will be over to collect you soon. Be ready'. With that, the line went dead.

For the umpteenth time that day panic settled like a dark cloud over Randall-Ord, and after pointlessly pacing the room, he rang Hodder's number. A gruff 'Hodder' was the single word greeting. 'It's me...its Francis can you talk'?

'I'm in bed this had better be good. I've got an early start'.

'Have you spoken to him....have you spoken to him'?

'Who'?

'Burrows...he has just been on the phone to me he is sending someone to get me what should I do'?

'Firstly' said Hodder 'I have not spoken to him and I do not intend to speak to him about you unless of course, you let me down...just go along find out what he wants promise him the earth if you have to, and call me back. Do you understand'?

'Yes, yes I do'.

'Okay...stop hyperventilating, calm down and keep it together...call me'. With that Hodder ended the call. Unsurprisingly, he did not sleep well after the call.

About twenty minutes later, after scorching black coffee Randall-Ord was picked up by someone who looked just like 'Big Neil'. It was almost as if Burrows had a collection of interchangeable 'spare thugs' that he kept in an 'android warehouse' just for occasions like this.

All shaven headed, muscle bound, monosyllabic, 'Uncle Fester' lookalikes, who have the ability to chill blood from fifty paces, they were doubtless, all handpicked for the job. From his experience of representing them over many years, they were all very skilled at their chosen profession, as the frequent 'pay offs' to victims and witnesses seemed to confirm.

The journey to Burrows home was silently uneventful. Randall-Ord was terrified. He was uncertain if he could trust Hodder. He was however, certain that he could not trust Parks, whom he hoped had not been too liberal with copies of the secretly recorded sound file. Randall-Ord also knew that he would get the answer to these, and possibly more questions soon as he saw the tastelessly ornate wrought iron gates slide open as they entered the drive.

He was full of foreboding as the gates silently slid shut behind the vehicle, as it made its way towards the house. This, he sensed, was going to be a very long and very difficult night.

Hodder was restless and he contemplated why was it that if you don't wake up you don't need to visit the bathroom. Was it an age thing? Was it his internal organs 'revolting' after years of abuse, or was it just a physiological reaction to being alert. He knew that he did not NEED to visit the toilet otherwise he would have woken up naturally. But regardless of the reason, he simply knew that 'he had to go'.

When he tried the bathroom door it was locked. He knew that it was not Grace, she was still happily snoring away on her side of the still warm double bed. Now he really 'did have to go' and as he hopped around the landing he was relieved to hear the flush. Anytime soon he thought, anytime soon...but his bladder had plans of its' own and was clearly not very eager to participate in this 'hanging about lark' for much longer, so, he banged on the door.

The door unlocked and he was surprised to see Ricky emerge...'You stay there' said Hodder as he bounced into the bathroom. He set about the task in hand and sighed that long sigh of satisfaction, known only to a man who has just made it to the bathroom in time, as relief flooded from him. All things considered, Hodder took the view that this feeling of assuagement, was the second most satisfying sensation associated with penis ownership!

Flushed and washed he came out of the bathroom and onto the landing where still flushed and recently washed he saw Ricky. 'Come with me' he whispered as he led Ricky downstairs and into the lounge. Hodder was really pleased to see that Ricky was wearing joggers and not those 'god awful' 'Sex on Fire' underpants a 'la their previous encounter on the landing.

Ricky had a look of total bewilderment upon his face as he sat in stunned silence, clearly expecting a lecture of sorts. As it was 1.00am, he probably thought that he was having a nightmare, as he sat in expectation of a severe bollocking. 'Coffee or something stronger perhaps'? said Hodder.

'Coffee would be fine' replied the still confused Ricky.

I'll tell you what' said Hodder as he walked over to the drinks cabinet 'Let's have one of these', producing a bottle of Chivas Regal which he put on a coffee table between them.

Hodder then fetched two crystal glasses into which he poured two 'healthy' measures.

He handed one to Ricky who said 'I don't normally....'

'Shush Ricky. There is whisky and there is whisky and this, my young friend is whisky...eighteen years old, the same age as you and Lauren...have a sniff...then take a short taste and let it play with your taste buds for a few seconds...what can you taste'?

Hodder leaned forward enthusiastically, as pleasure now replaced puzzlement on Ricky's face as he sipped and sampled the malt. He let the flavours dance on his tongue, tantalising his taste buds which were now working overtime. Hodder was eager to know what flavours he was getting...'Come on mate...I've got work in the morning' he joked.

Finally Ricky said 'Well Mr Hodder'.

'It's Jim'

'Okay, you have to understand that I have never done this before, but I think that it's a very generous whisky, with honey and hazel nut notes and a long creamy finish'

'Bloody hell' replied a gobsmacked Hodder 'Where did it that come from'?

'I'm a member of the Uni Malt Club'

'Really?...do they take mature students'?

'Actually, Jim, there is no such club. I read the label on the bottle when you went for the glasses'.

They both burst out laughing making so much noise that a few seconds later, Lauren came downstairs, doing a very passable impression of her mother. Her arms folded across her chest, she said in mock anger, 'And what do you think that you two are doing'?

Ricky was in full flow now and said 'Blending' he hiccupped and continued...'I mean bonding'.

They burst out laughing again, Ricky trying to stifle his giggles behind his hand, and in that instant Hodder knew exactly why Lauren adored him so much. Not only was he quick but he was quick witted, and in that same instant he too, took him to his heart.

Lauren smiled and said 'Will you please keep the noise down. I'm going back to college tomorrow, so I need some rest'. Two slurred 'Slorry's' lost amongst their laughter, was their only response. However, she recognised that 'boys will be boys', and that some invisible bond had been created between the two.

As she turned and headed for the stairs, she heard Hodder enthusiastically say 'Ricky, Ricky have you tried Balvennie?...I've got some'. She then heard the chink of glass...she hoped that Ricky knew what he was letting himself in for, but in truth she did not mind one bit.

And so, the sampling went on late into the night during which Hodder and Ricky really got to know each other...laughing and sharing jokes and anecdotes. Just before retiring, and probably more than just a little fuelled by drink, Hodder said 'Ricky, I never did thank you for protecting Lauren when that idiot came to the house. Thank you...things could have been a lot worse had you not been here. Both Grace and I are very grateful to you'.

Ricky broke the spell by snoring. Leaving him sleeping downstairs, Hodder went back to bed.

Burrows was more agitated than Randall-Ord had ever seen him. He was pacing the large expensive indecorous lounge. The gangster told the lawyer about the incident involving 'Big Neil' and that Palma seemed to be 'working' in some way with his protagonists. He wanted Randall-Ord to make some enquiries with Palma who after all was one of his clients'. He wanted answers and he wanted them quickly.

Randall-Ord knew that Palma had been given bail and was supposed to reside at his flat on Hotspur Street. Burrow's suspected that Palma was acting under duress...he had made no attempt to conceal his identity and he felt that this factor emphasised the point that he was under the control of some unknown third party. Burrows was also keen to know why these unknown individuals were so keen to speak to Dean Parks. 'Now, with that I can help you...Parks as you know has a liking for unlawful entry and I'm not just talking about burglary...'

He was stopped mid flow by Burrows...'Don't try humour on me...it doesn't suit you and I'm not in the mood'.

Continuing Randall-Ord said 'Sorry...I recently represented him on a rape charge...he has escaped from police custody and though I am yet to confirm it (he lied) I have heard rumours that he has raped again...I am only speculating that whoever, wants him is working on behalf of the victim. I will endeavour to find out what I can'.

Burrows' brow creased in deep concentration, and the lawyer let the silence speak for itself, finally Burrows said ' I could use Parks as bait to flush out these bastards, sort them out and then sort out Parks...end of problem'.

'Apart from...'

Apart from what'? Interrupted Randall-Ord...

'Apart from the fact that we don't know where he is...the only thing that we can be certain of is that the 'others' do not know either...If we find him first we will hold all of the cards'.

'Find him Francis...you have legitimate reasons to speak to both Parks and Palma. When you do find either of them call me and I will send someone to 'pick them up'. Under normal circumstances, I would not be in the least bit concerned that someone seemed intent on waging a war with me. What does concern me said the Geordie Gangster (Another 'Gee-Gee'!) is that on this occasion I do not know why they are doing it or for that matter who they are'.

'I will do what I can' said the lawyer'.

'You will do more than that...cancel your appointments for tomorrow. I need an alibi and you are coming to a casino in Newcastle with me now where we are going to make sure that the staff will remember us. You my friend are my alibi'. With that, Burrows made a call to one of his 'associates' and ten minutes later they were en route to the casino located down a dark lane sitting above the Newcastle quayside.

Randall-Ord knew that this was not an 'invitation' that he could refuse. He knew that the sole purpose was for the very well-known Burrows to be seen in public. No doubt he would either deliberately lose a large sum of money, or do something that would consign his image to CCTV for future examination. What Randall-Ord did not know was that Burrows was an investor in the casino and that his image would be digitally manipulated to cover any of a number of dates. And so it was that Randall-Ord, a man originally from good stock, who habitually spent his working hours with 'low-lifers', whom he secretly despised, but whom he had to admit provided him with a lavish lifestyle, spent the rest of that night losing his own money.

In the presence of other so called 'V.I.P.'s', most of whom were associates of Burrows, the crime lord set about the tables in a highly charged, very public way knowing that some or all of these people, would provide him with an alibi when one was required.

At 6.00am, Burrows declared the night 'over' and he decided that it was 'time for bed'. If Randall-Ord was in any doubt about where he stood with Burrows it came when as he was getting into the car, Burrows said 'Get a cab...and keep in touch...I want this sorted out quickly'.

The lawyer was left standing open mouthed on the pavement as the silver X5 drove off, the driver under instructions to keep to the speed limit and to get captured on as many city centre CCTV cameras as possible. Indeed, Burrows own CCTV system would be manipulated to change the time and date of his return to a time 'relevant' to his particular needs. Unbeknown to Randall-Ord, Burrows was also a silent investor in a security company and the I.T. Department was sufficiently skilled to 'doctor' any image on any medium.

Burrows, was nothing if not resourceful.

About an hour later Randall-Ord crawled into his still unmade bed. He was exhausted but his mind was racing. He knew that he would have to appear at least, to accede to Burrows demands.

It may have been early in the morning but Randall-Ord decided to ring Hodder.

Hodder was alone in the office nursing a cup of coffee and a sore head, inwardly reprimanding himself for over indulging during the early hours. On the plus side however, he had got to know Ricky and really liked what he had seen. Why he wondered was he so quick to jump to conclusions and form opinions about others, and more importantly why was he constantly being proven wrong by those that he doubted. Hodder was midway through promising himself to 'turn over a new leaf' when his mobile rang. It was Randall-Ord.

'I need to see you' said a clearly agitated Francis before continuing 'Burrows is planning his revenge...he wants me to find Palma and Parks'.

'He will have to join the queue...half of the uncivilised world are after those two'.

Randall-Ord said 'I am going to cancel all of my appointments today, including court...you have to help me I am way out of my depth...If I fail he will probably kill me'.

'The problem is Francis' and just for reasons of clarity Hodder added 'He will probably kill even if you succeed'.

'When can we meet' said an increasingly agitated Randall-Ord, and in those four words Hodder felt that he had him exactly where he wanted him.

Hodder felt disinclined to tell the corrupt lawyer about his 'hoped for' meeting with Parks later in the day, and said that he would call him back later in the day, mindful that purely for cosmetic purposes, the D.I. had asked him to assist with the desk searches in the office.

Hodder knew from previous such purges that this was usually a waste of time. Experienced officers were hardly ever caught out. Vast quantities of property and paperwork were returned to 'where it should be', thus preventing any potential problems. Officers' would often hide 'other property' in their garages or cars.

Paperwork on the other hand, was often sent on a delayed and totally pointless journey through the internal mail system before eventually ending up back where it had originally started, hidden in the officer's desk. It was all a rather pathetic and meaningless exercise.

Four or five desks were done before the D.I. and Hodder arrived at Hodder's desk. Playing the game Hodder said 'Be my guest'. Hodder did not hear the sellotape seal break as a look of excited anticipation spread across the senior man's face as he confidently rummaged through the drawers.

Nothing....if he was disappointed he disguised it well.

A few minutes later, Baxter's arrival was announced by the same expensive aftershave that he had taken to wearing since he had taken up with Hannah. His desk too, was given a clean bill of health.

The D.I. and Hodder then moved on to the desk of the absent 'Gee-Gee'...in a flippant remark The D.I. said 'This is pointless, he does nowt'!

Nonetheless, for reasons of fairness the desk had to be searched and lo and behold, as Baxter looked on a wry smile spread across his face, as the Scouse voice of Cilla Black saying 'Surprise! Surprise!' filled his head.

The D.I. was incandescent with rage. However, Baxter was unsure whether it was because he knew that he had been 'outfoxed' or that 'Gee-Gee' was simply so incompetent that he couldn't even carry out a simple instruction to 'shaft' a fellow officer.

A simple 'I will be having words with 'Gee-Gee' when he comes in' were uttered by the crestfallen senior officer, who retrieved the Ecstasy tablets, before plodding out of the office.

'Bloody Hell' said Hodder, 'who'd have thought it...'Gee-Gee' has been a naughty boy'...Baxter would tell him the truth later.

Hodder then went to the detention room where he reunited Palma with his phone. Mindful of the unique echoing sounds of the cell block, and the shouting of 'other prisoners', Hodder took Palma to the internal exercise yard from where he rang Parks and after a few seconds the phone was answered. The two of them then conducted a largely indecipherable conversation, consisting of what sounded to Hodder like grunts and groans. Naturally, he could only hear one side of the conversation, but when what sounded like a confrontation between two rutting stags was over, Hodder said 'Well'?

'It's on...half ten at the farm.

Hodder took the phone, returned Palma to the detention room and promised to be back soon. He then went back to the office where he managed to disengage Baxter from a conversation about 'Gee-Gee' and the 'booty' recovered from his desk. The general consensus amongst the guys was that he deserved everything that was coming his way and that his comeuppance was well and truly overdue.

Baxter was then let in on the embryonic, still developing plan to capture Dean Parks. As usual, Baxter saw the flaws in the strategy, the major one being that they, well, more specifically Hodder, was investing a large amount of trust in the hitherto untrustworthy Palma. Hodder tested Baxter's loyalty even further when he refused to enlist the assistance of any colleagues, or inform the incident or control rooms what they were up to.

This sounded to Baxter just like the disastrous set of circumstances which led to Park's escape in the first place, but he kept his own counsel. This, the latest in a long line of 'Jim Hodder Productions' was as usual, a completely ad hoc affair. Hodder would not be swayed from his plan which he explained to Baxter as they walked to a nearby coffee shop to get a 'take away' boost of caffeine.

Back in the detention room, Hodder explained to Palma what he wanted him to do. He knew that the plan was dangerous and that it could fail at any time. So, as a consequence, he made Palma repeat the plan several times until he was confident that he knew exactly what was expected of him. At 10.00am, the two Detectives 'signed out' Palma and all three set out for Friardene Farm, in torrential rain, ably assisted by the all too familiar northeast wind.

As per their previous visit they approached the farm on foot, and entered the stairwell leading to the loft barn. The strategy was for Baxter to be hidden inside the loft. Hodder, was to conceal himself in one of the outbuildings which gave him a view of the stairwell. Palma meanwhile, was to wait outside the buildings pending the arrival of Parks. Once Palma and Parks entered the loft, the plan was for Hodder to follow them inside and arrest Parks.

Simple? As soon as they got there, problems occurred. The first was that Palma was unable to open the door leaving Baxter 'marooned' on the landing. The second dilemma was that the very vocal 'Farmers wife' had obviously seen Palma and was intent on doing a 'bit of impromptu rent collecting'.

She entered the stairwell and looking up screamed at Palma...'You can bugger off if you think that you are getting in there without paying your back rent. I have changed the locks'! Her little Jack Russell barked viciously, but it was her bark that struck fear into the heart of the young Detective.

Baxter tried to reason with her, but she had clearly been the victorious veteran of many a battle over the years, and her vitriolic ranting suggested to Baxter that she probably had the campaign medals to prove it.

He knew that he was unlikely to make any progress with her at all. She was as solid and as immovable as the headland of 'Pen Bal' and in the view of Baxter, almost as 'Craggy'. She was not going to budge, and crucially, time was running out because Parks was due to arrive at any moment. Thinking on his feet Baxter told Palma to go downstairs to speak to Hodder and to tell him about the difficulties that they were having. Palma walked out of the barn passing his, now 'former landlord' in silence.

She followed Palma outside and on 'full volume' screamed at Palma to 'get off my land and take your mate with you or I will call the police'. She was obviously referring to Baxter because unbeknown to her, at this point in time, Parks was cautiously skirting the outer edge of the barn keeping as close to the walls as he could.

Palma caught sight of Parks at the last second. Parks clearly sensed that 'something was up' or it could have been that his timing and hearing was so acute, that he actually heard the word 'Police' being shouted. Either way, it was enough to startle him, and he started running across the open land to the south west of the farm buildings towards the rear of Whitley Bay Golf Course, Holywell Dene, and more importantly from his point of view...freedom.

Palma gave chase, unaware of the old woman waving her walking stick at his back or of the Jack Russell snapping at his heels. The dog chased him for about one hundred yards, before thinking better of it and giving up. Eventually, Palma caught up with Parks as he tried to climb a stile just before he headed off into deep woodland. 'Parky, Parky stop'! He said panting heavily. 'She is only an old woman...the bitch has changed the locks to the loft'.

'What's that I heard about the police'? screamed Parks bent over double with his hands resting on his knees.

'The silly old cow was threatening me because I owe her some back rent...she is like that all of the time...you want to hear how she speaks to the poor bastards who rent the farm cottages...I am going back after dark to screw the loft to get my gear. Do you fancy it'?

Parks was clearly very nervous and unconvinced. After a few moments, he made a call to someone on his mobile. It was obvious from what was being said that he had a driver on 'standby' near the farm. After the conversation he and Palma set off jogging through the network of footpaths and disused railway lines that covered the area, and about fifteen minutes later they emerged in an underpass on Monkseaton Drive, on the outskirts of Whitley Bay.

A further call, and a few minutes later, they were sitting in a taxi heading for Newcastle City Centre and the relative safety that the city and it's forever changing and moving population provided. Palma asked the driver to divert to an ATM where he obtained some cash using a genuine cash card from an 'alias account' that he held. The card itself was difficult to retrieve because he kept it wrapped up in cling film, further wrapped in toilet roll between the cheeks of his arse.

He knew that most Police Officer's would be reluctant to look there and as far as he knew, muggers had no yet 'cottoned on' to this improvised method of personal security.

The driver was duly paid and it was off to 'The Clock' where there was time to kill and drinking and 'shopping' to be done. As they entered the bar 'Talking Heads' blasted from the wall mounted speakers. As usual, 'Daft Larry' was pissed and he too was 'On the Road to Nowhere'...well, he was at the moment...very soon he would soon be on the road to the shops armed with a shopping list. A pint of cider opened the negotiations with 'Larry', who was promised more when he returned with a large jemmy, screwdriver, two head torches and a sleeping bag. Twenty minutes later 'Larry' was back 'tooled up' and ready for more cider. Palma gave Larry twenty pounds for his trouble, and in return 'Daft Larry' gave Palma a debit card in the name of Lauren Weston that he had had for a few days.

In truth, Larry could not remember where or from whom he got it, but that was the way of the world when you lived your life through a drunken haze of half memories, half-truths and half pints.

For his part, Parks was not going to tell Palma about the history of the card but he was working on the principle that if the 'wheel came off' Palma would have some difficulty explaining what he was doing with the card that had earlier been stolen from a Police Officers' home. Parks thought that the debit card may actually provide him with an alibi and it could prove to be the undoing of Palma. In truth, the basis of his dislike Palma was the fact that he (Palma) seemed to carry a lot of luck, he had a pretty good lifestyle and seemed to know most of the big players. Basically, Palma had most of the things that he did not have.

The fact was that he valued his freedom far more than he valued Palma's. This was after all, the cut throat world of 'Burglars Dog eat Burglars Dog'. As the afternoon, greeted the early evening, Parks said that it was time to go.

'We need to get our heads down if we are going to graft that farm tonight' said Parks...

Where do you have in mind'?

'Tynemouth' was Parks' single word answer.

'You must be joking...if I am seen in Tynemouth by certain individuals, you will be grafting alone tonight'.

Parks laughed...'We will not be seen where we are going...it's way off the beaten track...come on drink up'.

Palma said 'Metro or Taxi then?

'Taxi to 'Shields Quayside then on foot to the digs'.

'Sounds good...I'm off for a piss' said Palma. Once in the toilet, Palma entered a cubicle and texted a message to Hodder on the number that he had earlier memorised. If David Attenborough or Charles Darwin had have been regulars at 'The Clock', they would have been in awe at the primitive species on display. They would doubtless have recognised Palma's actions as the manifestation of a basic survival instinct. However, such was the state of the toilets, that many an 'inferior species' may have 'perished' just with the smell alone.

The short message simply said 'Tynemouth txt L8R'. He deleted it before returning to the bar.

Parks was anxious, clearly suspecting that Palma had taken a little too long...'Some piss that mate...have you got the bladder of an elephant'?

'No mate, I have the bowels of a Chihuahua with diarrhoea, especially after cider and a cross country run'. hat seemed to do the trick, Parks appeared to accept this explanation. And so it was that with 'shopping' in hand, they took a cab to North Shields Fish Quay via a sweet shop and once again finally to the 'Bottom Dolphin' where Absinthe and Stella were taken.

The storm before the...

Earlier, back on the farm Hodder was coaxed from his hiding place by the ravings of the cantankerous old woman that he had met on his previous visit. As he emerged from the shadows he saw Baxter come out of the barn alone. Taking one look at the two men the woman, who seemed to thrive on confrontation she said 'Not two again...where were you when I needed you...you have missed them they ran away over the fields...will be long gone now'!

Hodder walked over to the woman, he was fuming but managed somehow to maintain some semblance of composure. 'We were here you stupid woman...you have just managed to 'blow out' a very important investigation'.

The old battle axe was not going to be swayed...'That's as may be, but that doesn't get me my rent. Now you bugger off too or I'll set my dog on you'.

The dog looked at Hodder.

Hodder looked at the dog.

The dog growled at Hodder.

Hodder growled at the woman as he and Baxter walked off the farm.

'Well, that was a roaring success' said Baxter 'We have also lost Palma'.

'Don't start Jeff! I'm thinking! Palma was not in custody anyway, so he is not going to be a problem to explain away...I think that he will be in touch before long'.

'I wish that I had your confidence' said Baxter as Hodder inwardly thought 'So do I'!

'Not to worry Jeff, back to the factory...we have young Neville to interview. Let's just see if he can shed any light on the situation. Back at the car Baxter climbed into the driver's seat as Hodder remained outside making a phone call.

Randall-Ord picked up immediately. 'Francis it's me. Any developments'?

'None'.

'Okay' said Hodder 'Listen up, climb into your 'Solicitors Uniform' get yourself to Shields nick and tell the Custody Officer that you have been instructed by a Mr Bostock to represent Neville Thompson in interview. I will be back soon and will tell you want I want. By the way, when you get the go ahead from Thompson, give 'First Aid' a call and tell him that you have conned your way into an interview, but that it is expected to be quite lengthy. That will buy us some time...don't let me down...you know the consequences if you do and 'First Aid' will be the last person you will want to speak to if you do fail'.

Hodder ended the call, and buoyed with optimism, jumped in the car saying to Baxter in his best Lady Penelope voice 'Home Parker'. Baxter was perplexed. 'Why on earth was Hodder so upbeat'? Baxter, decided not to trouble himself with the mental machinations of 'Planet Hodder', and they headed back to North Shields Police Office.

Over breakfast that morning, in the Fire Station pub, in Whitley Bay, Bostock and 'Tiny' had not been idle and had hatched a plan. Shortly before 10.00am, they made their way in separate vehicles to Hodder's street, and parked some distance from his home. After about fifteen minutes they saw Lauren and Ricky get into the second hand Ford Fiesta that Grace and Hodder had bought Lauren as 'well done' present for passing her driving test at the first attempt.

At the time, Hodder feigned anger because it had taken him five attempts to pass his driving test, but he was in truth, really pleased because it released him from driving duties. The lessons were prohibitively expensive, just like the insurance, though the niggard in him reasoned that it was cheaper than paying for Halls of Residence at a university in another part of the country.

'Tiny' and Bostock trailed behind the Fiesta at a safe distance, following the rear lights between the sweeping motions of his windscreen wipers. As Lauren progressed along Claremont Road, she began to slow down at some traffic lights and indicated her intention to turn right and travel west onto Marine Avenue. Using his van, 'Tiny' rammed her car from behind whilst the lights were still on red against her.

The force of the collision was such that both Lauren and Ricky were thrown forward in their seats with such momentum that the airbags activated filling the interior of the car with a chocking white powder.

Almost immediately, Bostock who had been behind 'Tiny' got out of his car, approached the driver's door of the Fiesta and led the still dazed Lauren to the back seat of his Infiniti where, feeling strangely guilty, he 'Tasered' her. But, he reasoned, 'Needs must'. She convulsed in agony as the charge raged around her body. Bostock jumped in the Infiniti and drove off leaving 'Tiny' at the scene with Ricky. They would meet up later.

Ricky who was semi-conscious, complained bitterly about pain to his neck and lower back. Just then, a couple of passing pedestrians came across the scene, and 'Tiny' thinking rather quickly for a man so fresh from battle, said to no one in particular 'I'll shift my car around the corner'. Tiny did shift his car around the corner, and he kept on shifting it until he met up with Bostock at the largely deserted Royal Quays Shopping Complex about three miles away on the north bank of the Tyne. The van hired using false documentation was parked amongst other vehicles and was unlikely to attract any attention for quite some time.

In a strange case of 'role reversal', 'Tiny' got into the rear of the Infiniti with Lauren as Bostock drove.

Bostock was confident that the likelihood of detection or identification were small and that once he contacted Hodder he was confident that he would once again have wrestled control of the situation from him and have regained the initiative. It was at times like this that Bostock missed the 'more hands on approach' to his job, and he arrogantly thought to himself 'Hey, brother...you have still got it', as if kidnapping an eighteen year old girl was the zenith of his criminal career.

It was not something about which he would ever boast about.

Back on Claremont Road, even before 'Tiny' had reached The Royal Quays, one of the pedestrians who had 'happened upon the crash scene' had become suspicious and had the clear presence of mind to call 999 and within minutes both the Police and Ambulance Services' had been despatched. Upon arrival at the scene, members of both emergency services were perplexed to 'discover' that there was no driver present. However, experience had taught the police that this usually occurred when a driver who was clearly over the limit from the night before, fled the scene to evade a breath test.

Equally, experience showed that those drivers usually surfaced when the level of alcohol in their breath or blood had returned to more 'acceptable levels'. This would not happen in this case.

Of priority to the Ambulance Service was the condition of the front seated passenger, Ricky, who though drifting in and out of consciousness complained of neck and back pain.

The Fire Service 'lived' for situations just like this, and when they got the call from the Police Control Room they could not wait to attend. Fearing spinal injuries Ricky would have to be 'extracted' from the vehicle and placed on a spinal board. From the point of view of 'the lads from The Full Monty', it's not every day you get the chance to cut the roof off a car with a real live, dying victim inside. En route to the scene, The Fire Crew drew straws and the 'lucky cutters' were identified.

The Traffic Officers who attended the scene conducted a P.N.C. check on the Ford Fiesta which was traced to Lauren Weston at an address that no one identified as Hodder's, but why would they.

The Control Room despatched an Officer to the address in an effort to trace the driver. Furthermore, local hospitals were contacted requesting information about any patients showing obvious signs of 'accident damage'. This was utterly futile, because other than Ricky none would turn up.

Unbeknown to Bostock, and Thompson for that matter, Randall-Ord had arrived at the police station saying that he had been contacted by a Mr Bostock to represent the interests of Mr Thompson presently in custody for unlawful imprisonment. This message was conveyed to an ever anxious Thompson, who sensing a 'light at the end of a tunnel' in the misguided belief that his boss was looking after him, readily accepted Randall-Ord's offer of assistance.

Before Randall-Ord met Thompson, Hodder and Randall-Ord held a private 'pow-wow' in the former linen store. An anxious Randall-Ord said...'Are you recording me'?

'Not at all, I am conspiring with you so turn out your bag so we can talk'.

The remark by Randall-Ord convinced Hodder that the 'dirty' solicitor was 'clean'.

'Okay' said Hodder after he had given Randall-Ord a thumb nail history of Bostock and his working practices. 'I need to know' continued Hodder 'exactly what Bostock's intentions are and where he is likely to be. But more importantly, what he is intending to do with Parks and Palma'.

So, under the guise of a private consultation with Thompson, Randall-Ord established that Bostock was extremely ruthless and extremely unforgiving. Thompson did not know, but he suspected that if Bostock had his way, then the two young criminals would remain just that...they would not reach a ripe old age.

As the 'consultation' drew to a close Randall-Ord advised Thompson to maintain a 'No Reply' policy in the first of what was likely be numerous interviews. In actual fact, this was probably sound advice because even though Randall-Ord was effectively colluding with Hodder, he did not trust the Detective and should the 'wheel come off' he could rely on the fact that he was acting under duress as an 'excuse' for his 'unprofessional conduct'. He recognised this as a very thin line of defence but knew that it was the only one available to him.

After the 'bogus consultation' Randall-Ord was able to tell Hodder about Bostock's stay at the Village Hotel and what rooms they were in and the false names they had used to register as guests.

It was clear that Bostock would stop at nothing to gain his revenge, and that he did not care who he upset in the process. The solicitor was proving very useful as an informant, the information about the attack on 'Big Neil' proving to be particularly explosive.

This could lead to an all-out street war and if 'First Aid' was toppled a 'power vacuum' could be created on Tyneside leading to all sorts of chaos. Hodder had no time for Burrows but it had to be said that in his own way, he did maintain 'order of sorts', besides, the Police knew exactly where they stood with him. This was certainly a case of 'better the devil you know'.

Baxter was Hodder's partner, and for once, he felt 'duty bound' to be straight with him, and Hodder was pleasantly surprised with Baxter's growing maturity, professionalism and above all how astute he had been when he mentioned removing the 'E's' that 'Gee-Gee' had put in his desk prior to the desk search.

The 'old Hodder' returned to the conversation and he said 'Gee-Gee' is a spineless little fucker...Tell me did you stitch up 'Gee-Gee' with those pills Jeff'?

Baxter smiled, winked and said 'You may say that Sergeant. I, of course, could not possibly comment'.

'Okay', said Hodder 'It's not as if we don't have enough on our plates without fighting all of these internal battles, but this is not going away without some form of response from me...just watch this space...stay out of this Jeff...and thank you for what you have done for me'.

Because he had been in consultation with Randall-Ord and then later Baxter Hodder did not hear the radio transmissions asking an officer to visit his home address to locate the 'missing driver' from the collision in Whitley Bay.

Grace had thought it prudent to take a couple of days off longer than Lauren just in case she found it difficult to return to Uni, especially given all of the controversy over 'her' Facebook postings. As she answered the door she saw a Uniformed Officer 'Mrs Weston'?

'No. Mrs Hodder'.

The Officer, recognised the unusual name and tried to change 'tack' immediately thinking that he may be better off speaking to Detective Sergeant Hodder.

'Oh, I'm sorry I seem to have the wrong address'.

'No you don't young man...my daughter is called Lauren Weston and you obviously know who my husband is. Please come in...but watch that you don't trip over the Dyson in the hallway. Years of living with the lying, conniving, manipulative Hodder had sharpened Grace's senses, and over that time she had sat through countless master classes in deception of all types. This young officer was an amateur, a mere rookie.

The officer explained as sensitively as he could what he knew of the 'accident'. 'Mrs Hodder, was Lauren driving the car this morning'?

'Yes. She was with her boyfriend, Ricky. Are they alright'?

'Mrs Hodder, from the little I know of the incident I understand that Ricky has been taken to hospital with back and neck injuries, but that Lauren was not at the scene when the Emergency Services arrived'.

Grace's hand shot up to her mouth in disbelief, and she seemed to gulp the air in panic as she breathlessly whispered 'Where is she'?

'I was rather hoping that you would be able to help me with that' ventured the officer feeling the wrath of Hodder as he spoke each word.

'I have no idea...have you tried all of the Hospitals or her Uni...she could be injured, dazed or in shock...she has just recovered from a traumatic event. Does my husband know'?

'I'm not sure Mrs Hodder, because we were looking for Lauren Weston the name of your husband did not automatically 'compute' with me. I'm sorry'.

'It's not your fault, I should tell Jim'.

'Mrs Hodder, I know that this is most unusual, but I will get into trouble if I don't have a quick look around your home. I'm sure if you speak to your husband he will tell you that that is standard procedure'.

'Go ahead...help yourself' said Grace in a dazed dreamlike state.

At about the same time whilst sitting in the office, the informant's line rang and Baxter took the call. 'Jim it's for you'. Hodder took the handset and heard Bostock say...'Good morning Mr Hodder, I trust that you are well'?

'You did not call to enquire as to my welfare. What do you want'?

'The same thing that I have always wanted Mr Hodder...Parks, and that is not a subject that is open to negotiation....

But as an incentive I would like you to listen to this'...Hodder then heard 'rustling' down the line as the handset was passed to a frantic, tearful and terrified Lauren who came on the line 'Dad. Dad, please help me'.

There was a further 'muffling' sound as Bostock said 'I take that we now understand each other'.

The line went dead.

Hodder was panic stricken. He had no idea where his daughter was, or what condition she was in.

He did however, know two things. He had to find Parks, and he had to find him very quickly.

After the events of recent days the second came as no surprise to him at all. If he had ever doubted it, Hodder now knew for certain that there is no situation that a Police Officer can't make worse.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Strapped securely onto a Spinal Board, Ricky was rushed to the Hospital, not quite enjoying the full 'Blues and Two's' treatment, every pothole in the woefully neglected road surface, sending a bolt of agonising pain from the base of his back to the nape of his neck. Upon arrival, he bypassed Triage and was taken directly to the Accident and Emergency examination area where he was probed and prodded each touch making him convulse in agony.

Forty Seven hours into his shift, the Junior Doctor decided that an X-ray was required even though he suspected soft tissue damage, which tended not to show up on such images. Ricky was twisted, turned, bent and straightened as his back and neck were 'radiated' for the good of his health. It has to be said that the X-ray department were the very picture of efficiency. A short while later, he was being wheeled back to A&E the images of his insides, on the inside of a large manila envelope which was lying on his chest as he was lying on his back.

The Junior Doctor took the view that Ricky should be admitted for observation and an MRI scan. This was just the sort of thing that admitting doctors loved...endless calls to the Bed Manager in the search for a bed. However, like everything in the NHS, everything has its price and the 'Auction' for a bed soon escalates into a fevered frenzy that makes trading on the London Stock Exchange floor look like a meeting of the Quakers.

This daily struggle proved to be the source of inter-department friction, and the stakes were high...the currency of choice being family sized boxes of Cadbury's Roses, split on an agreed percentage between the Bed Manager and the receiving ward. The main benefactors of this neat little local arrangement was that business in the onsite W.I. shop was extremely brisk, and was said to be instrumental in the ever expanding waist line of the nursing staff.

Hannah White was sitting at the Nurses Station on Ward 7 when she answered the telephone. She knew that a bed had just become available, or at least one would be available, once the patient had arranged to be picked up by relatives. Hannah was therefore able to negotiate from a position of strength, and replenish the ward's confectionary supplies whilst at the same time as 'vetting' the patient...she would not be thanked by her colleagues if she admitted anyone too demanding. And so it was that Ricky would make the acquaintance of Staff Nurse Hannah White.

Hodder had no sooner come off the informant's phone than his mobile rang it was Grace...'Have you heard...have you heard'?

'Calm down Grace...Tell me what is wrong'?

She spluttered out something about Lauren and Ricky being involved in an accident. Ricky was injured but Lauren was missing.

As if his previous conversation with Bostock had not been bad enough, Hodder now had a hysterical wife on the other end of his phone. 'Where are you'? He asked. 'I'm at home with a Police Officer'.

'Can you put him on please Grace'?

Moments later a young officer, P.C. Dias, whose name Hodder recognised but whom he had to pretend to know came on the line 'Sergeant Hodder, P.C. Dias here...'

Hodder said 'It's Denny isn't it'?

'Yes' replied the Uniform guy, secretly pleased that Hodder knew him.

'Denny, can I ask you to stay with my wife for a short time whilst I try to find out what is happening...as you will understand this has come as a bit of a shock'.

'Yes. No problem Sarge, I will do what I can'. Even at a moment like this Hodder squirmed at being called 'Sarge' but he was certainly not going to make an issue of it now, or indeed in the future.

Hodder asked for Grace to be put back on the line and when she spoke her voice was quaking with emotion. He said 'Grace, I will be with you as soon as I can...but I'm going to try to find Lauren. Please hang on in there I will speak to you soon...call your mother, get her to come to our house to be with you'.

Through stifled tears Grace could just about manage the contradictory instructions of 'Come home soon. Please find Lauren'.

Baxter did not need to be a mind reader to know that something grave was happening. 'He's got Lauren Jeff...the bastard had got Lauren'.

'Who has her'?

'Bostock...wants to exchange her for Parks'.

'We have to find Parks...where the fuck can he be'.

Hodder then went to the Custody Suite where he got Thompson's phone from his property, he then scrolled through the contacts list until he found Bostock's number.

He then got Thompson from his cell and took him to an interview room where he did not intend to interview him. Thompson, was still nursing a bruising from his arrest, but worse still, a bruised ego, from the revelations about his sexuality and relationship with Malcolm. 'Now,' said Hodder, 'I have a deal to offer you and it really is very simple'. Holding up Thompson's mobile he said 'The answer to the problem lies within this telephone, and both solutions, for there are only two, will determine not only your immediate but also your long term future.

I need you to find out where Bostock is. If you don't I will telephone Malcolm and tell him that the reason that you are on Tyneside is because you have been having a secret long term affair with me, and that you will not be returning to Manchester. Now, that in itself is not entirely untrue because if you don't do as I ask, I will ensure that you get a very long prison sentence, during which I will make sure that your sexuality is known to one and all. You will fucking hate it'.

Despite his hard man looks and impressive build, Thompson spoke with a fragile, camp voice and even Hodder found it difficult not to feel some sympathy for him.

'Are you blackmailing me'?

'Yes'.

'It seems that I don't have a choice'.

'That too would be correct'.

'If you don't do exactly as I say, I shall take the phone from you and speak to Bostock. I will tell him that you have volunteered information to me in exchange for your freedom and I'm pretty sure that one of his mates in Manchester will pop around to see Malcolm and have a not very quiet word with him. Do you understand'?

'Yes...please don't hurt Malcolm'.

'This is what you don't understand Neville. I won't be hurting Malcolm, Bostock will be...his revenge will be swift and extreme...Malcolm would never want to see or hear from you again...even if he is able to'.

Sensing victory Hodder continued, 'Essentially, my friend, you hold the fate of Malcolm and yourself in your own hands...I need you to find out where Bostock is. I want you to tell him that some heavies from Newcastle came to Palma's flat following your visit to 'First Aid's' home. Tell him that a struggle took place and they abducted Palma but you managed to make good your escape but that you had to nurse your injuries and lie low before contacting him...Do you understand'?

'Yes'.

Hodder punched in Bostock's number and passed the handset to Thompson...this was going to be make or break time. He listened intently to the one side of the conversation that he could hear and true to his word Thompson carried out his instructions to the letter.

When the call ended Hodder said 'Well'?

'He is staying in the 'High Tides' guest house on North Parade, Whitley Bay, but he is not there at the moment'.

'Where is he now'?

'He did not say but he was in a vehicle'.

'Did he say where he was going?

'No, but he did say that he would be back tonight and he wants me to meet him at the guest house'.

For now this conversation was over, and Thompson was returned to his cell. Hodder had to consider what to do with Thompson...he would eventually decide to bail him, though that would certainly raise a few questions given the gravity of his offence. He also knew that when he did bail him, Thompson would doubtless be on the phone to Malcolm and neither man would be seen again. After some consideration he concluded that though this was not ideal, it was probably the best course of action to take. After all, Bostock would probably kill Thompson and Malcolm anyway once he discovered the truth. In a perverse way, Hodder thought that he was doing his bit for crime prevention.

After weighing up the other options available to him Hodder called Randall-Ord. 'Francis. Have you discovered anything'?

'Not a dickie bird old boy'.

'Listen up'. Mindful that he was taking the biggest gamble of his life with the biggest stake at risk, knowing that if his plan did not work the he may never see Lauren again. Equally, he knew that if he pressed the panic button and got the police involved then he definitely would not see her again because knowing what he knew about the police service, a monumental cock up would doubtless ensue, where they startled Bostock into some form of desperate action.

Hodder told Randall-Ord to contact Burrows and tell him that he had discovered that Bostock and Co were staying at the Village Hotel but that they would not be there at the moment. This simple act of deceit would hopefully buy Hodder some extra time whilst he decided what to do about the present incumbents of the 'High Tides'. As an added incentive he gave Randall-Ord the registration number of the Infiniti and told him to pass it on to Burrows.

If Burrows asked where this information came from Hodder told him that it came from a bent copper whom he only knew as 'Gee-Gee'. Even at a time like this Hodder was amazed at his instinct for revenge. Hodder knew that if he did have to rely upon Burrows to stop Bostock, then at least he was in the North Tyneside area, and not too far away from Whitley Bay and a simple call to Randall-Ord should result in his early arrival.

For now, he had a distraught wife to deal with.

Grace answered the phone immediately. 'Jim. Have you found her...have you found her'?

'Not yet...we are checking all of the hospitals and I am on my way now to speak to one of the first witnesses at the scene. Stay at home. I will be with you just as quick as I can'. Hodder did not know how much time this tactic would buy him, but it did occur to him that he should mention the accident to Ben Heath who would doubtless advise him to go home thus creating the time vacuum that he needed to find Lauren.

Naturally, this was best done face to face but Hodder being Hodder he simply rang his office. The call was diverted to Heath's secretary and Hodder left a brief message with her. She promised to pass on the message the minute that he came out of his meeting with the 'Local Bean Counters'.

His next task was to convince Baxter that they should go to the hospital to speak to Ricky to find out every small detail of the 'accident'. He knew that Baxter would object but also that he would relent in the end...he always did...but he would have to level with him by giving some more information about the guest house. However, he decided to keep the involvement of Randall-Ord under wraps.

As Hodder walked into the office, he asked Baxter to find out what ward Ricky was on. He did so without protest and seemed in a surprisingly good mood when he came off the phone. 'He is in Ward 7...Hannah's Ward'. 'That explains everything' thought Hodder and as they left the office he said to 'Gee-Gee'...'How you coping with your drug habit? Mind, you kept that quiet'.

'Gee-Gee' responded by burying his head in an article in 'OKAY'! Magazine paying particular attention to an item about celebs with the best suntans. Criminals everywhere...how do you sleep at night? with a guy like this snapping at your heels!

En route to the hospital, Hodder told Baxter about his conversation with Thompson. Naturally, he missed out the bits about blackmail, death threats and 24/7 anal intrusion. These were all minor details that could wait, there was no need to cloud the issue with mere trifles.

Baxter, for his part, felt that the day was taking a turn for the better since he found out that Ricky had been admitted to Ward 7. He led at a very healthy pace keen to introduce Hodder to Hannah. When they got to the ward Hannah was at the Nurses Station and looking up she flashed one of her radiant smiles at Baxter and then at Hodder. Hodder instantly understood Baxter's attraction to her but in truth his mind was elsewhere, and he probably conveyed the wrong impression to her.

After a few uncomfortable moments Hodder left them at the Station and made his way to Ricky's bedside. He had a bandage over one side of his forehead which instantly reminded Hodder of Pudsey Bear, but he hesitated making a joke about it as Ricky looked at him.

'How are you Ricky'?

'Aches and pains. Mainly my neck, shoulders and lower back'.

Sitting on the edge of the bed Hodder said 'Can you remember what happened'?

'Not really. We just got shunted from behind and the next thing I remember was the air bags going off and someone helping Lauren from the car'.

'This is important Ricky...did you see this person'?

'Not really. There was dust in my eyes from the bag but he was a big bloke...Gold...gold...I can remember gold'.

'Okay mate. Don't you worry about a thing. Do your parents know that you are here'?

'Yeah...the nurse said that they are on their way'.

At that point in time Hodder received a text. He excused himself and reading it he saw that it was a very short text from Palma that simply said 'Tynemouth txt L8R'. English was clearly not his strong point but the crux of the message was that he was in Tynemouth, hopefully with Parks and that he would text again when possible.

Hodder returned to Ricky apologised saying that something urgent had just come up and that he had to go. Back at the Nurses Station Baxter was 'floating' about six inches off the ground...this was no time for niceties and though he rather abruptly interrupted Baxter saying 'Come on Casanova...we have a clue'.

He kept walking out of the ward as Baxter stood there mouthing the word 'Sorry' as he followed his leader. Hannah, summed Hodder up in one word 'arsehole'.

As they walked to the car, this time the pace was being set by Hodder. 'Okay Jim, what have we got'?

'I have just had a text from Palma...he is in Tynemouth with Parks...he is going to text again with an exact location. We need to be in the area to get him'.

'Shall I call this in Jim? We may need some backup'.

'Not a chance. If someone else gets him he will go straight to the nick and I will never get Lauren back. Are you in or not'?

Baxter could barely conceal his sigh of frustration as he said 'I don't really have a choice do I'?

'We all have choices Jeff, It's just that some are easier to make than others'.

At about the same time that Baxter and Hodder were walking back to their car, Parks led Palma to the western side of Collingwood's Monument. After first checking around the monument Parks released a bolt on the 'hinge side' of the door and swinging it slightly ajar around the lock and hasp on the other side of the door and he slipped into the base of the monument.

Palma followed him in and was immediately struck by the smell of damp, decay and human excrement...it's seems that Parks had everything required for modern living except, well, all the necessary mod-cons. Parks gave Palma a head lamp and when he turned it on he saw the ram shackled condition of his new home. Surely Parks could not be serious about staying here. Granted they would not get discovered unless they were seen going in or out, but it really was a hovel.

As he scanned the interior he saw the same old scaffolding poles and crash barriers happily rusting away but when he saw the small tent that was erected at one end of the foundation he knew that Parks was serious. 'So, what do we do for food' asked Palma...he need not have asked because his torch beam immediately reflected off some metal fast food containers piled up behind the tent.

'What day does the bin man come, and do we need to recycle our waste' said Palma sarcastically.

'You can always take your own risks if you want but we will not be here long'.

Sensing a window of opportunity Palma said 'Are we going to do the farm tonight then'?

Parks responded by saying 'Let's just see how the land lies...I'm gonna have to speak to my friendly taxi driver again but he is not going to pick us up from here'.

'Well' continued Palma 'Where are we going to stash the stuff. This place looks as good as any. We could get your man to drop us off with the gear in the car park by the Red Seal Rescue Station at the end of the pier'.

'We could but that's not the way I work. I'm gonna text one of my cash customers and get it taken his place. Then we can lie up here until the early hours and get out of the area. Then it will be best to split up'.

Hodder, meanwhile, was making arrangements of his own, and standing outside the car which was parked on the slip road leading down to Long Sands, opposite the Grand Hotel, in Tynemouth he called Randall-Ord again. Straining to hear above the lashing wind and rain Hodder said 'Francis...it's me. Tell your boys to move to Tynemouth...they are in the area but I don't know where yet. Tell them to stay off the main streets'.

Hodder ended the call and immediately rang Grace. Naturally, she was desperate for news and was frantically pacing around the room looking out of the window hoping that a passing car may stop and that Lauren would get out and come running home and into her arms. It didn't happen, and with each passing minute she came closer and closer to the point of despair. Hodder knew that he should be at home to offer Grace as much support as he could but he was compelled by a much stronger force. A force that drove to get Lauren back at any cost...to himself at least.

He had to buy more time, by making the correct noises. Old habits die hard and Hodder felt the birth of another lie by saying 'We are making some progress we have officers combing the streets. We have circulated her description, and all of the hospitals are aware. She may be dazed from the accident but because she left the scene she was obviously well enough to walk. Hang on in there. I will call you soon'. As he was ending the call he heard Grace's muted cry...he knew what she was going through, the truth was he was going through it too. However, had she known the truth her worries would have been compounded tenfold.

Jim came off the phone and noticed that Baxter was staring at him. 'Jim. This is in serious danger of getting way out of hand...we should make this official...with all the resources at our disposal we could get her in minutes'.

'Jeff, as usual you are right, but I just can't do that because I would effectively be giving Bostock the green light to do whatever he wants with her. He knows that he holds all of the cards and so far he is holding them pretty close to his chest. I have no option but to play along with him. I will call this in if we don't make any progress in the next hour or so, is that okay'?

'No it's not. But mark my words, I will call it in myself if nothing happens soon'.

Hodder made noises which suggested that he reluctantly agreed with Baxter.

From inside the monument, Parks was unable to get a signal for his mobile so he told Palma that he was going outside to call his customer. He asked Palma to remain inside and to bolt the door behind him after he had left. As he was leaving the monument Parks reached into his pocket and passed him a packet of Love Heart sweets saying 'I'll be back soon'. Once outside, Parks gently slid the exterior bolt into position thus imprisoning Palma inside. Parks concluded that he would only come back if necessary. Driven by greed and his perverse controlling nature, he decided that he and he alone would profit from the snide booze in the barn loft at Friarsdene Farm. Effectively, Palma knew too much and besides that, he had now outlived his usefulness.

Palma for his part, had other ideas and after waiting ten or fifteen minutes during which he composed another text for Hodder he decided to leave the base of the monument. When he couldn't open the door, it finally dawned him that he had been duped by his erstwhile partner.

He too, couldn't get a signal and he frantically leaned forward through one of the ventilation gaps with his phone in his hand hoping to get a signal. The walls were about three feet thick and his arms were simply not long enough. So, by the light of his headlamp he removed one of the guy ropes from the tent and lashed his mobile to a six foot length of scaffolding pole and pushed it out of a vent. The 'beep' from his phone was barely audible, but it sounded like music to Palma's ears when he heard it.

Hodder was becoming ever more agitated on the slope down to Long Sands frantically working out a strategy to 'buy' more time from Baxter whom he knew would finally lose patience with him. Suddenly, the text from Palma reached his mobile.

It simply said 'Locked in Statue...P is cumin back soon'.

Hodder's heart skipped a beat. Progress at last! Baxter had been sensible enough to remain in the car and had been protected from the elements but Hodder had been outside exposed to the wind and rain for the best part of an hour and he was soaked to the bone. As he got back into the car, he began to tremble...he was vaguely aware of it but had he stopped to think about it he would have realised that this was a massive adrenalin overload, quite unlike anything that he had ever experienced before.

'Quick. Collingwood's Monument...Palma is locked inside...Hopefully Parks will be back soon and we can capture the twat...leave the car by the Pier Watchman's hut and lets walk the rest of the way'.

In times of high anxiety like this, Baxter seemed to retreat into himself as if he was gathering his thoughts or mentally preparing for what was to come...they were after all going into the unknown. They were acting on the word of a self-confessed criminal who was most certainly only providing them with information for his own purposes. If it had not struck Hodder, it certainly chimed with Baxter that they would probably not have heard from Palma had he not been locked inside the monument.

They parked the car by the Watchman's hut and made their way on foot up a narrow track that inclined slightly upwards towards the site of the monument. Hodder knew that the access door to the foundations was located on the western side but none the less he asked Baxter to skirt the eastern side of the structure as he approached from the west.

He was keenly aware that both Baxter and he were exposed as they walked across the open land towards the monument, and if Parks was watching then it was highly likely that he would see them and not return. Another risk associated with this particular strategy, was that the only person that they may end up with may be Palma, and at this moment in time, Hodder did not particularly want him.

The two Detectives met on the wide steps which lead up to the large pedestal which is home to the statue. They agreed that Baxter would open the door and that Hodder who was carrying a flash lamp would enter the base ahead of him. It seemed only right that under the circumstances, that Hodder took all of the risks! They approached the door, and after careful examination Baxter located the bolt on the 'wrong side' and after a silent count of three he unlocked it. Hodder bounded in, the stench hitting him like an assault on his senses.

The beam of his torch flashed around the debris and for a second he considered that they may have been duped and that they may be the ones getting locked inside and if that was the case then he (Hodder) had really had excelled on this occasion. He immediately began to regret his blind stupidity, for not 'calling in' the job.

Baxter stood silhouetted in the doorway the light from outside sending a narrow shaft of daylight into the sordid interior. It seemed as if the putrid air from inside had been queuing up to escape or it may have been that the interior of the building was gulping in fresh air for the first time in decades.

'Is there anything Jim'? said Baxter.

'There is a tent at the far end...keep the door covered I'm going to have a look'. Hodder gingerly made his way over the detritus his shoes sliding on a suspiciously unpleasant substance that once disturbed added to the growing internal stench, so reminiscent of the house where Parks had escaped from him. The words 'Dirty Bastards'...escaped from his pursed lips. As he approached the tent He saw Palma emerge from it looking like a bug eyed Tarsier his eyes bulging to drink in the light from the torch.

'Mr Hodder. Mr Hodder, it's me Davy Palma'.

'Okay Davy...are you alone'?

'Yeah. Parky has gone to call his mate he might be back anytime soon. I don't want to be here when he does...he really gives me the creeps'.

Hodder responded by saying 'Open the tent up so I can look inside. I want to see that it is empty'. Palma did as he was told and as Hodder shone the torch inside the tent he saw Laurens laptop lying on top of a sleeping bag'.

'Pass me that laptop Davy then make your way towards the door but do not go outside'. Palma did as he was told and as he did so Hodder saw that he was holding a partially eaten pack of Love Heart sweets and a mobile phone in his hand. Uninvited, the phrase 'The Last Supper' flashed across his mind. This was not the time or place to tell Palma just how lucky he had been, but Hodder simply took the phone from him.

Baxter had pulled the door to, and all three of stood quietly. Palma was utterly bewildered. Hodder was frustrated that once again Parks appeared to have outwitted him and Baxter was growing increasingly agitated by Hodder's seeming obsession to 'go it alone'.

Finally, Hodder said...'Look Jeff, if he is coming back I want to capture him. You know what is at stake here. Stay inside with Davy...If he comes back and Davy does not respond when he calls out he will most definitely do a runner. If he comes inside you can lock him up and I will follow him in. Simple'?

'Jim. Like all of your plans it sounds simple but you have history'.

'Trust me'.

'Do I have a choice? Look where it has got us in the past'.

'As I have said...we all have choices...but the answer here is No'. He smiled. Baxter frowned. Palma looked bewildered and terrified.

'On one condition' said Baxter. 'I need to call Hannah to tell her that we will be late again...do you know that my relationship will be as tattered as yours if you keep this up...are you deliberately doing this to me'?

'Of course I am' replied Hodder...with a mischievous wink 'I see it as my duty to protect you from yourself...you will thank me in the end'.

For his part, Palma was perplexed by the apparent jokiness between the two Detectives...he just could not comprehend how they could be having such a light hearted conversation at a time like this. Palma simply did not understand the black 'gallows humour' of the police, and, having said that, he was all things considered, just a little bit on the thick side too.

Baxter stepped outside for a couple of minutes mindful that he could be being watched. He kept his call brief. When he returned Baxter said 'Hannah does not know where we are but she is going round to your house to keep Grace company...she knows about Lauren...she met Grace and Lauren at the hospital the other day, and she just wants to help...Do you see what I do for you...I use my girlfriend as an alibi to cover your arse'.

Hodder smiled...'Girlfriend eh? That's progress for you...okay...tea break over...back to work'. Palma was nonplussed, and for the second time in as many days he was being unlawfully imprisoned though, on this occasion it did not fully register with him.

The senior man asked to borrow Baxter's phone saying that his battery was running low and that he would recharge it in the car, and that he would call Grace to tell her about Hannah calling around.

Without a second thought, Hodder went outside with Baxter's phone and silently locked the door using the exterior bolt, and as he did so, he was struck by an overriding sense of guilt. Guilt, owing to the fact that he had just manipulated Baxter into an untenable position, because he knew that if he captured Parks that the first person he would be calling would be Bostock.

Baxter would be justifiably furious, but Hodder resolved to cross that bridge when he came to it. There was after all, much more than a poxy police career on the line here.

Taking the laptop with him, Hodder returned to the car and drove to the corner of Priors Terrace and Collingwood Terrace. Once there, he took some binoculars, and entered a small walled copse and took up a position where he could watch the western approach to the monument.

After about forty minutes or so, Hodder saw a young man with shocking blonde hair walking towards the monument across open land from the direction of the Fish Quay...there was something very familiar about his gait though his appearance was very deceptive.

After a second take he realised...it was Parks!

Parks had decided to return for the laptop, it was his insurance policy. He could simply go back for it in a few weeks after the rats had dined on what remained of David Palma, but he would rather have the security that it offered him now. It was a bargaining tool over his bent solicitor and that bent copper, and he worked on the principle of 'a bird in the hand etc'. Parks revelled in his smugness...he was really impressed with himself.

He did not think that Palma would recognise the significance of the laptop, but he felt confident that he could convince Palma to 'hang tight' until he had successfully concluded his non-existent meeting with his non-existent cash customer. He even toyed with the idea of leaving the laptop. So what if it was discovered in a few weeks' time? It would appear to the entire world that Palma had been living rough and that he had simply died whilst doing so. The police would conclude that it was Palma and not he who was responsible for the vile postings on Facebook.

Hodder ran back to his car, banging his shin on the underside of the steering column as he got in. If one can 'Fire Up' a Vauxhall Astra, then Hodder did a pretty good job of it!

He sped back to the Watchman's hut and ran up the slope towards the monument. As he approached from the north his eyes connected with Parks who was about twenty yards away. Parks began to sprint towards the Spanish Battery, so named after the Spanish Mercenaries who defended the Tyne in the 1600's. However, interesting as this fascinating historical fact was, it was not, it must be said, uppermost in Parks' mind as he sprinted away.

Hodder knew that Parks' escape options were somewhat limited, and instead of following him he went back to the car figuring that unless Parks went back in the direction of the Fish Quay then he could catch him quite easier in the car. As Hodder came back out onto Pier Road he looked directly ahead and saw Parks running along the footpath at the base of Priory in the direction of the North Pier.

If the tide was out, escape along the rocks would be a simple matter. With little more than wet feet, Parks could be around the headland and into King Edwards Bay, to the north of the Priory, and well away in matter of minutes. Hodder sped along the footpath with joggers, walkers and their dogs, leaping out of his way. Looking ahead, Hodder saw that the pier gate was closed, but instead of going onto the rocks Parks climbed around the security fence and began sprinting along the pier.

Hodder continued to follow Parks with the wind and rain driving into his face. He too, scaled the fence and as he ran along the pier he was haunted by the ghosts of every pint of beer, pizza, kebab and cancelled gym membership in his entire life. What a time he thought, to be confronted by all of the unwise lifestyle choices that he had made over the years. It wasn't so much a mid-life crisis that he was having, more of a mid-rift crisis and his well-developed beer gut acted like some great fat-filled pendulum putting an immense strain not only on his heart, but also the buttons of his sopping shirt.

The reason why Parks ran along the pier was clear when Hodder got there. The tide was in and the rocks covered. Ferocious waves crashed against the pier sending great walls of water and spray into the air where it joined with the rain before draining off the walkway in small rivulets. This was clearly not the day for a leisurely seaside stroll along the pier, or for that matter, an unwanted, coronary induced by sprinting!

Hodder was oblivious that about quarter of the way along the pier he passed a small ceramic dolls' head which had been set into the mortar when the pier was completed in 1909, after forty one years of construction. Over a century of the harsh north east weather had eroded her features, which was strangely coincidental because the elements were having exactly the same effect on Hodder's features too.

He was lagging behind and the visibility was very poor as Parks reached the lighthouse at the end of the pier, almost half a mile out into the raging North Sea. By this time, Hodder's trot slowed to a casual walk, he was to use the colourful euphemism, 'sweating like an agoraphobic on the top of Snowdonia'. Parks was standing at the base of the lighthouse, his back against the pier wall. Behind him the roaring sea, around him a biting wind and above him dark brooding clouds depositing torrential rain.

There was nowhere for Parks to go...well, there was, but Hodder hoped that he would not choose that option.

'Don't you dare jump you bastard' thought Hodder as he neared his quarry.

Hodder was going to have to play this with a straight bat so it was all raised palms, conciliatory tones and purposeful movements. The last thing that he wanted to do was to startle Parks to the point that he threw himself into the sea. 'Come on Dean...it's about time you and me had a chat. Do you fancy doing it somewhere more comfortable? I have a car at the end of the pier'. Dignity was at a premium when Hodder vomited all over the front of his rain and sweat sodden shirt. An athlete he was not.

There was a look somewhere between abject fear, disbelief and cold arrogance on Park's face...he was obviously not going to make this easy for Hodder and why should he? Compliance would only result in a substantial jail sentence. Fighting to be heard above the howling wind Parks said 'I know what you did. You and that bent bastard of a solicitor...I have the evidence so you had better let me go or I will use it'.

'No you won't Dean', said Hodder wiping the vomit from his shirt with his tie.

'Don't count on it' said Parks his confidence growing with each exchange'.

'You won't Dean because I have the laptop...I got it from your tent...nice site by the way...facilities are a bit basic though, Do you go there often'? Hodder regretted this the moment he said it...this was not the time or place for flippant throw away attempts at sarcasm.

There was silence as he neared Parks. Suddenly Parks said 'I have got other copies and I will use them'. 'If you have' replied Hodder then I deserve to be screwed so go ahead do it...but I do want you to come with me...if you do what I say I will not arrest you'.

'Yes you will...you're just a bent copper'.

'You have my word, now come on, I'm too old for this and besides that, I'm fucking drenched'.

Bizarrely, Hodder meant every word that he had said, though he doubted that he could ever convince Parks of that.

Parks was either really confused or the penny had finally dropped as he stood to his full height and said 'If you come any closer I will jump'.

Hodder looked Parks in the eye and imploringly said 'Don't do that Dean...that is not going to help anyone'... specifically, at this point, he was referring to Lauren and himself.

Suddenly, Parks jumped sharply to his left looking for all the world as if he was heading for the water. Hodder darted to his right and saw that Parks had jumped off the main pier and onto a massive granite block that stood on a lower pier about ten foot below the main pier walkway. From there Parks did a very passable imitation of an Olympic Gymnast as he jumped off the block and down onto the lower pier. He then began sprinting along the pier again, this time, back towards the shore.

'Oh. Not again' thought Hodder as he brought his Cholesterol filled mass up to what passed for top speed for him. There was little point in jumping down to the lower pier because as he ran back towards the land he saw that both piers merged at a point just before they would reach Tynemouth Sailing Club. With a fair wind behind him Hodder might just catch him. Hodder had seen this countless times before. The flight instinct was fuelled predominantly by adrenalin, and if half of the criminals that he had chased during his police service could have harnessed this energy in four yearly cycles, then the British Olympic medal haul would have been so much more impressive.

As he ran towards the end of the pier, Parks suddenly stumbled and fell as buzzers, bleeps and chimes filled the air, so much so that it reminded Hodder of the intro to 'Time' by Pink Floyd. Parks had obviously got entangled with a number of unseen fishing lines and activated some automatic bite alarms. It was clear that the rods had been cast out from the lower pier wall by a couple of fishermen who had been sheltering from the elements on the lea side of the lower pier wall.

As Parks struggled to free himself from the fishing tackle, Hodder gained the valuable few seconds that he needed to close the gap and was able to get onto the lower pier using some steps set in the wall. As Hodder continued running he almost collided with a very large, and very irate 'high viz' clad angler who looked as if he may 'do for' Parks himself.

When he was about six feet away, the non-rugby playing Hodder threw himself at Parks in a tackle that would have graced Twickenham. He landed on the slightly built Parks, all sixteen stone of Hodder forcing the air out of Parks and in a movement which belied his natural lack of agility, and ignoring an impending Asthma attack he had a handcuff on Parks in a micro-second.

Much to the amusement of the fishermen, it was now obvious that Hodder was a Police Officer and that Parks was the 'Catch of the Day'. Hodder then hauled Parks to his feet and attached the 'other end' of the cuffs to a u-shaped lifting eye that had been cemented into one of the large granite blocks which was nearby.

These blocks had once stood on the sea bed acting as 'Wave-breaks' to protect the pier foundations. On this occasion, however, the block which weighed about forty tons was doing a very adequate job holding Parks and by default protecting the female population of Tyneside.

Hodder then jogged the fifty or so yards to his car. As he did so, he hoped that the fishermen would not exact revenge on Parks whilst he was away. When he got there he made three phone calls before driving as close to the pier gates as possible.

The third call was to 'Lighthouse Billy' a friend of Hodder's who worked as a watchman upon the pier. After a while Billy answered gruffly...'Yeah...what do you want'?

'Are you at work'? said Hodder.

'Yeah...you just fucking well woke me up'!

'Get the pier open...I've just locked somebody up on it'.

'You must be joking have you seen the fucking weather'.

'Just open the pier. Now'! Hodder then ended the call.

Seizing the opportunity, Parks began complaining bitterly to the fishermen about police brutality. As they untangled their lines it was clear that they had little sympathy for him. On this occasion, Parks was the one that did not get away! The gates were eventually opened by and unenthusiastic and bleary eyed 'Lighthouse Billy' and Hodder put a limping Parks in the car.

Hodder ensured that Parks was sitting diagonally behind him in the nearside seat and that his cuffed right hand was attached to the rear nearside door handle. This effectively left Parks sitting in a twisted position, but more importantly for Hodder, it meant that Parks could not strike out with his 'spare' hand. However, it didn't stop him kicking out at the back of the driver's seat, but all things considered, Hodder could put up with that. It was, after all, he hoped, only going to be a short journey.

As Hodder sped to the first rendezvous point, Parks protested loudly. 'What is it with these people' thought Hodder...'They spend all their time on the run, and the minute you capture them they complain when you don't take them straight to the nick...you just can't please some people'.

Parks had absolutely no idea what was happening to him, Hodder on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing. He was kidnapping a prisoner.

Not for the first time, in the recent past, it occurred to Hodder that there is no situation that a Police Officer could not make worse.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Hannah was uncharacteristically nervous as she knocked on the front door of the Hodder household. Rapid, heavy footfalls could be heard as the door was opened almost immediately. Grace stood at the open door, dark shadows under her eyes suggesting a lack of sleep or excess tears, but more than likely a combination of both. 'Yes'? said Grace...'Oh Hello, my name is Hannah White, Jeff Baxter's girlfriend'...as she said this she realised that this too, was the first time that she had used that phrase and it felt strangely satisfying...she continued 'We met briefly at the hospital when Lauren was there...Jeff is out looking for her with Jim and he suggested that you may want some company...but if it's not convenient'.

For a few seconds, a pregnant pause filled the void between the two women. This may have been because Grace was trying to remember Hannah from the myriad of other uniformed staff that she had encountered at the hospital, or it could have been that the last thing she wanted to do was to invite just the latest in a long line of strangers into her home.

Finally, Grace said 'Oh Yes, please forgive me come in...any friend of Jeff's'. Grace stood aside and let Hannah enter the hallway. Breeding is everything, and Hannah was amazed when given the trying circumstances, Grace went straight into 'hostess mode', taking her coat, offering tea, coffee or 'perhaps something stronger'. Demonstrating her own pedigree, Hannah said that 'Coffee would be fine' but went on to mention that her decision had more to do with an early shift than any devotion to the temperance movement...this seemed to break the ice between them and they shared the first of many laughs on that difficult day.

An added bonus for Grace was that her mother Rose, went to the spare bedroom 'to get rid of this raging headache'...and as she walked from the room Grace concluded that she too was getting rid of a headache. For all his faults, it was hard to disagree with Hodder, that her mother really was a difficult woman to get along with.

Hannah had decided that it would be best to not press the subject of Lauren and just to let the conversation take its natural course...naturally, she (Lauren) was never very far from the surface and Grace seemed to retreat ever so slightly into her shell when her name was mentioned. It occurred to Hannah that Grace already seemed to be grieving. Grieving for someone who as far as anyone could tell, was still alive. It was truly awful to watch. Hannah who witnessed so much tragedy and heartache on a daily basis found herself easily, but more importantly, genuinely empathising with Grace.

When Grace told Hannah that she had called Baxter whilst en route from Clennell Hall, she was keen to extol his virtues. Hannah had to suppress laughter when she mentioned her jealous outburst when the phone call disturbed her first date with Baxter...'So, I am the older, other woman' said Grace as they shared the joke. Hannah blushed at her lack of faith in Baxter...she would not have cause to doubt him again. Whilst back on the subject of Baxter and Hodder Grace said 'Do you know where they are...I haven't heard anything for ages, and it just gets harder the longer it goes on'.

'I don't' was the honest reply...'But, I'm sure of one thing. They will do everything possible to find her and if what Jeff tells me about Jim is only half true...I am certain that he will bring her back safely to you...it's pointless saying don't worry but those two are as thick as thieves and it would not surprise me if they all three of them walked into through the door at any moment'.

Grace was unable to control her emotions any longer, and not for the first time that day, she broke down. It was second nature to Hannah to deal with situations like this...granted this was different because it was not exactly a work situation, but none the less, in that moment as she embraced Grace, an enduring friendship was born.

By the time Baxter realised that he had been 'duped' by Hodder it was too late...he was locked inside the foundations of the monument without a phone with only the Love Heart crunching Palma and the rats for company...he was unsure which he preferred, but the rodents were leading by a short head. Baxter resolved that if he survived this day, then the first thing that he was going to do was to kill Hodder!

The young Police Officer was quite used to spending extended periods of time in the company of criminals. This however, was different. Normally, the conversation would be 'driven' by the pre-determined agenda of the interview, and because there was none of that, the conversation felt somewhat forced and stilted. Other than the occasional 'When do you think Mr Hodder is coming back'? things felt just a little 'artificial' to Baxter. As the silences grew longer and much more uncomfortable, Baxter was reminded of the uneasy atmosphere of enforced work or family get-togethers.

Baxter was a copper with the ability to do immense harm to Palma, but, even in a situation like this as the batteries in the torches faded and the smell from the makeshift toilet increased, Palma was reluctant to talk about his business activities...it was in actual fact the only thing they had in common. The only thing that is, apart from the fact that neither man could get out of this goddamn awful place. 'All said and done, Mr Baxter, we all have to put food on the table. It's just that some of us choose do it in a different way. The thing about it is if I had a 'normal' job, I know that I wouldn't have the money or the home that I have. The down side is that I am constantly looking over my shoulder expecting someone to stab me in the back at any time'.

Heavily laden with irony, Baxter said with a long sigh, 'Sounds just like the police service to me', and thinking more of himself than Palma, Baxter said 'Do you know that you have been double crossed Davy'?

'What do you mean'? and although Baxter could not see Palma's face, it was obvious by the questioning tone of his voice that he was confused...'What do you mean'? he repeated.

'What I mean is that whether you know it or not, you would have died in here...not today, not tomorrow but you would have died a long, slow agonising death' and as he said this Baxter wondered if he would ever see Hannah again. He knew that if Hodder fell foul of Parks, no one other than Hodder knew that they were locked inside the monument and they were as good as dead.

'Bollocks' was the less than convincing reply from Palma...'you are just trying to screw me for information'.

'No, I'm not, and the reason that I know this is because your good friend and colleague Dean Parks, who I should tell you, grassed you up for the booze in the first place, leaves Love Hearts sweets at the scenes of his crimes, it's a bit like a calling card. It's the last thing he does before leaving the scene for the final time. And it's no different this time, so prepare yourself for a long wait and just pray to the Patron Saint of Criminals, that Hodder comes back soon. Otherwise, my friend, we are both 'bushed'.

Just as the slight echo of Baxter's words faded, so did the final glint of light from Palmas head torch.

As Hodder sped along the 50mph zone of the A1058 Coast Road towards Newcastle and beyond, he saw the flash of a speed camera. He hoped that it was one of the many rumoured to be no more than cosmetic street furniture used to keep the travelling public in check. 'Just another problem to put in my 'in tray'' he contemplated as the yellow box grew ever smaller in his rear view mirror.

Hodder then negotiated his way around the City Centre, avoiding what passes in the North East as rush hour, and he was soon heading westwards along the A69. Travelling along this road, Hodder pulled into a bus stop adjacent to a small ruined section of the Roman Wall, and made two phone calls. During the first call he received instructions, and during the second call he passed on those same instructions.

As he continued along the road he saw a sign for Darras Hall, and he recalled his recent visits there. 'Exactly what' he wondered, was a certain criminal, germane of that parish, doing at this precise moment?

Parks was a most ungracious travelling companion. Michael Palin would have hated him. He complained endlessly that his human rights were being violated, that he was hungry and he needed the toilet, in fact, anything at all. Parks was adamant that when he got to the police station he was going to make sure that Hodder and Randall-Ord paid the full price for their indiscretions.

After all was said and done, they, were a Police Officer and a lawyer and they above all, were not supposed to break the law! Had they no sense of decency, surely they must know what is right and what is wrong!

The urban sprawl of Tyneside finally gave way to the rural landscape of the Tyne Valley and the vast, sparsely populated county of Northumberland. Still on the A69, Hodder stopped in a layby just to the east of Hexham from where he made two more calls. He was then instructed to pass directly over the Hexham roundabout and continue on the A69 before leaving at the Corbridge roundabout before progressing further into the county upon the A68. He was instructed to 'Call again when you get to Bellingham Village'.

By this time, Parks was really starting to 'bug' Hodder with his constant complaining that interfered with his thought processes. So, Hodder stopped the car down a narrow country lane where he decided to 'call his bluff'. 'Look Dean...if you stay quiet for about half an hour I will let you go...if you don't I will gag you and beat the living shit out of you...this is entirely your choice and when the opportunity arises you can complain all you want about me...I have things on my mind...do you understand'?

'Where are we going'? said Parks.

'Just a bit further along the road...you have my word that I will let you go...but the deal is that you can't tell anyone is that okay'?

'Do I have a choice'?

'Dean, I was saying to someone just before that we all have choices, it's just that some are easier to make than others'...Hodder could also have added that 'And some are more right than others', but he did not want to further burden either himself or Parks, with the cryptic nature of his thinking.

This seemed to have the desired effect upon Parks, because he remained strangely silent for much of the journey to Bellingham. Once there Hodder received more instructions and made a second discreet phone call. He just hoped that he was not being watched or he may unintentionally scupper his own plan. Hodder, the car and Parks, left Bellingham and as instructed, followed the signs for Kielder Water, a place where despite the unforgiving and ravenous midge population he had previously spent many a happy hour.

At the C200 Hodder followed the Kielder Village signs. There was something not quite right about this road. When he saw that it was a 'C' classification Hodder assumed that it would be a narrow single track road but he was amazed that it was modern and wide. It was only when he saw the 'convoys' of Forestry Commission logging vehicles that he remembered that Kielder Forest covered some 250 square miles and is the largest working forest in Europe.

'What a place to 'lose oneself' he thought as a speeding logger heading his way narrowly missed colliding with him. 'At least that shut Parks up' he thought as he sighed loudly with relief. At Kielder Village, he received further instructions and followed signs for the Forest Drive toll road where he was instructed to make his way towards Kielder Viaduct, park up to await further instructions.

Until 1958, Kielder Railway Viaduct carried goods and passengers on behalf of a succession of small independent Railway companies serving rural Northumberland and the Borders. As road transport became more efficient, it fell into disuse and was eventually sold for £1.00 in 1969 to the Northumberland and Newcastle Society who set about preserving this impressive structure. The viaduct was very much a product of its time...the style was dictated to the designer John Furness Tone, Resident Engineer of the Newcastle and North Shields Railway Company, by the Duke of Northumberland who wanted the structure to be in keeping with the Baronial style of his shooting lodge, Kielder Castle.

Tone was to become one of the leading figures in the development of the embryonic railway system in the United Kingdom. A local boy made good, but like a lot of innovators from an area of innovators, he would remain largely unknown. All revolutions, even those of the industrial type, would it seems, have their victims.

The viaduct has an impressive seven arches, crossing Deadwater Burn, at such an angle as demanded by the Duke, that the unique 'Skew Arch' design meant that each of the stones forming the arches had to be individually cut to size and shape on site by master masons. It took three years to construct...all just to fit in with the whims of the Lord of the Manor. Then as now...'What the Duke wants the Duke gets'...nothing changes!

Just think of the Alnwick Garden and all of that Lottery funding...Good causes? Think again.

Hodder knew none of these facts, but if he did, the irony would not have been lost that the Duke's many mines which were effectively 'scars on the landscape', could remain just that, as long as the Old Duke did not have to look at them for fear of missing his shot at a passing grouse, partridge or perhaps even a trespassing commoner.

Parking in a secluded clearing, Hodder got out of the car and putting on his wide brimmed fedora, and Barbour Stockman's coat he made a call, predictably, it began pouring with rain, the sweet smell of the rain soaked grass filling his nostrils. He was advised to 'stay tight and await further instructions'...he did as he was told. Pacing anxiously around the car...clearly sent the wrong messages to Parks who became increasingly agitated and began to kick out again at the interior of the car.

The car wasn't complaining but Hodder became increasingly agitated by this...his nerves were clearly getting the better of him, so he took a short walk into the forest to avail himself of the nearest tree, and to actually think about what he was doing. But, even with a clearing head and clearing bladder, he knew that he had no choice.

Hodder strolled just far enough into the forest so as not to hear Parks protests but he remained close enough to keep an eye on the car...he did not relish the idea of losing Parks now...even though he doubted whether Houdini himself could have extricated himself from the car before feeling the full sixteen gravity assisted stones of Hodder upon his back.

However, it was not Parks that Hodder was worried about.

Hodder nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone rang...it was Grace. Why was it, he wondered that when he wanted a signal at Clennell Hall, he could not get one and now, here, when he wanted a call from anyone other than Grace, it was 'all systems go'.

'What to do?...should I ignore it'? He did.

On the other end of the phone Grace was frantic. 'Where can he be? What can he be doing Hannah'? With that Hannah rang Baxter's mobile. She would never know this but Hodder heard that phone too. He chose to ignore that call too and let it ring off. Hannah left a voice mail message for Baxter asking him to call her urgently and that Grace was desperate for information, any information.

Grace said 'This is really unusual...both of them not answering I'm not happy. Do you think that that they are alright? Do you think that I should call the police'? Hannah remembered an earlier conversation with Baxter when the subject of Hodder was raised. Baxter described Hodder as being something of a 'Maverick' with a reputation for getting things done albeit, on occasions, in somewhat of an unconventional manner.

Though she could not really claim to know Hodder, Hannah felt that there was some mileage in telling this story to Grace. Whether she believed it or not Grace seemed to buy it. She was clearly nearing breaking point but she said...'If we don't hear in an hour I am calling the police'. She could not have been aware that that phrase had already been used once that day, and on that occasion the call had not been made.

She, too, would not make her call either.

Bostock had just taken the latest in a series of calls from Hodder, and he looked over his shoulder and said to 'Tiny' 'I think we have that copper just where we want him'. 'Tiny' grunted, the response of a man who would rather be waging his own kind of war on the virtual battlefield.

Lauren was sitting next to 'Tiny' wearing the same rancid sack that had previously been placed over Palma's head. She was too frightened to attempt to speak and almost too terrified to breathe. Whoever these monsters were, it was obvious to Lauren that they were talking about Hodder and it was equally obvious that they were trying to lure him into a trap. She wished that she could warn him but the duct tape on her mouth and the bindings on her hands simply turned her into a mute, unwilling spectator...or worse!

Bostock decided that they would conceal the car in the forest and walk to the viaduct where he would find a suitable place to conceal Lauren and himself to wait for Hodder to arrive with Parks. Bostock did not say as much to his dim witted cohort, but he did not intend an exchange to take place...he did not need any witnesses left behind, especially a Police Officer, who could doubtless call on the resources of his organisation to exact revenge.

'No' thought Bostock...'There will be no one left to mess things up for me, and if that includes 'slotting' 'Tiny' so be it, but for now he has his uses'.

Bostock, 'Tiny' and Lauren then walked across the full 131 yards of the Viaduct, the torrential rain was almost horizontal as the wind propelled it towards them with bone chilling venom. Upon reaching the north side, Bostock saw that the trees grew in such a way as to almost form an arched canopy over the footpath which wended its way towards Deadwater Fell in the distance.

The Mancunian determined that this was a good a place as any to lay in wait. Strategically it offered many advantages, specifically, Bostock could see the southern approach to the one time railway line which was now overgrown with grass, the rails having been removed many years ago for scrap. Furthermore, he could remain concealed until he had to reveal himself and thirdly, once at the north end of the viaduct and therefore effectively out of sight he could deal with Hodder and Lauren without the worry of prying eyes.

Bostock took further confidence in the fact that somewhere in the distance he could hear gunshots...surely a couple of more shots in a rural environment would not attract any undue attention. This was his plan and it felt to Bostock like a good one. He inwardly complimented himself once again on his cunning, feeling confident that he would be on the road to Manchester within the hour, job done!

Having secreted himself at the north end of the viaduct Bostock told 'Tiny' to go back to the car remain out of sight and watch for anyone who may approach the viaduct from the south. Bostock did not have much faith in 'Tiny' other than when it came to 'caving in skulls', 'dooshing doors' or playing console games. He did, however, think that his present assignment was well within his associates mental capacity.

When Hodder received the call from Bostock giving him directions to the Viaduct he set off alone to reconnoitre the approach. Naturally, he did not take the obvious route and was startled to see the black Infiniti concealed behind some gorse bushes about fifty yards from the footpath leading to the Viaduct. As he watched he saw 'Tiny' approach the car, get in and tuck into a Snickers Bar...he clearly had his mind very much on the job in hand.

Hodder then returned to his car and made a phone call. He just prayed that he was not being set up.

About fifteen minutes later, he set off with a protesting Parks and headed for the Viaduct. Hodder, not normally a man taken to violence he struck Parks very hard to the face telling him to 'Shut the fuck up'! This seemed have a truly profound effect on Parks. Gone was his flippant arrogance, gone was his confidence and gone was the colour from his face, apart from a slight reddening beneath his left eye. Parks seemed to sense that something quite unlike he had ever experienced before in his wasted little life was happening to him, and that worse still, that it was happening to him now.

Hodder did is best to ignore the Infiniti concealed in the gorse...he suspected that his progress towards the Viaduct was being relayed to Bostock as he walked. When he came off the phone 'Tiny' was alerted by a gentle rap on the driver's door window...he instinctively pressed the button and in keeping with Infiniti quality control the window slid silently down. A large bandaged fist crashed into his face sending his head rocking sideways. The same bandaged hand reached into the car and removed the ignition keys.

The driver's door was immediately opened, and 'Tiny' was hauled out and as 'Big Neil' stood him up against the offside of the car, he was hit again, again and again with an aluminium baseball bat which made a high pitched 'ping' upon contact. Oh, how 'Big Neil' loved that sound!

'First Aid' who was standing nearby, did not say a word to 'Big Neil'...he knew that this was 'payback' for the 'crucifixion' outside his home. He looked on in quiet admiration thinking 'It is so good to see a man happy in his work'.

'Tiny's coat was then removed and handed to 'First Aid'...It was a little too big for him but he put it on anyway. He then returned to his vehicle, gave 'Big Neil' a thumbs up and the contents of a box from his X5, before driving to Kielder Castle where he parked up and began to walk south upon the disused railway line towards the Viaduct.

The Viaduct, for years off the beaten track, is one of the least well known attractions at Kielder Water, and as such visitor numbers can be erratic. Burrows did not want any witnesses and the success or otherwise of his mission would be determined by any passing walkers. As Burrows walked towards the Viaduct, he was keenly aware that his reputation was on the line and that effectively his whole future was very much in the balance...he was effectively in the hands of others. He generally did not get nervous but in truth, he had never embarked on such an unpredictable enterprise, at least not since he was a young up and coming criminal.

Burrows prided himself on his meticulous planning and cool demeanour. He knew that generally, he held most, if not all of the cards, for most, if not all of the time. He could not be so confident on this occasion. He was working in unison with a Police Officer, and a corrupt one at that. This could prove to very tricky and very messy.

Baxter was becoming increasingly agitated with the whingeing Palma who despite not being able to see what he was doing was unable to sit still for more than a few minutes. He kept walking around the pitch black interior of the monument his footfalls unsteady as he clattered into the scaffolding poles and other debris. 'Look Davy...just sit down and relax...we can't do anything until Hodder comes back...and even that may be quite some time so for the sake of my sanity and your health sit down'.

From somewhere inside the base of the monument Palma said 'We are as good as dead...your mate has seen to that'. Very much in the style of Corporal Jones Baxter said 'Don't panic' as he too began to inwardly panic. Baxter then began to reflect how just when he had met Hannah, Hodder, somehow, without any effort whatsoever, managed to screw the whole thing up. This was, after all, not Baxter's problem but he was very much in the epicentre of the crisis and completely unable to do anything about it.

Baxter decided to sit tight for a couple of hours...this should give Hodder enough time to 'fix' whatever he had to 'fix' or fail whilst trying to do just that. If at the end of those two hours Hodder had not returned then he was going to try to attract the attention of any walkers who may be strolling by the monument.

Whilst formulating this plan, Baxter felt as if he was betraying Hodder, but as he fought with his inner self, he heard the words of Hannah, always so sensible, telling him not to be so naive and that he was not there by choice but at the whim of the wildly unpredictable Jim Hodder. 'No', concluded Baxter, 'He is not getting away with this'. Why was it he wondered, that just as his own life seemed to be changing direction for the better, that that conniving bastard Hodder had managed to trick him and screw it all up?

As he thought deeply about the situation, he concluded that Palma may be right after all...maybe they were 'as good as dead'.

Hodder, his collar up against the torrential rain, walked towards the Viaduct. He was keenly aware that Bostock's 'heavy' in the Infiniti may be following him and reporting his every move to his boss. He was reluctant to look behind for fear of alerting Parks to his concerns.

Parks for his part, was deeply confused...even he could work out that he was nowhere near a police station, and that it was highly likely that he would not be going to one anytime soon. Hodder held him firmly by the upper arm as the prisoner shuffled uneasily forward unaware of what lay ahead. Each step tightened the knot in his stomach and drew him closer to his destiny.

Hodder need not have worried that 'Tiny' was following behind. Unfortunately for 'Tiny', he was having problems of his own. At that very moment, 'Tiny' who had been placed back into the driver's seat had just had his hands tethered to the steering wheel with 'cable ties'. 'Tiny' was able to grapple one hand free and pressed the horn...he instantly regretted this because 'Big Neil' launched another volley of blows to his head. 'That did the trick' thought Neil, as all resistance seemed to drain from 'Tiny'.

Paradoxically, 'Big Neil' blamed 'Tiny' for the pain to his knuckles caused by the barrage, so, he hit him once again, just for good measure!

Tiny's second hand was securely attached to the steering wheel, and 'Big Neil' concluded that it was about time for a drink. Now, 'Big Neil' was nothing if not professional, and that unlike the reckless Hodder, he never drank whilst working. Indeed, it was his maxim that drinking on duty 'dulled your senses and you lost your edge'.

No, it was 'Tiny' who was going to have a drink. So, putting on surgical gloves, the gangster set about pouring as much 'Snide Vodka' down his victim's throat as he could. Naturally, the bigger of the big men could offer little resistance other than to spit out the Vodka or simply let it dribble down his chin and onto his clothing.

'Big Neil' did not lose a heartbeat. He would not rest until at least a couple of bottles of the stuff had been 'emptied' into 'Tiny'...How was 'Big Neil' to know that 'Tiny' was teetotal despising alcohol, so, that even if the circumstances had have been different, he would have put up a brave fight anyway. However, resistance was utterly pointless. If he was nothing else, 'Big Neil' was a generous host, and after about ten minutes of dribbling, pouring, spitting and spluttering, 'Big Neil' calculated that 'Tiny' had consumed enough alcohol for the job in hand.

His work here was not yet done and 'Big Neil' picked up the hosepipe and exhaust filler which was lying on the ground behind the Infiniti. With the trained hand of the serial sadist, he then inserted the hosepipe deep into the exhaust pipe of the car before sealing the gaps around the hose with the exhaust pipe filler which acted as a sealant as the heat generated by the fumes from the engine caused it to harden.

'Big Neil' slid the 'open end' of the hosepipe in through a small gap in the driver's door window, he then entered the car via the front passenger door, and being careful not to disturb the sleeping 'Tiny' he sealed the gaps around the pipe with duct tape. He then removed the cable ties, giving 'Tiny' one last right hook. By his own calculations, 'Big Neil' thought criminals everywhere must account for about eighty percent of the duct tape market.

'Tiny' who was drifting in and out of a drunken stupor as the engine was turned on, had no idea that the Coroner would later record a verdict of suicide.

Concealed amongst the trees at the northern end of the Viaduct, Bostock thought that he heard the sound of a car horn in the distance. He thought that it may be 'Tiny' trying to alert him to some impending danger but then realised that even the cerebrally challenged 'Tiny' would probably call his mobile.

All things considered, it was probably a near miss between a tourist and a 'Logger' on the C200. As he waited for the inevitable showdown with Hodder, Bostock toyed with idea of what meal he was going to order that evening from Shere Khan, the famed Indian restaurant on the Curry Mile in Manchester.

Whatever it was, it was going to be better than the diet of Kebabs and Burgers that 'Tiny' had until that morning seemed to survive on.

A few minutes later Bostock became aware of rustling of the grass upon the Viaduct, as he looked from the safety of the trees he saw Hodder and Parks walking towards him. Buoyed with confidence that the job would soon be over, and that he would be heading back to his home town imminently, he and a hooded Lauren, emerged from the trees.

Hodder saw that Bostock was standing to the left of Lauren holding her roughly by the upper arm. In his right hand was a revolver of sorts. Hodder's natural hatred of firearms meant that his knowledge of these weapons was limited to say the least. Bostock and Lauren continued to walk slowly forwards as Hodder and Parks did likewise. When they were at a point midway along the Viaduct Hodder was reminded of a whole series of Cold War/Espionage movies that he had seen over the years when an exchange of prisoners would take place. With any luck this 'exchange' would 'go off' without a hitch and he could set about getting his life back on track regardless of the consequences that it may have upon his career.

'Mr Hodder...how nice to see you again...it's very good to see that you have brought me my package'.

Hodder saw a visible change in Lauren's stance as she seemed to sense that one way or the other that her ordeal may be over soon. She inwardly pleaded, her internal voice saying 'Please help me Dad'.

'Come on...lets get this over and done with' said Hodder.

'Okay' replied Bostock...'on the count of three'.

'One'...'Come on' thought Hodder 'Do you really have to string it out this way'?

'Two'...I'm going to make you sweat' thought Bostock.

'Three'...with that Hodder released his grip on Parks removed his handcuffs and motioned him towards Bostock.

As much as he despised Parks it was heart breaking watching a man, even a man as odious as Parks, walking to his death. Bostock calmly raised the gun and said to Parks 'What is your name'...a plainly terrified Parks mumbled out 'Dean'. 'Dean who'? spat out Bostock the hatred in his voice palpable.

'Dean P..P..Parks'.

'Okay Dean...keep walking towards me'. As he began to shuffle forward, Parks looked over his shoulder at Hodder, a mournful, inevitable look in his eyes. In that second, Hodder knew what a condemned man walking towards the gallows must have felt.

As Parks reached Bostock the gun was directed towards Hodder 'This is it' he thought...'We are all going to get a bullet'.

'Were you really stupid enough to trust me Hodder'...your daughter is my insurance policy' and with that, he began to shuffle backwards towards the trees, still holding onto Lauren with the gun alternating between Hodder and Parks.

Do not follow me Mr Hodder...or your daughter will suffer'.

As the three of them disappeared from view, Hodder was glued to the spot. He did not know if Bostock's associate was nearby with orders to shoot him if he moved.

A couple of seconds later the country silence was shattered by two rapid gunshots. 'The bastard' thought Hodder as he sprinted towards the northern end of the Viaduct.

When he was about twenty yards from the 'arch of trees' he stopped dead in his tracks as Lauren was led onto the Viaduct by Burrows. Burrows too had a weapon in his hand and for the second time in as many minutes, Hodder thought that both Lauren's and own his life were being held in the balance by a criminal.

Burrows silently gestured towards Hodder who began to walk towards his fate.

Burrows raised his gloved clad hand as a signal for Hodder to stop when he was about five yards away from Lauren and himself. Their eyes connected as Burrows released his grip on Lauren...in that moment Hodder knew that he had a lot more in common with Burrows and his like, than he cared to admit.

Though no words were spoken...Burrows reached out offered his hand to Hodder who instinctively moved forward and shook it. Though not a freemason, Hodder recognised a Masonic handshake...'Mm, Quite senior' was his immediate thought.

As a result of the handshake, Burrows concluded that Hodder was not a member of 'The Lodge'.

As their flesh touched, they connected in more than a physical sense. Hodder knew that 'it was over'...the status quo had been restored. Also, in that instant he knew that his adversarial relationship with Burrows, who would still run his 'empire' with an iron grip, would continue.

On the plus side, the police in general, and Hodder in particular, knew exactly where he stood with the man.

Hodder also knew that in what passed for the modern world, that there was a lot worse than a man who made his fortune by the law of the jungle. There was a perverse code of conduct, governed by an equally perverse code of honour that few outside the secular world of organised crime would ever witness, let alone understand.

In the meantime, he had a daughter and wife to reunite. Hodder mouthed the words 'Thank You' as he turned to walk away, still not wholly convinced that he would not be shot in the back. However, his greatest fear was not for himself. It was that Burrows would shoot Lauren, and that he would survive.

How would he ever explain this to Grace?

Lauren's shoulders were shaking under the weight of her stifled tears. Hodder was reluctant to remove the hood still fearing that 'Tiny' may be waiting just around the next corner or behind the next tree to despatch them both. He wanted to shield her from any more trauma.

As he walked he spoke quietly, but more compassionately than he had ever done so before. 'We are nearly out of this darling...please trust me. Believe me, I had no idea that any of this would happen to you. I am truly sorry...when we get back to the car you can call your mum...she will be overjoyed to hear your voice...please forgive me.

As Hodder and Lauren made their way back to his car he looked out of the corner of his eye at 'Tiny' who was still in the driver's seat of the car. He seemed strangely oblivious to Hodder and Lauren's presence.

This was largely to do with the fact that he was dead.

Once back in the car Hodder removed Lauren's hood and ever so gently removed the duct tape from her mouth and hands. She winced as fine small hairs left their roots, tears of terror and relief flowed down her cheeks. He treated her with all the delicacy and love that one would treat a new born.

In that moment, a moment that they alone would share, they truly connected.

He embraced her, instantly exorcising all of the feelings of reluctant parenthood that he had kept suppressed over the years. His guilt, however, would take longer to dissipate, but he had finally 'got it', realising that his priorities had been so wrong for so long.

For the first time in his life he felt like a father, and for the first time in her life Lauren felt like she had a father too. This was the strangest love that Hodder had ever experienced. This felt like a very pure form of love. It was not based on any form of physical attraction or sexual desire. This had an entirely organic, natural feeling that, to Hodder, a man so used to suppressing his feelings, felt utterly wonderful.

Reality intruded once again as Hodder experienced a raging determination to get as far away from Kielder as he possibly could. He handed Lauren his phone saying 'Give your mum a call'. However, Lauren's hands were trembling so much that Hodder had to take the phone from her to make the call.

Hodder did not want to spoil the moment. He wanted Grace to experience the high joy that was still surging through his veins.

Unbeknown to Hodder, only a matter of minutes earlier, Burrows had been lying in wait behind Bostock and Lauren as Bostock prepared for the non-existent handover of prisoners. Burrows made his move when it was obvious to him that something was occurring on the Viaduct. He simply crept into position and waited for Bostock, and whoever accompanied him to return to the cover of the trees.

He did not have to wait very long because a few moments later, Bostock backed into the canopy of trees not with one, but with two hostages. Only one would be leaving. Burrows discharged the first of his two shots into Bostock's head, his grey matter staining Parks' stolen tee shirt. Parks would not live long enough to complain his, life too, was over a matter of seconds later. Such was the speed and efficiency of Burrows that Parks did not have enough time to panic or attempt to escape. Burrows was nothing if not a perfectionist, and the bullet that exited through a wound at the back of his Park's skull, took half of his now malfunctioning, dysfunctional brain with it, before lodging into the trunk of a Scots Pine some twenty yards away.

However, out of no sense of loyalty or decency, the assassin led Lauren into the arms of Hodder. He did this entirely out of an unsaid understanding that they were now united by an unspoken and invisible bond, borne entirely out of crime. A crime jointly committed, that none of them would ever mention in 'polite company'.

As Hodder walked from the scene, 'Big Neil' remained out of sight standing at the southern approach to the Viaduct, he was present only to ensure that his 'Boss' was not compromised in any way. However, the man who had just killed 'Tiny' and who was untouched by his own actions, was strangely moved by the scene of Hodder being reunited with his daughter. Naturally, he would never admit it, 'Big Neil' was still too tough for that, besides, the video camera in his hand would shake too much if he got too emotional.

'Big Neil' waited for the sound of Hodder's car to evaporate into the distance before ringing Burrows. He gave him the all clear and a few moments later Burrows emerged from the forest. No further words were spoken, but each man knew that the other had successfully completed the job in hand. Burrows returned to the Infiniti and deposited 'Tiny's' coat in the car together with the revolver. Both items had just the correct amount of cordite upon them linking them to an unsolved murder in Birmingham.

The Coroner would later record a verdict of murder in the case of Bostock, who died at the hands of 'Tiny'. In the absence of any witnesses, the forensic evidence found at the scene would 'prove' the theory. This was all very clinical under the circumstances.

Isn't science a wonderful thing?

There would be no verdict recoded in the case of Dean Parks, His body was later weighed down and together with Bostock's dismantled gun he was dropped into the depths of Kielder Water. Burrows and 'Big Neil' who performed this act, knew nothing of the presence of Lower Plashetts, beneath the waves, and less still that, purely by coincidence, his body landed in the deconsecrated grounds of the parish church.

Given the lifestyle of Parks, this was an act of utter sacrilege. However, the pike, trout and carp that inhabited the reservoir, would enjoy not only Parks but also the last packet of Love Hearts that he would ever buy. Meanwhile, the weapon would rust in pieces.

Dean Parks, who had a loveless heart, was the product of a casual sexual encounter. He would not be mourned, or missed. However, the Department of Work and Pensions, would later write to his last known address, informing him that his benefits were being cancelled. This unfortunately named department, for he had neither worked, nor was he ever to become a pensioner, was just doing its job. However, Dean Parks' final contribution to society, proved to be his only positive act of benefaction, in that by dying, he had unwittingly managed to reduce the unemployment figures by one.

Let's hear it for Dean!

Burrows and 'Big Neil' had just done a 'two for one', that would later have Senior Officers in Greater Manchester 'doing cartwheels', however, the two gangsters would never get the credit that they fully deserved for their public spirited work.

If the underworld was good for one thing it was covering your tracks. Talking of which, Burrows would later remove all identification from his vehicle which was to be burnt out by a minion in Leeds. Their disposable mobile phones were disposed into the depths of Kielder Water, whilst they were disposing of Parks. None of these three items would ever be found.

Speaking of minions, CCTV evidence would later show that that at that precise moment Burrows and his Solicitor, the esteemed Francis Randall-Ord, were playing Blackjack in a casino on Tyneside.

Isn't technology a wonderful thing?

As Grace answered her phone, she instinctively looked at the display. She saw the name 'Jim' on the screen and immediately answered 'Where the Fuck have you been I have been beyond myself'.

'Mum. It's me' cried a barely audible Lauren 'I'm safe. Dad is with me'. Bizarrely, Grace's first response was to apologise for her profanity before saying 'Where are you? What happened? Are you hurt'? This was Grace, and once again, too many questions, too quickly, but given the circumstances, perhaps she could be forgiven on this occasion.

So, Hodder, always a risk taker, and oblivious to the horrendous consequences of a fixed penalty ticket for using a mobile phone whilst driving, took it from Lauren and spoke. Grace was quaking with emotion. She barraged Hodder with a seamless series of questions about 'Where are you? Where have you been? When will you be back? Is she alright? Has our baby been harmed'? This parenthood 'thing' was really getting to Hodder. He had never considered Lauren to be 'Our Baby', correctly or otherwise, he had assumed that his role was to be a husband, albeit not a very good one at that, but, not for the first time that day, he was overwhelmed by the 'sense of family'. A reality, that he had quite unwisely, chosen to ignore over the years. He may live to regret his folly, but at that moment he was swept up in the emotion of it all.

But this was the here and now and, Hodder was Hodder, and in keeping with Hodder, he was reluctant to give any details of his whereabouts or what had happened. He promised Grace that he would be home in less than an hour. Before ending the call Grace said 'I have Hannah with me...Is Jeff with you'?

Hodder, who found himself thinking on autopilot, said 'I will pick him up on the way'. Secretly, he was thinking 'Oh fuck! Nearly forgot about him. I hope that he has not killed Palma'.

Hodder held Lauren's trembling right hand as he drove. The dilemma of what to tell her about her ordeal was running through his mind. She obviously knew that something violently dramatic had occurred, but for reasons of self-preservation he was going to have to attempt to coerce her into some accepting form of explanation whereby she would unwittingly protect him.

Not for the first time in his life, or for that matter, in recent days, Hodder felt utterly loathsome about himself. So, Hodder set about setting up a scenario where he told Lauren that he had discovered that her collision was the result of an insurance scam whereby 'Accidents' were planned to enable the instigators to claim substantial damages for non-existent injuries.

Lauren seemed to 'buy' this explanation, especially when he told her that she was being held in exchange for his insurance details...the bad guys couldn't get anywhere with their bogus claim without these details. At this precise moment he praised the naivety of youth. He really pushed the boat out when he said 'The bangs that you heard were from a shooting party...we were on private land and they were not very happy with us being there'. Hodder just hoped that the close proximity of the gunshots would not destroy his theory.

At that point, as if struck by a bolt of lightning, Hodder realised that he would have to rid Lauren's clothing of any forensic evidence. He then set about formulating a plan of 'burgling' Lauren's room to retrieve the clothes, but, much more dauntingly, from his point of view, he had to remember how the fucking washer worked.

Lauren was still on an emotional 'low', but she seemed to be entirely receptive to these ideas. Hodder, on the other hand, was ever mindful of his own need for survival, forced the issue even further, when he raised the subject of the last words spoken by Parks. He said 'There was not anyone else with us. Do you understand'?

Lauren responded by saying 'But, I heard two voices'.

Hodder said 'Lauren, this has been a long and difficult day. There has been a lot for both of us to take in'. He took his eyes off the road and connected directly with her eyes. 'There was only one person there...do you understand, please never tell anyone that you thought that you heard more than one voice...we could get into trouble and we have to be very careful' and feeling like an utter toad, he continued 'These people, will try to make our lives as difficult as possible, and if they find out that I gave them bogus insurance information, they will cause real problems for us...of course you can tell your mum' (He hoped)

Investing his future in an eighteen year old, he said 'I am just pleased that the Shooting Party came along to scare off the bad guy's', but as he said this he had visions of an entirely different 'Shooting Party' altogether, the participants of which, were now well on their way back to Tyneside and eternal freedom.

Hodder continued by saying 'It would be a good idea if we did not mention that we were on private land. After all that we have been through I would not want either of us to get prosecuted'. In all of his years, Hodder had never known a person to be 'done' for civil trespass but he was banking on the theory that Lauren would not be so wise.

As she regained her composure, Lauren called the hospital. She was relieved to hear that Ricky had been discharged and that he was being looked after by his parents.

As Hodder drove, he reflected that his immediate future lay in the hands of a traumatised teenager, an accomplished career criminal and a corrupt solicitor. Moreover, as he headed for home he knew that there was a lot worse was yet to come and that there is no situation that Police Officer could not make worse.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Baxter was furious. Where was Hodder? As he looked through one of the 'vents' in the base of the monument, he cursed the lack of dog walkers, people he abused on a very regular basis for entirely different reasons. For his part, Palma, continued to be a pain in the backside, a point that the normally placid Baxter, made to him on an all too regular basis. 'If I stay in here much longer with him' thought Baxter, 'First Aid will be the least of his worries, but nonetheless, it will be an essential requirement for him'.

Throughout the journey back to Tyneside, Hodder filled the still fragile Lauren with a spurious, but under the circumstances quite believable explanations for her collision. He told her that Insurance Fraud was a growing problem and that entirely innocent persons were the victims of organised gangs. He told her that these gangs often worked out of their own area, so as not to draw the attention of the local police to whom they would doubtless be known, and whom would presumably become suspicious of the 'accidents'.

Laying it on even thicker, Hodder added that he assumed that was why the accent that she heard was not from Tyneside. However, though in his opinion, it was obviously Mancunian, he said that he could not place it to a particular region. Hodder went further to suggest that he was contacted via her, fortunately for him, missing mobile phone, hence, how he knew when and where to go with the documents that he described as being made up from a whole series of old or bogus documents.

Hodder felt like the proverbial paedophile when he told Lauren that this was their secret and that they would both get into a lot of trouble if she shared too many details with anyone.

When he eventually pulled into the car park at the Spanish Battery, at Tynemouth, he asked Lauren to remain in the car, he assured her that he would only be away a few minutes. As Hodder opened the door in the side of the monument a shaft of light so blindingly bright, flooded the interior of this rancid wretched place.

Both Baxter's and the dishevelled Palma's eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the rare Tyneside sunshine that surged through the doorway. The door aperture acted like a man size picture frame, silhouetting Hodder and making him look for all the world like the robot 'Gort' from 'The Day The Earth Stood Still'...the original that is, not the disappointing remake!

Baxter went ballistic, he went for Hodder 'Where the hell have you been? Have you got any idea what it is liked to be locked up'?

'I do' interrupted Palma rubbing his eyes, still dazzled by the daylight.

Turning to Palma, Hodder said 'Just piss off, take that camping gear with you and don't forget to respond to your bail'.

Palma responded by rummaging through his pockets saying 'Don't know if I have my house keys'. As he took out the contents of his pocket Hodder saw two debit cards. 'Give them to me' said Hodder. In no mood to resist, Palma calmly handed them over, and Hodder examined them and said 'Whose card is this'? 'It's mine, it's for a false account that I have'.

Hodder's eyes widened when he saw the second card...it was Lauren's. His voice took on a dark menacing tone which suggested, even to Palma that an extreme beating may not be far away. 'Where did you get this one'? growled Hodder.

'I got it off a bloke in a pub'.

'Don't give me that bullshit...now think very hard before you answer me again.

'Where did you get it'? Palma seemed to shrink in size perhaps subconsciously, trying to make himself into a smaller target. 'Honest, I got it off a bloke called 'Daft Larry' in The Clock, when I was in there with Parky. 'Daft Larry got all of the camping gear and when we collected the stuff he just handed it to me...Ask Parky, he will tell you'.

The words 'If only I could' filled Hodder's brain. Hodder then said 'I'm going to keep these. We will talk about them when you answer your bail. Now clear off before I change my mind'. Palma did not need to be told twice, he dismantled the tent in record time and looking like an over loaded bag lady, he fled across the open grassland in the direction of Pier Road and Tynemouth Village.

Baxter was incandescent. 'Okay, are you going to tell me what exactly why you locked me in there and what you were doing when I was'?

Hodder instinctively knew that he could not tell the truth, so reverting to type, he said 'I got a phone call from Bostock and he told me where he dropped Lauren off and that I had to go and get her'.

'And exactly, where was she'?

'Scotch Corner Services' he lied.

'So, why couldn't I come with you instead of being locked up with that idiot'?

'Because Jeff' lied Hodder, I did not want you to get into any trouble, as I have said to you before, you will go far in the job if you keep your nose clean'.

Baxter did not reply but thought 'I may go far in the job, if I get as far away as possible from you'.

Hodder interrupted Baxter's thoughts when he said 'I have Lauren in the car I have to get her home. Don't mention any of this in the car she seems to be a bit traumatised because she was hooded during the journey. She has very little memory of what was going on'. As they walked briskly to the car, it began pouring with rain. Hodder said 'I have told her that it the accident was an insurance scam. She does not know who she was with'.

The journey back to the Hodder household was tense and silent. Hodder knew that his fate lay in how convinced Lauren was of the reason for her disappearance. He also knew that he would later have a much bigger task of convincing Grace of the facts. She would doubtless want the police to investigate or to maybe contact their insurance company. They did after all, have a badly damaged vehicle to contend with. It looked to Hodder as this was going to be yet another year without a summer holiday.

As Hodder pulled up he looked at the front of his house. Looking through the front window and saw Grace. Her arms were folded as she stood there staring out blankly. Pain, anguish and worry were wrought all over her still beautiful face. The worry lines were all there as a direct result of Hodder, each one individually etched into her features, as a visible reminder to him of yet another one of his lies, broken promises or inevitable let downs.

Within seconds Lauren was out of the car, the falling rain no match for the tears of relief that flowed down her cheeks. Lauren and Grace ran to each other and embraced, blindly oblivious to the rain or the curtain twitchers' in the surrounding houses. Making their way inside, they went into the lounge where Baxter and Hannah embraced...it seemed to Hodder that he was very much at the back of the queue for affection that day.

It's a strange British tradition, that in a time of crisis the kettle is put on, and sensing that this these tender moments between Grace and Lauren were very much their own, Hannah ushered Baxter into the kitchen not to utilise his domestic skills but to pick his brain.

'Where have you been? What have you been doing'?

Having witnessed Hodder's very obvious failure with the truth, and the effect that it has on those around him...he said 'I have been with a prisoner all day'.

She looked utterly puzzled and quizzed him further 'I thought that you were with Jim'.

'No, I haven't he has told me that Lauren was the subject of an insurance scam and that he had to sort it out...he did not want me to be involved so I dealt with the prisoner'. Though not totally untrue, this was all just a bit too 'Hodderesque' for Baxter.

As they brought the tea into the lounge things seemed to have calmed down considerably, but Lauren was still struggling to catch her breath as uninvited sobs resurfaced. She looked and sounded like a forlorn child, which in truth just an hour or so earlier she had been.

Baxter made to pour the tea but noticed that there were only three cups...he still had a lot to learn as Hannah slapped the back of his wrist before taking him by the hand and gently interrupting said to Grace 'We will be off now'.

'Oh, you don't have to...why don't you stay'?

'No really, you have all been through enough today. We don't want to get under your feet. We really must be going'.

Grace who was still holding Lauren's hand released her grip, walked over to Hannah and tenderly kissed her cheek, she whispered 'Thank you'. Fresh unrelated tears flowed once again. Nothing else needed to be said between the two women. Baxter and Hannah let themselves out and headed for Hannah's place.

Hodder was uncharacteristically moved by this very tender scene, but it soon dawned on him that Grace had not said a word to him, so he elected to break the silence. 'I'm really sorry that it took longer than expected but I think things will be okay'. In fact, his mind was drawn to the film 'The Sixth Sense' and the role of Bruce Willis in particular, everyone appeared to be oblivious to his presence or what he was saying.

Grace did not answer Hodder, instead, she stood up and said to Lauren 'Come on let's get you out of those clothes'. As she walked out of the room she glared in silence at Hodder. Just as she was closing the door he said 'I have some loose ends to tie up at the office. I will only be half an hour'.

Once again Grace did not respond, her eyes said it all. She had had enough. Hodder was caught in a dilemma, if he stayed he was in trouble if he went he would be in even deeper trouble. He had to go and he reasoned that by going he would, in some perverse way, be protecting Lauren and Grace. He left the house closing the door as silently as he dared.

Hodder drove into the police station and was slipping in through the back door just as Ben Heath was walking out. Hodder wished that he could avoid his old friend but this, quite simply, was not going to happen. Heath said 'Hello Jim, Any news on Lauren? How is she'?

'It's a bit of a long story. She was in a bit a bit of a daze. More shock than anything, but otherwise unhurt'.

'Oh that's good news. Do you fancy a drink'?

'No thanks Ben, I just popped in for a minute. I've really got to get back home'.

'Okay then' said Heath. 'You know that we will need to submit a report to me about the incident, but Jim, please take some time off...forget about the job. Your family is much more important. See you soon'. And with that Heath walked out of the building before quickly returning, and shouting along the corridor to Hodder...'Jim, you won't have heard but a couple of bodies have been found at Kielder. Lucky old me has been nominated at the S.I.O. Shame you are not at work, I would have loved to have had you on my team'.

A look of abject horror spread across Hodder's face as the news filtered through. Heath said 'Jim are you okay mate'?

Hodder muttered 'Yeah, I'm fine, it's just been a tough old day' as he shuffled towards the C.I.D. office.

Hodder's response had not been lost on Heath. Granted, he had been through a difficult day with his daughter, but when he told Hodder about the bodies at Kielder he sensed an unusual uneasiness in his colleague. Heath, put this down to the intuition of a seasoned Detective and he had been known to be wrong in the past.

Meanwhile, Baxter and Hannah were enjoying a reassuring post-coital cuddle and a bottle of wine when she said 'There is something wrong? Is it me'?

'No', he replied 'it's Hodder, he is up to something. He is acting very strangely'.

Hannah responded by saying 'It's hardly surprising given the events of the day. But look on the bright side things have worked out okay in the end'.

Baxter kissed her, but he didn't have his mind on the job in hand because he found himself thinking...'But have things really worked out for the best'? It would be quite some time before Baxter could bring himself to tell Hannah about his ordeal with Palma...but he would eventually...he would have to.

As Hodder walked further into the building, he heard laughter coming from the D.I.'s office. No doubt he was giving extra law tuition to one of the female temps. Well, he was nothing if not dedicated to the task. Suddenly, his door opened and the D.I. walked into the main office, hair ruffled and shirt partially unbuttoned.

Even at a time like this Hodder found himself thinking 'They must be selling condoms in the C.I.D. shop now. Whatever next'?

'What are you doing here'? barked the plainly angry D.I.

'I'm just getting some stuff from my desk and checking up to see that they have referenced off my daughter's accident correctly'. 'Ah, so they found her'?

'Yeah, she was on the beach', once again being inconsistent with his lies.

'Well, congratulations to you' said the D.I. with as much venom and sarcasm as he could muster in one sitting...'if you didn't lose prisoners in the first place, as well as your daughter, I could be up at Kielder earning a fortune on a possible double murder...but oh no, thanks to the great Jim Hodder, I'll be trawling through pointless actions looking for the scumbag you lost...mark my words...you will pay for this Hodder'.

Now that was quite an outburst even by the D.I.'s standards. He clearly didn't like to have his sex games or the potential for working on 'outside enquiries' disrupted.

The senior guy left the office, and Hodder checked the computer and saw that, as requested Grace had called in to say that Lauren was with Hodder and that they would be home soon. As per the police, and thankfully for Hodder, no one was despatched to his home to verify this fact. So, he updated and 'closed' the incident himself. Very naughty, but understandable he would later argue.

Hodder was just leaving his desk when his mobile rang. It was Randall-Ord. 'Oh good evening, I hear that things turned out rather well for you today'.

'In a manner of speaking'.

'Well', continued Randall-Ord I am in the 'Quay Taphouse'. Would you care to join me for a celebratory drink'?

'I'm really sorry Francis, I have family matters to attend to'.

Feigning disappointment, Randall-Ord said 'Oh. That is most disappointing. You, I am afraid, have more pressing matters to attend to. I shall expect you alone and soon'. Hodder instinctively knew what this meant, and he made his way to the pub.

As usual 'Big Cliff' was there big smile on his face...barely able to conceal his laughter. Recognising that Hodder's' relationship with Randall-Ord was not borne out of mutual affection, he said 'Your mucker is in the corner'.

Cliff continued 'Francis says that it's your round...usual'?

Hodder nodded and reached for his wallet. He paid for the drinks and took them over to Randall-Ord...'No recording tonight please this is strictly business. Mr Burrows was delighted to assist you with your slight problem. I am sure that you can see just how resourceful he can be'.

'This is over Francis and make sure that you tell him that'.

'I'm sure that given your sterling performance today that he will be most disappointed at your lack of gratitude...especially now that you are now implicated in three murders'.

'What? That has got nothing to do with me'!

'It's got everything to do with you. Yes, indeed, you have the blood of Parks, Bostock and Bostock's associate on your hands. Mr Burrow's leaves no stone unturned, or for that matter, any loose ends that may cause him unnecessary problems in the future'?

Hodder looked on in stunned silence as Francis continued 'You see Jim, you are the only one without an alibi. At the time of these unfortunate incidents Mr Burrows was playing blackjack with me in a casino at least that is what the CCTV footage will show... On the other hand, the video footage that Mr Burrows has shows you at the scene at the time of the murders'.

'I should shop the lot of you and take my chances, and tell Burrows that you are a Registered Police Informant '.

'Shop' is such a crude word, Jim, but maybe I should 'shop' you to your D.I. when I see him at the next lodge meeting'.

'Are you blackmailing me'?

'In a word...'Yes' unless, of course from time to time, you can accommodate the occasional request for assistance. Come on, have a drink'. With that Randall-Ord downed his drink, he went to the bar coming back with double Highland Parks and his obligatory crisps.

'I hope that you choke to death you corrupt little weasel' said Hodder.

'Oh lighten up Jim, it's not as if he hasn't done anything for you...he is actually loyal and decent. Not a toff, but a gentleman in his own way' said Randall-Ord wearing the look of a man who was holding all of the cards, and all of them aces.

Hodder retreated into himself and silence. His mind was working overtime, but he could just not figure out a way to extricate himself from this very delicate, potentially disastrous situation.

At first he thought that he should arrest Randall-Ord but at this point that would result in nothing more than certain humiliation and potential himself. Furthermore, if he had previously needed any convincing of Burrows capacity for violence and cunning, then he certainly had it now.

Hodder was only vaguely aware of Randall-Ord returning with more Highland Parks which were drunk in silence. 'Your round I think Jim...with all these proposed cuts in Legal Aid, I simply can't afford to buy your drinks all night.

So, Hodder dutifully went to the bar where 'Big Cliff' poured some very generous measures of Highland Park. 'Big Cliff' made a mental note to himself...'If those two are going to continue drinking like that, I had better get some more of that stuff in'.

Hodder drank on in silence before getting to his feet. 'Francis, I'm off'.

Francis, always overtly the gentleman, rose too, he extended his hand as he said 'Goodnight old boy. Oh by the way it appears that my blood samples were lost en route to the lab. A stroke of luck don't you think'? Hodder instinctively shook Randall-Ord's hand before making his way through the crowded bar to the door.

Francis Randall-Ord waited a few minutes before, with a 'piggy little' grin on his 'piggy little' face, he made a phone call. Hodder then returned to the office where he dealt with an urgent email, his last job before heading for home.

About fifteen minutes later, Hodder was almost home when he rather belatedly became aware of blue flashing lights in his rear view mirror. The car behind flashed it's headlights as an obvious indication for him to stop. Whilst he was doing so, Hodder was only vaguely aware that the front nearside wheel of his car brushed the kerb of the nearside grass verge. 'Oop's...No prob' thought Hodder.

As Hodder reached to get his 'get out of jail free card', otherwise known as his Warrant Card, there was a gentle rap on his window. He slid the window down, as the sweet smell of the pouring rain outside permeated the fumed filled interior of the car.

The lone uniformed Police Officer then crouched down to enable him to be at the same eye level as Hodder.

And looking directly into Hodder's eyes, and speaking in a cold measured way 'Gee-Gee' said...'Have you been drinking tonight'? Hodder's head dropped onto the steering wheel, and he instinctively knew that his night was not going to be over any time soon.

Was there no situation that a Police Officer, and Jim Hodder in particular, could not make any worse?

The End?

About the Author.

With over thirty years legal experience behind him, Ian Douthwaite can draw on vast resources of experience be that from his years spent as a Detective, or those spent as a prosecutor for a blue chip company. He has also worked as an independent legal consultant and music promoter for many years.

He certainly has a story to tell.

What separates this author from many others is his detailed attention to the human condition in all its variants. Not for him, grand shootouts, exotic locations or high speed chases.

This is street crime played out at street level.

His stories perambulate at a pace which gives the reader the opportunity to think 'What would I do in that situation'?

Granted, most readers would and should never encounter such situations, but the culmination of each dramatic chapter leaves the reader thinking 'How would I get out of that'.

'The Sweet Smell of Rain' is Douthwaite's first novel and is written with a darkly dramatic and understated sense of humour.

We all think that we know of the characters who populate this version of the real world, though most of us would be pleased that we do not encounter these individuals personally.

The novel is written from the perspective of Detective Sergeant Jim Hodder, a man so wearied by the day to day battle of all things criminal, that it is hardly surprising that when he has to choose between family loyalty and professional obligations that he is torn in two.

Read 'The Sweet Smell of Rain' and judge for yourself.

