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  The child was about six months old, probably the same age as his own adored daughter. It was more than possible that this child and his had been on the same ward together in Handstead Maternity Hospital. Perhaps their mothers had nursed them in adjacent beds. His throat was tightening to the extent that he thought he was going to suffocate and he stepped back from the cot and rubbed his Adam's apple hard. The slow motion world suddenly disappeared and he was back with harsh reality and the screaming woman. The man who had let H into the house was standing at the nursery door, shaking like a leaf, with tears streaming down his face, intermittently giving a loud, heartrending sob.

  'What's your name?' croaked H.

  The man looked at him and tried to respond, but he was unable to form any words and gave up, looking down at the carpet with his tears falling one by one on to the deep pile.

  'Listen, mate, I need you to help me. Can you get your missus out of here and calm her down a bit?. I've got to speak to you both. Can you do that for me?'

  The man didn't look up but continued to sob quietly.

  'Help me,' shouted H.

  The man raised his head and looked at H with red, watery, haunted eyes. 'OK,' he said softly, and went to the screaming woman. He knelt down beside her, put his arms round her heaving shoulders and forced her head into the crook of his neck. He began to talk quietly into her ear and gradually she quietened until she was completely still, the silence only occasionally broken by an involuntary sob. Feeling totally redundant, H walked to the couple, also knelt down and placed a hand on their shoulders. He spoke quietly and with a feeling he didn't recognise.

  'I can only begin to imagine what you're going through and how you must be feeling. I promise you that I'll be here as long as you need me and that I'll look after her for you. But a lot of strange things have to happen now. Lots of people you've never seen before and will never see again will come into this room and look at her. They're going to ask you questions that you may find offensive and unnecessary. They're only doing their jobs and I'll be here to help you. Can I get you anything now? Do you want me to contact anyone?'

  The man shook his head.

  'I've got to get things rolling now. I'm going to have to ask you both to come downstairs with me. I need to get some details from you. Come on,' H said gently.

  The man and woman got very slowly to their feet and stumbled past H out of the room. They were empty shells. H followed them downstairs, and once he'd got them settled in the kitchen he went out into the back garden to use his personal radio. He took several deep breaths before transmitting to be sure his voice was steady and businesslike when he spoke.

  The day was nightmarish. As was normal in such a case, a police doctor attended to pronounce life extinct, CID officers interviewed the parents to rule out foul play, a Scenes of Crime Officer took photographs of the child in her cot and of the nursery in general, and finally undertakers arrived to remove her to the morgue to prepare her for the inevitable post-mortem. Neighbours alerted to the tragedy by the comings and goings began to arrive at the front door, well meaning perhaps, but only adding to the turmoil. H dealt with them all, fulfilling his promise to the parents to look after them and their dead child.

  He returned to the station long after the rest of the Relief had gone home and sat alone in the report-writing room with his head buried in his hands as the image of the distraught parents saying goodbye to their child in the hospital's chapel of rest constantly replayed in his mind. He completed the double-sided Sudden Death report, underlining the heading 'No Suspicious Circumstances', posted it in the coroner's officer's pigeon hole and went home, absolutely shattered and close to tears. His daughter was asleep on his arrival, but he stood alongside her cot in her quiet, dark nursery for a long time, watching her breathe and occasionally touching her face with his trembling fingers. He went to bed without talking to his wife. The Dream came that night.

  He was lying naked on a bed, spread-eagled on his back. It was dark and he was bathed in sweat. He was listening to hugely amplified breathing which filled his head. He knew he was listening to his daughter. As he listened the breathing became laboured and short, and after a while stopped. He knew his daughter was dying and went to rise from the bed to help her but couldn't move. He was paralysed, only able to raise his head. He tried to call and shout out, but no sound would come out. He began to thrash his head from side to side as he desperately tried to free himself from the invisible force holding him back, but to no avail. He could hear his daughter dying and could do nothing about it. He threw his head back and screamed silently to the heavens as his eyes bulged and every muscle and sinew in his body strained with the effort. It was the same every time he went to sleep. He feared sleep.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Bovril had been hanging around in a lay-by for nearly half an hour before he saw the greengrocer's van pass him on his way to his shop, nearly an hour away. Bovril hoped he'd overslept and wasn't running late because he'd had an early morning shag. It was one thing to shag another bloke's bird; quite another to stir his rice pudding.

  He waited until the van was well out of sight before driving the short distance to the vicinity of the greengrocer's house. He parked up a street away and walked quickly to the back gate. He paused to make sure no one was around and no curtains were twitching before hurrying up the garden path to open the unlocked kitchen door. He stepped into the dark kitchen and stood waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. As he waited he heard footsteps upstairs and a woman's voice called out, Alan, is that you?'

  Bovril smiled, walked into the hall and called up, 'I saw him hotfooting it along the Manchester road a few minutes ago. This is your friendly milkman come to get payment in kind.'

  The girl laughed and hurried down the stairs to greet him. 'His alarm didn't go off,' she said, to his enormous relief. She was about twenty, very pretty with short dark hair and a dazzling smile. Her dressing gown parted slightly as she ran, showing her firm breasts briefly. She gathered the dressing gown together and threw her arms round Bovril's neck as she stood on the bottom step. She kissed his lips and neck hungrily as Bovril's hands stroked her back and buttocks. Bovril could feel himself begin to swell and harden as her firm, lithe body pressed against him.

  'I thought about you all night, David. I was so worried you weren't going to come today,' she whispered into his ear.

  'I've been thinking about you too, darling,' he replied, holding her away to look at her. 'God, you're beautiful. I get horny just thinking about you.'

  'Oh yes? How horny?' said the girl, reaching down to his groin to stroke his penis, which reacted immediately to her touch. Bovril groaned and buried his lips in the side of her neck. 'You feel huge,' she laughed.

  'It's going to fucking burst if you don't do something about it,' he pleaded.

  She didn't answer, but dropped down on to her haunches, pushed up his waterproof jacket and began to tug at his trouser belt. She unbuckled it, slowly pulled the zip down and allowed the weight of the belt to drop his trousers to below his knees. Bovril's penis was now thrusting above the elastic waist of his underpants and she gently pushed it flat against his stomach as she tugged his pants down to his trousers. Bovril held the banister firmly with one hand and braced the other flat against the wall as she began to slowly roll his foreskin back and forth over the bulging tip. She then gently pushed his penis down to her mouth and flicked her tongue around the end. Bovril began to roll his head and closed his eyes.

  'Is that good, David?' she asked, looking up at him with big blue doe eyes.

  Bovril didn't speak, but groaned in response. He began to slowly thrust his hips back and forth to encourage her to take all of him. She needed no further persuasion. Guiding him deep into her mouth, she began to move her head back and forth in time with his thrusting. Bovril took his hand off the wall and gently held the back of her head as she blew his socks off. She cupped his balls with her hand, and her forefinger went further between
his legs to the velvet spot behind his scrotum. Christ, this girl could suck a golf ball through a straw, thought Bovril. He began to feel the telltale tingle and knew he was close to coming. Too soon, too soon, he told himself. He looked down at her bobbing head.

  'Slow down, honey. I'm very close. I don't want to come yet. My turn now,' he said breathlessly.

  The girl looked up, hot and flushed and with a sparkle in her eyes. She kept a firm hold on the object of her desire. 'Oh, yes, please,' she said smiling at him.

  Bovril helped her to her feet and pulled her close. He tugged her dressing gown open, reached inside and ran his hands over her hips and flat stomach. She pushed closer as he cupped her buttocks, gently lifting and parting the cheeks. Her breathing quickened as he brought one hand back to her stomach and began to trace circles with his fingers. He allowed a finger to lightly brush over her soft, downy pubic hair, tantalisingly close to where she desperately wanted to feel it. She opened her legs slightly to encourage him but Bovril wasn't ready yet. He slowly pushed her back up the stairs until she was several steps above him and sat her down. Throwing the dressing gown wide open, he gently parted her legs and began to run his tongue along her calf, behind her knee and up her inner thigh. She grabbed his hair as his mouth passed across her lips, which were moist and swollen. She felt his hot breath on them and gasped as he continued across to the other thigh and then down to her calf. She dug her nails into his scalp as she felt his mouth returning to her core and gave a low cry as his tongue flicked at her moist rose. She began to try to thrust at his tongue and caught her breath as his tongue found her little trigger. Bovril began to force his tongue up and down her lips and as deep inside her as he could. She screamed as her first orgasm racked her whole body and he felt the warm gush against his mouth.

  'I need you inside me, David, I need you inside,' she said, urgent and wide-eyed.

  Bovril remained where he was for several moments, sucking gently on her soaking lips and flicking his tongue inside. Then he put his forefinger at the opening and she began to moan quietly and grabbed at his hand to force his finger in. He pushed it in slowly to the knuckle and felt her pelvic bone. She screamed again as another huge orgasm gripped her.

  'Come on,' said Bovril, reaching down to take her hand and helping her unsteadily to her feet. 'In the kitchen.'

  As she walked quickly to the kitchen, with Bovril waddling behind like a penguin with his trousers round his ankles, he removed her dressing gown. As he hurriedly tore his jacket off and dragged his trousers over his shoes, she turned to face him.

  'Where?'

  Bovril led her to the breakfast bar and faced her towards it. Then he lifted her right knee on to the tabletop, pushing her upper half flat on to the surface. She felt his fingers probing her exposed moistness and spread her arms wide and flattened her face against the worktop. She felt his iron hardness against her lips and orgasmed again as the tip easily slipped into her, and then she felt all of him slide deep inside her. He moved slowly, holding her hips gently, and then began to push her up and thrust faster into her. She was moaning with pleasure as the thrusts got deeper and quicker, and then he stopped pushing, leaving the tip poised at her lips.

  'Tell me what you want,' he whispered, gently rubbing and squeezing her writhing buttocks.

  'Fuck me! Fuck me hard,' she shouted.

  'Do you want me to fuck you really hard?' he teased.

  'Oh, fuck me hard, fuck me, hurt me, just fuck me,' she pleaded.

  Bovril thrust himself deep inside and she shuddered and whimpered as she came again. He kept up the long, deep strokes, moving slightly from side to side to change his angle of entry.

  'Oh, David, I'm coming again. Stop, no more, I'm coming again,' she gasped.

  'I'm close too, honey,' he said, increasing the tempo as he sensed his second swelling and he felt as hard as steel. At the point of no return, he stopped moving and clamped himself deep inside, firm against her buttocks as he spasmed and then exploded. He shouted involuntarily and she screamed aloud as she felt him flood into her. His head slumped into the small of her back as he shook and trembled as his orgasm spent itself.

  'Jesus H Christ,' he whispered, 'my fucking heart nearly stopped. That was unbelievable.'

  After a few minutes during which neither spoke, but stayed gasping for breath with racing pulses, he withdrew from her and stood upright. His legs were still trembling and beads of sweat shone on his forehead. She lifted herself from the breakfast bar, turned, and buried her head in his chest as he held her tight.

  'Oh, David, that was wonderful. I can't tell you how much I needed that. I thought I was never going to stop coming.'

  'It was good, wasn't it?' agreed Bovril, who was beginning to feel something for this girl that made him slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't just the sex, which was the best he'd ever experienced; there was something else about her that was different from all the other women he'd known. He dismissed it from his mind; just post-shag euphoria, he reasoned. They stood holding each other for a while before he kissed the top of her head.

  'I'm going to have to make a move, darling,' he said softly.

  She looked up at him watery-eyed and whispered, 'OK.'

  He realised that he didn't want to go. He'd happily spend the rest of the day with her, and the night, and the next day ... Jesus Christ, what's happening to me, he thought. He'd only ever been to visit her when he was on duty and it occurred to him that he had only ever seen her in a dressing gown. They'd met when he'd taken an early morning call to her house to deal with overnight damage to her boyfriend's van, and now he wondered what she looked like when she went out: how she dressed, what she liked to do, where she worked, what her last name was.

  'Listen, Lisa,' he began hesitantly, 'I'd like to do something different next time we get together.'

  'Oh yes?' she said naughtily.

  He laughed. 'No, not like that. I'd like to spend some time with you. You know, go out for a drink or a meal or something like that. Anything really, just spend some time together, get to know each other properly. Do you want to do that? Could you get away in the evenings?'

  She didn't reply immediately, but looked at him, searching his face.

  'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you that. I'm getting ahead of myself,' he said apologetically. He began to get dressed and she retrieved her dressing gown.

  'Are you being serious?' she said finally.

  'Forget it, it doesn't matter. I was out of order.' Bovril fastened his belt.

  'It does. I just need to know that you're not taking me for a ride. I know I'm not the first girl you've had. For all I know you may be off to visit another one now. But yes, I'd like to do that as well. I can get away in the evenings.'

  Bovril paused. 'I can't explain how or why I feel the way I do about you. I only know that I want more. Much, much more.'

  'Alan spends most of his evenings getting drunk with his mates at the snooker club,' she said. 'Tell me when and I'll be ready.'

  'Deal,' said Bovril. 'I really want to see you again, and away from here.'

  'OK.' She smiled, straightening his jacket and clip-on tie. 'Call me soon.'

  He held her close and whispered, 'I will, I promise.'

  They walked in silence to the kitchen door, which she opened slightly so she could peek out. 'Seems all clear.'

  He kissed her on the forehead. 'Soon,' he said and began to walk down the path.

  'David,' she called quietly. He turned back and raised his eyebrows questioningly. 'Nothing,' she said hesitantly. 'Just take care, OK?'

  'I will, I promise,' he said again, before turning and hurrying away down the path.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  Psycho Sean was one of the last of the Relief to leave the nick. Straight after Muster he had raced up to the third floor and the corridor occupied by the sub-divisional commander and his deputy. The main man, Chief Inspector Pat Gillard, was a coiffured, bone idle, permatanned old fart who wanted a quiet
life and dreamed of his retirement, which he had only postponed until a cushier, better paid job in civvy street turned up. His interest in his job amounted to a big fat zero, and he delegated pretty much everything to his deputy, Inspector Hilary Bott. She was a different proposition altogether, and in Psychos eyes epitomised everything that was wrong with the job. For a start she was a woman, hopelessly over-promoted and looking to make a name for herself. Hilary Bott was an extraordinarily unattractive woman in her late forties. She was chubbily overweight with pasty, blotchy white skin and teeth resembling polished plywood tombstones. She cut her mousy blond hair herself with a manly side parting and consequently bore an uncanny resemblance to Rosa Klebb of From Russia With Love fame. She had the sex appeal of a pile of damp towels. She had been sent to Horse's Arse on promotion, having spent the absolute minimum of time on operational duties, and with a brief from the hierarchy to throw her not inconsiderable weight around. Hard enough to do with a few years under your belt, but virtually impossible if you hadn't a clue how police officers operated on a day to day basis, especially at Horse's Arse.