STALKER. BY Fiona

Liz knew something was up the moment she walked into the CID room.  It didn't take
long for the comments to start.
"Good night Liz?" Said Tom Proctor with a grin.  Duncan followed it up quickly with
a "Get an early night did you, or were you with someone special?"
The greeting from Kerry was not so jovial. "Morning" she said, almost sullenly, as
she pushed past her on the way to the kettle.  It wasn't difficult to work out what was
going on.  She had promised not to tell, but it was very clear the peculiar events of the
previous evening were obviously no secret.
"Don't be ridiculous, it's not what it looks like." She said with a smile.  "I was doing
him a favour."
Kerry raised an eyebrow, but she didn't seem to be placated.  "Looked pretty friendly
to us.  I thought we were friends, you should have said something.  But then, if I had
such incredibly bad taste I'd probably keep quiet about it too."
Liz frowned at her, not appreciating the comment, even if it was based on a
misunderstanding. "How on earth do you lot know anyway?  If you were there, you
could at least have come and said hello or something."
Duncan leaned over her shoulder form behind her, putting on an exaggerated
mysterious voice.  "We are detectives, we detect. Remember, we are watching you."
"Yeah, so it seems." Said Liz, batting his head away with a motion of irritation.
"Anyway," said Duncan, returning to his normal voice and coming to sit on the front
of her desk.  "You looked like you were having fun by yourselves.  We didn't want to
disturb anything."
A small chuckle punctuated his words and Liz rolled her eyes.  She took a look down
the hall to check no one was coming in.
" Listen, I was just coming down to meet you lot when he called me back and asked
me if I would do him a favour."
Duncan and Tom moved closer, eager to hear the explanation.  They reminded Liz of
a couple of old grannies, desperate to know the sordid details.
"He just asked me if I would you know, act like we had a thing going while we had a
drink so I asked him if it was an order.  He said no, but would I anyway? He even said
please so I felt I had to.  It's not often you get Sergeant Boulton begging for favours, I
had to make use of the opportunity."
"Why on earth would he do that?" said Kerry.
"Must be my animal magnetism." Said Liz before continuing " I asked, but he wasn't
saying and he seemed a bit desperate so I agreed.  We had a drink, sat close as you all
apparently saw and you know, did a bit of the touchy feely thing and then things got a
bit weird."
"Weirder than you cozying up to Boulton?  This I must hear." Said Kerry as she
joined the group huddled around Liz, her animosity clearly being overridden by
curiosity.
"First of all, because other than the occasional touch, he completely ignored me most
of the time we were there, and even when he wasn't ignoring me it was like he wasn't
concentrating."
"Sounds perfectly normal to me." Said Kerry.
"He was looking for someone, I'm sure of it.  Anyway, we were only there for about
an hour or so, but when we got out two of his tyres had been slashed and there was a
friendly note on my windscreen saying something along the lines of me being a silly
bitch and that I should leave well alone otherwise she'd sort me out."
At this the others all burst into laughter.  Rod Skase walked in just in time to catch the
laughter "What's so funny?"
Duncan stopped laughing and began to explain, the amusement was still clear on his
face.  "Boulton's got woman trouble.  First he has to beg Liz here to have a drink with
him, and then they're slashing the tyres on his car and fighting over him."
"There was no fighting on my behalf I assure you of that," interrupted Liz. "If John
Boulton was the last man alive I wouldn't fight over him.  Run, more likely.  She's
welcome to him."
"So what did he say about it?" asked Kerry as she turned to finish making the coffee
she had started.
"He didn't really, but I got the feeling he wasn't entirely surprised. It was like he had
expected it."  The atmosphere in the CID room suddenly became more serious.
"Did you keep the note?" asked Duncan.
"No, I just tossed it in the rubbish by the car park."  She paused a little.  "I suppose I
should have kept it but it just seemed so stupid, it wasn't even worth thinking about."
"Sounds like our DS Boulton has got a little problem," said Duncan with a smile.
Tom confirmed this by making psycho actions with an imaginary knife into his back.
"Easily solved" said Kerry, "She can't actually know him, all he has to do is talk to
her and she'll run a mile."
At this the group of them burst into hysterical laughter that continued as they went
back to their work.


"Sir, can I have a word please."
Deakin turned around to face Liz as she spoke.  "Sure, go ahead."
Liz looked uncomfortably at the full CID room.  "In private, Sir."
"Oh, okay.  Come on in."  He led the way into his office and Liz closed the door
behind her as she entered.
Careful to turn her back on the CID room so the conversation would be completely
private, she began.
"I'm not really sure that this is any of your business.  I mean, it's private really, but to
tell the truth I'm a bit worried and I think maybe you should know."
Chris Deakin waited expectantly.
"It's about DS Boulton, Sir."
Deakin sighed and raised his eyes to the ceiling.  "I have no doubt at all that this is
something I'm not going to want to know, but that I should know.  But I'm warning
you, this had better not be malicious in any way."
"It's not Sir, or at least it's not intended to be."
Deakin considered her for a moment.  "Okay, go on then."
"It's the chocolates that have just come for him.  He wasn't pleased to get them, he
couldn't give them away fast enough."
Deakin stared at her. "And the fact that John Boulton doesn't like chocolates is
something you need to talk to me about?"
"No Sir, it's just that it's the third box of chocolates he's got in two weeks, all of them
delivered anonymously by post."
"And?"
Realising that she wasn't making sense, Liz began at the beginning. "Well, last week
he asked me if I would go for a drink with him and act as if we were a couple.  I
wasn't sure why he asked me, but I agreed and we did.  When we left after about an
hour, two of his tyres were slashed and I had a threatening note on my windscreen
telling me to back off or I'd regret it."  She paused a little, considering her next words.
"The worrying thing was that I don't think he was surprised, I think it had something
to do with why he had asked me to act like his girlfriend."
"And you think the chocolates are from the same person that wrote the note and
slashed his tyres?"
"Yes Sir."
"So?" Liz watched as Deakin started to shuffle the papers on his desk.  "John Boulton
is at long last seeing somebody and you think this is a matter for general alarm."
Liz had to smile at the comment but her reply was serious.  "No Sir, that's the point.  I
don't think he has a girlfriend, not willingly anyway.  I think he was trying to
dissuade her by acting as if he was interested in me."
"I don't really think this is any of my business and definitely none of yours.  Unless
assault with a king size Mars Bar has become a crime without my knowledge, or he is
behaving in an unethical manner.  I think we can keep DS Boulton's private life
private, don't you think?"
"That's just the point sir, I think a crime is being committed." Said Liz.  Deakin raised
an eyebrow, clearly confused as to where this conversation was heading.  "A crime
against him I mean."  Liz hurriedly continued, "I don't think he's encouraging her and
I don't think he even knows who she is.  When we were in the pub, I don't think he
knew who he was looking for but he knew someone was watching him.  I think he's
worried.  He's been irritable and looking tired all week,"
"That sounds like the Sergeant Boulton I know."
Liz leant back in her chair, her confidence that she was interpreting the situation
correctly rapidly dwindling in the face of her superior's cynicism.  "I'm talking about
unreasonable harassment"
Deakin straight up in his chair, his look was serious.  "Liz, are you seriously telling
me that you think John Boulton has a stalker?"
"Yes Sir."


"Is it any of our business?"  Asked DCI Jack Meadows as Chris Deakin finished
relating what he knew of the details.
"I don't know, I suppose it depends on if it's someone he met in his capacity as a
police officer.  If he met her on the job then I would say that it's very much our
business as that would be threatening or harassing a police officer in the course of
performing his duties."
"Does he have a life outside work?" asked Jack, his belief in the negative sounding in
his voice.
"No.  Not to my knowledge anyway."
"Didn't think so.  That makes it our business."  Meadows paused for a moment,
thinking of the implications. "Is it affecting his work?"
"Not that I've noticed, but we have to get an idea what exactly is going on.  The only
person who knows is him and he's not exactly going to be keen to spill the beans."
"Tell me about it" said Jack.  Even the thought of trying to drag personal information
out of Boulton gave him a headache.  "Why the hell hasn't he said something?" he
continued.  "She could be completely deranged or anything, and what about Liz?
What on earth was he doing getting her involved without her knowledge?"
"I don't know. We need to talk to him and get some details."  Chris Deakin looked at
Jack Meadows hopefully.   "Would you?"
"I suppose he's less likely to storm out if it comes from me."  He sighed loudly.  The
afternoon had been going so nicely.
"Send him in."


"Come in."
"Yes Sir?  You wanted to see me?"
Jack looked at the familiar red hair and pale face and wondered what it was that made
him like John Boulton, despite all his obvious failings.  The question remained
unanswered as he motioned for John to close the door and sit down.  With the
windows light on his face, Jack could see that John was looking tired.  His face was
more pale than usual and the dark rings under his eyes made him look as if he
desperately needed a holiday.
Jack wasn't really sure where to start so he decided just to plunge in with the obvious.
"John, in the last two weeks it has come to my attention that you have received three
boxes of chocolates."
"Yes sir."  Caution was apparent on his face as Boulton tried to see the problem with
this.
"And the tyres on your car were slashed last week?"
"Yes sir"
"And you asked DC Rawton to act as your girlfriend and in thanks she received a
letter on her windscreen telling her to back off or she'd regret it?"
"Yes sir" Although the words had not changed, Jack could see the stiffening of the
jaw, which generally indicated developing resistance. Obviously his Sergeant had
realised where this line of inquiry was going.  He pushed on regardless, ignoring the
hostility he knew was coming.
"Is there something you want to tell me?"
"No Sir."
Jack took a deep breath and stepped up to the argument he knew was coming.  "Let
me rephrase that slightly.  What the hell is going on?"
"Nothing Sir."
"Slashed tyres and threatening notes isn't 'nothing' to me."
"It's personal Sir."
"Let me decide whether or not it's personal.  If one of my officers is being threatened
in the course of his duty then it is police business."
"I said it's personal."  The voice was stiff and forced.
"Come on John, everyone knows you don't have a personal life."  Boulton's head shot
up as he recognised the insult, but he didn't take the opportunity to deny it.  Jack
doubted he would have any evidence to prove otherwise.  He tried again.
"Who are the chocolates from John?"
Jack was expecting the glare he received so it failed to have its desired impact.
Refusing to respond to the attempt at intimidation, he asked the question again.
Realising the 'look' wasn't working; John broke the eye contact and looked at the
floor, still refusing to answer.
"If you don't tell me who they're from then how do we know it's personal?"
Silence followed.  Jack was beginning to feel like he was interrogating a suspect and
John was acting as guilty as hell.  Just as he was going to attack again, John answered.
"I don't know who they're from."
"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know.  I don't know who sent them, I don't know who slashed my
tyres and I don't know who left Liz that note."
Jack heard the emergence of the underlying Scouse accent in his voice as John made
the statement.  He knew from experience that this was often an indication that
Boulton was feeling under pressure.  He made a renewed attempt to tread carefully.
"I'm sorry if you don't want to talk about it, but you have to tell me what's been
going on."
"Nothing really sir..."

"JOHN!"  Meadows felt a measure of success as he watched Boulton jump at the
unexpected shout.  "Don't you dare lie to me. Don't even think about it.  I'm going to
ask you some questions and you are going to answer me with the truth.  Is that
understood?"
"Sir."   If looks could kill, Meadows knew he would have been fatally wounded some
time ago.  The hostility in his Sergeant's face was that which he knew was usually
reserved for only the most unpleasant of suspects.  He turned his chair to face the
window, not really sure how long he could hold up under the non-verbal assault.
"When did she first contact you?"
Jack waited expectantly for an answer, just as he was considering dragging John
downstairs to an interview room he spoke.
"About two months ago."
"How did she contact you?"
"Letter."
"What did the letter say?"  Back to silence again. "John?"  Jack swung his chair
around to face him again but the face that met him was not of defiance, it was of
distress.  He had seen that face on countless victims before but had never expected to
see it on Boulton's face.  Feeling suddenly guilty for witnessing the emotion, he
turned round to face the window again and moved on.
"Did the letter threaten you?"
"No... not really."  This was a little confusing.  If the letter wasn't threatening, the
discomfort the subject of the letters was causing seemed unjustified.
"How many letters has she sent?"
There was a pause before the answer came.  "Don't know, haven't counted.  About a
hundred."
"WHAT?" Jack was shocked and furious. He stood up, ready to try his own
intimidation.   "And you didn't think this was worth mentioning to anyone.  For
God's sake what were you thinking of?"  He would have continued to shout but
quickly realised that he was at this stage getting at least a modicum of co-operation
and wanted to keep it that way.  He sat down and tried again, with a more conciliatory
attitude.
"Were they all sent to your home address?"
"No sir, some here."
"Have you kept any of them?"

"Yes Sir."
Jack had been hoping that as he started talking, John would pick the story up for
himself but it seemed as if this was going to a difficult and one worded conversation
all the way through.
"Has she contacted you any other way?"
"Yes Sir."
Jack sighed at the continued lack of information.  He turned back to the window and
tried hard to keep the irritation out of his voice.
When he spoke, it was with the exaggerated patience generally reserved for children.
"In what way did she contact you?
"By phone, Sir."
"How often?
"About three times a day."
"Does she contact you here at all?"
"Sometimes."
"What does she say?"
The refusal to answer abruptly returned.  Jack waited patiently for him to begin but
after waiting a few more minutes it became apparent that on this point, John was not
going to budge.  The silence became awkward and Jack turned around to face John.
"John, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not playing twenty questions, I'm trying to
help you.  You've got a serious problem on your hands and it needs to be sorted out.  I
can't help if you won't tell me."
John resumed looking at the floor but Jack noticed that much of the hostility had
gone, to be replaced by a defeated slump of the shoulders.  The tiredness that Jack had
noticed at the beginning to the encounter appeared to have developed into exhaustion
in the last few minutes.  As John spoke, his voice reflected the slump of his shoulders.
"I can sort it out myself." But his voice didn't sound too sure.
Meadows was suddenly unaccountably angry. He stood up and towered over Boulton
who remained in his seat. "How John?  Tell me exactly how you intend to sort it out.
You don't know what she looks like, you don't know who she is, and you don't even
know her name.  Even if you did find out who she was, what are you going to do
about it?  Ask her nicely to leave you alone? Beat her up and get yourself prosecuted?
Buy her a one-way plane ticket to Barbados and hope she uses it?   This woman has
an obsession.  She might be dangerous, if not to you then to the people who surround
you.  What if she had decided that getting rid of Liz was going to take a little more
than a warning letter?"
Running out of steam, Jack sat down on his desk and faced John.  "You may not like
to acknowledge it, but you are part of a team here."  He watched the roll of the eyes as
John dismissed the expected 'team-player' talk before it began.  Ignoring him, Jack
continued.  "Whatever you think of it, we have the funds, the equipment and the
manpower to bring it to a close.  We can take fingerprints, we have the access to
national databases, we can put in phone taps and use all the forensics necessary to find
her and stop her.   For Gods sake, don't be so stupid as to try to handle this alone."
Meadows continued to down at John until he realised that standing over him glaring at
him was probably not going to help much.  He stepped back a consciously tried to
relax his stance, in a way that he hoped was more friendly.  It seemed to work as John
finally responded.
"She hasn't done anything illegal.  It's not illegal to phone someone and send them
letters and chocolates."
"No, but it is illegal to harass a person beyond what is reasonable and it doesn't sound
very reasonable to me."
It was impossible to know if anything he had said made a difference. The mask was
on and the armour firmly in place.  Jack stood up and went round to sit at his desk,
knowing that if John was not going to co-operate there was really not much more he
could do.
"Can I go now Sir?
Jack nodded.  "Yes you can, but you know this isn't over and it won't be over until
you stop it." He watched as Boulton stood up to leave. "Oh, and John?"
"Yes Sir?"
"Don't slam the door on your way out."
Jack chuckled at Boulton's annoyed expression as he realized he was being teased.  It
was precisely the fact that he couldn't handle it that made it so much fun to do.


"Can I have a quick word with you Jack?"
Jack looked at his watch; it was getting on for 10.00pm.  Way past the time he had
said he would be home.  He carried on walking through the CID room towards the
door but glanced back at Chris Deakin.
"Can't it wait till morning?"
"No Sir, I think you'd want to know this."
Jack stopped walking and stood by the door, not at all convinced it was important.
"Go on then."
"Its about Boulton, Sir.  He's had an intruder.  Front desk just phoned up. I had asked
Uniform to keep an eye on his place and let me know if anything unusual occurred."
"Shit.  Get me his home number or his mobile."  He put his briefcase down and
walked to John's desk.
"I've got it," said Rod Skase from a gloomy corner of the room.  Jack pressed the
buttons of the mobile number Rod recited to him.  He waited as the recorded voice
told him the number was unavailable and then tried the home number Rod had also
managed to find.  The answer machine picked up so he left a message.
"John, pick up the phone, it's DCI Meadows here.  I'm coming over now.  You know
the drill, don't touch anything but don't leave either, wait for us to get there."  He was
about to put the phone down when a worrying though occurred. "Check the flat.
Make sure she's gone and then lock the door."  Jack replaced the phone and turned to
Deakin.
"How long ago did the call come in?"
"I came to find you immediately, must have been about five minutes ago. Uniform
were on their way over."
Jack stood up.  "Okay, thanks Chris."  He turned to the corner where Duncan was
sitting. "You're on duty tonight Rod, you can come with me."
Rod stood up to leave and Meadows used his cell phone to call home.  No doubt he
wasn't going to be very popular at home tonight.


Uniform was already there by the time they arrived but Jack was surprised to see them
waiting outside in the car.  Identifying Polly Page and Dave Quinnan in the panda, he
went to speak to them.
"What's going on?"
"Not sure Sir" said Polly.  "We responded to the call, came straight away.  Someone's
been in and left a box of chocolates and some champagne on his bed.  No signs of a
break in, they must have had keys.  Anyway, now he says it doesn't matter and told us
to leave.  I thought we should hang around till you got here."
"Wish someone would break into my house and leave me chocolates. They didn't
even smash a window.  Can't say I'd be complaining." muttered Quinnan, just within
Jack's hearing.
"That's enough Dave," barked Jack.  That was just the kind of attitude that was
almost guaranteed to spread like wildfire around the station.  Despite his protestations
otherwise, he knew that John was acutely sensitive to public opinion and any negative
feedback could seriously jeopardise his willingness to talk.  He was just about to go
and join Rod by the front door when Polly stopped him.
"Sir?"
He turned around to answer. "Yes, Polly?"  Polly had got out of the car and followed
him out of Dave's hearing.
"Sir, he didn't say anything...you know he looked okay, but I think he had been sick
before we got there.  He was in the bathroom when we walked in and I could have
sworn I heard..." Tony's voice tailed off before she started again.  "I think he got a bit
of a shock, sir."
Meadows nodded. "Okay Polly, thanks.  You can go, we'll deal with it from here."
"Yes sir" said Polly before returning to the car.
Meadows walked over to join Rod at the front door to John's flat.  He didn't look as if
he had knocked yet.  A fact that was something of a relief for Meadows, as he wanted
to talk to Rod first.
"Just hold on a moment," said Jack as he saw Rod reach his hand up to ring the bell.
Rod turned to him with a look of ill-disguised curiosity.
"Yes Sir?"
Jack didn't know what Rod's current opinion of John Boulton was; he was hoping it
to be rather less antagonistic than many other individuals he could name.  He
supposed it would be asking too much to hope that they were friends but he could
always pray for a miracle.
"Before we go in, I just want a few things clear."  Rod's face was unreadable so Jack
pressed on.  "Whatever you see or hear tonight goes no further, especially not back to
the station.  If you can't keep your mouth shut, tell me now and I'll find someone else
who can.  And remember, if it didn't come from me it came from you."
Even in the darkness Jack could see a brief look of hurt pass across Rod's face before
the poker face was restored.  He realised he had been harsher than he intended to be,
but if the problem was going to be sorted out he needed John's cooperation and there
was no way he would get that if he was the laughing stock of CID.  Feeling a little
guilty, he tried again with a softer approach.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to question your integrity.  It's just that I know he's not the
most popular person around, and that quite a few would take the opportunity to get
their kicks in.  If you come in, you might get ammunition to do just that and if the
temptation is going to be too great, then best you leave now."
Jack wasn't sure if he had just made the situation worse.  To even acknowledge the
fact that a problem existed was potentially damaging to John's professional
reputation.  He refrained from saying anything else, feeling he had said too much
already and most of it wrong.  He peered in to the darkness, trying to interpret Rod's
reaction but was unable to predict his answer.
"I wouldn't do that, sir." Came out of the darkness.  Although Rod's voice was almost
a whisper, Jack didn't think he'd heard such force coming from Rod before.   "You
can trust me."  Jack nodded, he suspected he could but convincing John to trust either
of them was going to be another matter entirely.  He turned to ring on the doorbell.
It took three rings before John finally came to answer the door and from the look on
his face, he wouldn't have felt too badly about leaving them standing there all night.
Jack was thankful for the requirement of respect that his rank accorded; otherwise he
knew he would have been at the wrong end of a fairly vicious personal attack.  As it
was, John was barely civil.
"Sorry Sir, false alarm.  I shouldn't have phoned it in, I just wasn't thinking.  Nothing
taken and no harm done.  I'll apologise to Uniform in the morning."   John began to
close the door.  It was just about closed before Jack realised what he was doing and
responded to it.
"Hold on, hold on" he said, as he put his hand out to stop the door closing completely.
"Polly and Dave said you had a visitor?"  The door didn't open, but at least it stopped
closing.
"Yes sir, but she's gone now."
"Was this visitor invited?"  Meadow's watched as John shifted his eyes to Rod.  If he
was unhappy to see his DCI on his doorstep, Jack suspected Rod's presence
multiplied this by ten. He looked back to Meadows but this time with an almost
defiant look.
"Sir, with all due respect, what visitors I have in my house, in my time is my own
business.  Not yours and certainly not his." He jerked his head towards Rod with
obvious contempt.  "If you want to talk, I think at the station in the morning might be
a better time, don't you?"
Jack was immediately reminded of exactly why it was that Boulton was so immensely
unpopular around the station.  He briefly wondered if John spent his evenings
practising how to get up people's collective noses.  It was a rare talent indeed.
"No, John. It may seem peculiar to you, but I actually wanted to go home this evening
and if it hadn't been for you that's exactly where I would be now.  I don't care when
you want to talk or if you want to talk, we are coming in and you are going to explain
to myself and to Rod in great detail exactly what has been going on in your private
life." He hurriedly continued as he saw John take a breath to argue.  "And I'm not
asking you what you think is your business.  Right now, it is my business and what
you want or think is not my concern."  He watched as a look of uncertainty passed
over John's face.  Knowing that he probably would be pig-headed enough to slam the
door in their faces, regardless of the consequences, Jack pushed it open and stepped
over the threshold before he had a chance to react.
Although their entry was not welcome, Jack was relieved to see that John had realised
that they weren't leaving any time soon and so appeared to try and get himself under
control.  Jack and Rod followed him back into a small but spotless kitchen.  The lack
of clutter or personal effects of any kind was striking. Even the small notice board had
nothing but a few takeaway menus on it.  Under the bright kitchen lights Jack could
see that Polly had probably been right about John getting a shock.  He was even more
pale than normal and his breathing seemed slightly harsh, although it could be just
that he was furious about the unwanted intrusion.  As he stood hunched by the
counter, he held his arms over his stomach in a protective manner, confirming in
Jack's mind, Polly's suspicion that he had just been sick.  Jack wasn't sure how to
reduce the tension and atmosphere in the room so he fell back on the old British
tradition in times of stress.  He turned to Rod.
"Rod, could you make us a cup of tea?"  Rod looked unsure and looked to John for
consent.  John shrugged and opened a cupboard that Jack could see contained teabags
and cups.  "Want one, Sarge?" Rod asked John, but the shake of his head was not
unexpected.
Jack looked through an adjoining door and saw it led to a small sitting room.  He
walked through and sat on an armchair while John followed him through but refrained
from sitting down.  Jack knew that the refusal to sit down was an attempt to keep the
upper hand. However, the fact that John looked downright sick and as if he were
about to fall down ruined the attempt at dominating the conversation.
"So what happened here tonight?"
There was a pause before John began to speak, but when he did Jack was relieved to
hear the hostility was fast dissolving.
"I got in about half past nine, nothing unusual or anything.  I went straight to the
bathroom to have a shower and then afterwards went into the bedroom to get
dressed."  He stopped there as if he were reluctant to continue.  Jack wasn't sure if it
was embarrassment or misery, but he suspected the latter.  "When I walked in to the
bedroom there were some chocolates and champagne laying on top of the covers.  I
checked the flat and then phoned Sun Hill."
Rod walked in with the tea and handed Jack a cup.  He appeared to have the sense to
keep quiet so after he had sat down so Meadows continued.
"Was there a note?"  Boulton shook his head.  "Did you touch them?" Boulton shook
his head again. "Okay, we'll bag them in a minute."  The implications of the flat not
having been broken into were frightening.  "Are you sure they were there before you
had a shower?"
John seemed to register suggestion behind the question.  "No...No, not sure.  I didn't
go into the bedroom.  I mean I didn't really look... I didn't think to look."
From his response, Jack guessed that John hadn't really considered the possibility of
someone wandering around his flat while he was in the shower.  The very fact that he
hadn't considered this possibility made Jack think that John was rather more disturbed
by the 'break-in' than he was willing to acknowledge; either to himself, or to anyone
else.
"Is she still phoning you?"  Boulton nodded, steadfastly avoiding eye contact with
either of them.
"What can you tell us about the voice?"
"Nothing sir, she uses one of those voice disguising machines.  It just sounds like a
computer or something." He shrugged and looked directly at Meadows with a small
smile.  "It's not like I listen to her or anything.  I just put the phone down when I hear
it's her."  He smiled, although with no sign of amusement.  "You'd think she'd get the
hint after the first fifty times."
"Why didn't you change your number?"
"I did, twice, but it only took three days for her to find the new one.  Now I just leave
the answer machine on, she can spend all day talking to it if she wants."
"Have you got a tape?"
This seemed to throw Boulton and he glanced uncertainly at both Rod and Jack.  " Sir,
they're pretty graphic.  You know, the normal kind of stuff and you probably won't
get anything from them."
"Sorry, we're going to need them and the letters for evidence.  You have kept them I
presume?"
Jack was again confused by John's refusal to discuss the contents of the letters or
phone calls.  Both he and Rod were adults, adult police officers at that.  The idea of
letters or phone calls being too 'graphic' for them to be exposed to was almost
laughable, but not quite. He would have been touched at the idea of John trying to
protect their virtue if he had actually believed him.  Unfortunately he didn't.  He
sighed; it was too late at night to be playing around with this sort of thing.
"John, go and get the letters and the tape." John stood dead still and stared at him.
Jack was running out of patience.  "For God's sake just go and get the letters and stop
arguing, from now on they're evidence."
"No, Sir."
"Why not? And don't give me that crap about them being too graphic for our pure and
decent minds."
Jack was preparing himself for a tirade of some sort and was a little perturbed to see
John sit down heavily on the sofa and pinch the bridge of his nose.  He looked tired
and listless, reminding Jack of the late hour and the fact that the shock of the intrusion
must be taking its toll on John.  Both Jack and Rod waited silently for John to speak.
When he did the frustration was evident in his voice.
"You don't need to see them because there's not going to be a trial.  You know what
it's like, the jury will think it's just a little love thing gone wrong and anyway, there's
no such thing as a female stalker.  The judge will think she's probably a nice girl
really, just a little confused and the only person who'll lose will be me.  The whole of
Sun Hill will be dining out on it for the next ten years, that is if they're not already."
He said this with a look towards Rod that made his distrust quite clear.
"The letters, it's not so much what they contain but its things about what she thinks
she's done with me.  Like a fantasy that she thinks is real.  And if she thinks its real,
what if everyone else thinks its real? What if they think I really did do those things
and that I really did have a relationship with her and that its all my fault?"  He shook
his head in a way that to Jack looked worryingly close to despair. "And even if I did
all of that and by some miracle we got a conviction, all she'd get is fine and a
restraining order, which she'd probably ignore anyway."
Silence filled the room.  There wasn't really much Jack could say in defence.  It was
true, all of it.  However, the fact that she had somehow managed to get in without
breaking in and had found his phone number again so quickly made Jack think that
what the rest of Sun Hill thought may soon prove to be quite irrelevant.  If John didn't
want to prosecute, then Jack couldn't force it but he could identify her and he
intended to do just that.  However, now was not the time.
He stood up to leave. "Okay, we'll leave it for tonight, but I want those letters.  Even
if only I see them and we only use them to identify her, I still have to see them.  Bring
them in tomorrow, I'm too tired to look at them tonight."  John and Rod stood up with
him and Rod started to put his coat on.  Jack immediately shook his head.  "You stay
here tonight Rod.  Whoever she is, she's got keys and she could be dangerous. Jam
something behind the doors so they can't be opened."
Having looked exhausted a few moments previously, Jack was surprised that Boulton
found the energy to argue but he seemed to gather it from somewhere.  "No Sir, that's
not a good idea.  I can look after myself and she won't be back while I'm here.  Take
DC Skase back and I'll see you in the morning."
"And what makes you think she won't be back while you're here?  What if she's
armed?  Lets not take stupid risks.  You can get the locks changed tomorrow but until
then, Rod stays here."
Rod didn't appear to like this idea any more than Boulton.  "Mmm...Sir, I really have
to be going.  I've got things to do that can't wait.  Maybe we should just get Uniform
to keep and eye on the place."  John nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
"They can't see a bloody thing from outside.  Remember, she isn't going to have to
break in and there are no deadlocks on the doors."  He started to walk towards the
door, clearly indicating the end of the discussion.  "Besides" he shot over his
shoulder, "It'll give you two a chance to bond."  He chuckled as he opened the front
door and turned back to catch a look of dislike passing between the two of them.
John decided to give it one last try.  He came up and spoke quietly to Jack as he
stepped out of the front door.  "Sir, I'm not going to let her scare me.  If I do, then it
means she has control over my life and I can't let her do that."
Jack looked back at him, unable to see his face with the light reflected from inside the
door.  "John, you don't have to be scared.  I'll be scared enough for the two of us."


Rod knew he was there for the night when he heard the front door slam.  He felt rather
like a mouse in a lion's cage as Boulton stormed back into the room and glared at
him.
"You can go," he said, throwing a bunch of keys at Rod.  Take my car and pick me up
on the way tomorrow."  Much as he wasn't keen to spend the night in Boulton's
company, Rod was even less keen to lose his job.
"Yeah, great idea.  I go home, a chocolate wielding psycho attacks you, Meadows
finds out and we both lose our jobs." He glared back at John. "Think again."
"This is my house and I am telling you to get out."
Rod shrugged lazily, refusing to rise to the bait.  He reached for the remote control he
saw lying on the coffee table in from of him. "Phone Meadows and argue about it.
I'm watching TV."  He put the TV on and rapidly flicked through a few stations.  He
was delighted to find some football to watch, he wasn't interested in the game but he
knew just how much this would annoy John. He relaxed back into the sofa, ignoring
the glare that he knew was still directed at his back.  After a few minutes John seemed
to get bored with it and he heard the bedroom door slam, announcing his departure.
Rod grinned to himself, silently amused by the temper tantrum.  He was even more
amused by the fact that is had failed to have it's desired effect, leaving Rod with the
bizarre idea that he had won.  About ten minutes later the door opened again and Rod
abruptly found himself covered in a duvet and pillows thrown over his head.  "It's a
sofa bed, you just pull it out" was heard from beyond the blanket, but by the time he
had disentangled himself the bedroom door was firmly closed again.  Sitting up he
discovered some jogging pants and a t-shirt had been included in the pile.  "Well,
thank you Sir." Rod muttered to himself as he took the unexpected clothes.  'It's the
thought that counts', he thought as he picked up the clothes wondered what it said
about Sergeant Boulton that he really didn't seem to realise how much smaller he was
than other people.


"ROD!"
The shock went through Rod like electric lightning.  Every muscle felt the shock run
through them as he literally jumped out of bed and ran straight into the coffee table.
"Fuck" he said loudly as he continued heading in the pitch darkness towards
Boulton's bedroom door.  Slamming through the door into the bedroom, he wasn't
prepared for the door to slam back into him as it hit an unknown object behind him.
"Shit" he swore again as the door hit him unexpectedly on his forehead.
"Ahh" he winced as bright light assaulted his eyes and he closed them in defence.
Blindly he moved towards where he had caught a brief glimpse of Boulton's bed.
Finding it, he sat down on the corner and cautiously opened his eyes.  It took a few
seconds to adjust to the light but as soon as he could see he looked around the room
for the cause of the shout.  Seeing none, he looked to Boulton who was sitting upright
at the other end of the bed.  His face was covered thin sheen of sweat and he was
regarding Rod with a look closely resembling shock.  Since he didn't appear to say
anything, Rod broke silence.
"What the hell was all that about?"  John didn't answer, he just looked around the
room before his eyes came back to rest on Rod.  Rod sprawled back on the bed, the
shock of awakening suddenly was beginning to leave him and his eyes were getting
used to the light.  After a few seconds he began to gently laugh and turned to look
John who still hadn't moved.
"Don't ever wake me up like that again.  I don't care if the whole Russian army is
camped outside and ready to fire.  Even if God himself has decided to pay me a
personal visit, I still don't want to wake up like that."  He closed his eyes again and
felt his heartbeat still thumping wildly in his chest.  He looked at his watch.  Not even
midnight yet, he had only been asleep for half and hour.
"So what happened?"  The silence that greeted him was eerily uncharacteristic and
Rod felt a twinge of concern and the humour of the situation rapidly evaporated.  He
rolled over onto his stomach to look at him more carefully. After a moment John
stared directly into his eyes and spoke. "Nothing.  Bad dream."  Rod recognised the
look as being an unspoken challenge to say any more about it so he broke the stare
and sat up.
"Okay, well if you have another one, make sure you have it in increments.  You
know, start off by whispering, and then you can go to talking and then, and only then,
can you shout in a leisurely manner." He grinned at John to show he was joking. "I
don't think I can take another wake up call like that."  Taking another quick glance at
his sergeant he could see he was far from okay, but he knew from experience that any
expression of concern would be met with scorn and derision, so he ignored it and
stood up.
"I'll go back to bed then."  He paused by the bedroom door, feeling he should be
doing something to make it better, but knowing that that John Boulton didn't let other
people make things better.  He was just about to close the bedroom door behind him
when he thought better of it and left it wide open.  As he passed the bathroom he
flicked the light on.  It felt like little to offer under the circumstances but at least it
was something.
Rod settled himself back on the sofa.  For a sofa bed it was surprisingly comfortable
and the duvet was soft and thick.  He tried to get back to sleep, but the adrenalin
produced from the sudden awakening felt like it was still wreaking havoc with his
body.  After a few minutes he gave up.  Late night TV was almost bound to put
anyone to sleep.  He found the TV controls again and put the TV on again, hurriedly
searching for the mute button as the sound blared out at an unexpected level.
The footsteps he heard behind him were not unexpected.  He knew Boulton was
looking for an opportunity to shout at him and suspected that the explosion of noise
from the TV was going to give him just that.  Resigned to, but not concerned by the
anticipated diatribe, Rod sat back and waited for it to begin.
"She's been here before. I think she's been here before while I was sleeping.  She was
watching me sleep."  At the statement, Rod felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand
up but he remained silent, waiting for John to continue.  "That dream.  I've had it
before but now I don't think it was a dream."
Rod turned around to look at John.  He had put some sweat pants on but from the look
of him he was still cold; or something else was responsible for the shivers.  The lack
of John's usual armour of defiant stance and manner, made Rod notice how short he
actually was.  Feeling strangely protective, Rod moved up on the sofa and pulled the
duvet back for him, inviting him to sit down.  The fact that he took the implied
invitation and pulled the duvet over himself made Rod worry more than any previous
event.
"About a month ago I started waking up with this weird feeling.  The shadows in the
room looked wrong and it felt like there was someone there.  A couple of times I
thought someone was in the room, standing at the bottom of my bed but it was dark
and I couldn't see."
"And what happened when you turned on the light?"
John shook his head and looked vaguely confused. "I didn't turn on the light."
"Why not?"
John's reply was indignant.  "I wasn't about to start turning on the light and checking
under the bed."
Rod's look was incredulous.  "You woke up and thought someone was in the room
but you didn't turn on the light because that would make you a sissy?"
Johns indignant look swiftly turned to irritation and the scouse accent made a swift
appearance.  "Well I didn't know anyone was there, did I?  I thought I was just being
paranoid so I tried to get back to sleep.  It's not like I was going to start being scared
of the dark or anything stupid like that."
"No, you'd rather be attacked by a psycho than admit that you've got a case of the
creeps."  Rod shook his head in amazement.  The stubbornness of John Boulton was
truly incredible sometimes.  They both stared at each other angrily for a few moments
before there appeared to be a mutual decision to let the matter drop.
"So how did you know that tonight was a dream and the other times were real?"
"There were some things different.  This time when I woke up I couldn't hear her
breathing."  A small grin teased Boulton's lips.  "I heard you yelling instead."  Rod
grinned back and answered "anything to please."  The smile disappeared as John
continued  "And I dreamt the shadow but when I woke it wasn't there either.  The
other times when I woke up the shadow was still there at the end of my bed and I
thought I saw it moving a little and I could hear breathing but I thought it was an
overactive imagination.  She's been saying things on the phone about my sleeping
habits but I thought she was just guessing, maybe I was looking tired or something but
now I think she's been watching me sleep."
"How dark is your room?"
"Very dark, it's got black out blinds because of working shifts and stuff."  He paused
for a little and Rod pulled the other end of the blanket up over himself, as if the night
was suddenly feeling much colder. "It didn't make any sense until tonight, but if she's
got keys it probably was her.  She could be here and I wouldn't even know."
There was silence as they both sat in the darkness and watched the black and white
film with the sound muted for a few minutes.  Rod glanced towards John who had
pulled the duvet event further up to his neck.  He looked exhausted and beaten,
making Rod wonder exactly how much he had been sleeping in the previous month.
Wanting to break the silence, Rod spoke without thinking.
"Never thought you'd be one for a pyjama party, Sarge.  People might start talking."
John's head jerked towards him in the darkness, the light from the TV softly
illuminated the look of embarrassment at the circumstances.  Rod regretted the
comment immediately.  The warm smile that developed on John's face was
unexpected.
"Yeah, well don't tell anyone.  They might all want a turn."
"In your dreams" retorted Rod, a smile returning John's.
"I wish." Said John, his smile slowly fading as Rod realised his unfortunate choice of
words.  The brief humour evaporated as they both looked back towards the TV.
"You know we're going to have to see the letters don't you?"  John didn't react; he
just continued to look at the TV.  "Let me look and see if I can get anything from
them."
John shook his head.  "I've already looked, there's nothing in them except lies and
fantasies.  There's no point, I've thought about it, I don't see what you can get that I
can't."
"Maybe just a fresh look.  C'mon, Sarge, you know how it works. Let me see them."
Watching the silent figure beneath the duvet, Rod could feel his irritation rising. "For
God's sake, this is serious.  What are you so afraid of?" He stopped for moment and
thought again.  "Or is it just that you don't trust me?  You think I'd believe her word
over yours? Or is it that you're scared I'd make fun of you behind your back?"
"No."
"Well what is it then?"
Rod watched John sit and glare at the TV, while waiting for the heaving in his chest
and the sudden irritation to die down.  John didn't seem to be having any luck in
controlling his own emotions.  Rod recognised the signs of an impending meltdown
Boulton style but he was too irritated himself to bother trying to hide from it.
Abruptly John stood up and marched through to the bedroom.  The noise of a
cupboard door slamming carried back to the living room just before Rod felt the
weight of something heavy land on the duvet next to him.  The bedroom door
slammed again making Rod wonder how any of the doors in Johns flat actually
managed to stay on the hinges, and then Rod was left alone.
It was apparent that John hadn't opened most of them so Rod sorted them into some
kind of chronological order and started with those that were open.
There were probably well over fifty letters.  All were handwritten in various floral
shades with decorative writing. At a first glance Rod couldn't see what was so
upsetting about them.  In the main, they were run of the mill, completely insane,
detailed descriptions of acts of what could only be described as sadistic fantasies.
Considering that most Police Officers were exposed to that sort of kink within their
first year on the beat it seemed peculiar that John should be so prudish.  However as
he read more of them and started to recognise the recurring themes, Rod began to see
the problem.
It wasn't so much the content but the way they were written.  The writer didn't appear
to be concerned by what she was going to do to John, but more by what she believed
John had done to her.  The descriptions of his whispering in her ear, holding her,
pushing his body against hers and his knee between her legs were written in
believable style.  The description of John's body was detailed, referring several times
to a small scar just above his navel, and a crescent shaped birthmark under his chin.
The account would give any reader the impression that there had been a previous
relationship.
Violence and force were on going fantasies but the writer appeared to be under the
impression that she had some kind of on going relationship with John.  Even Rod
found himself wanting to ask John about his previous relationships, convinced that the
answer must be somewhere in there.  Worryingly, a few of the letters even referred to
the events of the day as if he knew exactly what she was referring to.
Rod had been reading the letters for two hours before he felt he had seen enough. At
least he was officially on duty tonight so he didn't have to be at work in the morning.
He looked towards John's door and was not surprised to see a streak of light from
under the door. He put all the letters back into the original large envelope and went to
knock quietly on the door.
"What?" came from behind the door, immediately confirming Rod's suspicion that
John was still awake.  He opened the door and stepped inside, finding John lying on
the bed contemplating the ceiling.  He looked around for somewhere to sit but not
seeing a seat, he moved towards the bed.  Although the rest of his body language was
hostile, John did move his legs over to make space for Rod to sit, albeit with a pained
expression that demonstrated his reluctance.
"Can I ask you some questions?"
"Can I say no?"
"Not if you want to sort out the problem."
Rod took the silence as assent and continued.  "How do you know she's not an ex-
girlfriend?"
"Because she's not.  The job doesn't exactly leave much time for romance if you
know what I mean."  Rod did know what he meant, but in John's case he didn't think
that was the only reason for it.  "The last girlfriend I had was perfectly sane.  Anyway,
it was about five years ago.  She went on holiday to Australia, met someone and
stayed there.  She's a very unlikely suspect, believe me."
"Okay.  How about these marks?  Is she correct?"  John nodded.  "Can I see them?"
John lifted up his head to show a small birthmark on the underside of his chin.  When
he made no move to lift up his t-shirt Rod prompted "and the other one? The scar?"
"Why do you want to see it? It's there, okay?"
"Because I want to see how accurate her description is.  Whether she's seen it herself
or if someone's just told her about it."
Reluctantly John lifted up his shirt to reveal a short dark coloured scar, approximately
two inches long.  It was too untidy to be a surgical scar although there was evidence
of surgical stitching.   "Happy now?"
Rod nodded and continued, wondering why anybody actually put up with Boulton and
his attitude. He was curious about the scar but given Boulton's reluctance to expose it
at all, he didn't think it would be wise to pursue the subject. "Have you got any other
distinguishing marks?"
"No. Why?"
"I'm trying to figure out how much of your body she's seen.  It might give us a clue
as to where she's seen you and how.  Do you go swimming anywhere for instance?"
John shook his head. "Sunbathing?"
"Yeah right, every weekend rain or shine. Just so I can look this pale."  Rod smiled.
Well, it was a stupid question.
"How do you sleep?" John pulled a face.  "Same way as everyone else." Rod was
starting to lose his patience. "You know what I mean.  The nightmares she talks
about, are they fact or fiction and if they are fact, how long have you had them and
who else knows about them?"
John shifted further up the bed and looked at the door over Rod's shoulder, giving
Rod the impression that the subject embarrassed him.  "They're not a big deal.  No
one else knows about them.  I've had them for a while, since...well, since before her,
although she hasn't exactly been helping matters."
"Did the letters commenting on you sleeping badly correlate with particularly bad
nights?"
John thought about this for a moment before answering. "I don't know.  I didn't open
most of her letters, just chucked them in with the others.  It wasn't like I was eager for
her correspondence."
Rod nodded his understanding. "Can I feel your hair?"
"What?"
"Can I feel your hair?"
John looked exasperated.  "What possible reason could you have for feeling my hair?"
"Because she describes it as incredibly soft, she mentions it in practically all her
letters.  She'd only know how it feels if she's touched it, so I want to see if she's
right."
John sighed and obediently bent his head forward.  "This is the last time I invite you
to a pyjama party.  People might talk." He muttered from beneath Rod's hands.  Rod
found himself grinning.  "Wasn't aware I was invited this time," he said as he let go
of John's head and gently pushed it away.
"Yeah, I knew I had better judgement.  So what's the verdict?"
"Soft as silk, I'm afraid. Softest hair I've ever laid my hands on."
"Great.  I feel honoured.  Most people's hair is soft when it's short.  It doesn't mean
anything."
Rod sighed; John wasn't making this easy for him.  "I think she's almost certainly
been in physical contact with you, the descriptions of your body are too accurate to be
her imagination."
John's face was incredulous.  "Rod, I may not be Sherlock Holmes but I think if I was
having sex with somebody I might just be aware of it.  Or maybe I have to go back to
detective school to work on my powers of observation."
Rod couldn't help but smile at the comment.  "I didn't say you were having sex with
her, I said that whoever wrote these letters knows firsthand about how your hair feels
and the marks on your body.  Someone could have told her but it would be unusual,
stalkers generally work alone and it's not like you have thousands of ex-girlfriends
who she can pump for information over a few beers."
John shook his head. "Come on. Other than you, people don't usually come up to me
and ask me if they can run their hands through my hair."
"So who have you been in contact with recently?"
John rolled his eyes in an expression of ridicule.  "Suspects mainly, the usual.  I do
have some standards though, I don't generally go round roughing up female
suspects."
A worm of suspicion embedded itself in Rod's brain at the comment.  "You said her
voice on the phone sounded just like a machine, you couldn't tell anything at all from
it?"
John nodded, and lay back on the pillows. It was clear he felt they had been over this.
"So what makes you so sure she's female?"
John's eyes slowly moved up to meet Rod's.  The jocular mood abruptly disappeared
and Rod could hear John's breathing speed up and become laboured as the anxiety
grew.  Slowly he began to shake his head in denial.
"No.  No...she must be female.  Of course she is, you can tell."
"How can you tell?  You can't tell anything from her voice, you can't tell anything
from the letters.  The vast majority of stalkers are male so why would this be any
different?"
"The letters..."
Rod stood up and started to pace the room as he was thinking. "Don't tell us anything.
Think about it.  All they tell us is that some psycho is fixated on you and thinks that
you're into the whole pain and control thing."
"Which I'm not by the way."
Rod raised a quizzical eyebrow and grinned.  After a second's hesitation John laughed
despite himself, shaking is head in continued denial.
The descriptions of you and what you did could be describing you dealing with a
suspect.  'Your arms around me so tight that it hurt.  Your knee between my legs
pushing as you forced me up against the wall and whispered to me'. How many
suspects have you pushed up against a wall and whispered threats in their ears?  How
many times have you been wrestling with someone who might have touched your
hair?  It makes sense.  Two months ago was August, maybe you were wearing a t-
shirt that got pulled up in a struggle so he could see the scar?  Isn't it possible that
someone thought it was a come on? That they thought it was foreplay?"
"NO!"  The shout broke Rod's tirade and he realised belatedly that he was talking to
John as if he were a suspect.  "It's not like that.  I'm not like that."
Rod sat down on the bed again, feeling bad that John was clearly feeling accused.
"Nobody's saying it's like that for you.  I'm saying it might be like that for them.
Whoever it is thinks they have a relationship with you.  They think that every time
you handle them it's you asking for them to take control.  This person thinks they
know what you need and they seem to be intent on giving it to you."
John folded his arms and brought his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his
knees.  Rod didn't think he was aware of the fact that he had adopted the foetal
position but it was painful to watch.  After sitting uncertainly for a minute Rod slowly
reached out and started to stroke his back, sure he was going to be rebuffed.  Instead,
it appeared that John made himself even smaller.  Keeping his hand stroking his back,
Rod looked around the room awkwardly.  If it had been almost anyone else in the
world he would have tried to do more but with John the acceptance of his hand on his
back was already showing a gaping hole in his defences.
"I didn't do anything.  I didn't mean it.  Everybody's going to say I deserve it, that I
had it coming to me, that I was asking for it."
Rod continued to stroke his back as he spoke in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.
"No they're not.  They're going to see a screwed up scrote who fancies you.  Most of
CID will think that the very fact he fancies you makes him certifiable."  The joke fell
flat and Rod continued.  "Besides, he's not going to do anything.  That's what we're
trying to do here, stop him before he does do anything.  He's probably all talk
anyway."
The voice buried in the knees sounded muffled and John sounded as if he were having
trouble breathing.  Rod wasn't sure if it was the anxiety or the hunched up position,
but either way he had to strain to hear him. "He's got my keys.  He found my phone
number twice.  He's been coming here and watching me sleep. The flowers might
have been put in my room when I was in the shower.  He's been following me around
everywhere I go without me being able to identify him.  He could be anywhere, I just
want him to go away and leave me alone."
"If we identify him it's going to be very much harder for him to follow you."
The statement managed to halt what Rod was beginning to identify as rising panic in
his Sergeant.  The tension in the back beneath his hand started to relax and John
brought his head up from between his knees, rubbing his face with both hands before
he spoke.
"Someone who always makes trouble when I'm around, resisting arrest every single
time.  No one else seems to have any trouble with him and I'm pretty sure he's got
form for harassment from about five years ago.  A complete nutcase who was released
from St. Nick's mental hospital about six months ago."
"Someone in particular in mind?"
John suddenly wriggled out from beneath Rod's touch.  He stood up and walked out
of the bedroom without looking back.  Rod followed him through into the kitchen
where he was gathering his phone and keys together. As he watched Rod could see
the uncertainty and vulnerability was gone and in its place was DS Boulton, Robocop
to his friends.
"What are you doing?"
"I know who it is.  I'm going over there to sort it out."
"And this can't wait till morning?"  Rod looked at his watch and saw it was 3.00am.
"Shouldn't you get some sleep?"
"You mean like he waited before walking into my flat in the middle of the night?
Maybe he's fast asleep in his bed and I can have the fun of seeing how he sleeps for a
change."
"We haven't got a search warrant and nothing specific to arrest him for.  All we've
got is circumstantial evidence, it's nothing, and it won't even get to court. We can't
just barge in there in the middle of the night.  Shouldn't we wait and speak to
Meadows?
"No."
Without another word John was back in his bedroom throwing on some clothes and
Rod was left suddenly regretting trying to help the situation at all.  He could see John
was building himself up into a frenzy of ill thought out activity, of the type that
always resulted in unnecessary damage.  Reluctantly he tried again.
"We're not going over there.  It's dangerous and stupid.  Even if you don't care what
happens, I do.  If you want to go round assaulting people and breaking into their
houses at midnight then you do it by yourself."
"Fine.  You stay here and catch up on your beauty sleep."
Seeing he wasn't winning the argument, Rod moved towards the phone.  "I'm
phoning Meadows, he can argue with you."
John watched him as he picked up the phone and started dialling the number for Sun
Hill.  "Hi, it's DC Skase here, can you put me on to the control room?  I need DCI
Meadows' home phone number."
John moved like lightning across the room and slammed his hand down on the phone,
cutting off the connection.  "Don't you bloody dare!"
"Okay, we do it my way then."
Boulton grabbed the phone off him and Rod let him have it.  He had his mobile
anyway.  "I thought you said I could trust you. You said you were going to help" John
spat at him angrily, but his eyes expressed the betrayal he was feeling.
"You can trust me and I am trying to help.  You can trust me not to sit and watch you
make a complete stuff up in your own unique way.  If you try and leave here I'm
phoning Meadows and telling all of uniform to watch for you, and I'll tell them why."
"Fuck you."
"And fuck you too, Detective Sergeant Boulton."


It had taken at least an hour for Rod to get back to sleep after John had retreated to his
room following a full-scale explosion.  Possibly it was one of the reasons he fell into
such a deep sleep.  The sofa bed was warm and comfortable but the feeling of
something being wrong pushed into his conscious, forcing him to wake up.  The
darkness made it take a while longer for him to establish where he was before the fact
that it was so dark made him spring into awareness.
The flat was pitch black.  Rod knew that was wrong, there was no way Boulton would
have left all the lights off.  Not after the nightmare earlier in the evening.  He shot to
his feet, fumbling for the lamp he knew was next to him.  It took all of five seconds to
confirm what he already knew.  He was alone in the flat.





The morning shift was already coming in when Rod arrived at the station in a taxi.  It
only took him twenty minutes to get the computers to confirm what Boulton already
knew.  In the last two months, John had arrested one Christopher Harrison nine times
for minor offences.  Each time he had resisted arrest and increasing levels of force had
been used but no complaints had been made against John.  Five years previously, a
teacher at a local school had brought a charge of harassment against him.  A
restraining order had been issued but the teacher had resigned and moved away from
the area.  The computer had an address where Harrison lived with alone, and Rod
found himself almost running out of the station as dawn broke over London.
The address he had found on the computer was only ten minutes away from John's
flat.  Rod had no idea what time Boulton had snuck out of the flat but the more he
thought of it the more foolish he felt.  How had he been so stupid as to believe that he
was really just going to go and settle down and sleep the rest of the night off?  He was
very tempted to call Meadows and let him know what was happening but just at the
moment he didn't feel like explaining that he had fallen for the oldest trick in the
book.
As he approached the house in a pool car, a sudden attack of caution overcame him.
He pulled up behind John's car and picked up his mobile phone.  In seconds he was
talking to Tom Proctor in the CID office.
"Tom, let me give you a name and an address"
"Why?"
"Doesn't matter why.  Just take it, you'll know if you need it."  He quickly read off
the address and put the phone down before Tom could ask any more questions.  Now
at least their bodies wouldn't lie undiscovered for the next six months.
Reluctant to leave the safety of his car, he climbed out and approached the house.
There were no signs of breaking and entering, a fact that made him question whether
Boulton was in there at all.  It was a huge old Victorian house but in sad need of
repair.  The stonework spoke of previous grandeur, but there was nothing impressive
about the house now.
He knocked on the front door, surprised to find his hands were sweating in the late
October morning chill.  It took a while, but eventually he heard shuffling behind the
door.  After a few seconds itt swung open to reveal an interior as much in need of
upkeep as the exterior.  The man who answered the door was as ugly as he was huge.
If this was the man, Rod was having a little difficulty imagining exactly how John had
managed to arrest him by force quite so many times.
"Good morning, I'm DC Skase from Sun Hill.  I was wondering if I could have a
word with you about another officer, DS John Boulton."
"Come in Mr Skase, I've been expecting you."
Rod wasn't prepared for the fist that buried itself in his stomach or the rag that
smothered his nose and mouth.  In fact, he wasn't prepared for anything as he felt the
darkness close around him.


Rod woke in unpleasant circumstances for the third time in less than twenty-four
hours.  It was still pitch black but the overpowering smell immediately reminded him
he was no longer at John's flat.  As he moved, it felt as if a bolt of electricity shot
through his head, straight into his eyes.  He groaned loudly at the pain.
"Rod?"
"I'm not talking to you.  Piss off."  He lay back and tried to replace murderous
thoughts with constructive ones.  "I see you got it sorted then.  Great work, Sarge.
Wake me when it's time to go home."
A long silence greeted him as he tried to sit up.  "Sorry, I didn't think."
"You never bloody think.  That's your problem."  He managed to sit up against what
felt like a wall.  "Where are you? Or more to the point where are we and what the
fuck is going on?"
"I've found myself my own personal sadistic psycho."
"What a relief, I thought we were going to have to share." Rod answered sarcastically.
At this point he had no sympathy left.  As far as he was concerned the psycho could
have John, just as long as he let him go home. A few minutes of angry silence
followed before they spoke again.  John's voice was hesitant as it came out of the
darkness again and Rod could tell he was on his left, a few metres away.
"Did he...have you...Rod, have you got any clothes on?"
Rod burst out laughing at the question, but stopped short when he realised what the
question implied.  "Yes, why?"
"Because he took all mine." John answered bitterly. "And I'm fucking freezing."
The revelation and its implications concerned Rod more than he would like to admit.
John sounded unharmed but he felt he had to ask.
"Did he hurt you?"
There was a short silence before John answered. "No...not really. Nothing really
happened."  John didn't seem too sure of the answer but equally he didn't sound like
he wanted to expand on the subject.
"How long have you been here?"
"Not long."
Now Rod was confused.  "But you left ages ago, where were you?"
"Sitting in the car on the road out the front, just thinking."  Rod was tempted to
interrupt and tell him to think a little harder next time, but he was sure John had
already told himself this a thousand times.  "Then about ten minutes before you
showed up, I saw him open the front door as if he was going out, so I had to stop him.
"Of course you did," muttered Rod under his breath.
I just came up and asked him if I could have a word with him in connection with an
offence so he said okay, we could talk about it in the house."
Entering into a house alone with a potentially dangerous psycho had to be one of the
most stupid things Rod had ever heard. But given the state of exhaustion and anxiety
John was in earlier in the day, he imagined that John was probably not thinking too
clearly at the time.
"And then what happened."
"He had a gun with a silencer.  I thought it could be a fake but he shot a cushion to
show it was loaded.  Then when you rang the doorbell he made me come in here."
Rod suspected there was a large chunk of the story missing there but obviously not a
part that John wanted to share.  He moved closer in the darkness, putting his hands out
in front of him as he crawled. He felt John flinch as he touched a cold shoulder.
"Sorry, you okay?"
"Hunky Dory" replied John, with more than a touch of sarcasm.  "Don't touch me,"
he added as Rod moved closer.
"Do you want my jacket? I'd give you my jeans but then I'd be freezing and seeing as
you were the one who got us into this mess..."
"Yeah, thanks for reminding me."
Rod removed his jacket and pushed it towards where he knew John was sitting. It
wasn't that warm but at least it was something.  Rod could feel the ground underneath
them was damp and wondered if they could find something to sit on.  Despite the
jacket, he felt violent shivering coming from beside him a few minutes later.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I told you, hunky dory."
Rod sat and let the shivers continue for a few minutes before he spoke again.  "I'm
not as cold.  If you sit close to me the body heat will get you warmer and we can put
the jacket over your back."
"I'm naked for God's sake.  It's not something naked men do in the dark."  John's
voice was angry but Rod was sure he could hear underlying desperation in the tone.
"Okay, freeze then.  It was just a suggestion."
Minutes passed as Rod listened to the laboured sounds of John shivering.  Every now
and again his teeth started to chatter until he clamped them shut in denial of the cold.
"You won't say anything if I sit next to you?" said John suddenly.
"I'll put it on the evening news.  Don't be stupid, of course I won't say anything."
Rod moved up closer in affirmation.  He pulled the hunched up body towards him,
feeling the goose bumps that were covering the skin.  After a slight hesitation, John
moved into the embrace, sending cold radiating through Rod's jersey and t-shirt.  Rod
put his arms spread the jacket over the naked back and pulled him tighter, starting to
rapidly rub his back in an attempt to create some heat.  The soft hair at his neck smelt
of soap and he bent his head down to inhale further.  At least it was pleasanter than
the dank, festering smell of the basement.  If John was aware of this motion he made
no comment, he simply pulled his arms in to Rods chest and stayed there.
It didn't take long for the shivering to die down, but feeling warmer appeared to
enable John to consider the wider situation.
"He's going to come back.  He said he was going to hurt me."  John's breathing began
to speed up rapidly and Rod could feel him swallowing convulsively, struggling for
air.  "All those things in the letters, he's going to do them."
Rod didn't doubt this for a second, but he could hear the rising panic in John's voice
and wanted to allay it.
"I left the address for Meadows," he said with more confidence than he felt.   "They'll
come and find us."
"Then why aren't they here yet?"
Rod knew they probably hadn't been missed yet.  Rod wasn't due in and Meadows
may have thought they John had slept late in light of the previous nights events.  It
could be hours before their absence was noted and even more hours before someone
actually mentioned it to Tom.  Mentally, he kicked himself for not making a better
plan.
"I'm scared."  Rod thought this was probably an emotion John had been getting to
know well in the previous couple of months, but for him to admit it was not a good
sign.  He moved one hand up and felt a cold ear, which he pulled towards his chest.
The weight of his hand soon absorbed the cold and he began to stroke the hair that
was undoubtedly the softest he had ever felt.
"It'll be okay.  Don't worry they'll find us."  He knew the assurances were
meaningless and probably quite wrong but there wasn't anything else to say.


The sound of a trapdoor being unlocked gave them a few seconds warning before the
cellar was flooded with light.  Both men scrunched their eyes up in defence from the
unexpected light.  Rod felt John stiffen in his arms at the intrusion but his racing
heartbeat was palpable through the thin jersey.  Instinctively Rod tightened his arms
around him but thoughts of defiance left him as he identified a gun in their
kidnapper's hand.
"Boulton, out now.  Come on, you know it's time. You can leave the jacket with your
friend."
Rod wasn't surprised that John failed to move, he wasn't really sure if he could.
Instantly Rod regretted the decision not to give him his trousers.  He knew they
offered no protection but the light from the door exposed John's nakedness and the
vulnerability was pitiful.
In desperation, Rod fell back on what he knew.  Reading him his rights didn't have
much impact , so he stumbled on in the vague hope of invoking some authority.
"False imprisonment and assaulting police officers in the performance of their duties
is a serious offence Mr. Harrison.  I suggest you end this situation before you get into
even more trouble."
"Oh, I'm sorry Mr Skase.  You see John and I are too busy to accompany you down to
the station at the moment, but if you like, you can join us upstairs.  I'm sure John
wouldn't mind an audience.  Maybe you'd like to join in?"
Fear and guilt rushed through Rod as he felt the impulse to push John towards the
man in order to distance himself.  He was saved from the having to react to the
suggestion as he felt John pull himself away from his arms and unsteadily rise to his
feet.
"I'm coming.  He can stay here."
Rod was horrified by the ease with which John was ready to go with Mr Harrison.  If
they were going to attempt an escape, this was probably going to be their best
opportunity.  He still hadn't got any words together by the time the man spoke again.
"Or maybe he can come with us.  Share the magic if you know what I mean."
Rod watched with admiration and gratitude as John, despite his own distress appeared
to try to think of a way to get Rod to remain in the basement.
"I thought this was going to be special, just you and me.  He can't give me what you
can."
"Why John, I didn't think you were the selfish type."
He said this with a sneer at Rod as he threw something small and dark down the stairs
to crash against the wall behind Rod's back. He reached back to retrieve the object
and looked down at his hand.  It was thick, studded dog collar.
"Put it on him, unless you'd rather wear it yourself."
Feeling like he was moving on auto, Rod stood up.  It was strange relief to him that
John didn't acknowledge his presence.  He didn't move as Rod approached him and
wrapped the collar around his neck with trembling hands.  The shaking was making it
difficult to manipulate the buckle and he felt a sweat break out on his forehead,
despite the cold of the basement.
Just as Rod finished there was another clatter on the ground beside him.  He didn't
need to ask what to do with the handcuffs that he picked up.  He pulled John's arms
gently behind him; half hoping for some resistance or reaction, but there was none.
"Sorry," he whispered in his ear as the familiar restraint clicked around the wrists.  He
squeezed his cold hands in a gesture of support but the motion appeared to go
unnoticed.
"Up you come Sergeant Boulton, lets get the party started."
"He stays here," said John, without moving.  Rod was beginning to wonder how much
of John's wish for him to remain in the basement was in order to protect him and how
much was to prevent him from witnessing the forthcoming humiliation.  At the
moment, he didn't much care as long as he could stay.
"Okay, whatever you say."
John stepped forward, forcing Rod to let go of the touch on his hand.  Unsteadily he
made his way up the steep stairs while the man kept the gun pointed Rod's head.  As
he reached the top of the stairs the man roughly grabbed the collar and pulled him
roughly towards him, forcing his head down as he did so.
Rod wasn't prepared for the reaction any more than the other man was.  John's knee
drove into his assailants groin with incredible speed, forcing him to double over.  As
he buckled John took the opportunity to deal a second assault to his face with even
greater impact.  Seeing the window of opportunity Rod scrambled up the stairs to
help.
"STOP OR I'LL KILL HIM!"  The words rung clear above the noise of the scuffle
and as Rod looked up on to the floor level. The first thing he saw was a gun pointing
directly at his face less than a metre away.   It was too late to back down to the
basement so he began to lift his hands up behind his head.  Harrison was lying on the
floor; blood streaming from his nose but his gun hand was as steady as the gun it held.
"Back off!" he spat at Boulton as he started to get to his feet, wiping the blood away
from his nose as he did so, but never removing the gun from it's target.  Rod watched
as John's pale chest heaved with the physical effort he had just exerted.  His
frustration and indecision was clear on his face, as he looked first at the Harrison and
then at Rod.
The mix of disappointment and relief was peculiar to Rod as he watched John
reluctantly take a small step backwards, away from their captor.  Harrison jerked his
head again, and indicated for John to move further back as he finished standing up.
He then motioned for Rod to come out of the cellar.
"It seems we've got ourselves a party after all.  How nice." He scoffed, his control of
the situation now beyond doubt.  "Mr Skase, would you be so kind as to lead the way
up the stairs."  Rod started to move towards the stairs.  He glanced behind him to see
Harrison grab hold of the collar around John's neck and pull him up the stairs none
too gently, as he continued to point the gun at Rod. At the bottom of the stairs, Rod
stepped over a pile of clothes that he identified as Boulton's along with his mobile
phone.  The idea of safety being so near at hand was unbelievably frustrating.  Twice
Rod heard John lose his footing and fall against the tightly held collar, gagging as he
was unable to put his hands out to catch himself or loosen the pressure on his neck.
Rod briefly chided himself for his habit of putting the handcuffs on behind prisoners.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Harrison told him to stop.  He kept the gun
pointing at Rod's head while refusing to allow John's head above waist height by
holding tightly on to the collar.
"Get the handcuffs out of the drawer on your left."  Rod looked down to his left and
saw a small chest of drawers.  Opening the top drawer, he flinched when saw the
collection of erotic toys that filled it.  Some of them he could identify, the others he
didn't even want to guess at.  He saw the handcuffs and had to refrain from letting out
an audible sigh of relief when he saw the keys still attached to them.  They were
apparently still new and had never been used.
"See anything that takes your fancy Mr Skase? Maybe you'd like a turn at playing
with him yourself?  I don't mind sharing."
Rod hurriedly retrieved the handcuffs still connected to the keys and slammed the
drawer shut.  He didn't think John needed to know what was in there.  Hopefully, he
wasn't going to find out.
"Put one on your wrist, the other on the pipe you'll find running underneath the
windowsill.  Oh, and Mr Skase, I don't think you'll be needing the keys just yet."  He
indicated back to the cupboard for Rod to replace the keys.  Angrily, he detached the
keys from the cuffs and threw them back in the drawer, slamming it closed with crash.
"You can go first," said Harrison, so Rod opened the door to what would at one time
have been the master bedroom.  The sight that met Rod's eyes was straight out of a
low budget Hollywood slasher movie.  Draped in cheap black fabric, the room looked
more like a hole than a bedroom.  The windows were painted white allowing only a
muted light to enter the room.  The filth and the smell were almost as bad as in the
basement.  An ill-assorted collection of junk and rubbish was strewn across what was
originally an old carpet but that now looked like a breeding ground for mould.
The rest of the room faded into insignificance when Rod turned his eyes to the far
wall. What seemed like hundreds of high quality photographs of John adorned the
black walls. Rod was disconcerted to see himself in a few of the photographs, along
with Meadows, Kerry, Tom and most of the CID team.  There were photographs of
other people whom Rod was sure John would be able to identify as being friends or
family.
"Go on, by the window.  Do it now."
He had been so shocked by the display of photographs that Rod had stopped just
inside the door.  As he went over to the window he could see the aforementioned pipe
running under the windowsill.  Rod tried to determine its purpose but came up with no
explanation other than for that of restraint.  As he noticed the small chair next to the
pipe his stomach clenched, along with the suspicion that this was indeed the sole
purpose of the pipe.   He attached the other side of the handcuffs to the pipe before he
realised that Harrison had not yet let John see the room.  As he pulled him in, it
became obvious to Rod why he had wanted him handcuffed before their entering.  His
reaction was predictably violent.
"You fucking insane bastard.  Who the fuck do you think you are just walking into
my life."  This was punctuated by a swift kick in Harrison's direction but
unfortunately he was prepared for it and dodged it easily.  "You have no right, no
fucking right at all to do this."  He kicked out again, aiming for Harrison's gun hand
but it had no effect.  Harrison simply put the gun down on the chair beside him and
swung a fist straight into the smaller man's jaw.
The force of the blow left John with no chance of remaining on his feet.  Rod watched
as he staggered backwards and fell back onto his handcuffed wrists.  Instantly
Harrison flipped him onto his stomach and pulled his hands up painfully behind his
back with one hand while shoving the other between his struggling legs.  The effect
on John was instantaneous.  All movement ceased and only the sound of his harsh
breathing filled the room.
Rod couldn't see Harrison's hand, but he could see John's eyes close in what he
thought was submission and he closed his own eyes tightly in a childish refusal to see
what was happening.
"Are you going to stop now?" whispered Harrison and Rod opened his eyes.  Harrison
had let go of John's arms and was now stroking his hair affectionately.  John's eyes
were still tightly closed but he was nodding his acquiescence.   "Okay, we're going to
move to the bed but if there's a fuss the party starts early.  You got it?"  John nodded
again and struggled to get to his feet as Harrison withdrew his hand and pulled him up
by the collar.
Harrison led John over to the bed but a few steps before the bed John stiffened visibly
and his steps drew to a halt.  Even the pull at the collar didn't convince him to move.
Rod could see John getting ready to fight again, he hoped for his own sake that he
wouldn't give in to the impulse.  A sharp blow to the solar plexus made his mind up
for him as he doubled over and was roughly pushed on to the bed.  Harrison took the
opportunity to grab a chain attached to the headboard and swiftly attached it to a loop
on the collar.  He then stood back off the bed watched as John recovered his breath
from the blow and tried to stand up.  The short length of chain rudely restricted him
and he angrily sat down, his capitulation of a few moments before clearly forgotten in
his fury.
"You're a fruitcake, a complete fucking moron.  They should have thrown away they
key while you were in the loony bin."
"And you'd know about that wouldn't you John?  I remember a time there were a few
people considering your sanity, but I understood you.  I knew what you needed then
and I know what you need now."
John put his head up and stared at Harrison.  "If there is any sanity in this
conversation at all, I think it's coming from my side you prick.  And what I need is for
you to undo this so I can have the pleasure of giving you what I know you need, a
good fucking kicking."
Harrison moved towards John slowly, an ugly grin beginning on his face.  He bent
down and lay his hand on a bare shoulder, just as it was angrily shrugged off.  Smiling
even more he reached down to touch his knee and was met with a swift kick from the
other foot.  For a big man, Harrison could move with surprising speed.  He grabbed
John's shoulders and pulled him further up the bed so his head lay on a pillow.  Then
he pushed down the thrashing legs and sat on the knees.  As John's head came up in
what looked like an attempt to head butt him he yanked on the other end of the chain,
choking John mid movement.
The struggle on the bed ceased as the sound of painful hacking filled the room. Rod
watched as Harrison tightened the chain so that John could no longer bring his head
up off the bed.  Despite his inclination to try to be as invisible as possible, Rod found
himself shouting ineffectually at Harrison.
"Leave him alone.  Get off him.  Can't you see he's not interested or are you just too
fucking stupid to see it?"
"Why? Do you think he wants you?  Can you give him what he needs?  Lets have a
talk about it shall we?"  Harrison turned back to John and started running his
fingertips over his chest.   "I bet there are things you don't know about your sergeant,
things he doesn't want you to know.  Isn't that so John?"  John didn't answer.  He just
stared mutinously at Harrison but his strained breathing betrayed his unease.
The fingers started to run down towards the scar just above John's navel.  They
stopped and circled it for a few times.
"Lets talk about this shall we? It's an interesting story we can share.   Why don't you
tell Rod what happened there John?"
"I don't think it's a very interesting story."
"It's interesting to me and I'm the one who's making the decisions around here.  Tell
him John."
John remained obstinately silent and Rod recognised the same refusal to talk that he
and Meadows had been presented with the previous evening.
Harrison shrugged as if unconcerned.  "Okay, well I don't mind if we play or talk.
Just let me know when you're ready to talk."
With this he lent towards John and held his chin with one hand and as much of his
short hair as he could with the other.  John struggled ineffectually as Harrison lent
forwards and began to heartily lick his face and eyes with his thick tongue.  Rod
watched, disgusted as his tongue forcefully invaded John's ear and John closed his
eyes again in a refusal to acknowledge the face next to his.
It was only as Harrison started to move his head down on to John's torso that John
began to show signs of distress.  He squirmed furiously as Harrison pushed one arm
around his waist and started to bite and pull on his nipples.  John cried out as the other
hand loosened its hold and moved down to his groin.
"It was a knife, okay?  Now fuck off and move back."
When Harrison failed to respond to the shout John started to panic.  "Get off me.  I
said we can talk, you wanted to talk and I'll tell you.  Just leave me alone."
A clatter of chains signified the release on the tightness of the chain, but before John
could move away, Harrison sat himself down on the pillows behind his head and
pulled John up between his legs to lay his back against his chest.  With his hands
cuffed behind his back, John was powerless to refuse or halt the roaming hands on his
chest or the nose and mouth that buried themselves in the top of his hair.
"Get talking."
"Get your hands off me."
"No, I don't feel like it.  Tell the story to Rod, John. But remember, lies bore me.  If I
get bored then I start to play.  And if I start playing then I'm not going to stop.  Not
until I feel like it."
Always a tall person, Rod could remember many times wanting to feel smaller but
never had he wanted to completely disappear.  The nudity of his sergeant embarrassed
him tremendously but the overwhelming strain of witnessing the ongoing molestation
of his superior was intolerable.  He tried to read John's eyes but he was giving
nothing away except anger.
"It was an accident with a knife, about five years ago.  It was a Stanley knife."
"And how did it embed itself in your chest, John?"
"I was holding it and I fell off a step ladder."
Rod watched as the hand on John's chest moved immediately down to the scar and
started to stroke it.
"I don't think that's really true is it John?  Do you want to try again?"
John stared at the hand that indicated the unspoken threat.  As he looked up at Rod
there was humiliation in his eyes.  Rod didn't know how to express reassurance in a
look so he just stared back.
"I...I did it myself.  I didn't mean to, it was an accident.  I was just sitting looking at
the knife and I wasn't thinking.  I was drunk and I don't remember much..."
"But I do.  I remember when you came into the ward."  Both John's and Rod's head
shot up simultaneously at the revelation.  "You see, nobody really believed you about
the stepladder, John.   Your DCI from Barton Street came in and told the doctors that
he thought it was self-inflicted; the nightmares you had were enough to make them all
think you were loony tunes but you wouldn't tell them would you?  You wouldn't tell
them anything about why you did it, and they didn't have enough evidence to keep
you there."
"You weren't there.  I would remember you."
"I was an orderly there for a while, working nightshifts.  After the first night they
gave you sedatives but they didn't really help, you still dreamt but they stopped you
from being able to wake up so I stayed with you as you slept.  I sat with you like this,
held you, felt your body against mine as I kissed you."
A peculiar look moved across John's face that Rod could only described as revulsion.
"I don't believe you.  You're lying," said John but something in his voice said that he
did.
"I didn't have to talk to you to get the story.  It's amazing how talkative people can be
when they think you're a doctor.  I think they really cared, they were trying to help
you, but they didn't know what to do.  I knew what to do."
"You don't know a fucking thing about me."
Rod watched, sickened as the expression on Harrison's face changed from dominating
to tender.  "I know what I need to know about you."
The violence and force was expected, almost familiar, but the expression of devotion
was repulsive. The thought of John being taken advantage of while in such a
vulnerable state angered Rod more than he cared to acknowledge.  As he watched
Harrison kiss the top of John's head softly and start to stoke his cheek, the level of
intimacy that had already been shared became all too clear.  Rod briefly thanked any
God present that John had been unconscious at the time.
"That's when I fell in love with you.  Before you, I had thought I loved someone else
but when I saw you I knew it was a mistake.  I realised then what love is, how it
makes you feel.  You and me, we're like different sides of the same coin, it was like
we were meant to be together and I knew you felt it too.  I would have been here for
you sooner but I couldn't, they kept me away.  I've missed you so much since we've
been apart but I understand why you didn't want to tell anyone.  Why you wanted to
keep the pain all to yourself.  It's because you like it John, you need it just as much as
I need to give it."
John remained quiet and calm, despite the recent information and the hands holding
his naked body.  He looked at Rod as if for reassurance as he began to try a different
tack.
"Why don't you let Rod go and we can be lovers properly.  He doesn't need to be
here, he doesn't understand about us.  Let me go and we can talk about it.  We can be
together, it doesn't have to be like this."
Unfortunately this was clearly the wrong thing to say.  Harrison's demeanour was
instantly back to the violent offender of a few moments before.  "It does have to be
like this.  This is how you want it. I know that.  You're lying.  I told you not to lie.
You just want to go and leave me, get him to go and get your police buddies down at
Sun Hill.  We're not finished yet.  Not by a long shot.  There's so much more to the
story isn't there?"
The chain was roughly yanked back again and Boulton found his neck pulled tight
against his captors shoulder.  "Tell him why you did it, why you hurt yourself."
"It was an... accident," sputtered John, straining to get the air to speak against the taut
collar.
"That's another lie," said Harrison, loosening the collar slightly and holding John
tight around the torso with one arm.  The other hand was thrust down to hold John's
genitalia.  John exploded at the contact, kicking and trying desperately to use his legs
as leverage against the solid body behind him.  The pushing and kicking only
managed to allow Harrison to get a better hold and the firmness of the grip brought
the struggle to an abrupt halt.
"Get your fucking hands off me you bastard.  Let go or I'll kill you." Said John,
regaining his composure with incredible speed, only his heavy breathing betraying his
upset.  His was voice low and threatening but Harrison did not seem concerned.
"I told you the rules.  Don't lie; if you do I start to play.  And believe me, there's so
much more to do.  Tell Rod about why you did it.  Tell him about Jim."
Rod heard the question but he couldn't watch anymore.  He was feeling nauseous and
shaky.  He turned his head towards the window and started to scratch some paint off
with his fingernail so he could see outside.  Through a scratch he could see his car
sitting outside as just as he had left it.  Three teenage boys walked by the front door,
pushing and shoving each other off the pavement as they travelled.  The normality of
the scene seemed curiously surreal.  His watch told him they had been here at least an
hour but he knew it could be another two before the cavalry turned up.
"Mr Skase."  The words brought Rod back to the room.  "You look like you're not
enjoying the story.  I can liven it up a little if you feel it's running too slowly."  Rod
shook his head, although he doubted he was really being given a choice here.  "Okay,
I'll be watching to make sure you're getting this.  I wouldn't want your attention
drifting."
The instruction was clear and reluctantly Rod turned back to the scene on the bed.
John was looking straight through him as if he were the view behind his head was
fascinating. . The large hand covering his groin was a parody of coyness, but Rod
could see the gentle massaging that was continuing below the hand.   Thankful for the
barrier John had erected with his eyes, Rod was able to stare straight back.
"Jim was my friend, he worked at Barton Street with me.  He went on an obbo and got
beaten to death with some baseball bats."
"Are you sure that's all you've got to say about it, John? I think there's more to tell.
Remember the rules."  Rod watched as the fingers on the hand between John's legs
started to work themselves further down.  John jumped and pulled his legs together
tightly, stopping the hand from travelling any further.
"NO!  No...don't do that.  I'm telling him now." The hand stopped its movement and
John squeezed his eyes shut before speaking, his relief at the still hand appeared to be
making him breathless.  "He was my best friend since primary school and...and my
girlfriend's brother.  It was my obbo. I saw it happen.  I...I was holding him when he
died.  The ambulance didn't get there fast enough."
"And what happened then?"
"She blamed me.  She thought it was my fault so she left and went to Australia."
Harrison started to shake his head slowly.  "John I thought you were learning.  I
thought we had an understanding. I've given you chances but you still lie.  Why do
you do that?"
John seemed to know he'd lost before he began.  He looked like a desperate child
wriggling away from an angry parent; his voice was angry but desperate.  "It's the
truth.  You weren't there.  You weren't fucking there, how would you fucking
know?"
Harrison continued to shake his head, looking tolerantly at John.  This seemed to
frighten John even more.  "It is the truth.  Honestly. Get off me. Rod, help me.  Help
me, please. GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS AWAY FROM ME!"  Rod had to look
away as John's panic stricken eyes met his.  There was nothing he could do, nothing
but sit and listen to the shouts.
The noise came to a muffled halt and Rod looked back towards the bed.  Harrison had
grabbed an old towel from next to the bed and was holding it firmly over John's
mouth, despite his relentless struggles.
"Ssh.  Ssh. It's alright, calm down. You've got a choice.  I'll tell you when you're
ready to listen."  He continued to whisper soft reassurances in John's ear as he
struggled.  The movement on the bed finally ceased and all that could be heard was
the quiet whispers.  When all the fight seemed to have gone out of John, Harrison
removed the hand from his mouth but continued to stroke his hair.  Rod saw John
squeeze his eyes tightly closed, accepting of his fate as he lay back in Harrison's arms
and allowed the gentle caress.
"You've got a choice.  Are you ready to hear it?
John opened his eyes and Rod thought he could see unshed tears being held back.  He
nodded, although he was looking too tired to hear or think about anything.
"It's quite simple really.  We continue what we're doing now but you have to co-
operate and do exactly as I say or I can leave you here and you can sit and watch me
finish the party with Mr Skase over there.  I'm not going to fight with you.  You or
him, your choice."
Rod felt his blood turn cold at the options offered.  The nausea that had been present
threatened to rise up and his knees refused to support him.  Slowly he sunk to the
chair beside him and closed his eyes.  He didn't blame him.  It wasn't like Rod was
even a friend of Boulton's; the choice wasn't going to be that difficult, he was sure.
"I'm going to be sick."  John's voice wasn't much more than a whisper but Rod put
his head up, sharing the sentiment.  He was even paler than before and a visible sweat
had broken out on his forehead.  The onset of the rapid breathing that often indicates
an attempt to combat nausea seemed to convince Harrison that this was for real.  He
snatched an old ice-cream tub up from the pile of junk beside the bed and thrust it
under John's chin just in time.  Rod was momentarily relieved that they hadn't eaten
anything the previous evening as he watched the scene.  Harrison held the bowl with
one hand as he rubbed John's back in much the same way as Rod tried to comfort him
the evening before.  As the retching ceased, Harrison removed the bowl and retrieved
the same towel he had just used to quieten John and used it to gently wipe his face.
The lack of defiance in response to the sordid display of tenderness was sad for Rod
to watch.
"We can keep on going.  You can do what you like...to me.  But you've got to leave
him alone; he's got nothing to do with it.  That's a deal.  You've got to promise."
Harrison's face broke into a grin, as if vastly amused by the idea.  "I hardly think
you're in a position to make deals, are you Sergeant Boulton?"
"If you promise, I'll cooperate.  You know it's what you want."
Rod felt as if he couldn't move as he waited for Harrison to indicate some kind of
decision.  The relief washed over him like a warm shower as watched Harrison turn
his attentions back to John, who immediately closed his eyes again, recognizing the
decision had been made.  The feeling of having to do something to help was
overwhelming, but all possibilities had been considered.  He tugged hard at the
handcuff on his wrist but wasn't surprised to find it was still just as locked as it had
been before.  The pipe looked more solid than the rest of the house.
"John" he said. "Sarge?"  There was no answer, not even the slightest response to the
word.   Rod's voice started to get louder.  "Sergeant Boulton.  Can you hear me?"
The words from Rod appeared to please Harrison.  "He can hear you Mr Skase, but I
don't think he wants to."  He turned to the man lying beside him. "Come on John, this
is no time for stage fright.  Your audience is waiting."
The bigger man proceeded to manoeuvre John back to sitting in front of him,
tightening the chain when he was finished.  His legs straddled John as he pulled him
back to lean on his chest.  "Now where were we?  Oh yes, you were busy telling lies
again and we were working on an understanding.  Open your legs."
John shook his head, the frantic denial immediately returning.  "It wasn't a lie, she did
go to Australia.  She's still there."
"I know she is.  But why did she go?  Why did she leave you, John?  Did she really
blame you?  You've already lied, John, you can't take it back now.  It doesn't work
that way.  Pull your knees up and move your feet apart over my legs, otherwise we
stop talking and I play with your friend here.  Do it now John, I'm getting bored."
John looked up at Rod, meeting his eyes with what looked like a plea to look away.
Rod immediately did so, focusing on the floor as it swum before his eyes.  He
squeezed his own eyes tightly closed to hold back the tears that had gathered behind
them and put his free hand over his face.
"Our audience isn't paying attention are you Mr Skase?  It's no fun putting on a show
just for ourselves.  I think you should watch what you're missing here."
With great difficulty Rod removed his hand from his face and looked back at the bed.
John had lifted his knees up to his chest but had not yet moved his feet apart.  As Rod
watched, he lifted his feet so they were on the outside of Harrison's knees, widely
exposing himself not only to Rod, but also to the hand that was waiting.  Their eyes
locked in a mutual refusal to witness the intrusion into John's body.  Rod saw John
visibly flinch as the finger entered him, burying itself as far as it could go.  A slight
movement in the muscles of the arm was the only indication that Harrison's finger
was moving inside of John, but it was enough to bring him out of his trance like state.
"STOP."  The attempt at the shout was undermined by the underlying wobble in his
voice that threatened tears.   "Stop doing that.  Please...don't move.  Please don't."
"Get talking then, we're waiting."
"I didn't tell her...I couldn't.  They sent uniform around to tell her and I...I
volunteered for another obbo...and then for some overtime.  It was a week before I
went home.  When I got home she...she wanted to talk about it.  About him.  I didn't
want to..." At this the tears than had been threatening broke out and rolled down his
face.  Angrily, he hunched his shoulders up to wipe his face dry.
"Why did she need to go?"
"I started having nightmares, I couldn't sleep for more than an hour or so at a time.  I
would dream of him dying, shouting for me.  When I woke she would be crying, she
kept on wanting to talk about him.  I...I moved into the section house."
Rod saw the muscles in Harrison's arm move in order to encourage John to keep
talking.  John's knees pulled together reflexively but Harrison blocked the move with
his legs.  He forcibly nudged the legs apart again until John reluctantly shuffled his
feet back to their original position, refusing to look anywhere near the hand fondling
him.
"I wouldn't talk about it so she...she started talking to my brother on the phone, he
invited us to come over to get away from it all.  I was too busy trying to build a case
against the gang who attacked him." Suddenly it seemed as if were no longer Harrison
he was trying to convince but himself.  "It was important. You've got to act quickly in
these cases.  I couldn't go so she went by herself."
"Really John, no other coppers available then?  They didn't insist that you took three
weeks leave?"
Rod watched, as John appeared about to deny it but floundered before the denial
came.  "No...I mean yes.  I mean yes I did get leave but no, I didn't go."
"Why not?"
"Because she fell in love with someone else.  He had been there for her."
The harsh invasion of the second finger took John completely by surprise.  He yelped
and tried to move away but the fingers were already in him.  Harrison brought his legs
up, preventing John's feet from touching the bed, leaving him with no leverage with
which to struggle while another hand pushed down on his lower belly, holding him
still as the fingers moved and probed inside him.
"You said you'd cooperate. You asked me if we had a deal.  I can keep my side of the
promise, how about you?"
"I didn't lie." John panted, trying but failing to regain his composure.
"I lie by omission is as much a lie as any other.  That isn't the whole truth is it?"
"She met my brother." Said John desperately, still trying to move away.  "They got
married and now they've got two kids." John looked at Harrison, his face clearly
questioning what more he wanted.  "Please stop it... there isn't any more."  Realising
he was no longer part of the entertainment, Rod turned back to the window, fervently
wishing himself anywhere but there.
"No, don't do that.  Tell me what you want to know."
Rod tried not to hear the rising panic, which was evident in John's voice as he became
almost incoherent.  He tried not to imagine the scene behind him as he heard John's
voice catch as he strained against the collar.  "I don't...what...I can't tell you.  I don't
know what. Stop it.  Please stop it...I can't think when you do that..."
The struggle from the bed behind Rod seemed to cease but he didn't turn around.
"You didn't stay because she was with your brother did you?  That only happened
two years later.  I've read the letters, John.  The ones you keep under your bed.  I
talked to her a few weeks ago.  I told her you were having problems at work and I was
your supervisor.  She believed me when I said that I needed to know what had
happened and how you dealt with it.  She still cares about you by the way."
"She wouldn't tell you anything."
"She did, but your brother was suspicious.  Didn't you wonder why he's phoned you
three times in the last week? .  Of course, you'd know this if you ever answered the
phone when he calls.  Tell Mr Skase about the letters."
"She wanted me to go there.  She wanted to start all over again, she said we needed to
deal with it...that I needed to deal with it but I couldn't.  She wanted...needed to talk
about it but I...I didn't want to talk at all."
"And that's when we met wasn't it?  You refusing to admit that he was dead, that you
missed him.  Desperately trying to control the feelings and not wanting anyone near
you in case you lost the battle?  And when you couldn't control that, you simply
introduced a new kind of distraction.  A kind you could control didn't you?  The knife
kind."
"I only did it once.  Look at me, there are no other scars.  You can see I didn't do it
again.  It was a mistake."  John was desperate but adamant in his denial and Rod
believed him.  However the first scar had got there, there were obviously no more.
"But you still do it.  You do it all the time.  But now you've learnt to control people
haven't you?"
"If I could control people that well I certainly wouldn't be sitting here with your
fingers up my arse you fucking shit for brains."  Rod was reassured to hear the
defiance return to his Sergeant and could feel hysteria rising in him that almost caused
him laugh at the comment.
Harrison ignored the comment and addressed Rod.  "Let's ask your friend shall we?"
Rod reluctantly turned around, he knew the instruction would be forthcoming and it
felt better if he could kid himself he had a choice.
The reason for the lack of movement from the bed was immediately obvious. The
hand that had been pushing on John's stomach was now firmly wrapped around his
penis, attempting but failing, to coax some reaction out of it.  Any movement from
John would certainly have the effect of increasing the friction so he was staying as
still as possible.
Rod fixed his eyes on a spot just above Harrison's head in order not to have to register
the mistreatment of his sergeant.  The antagonism in John's voice reassured him that
whatever psychological abuse he was suffering at the moment, he wasn't in serious
physical pain.
"And what makes you think he would know?  Jesus, he's not even a friend, just
someone I work with. I hardly even know him."
"That's because you don't have any friends do you, John?"  Motion from Harrison
indicated some further intrusion or abuse and John winced in response but it didn't
stop the fury he was rapidly working up.
"That's not a crime.  Doing what you're doing is a crime, but you're not even going to
pay for it because I'm going to kill you first, you moron."
Harrison angrily let go of John's penis and reached up, harshly grabbing a handful of
John's hair.  Yanking it back he almost whispered in his ear "Shut up unless you want
to know what comes next.  I'm ready, are you?"  The threat stopped the tirade
immediately, but John was still fuming.  The realisation that he had missed the anger
that was so characteristic of John made Rod feel almost affectionate about him.  The
thought was immediately dismissed as Harrison spoke.
"Would you say that Sergeant Boulton has a lot of friends Mr Skase?"
Rod shook his head.  "No."  At least it was a fact that Boulton already knew, it could
hardly be argued with.
"Why don't people like him Mr Skase?"
Rod shrugged, trying to dismiss the question as trivial.  "He's not a very easy person
to like.  He has an incredible ability to say the wrong thing."
"Don't you think this ability of his might be a bit more than just accidental?  That he
knows how to hurt himself socially just as well as he can physically?  Remember Mr
Skase.  This is your turn now to tell the truth.  If you lie, he pays.  Tell me what John
does when people make try to befriend him?  You should know, I think you've tried."
Rod hesitated.  John's eyes were watching him anxiously.  He knew he couldn't
afford to say the wrong thing.  The truth seemed like the safest answer.
"He isn't very welcoming in that regard."
"Do you think he does it on purpose?  That he hurts himself?  Do you think he's a
little bit unbalanced, Mr Skase?"
Rod opened his mouth to deny it but as he did so he realised it was a lie.  He looked at
John, who stared back at him. Rod could see the anticipated betrayal and hurt in his
eyes.
Knowing exactly what the consequences of his answer would be, he firmly shook his
head.  "No.  No, I don't think he does it on purpose.  He's not there to be popular.  I
think he doesn't care what people think of him.  He just wants to get the job done."
Confirmation that this was the right thing to say came in the form of a familiar
triumphant sneer from John.  Rod felt a strange sense satisfaction as John spoke,
almost with glee.
"I told you.  You don't know a fucking thing.  You're living in a fantasy, seeing what
you want to see, thinking what you want to think.  It's not me at all, just you.  And
when they put you back in the loony bin it'll be just you again."
For the first time Rod could see Harrison lose his confidence.  "That's not true. I think
that's a lie isn't it, Mr Skase?  You're lying because you don't think he needs me."
Fury replaced Harrison's doubt in seconds.  Rod felt a flood of fear for himself as
Harrison withdrew his fingers and pushed John to the side.  He stood up by the bed
and roughly snatched the pillows from below John's head.
"Too bad you haven't made any friends, John. I think you're going to need them."
Harrison flipped John on to his stomach with incredible ease.  As John realised what
was going to happen next he started to struggle in earnest, straining desperately
against the collar that held him and kicking violently with his feet.  Without further
ado the larger man stood up on the bed, his boots not looking out of place amongst the
filthy covers.  The kick to John's exposed ribs was brutal, but before he had a chance
to curl up and protect himself another equally cruel kick stuck him again in the same
place. Gasping for breath, John didn't seem aware of the pillows being placed under
his stomach or the weight between his legs.
Rod closed his eyes and turned away.  The cold of the window on his forehead did
nothing to relieve the searing pain that ran from his head to his stomach.  The
unmistakable sound of a zipper being opened forced his hand to his ears, and still
hearing too much, he slid down to the pipe on the windowsill so he could reach to
cover the other one.  It took a few seconds for him to realise the droning sound he was
hearing was coming from within his own head but on recognising it as being his own,
he increased the volume.  The alternative was too much to consider.
Rod had no idea how long it was before he realised there was no sound at all from
beyond his head.  Cautiously he opened his eyes and put his head up.  Harrison had
left the room and John was facing away from Rod, lying unmoving on the bed, his
hands still cuffed behind his back.  The blood streaking his upper thighs left Rod in no
doubt as to what had just occurred.
"John?"  The lack of response was not unexpected but Rod tried again anyway.
"John, can you hear me?"  There was still no movement so Rod stood up try and get a
look at John's face.  "John, can you hear me?  You've got to listen."
There was a groan from the bed and then came John's voice, surprisingly strong.
"Rod, if someone doesn't answer you, it means they don't want to talk.  Just go away
will you?"
The irritation was strangely welcome as a Boulton trait.
"I would if I could, but if you want me to go away you're going to have to get the key.
First, you'll have to undo the collar."
At this Boulton rolled over to face Rod, his face characteristically insolent despite the
dried tear tracks that were readily apparent.
"Good idea.  Don't you think if I could do that I might have done it an hour ago?"  He
turned away again.  "I can't," he muttered to the other side of the room.
"It's a buckle.  If you get your hands in front of you, you can reach up and undo it and
then get the handcuffs key from the cupboard in the hall.  Come on, just try."
"I can't" came the muttered reply.
"Just try."
"I can't," came the reply, but this time it sounded panicked.  "I told you, I can't.
Leave me alone."
Rod didn't know what was happening in Boulton's head but he knew there was no
time to consider it.  Harrison could be back any minute and God knows how long it
would be before anybody from Sun Hill showed up.
He spoke in a softer voice, which he hoped was encouraging. "Sarge, just try it.  It
won't hurt to try.  You can do it."
Silence greeted him but he watched as John started to try and shuffle through the
handcuffs to bring his hands to the front.  As he rolled on to his back Rod could see
the purple and red bruising from the booted kicks.  Having said it wouldn't hurt to try
he could now see that it would, very much.
He almost yelled with delight as he saw the John's hands reach his stomach.  John
seemed confused as to what to do next so Rod found himself issuing instructions.
"There's a buckle around the back of the collar.  Twist the collar around so you can
reach it."
John obediently did so but his fingers were fumbling badly as they tried to undo it.
Rod groaned internally but maintained a look of patience as John started on his third
attempt at undoing it.  Finally it came off and John moved away from the bed, looking
back with a look of disgust.
"The keys are in the drawer outside.  Go and get them."
John left the room and Rod heard the noise of the drawer opening in the hall, just
footsteps sounded at the bottom of the hall.  The scrabbling in the drawer became
increasingly frantic as John still searched for the keys.  The door shot open and John
practically dived over to where Rod stood by the window.  His hands were shaking
uncontrollably as he offered Rod the key.
Rod grabbed the key just as Harrison burst into the room, wielding an expandable
baton that must have been with John's clothes.  He appeared relieved to see Rod still
locked to the railing and he turned his attention to John.
"I thought you'd had enough.   You want to play again already?"  John looked
anxiously around, like a trapped animal.  Rod cursed his own hands for fumbling as
he tried to unlock the handcuffs without making any noise to alert Harrison.
"Get on the bed.  Put the collar on." Said Harrison to John.
"No," said John, but he didn't seem too sure of his refusal.
Rod felt the click as the handcuffs came undone.  He remained still, knowing he was
still within Harrison's range of vision.
"Get on the bed or you'll regret it."
"No," said John, again without conviction.  He looked as if breath of wind would
knock him right over.
With no warning Harrison swung the baseball bat at Johns already injured side,
catching his right arm as he tried to raise his arms to defend himself.  Rod seized the
opportunity to dash for the gun.  Still fumbling madly he took off the safety and fired
a shot towards the corner where John now lay on the ground.  Although the silencer
prevented the gun from making a noise, his voice more than made up for it.
"STOP OR I'LL SHOOT, YOU BASTARD!"
The words seemed clichéd but the reaction was instantaneous.  Harrison froze mid-
swing, dropping the baton on the floor.  He turned around slowly, putting his hands
up.  Rod nodded to the handcuffs still dangling to the pipe.
"You know what to do.  Do it.  Throw the keys over here."
As soon as he was sure Harrison was cuffed to the pipe, he put the gun down and
went over the corner where John was lying.  He was thankful to find the same keys
opened John's cuffs so he snapped them open immediately.  As he did so he realised
the damage to John's arm was serious.  Already it was swelling up and biting into the
handcuff.  Helping him up by the other arm, Rod pulled John to his feet.  "Let's find
your clothes," he said as he guided John out of the room and went to find a phone.
Ten minutes later John was dressed again with much help from Rod.  He had
adamantly refused to put the t-shirt on over his arm, insisting on threading it through
the armholes despite the excruciating pain it was evidently causing him.
"They'll be here in a minute," said Rod as he re-entered the dirty kitchen from using
the hall phone.  He handed John a filthy wet rag with which to wipe his face as he sat
at a kitchen chair looking shell-shocked.  "Are you okay?  We'll get straight to the
hospital.   The others can clean up the mess."
There was no response for so Rod went and put his hand on his back in a gesture that
he hoped was supportive.  The stiffening at the touch was hurtful and Rod withdrew
his hand and went to look out of the window.
"Nothing happened here today."  John said after a while, breaking the silence.  " We
came here to arrest him for harassment of a police officer and he resisted arrest.  In
the course of restraining him, he hit me with a bat and I was injured."
Immediately, Rod realised why it was so important to replace the t-shirt properly.  He
looked at him aghast.  "John, he...you know."
"No he didn't."  John responded firmly.
"I saw him do it."
"You saw nothing."
Rod looked at him incredulously.  Not sure he was believing his ears, but knowing it
was true.  "John, there's evidence, loads of it.  You can't just decide it didn't happen;
all he has to do is tell someone."  At the silent refusal Rod sat down beside him at the
table.  "You need to tell someone." He paused and looked almost pleadingly at John.
"I need to tell someone."
John fixed his eyes on Rod in a look of pure menace that Rod had seen, but never
been at the receiving end of before.  "He won't tell anyone and neither will you.  They
won't look for evidence of something that didn't happen."
There was no need for a threat to follow up the instruction.  Rod knew John Boulton
well enough for the meaning to be clear enough.  Silence filled the small room for a
minute before Rod stood up.  He pushed back the chair and was about to leave the
room before he turned back and spoke.
"You know, he's right.  You really are completely insane."
John raised an eyebrow at the statement.  "Just try me."
As the sound of sirens became audible in the small kitchen, Rod turned to the front
door and went outside to greet the team.

THE END

Here's the point where I beg.  Feedback would be gratefully received at
r.f.evans@ntlworld.com

Or on list, if you want.  Consider it as writers peanuts.  I feel that it needs a sequel but
I didn't want to write one until I had some sort of reaction - hopefully positive.