Hi folks,

This is a short (!) version of a very long and involved story I planned
on writing four years ago.  I wrote a bit of it at the time but didn't
finish it, then picked it up again this year and tried desperately to
make it manageable and not *too* ridiculous, and finished a draft or
two.  Since then I have tinkered and tinkered to the point where I may
well destroy it, so thought I should post before that happens.  Besides,
Mars is close and making us all do reckless things, so here goes...

The story is in three chapters, to follow in three separate posts.

Chapter One - 9532 words
Chapter Two - 11411 words
Chapter Three - 6337 words

Hope you like it!

Viv Martella's Ghost

***

Title:        Out of Print
Author:       Viv Martella's Ghost
Email:        martellas_ghost@...
Fandom:       The Bill
Pairings:     various f/f and m/m but featuring
              Hagen/Keane
Rating:       R18+/NC17, contains explicit sex, coarse
              language, some violence and a limited amount of gross
              hetty perving.
Status:       complete new story, submitted to lists in 3 chapters.
Length:       c.27,000 words total.
Category:     first time I suppose, and there are serious
              bits with epic themes, but there is also a sprinkling
              of fluff, a hint of soap opera and a dash of humour
              that at times borders on parody.  There is a plot of
              sorts but it's pretty circumstantial.

Summary:      A book of erotic short stories roams Sun Hill Police
              Station, inadvertently creating a minor homo plague.
Archivals:    Jasmine Alley and Fabulae if they like it.
              Anyone else - please ask first.
Spoilers:     Not really.  Old episodes only (screened 1998/1999).
Feedback:     I would love feedback of all kinds on list or via email -
              thanks.  Feel free to let me know if I get any technical
              or factual stuff wrong.  I wrote part of the story four
              years ago and part this year, writing some characters
              purely from memory, so some of them may not ring quite
              true - again feel free to comment on this if it bugs you.

Disclaimer:   The police officers in this story and the Sun Hill
              district setting do not belong to me but to Thames TV.  I
              made up the rest though.  I intend no infringement of
              copyright in writing this story, and have not profited
              from it in any way (aside from vicarious pleasure at
              getting these girls together).

Notes:        Sentences enclosed in these marks: [[ ... ]] are excerpts
              from the fictional book that features in the story.  The
              story is set around the end of season 14, back in the
              days when Ackland was still a complete lesbo and pre the
              whole Hagen-Santini experience.  It is technically after
              the lovely Debbie Keane's last episode, but since she
              never got a proper goodbye,  we'll just assume she was
              still hanging around Sun Hill and somehow ended up on the
              cutting room floor for a couple of months.

Big thanks to Rache and Indi for precious feedback on drafts. `Out of
Print' is dedicated to everyone on the Sunhill and Fabulae lists who
gave me feedback on my previous stories and made me feel so welcome.
I've only been on these lists for a short amount of time but I already
feel like I was born to be a part of this little community.  I love it!
Thank you.


=====
Out of Print

by Viv Martella's Ghost


 Chapter One

It was a slow, rainy afternoon in Sun Hill.

The B-relief had been on for two and a half hours and not a peep of
trouble had been heard from any quarter.  PCs Hagen and Page were
patrolling one of the more upmarket sections of the district in Sierra
One, and the streets were dead.  The officers were playing eye spy.

"I spy with my little eye," said Page, "something beginning with N."

Hagen looked at her with a sidelong glance.

"Nothing."

"Yeah.  Your go."

Hagen slowed the car down to cross an intersection.

"I spy with my little eye," she said, "something beginning with-"

A cyclist came from out of nowhere on their right and zipped past them,
startling an old woman crossing the road with her umbrella.  The woman
fell over onto the road and her umbrella went flying.  Page sprang out
of the car, slapped on her hat, and jogged over to the woman.

"You all right, love?"

Hagen radioed the station.

"Sierra Oscar from Sierra One."

PC McCann's voice came through.

"Go ahead."

"We're attending a possible vehicle accident.  Suspect is riding a
bicycle, wearing black and purple bike gear and a red helmet and
carrying a khaki rucksack.  He's heading west down Kensington Street
towards Canley Road."

"Could you repeat please, Vicky," said McCann, slightly amused.  "Did
you say bicycle or motorbike?"

"I said bicycle, Garry."  Hagen smiled a little.  "Stand by for a
possible ambulance call."

"Received," said McCann.  "That the best you can do today?"

Hagen rolled her eyes and joined Page.

The woman was groaning.  She clutched Page's outstretched hand and tried
to stand.

"I'm all right, I just got such a fright!"

She got to her feet but lurched.  The officers caught her, taking an arm
each and supporting her between their shoulders.

"My ankle," the woman wheezed.  "It hurts."

They led her to the area car, and helped her into the front seat.  Page
examined the ankle.

"I don't think anything's broken," she said.  "But I think we should get
you to the hospital just to be sure.  I'll call an ambulance to pick you
up."

"No, please, I don't need an ambulance," the woman protested.  "Just, if
you wouldn't mind calling my daughter, she can take me.  I'm fine,
really."

"We should get you medical attention right away," Page insisted.  "It
looked like you hit your head on the road.  I'd prefer to call an
ambulance just to make sure you're properly looked after."

The woman assented and Page made the call.  They waited with her until
the ambulance arrived.

Back in the car, the officers returned to their game of eye spy.  They
cruised up and down empty, quiet streets for another hour or more,
watching the day fade and the dim lights of night come on one by one.
The rain intensified as dusk turned to evening and Page suggested they
stop for a bite to wait for it to ease off.

Hagen pulled over in front of a fish and chip shop.

While Page was waiting to be served, Hagen stood outside the shop and
scanned the street.  A man ran across the road holding a newspaper over
his head.  A couple of business people entered a Japanese restaurant.
Other than that, the place was quiet.  Hagen supposed most people were
indoors, escaping the weather in front of a gas heater or a fire.  It
sounded like a pretty good option to her.  She shivered and stamped her
feet.  Then another figure caught her eye further down the road.  It was
a cyclist, in black and purple, zipping up a yellow rain jacket and
mounting a pushbike.  The rider headed north, red helmet ducked against
the rain.

Hagen banged on the window glass and gestured at Page to come and get
into the car.  Once Page slammed her door shut, Hagen pulled out from
the kerb and sped north.

"What is it?" asked Page over the blazing sirens.

"It's that cyclist.  I saw him.  I'm sure it's the same one."

They soon caught up to him and slowed down to his speed.  He turned his
head at the sound of the sirens, and in his moment of distraction, the
bicycle's front wheel slipped on a loose cobblestone.  The bike went
down, the rider was thrown and the area car skidded to a halt.  Page
leapt from the vehicle and ran to the rider, fearing he was hurt.  He
was lying on his side, curled up, just as he had fallen.  As Page bent
to see if he was unconscious, she realised that the cyclist was not a
man after all.  She was a lanky young woman with close-cropped hair.
Thankfully, she was conscious.  She grunted and sat up.

"Are you hurt?" asked Page.  The cyclist swallowed.

"I think I'm alright, no thanks to you lot.  How's my bike?"

Hagen was wheeling it to the footpath to clear the road.

"It looks in one piece.  Can you stand?"
 "Give us a minute."

The cyclist sat on the wet road and carefully removed her helmet.  Page
took it from her, along with her rucksack.  The cyclist mumbled thanks.
She put her hand on Page's shoulder to steady herself as she tried to
stand.  The material on one of her knees was ripped and the leg itself
was gashed.  She limped over to an upturned crate on the footpath, out
of the rain.

"What criminal were you chasing, anyway?" she asked with a snort.

Page was candid.

"Actually we were chasing you.  You sent an elderly woman to hospital
today with your reckless riding.  You failed to stop to allow her to
cross the road.  And you failed to stop after you had caused her to
fall."

"What are you on about?"

"Where were you at 4:25 this afternoon?"

"I don't know, do I?" said the woman, her hair dripping water onto her
face.  "I was working."

"And where was that?"

"All over the place.  I'm a courier."

"A bicycle courier?" asked Page.

The woman looked at Page pointedly.  "What do you reckon, Einstein?"

"So you were riding your bicycle at 4.25 this afternoon?"

"Probably.  But I never hit anyone."

"Can I see your delivery schedule and receipts please?"

The cyclist hesitated.

"Don't you need a search warrant?"

Hagen butted in.  "Just hand them over and we can clear this up."

The cyclist glared at Hagen, then took her rucksack back from Page and
searched in it for the papers.  She handed them to Page, scowling to
make sure her disapproval was noted.  Page leafed through them and found
what she wanted.

"Here's a receipt for a package delivered to Swanton Holdings in Lyell
Street.  That's just around the corner from Kensington Street.  Signed
at 4.20pm.  Delivered by Kirsten Brown, which is you I suppose."

Page showed the cyclist the piece of paper.

"Come on, Kirsten," said Hagen, taking the cyclist's elbow.  "You're
nicked."

"No, hang about," said Brown.  "Yeah, I was there but nothing happened.
I just rode there, delivered it and went to the next place and nothing
happened."

"We can sort that out down the station."

Hagen told her her rights and directed her into the back seat of the
car.

"I don't believe this," the cyclist said, ducking her head.  "Can you at
least let me lock up my bike so it don't get nicked?  I'll lose my job
without it."

Hagen threw the rucksack in after her.

"Give us your keys."

Hagen locked the bike to a street sign.  Page sat next to Brown, who
looked quietly furious, to drive back to the station.



Sergeant Ackland's day was dragging too.  No action on the streets meant
no action in the cells.  She took the opportunity to catch up on some
paperwork.  The boredom of the task was mind numbing.

It was with much relief that she heard Hagen and Page come through the
back door escorting a prisoner.  She threw down her pen and went out to
meet them.

"Right, PC Page, what have we got?"

"This is Kirsten Brown, sarge.  We're charging her with dangerous
driving."

Ackland cast her eye over the prisoner's belongings, which Hagen had
dumped on the custody desk.  The red helmet was among them.

"Is this in relation to the accident you attended earlier?"

"That's right, sarge," said Page.  "An elderly woman was knocked down on
Kensington Street by a cyclist who we believe was Ms Brown.  We saw it
happen.  She was driving too fast and failed to stop."

Ackland frowned.  "She knocked the woman down with her bicycle?"

"Yes, sarge."

Brown snorted and shook her head.

"But she didn't fall off the bike on impact?"

Page hesitated.  Hagen took over.  "Well the bicycle didn't hit her
exactly, it more frightened her and caused her to fall."

"It frightened her?"

"Well she was riding very fast, sarge, and the woman was startled."

"Was she over the speed limit?"

"Well... no," said Hagen.  "She was on a bike."

"Was it at a zebra crossing?"

"No, sarge."  Hagen shot a look at Page.  Page shook her head.

"Who had the right of way?"

Hagen couldn't remember.  She tried to recall the intersection.  She
remembered stopping.  That probably meant that their car didn't have
right of way.  Which meant...

"I did."  It was Brown.

"I'll get to you in a moment," said Ackland.  She faced Hagen with a
questioning expression.

"She did, sarge."  Hagen's eyes dropped.

"PC Page?"

"Yes, sarge," said Page.  "She did.  But she still failed to stop when
the old lady fell."

"I didn't know she fell!" cried Brown.  "I was behind schedule so I was
riding fast but I swear I never noticed no old dears falling over."

Ackland let out a long sigh, and addressed the PCs.

"Can I have a word in my office, please?"

Page and Hagen followed Ackland, who shut the door behind them.

"It's not her fault if some old lady's frightened of fast bicycles.  She
had a right to be on the road, and she wasn't speeding.  Is there
anything you haven't told me yet that explains why you arrested her?"

Hagen and Page exchanged glances.

"She was riding carelessly.  She could've hit the old lady."

"But she didn't.  She avoided an accident by going around her."

Neither PC spoke.

"I'm going to let her walk.  And if you can't find anything useful to do
with your time out there, then I'll find you something useful to do in
my filing cabinet."

She opened the door for them and followed them out.

"Ms Brown, PC Hagen will show you to the front door.  You are free to
go."

The cyclist's eyes brightened.

"I'm not under arrest."

Ackland shuffled papers.  "No."

"I haven't been charged?"

"No.  I'm letting you off with a caution to be more observant of your
surroundings when riding in future."  Ackland turned her attention to
Hagen.  "Go on."

"Well hang about.  I fell off my bike and tore my leg cos Cagney and
Lacey here was chasing me up the high street.  Shouldn't I be
compensated for damages because of that?  Look at it!"

She held up her injured, bloody knee to Ackland.  Ackland's eyes flicked
from the wound to Hagen to Page, both of whom wore guilty faces.

"I'll get PC Hagen to drive you to St Hugh's to have that seen to."
muttered Ackland.

Brown looked at Hagen, who gritted her teeth and tried not to snarl.
Brown gave a half smile, and decided to cut her losses.

"Nah.  Don't bother.  I'll fix it meself."

Ackland exhaled, with some relief that no complaint would be made
against her officers.

"As you wish.  Vicky, would you show Ms Brown to the door, please?"

Hagen shoved the rucksack at Brown.  "This way."

Ackland shook her head at Page.  "You should know better than that,
Polly."

Page felt stupid.  Ackland continued.

"Look, I know it's been boring this afternoon and I can understand you
wanting to liven things up.  But a lack of interesting work to do is no
excuse for you to go around harassing people."

"Sarge."



After a warming cup of tea and a quick sandwich, Page and Hagen walked
back out to the area car to continue their patrol.  As they were getting
in, Page noticed something on the floor of the back seat.

"Hold on," she said.  "She's left something in here."

"That's all we need," murmured Hagen.

Page pulled it out and examined it under the bright yard lights.

"I don't believe it," she said and got into the car.  Hagen swung out of
the driveway and turned into the street.

"What is it?"

"We never got her address, did we?"

"Why?"

"Let's try and catch her where she left her bike."

"All right."

Hagen made a U-turn.

"What did you find?"

"You'll never guess."

They stopped at a red light.  Hagen took the object.  It was a book.  It
had a rather raunchy front cover.  A naked woman was sticking her
fingers up a naked man's... Hey, thought Hagen, that's not a man.

She looked at the title: `She on She 6: Lesbian Erotic Short Stories'.
Hagen smirked, passed the book back to Page and stepped on the
accelerator.

But they were too late.  The bicycle was no longer locked to the pole.
Kirsten Brown had been and gone.  They sat in the car and considered
their options.

"Don't worry about it," said Hagen.  "When she realises it's gone,
she'll come down to the nick to get it."

Page gaped at her.

"Are you serious?  Can you see her going up to Reg Hollis at the front
desk and asking him if he's seen her copy of `She on She 6'?  Do me a
favour."

"Yeah, s'pose you're right," laughed Hagen.  "Anyway we can't book it in
as prisoners' property.  Ackland'll have us on toast if she finds out we
cocked that up too."

They drove on deep in thought.  Then Hagen had an idea.

"We could find the company she works for and get her address there.  Do
you remember which one it was?"

Page couldn't.  Neither could Hagen.

"Don't worry about it, Pol.  We'll get on the phone tomorrow and sort
it."

They drove on through the Sun Hill night, seeing only dark empty streets
and driving rain.  They still had an hour to kill until their meal
break.  Page leaned her head against the cold window, praying for
something to happen to make the shift go faster.  She picked up the
cyclist's book and flicked the pages idly.

"Going to read us a story, Pol?"

Hagen was grinning, both hands on the wheel.  Page smiled at her
sheepishly.  She opened the book at the start of a story.  It was called
`Elevation'.  It was about two women who got stuck in a lift - a plumber
and a CEO.

"Good stuff is it?" asked Hagen after Page had been reading silently for
a couple of minutes.  "Is there something you want to tell us, Pol?"

"Do you really want me to read it out?"

"Yeah, go on," said Hagen, easing up to a traffic light.  "It beats eye
spy.  I'll try hard to keep my eyes on the road."

Page took up Hagen's challenge.  With both hands.

"Right.  You asked for it.  Here it is."  She shot a cheeky glance at
Hagen.  "It's called `Elevation'."

[[Glenda hung up with anger.  Not only had the lift broken down but the
emergency phone wasn't working.  She must remember to hire a new
maintenance crew for the building.  This just wasn't good enough.  She
rummaged through her handbag for the third time, but still didn't find
her cell phone.  She must have left it on her desk.  She turned to the
only other occupant of the lift, a young woman in overalls who had given
her name as Kelly.

[[`Are you sure your phone battery's dead?' Glenda asked.]]

"Oh god, it's awful," said Hagen.  "Skip to the good part."

Page flicked ahead a few pages.

[[The lift was getting hot with the heat of their bodies and breath.
Kelly took off her bomber jacket and revealed a well sculpted set of arm
muscles.  Glenda watched them flex as Kelly twisted and turned her
pliers inside the plastic wire sheath.  She began to wonder if it was
fate that brought them together, women who, in other circumstances,
would barely ever speak to each other.]]

"It's just like Mills and bloody Boon," said Hagen, indicating left.
Page kept reading.

[[Glenda put her hand out to touch the sinewy arm.  Kelly stopped her
plier work and looked at her with burning brown eyes.

[["We'll just have to wait until somebody wants to use the lift," said
Glenda.

[["But we could be here for hours," said Kelly.

[["I know," said Glenda, and leaned forward to kiss Kelly, her hair
falling from its bun.]]

"I suppose it cascaded down her back," said Hagen, rolling her eyes.

"Have you read this before?" grinned Page, and continued.

[[Her fiery red hair cascaded down her back as Kelly returned her
kiss.]]

"Yeah, of course the tradey's sex mad enough to kiss anything on two
legs."

"Shh, Vic, we're getting to the raunchy bit."

"Sorry."

[[Kelly turned her attention from Glenda's mouth to her neck, nipping
and licking her tendons and pushing the woman up against the back of the
lift.  Her hands clutched at Glenda's skirt, yanking it up to expose her
well toned thighs.  Kelly pressed her leg in between them and pushed her
firm breasts against Glenda's fleshy bosom.  Glenda ground against
Kelly's leg and sucked her earlobe while Kelly moaned.  She moved one
hand down to the hot spot where Kelly's legs met, and undid the bottom
button of her overalls.  She wiggled her way inside and slid a finger
into her wet slippery - ]]

Page stopped reading abruptly.  Hagen waited a moment and then looked at
her, suppressing a smile.

"Into her wet slippery what?"

Page met Hagen's gaze with a raised brow.

"I think you know what," said Page, flushed and smiling.  "Don't forget
to drive, will ya?"

Hagen turned back to the road, and grinned.

"Then what?"

Page found her place and continued.

[[Kelly groaned.  Glenda pulled her finger out again.  Then slid it back
in.  Kelly undid the other buttons on her overalls and yanked them down.
Glenda took it as an invitation and shoved two more fingers into Kelly,
still rubbing herself on Kelly's now naked sweaty thigh - ]]

"Sierra One from Sierra Oscar, receiving?"

Page looked at Hagen and put the book down.  She picked up the radio.

"Go ahead, er, Garry."

Hagen smirked.

"Disturbance at 131 Caselden Place.  Probably a domestic.  Free to
deal?"

"Yeah, we'll take that."

Hagen switched on the blues and twos and swung the car around.  Page
shoved the book down the side of her seat.  They travelled to Caselden
Place in silence, each deep in thought.

Page was thinking about Swanton Holdings, the company that Kirsten Brown
had made a delivery to, and how they might know the name of the courier
service she worked for.

Hagen was thinking about Kelly the plumber's naked sweaty thigh, and
wondering how it was that she had never before considered the
possibilities of women's bodies for pleasure.

The `domestic' was a nasty incident that kept Hagen and Page busy for a
while.  A woman, whose name was Helen Fields according to the neighbour
who had made the 999 call, had been beaten unconscious by her partner,
Rex Newgate.  Newgate had subsequently locked himself in the bathroom
and refused to come out.  After an ambulance came to take the woman to
casualty, the PCs kicked in the bathroom door.  As they burst into the
room, Newgate confronted them with a screwdriver, shaking it at them and
backing up against the hand basin.

"Don't make me use it, cos I will," he said, panicked.

"It's all right, sir, we're not going to hurt you," said Hagen, as she
and Page extended their asps.

"Just get out of here, will ya!" Newgate shouted.  He shuffled nervously
in his place, thrusting at the air with his screwdriver.  For a moment,
he slipped on a soapy spot on the tiled floor.  Hagen saw the
opportunity and took it, clobbering Newgate's left kneecap with her asp
while he tried to catch his balance.  He yelped in pain and she whacked
him again.  He crumbled to the floor and she fell on his back, pinning
him down with her knee.  Page kicked the screwdriver out of the way and
Hagen pulled Newgate's arms behind his back and cuffed them.

"You're under arrest for assault.  You do not have to say anything... "
Hagen told him his rights.  "Let's go."

She lugged him up off the floor and he walked to the police car, red
faced but silent and hanging his head.

"Right," said Hagen, pushing the man's head down.  "Get in."

The trip back to Sun Hill was quiet at first, Newgate just staring at
the floor between his feet.  Then, about halfway back, he suddenly put
his head up.  He was grinning.  "You're fucken dykes.  No fucken
wonder."

"You what?" said Page from the seat beside him.

"`She on She 6'?  I've been staring at it and I just worked it out.
Fucken lesbians.  This is harassment, this is.  You're just prejudiced
against me cos I'm a man."

Page looked at the floor of the car where he had been staring.  The book
had wormed its way out of its cosy hiding place next to the front seat
and was exposed for all to see.  She went bright red.

"Oh, that's not ours," said Page hurriedly.  "We just found it."

"Yeah, right," Newgate smirked.  Hagen was watching the scene in the
rear vision mirror.

"You better watch it, mate," she said to the man.  "You know why we call
you lot scrotes?  Cos we've got a whole rack of bollocks cut off blokes
just like you strung up in the WPCs' locker room back at Sun Hill.  PC
Page here added three new collections just last week, didn't you, Pol?
Play your cards right and you won't be next."

Newgate continued to smirk, albeit slightly more nervously, looking
across at Page.  Page just lifted an eyebrow and shrugged.  Newgate
turned to watch out the window and said nothing further.



Ackland was pleased to see that the PCs had finally gotten around to
doing some real police work.

"Assault, sarge," said Hagen.  "He made a punching bag of his wife,
who's now in St Hugh's with two broken ribs and head injuries."

Ackland turned to the prisoner.

"Name?"

He looked up at her, a wry smile breaking across his face.

"What is this, a conspiracy?" he spat at Ackland.  Ackland held his
gaze.

"Name."

"I want to make a complaint.  I don't like the way I been treated."

Ackland sighed.  It was one of those days.

"What's the problem, sir?"

Newgate shifted from foot to foot.

"Number one, I ain't done nothing.  Number two, I been arrested for no
reason other than my gender.  Number three, this one"  - he indicated
Hagen - "threatened to castrate me and her girlfriend here didn't do
nothing about it.  Now I want to speak to the bloke in charge."

Ackland switched her gaze from Newgate to an amused looking Hagen to a
sheepish Page and back to Newgate.

"Sir, right now, I am the bloke in charge.  So if you wish to make a
complaint then I am the person to speak to about it.  All right?"

Newgate said nothing.  Ackland continued.

"To answer your concerns in turn: first, my officers have charged you
with assault, which is a very serious offence.  I trust that they have
good reason to suspect that you have committed this crime... ?"

She made a questioning face at Hagen and Page, who both nodded.

"Second, we follow a strict policy of non-discrimination at this station
so I can confidently say that you have not been arrested simply because
of your gender."

Again, Hagen and Page nodded.  Hagen had a twinkle in her eye.  Page
looked nervously at Ackland.

"As for your third allegation, is this true, PC Hagen?  Did you threaten
to castrate Mister, ah... "

"Newgate," said the man, helpfully.

"Mr Newgate?" finished Ackland.

Hagen hesitated.

"Not exactly, sarge."

"Well what exactly did happen?"

Ackland waited.  Page spoke up.

"He was baiting us, sarge.  Making homophobic remarks about us, calling
us dykes and all that.  So PC Hagen made a tongue in cheek remark back
at him."

"I see," said Ackland.

"I was just calling a spade a spade," said Newgate, looking pleased with
himself.  "You're the one with the lezzie reading material, darling, I
just calls it as I sees it."

Ackland was regretting ever getting out of bed that morning.

"Er... lesbian reading material?" she asked the officers.

Hagen responded.

"Kirsten Brown left it in the car when we... this afternoon."

"Oh, great," said Ackland.  "I'll deal with that in a moment.  For now,
Mr Newgate, I apologise for the sarcastic behaviour of my officers and
I'm sorry for any distress it may have caused you.  I hope you can see
that it was a misunderstanding and not a genuinely threatening remark.
Do you wish to take this complaint further?"

Newgate thought about it.

"I want to speak to my brief," he said.

Ackland sighed with relief.  She was on the home stretch.  "Certainly,
Mr Newgate.  In the meantime, PC Page, would you take Mr Newgate to cell
number 5, please?"

Ackland took some further details from Newgate before Page led him away.
Then she folded her arms and turned to Hagen.

"I can't understand this," she said.  "First you arrest a woman who's
done nothing but mind her own business, you cause her to fall off her
bike, narrowly avoiding a complaint being made against you, then you
drive off with what must be a highly personal possession of hers.  And
as if that's not enough, you jokingly threaten grievous bodily harm to
the next prisoner you arrest.  I mean, what has gotten into you today,
Vicky?"

Hagen looked at the ground.

"I'm sorry, sarge."

"What is this reading material, anyway?"

"It's a book, sarge," said Hagen with a hint of amusement.  "Of stories,
you know, about sex."

Ackland frowned.

"Does Kirsten Brown know you have it?"

"I don't know, sarge.  We tried to catch up with her after you released
her, but she'd already gone.  We were going to try and track her down
tomorrow."

"Well, can I suggest that you enter the book in the prisoner's property
log in case she comes back here to claim it?  I don't want you to give
her any reason to make another complaint.  Alright?"

"Yes, sarge."

Ackland shuffled some papers.

"Get on with it then."

Hagen walked as fast as she could back out to the car yard to get the
book.  Picking it up off the floor of the area car, she checked out the
two women on the front cover again, specifically the placement of their
fingers.  The picture was so evocative that Hagen actually felt a hand
caressing her inside, and involuntarily she let out a small gasp.  She
looked about to make sure no one had heard.  The yard was empty.  Hagen
closed the car door, shaking her head, and headed for the front desk.

Page was already there, chatting with the duty officer, PC Keane.  Hagen
slapped the book on the desk.

"Fancy a bit a light reading, Debs?" she said with a wink at Keane.

Keane read the title.  "You what?"

"Prisoner's belongings," said Hagen.  Keane looked slightly relieved and
got out the log book.

"Sergeant Ackland give you an earful?" asked Page.

Hagen nodded and started filling out the log.  "If she knew what shite
it was she probably wouldn't have been so worried.  I can't see Kirsten
Brown coming back for it but there you are."

Keane picked up `She on She 6' and flicked through the pages.  Words
leapt out at her that spoke of sex, and her curiosity was tweaked.

"Didn't get your juices flowing then?" she asked.

"Not unless you count vomit, no," said Hagen, and they all laughed.
Hagen had not forgotten the pleasurable surge she'd felt in the car
yard, but decided not to mention it.

"It was a bit too corny for our Vic," said Page.

"Yeah, I can see that," said Keane, sounding slightly distracted, her
eyes still on the fine print.

"We'd better see if Helen Fields has recovered consciousness and take
her statement," said Page to Hagen once the paperwork was done.  Hagen
crossed a T and slammed the log book shut.

"Yeah.  Put this away for us, will you, Debs?"

"No problem," said Keane.

"See you down the pub later?" asked Page.

"Wouldn't miss it," said Keane.

Page and Hagen walked off down the corridor.

Keane shuffled absently through a drawer looking for an appropriately
sized sealable plastic bag to put the book in.  Like her colleagues, she
had had a long boring shift.  The highlight of her day had been giving
directions to a couple of lost Australian tourists looking for the BBC
building.  She had been watching the clock all day.  Glancing at it yet
again, she noted it was nearly time for her tea break.

Under a stack of yellowing envelopes she found a single large sealable
plastic bag.  Keane picked up the book to place it in the bag.  An edge
of cardboard - a bookmark - protruding from the bottom of the book
intrigued her, and she turned to the marked page and read a

 at random.

[[In the cool evening air, Maria's cries of pleasure carried literally
for miles.  Juliet's lips fastened like a vacuum on her clit, her tongue
expertly teasing, stroking Maria to orgasm.  Maria thrust her hips and
held Juliet's face to her heat.  Maria craved the feel of a hot slick
hand inside her, and as if reading her mind, Juliet curled two fingers
into Maria's wetness, rubbing against her g-spot, sending Maria wild.]]

Keane's eyes widened and she felt a stirring in her loins.  She looked
around her.  No one else was in the front office.  She pocketed the
book, put the plastic bag inside the prisoners' property log and put the
log back in its place.  She'd return the book later, no one would notice
it gone for half an hour.  At that moment, Ackland walked past the
office door.

"Sarge," Keane called out.

"Debbie?" said Ackland, turning back.

"It's pretty quiet here so I thought I'd go on my tea break now if
that's all right."

"Sure, I'll get Dave to relieve you."

"Thanks."

Once PC Quinnan had arrived at the office, Keane headed off for the
ladies room, book in pocket.

 ***

 Helen Fields had not regained consciousness, and her doctor was
insisting that Hagen and Page return the next day to get their
statement.

"Believe me," said the doctor.  "She'll be in hospital for quite a
while.  You'll get your chance."

The PCs walked back to the car.

"At least we won't have to do any overtime tonight," said Hagen, hugging
herself against the chill wind.  "The sooner I get a few drinks in me,
the better."

"I know what you mean," said Page.  "But we've got to interview Newgate
first."

"Tell you what," said Hagen.  "I'll buy the first round if we beat Steve
Loxton's record for Sun Hill's fastest interview."

"You're on," laughed Page as she climbed into the passenger seat.

 ***

 Quinnan put his head round the door of the sergeants' room.

"Seen Debbie, sarge?" he said.

Ackland looked up from her paperwork.

"No, Dave.  Shouldn't she be back from her tea break by now?"

"That's it, she was due back a quarter hour ago.  I'd stay at the front
desk only I promised Sergeant Cryer I'd finish some reports tonight."

"Give me five minutes, Dave," said Ackland, thoughtful.  "I'll find
someone to relieve you if I can't find Debbie."

"Thanks, sarge."

It was often the case that on slow, rainy days several officers would
get chatting in the canteen and would not leave until they were called
away or ordered out.  Ackland thought something of this nature must have
happened to Keane, so the canteen was her first port of call.
Surprisingly, the room was almost empty.  No Keane.  She wandered along
the corridor to the women's toilets and opened the door.  One of the
cubicles was locked.

"Are you in here, Debbie?"

Keane was in there, reading avidly.  She looked up from her book,
overcome with guilt.

"Sarge, is that you?" she ventured, buying time to think of excuses.
Looking at her watch, she was horrified to learn that she had been in
there for the past 45 minutes.

"Are you all right?"  Sergeant Ackland seemed concerned.

"Yes, thanks, sarge.  Dodgy curry, you know how it is.  Be out in a
sec."

"Take your time," said Ackland, leaving her to her
 privacy.

Keane suddenly realised she was hungry, having had nothing to eat since
lunch.  And she had wasted her tea break.  It was going to be a long
night.

But she was half way through her second story.  She allowed herself one
more

.

[[Meg pulled Josie's hands above her head and tied them to the bedpost
with a silk scarf.  Josie's nipples hardened as Meg's soft belly brushed
against them.  Meg placed the blindfold around Josie's head and slipped
it down over her eyes.  Josie's full lips parted and she panted
slightly, in anticipation of the unknown.  She stretched her back and
found that she couldn't feel Meg near her at all.  Had Meg left her
there alone?  Her question was answered when she felt a long slow lick
from her asshole to her belly button.  But not with a tongue.  A lick
with the butt of a leather whip.  Josie shivered.]]

Keane closed her eyes as a surge of lust flooded her body.  She was wet.
With great discipline she had kept her fingers on the book the whole
time, and her pants buttoned up.  But she could feel herself slippery.

It took some effort, but she closed the book and stood up to unlock the
cubicle door.  She vaguely toyed with the idea of knocking on Nick
Slater's door later that night.   She hadn't heard any rumours of new
girlfriends, and she was sure he wouldn't say no to another no strings
shag.  The idea of his hard little body and thin pokey cock didn't
appeal much, but it was sex, and it was easy.

Keane looked at herself in the mirror.  She seemed presentable.
Slipping the book back into her pocket, she made her way back to the
front desk to apologetically relieve Dave Quinnan.  The prisoners'
property log was still in place, with the plastic bag she'd found
earlier.  She opened the log to the right page and copied down the item
number onto the plastic bag, placed the precious story book into the
bag, and stowed it in a drawer.

"H-h-hm."  A man was clearing his throat in the station lobby.  Keane
spun around at the sound.

"Yes, sir, can I help you?"

"I hope so.  You see, it's my umbrella.  I lost it at the tube station
earlier today and wondered if it had been handed in yet?"

Keane sighed.  She loved her job, but at times it was truly monotonous.

"I'll just check for you, sir," she said, resigning herself to a long
and boring evening.



When knocking off time finally came, Hagen and Page hurried to the
locker rooms to get changed.  They hadn't beaten Loxton's record, but
Newgate had broken down and confessed to thumping his partner fairly
quickly, so Hagen offered to buy the first round anyway.  She was in a
good mood.  It was Saturday, and the night was young.

PC Keane was slower to finish up her duties, deciding at the last moment
that inventorying and alphabetising the contents of the lost property
box was an urgent task that she had to do.  She was still feeling toey,
unable to get the stories of hot sex out of her head.  Elbow deep in
sunglasses, watches and wallets, she tried to decide whether or not to
ring Nick.  She was certainly in no hurry to do so.  A quiet night
curled up in bed with her own fingers appealed more, but somehow Keane
felt compelled to find herself a man.

After typing up her inventory and placing it neatly in a red plastic
folder on top of the box, she picked up the phone.  She was almost
relieved when she couldn't remember his phone number.  She knew it was
written in her address book in her room at the section house.  But that
was too much trouble.  And her friends would be waiting for her at the
pub.

"Too bad, Slater," she said, heading for the locker room.  "You don't
get the pleasure of my company tonight."



The Askil Arms was buzzing with crowds of people and Keane could smell
the beer and cigarettes from a block away.  She pushed open the door and
scanned the room for her friends.

"Debs!  Over here!"

She followed Vicky Hagen's voice to a booth at the back of the pub.
Hagen, Page, Blake, Stamp and Harker appeared to be tipsy already, with
Page and Harker laughing hysterically at some joke Keane had not heard.

"What happened to you?" purred Hagen, her voice a tone deeper than
usual.  "You okay?"

"Fine.  Dodgy curry, you know how it is.  Drink?"

"Your shout, Debs," blurted out Harker upon hearing the magic word.

"Right.  What's everyone having?"

After memorising the orders, Keane pushed her way through the crowd to
the bar.  She began to feel flirtatious as she squeezed closely past
first one dishy bloke, then another.  The heat of so many close bodies
was slightly intoxicating.  Waving a fifty at the bartender, Keane
smiled to herself.  She ordered a vodka shot, knocked it back and
ordered another before leaving the bar with the round for her friends.

Hagen shuffled Blake over on the bench seat and squeezed up to her to
make room for Keane.  She took her bloody mary from the tray of drinks
and clinked her glass to Keane's shot glass.

"Cheers."

Keane sipped her vodka, and noticed Harker and Stamp's heads were turned
in her direction, but were looking past her.  She swivelled to see what
had caught their attention.  A buxom, leggy young woman was leaning over
the table behind her, emptying ashtrays.

"Nice," was all that Harker could say.

Numerous well-practiced retorts hovered on the tip of Keane's tongue as
she turned back to face Harker and Stamp.  But suddenly she felt self
conscious and couldn't speak.  Her cheeks flushed as images of an arse
to belly whip-lick of the young woman flashed into her mind, accompanied
by a hot surge to her clit.  She sipped on her vodka, waiting for the
lurch of her loins to subside.  When she turned to have another look at
the woman, she was gone.

Debbie, you are just as bad as Sam and Tony, she admonished, feeling
remotely ashamed of herself.  But any discomfort she felt was
overwhelmed by surprise at the strength of her attraction to this woman
she'd never met.  It was like someone had peeled the skin from her eyes,
and she was seeing half the world for the first time.  She tossed back
her drink and expelled a satisfied sigh.

Hagen, meanwhile, was oblivious to the boys' drunken ogling.  Sandwiched
between Blake and Keane, ideas were forming in her mind.  Four bloody
marys had heightened her sensitivity to physical touch, and she was
acutely aware of the long strong thighs that flanked her own on both
sides, the gentle roll of other hips, and the brush of warm upper arms
as Blake gestured, telling a story to Page, and as Keane shifted
restlessly in her seat.  She relaxed, sat back, and let herself ride the
wave of pure sensation.  She was enjoying this.  New pursuits always
excited her, especially where there was an element of risk involved.
She was dangling a toe in the water, and right now the water felt warm
and inviting.  She hadn't fully decided to plunge in but just thinking
about it made her close her eyes a little and smile to herself.  She
tuned into Blake's story for a moment, found it uninteresting, and
turned her attention to Keane, who seemed very pleased with herself for
some reason, and was sighing loudly.

"Now that doesn't sound like a girl who ate a dodgy curry," she said
with a grin.

"It doesn't, does it?  Funny that," said Keane with a cocky brow raise
at Hagen.

"Feeling better?"

"Mmm."

Hagen watched as Keane's gaze seemed to wander around the room.

"Looking for someone?"

"No," Keane lied.

She had been looking for that woman again, the one emptying ashtrays,
but couldn't find her.  Instead, she had found several other spunky
women, and tried to imagine kissing each of them in succession.

"Perhaps somebody you haven't met yet?" probed Hagen with a cheeky grin.

Keane turned to look at her.

"Perhaps," she laughed.

"See anyone worth chasing?"

Keane and Hagen scanned the room together, Keane trying hard not to
dwell too long on the women in case Hagen caught her at it.  She was
feeling confident, but not that confident.  She liked Vicky, but feared
her a bit: she could be a bitch when she chose to.  As for Hagen, she
was in a pleasant drunken haze and didn't care what anyone thought.  She
put her lips up to Keane's ear, and spoke in a low voice that tingled
the skin on Keane's neck.

"Over there, pool table, IC3, red singlet.  Or her boyfriend.  I can't
decide, maybe both."

The revelation was not lost on Keane.

She turned her face towards Hagen's to speak, and after a moment's
lingering eye contact Hagen offered up her ear.  Keane put her mouth
close to Hagen's ear, brushing it a little with her lips.

"Both at once or one after the other?"

They both laughed.

"Both at once," whispered Hagen, swilling bloody mary.  "One up top and
one down below."

Keane could not stop her eyebrows from rising.

"Are you sure you didn't read too much of that book today?" she asked,
all of a sudden aware of Hagen's thigh radiating heat into her own.

"I don't need books to tell me what to do," purred the self-confident
Hagen, remembering a few seconds later that in fact it was the book that
gave her the idea of being attracted to women.  Or at least, she
thought, it was the book that pressed the `on' button of the engine that
had waited her whole life to be started.

"So which where?" asked Keane.

"What?" asked Hagen, forgetting already about the couple by the pool
table.

"Which up here - "

Keane touched a fingertip to Hagen's mouth.

" - And which down here... "

With a quick glance to make sure Blake was still distracted with Page,
Keane flirtatiously ran her hand over Hagen's right thigh towards the
place where it joined her left thigh, and back again, watching Hagen
with a coy smile.  Hagen's face betrayed only a brief reaction - a
slight lidding of the eyes, a twitch of the mouth - but Keane caught it.
Hagen lifted her lips to Keane's ear to answer the question.

But no words came.

"I don't care," she eventually whispered.  She suppressed the strong
urge to lick the ear, all too aware of Page, Stamp and Harker just
across the table.

 ***

 DC Skase wandered down the stairs of the station, bored with the night
shift and in search of entertainment.  He was considering popping by the
WPCs' locker room in case there were stray underpants lying around
waiting to be sniffed.  He put his head in at the front office on the
way to see who else was on duty, and which, if any, of them would be
likely to catch him at it.  There he was surprised to see Sergeant
Boyden, his head down over a stack of paperwork.

"Rod," said Boyden, looking up.  "What can I do for you?"

"What are you doing here, sarge?  I thought you would have knocked off
hours ago."

Boyden grimaced.

"Monroe's on my back.  I have to finish this by Monday or my life's not
worth living."

"What's wrong with tomorrow, sarge?  It's Saturday night."

"Tomorrow I have plans.  Tall, blonde plans.  If I finish this quickly I
can start tonight.  So if there's nothing I can do for you, I'd
appreciate it if you'd let me get on."
 Bugger, thought Skase.  Boyden was a good sort most of the time, not
only letting Skase and the boys get up to mischief but often organising
it himself.  But Skase didn't feel it was wise to test him tonight.  He
kept wandering, heading for the coffee machine to consider his next
move.

More than one time in the past, Skase had whiled away the quiet hours
testing out the equipment of some poor tom locked up for the night.  It
was amazing what some of them had on their person when they were
arrested: exotic condoms, lingerie, cock rings, vibrators, bondage gear,
even once an enormous strap-on dildo.  It occurred to Skase that Boyden
wouldn't care if he poked about in the prisoners' belongings stash.  He
could just say it was related to a case he was working on.

"Here you go, sarge," he said, placing a steaming cup of tea on Boyden's
desk.  "It'll help you get your desired result a lot faster."

Boyden smiled for an instant.

"Cheers, Rod."

Skase stepped over to the counter and took out the prisoner's property
log.

"Just need to take a look at something, sarge, don't mind me."

"I won't."

Skase opened to the current date and traced a finger down the short list
of items currently held at the station.  It had been a slow day, and few
arrests meant few goodies.  There was one item that looked promising,
though...

Keeping a poker face, Skase opened the cabinet where the logged items
were stored.  Fishing around for the correct number, and with a quick
glance at Boyden, who was grumpily reaching yet again for the white-out,
Skase pulled out a plastic bag containing a book.  Skilfully hiding it
behind a manila folder, he scooted out of the office.

"Night, sarge."

"Night, Rod," said Boyden, screwing up a piece of paper and throwing it
on the floor.



The great thing about the CID office was that it overlooked the car
yard, and Skase could see everyone come and go.  It was with great
satisfaction that he noticed first one, then another, then four more
officers leave, and realised he was one of only three left in the
station.  No one would bother him now.  The office was his.

He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and got out a half full bottle
of vegetable oil and a towel.  He sat back in his chair with his feet
crossed on the desk, and picked up the book.  It was quite thick, but he
thought he could get through a few of the stories tonight, maybe
photocopy the rest.  He began with the first story, at page one.

[[The Wedding]]

[[Alex first met her sister-in-law Harriet at a lesbian bar the night
before her brother brought Harriet home to meet the folks.  They had
danced together, and kissed, but done nothing more.  Lucky, Alex had
thought the next day.  Of course they pretended they were strangers when
they were introduced at the family dinner table over a steaming slab of
roast lamb... ]]

Skase chuckled to himself and unzipped his fly.

 ***

 Stamp put his coins on the ledge of the pool table.  One of the people
playing - a woman in a red singlet - threw him a questioning look.

"Doubles next game?" suggested Stamp.

"Sure," said the woman, bending to take a shot.  "Number 9, top pocket."

The ball thumped into the pocket.  Stamp whistled.  He gave the thumbs
up to his friends, who were still sitting in their booth.

"We're on," said Harker, sucking back the dregs of his beer.  "Any of
you ladies want to watch the master at work?"

"I'll bet you a tenner you lose to her," said Blake.

Harker held out his hand, and Blake shook it.

"You're on.  Any other takers?"

Page and Keane shook their heads with a smile.  Hagen reached into her
pocket for her wallet.

"I'll bet a pony - no, fifty - on her."

Blake hooted.  Keane smiled.  Harker held out his hand to Hagen.

"Done," he said.  "Easiest fifty quid I ever made.  Don't say I didn't
warn you."

Harker trotted off to the pool table.

"Want to watch them crash and burn?" asked Blake.

"Yeah." Page stood up.  "You coming, big spender, or what?"

"Give us a minute," said Keane with a glance at Hagen, who didn't appear
to be going anywhere in a hurry.

"You're confident," Keane said when the others were gone.

"I'm pissed," Hagen drawled, stretching her arms above her head.

"Tell you what," said Keane.  "If you lose I'll pay that bet."

"You what?"

"But only," Keane started, picking an imaginary piece of lint from
Hagen's leather jacket, "only if you try it on with red singlet.  And
her boyfriend, if you like."

Hagen grinned.  She loved a dare.

"What if they give me the brush off?"

"Doesn't matter," said Keane, eyes glinting conspiratorially.  "I just
want to see you try."

Hagen's eyes flicked from Keane to red singlet woman and back to Keane,
whose knee was pressing enticingly against her own.  Red singlet didn't
interest her really, but Hagen knew the rules of flirtation.
"Deal," she said shortly.  "You coming, or what?"

 ***

 [[ The stripper shook his buns in Harriet's face, causing a great deal
of shrieking amongst the other women.  Harriet was red-faced from
laughing, drinking and blushing.  She closed her eyes and put back her
head for a moment.

[["Are you okay, sweetie?" asked Gina, one of the bridesmaids.

[["I think I'll go find the bathroom," Harriet said, lifting herself out
of her chair.  "Would you help me out, Alex?"

[[Alex led Harriet towards the handicapped toilet.  Harriet locked the
door behind them.  Too drunk to be subtle, but sober enough to know
exactly what she was doing, Harriet claimed Alex's mouth in hers and
pressed her up against the - ]]

"Oh, sorry mate, I'll umm... "

Skase looked up from his book, horrified that he'd been sprung.  But who
had sprung him?  Whoever it was had taken one look and walked out again.
Skase dropped the book on the floor and jumped to his feet, tidying his
erection back into his pants and buttoning his jacket over the small
bulge.  He ran out into the corridor.  DC Proctor was hovering about
outside the DCI's office, pretending to be very interested in a speck of
dirt on the wall.

Skase sighed with relief.

"Tom, you took three years off my life.  What are you doing here?"

"I've been on an obbo with the drugs squad.  Didn't Deakin tell you?"

"No."

"Oh."

There was a silence.  Skase cleared his throat.  Proctor shuffled a bit,
not having the first clue how to ask the burning question in his head.

"So... is it safe to go in the office now?"

The two men looked at each other, both suppressing
 smiles.

"Tom," said Skase, putting a hand on Proctor's shoulder.  "Allow me to
introduce you to the pleasures of the nightshift."

He stood aside, sweeping his hand towards the door.  Proctor went in,
cautiously looking about him.

"You got someone in here, Rod?"

"Up here mate."  Skase pointed to his forehead.  "Have a seat and
welcome to the Sun Hill gentlemen's club."

Proctor smirked.

"Does Deakin know what you get up to in here?"

"You could fill the Thames with what Deakin don't know," Skase said,
offering Proctor a flask of bourbon.  "Now sit down and listen while
Uncle Rodney reads you a nice bedtime story... "

 ***

 Keane was feeling skint already, and the game wasn't over yet.

With seven balls left to pocket - three for each team, plus the black -
Hagen had cornered red singlet woman over by the bar and they were
talking intently.  Despite the empty feeling in her hip pocket, Keane
watched with vicarious delight as the woman, who had introduced herself
as Edith, held up her pendant for Hagen to look at more closely.  Hagen
took it between her fingers, resting the back of her hand against
Edith's chest.

"I'm glad to see Vicky's doing her bit for the cause."

It was Stamp.

"Eh?" said Keane, wide-eyed.

"Well, the rate she's going, young Edith's getting too distracted to
concentrate on the game."

"How do you know?"

"It's been her shot for the past two minutes."

Keane watched as Hagen leant closer to Edith and whispered something to
her.  Edith's eyes seemed to bulge slightly and her mouth hung open for
a moment.  Hagen stood back and sipped her sixth bloody mary.  Edith
frowned and shook her head, saying something and gesturing at her
boyfriend, who was leaning on his pool cue and checking his watch.  With
much purpose in her gait, Edith strolled back to the pool table, took
her cue and started potting balls, one after the other.

Hagen caught Keane's eye and shrugged.

"You must be joking," muttered Harker, swearing under his breath as
Edith potted the black.

"Thanks for the game," said Edith to Stamp and Harker.  She and her
boyfriend picked up their jackets and left.

"I don't believe this," whinged Harker.

Blake cleared her throat and rubbed her fingers together.

"Cough up."

Harker forked over a ten pound note, decidedly unimpressed.  Hagen
returned to the table and extended her open palm to him.  He grudgingly
reached into his wallet again.

"Another game?" said Stamp, putting coins in the slot.  Harker
grundgingly assented.   "Buy you a drink, Debs?" asked Hagen with a
glint in her eye.  They scampered off to the bar.



"So?" said Keane, leaning back against the bar, her shoulder pressed
against Hagen's, her fingers caressing a cold glass.

"Well... let's just say she wasn't my type after all."

"What happened?"

"That charm she had on her necklace - turns out it was a piece of shell
she picked up off the bottom of the river when she was baptised last
spring."  A wry grin spread across her face.  "She's a born again
christian."

Several heads turned to look at the two women as they laughed mightily,
leaning into each other and spilling droplets of liquor on the floor.
When their laughs subsided, Keane had a sudden awareness that they were
rather conspicuous in this conservative pub.

"Next time," she breathed, nervous.

Hagen's self-satisfied gaze lingered on Keane's as they sipped their
drinks.

"Next time," she echoed.

Keane noticed Hagen's eyes flick down to her mouth and back again in an
instant.  The movement was quick but unmistakeable.  Keane's lips parted
and her body quivered.  With nervous reciprocation she checked out
Vicky's lips, and an image of them fastened on someone's clitoris like a
vacuum cleaner flickered into her mind, again recharging her body with
the lust she had felt earlier that night at the nick.  Her cheeks
reddened.  Overcome by panic, she downed her drink in a single motion.

"I'd best be off, Vic.  I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" she said in a
rush.

"Come off it, we're not on duty till the afternoon."

The leather of Hagen's jacket creaked as she shuffled closer to Keane.
She lifted her face towards the taller woman's ear and breathed in the
sweet clean scent of her shampoo.

"Stay.  Please.  It could be fun."

Keane turned her head to face Hagen.  Their noses almost touched.  Her
heart beat fast.  She licked her lips.  She was wet, and it could be so
easy...

The familiar sound of Page's voice carried over the pub noise.


"You'll find you play better, Tone, if you don't pocket the white so
often," she was saying.

Keane wished she had more bottle.

"I'm sorry.  I've got to go."

Keane cursed her spineless self and turned to walk away, out of the pub.
A glimmer of disappointment flashed over Hagen's face briefly and was
gone, with her bravado masking all other outward expressions of emotion.
She stayed standing at the bar until she finished her drink, ego a
little bruised.

Hagen strolled (and occasionally staggered) home through the cool
drizzly evening.  Arriving at the section house, she sprawled out on the
front steps to smoke a borrowed cigarette and considered her options.
The urge to knock on Keane's door was very hard to resist.  She looked
up at the window that she knew was Keane's.  There was no light on.

Probably just as well, thought Hagen, heading for her own room.

Chapter Two

After a restless night of poor sleep, vague embarrassment and suppressed
unsated desire, PC Keane woke the next day with something of a hangover.
At least, that was her excuse.  Ravenous with hunger, she slipped out to
the communal kitchen, gathered an armful of food, and tiptoed back to
her room.  The thought of bumping into Hagen, or into anyone Hagen may
have gossiped to, filled her with an uncertain dread, so she did not
leave her room again for several hours.  She busied herself by tidying
up all her belongings into extremely neat piles.  Then she pretended to
read a novel, but found that her mind was drifting from the page.
Memories of last night kept leaping into her mind but she immediately
quashed them by reciting all the capital cities she knew: London, Paris,
Rome, New York, Sydney... oh, wait, New York's not a capital...

Finally, the time came to leave for work.  She toyed with the idea of
calling in sick, but figured Ackland probably wouldn't swallow another
dodgy curry story.  Leaving her departure until the last possible
moment, Keane trotted down the cobblestone alley from the section house
through the heavy pattering rain and scurried to the empty change room,
all the time discreetly vigilant for Hagen.  She threw on her uniform
hurriedly.  With a deep breath she made her way to parade.

She was very late.  A stream of uniformed officers emerged from the
briefing room, led by Ackland, who glared at her.

"Glad you could join us, Debbie."

"Sorry, sarge."

"Contrary to popular belief," Ackland snapped, "I don't do this for my
own amusement.  If you're on duty I expect you to be on time."

She sighed with exasperation, then softened.  "You're not still feeling
ill are you?"

"No sarge, I'm fine.  Do you want me on foot patrol with Jamilla?"

Keane and Blake had been paired up on and off for a few weeks now and it
was a partnership that seemed to work well.  Keane was looking forward
to getting some fresh air with the always interesting and very safe
Blake.

"No," said Ackland.  "Jamilla's on secondment to CID for a few days.
You're in the area car with Vicky."

Keane gulped.

"But what about Pol?"

"Look, PC Keane, this is a police station not a girl guides camp.  Have
you got a problem working with Vicky?"

There was nothing Keane could draw on to get out of it.

"No sarge."

"Well, off you go then."

Ackland gestured at the briefing room doorway.  There, standing alone,
leaning one shoulder on the doorframe, was Hagen.

"She thinks I'm a bad influence on Pol," Hagen explained as Ackland
walked off.  "So she's put her in CAD for punishment.  It wasn't my
idea."

They studied each other for a moment.

"You don't mind, do you?" asked Hagen quietly.  For all her tough
exterior, she was a marshmallow underneath.  Keane's paranoia melted
away.  She shook her head.



"Shall we start at the docks?" was the first thing Hagen said once they
were in the car, tucking a bit of chewing gum into her mouth.

"Okay," said Keane, shutting the door.

There had been a spate of recent drug shipments traced to Sun Hill and
the drugs squad had an ongoing operation in the area, supported by CID.
Uniform had been told to steer clear of certain warehouses, but to keep
an eye out for suspicious behaviour in the docks area generally.

They patrolled slowly along the riverfront.  Old, derelict warehouses
loomed above them, windows smashed and bricks crumbling, rising from
potholed roads and weedy cobblestone alleys.  Many of the buildings had
development notices posted out front - the heritage buildings were being
razed to make way for riverside apartments.

"The east end's not what it used to be," mused Hagen.  "We used to come
here on weekends to visit my gran when I was a kid.  I remember going
down the wharves to watch the dockers unload.  I wanted to be a crane
driver when I was little - I loved the idea of getting up there early in
the morning, so high above everyone else, and watching the sun rise over
London."

"I can see you driving a crane," pondered Keane.  "Hard hat and
coveralls.  Steady pair of hands."

Hagen flexed her hands over the steering wheel, gratified by the
compliment.

Keane relaxed into her seat, pleased to have said the right thing.

"So what happened?" she asked.

"Most of the work had moved elsewhere by the time I was old enough to
give it serious contemplation."

They drove on in silence, turning into another almost empty street.  The
rain eased off and Hagen wound down her window to let the silty smell of
the river fill her nostrils.  She spat her chewing gum expertly out into
the middle of the road.

"How about you, then?  I know you didn't always want to be a copper."

"Nope.  Never had much ambition before this, just a few dead end jobs.
I didn't mind being a courier.  Smoked kif all day and got to see a bit
of London."

"Oh shit," said Hagen, suddenly remembering that she and Pol were
supposed to be finding out where - what was her name? - Kirsten Brown
worked so they could return her book.

She pulled over into a gravel yard at the side of an abandoned paint
factory and turned off the engine.

"Sierra Oscar from 361."

"Go ahead, Vic."

It was Page.  Hagen sighed with relief.

"Pol, re that prisoner's property matter from yesterday, that bravo
oscar oscar kilo - do you want me to chase it up?"

There was a pause before Page's reply.

"Do you know where it is, over?"  "Isn't it with you, Sierra Oscar?"

Again a pause.

"Apparently not.  Explain later, over."

"Received," finished Hagen.  "That's odd."

She turned to Keane, and caught a glimpse of wistfulness in her blue-
green eyes.

"Maybe," Keane conjectured, "someone liked it better than you and
decided to keep it."

Hagen was no dummy.  "Whatever gives you that idea?" she asked, feigning
innocence.

"Just a thought," smiled Keane.  She felt braver now she was alone with
Vicky than she had in front of a room full of people.  "It wasn't half
as bad as you let on, you know."

"Is that right?"

"It set my waterworks going."

A ray of sunlight had succeeded in breaking through the grey clouds.  It
now caught the highlights of wispy hairs that had come loose from
Keane's bun.  They shone golden, framing her cheeky face.

Hagen wasn't about to let this opportunity escape.  She had slept poorly
too, up all night plagued by wild imaginings of what she might have been
doing had things gone her way, and entirely unable to keep her hands
above the covers.  She reached out one gloved hand and curled some wisps
of hair around Keane's ear.

"Best not to waste that then," she said, almost at a whisper.  "I'm sure
it must be a sin."

Keane bit her lip, lost in Hagen's big blue eyes, and feeling scared,
and curious.

"Mmm," she hummed.  "I expect it'd be wrong to keep it all to myself."

Hagen took Keane's hand in hers, caressing the palm with her thumb
through the leather driving glove, as Keane continued to natter
nervously.

"I wouldn't want anyone to think I'm not a team player."

Unclicking her seat belt, Hagen tilted her head forward and breathed in
Keane's scent of warm skin and sweat, brushing the blonde's cheek with
the tip of her nose.

"First thing you learn at Hendon, the importance of team work-"

Hagen pressed her lips against her.  Keane kissed her back.  So soft,
Vicky thought.  They broke away briefly, letting the moment hang in the
air between them, punctuated with the sound of their breathing.  Then
Hagen leant closer, taking Keane's face in her hand and drawing it
towards her in a long, wet kiss.

Debbie's nostrils and tastebuds filled with Hagen's mentholly chewing
gum taste, and she let her mouth open up to the woman's inquisitive
tongue.  She felt slightly intoxicated.  She also felt naughty, snogging
a colleague in the area car, and was impressed by Hagen's forthright
behaviour.  Removing her own seat belt to get a better angle on the
kiss, she vaguely wondered if Vicky had done this before, or if perhaps
she'd had ambitions to be a lesbian the entire time she'd been at Sun
Hill.  Hagen's hand slithered up Keane's thigh.  Oh yes, thought Keane.
This was good.  Vicky'd make a great lesbian.  Her lips were luscious,
her skin smooth, and her tongue was teasing and sweet.  Nice teeth, too,
mused Keane.  I'd always thought so.

 ***

 Page was having a stressful afternoon.

Hollis had summoned her to the front desk not five minutes after the
start of the shift.  She was about to ask him what he wanted when she
spotted Kirsten Brown standing outside.

"Oh, right.  Cheers, Reg," she said.

Page took out the prisoner's property log and found the item number of
Brown's book.  Searching through the storage cabinet, she began to sweat
when she couldn't find it anywhere.

"Reg," she said in a hushed voice.  "Do you know if anyone's checked out
any prisoner's belongings today?"

"No, I don't believe so, not that I know of.  They might have done this
morning, of course."

Page piled up stacks of property bags on the floor.  No book, not
anywhere.

"Ackland'll have my guts for garters."

After throwing everything back in the cabinet, Page went through the
security doors.  Kirsten Brown turned towards her.

"'Allo," Brown said.  "I did remember your number right.  469, weren't
that hard."

She smiled slyly at Page, who flushed, having borne the brunt of many
such jokes in the past.  Brown continued.

"I need to ask you something, rather private."

Page looked about nervously and ushered her into the interview room,
saying, "Why don't you come through here."  She shut the door behind
them.

"Ummm... " began Brown, "you didn't happen to come across something I
might have dropped in your car yesterday, did you?"

Page watched rain droplets bulge and drip from the skinny woman's short
black hair.   "Actually," Page said, praying for a miracle, "we did find
something but I'll need you to be more specific."

Brown looked embarrassed.  "It was a book.  Short stories?"

"Yeah," confirmed Page, feeling incredibly awkward.  "We did find it.
But the thing is that... it's gone missing."

Brown laughed.

"Are you taking the mick?"

"No, I'm not.  I wish I was."

Brown was thoughtful for a moment.  Then she glanced at Page with a
twinkle in her eye.

"Did you read any of it?"

Page detected an amused tone to the question but didn't answer straight
away.

"You did, didn't you?" asked the courier, grinning.

"Yeah," said Page, smiling back and flushing some more.  "We were having
a dull shift, you know how it is, we're not... I'm not, well, I'm
straight."

"Oh," said the woman, knowingly.  "Shame.  Still - "

She stepped towards the door.  "I won't take no more of your time."

"I'm really sorry about your book."

"No problem.  You enjoy it.  I know you girls need to have some outlet.
Just send it on when you're done with it."  She winked at Page, who
puzzled for a minute.  "Hold up, you don't think... " Page stammered,
flustered.  "We don't have it.  It really has gone missing."

Brown leant against a table and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"I know it's a serious offence to let a prisoner's property go missing,"
blurted Page.  "But I'd be happy to buy you another copy."

"You're serious."

"Yeah, I am."

"It just got up and walked out of a police station, did it?"

Page shrugged sheepishly.

"You know," began Brown, scratching at the table surface with a short
fingernail, "I don't believe this, I really don't believe it.  I should
report this, an' all.  After the way you treated me yesterday!  I mean,
what if it was something precious, something irreplaceable?  You coppers
don't give a monkey's about us, do ya?  Makes me wonder what other gear
has gone missing from punters while they was locked up in here.  The
papers'd love to hear about this."

"I can assure you it doesn't happen as often as you say," Page replied.
"And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't go to the papers about it."

"I don't give a toss what you'd appreciate.  Why should you get away
with treating people like this?"

"I'm really, really sorry," said Page.  "But if the papers get hold of
it they'll have a field day with their wild speculations.  Can you
imagine what would happen if tomorrow's Canley Evening News headline
reads `WPCs steal lesbian porn'?  We've put up with that for years -
dykes or bikes, better off in the bedroom than on the beat - you've
heard it.  We're only just starting to get respect for women in uniform
and something like this could destroy all the gains we've made."

"Who do you think you're talking to, darling?"  said Brown, furious,
hands on hips.  "It's taken us dykes decades to get respect too and
you're destroying it as we speak.  You deserve everything you get with
that attitude."

Page folded her arms.  "Come again?"

"Well, some of your lot *are* dykes no matter what Pollyanna image
you're trying to give out.  Why don't you stick up for them and their
lifestyle?  You should be proud to be reading lesbian books.  What does
it matter what Josephine Public thinks about you?  She thinks it about
me every day."

"We are talking about the same book, here, aren't we?" said Page, taken
aback.  "It was total pornography.  Trashy pornography at that."

"Erotica."

"In my game we don't make that distinction very often."

Brown rolled her eyes.

"Well you gotta start somewhere, aintcha?" she said.
 "Your lezzo cops probably have no community, they're probably lonely as
hell.  In a sexual minority, erotica makes you feel normal.  Even the
trashy stuff - it lets us define our own identity and not let the papers
or the church or the government define it for us."

"I s'pose, if you say so," conceded Page, nodding slowly.  "But think
about whoever it is that did take your book.  If what you're saying is
true then it's probably some lonely lesbian officer who needs support.
How would she feel if you told this to the papers?  If you did, there'd
be an investigation into the theft, and no matter what turned up, half
the nick would put it down to whoever was most highly suspected of
being, you know, homosexual.  I don't think that's what either of us
want, is it?"

"I s'pose not," said Brown with resignation.

"I don't know who took your book," Page continued.  "I'll put my hand up
to reading it, but I haven't the foggiest where it is now."

Toying with the lightning bolt shaped insignia that was sewn onto her
shirt just above her left breast, Brown looked at Page for a moment.
Page returned her gaze, her eyes flicking from the woman's face to the
lightning bolt and back.

"Yeah, all right," said Brown eventually.  "I won't make a complaint.
But I want it back, or a replacement.  You owe me that if nothing else."

"I'll sort it," said Page, with great relief.  "Give me your address and
I'll sort it out myself."

 ***

 Hagen was hungry for Keane.  Tugging off her driving gloves, she
clasped the nape of Keane's neck, pulling her closer to slide her tongue
in deeper.  Why hadn't she thought of this before?  Always up for a new
way of getting off, Hagen couldn't believe it had never occurred to her
to kiss a woman.  She wished their shift was nearly over.  She broke off
the kiss.

"What time is it?" she whispered.  Keane looked back at her, pupils
dilated.

"Why?"

"I want to know when we can get out of here."

"It's just gone half three.  We've only got six and a bit hours to go."

"Six hours."

Keane smoothed Hagen's left epaulette with a couple of fingers.

"Do you s'pose we ought to go shop some villains?"

"Not yet," said Hagen.  "Better give them a fighting chance."

Vicky looked sexy in her white uniform, with her blue rain jacket
unzipped and half off her shoulders.  But that ridiculous blue and white
checked neck tie really had to go.  Keane reached out and unfastened it.
She unbuttoned Hagen's shirt a way and leant over to kiss her slender
neck, her collar bones, her chest...  Hagen breathed in Keane's scent
and felt her own pelvis rise.  Now that she'd discovered this new
pleasure, all she wanted to do was enjoy it.  And Debbie - she'd never
have expected such an enthusiastic response.

Keane's hand undid buttons and her wet kisses followed them down.
Finding herself between Hagen's breasts, she felt a hot surge flood her
abdomen.

"Vicky," she breathed.

"Yeah?"  Hagen panted back.

"Let's get in the back."

Hagen reached for the door handle and stepped up out of the car, looking
about to make sure no one was lurking in the shadows.  They climbed in
the back seat.

For a moment they sat, checking each other out.  Then Keane reached up
to her own tie and removed it, and watched Hagen's reaction as she undid
her shirt buttons one by one.  She pulled her shirt up out of her
trousers and let it sit, parted, exposing her belly and her cleavage,
bisected by her regulation white satin bra.  Hagen licked her lips.

"I want to see you out of that," she said.

"Not here," said Keane.

"No.  Later.  For now - "

She brushed Keane's belly with her fingertips, feeling Keane shiver.
Then, leading with her thumb, she moved her hand over Keane's pale skin
up and onto her breast.  The bra hid its appearance but Hagen could feel
a hardening nipple beneath her thumb.  She stroked it and watched Keane
breathe heavier.

"Sierra One from Sierra Oscar."

Hagen's hand froze and Keane exhaled.

"Where's my radio?" she asked.

"It's still on your shoulder."

"Sierra ONE from Sierra OSCAR."

"Go ahead, sarge," said Keane, sighing.

"An attempted robbery at 709 Canley Road, a fish and chip shop.  Can you
deal?"

"Yes, we're not far from there."

With a quick glance at each other, both officers started buttoning up
their shirts.

"Suspect is IC1 male, dark hair and black denim jacket," continued
Ackland.  "The witness said it looked like Nicky Burns but she can't be
sure.  Go around the back, he's closed off the shopfront and it sounds
like he has the owners in their storeroom."

They sprang out of the back seat and climbed into the front.  Hagen
started the car.  Keane replaced her tie.

"On way, sarge.  ETA 10 minutes."

"Let's hope this keeps us busy for the rest of the shift."

"Do I look all right?"

Hagen looked her over.  "Sensational," she said with a broad grin.

They drove on in silence for a while before Keane spoke.

"Have you done this before, Vicky?"

"No.  I've never even thought about it.  Can't say why."

"Me neither.  Not much anyway."

Hagen's eyebrow lifted.  "Not much?"

"Well, not really.  Just had the odd peep at another PC in the locker
room but everyone does that."

"No they don't."

"You never did?  Not once?"

"Nope," said Hagen.  Then a sly smile broke across her face.  "Did you
ever have a peep at me?"

"Yes," Keane flushed.  "Just to look.  No entirely unwholesome
thoughts."

Hagen made a right turn.

"It's exciting, isn't it?" said Hagen.  "I feel alive, Debbie."

She put her hand on Keane's knee.  Keane squeezed it and removed it.

"Come on.  It's just up here."

They pulled up outside the chippie and jogged down the side passage
through the gate.  The storeroom was right at the back and they knocked
on the door.

"It's the police," shouted Hagen.

The sounds of muffled shouting and something smashing echoed down the
passage.  Keane placed her back to the door and extended her asp.  She
smashed a side window and reached through it to unlock the door.  The
officers sauntered through a linoleum corridor to the back storage room.
There, a woman was lying on the floor unconscious beneath a metal sink,
her face roughed up and bloody.  Near her, a burly man - Nicky
 Burns - was holding a sports bag in one hand and punching a smaller man
in the belly, while the small man covered his face.

"Give it up, Nicky," said Hagen.

Burns swung around at their entry and blustered towards them.  Keane
cracked her asp over his head, but he kept charging and parried her next
blow.  Hagen went straight for his nuts.  Her attack caused him to trip,
allowing Keane to knock him against the wall, hit him again with her asp
and push him to the ground.  Together, the officers managed to get his
hands behind his back and cuffs on his wrists.

"You're nicked, mate."

The smaller man came out from behind his hands and rushed to the side of
the woman, whimpering and praying and holding her hand.

Keane clambered over Burns to check the pulse and breathing of the
woman.  "Sierra Oscar from 561.  Ambulance required at 709 Canley
Road... "

"Olivia!  Oh my god, Olivia!" the man was saying.

Keane led him away from her.  "She'll be okay, sir, an ambulance is on
the way.  Are you hurt?"

Hagen lugged a groggy Burns to his feet.

"Nicky Burns, I'm arresting you for attempted robbery and assault.  You
do not have to say anything - "

Burns spat at Keane while Hagen was pushing him towards the door.  Hagen
kneed him in the back.

" - but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned -
"

She shoved him out the door.  Keane wiped her face.

" - something you later rely on in court..."

Hagen threw Burns in the car and locked it.  They waited with the shop
owners for the ambulance to arrive.

 ***

 It was time to face the music.

"Well?  Did she come back or not?"

Ackland was waiting.  Page sighed.

"Yeah, she came back."

"But?"

"Her book's disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Well, I think someone stole it, sarge.  I can't think what else might
have happened to it."

Ackland was dumbfounded.  "Well... anyone in particular, I mean, who
would've taken it?"

Page looked acutely uncomfortable.

"That's the thing, sarge, I think it might have been another officer."

"Who?  Should I have a word with the relief?"

"No, I don't think that's a very good idea.  I think perhaps it was one
of the WPCs, someone who might be... "

It occurred to Page that her sexually ambiguous sergeant might have more
than a professional interest in this issue.  She chose her next words
carefully.

"Perhaps a lesbian officer.  One who hasn't told any of us about herself
yet."

Ackland nodded.  "I see."

"Ms Brown's not going to make an official complaint, but I thought I'd
buy her a new copy of the book," said Page.  "I feel responsible for it.
And I don't want to make whoever it is feel uncomfortable."

"Too right," said Ackland.  "All right, if that's what you want to do,
you've got my approval.  But Pol, make sure Vicky splits the cost with
you.  I'm happy to put in too if you can't afford it."

A vague smile crawled across Page's face.

"I don't expect it'll be too dear.  It was pretty rubbish to be quite
honest."

"How do you know?"

"I read it.  I mean not that I... "

The words of the bicycle courier came back to Page.  Not wanting to make
her sergeant feel isolated, she rephrased her sentence.

"I read it, sarge.  And I found it very interesting."


Ackland found it difficult to maintain a straight face.  Was Polly Page
coming out to her?  With a determined effort, she dismissed Page.  When
the PC was a safe distance away, Ackland let out a quiet chuckle.

 ***

 Quinnan and Stamp had managed to haul in eighteen football hooligans,
so processing Burns took over an hour.  Hagen was fine with that - the
more time they killed now, the sooner they would be free.  She even
volunteered for mucking out duty when one of the hooligans played target
practice at the toilet with his half-digested dinner and missed.  Keane
stayed with Burns and got involved in an argument two of the hooligans
were having about the Arsenal's new line-up, and then helped Quinnan
break up the ensuing fight.  Outside, the afternoon turned to evening as
the sun went down.

Once Burns was processed, the PCs had to go back and question the
injured shopkeepers and the witness that had made the 999 call.  Both
Keane and Hagen took their sweet time about taking statements, drilling
poor Olivia and her partner for information until they were shooed out
by a nurse.  On leaving the hospital, Hagen looked at her watch.  It was
nearly seven.

"D'you fancy getting a bite to eat?" she said as she started the engine.

It was dark in the hospital car park.  Keane planted a kiss on her
cheek.

"That'd be a yes then," said Hagen, as Keane kissed along her jaw line
to her ear, and gave a broad lick to the back of her earlobe.  Hagen
lifted her chin to let Keane kiss her neck, feeling the heat of the
woman's body radiating out from inside her uniform.

The handbrake of the car was rather in Keane's way.  After tolerating it
poking into her thigh for a few minutes of hot kissing, she finally
could take it no more, and broke off, laughing.

"I'm gonna be bruised for days."

Hagen licked her lips.

"Don't worry," she said, pulling out of the parking spot.  "I promise
I'll be gentle."

 ***

 "The drugs squad don't want us on the obbo anymore," grunted DS
Boulton, placing his tea and sandwiches on the back table of the
canteen.  "We're to wait here tonight and they'll call us if anything
goes down."

"What happened?" asked Skase through a mouthful of pudding.

"Tom, the mouthy git.  In one night he managed to offend their guvnor
and nearly blow the op by mouthing off right outside the warehouse."

"Why don't you take him off the case?  I could take his place."

"Meadows wants me to give him another chance."  Boulton ripped a chunk
out of his ham sandwich.  "If I had my way he'd be out on his ear."

"It could be worse," said Skase.  "I'm sure we can find something to do
while you wait for the call."

They exchanged a glance.

"What, with Tom there?" said Boulton.

"You'd be surprised, sarge," said Skase in a low voice.  "Last night - "

Page's eavesdropping on CID was interrupted by Hagen and Keane sitting
down beside her.

"So what happened, Pol?  We've been dying to know."

Page explained about the mysterious disappearance of
 the book.  She couldn't help noticing the frequent glances that passed
between her friends as she talked.

"Do you know something, or what?" she asked Keane when Hagen went to the
loo.

"About the book?  No."

"What's going on then?"

Keane never was much good at telling lies, especially not to her
friends.  She wished she could tell her old mate everything, but she was
way too scared to tell the truth.

"It's nothing, Pol," she said finally.  "Nothing for you to worry
about."

Page studied her, pondering the possibility that Debbie was the
mysterious closeted lesbian cop who took the book.  There was clearly
something going on, judging from the distress on Debbie's face.  But the
idea was too ridiculous.  They had spent so much time together and knew
each other inside out.  Debbie had had boyfriends, Page had even met one
of them.  Or was that just a cover?

"If you say so," said Page eventually, with an affectionate smile.

Before they could properly finish their tea, Hagen and Keane were drawn
back onto the streets by a stolen car, followed by a bag snatcher and a
break in at the Halpin Road pharmacy.  It brought them close to the end
of their shift.  With five minutes to go, they were back at the station
talking to DC Rawton about some unsolved robberies that could have been
down to Burns.  The three of them were crammed into the tiny PNC room,
looking at a computer screen, Rawton at the keyboard and the other two
standing behind her.  As Rawton brought the data up on the screen, Keane
could barely concentrate and couldn't stand still.  Neither could Hagen,
evidently - Keane noticed her fidgeting and looking at the clock.
"Here we are," said Rawton.  "July 9th, armed robbery of a kebab shop in
Bassett Lane.  One assailant, same time of day, six foot high and
wearing a balaclava.  And that's just for starters."

Rawton punched print.  "I'll take the investigation from here.  But
which one of you wants to sit in on the interview?  It'll mean a bit of
overtime tonight."

Hagen and Keane looked at each other.

"Actually Liz, I've got plans tonight," said Keane slowly.

"Me too, Liz.  Sorry."  Hagen smiled.

Rawton looked them over, nodding thoughtfully.

"Like that is it?" she said.  "It's not my first priority tonight
either, you know."  She turned back to the screen and punched up the
next robbery.

The uniformed constables stood there like schoolgirls on detention.

"Well off you go then," said Rawton.

"Thanks Liz," said Keane, practically leaping out the door.  "Catch ya
later."

They strolled on to the locker room.  Blake was just knocking off too
and was wiping her face with a towel.

"Debs, Vic," she said, throwing the towel into her locker.

"Jamilla," they both replied, in unison.

Blake unbuttoned her shirt as the others were opening up their lockers.
They looked, both of them, at Blake standing between them, at her strong
naked arms and her taut stomach and the curve of her round breasts
restrained by her regulation-white bra.  Hagen was brazen.

"Been working out, Jamilla?"

Blake stopped what she was doing and looked at Hagen.

"No more than usual, why?"

Hagen had given Keane an opportunity to check out Blake unobserved.
Keane took the gift gladly, admiring the soft looking folds of skin at
the bend of Blake's waist, and her shoulder blades flexing her back
muscles.  Keane wanted to touch Blake, to feel the texture of her clear
brown skin.

"You look great.  Let's have a feel of your biceps."

"Why?" asked Blake as she folded up her left arm, flexing the muscle,
which Hagen fondled, measuring its firmness with her fingers.

"Mm.  Have a feel of this, Debs.  Something to aspire to."

Keane looked at her with lidded eyes and wrapped her fingers around
Blake's arm.  It was warm, strong and very smooth.  Keane ran one finger
over it.

"Wow," she said.  "Nice one, Jamilla."

"Thanks," said Blake, somewhat bemused, and she turned back to her
locker and swiftly took down her trousers, revealing two strong thighs.
Keane glanced at Hagen and undid her belt.  Hagen just watched Blake,
her eyes bright and the adrenalin pumping.

"Are you all right, Vicky?" asked Blake, pulling on a pair of jeans.

"Yeah, just looking.  You're an inspiration to us all."

Blake looked at Keane with a puzzled expression and Keane shrugged.
They got on with dressing quickly and in silence.  When Blake was ready
she went to the door.

"Night," she said.

"Night," was Keane's reply.  "See you tomorrow."

"Bye," said Hagen.

They closed the door behind Blake.

Keane pulled a t-shirt over her head and straightened it.  Hagen
shrugged on a suede jacket and rattled her keys.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

"I thought you were going to invite Jamilla for a minute there."

Debbie was a vision of loveliness in her white t-shirt and faded jeans,
with that slightly worried look on her face, thought Hagen.  She slid
her arms around her waist and pressed her against the door.  Her face
came close to Debbie's.

"No chance," she said, kissing Keane's tempting lips.  "I want you to
myself tonight."

 ***

 As Keane and Hagen headed out of the station, Liz Rawton was quietly
scheming.

Rawton had had her eye on the recently divorced Jamilla Blake since the
first day Blake had walked into Sun Hill after rejoining the Met a year
or so back.  She couldn't help noticing the twinkle in Blake's eye that
told the world she was a woman who had just found her freedom.  It was
that look that set Rawton's desire raging.  To her there was nothing so
magnificent as a woman taking life in both hands and bending it to her
will.  She had wanted Blake, and had waited for an opportunity to come
along so that they could get to know each other better.  Rawton didn't
normally waste her time on drama-filled conversions, when there were so
many women out there who had already been through all that.  But
occasionally, if a particularly appealing opportunity presented itself,
Rawton enjoyed seducing straight women.  It was one of her ways of
keeping the flame of sisterhood alight.

One of the cases she was working on at the moment was a mundane one
involving mobile phone thefts.  Since Blake had managed a telephone
sales business with her ex-husband before she rejoined the Met, the
thefts had presented a flimsy pretext for seconding her to CID for a
spell.  Flimsy or not, any pretext would do, and Rawton had cleared it
with DCI Meadows and Inspector Monroe the previous Thursday.  So Blake
had joined her in setting up a dummy second hand phone shop that
afternoon and evening, in a bid to lure the thieves into selling on
their bent gear during the following week.

The set up had gone smoothly.  Blake had a natural confidence and quiet
expertise that Rawton couldn't help admiring.  They worked easily
together, seemingly comfortable in each others' company despite the
slightly awkward presence of DS Daly, who was overseeing the operation.
When it was time for their tea break, Rawton was pleased to see Daly
wander off on his own to get a sandwich.  She took the chance to pry a
little deeper.

"So you seeing anyone at the moment?" she said, sitting down on the
floor next to Blake and offering her a cup of tea from a flask.

Despite the forced nonchalance in Rawton's voice, Blake knew straight
away what she was getting at.  She had been asked the same question by
several male officers over the past year, in the same tone of voice.
And she had often wondered which side of the fence Rawton sat on.  She
gave her standard reply.

"No, not since the divorce.  It's been a relief to have my own space for
a while."

Rawton nodded.  Perhaps she needed to make her intentions clearer.

"I know what you mean," she said.  "I've only just got out of a
relationship meself.  Nice to have my flat back.  Still, you do miss it,
don't you, not having a warm body to curl up with at night?"

Rawton rolled her eyes inside as she said it, listening to the
desperation in her own voice.  It really was pathetic.  Blake avoided
the semi-rhetorical question.

"Who were you involved with?  Anyone I know?"

"Oh," said Rawton.  "A DC from child protective services.  We met during
a case I was working on.  But the work was getting to her.  She wanted
out, wanted to move to the country.  I just heard she got posted to an
out of the way nick in Cornwall."

"I'm sorry to hear it," said Blake.

"Don't be," said Rawton.  "I'm not."

Blake gave nothing away, but Rawton was impressed by the complete
absence of homophobia in her response.  They continued to chat about
their pasts, presents and futures until Daly returned.  Rawton carefully
avoided the topic of relationships, slightly embarrassed by how
blatantly obvious she felt she had been.

 As she sat at the PNC computer reviewing the unsolved robbery files for
the Burns case, Rawton resolved to be more upfront with Blake.  Time was
short.  She was unimpressed by having to stay back on a Sunday night
wading through tedious reports, while her sisters in uniform were
apparently having a social life.  She had hoped to lure Blake into
having a friendly drink after work tonight, but it seemed she had let
the opportunity slip away.  Or had she?  There was no reason for her to
rush the robbery investigation.  The evidence against Burns was about as
strong as you could get - Keane and Hagen had personally witnessed him
assaulting the fish and chip shop managers.  The custody sergeant had no
grounds to release him the next day.

With a jab at the computer monitor's off button, Rawton decided for once
in her life to be a bad detective and knock off.  At a fast pace she
strolled out of the station to catch up with Blake.

The number 109 bus was hurtling down the road towards the bus stop
closest to Sun Hill nick, and Blake was waiting there, ready to get on
it.  Rawton called to her.

"Jamilla," she shouted.  "Let us give you a lift."

Blake smiled and crossed the road.  She had been wondering if Liz would
try something like this.  Funny how even the toughest of women could be
so transparent at times.  And she was transparent - Blake only lived
down the road a little way, certainly close enough to walk on a nice
day.  Not that Blake minded: as far as she was concerned Liz was good
fun.  And it was nice of her to be interested.  It made a change from
her dead boring, business-obsessed ex-husband.

"Thought you had a case to research," said Blake.

"Nothing that can't wait," Rawton replied, leading her by the elbow back
to the car park.

 "So you're not worried about losing Vicky's collar?" asked Blake once
they were in the car on the way to her flat.

"Not at all," said Rawton.  "There's enough evidence to send him down
for years.  Why, was Vicky concerned about it?"

"No," said Blake, reflecting on the evening's events.  "She didn't
mention it.  Seemed to have her mind elsewhere, now that I think about
it."

"She told me she was going out tonight.  Could be she has a date."

"Could be," echoed Blake.  "Although she seemed to be rather interested
in my biceps."

Rawton looked at the PC with curiosity.  And some jealousy.

"Your what?"

Blake chuckled.

"I don't know.  Her and Debbie just wanted to admire my muscles."

"And who could blame them?"

Rawton snuck a look at Blake and was pleased to see that she was
smiling.  A thought occurred to her.

"So d'you know what either of them are doing tonight?"

"No idea."

"Did they leave the station together?"

Blake regarded Rawton with her intense brown eyes.


"What are you getting at?"

Rawton signalled left and turned into Blake's street.

"It's nowt," said Rawton.  "Just my overactive imagination."

Blake smiled to herself.  Perhaps she had been looking in the wrong
direction all her life, if that many women found her so attractive.  The
men in her life had never done much for her, come to think of it.  And
it had been a while since she'd got her leg over, as her colleagues
would say...

"So, Liz," she had said as Rawton pulled over in front of her flat.  "Do
you want to come in for a drink, or what?"

 ***

 Keane and Hagen walked down the alley towards the section house.  It
was a quiet night and the clank and crunch of their feet on gravel and
the distant murmur of traffic were the only sounds.  A street light
further up the alley lit their way.  Hagen was aware of the wetness
between her legs that had been there for the past 24 hours and she was
itching to get indoors.  She was single minded right now and could
barely restrain herself from reaching out to touch the small of Keane's
back or her broad shoulders.

"Your place or mine?" she asked as they stepped up into the section
house car park.  Keane turned her gaze.  The look in Hagen's bright eyes
was pure seductive lust.

"Mine if you like," Keane replied.

"Okay," said Hagen.  "I'm just going to grab a bottle of vodka from my
room.  I'll see you in a minute."

She walked off towards the opposite end of the building, blowing a kiss
with one finger.  Keane went
 through the nearest door and up a flight of stairs.  She turned into a
corridor which she was pleased to see was empty.  She stepped quickly to
the door of her room and let herself in.

The familiar things around her seemed bizarre.  She seemed to have been
away from them for an eternity, though she had only left them this
afternoon.  She tidied up a few piles of things into new, different
piles and changed her sheets.  She folded a framed photograph of an ex-
boyfriend into a drawer.  Her heart thumped in her chest.

Hagen had reached her door, opened it, picked up her bottle of
Stolichnaya and shut the door again in a matter of seconds.  She pulled
the tie out of her hair and let it fall.  She took the stairs two at a
time and half jogged along corridors, high on adrenalin.  McCann was
letting himself into his room just down the hall as Hagen got to Keane's
door.  She waved to him and knocked; he waved back.  Keane answered and
said "Come in."  She shut and locked the door behind them.  Hagen could
see she was nervous, but decided not to mention it.  Just to cure it.
She stood next to Keane by the window and poured them each a large shot
of vodka in frosted green tumblers.

"Get this into you, Debs.  Cheers."

"Cheers."

They clinked glasses and downed the searing liquid.  Hagen put her
tumbler down and smacked her lips.  She cast her eyes over the curves of
Keane's body and her mind flashed on a vision of Debbie in the area car,
her shirt open, her nipples erect.  She felt a rush of lust to her loins
and kissed her friend's neck, as Keane swallowed her burning drink.
Keane felt the nerves of her neck sending pulsing messages to her nether
regions.  She groaned.  Hagen painted a line around the delicate parts
of Keane's neck with the tip of her tongue and sucked at her most
sensitive places, nipping them with her teeth.  Keane rolled her head
back and closed her eyes.  Hagen savoured the smooth baby skin there, so
unlike a man's coarse stubbly neck.  She felt so close to Debbie with
the touch of this naked skin.  She rubbed her cheek back and forth on
Keane's cheek until their lips met in a kiss.  Keane drew Hagen's hips
up to hers and rocked against them.  They kissed long and luxuriously,
their tongues meeting tentatively, their lips moist and grasping, their
bodies close and moving together.  Hagen untucked Keane's shirt while
she kissed her and pulled it up her body.  Keane let her take it off and
then went back to Hagen's lips.  They fell back against a cupboard and
pressed close.  The feeling of Keane's breasts against hers made Hagen
feel sick with pleasure.  She let her right hand drift down Keane's
waist and over the hip pocket of her jeans and zoned in on the heat at
the top of Keane's legs.  Hagen ran a finger over the crotch seam of
Keane's jeans and Keane let out a deep breath, shutting her eyes.

"Debbie," breathed Hagen, slowly stroking the same place back and
forward ever so gently.  She grinned with delight as Keane groaned
again.  "Debbie, you're soaked.  I can feel a wet spot on your jeans."

Keane opened her eyes and blinked slowly at Hagen.

"Don't worry, so am I," said Hagen, taking Keane's hand.  She undid her
own zip and guided Keane's fingers down into her knickers.  Keane slid
two fingers in between Hagen's wet lips.

"Oh, my god," she said under her breath.  One of her fingers brushed
Hagen's swollen clit.  They both leant into each other and breathed
heavily.

It had never occurred to either of them just how sexy that slipperiness
could be.

Hagen took the Stoli in hand and Keane sat down on the edge of her bed.
Hagen took a swig and climbed onto Keane's legs, kneeling over her.  She
opened Keane's mouth and kissed it, letting vodka glide down Debbie's
throat.  She kissed her deeply and expertly, glad to be on top.
Sometimes Hagen liked to let her lovers take control of things, or liked
to battle it out with them.  She was looking forward to seeing Keane
fight her for control.  But not yet.  Now Debbie needed to be pleasured.
Hagen had plans.  She was a quick and observant thinker in challenging
situations, that's what made her a good cop.

She threw down her jacket and stripped off her shirt and pressed her
breasts to Keane's, admiring their conjoined cleavages framed with white
satin.  She wrapped her arms around Keane's shoulders and melted back
into another kiss.

The trouble with living in the section house was there was absolutely no
privacy.  It wasn't long before they were startled by a *bang bang bang*
on the door and the sound of Stamp's voice shouting, "Coming down the
boozer, Debs?"

Keane looked at Hagen, and put her finger to her lips.  She stood up and
went to the door.

"Debs!"

She turned back.  Hagen threw her a shirt.

"Put this on."

Keane quickly donned the shirt and opened the door.  Stamp, Harker,
Quinnan and Garfield were all dressed up for a night on the town.

"Sorry, boys, I'm busy tonight."

"Come on Debs," said Stamp.  "Just one drink."

"Thanks, Tone.  Next time, yeah?"

Keane went to shut the door.

"Hey Debs," said Stamp, and she stopped.  "Nice necklace."

The boys laughed and walked on.

"Have fun," they said.

She put her hand to her neck to see what jewellery she had on but there
was none.  She stepped back to Hagen, who suppressed a smirk.

"Look in the mirror."

Keane did so and saw the line of red marks Hagen's teeth had left there.
She hoped they wouldn't be purple in the morning.

"Now that's got to be our last interruption," said Hagen, catching
Keane's hand and drawing her back down.  She smothered Keane's fears
with kisses and stripped her of her shirt and bra.  Hagen ran her hands
over Keane's soft round breasts and tweaked nipples.

"Not bad," she said, catching Keane's eye and feeling the weight of her
breasts in her hands.  "Not bad at all."

Keane licked her lips.  "Go on, you going to show us yours then?"

Hagen took off her bra, enjoying Keane's wide eyed appreciation of what
lay beneath it.  Keane lifted a tentative finger to touch one breast and
let out a little gurgle like a baby playing with a new toy.  The nipple
hardened at her touch.

"That's a fun game, innit?" she whispered, turning her attention to the
other one.

"I think you'll like this one an' all," said Hagen, getting up off the
bed.  Keane's hands trailed down her body as she stood.

Hagen knelt on the floor between Keane's knees to pull the jeans and
knickers from her muscular legs.  Keane sat back, naked, her breasts
settling against her chest and her legs slightly apart.  Hagen nudged
them apart further with insistent hands and bent her face down to
Keane's cunt.  She licked a line up between Keane's lips.  Keane pushed
her hips forward and lay back, sighing.

"Oh... yes please," she breathed.

Hagen parted Keane's lips with her fingers and contemplated her options.
Hesitantly at first, but then with more confidence, Hagen took Keane's
clitoris gently into her moist mouth and sucked rhythmically at the
little bundle of nerves.  To Keane it was bliss.  To Hagen it was
fascinating.  She buried her face deeper in Keane's folds and swirled
her tongue over Keane's erect bud.  Keane breathed hard and rocked her
hips, throwing back her head and releasing little sounds with her heavy
breathing.

"Faster," whispered Keane, and Hagen increased the speed of her soft
licking.  Keane's breathing and rocking reached a plateau.  "Whatever
you do," she panted, "don't - stop - yet-"

She let out a deep breath and Hagen's taste buds continued to rasp
against her clit.  She relaxed under Hagen, then tensed for another
moment and came with a cry that she muffled with a pillow.  She touched
her fingers to Hagen's face to prod her away and lay still on her back.

Hagen licked her lips and wiped her nose.  She found it thrilling to
taste another woman's pleasure.  She'd tasted her own plenty of times on
her fingers after a wank or on her lovers' bodies after a shag.  But now
her curiosity was well and truly triggered.  She wanted to taste other
women too, many other women.  She hoped Debbie wouldn't mind, or better,
would want to taste other women as well.  She took off her own remaining
clothes and stretched out on the little bed next to Keane.  She pulled
her close, and Keane covered her face in kisses without opening her
eyes.  Hagen had her in the palm of her hand.

 ***

 The boys were playing pool at the pub, speculating who it could be that
Debbie had in her room.

"Well it couldn't be Skase," said Stamp.  "She's turned him down about
twenty times by my count."

"It's got to be Nick Slater," said Garfield with passion.  "He's
probably come crawling back for more."

"No, she's well and truly ditched him," put in Quinnan.  "She said so
just the other day.  My money's on someone higher up the hierarchy."

"Do you know something, Dave?" asked Stamp.

"I'm not saying I do and I'm not saying I don't, all I'm saying is that
a certain Matthew Boyden has reportedly been loitering around the
section house three times this week and I'd say he's not exactly
thinking about moving back in."

Quinnan pocketed the black ball.

"Bugger," he said.

"Hold up, here's Gary," said Harker.

"Lads."

"Gary," they said in unison.

"Gary old son," said Stamp.  "Have you seen anyone tall, dark and ugly
hanging about in the room of one PC Debbie Keane recently?"

"Well Vicky was there tonight but she's not exactly ugly, so no."  A
hush went around the pool table.  McCann looked from one officer to
another.  "What?"

"And no one else?"

"No, why?"

Harker shook his head and grinned and bent over to set up the balls for
another game.  Quinnan smiled to himself.  Garfield's face had fallen
into sullen seriousness.

"Can't be," said Stamp.

"What?" cried McCann.

"Debbie and Vicky.  Not those two.  I'd always thought something about
June Ackland but not old Debs.  Not Vic."

"I don't know about you, Sam," said Quinnan quietly.  "But I can see it.
Very vividly as a matter of fact."

"I'm with you, mate.  It's in technicolour up here."  Harker knocked his
head with his knuckles.

"What are you saying?" asked McCann, sucking on a Guinness.  "They're
together?"

"I don't believe it," said Garfield, scowling.  "It's filthy of you to
even think it."

"Well I haven't got a problem with it," said Quinnan, grinning.  "You,
Sam?"

"No, Dave."

"How do you know?" asked McCann.

"Someone gave Debs a string of hickeys tonight.  In her room."

McCann blinked.  "Well, Vicky did go in with a bottle of vodka."

"Oh, come on, this is ridiculous," said Garfield, hitting the ball so
hard it bounced off the table.  "Two shots, Dave."

"Right."  Quinnan bent over the table.  Harker could see Quinnan rub
part of his anatomy up against the table ledge.

"Feeling the squeeze a bit there, Dave?"

"You're not wrong, mate.  Vicky and Debs, eh?  Phew."  Dave pocketed the
number 2.  "Still two shots.  Must be my lucky day."

Harker was aware of the increasing tightness of his own pants the more
visions of Keane and Hagen together kept flashing into his mind.  He'd
like to be on the other end of that, no question.

"Fancy going round for a visit later, Dave?"

"Not a bad idea, Sam.  It's very tempting."

"Cut it out, you two," said Garfield.  "Let's talk about something else.
Am I right, Tony?"

"You're right, George," said Stamp.  "It's disrespectful of our fellow
officers."

They played on in silence for a while.

"Mind you, I've always suspected it of Vicky," said Garfield.

Giggles broke out all round.

"That so, George?" asked Stamp, amused.

"Well, think about it.  She's obviously a flirt, we've all noticed
that."

The boys nodded agreement.  Quinnan burped.  Harker laughed.  Stamp
muttered something about the word bike springing to mind.

"Yeah, well, how many of us here has she been with?"

No one said anything.

"None of us, right?  Well she must be getting it somewhere.  It makes
sense it's the WPCs.  Why else wouldn't she want any of us lot?"

"Is that what you really think, George?" asked Stamp, incredulous.
"Because I know for one she's never been with Pol."

"How do you know?"

Stamp had no answer.  "Well, I'm sure... "

Garfield shook his head and laughed.  "Right under our noses all this
time."

"Here, steady on George," said Quinnan, getting worried that Garfield
was headed for one of his episodes.  "Look on the bright side.  When you
cuddle up to your teddy tonight you're going to have some
 very sweet dreams."

The boys kept playing.  Garfield was thoughtful.

"Which one's on top do you think?"

A scatter of muffled laughter went around the table.

"Vicky," said McCann quietly.  There was further silence.  McCann played
a shot and searched for someone to meet his eyes.

"Debs," said Harker under his breath.

"Who's taking bets?" asked Dave.  The five laughed quietly.

"How do you think they do it?" asked Garfield, letting them all release
tension in jibes and laughter.

"You oughta borrow Rod Skase's video collection, George," said Stamp.

Harker looked about at his mates.  All of them were standing slightly
bent forward.  They all have hard ons, he concluded.

"Well first Debbie would get out her strap on..." he ventured.  The
others looked up at him with sly anticipation.

"Go on," said Quinnan.

"And she'd turn Vicky over on her front and spread her legs..."

Stamp licked his lips and fidgeted with the chalk block.  Garfield
leaned into his cue.  McCann caught Quinnan's eye and smiled, then
dropped his gaze.  Harker continued.

"And she'd tied her to the bedposts..."

He looked up at them.

"And she'd slide her strap on into Vicky."

McCann held his breath.  Stamp sipped his drink.  Quinnan checked out
the obvious bulge in Garfield's pants.

"And then Dave comes along with his big larrikin's hat and pumps it into
Debbie."

"All right, Sam, let's keep Dave out of this," said Stamp.

"Sorry, Dave," said Harker.  Quinnan just shook his head and racked his
cue.

"'Scuse me, lads, I must see a man about a dog."

He walked off to the bog.

"I think," said Stamp, "that we really should talk about something
else."

McCann took his shot.  Harker's mind was racing and his body wanted to
follow.

"I'm going for a slash too.  Have my shot, Tony."

Harker opened the men's room door and entered a stall.  He locked the
door, dropped his daks and sat down on the seat.  His cock was stiff and
upright.  He sat back, spread his legs and brought into his mind an
image of Debbie fucking Vicky with a cucumber.  He made a ring of his
fingers and stroked his uncut member, then opened his eyes to spit in
his hand.  As he did so, he saw through the glory hole into the cubicle
next door.  He saw another hand hard at work on a huge erection.  He
moved closer to the hole to see the man's face.  It was Quinnan.
Quinnan had his eyes open and was looking at Harker.  He nodded at
Harker and slowed his hand.  Harker sat back on the toilet seat and
started stroking again.  The next thing he knew, Quinnan had slipped his
dark cock through the glory hole.  Harker looked at it for a moment.
Then took it in his mouth.

He saw Quinnan's feet shuffle in the gap under the wall and he got down
on his knees to get a better angle on things.  He rolled the cockhead
around in his mouth, sliding his mouth back and forth over the shaft.
He was practised at this, having done it for the older boys at his
school since the age of thirteen.  He could hear Dave's grunts coming
over the wall and felt him strain to get his cock further through the
wall.  Harker sucked Quinnan's shaft till his jaw was sore, and then
some.  Quinnan fucked the hole more vigorously as his excitement built.
Harker felt Quinnan's cockhead swell and then explode.  He pulled away
and got cum all over his face.

Then he saw the half-flaccid cock retreat and Quinnan's face come to the
hole.

"Come in here," whispered Quinnan.

Harker wiped his face with toilet paper and left his cubicle.  He looked
around to make sure no one was there to see.  Then he slipped into
Quinnan's cubicle.  Harker pulled out his cock and stroked it up.
Quinnan sat back on the toilet and pulled Harker towards him.  His own
dick looking wrinkled and damp, Quinnan set to work underneath Harker's
shaft, at his bollocks.  Quinnan licked his balls all over and Harker's
cock stiffened again.  Quinnan nibbled his way up Harker's red shaft to
his knob.  He put it between his lips.  Harker gasped and pushed it in
further.  Then he slid it out again, then in, and fucked Dave's face,
his buttocks squeezing rapidly.  He took Quinnan's head in his hands and
set himself up for the home stretch.  He moved Quinnan's head in the
exact rhythm he needed and Quinnan obliged.  Harker increased his speed.

"Debbie - " he expelled, eyes closed.

"Vicky - "

He fucked even faster.

"Dave - "

That was it.  Harker blew and Quinnan took it like a man.  Harker held
Quinnan's mouth in its place and gave him another dosage.  Then he was
still.  He dropped Quinnan's head and withdrew his dick.  Quinnan
swallowed, stood up and buttoned his fly.  Harker struggled to do the
same.  Their eyes met.  Harker extended his hand.

"Thanks for that, Dave."


Dave took his hand and shook it.  They left the cubicle and went back to
join the boys.

"Right then, who's winning?" asked Harker enthusiastically.

"The Arsenal, so George reckons," answered Stamp.

"You must be joking, George.  They haven't got a hope," put in Quinnan,
taking the pool cue from him.

 ***

 Hagen was flat on her back on Keane's mattress, naked except for a gold
chain around her neck.  Keane straddled her.  She sat down on Hagen's
bare belly, smearing it with her wetness.  Hagen flexed her stomach
muscles for Keane to rub against and Keane ground her clit into Hagen.
She ran her fingertips over Vicky's soft breasts, then drew one finger
in a tight spiral around an erect brown nipple.  Hagen felt the wetness
spreading between her legs.

"Sit up," purred Hagen.  "I want to fuck you."

Keane knelt up and placed her hands on the iron bed head.  Hagen's hands
swept up the backs of her legs, over her buttocks, up her back and
around to her belly, and Keane trembled, her breasts swaying a little.
Hagen held one hip and drove two fingers up and into Keane's slippery
cunt.  Keane grunted and thrust her pelvis forward to take it.  Hagen
twisted her hand inside Keane and withdrew it.  She let Keane exhale
then slid her fingers back in, finding Keane's most sensitive spot.
Keane gasped.

"There?" asked Hagen, also panting.  She felt Keane break out in a
sweat.

"Yes," said Keane, hips bucking to swallow more of Hagen's hand.  Hagen
began to pump her fingers in and out of Debbie, hitting the magic spot
each time and each time pushing a little deeper.  Keane wriggled like a
fish.

"More please," she said breathily.

Hagen pushed three fingers inside her, then four, and pumped furiously
inside Keane.  Keane gripped her bed head and thrust her hips at Hagen.
Hagen sat up against a pillow, not missing a beat, stretching out
beneath Keane's sweat slicked body as it slapped occasionally against
her and gripped her fingers.  Keane's thighs were flexed with muscle and
the flesh of her belly was supple.  Her exquisite breasts jiggled in
front of Hagen's face as she moved.  Hagen took one in her mouth.  She
fucked Keane with her fingers, while with her thumb, took to stroking
her clit.  Keane just about sucked up Hagen's hand.  Hagen's fingers
were soon drenched in juices which made her fuck Keane all the harder.
Her own cunt was swollen with desire and she had not yet had the
pleasure of Keane's sweet lips on her clit.  She kissed Debbie's mouth,
just to remind herself of what was yet to come, but Keane couldn't hold
the kiss, instead crying out in a tremendous orgasm.  She clenched and
unclenched Hagen's hand, fucking it as if she would break it, and threw
her head back, breathing noisily.  Hagen watched her come with
fascination and satisfaction.  She loved success.

Keane's orgasm subsided and she squeezed Hagen's fingers from her cunt,
dropping on top of her friend.  As soon as she touched Vicky's body from
shoulders to toes she felt horny again.  All this - even all that Hagen
had done - was not enough for her.  She couldn't quite put her finger on
what it was she wanted from her.  Hagen stroked her hair and kissed her
forehead.  Keane realised what it was.

"Come here, you," she said, rolling Vicky on top of her and holding her
in a kiss.  Hagen parted her legs and found herself teasing her clit on
Keane's strong thigh.

"How are you feeling?" she asked Keane.

"Fantastic," said Keane.  "Greedy."

"You want more still?"

"I want more of you.  Up here."

Keane guided Hagen's hips to move up level with her head.  She could
smell Vicky's bountiful pleasure.  She drew Hagen's cunt down onto her
mouth and licked.  Hagen settled onto Debbie's face with relief and
anticipation.  Keane licked Hagen's wet folds slowly, exploring, sucking
juicy bits of hairy flesh in and out of her mouth gently.  Prising
Hagen's folds apart with her fingers, Keane ran her tongue around the
rim of her inner lips, coming to rest on the delicate skin just beneath
her clit.  Hagen tensed up and exclaimed under her breath.  With Keane's
tongue hovering so close to her clit, and hot breath caressing her wet
skin, Hagen groaned louder to make her need apparent.  Keane gave her a
teasing flicker, then pulled her head back to get a better view.

After watching Hagen's eyes ask for more for a few precious seconds,
Keane took a deep breath.  She pursed her lips and blew a long slow
steady stream of cool air onto Hagen's waiting wet clit.  Hagen's nose
crinkled up and she sucked in a breath through her teeth.  Then Keane
ventured to touch the clitoris with the tip of her tongue, barely making
contact before taking it away again.  Hagen whimpered.  Keane touched
the clit again, letting her tastebuds linger and tremble a little longer
this time.  She licked it a third time, and a fourth, and with each
brush of the tongue gave Vicky a few more tastebuds, a little bit more
pressure.  Hagen timed the gentle rocking of her pelvis so as to
maximise the impact of the rationed strokes, pushing her clit forward on
the sliding tongue a precious millimetre further each time, enjoying
feeling the tongue tip inch closer to her vagina with each little
thrust.  The teasing touch set Hagen groaning and warmth spreading
through her abdomen.

Keane closed her lips over the knobby clitoris, while sliding two
fingers into Hagen's cunt.  Hagen grunted.  She moved her hips in a
circular motion, tugging her clit gently in and out of Keane's mouth,
and getting gradually more vigorous in her movements.  Years of sleeping
with talentless men had taught Vicky exactly what she needed to do to
get off, and Debbie's soft wet mouth and nimble fingers obliged her very
nicely.  The tip of Keane's tongue rested on the tip of her clit while
her fingers wriggled delightfully inside Hagen.  The tongue began to
curl up into the hood of her clit, urging it back.  It was exquisite
agony, and Hagen knew she would come any second as long as Debbie didn't
stop...

Debbie stopped.  Hagen expelled a disbelieving breath.  Opening her
eyes, she glanced down at Keane and cut her a very dirty look.

"Gordon Bellett," growled Hagen. "You are in so much trouble."

The impudent Keane shot her a look of heady desire.

"Whatcha gonna do?" she taunted.  "Lock me up?"

She poked out her tongue at Hagen, gesturing with the tip of it in a
come hither motion.  Hagen took the invitation, hungry, clit pulsing.
She spread her legs wider to better reach Keane's face.  Just as she did
so Keane plunged her tongue deep into Hagen's vagina, stretching to
reach as far up as she could go.  Hagen shuddered as the slick muscular
tongue slipped around inside her.  She fucked Keane's head into the
mattress, riding the agile tongue while it probed deeply into the source
of her wetness.  Grunting, she put her own finger to the tip of her
sensitive clit, greased by her own juices mingled with Debbie's saliva.
Her finger slid easily over the pearly clit.  She gave her whole cunt to
the silky tongue, and, increasing the tremors of her finger, she
surrendered herself to the muscle contractions and burning heat of
orgasm.  She spasmed in a tight ring around Debbie's tongue, making it
last.  When she was done she sat there, breathless, shuddering with the
occasional aftershock as Debbie took her sweet time sliding the tongue
back out of her body.

"Yum," said Keane, with something of a temporary speech impediment.

Hagen couldn't agree with her more.  Eyes half closed and still catching
her breath, she savoured the moment: the first time another woman had
made her come.

"What have you been wasting your life on up till now?" she said.  Keane
beamed.

She climbed off Debbie and pulled the doona over them both, snuggling
into her arms.  Debbie's lips were hot and moist.  Hagen tugged at the
lower one with her teeth, then sucked it and kissed her, with desire and
gratitude.  Hagen wrapped her body around Keane's and settled her face
against her.  They held each other tight and dozed off into pleasant
slumber.

 ***

 When the boys came home they were pissed as farts and were loudly
singing a football song.  They came stomping up the hallway and dropped
McCann off at his room.

"Night, Gary."

"Night, lads."

"Good on ya, Gar."

McCann's door slammed shut.  The boys continued stomping.  Keane and
Hagen woke up and lay still, both listening.  They heard some loud
shushing and then some creaking floor boards.  Then nothing.  They
looked at each other in the dim street light, breathing quietly.  There
was a long silence.  It was broken by Quinnan's voice.

"Oh, come on, this is a waste of time."

And then Stamp, "Oh, Dave."

"Come on, let's go to bed."

A stumbling sound, and then laughter.

"George, come on."

The stomping moved on.  But Harker couldn't control himself.

"Night Debs," he called out.  "Night, Vicky."

More laughter and then they were gone.  Keane and Hagen were left in the
semi-darkness.

"I can't wait to get my own flat," Keane whispered.  Hagen laughed.

"We should have known this wouldn't keep more than a day."

Hagen caressed Keane's lip with her forefinger.  Keane kissed it.

"What shall we do about it?"

Hagen only knew one answer to any question.

"Flaunt it," she said.  And recruit, she thought.

Chapter Three

One sleepless night can make an officer's work performance a little bit
lacklustre.  Two sleepless nights can make an officer downright
resentful of being on the beat.  So it was with great reservation that
Keane and Hagen got out of bed the next day to go to work.  Their bodies
were sore from being cramped up in Keane's single bed.  Their heads were
thumping because despite their remnant tiredness from the first
sleepness night, the adrenalin pumping through their bodies had not let
them sleep properly until they had each been inside the other several
times, making their fingers wrinkled and filling the room completely
with the smell of sex.  It had only taken one of them to brush against a
nipple or a thigh the right way and they were at it again, desperate
with ardent desire and doing everything in their power to sate it.

But around lunch time a groggy Keane woke up, aware that she wasn't in
Ackland's good books at the moment.  With a great effort, she climbed
out of bed and ripped the covers off Hagen.

"Come on, sunshine," she said to the very grumpy looking area car
driver.  "It's time to go serve the British public."

"The British public can kiss my - "

A flying towel hit her in the face, muffling the end of her sentence.

"You might want to wash it first," said an amused Keane.  "It's seen a
fair amount of action lately."

Keane donned a t-shirt and track pants and threw a towel over her
shoulder to make her way to the communal bathroom.  Hagen dressed in the
clothes she had been wearing the previous night.  They hesitated before
the door and eyed each other.  A warm smile formed on each of their
faces, and Vicky laughed.

"Want to do it again some time?" Keane asked.

"Try and stop me," said Hagen.

She reached up to give her a wet peck on the lips.  They opened the door
to an empty corridor and headed for the bathroom.

 ***

 It had been an excruciating morning in CID's dummy mobile phone shop.

Unable to debrief about the night they had spent together because
everything they said and did was monitored by Daly, Rawton and Blake
tiptoed around each other, not touching and avoiding each others' gaze.

Rawton found it torturous indeed.  She spent the time trying to read
Blake's body language, but failed dismally.  Rawton wanted to ask her
how she was doing, if there were any regrets, and if there would be any
more such nights to follow.  Last night she had enjoyed herself on the
whole, but had wondered from time to time if Blake's mind had been
entirely on the job.   Blake, on the other hand, was glad of the
opportunity to think things through.  She'd had a good time too: Liz was
an attentive and dextrous lover, and she had opened Blake's mind to a
range of possibilities that she hadn't considered before.  It was like
religion, having sex with Liz: Blake felt that her body had been well
and truly worshipped and adored by the devoted Rawton, with some parts
of her receiving particularly ecstatic veneration.  Rawton's piety was a
match for any saint's, and Blake appreciated it after such a long time
in the wilderness.

But somehow it wasn't quite what she wanted.  She craved something more
raw, more sinful, more utterly profane.  She had been a good girl all
her life, but now that she had a taste of the dark side, she found it
tempting indeed.  And if the truth be known, there had been more than
one occasion last night when, in the thick of Rawton's ministrations,
the idea of being an ingredient in a Vicky and Debbie locker room
sandwich had popped into Blake's head.  The idea was not an entirely
unpleasant one.

Even at lunch time there was no escaping Daly's watchful gaze.  He had
brought his own sandwiches today, and was eating them in the back room,
eyes fixed on the video monitor that scanned the shop.  And since there
were two of them staffing the shopfront, there was no excuse to shut up
shop for lunch and slip off together.  Blake offered to go and bring
something back for them both, and Rawton agreed, looking for hidden
messages in Blake's face.  There were none, none that she could decipher
anyway.  It was going to be a long day, thought Rawton as Blake stepped
out into the street.

 ***

 Despite the shower, Hagen could still smell eau de Debbie on her hands
as she put on her uniform in the locker room.  She wondered if the smell
would emanate from her at parade, and smiled inside at the thought.  It
made no difference; even if the boys hadn't already figured it out,
there was no way she would be able to wipe the satisfied grin from her
face.

Keane, in the light of day, was dreading parade.  She didn't mind people
knowing her business, so long as they didn't talk about it, and she knew
that was only a very remote possibility.  She had invested a lot of
energy trying to avoid being the subject of gossip over the past three
or four years.  So much for that.

They walked out to the briefing room.  They weren't yet late, but the
most of the relief appeared to be early, and were already in the room
waiting.  They opened the door.

Five pairs of eyes fastened on them as they made their way to a couple
of empty seats next to each other.  Keane tried her best to blend into
the grey paint of the walls.  Hagen held her head high, flicking her
eyes about the room to gauge the vibe.

"Joined the RFS division, Vicky?" said Stamp once they were seated.
Beside him, Quinnan and Harker giggled.  Garfield whispered something to
PCs Santini and Ashton.  Further up the row, McCann kept well out of it.

"Yeah, I have as a matter of fact," replied Hagen.  "I'm qualified,
unlike most of you lot."

The boys laughed.  Quinnan caught Harker's eye and immediately looked
away.

"RFS?" Keane whispered to Hagen, dreading the explanation.

"Recently fucked smile," whispered Hagen with a wink.  Keane relaxed a
bit.  It could have been worse...

"You ladies had lunch yet?" asked Harker.  "Only I know this great
carpet store in Malpit Road - "

More laughter.  Garfield made some comment about shagpile.

"Isn't it in Smellfish Lane?" said Stamp.  Keane cringed.

"Like he'd know," said Hagen.

"361 from Sierra Oscar, would you state your position please," said
Quinnan, making a funnel over his mouth with his hand.  "Missionary, 69,
doggy style - "

Much hilarity ensued.

"Haven't heard that one before," muttered Hagen.  Keane quietly steamed.

"Hey Debs," offered Santini.  "I heard that there was a recruitment on
for a new motorcycle patrol.  You might have heard of it: dykes on - "

"Leave it," said Quinnan as Ackland and Page entered the room.

"All right, settle down," said Ackland, apparently oblivious to what was
going on.

After a few more chuckles the room quietened down and Ackland began the
briefing.  It included a warning to steer clear of CID's dummy phone
shop in Bramwell Road, and an update on a number of crimes that had been
committed during the night and morning.  Finally it came time to assign
patrol partners for the shift.  Stamp and Quinnan were paired up in the
station van, Santini and Harker in a panda, McCann and Ashton were on
foot patrol at the Bronte, Blake was still with CID and Page had special
duties for the first part of the shift before reporting to CAD...

"So Debbie," Ackland said.  "You can ride with Vicky in Sierra One."

A snigger went around the room.  Keane shook her head, and Hagen smiled
slyly.  Ackland was astonished.

"Has anyone got a problem with that?"

"Better ask Nick Slater," muttered Stamp.  He was rewarded with a couple
of pathetic giggles.

"No problem, sarge," said Hagen loudly.

Ackland looked to Keane.

"No problem, sarge," Keane echoed, plucking up her courage.  "Wouldn't
have it any other way."

McCann smiled in quiet solidarity.  From the back corner, PC Page viewed
the exchange with much curiosity.

Parade was dismissed and the officers started to file out of the room.
Hagen and Keane hung back in an unspoken agreement to avoid the crowd.

"You okay?" said Hagen when the room was empty.  Keane smiled at her,
feeling proud of herself.

"Never better," she said.

Enduring taunts from her fellow officers was something Hagen was used
to.  It just bounced off these days, for the most part.  But usually
she'd had to endure it alone, being a woman in a male dominated job.  It
was nice to have some company for a change.  Hagen gazed into Keane's
eyes with warmth.  Keane returned her gaze, not afraid of anything
anymore.

"Come on," said Hagen, taking Keane by the hand and helping her to her
feet.  "We've got work to do."

 ***

 Ackland had placed Page on special duties so that she could make amends
with the courier, Kirsten Brown.

The phone book in the front office was Page's first port of call.  She
flicked through the yellow pages looking for an appropriate book store,
but didn't have much luck.  After a few minutes, Ackland dropped by the
office, brandishing a piece of paper.

"Why don't you try here first," she said, handing the paper to Page.

Page looked at the address on the paper and then at the sergeant, shyly.

"Thanks, June," she said, and Ackland nodded at her.

 The shop was off the regular Sun Hill beat, but Page couldn't miss it
as she drove up in the panda.  It had a large rainbow flag in the front
window, and next to it a poster advertising a protest against the police
clamp down on cottaging.  Bells on the door jingled as Page went through
it.  Numerous browsing heads turned to look at this uniformed police
officer, no doubt wondering whether she was going to beat them up or
party with them.  Page smiled at all and sundry and took off her hat,
ducking in amongst the stacks.

The selection of books was extensive.  Page had no idea that so much
could possibly be written on the subject of homosexuality, or
bisexuality, or transgenderism, or sadomasochism, or something called
queer theory.  The most of that ilk that Page had ever read, aside from
`She on She 6', was a Lesbian and Gay Police Association pamphlet, which
she had picked up once and flipped through to stay in touch with
political developments in her job, in the same way that she had read
pamphlets on sexual harrassment in the workplace and equal opportunity
for officers with a mental illness.  There was so much she had to learn.

She searched the shelves for the lesbian erotic fiction section, and
once she had found that, searched for `She on She 6'.  She was
fortunate.  There was one copy left.  She took it to the check out
counter.  The young woman behind the counter peered at the cover of the
book, then gave Page the once over with a sly glint in her eye.

"It's for a friend," said Page apologetically, wishing she had worn her
civvies to run this errand.

"Is it?" said the woman with a cynical eyebrow.

"No you've got it all wrong, see," said Page.  "I lost her copy of the
book..."

The check out chick smiled at her knowingly.

Page watched her, always hating to be misunderstood, but more than that,
always wanting to do the right thing.

"Well I think it's a crap book anyway," she said eventually.  "It didn't
do a thing for me."

The woman smiled warmly at her.  Page smiled back.  Drawing her lidded
gaze away so slowly that Page wondered if she was drunk, the cashier
picked up the book to write its details in the shop's transaction log.

"You're in luck," she said after examining the shop's records.  "This
book's out of print, you've got the last copy."

"Must be my lucky day," said Page.

The check out chick nodded at her with a pursed smile.

"And mine," she said.

"Oh yeah?" said Page with sincerity but very little brain.

The woman just raised her eyebrows.

Page handed over some cash and asked for the book to be gift wrapped.
She flipped through the selection of greeting cards that were on display
at the counter, chose one with a picture of a little dog barking `sorry'
and bought that too.

"Bye then," she said to the cashier.

"See you next time," came the reply.



Kirsten Brown lived in a dingy flat above a spice shop.  The entrance
was through a lane at the back, up a rickety flight of stairs.  There
was no bell, only a sign with a smiley face that read `ALL VISITORS
BRING JOY TO THIS HOME - some by staying, others by going'.  Page
knocked at the door.

"One minute!" came the answer from within.

Page shuffled on the step.

"Oh, hi," said Brown when she answered the door.  She wore a muscle t-
shirt and her face was smeared with grease.

"Hi Ms Brown," Page said.  "I've just brought you your book back.  Well,
another copy of it anyway."

She presented the wrapped gift to Brown.  Brown fingered the little card
and read Page's simple message of apology written inside.  She was
touched, and impressed by the police officer's improvement in manners.

"You want a cuppa?" Brown asked sweetly.

"I'd murder one," said Page, stepping inside the flat.  It was much
nicer on the inside than the outside, decorated with tasteful simplicity
and warmed by a blazing fire.  A partly dissembled bicycle lay scattered
on a drop sheet on the floor.

"You caught me on a good day," said Brown.  "I ain't working."

"What's wrong with your bike?"

"The cables have split and the cranks want replacing.  Know bikes, do
ya?"

Page couldn't say that she did.

"Can't work without it.  Has to be done.  Tea or coffee?"

"Tea.  Thank you, Ms Brown."

"Get your hand off it - call me Kirsten."

Page smiled at her.

"Polly."

"Make yourself at home, Polly."

Page wandered about Brown's living room while Brown went off to the
kitchen.  Everything is very zen, said Page to herself, finding the word
zen pleasing to use in a sentence.  Most of the furniture looked
Japanese, as did the sparsely distributed decorative knick-knacks and
vases and so on.  In a side alcove of one wall hung a graphic Japanese
print of two women having sex.

"Blimey," muttered Page.

She sat down on one of the low futon couches and removed her hat.

"D'you need a hand in there?" she called out.

"No thanks," Brown called back, and presently brought in a tray of tea
and cake.

"So," said Brown as they sipped their tea.  "You ever used them
handcuffs for anything other than locking people up?"

 ***

 "Docks?" asked Hagen as she and Keane drove out of the station.

"Why not," said Keane with a grin.

Her voice was pure sex to Hagen's ears.  A jolt of electricity passed
between them as they exchanged a
 glance.  Ten minutes driving time felt like too long to Hagen, and she
stepped on the accelerator.

 ***

 The futon couch was reasonably wide.  In Page's estimation it was big
enough for four people to sit on at a squeeze.  Given this, she found it
hard to understand why Kirsten Brown had insisted on sitting so very
close to her.  But Page didn't want to shuffle back and put some space
between them, afraid Brown would interpret it as homophobia.  Especially
right now, as Brown waxed lyrical about the poor treatment of lesbians
and gay men at the hands of the police force.

"It didn't matter how many times we complained," Brown was saying.
"They was always waiting for us when we left the club.  It got so bad
I'd never ride my bike there anymore in case they followed me again.
I'd always get a minicab, even though I was completely skint."

"Why didn't you stop going there?" asked Page.

"Why should I?  I had a right to be there.  I weren't breaking the law."

"No," said Page.  "I suppose not."

Brown poured them both another cup of tea.

"So what's your story then?" Brown said, spooning sugar into Page's cup.
"What's a nice girl like you doing in a uniform like that?"

"We're not all like that, ya know.  There's a few bad eggs that give us
a bad reputation, but in my experience coppers are mostly good sorts."

Page sipped her tea.

"Don't get me wrong," said Brown.  "I ain't got no objection to you lot
in principle, if what you're doing is locking up rapists and wife
beaters.  But you got to admit it, the police spend a bit too much time
giving people hassle rather than service."

Page felt a twinge of guilt, taking the comment personally.

"Yeah well that's why I'm here today, isn't it?"

She looked hopefully at Brown, wanting to convince her that the police
were her friends.  Brown smiled back at her, thoughts ticking over
behind her brown eyes.

"Mm," she said with a note of amusement.  "I s'pose you have come here
to serve me, aintcha?"

Her eyes didn't drop Page's gaze.  Page felt slightly nervous at her
intensity.  She thought it was probably time to be getting back to the
station, but still felt awkward about breaking off the conversation at
this point.

"Yeah, that's right," she said simply.

"So I was wondering," said Brown, fingering the cuff of Page's short
shirt sleeve.  "Do you think you've done enough to make it up to me?  Or
could you be doing more?"

"Well..." said Page, her guilt buttons decidedly pressed.  "I don't
know.  Did you have something in mind?"  "Yeah," said Brown.  "I did, as
it happens."

Brown leant forward and kissed Page.  The PC was shocked but didn't want
to offend Brown by reacting negatively.  She sat there and let it
happen.  It would be good for community relations, she thought to
herself.  And it wasn't so bad.  It was quite pleasant really.  Brown
was a better kisser than most other people Page had ever kissed.

Brown broke off the kiss and pulled away with an expression on her face
like the cat that got the cream.

"Whatcha think about that then?" she asked Page.

"Nice," said Page, breathing out finally.

Brown stroked Page's tie with the back of her hand.

"Do you want me to do it again?"

Page gave her a half smile.  It had been a nice kiss...

"Okay then," she said.

 ***

 Never before had Hagen wished that the British police used big patrol
cars like the Americans did.

Kneeling over Keane in the back seat with the front seat jabbing into
her back, she wished it now.  Keane's hands were stroking deliciously at
the insides of her thighs while her mouth got Hagen's bra all wet with
saliva, sucking through the material at her nipple.  Hagen clasped
Keane's head to her chest and writhed with pleasure.

"Debs?" she ventured.

"Mmm?" came the muffled reply.

"Have you ever thought about having a threesome?"

Keane stopped what she was doing and gaped at her.

"You mean with a bloke and a woman?"

"No," said Hagen.  "With two women."

Keane smirked.  "You know I haven't."

"D'you reckon you'd be up for it?"

"Corr, didn't take you long, did it?"  She grinned at Hagen.  "Who d'you
have in mind?  And whatever you do, don't say June Ackland."

"I'm working on it," said Hagen, drawing Keane's face back to her
breast.

 ***

 Brown's hand was creeping up Page's leg and her mouth was fastened to
her neck.  Page felt dizzy and hot and wet and very confused.

"All right, Kirsten," she panted.  "You'd better stop there."

"Why?" said Brown, inching towards Page's crotch.  "Would you prefer it
in the bedroom?"

"No," said Page.  "It's just that I better be getting back.  They'll be
wondering where I've got to."

"They'll call you on your radio, won't they?  If they need you so
badly."

Her cuffed hand continued its crawl.

"I s'pose they will," said Page, looking uncertainly at the eager Brown.
"I've just never done this before, you know?"

"I know," said Brown.  "That's what makes it so much fun, though,
innit?"

Page supposed it was.

"Do you really want me to cuff you to the couch?"

"In a minute," said Brown, hand almost reaching its destination and
fingers curling out provocatively.  "I want to cop a feel of what's
inside here first."

Page sighed.  She had no idea what she was doing but it felt so damn
good.

"Shouldn't we take off our clothes?"

Brown smiled.

"I like you exactly the way you are, darlin'."

She undid Page's fly and slid a hand inside it, handcuffs grating
against the navy blue zipper.  Page exhaled, shaking her head in
surrender.

"In fact," continued Brown.  "Why don't you put your hat back on while
you're about it."

Page reached out and picked her hat up off the floor.

"Now," said Brown, fingers busy.  "Tell me about someone you've arrested
recently.  Anyone'll do.  Just tell me how you went about it, and don't
leave out any of the good bits... "

 ***

 At least it hasn't been a complete waste of time, thought Rawton,
standing at the shop counter making notes at the end of the working day.
They had some good leads on the phone thefts that could lead to arrests
with further investigation.  But Blake, at her left, was keeping very
quiet as she counted the money in the till.

"I'll be off then," said Daly, entering from the back of the shop.  "See
you both tomorrow."

Rawton watched as Daly went out the back door, and listened as his car
started and drove away.  Blake continued to count notes.

"We made over two hundred pounds today," she said idly.


"D'you want to come home to mine after?" said Rawton.

Blake's heart beat fast.  She hated disappointing people, especially
Liz, who had been so kind to her.

"I wouldn't mind a quiet one, actually," she said.  "Thanks, all the
same."

Ouch, thought Rawton.

"Right," she said.  "Should I not have asked?"

"No, sorry Liz, I didn't mean that.  It was fun, don't get me wrong.
But it was a one off I think.  For me."

"I see."

Rawton smiled wanly.

"Can I give you a lift back to the station?"

"Of course."

 The car ride was not as much fun as it had been yesterday.  They said
little and once they got to the station, went their separate ways with a
brief goodbye.  Rawton watched with a dull feeling in her belly as Blake
headed for the canteen.  She turned and walked in the opposite
direction, to the sergeants' office, and was glad to see June Ackland in
there alone.  She knocked.

"June?"

"Oh hi Liz," said Ackland.  "What can I do for you?"

"Do you a fancy a drink later?"

"Sure, but I don't knock off till late."

"I know.  That's fine."

"Is anything the matter?" Ackland asked, concerned.

"Not really," sighed Rawton.  "I could do with some company, is all."

"Okay.  Shall I meet you at half ten?"

"Yeah," said Rawton wearily.  "See you then."  She went upstairs to the
CID office.  Her nose twitched as she entered.

"Corr, it smells like a urinal in here," she said, going over to her
desk to get her bag and skidding briefly on a droplet of oil.

Skase and Boulton, who were chatting closely by the white board,
exchanged a quick half smile.

 ***

Knocking off time at the mobile phone shop was dinner break for the
relief.  Hagen and Keane were sitting in the canteen at a table away
from everyone else, pointedly ignoring the many heads that were turned
their way, paying no attention to Quinnan and Harker strolling hurriedly
towards the men's toilets, and oblivious to the blushing McCann who was
buying a cup of tea for young Ashton.  They gazed into each other's
eyes, flushed with lust and lovesickness.  Forks laden with food hovered
above their plates.

"I want you here, now," Hagen was saying.

Keane shuddered.  She wanted her right back.  She wanted to feel the
sweaty body of Vicky Hagen coming around her slippery fingers.  It was
all she could do to keep her hands off her.  Keane blinked her eyes and
exhaled the sudden breath she had unconsciously taken.  She could barely
stop herself from panting.

Blake watched the scene from the canteen entrance.  She knew within a
few seconds that Liz's suspicions had been right.  A warm feeling spread
through her belly.

She approached their table slowly, to give them plenty of warning.
Their heads turned to her, eyes glistening.

"How's it going?" said Blake, taking a seat.

"Not bad," smiled Hagen.  "You?"

"Good."

"How's the op?"

"It's going well, we've had a few dodgy customers come in.  Hopefully
we'll have 'em by the end of the week."

"Great," said Keane.

"So what have I been missing out on?"

"Not a lot," said Hagen.  "Nothing out of the ordinary.  At least, not
as far as policing's concerned.  But I s'pose you've already heard?"

"What?"

"Or hasn't it reached CID yet?"

"Heard what?"

Hagen gave a wry smile.

"Don't worry about it," she said.  "It shouldn't take long with that lot
on the case."

She gestured at another table, where Stamp and Garfield were engaged in
intense conversation with Proctor, and were gawping at the women with
big smiles on their faces.

"Oh," said Blake.  "That.  I guessed."

Her fingers danced on the table briefly.  Hagen and Keane looked at her
questioningly.  Blake tapped her arm.

"Biceps."

Keane bit her lip and Hagen gave a toothy laugh.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be," said Blake.  "I'm not."

"You didn't mind then?" asked Keane.

"No," said Blake.  "I rather enjoyed it."

"Not half as much as we did," said Hagen.

A silence followed, punctuated only by Keane eating a mouthful of food.

"You know," said Blake eventually.  "I live alone.  In a real flat."

Keane smiled shyly.  Hagen grinned.

"Mm.  So you do."

"So if I leave my address here," Blake continued, taking a scrap of
paper and a pen from her pocket.  "Don't be shy."

She scrawled words on the paper.  Keane noticed Page buying a cup of tea
behind Blake.  Page caught her eye and waved.

"Here's Pol," said Keane with a note of warning.  Blake glanced around
at Page then finished writing.  She pocketed her pen and stood up.

"I'll be off then," she said.  "I'll see you later, yeah?"

Keane nodded at her and Hagen watched her with an amused glint in her
eye.  Blake turned and left the canteen, smiling to herself.

A dreamy Page came up to them purposefully and took Blake's still warm
seat, saying "Hiya" in a distracted sort of way.  Her eyes were brighter
than Keane had ever seen them.  Hagen slipped Blake's address into her
pocket.

"How's it going, Pol?" said Keane.

"Good, yeah.  You?"

"Can't complain."

"I'm off to the loo," said Hagen, leaving the old friends alone.

Page and Keane sat in silence for a moment, each bursting to tell the
other their news, but both too scared to speak about it.  They muttered
a few pleasantries about some crime or other that Stamp and Quinnan were
investigating, then turned the conversation to the reliable staple of
how bad the canteen food was.  The awkwardness was broken by Hollis's
voice over the radio, asking after Page's whereabouts and then calling
Keane and Hagen away to attend a motor accident.

"Duty calls," said Keane.

They muttered brief goodbyes, news untold.

But awkwardness with Debbie was not about to ruin Page's day.  She
walked, indeed almost skipped, down the corridors to CAD.  Coming around
a corner with her head in the clouds, she banged straight into Ackland.

"Oh, Polly, watch where you're going."

"Sorry, sarge," said Page with a smile.

"I've been looking for you - you've got a visitor."

"Who is it?"

"See for yourself."

Ackland walked with Page to the front office.  Leaning on the front desk
was Brown.

"Hiya," said Brown lasciviously.  Page blushed.

"It's all right, sarge, I'll take it from here."

Ackland sized up the situation and her eyes twinkled.

"Right you are," she said, exiting the room but hovering around the
corridor to listen.

"What're you doing here?" said Page brightly.

"You forgot something."  Brown handed over Page's warrant card.  "Must
have fallen out your pocket when
 I had my fist up your -"

"Keep your voice down," said Page.  "The walls have ears, you know."

Ackland slunk away guiltily, not usually one to eavesdrop.  She went
into her office and rearranged some paperwork idly.  Presently Page
ambled by the office.

"Polly," Ackland called out.

"Yeah?" said Page, popping her head around the door.

"I know it's none of my business, but..."  Ackland ushered her inside
and shut the door.  "A few of us are going to the pub later and I
thought perhaps you'd like to come."

"Actually I'm busy tonight," said Page with much suggestion.

"Well if you change your mind you'd be most welcome," said Ackland
smoothly.  "And you can bring a friend if you like.  It's women only."

"Oh," said Page with a grin.  "I getcha.  Thanks, June."

"We'll be at the Hare and Hyena in Stepney from 10.30."

"Maybe another night, yeah?"

Ackland nodded, smiling.

"I'd better get into CAD," said Page, and wandered off happily.

 ***

 When Page left the station that night she was walking on air.  She
caught a cab to Brown's place, not wanting to waste any time.  She
bolted up the stairs and knocked loudly.  There was no reply.  She
knocked again.  Nothing.  No light appeared to be on inside.

Perhaps I'm early, she thought to herself, and sat down on the steps to
wait.

 ***

 The Hare and Hyena was fairly busy for a Monday night.  Ackland, Rawton
and Sergeant Norika Datta were half way through their second glass of
chardy.

"Polly!" Rawton was shrieking.  "Who'd have thought?"  Datta and Rawton
laughed raucously as Ackland spotted a familiar character by the bar.
It was Brown.  And a friend.  The friend looked familiar too.

"Do either of you recognise that red head?"

"Who?" said Datta.

"Over there at the bar.  5'7, medium build - "

"Oh her," said Rawton.  "She's a firefighter, isn't she?  I recognise
her from that arson attack near the Larkmead last month."

"Why, June?"

"That woman she's with is the one that I was telling you about."

"What, Polly's floosy?" said Rawton.

"That's right," said Ackland.

"The girl has taste, it has to be said."

The three of them perved as the firefighter got very friendly with
Brown.

"Oh dear," said Ackland.

"Poor Polly," said Datta.

Rawton looked on with bitterness, and some satisfaction at not being the
only one to be done over that day.

 ***

 The doorbell rang out a jolly tune inside the flat.

Keane and Hagen could see their breath in the cold night air.  They
rubbed their arms to keep warm, listening for the sound of footsteps
inside.

"Maybe we got the wrong end of the stick," said Hagen, pressing the
doorbell again.

"I don't think so," said Keane.  "Maybe she just didn't expect us quite
so soon."

Hagen gazed affectionately at Keane and ran a knuckle over her cheek.
Keane caught her hand and kissed the knuckle.

The light pad of feet on carpet reached their ears and the door opened.
Blake had a towel on her head and was wearing a silk bathrobe.

"Sorry, have you been waiting long?" she asked, opening the door to
them.

"No," said Hagen, stepping inside.  "Not at all."

She took the towel off Blake's head and threw it over a chair.  Keane
made a dive for the right side of Blake's neck, kissing it with much
gusto.  Hagen took the left side.  Blake put an arm around each of them
and kicked the door shut.

 ***

 Page sat on the rickety step, a weepy, freezing lump of misery.

"Bad luck, Polly," she said aloud to herself.  "You sure know how to
pick 'em."  Reluctantly she got up off the step, plodded downstairs and
wandered off towards home.  But home didn't seem like a very comforting
place to be right now.  Page remembered the name of the pub June had
mentioned, the Hare and Hyena.  Looking at her watch, she hoped they'd
still be there.  Whoever `they' were - she hadn't even thought to ask
who else was going tonight.  She stuck out her arm to hail a cab.

 Walking into the pub, Page immediately felt underdressed.  Every second
person there seemed to be wearing leather.  Oh well, she shrugged,
wouldn't be the first time.  She scanned the room for a friendly face
and lighted on Ackland's.  Approaching the table, she recognised Norika
Datta, who she hadn't seen for ages, and Liz Rawton, and two DCs she
knew from Stafford Row.

"What are you all doing here?" she exclaimed and they turned their
heads.

"Hey Pol," said Datta brightly.

"Norika," said Page.  "I heard about the promotion, congratulations."

"Thanks."

"Buy you a drink, Pol?" said Rawton.

"Thanks.  I'll have a whiskey.  And make it a strong one."

"Glad you could make it, Pol," said Ackland.  The Stafford Row officers
greeted her warmly.  Page sat down.  There was something of an awkward
silence as they all tried not to look at her bloodshot eyes.

"So," offered Page.  "You lot are all regulars here, are you?"

"You could say that," Ackland replied.

"Here you go," said Rawton kindly, placing a glass before Page.

"Cheers, Liz."

Page gulped her drink and coughed.

"Been one of those days, hasn't it?" said Rawton.

"You're not wrong."

A Madonna track came on the jukebox and the Stafford Row women got up to
dance.  Page sighed loudly.

"Aren't you going to ask me how my night went?" she said to Ackland,
raising her voice above the music.  Ackland hesitated before answering.

"I think I can guess," she said.  "I don't know how to say this Polly
but we saw Ms Brown - Kirsten - earlier.  With a firefighter."

"Oh," snivelled Page.  "That would explain a lot."

"Sorry to have to tell you like that."

"Nah, I appreciate your honesty."

Page fidgeted with a coaster.

"So how come nobody told me before?"

"Told you what?" said Ackland.

"About you, or Norika, or Liz.  It'd make it easier for everyone if
people could just be open with each other - or what does all the equal
opportunity in the world mean?"

"It's not always an easy thing to be open about.  You know that."

"Yeah," said Page, sipping her drink, and thinking about what she hadn't
told Debbie.  "But all those years we've worked together - how can we
trust each other if we don't know each other?"

"We don't know everything about each other anyway.  People have a right
to privacy.  Sometimes it's better that way."

Page's gaze flicked from Ackland's face down to her shoulder, and
followed her arm all the way to Datta's lap.  They were holding hands,
while Datta conversed with Rawton.  Page looked back to Ackland with
surprise.

"So how long's this been going on?" she asked cheerfully.

Ackland waved her head with a shy smile.

"A couple of years."

"See this is what I'm talking about, June.  People should know about
this, we should be celebrating it."

"The way our relief celebrates any new relationship, I'd rather they
never found out."

Remembering parade that afternoon, Page had to agree with her.

"But don't you feel isolated?" she asked Ackland.

"That's why we come here.  When you've been in the job as long as I have
you start to realise that some things are better kept well out of it."

Page drained her glass.  She was starting to feel better already.
Beside her, Rawton smiled at her.

"I'm glad you came, Pol," she said.  "I know we've had our differences
but after all, we do all bat for the same team.  The Met I mean," she
added.

Page laughed.

"I suppose we do," she said.

Page felt someone tap her on the shoulder.  She swung around and was
surprised to see the check out chick from the book store.

"Oh hi," said Page.

"Hoped I'd see you here," said the woman, looking hesitantly at Rawton.
"I hope I'm not interrupting something?"

"No," said Page.  "Nothing that can't wait till tomorrow."

"Do you want to dance?"


"I'm afraid I'm not a very good dancer."

"Doesn't matter.  Come on."

She held out her hand to Page.  Page looked at Ackland, Rawton and Datta
in turn, and they were all smiling at her.

"Go on," said Ackland.

"All right," said Page, getting out of her seat.  "You twisted my arm."

 ***

 It was a warm summer's day in Sun Hill.  The door to the women's locker
room swung open and Vicky Hagen entered with the new transfer PC.

"That locker's free," said Hagen.  "No one's used it since I've been
here.  Number 34."

"Cheers, Vicky," said the newcomer.  "Tha's me favourite number."

"I'll leave you to it."

Hagen left and the PC opened the locker.  A mangled and somewhat stained
book sat sadly on the bottom shelf under a revolting pair of old
knickers that looked like they could walk out on their own.  The PC held
the knickers between two fingers and tossed them away, shaking her head
with a big toothy grin.  She picked up the book and flicked through the
pages, those that weren't gummed together.  She smirked and threw the
rather disgusting object into the bin after the undies.

"Already read it," she said to herself, unpacking her new Met uniform.
"Number seven was better."



 The End.

Apologies to Liz Rawton, who deserves better.

story (c) Viv Martella's Ghost 2003