by Hermaphrodité

A month had now passed since Sally Johnson had discovered that there was a greater depth to her sexuality than she'd ever imagined. She'd fallen in love with a woman in whose arms she'd spent one glorious, passion-filled night...before dumping her because she was terrified of what her lover might say when she discovered that Sally was in fact a senior police officer and not the employee of a pest control firm that she'd claimed to be. Sally had convinced herself that this course of action would make life easier all round, but inevitably life hadn't turned out that way. She'd parted acrimoniously from her lover, and still felt guilty about the pain, shock, and unhappiness she knew she'd caused when she'd told Frith her that she saw no real future for the two of them.

Life continued to go on at Sun Hill (relatively) as normal -- but even as she joked and chatted and carried out her CID duties, Sally found herself thinking constantly about Frith Gerland and the night of sexual abandon and wonder that they'd spent together. Sally reminded herself that she'd never believed in love at first sight and that she'd never before had even the *slightest* feelings of desire and attraction towards another woman. And yet, since she'd never felt as strongly about *anyone* as she did about Frith, she wondered if she should indeed have gritted her teeth and been prepared to follow her heart and accept the love that Frith had been willing to give her -- instead of following her logical mind, which was all too happy to make her aware of the possibilities of blackmail and so on had their relationship ever became common knowledge.

But the ache in her heart wouldn't go away. Now her career didn't seem anything like as important as it once had. All she really cared about was the pain she'd caused Frith, and how she wished they hadn't parted in the way they had. Most of all -- and this was the hardest fact to have to come to terms with -- she missed Frith and wanted to be able to go back to her. Everyone else around her seemed dull and grey in comparison -- and no-one she met, male or female, even came close to matching the completeness Sally had felt with her. Suddenly she felt very much alone and isolated -- there was no way she could discuss what she was feeling with any of her colleagues, and she couldn't even go down to the Metro in the hope of meeting up to try and talk and explain. She believed Frith when she said she'd make sure that Sally was no longer welcome there.

Sally had even traced Frith's phone number and had tried several times to phone her; but she always lost her nerve either after a few rings or when Frith answered. This was completely out of character for Sally and she knew it; she was beginning to wonder if she was losing her mind. These days she was often asked if she were feeling unwell, and it was more than clear to herself that she wasn't on the ball. She'd smile and explain that she was having personal problems, but that she could handle them. It was *never* wise to bring one's problems into work in the morning, but there seemed very little else she could do. Besides, she knew all too well how many of her fellow CID officers felt about her: their distrust and resentment meant that to show any sign of weakness -- especially *this* kind -- would give them them more of the ammunition they needed.

But salvation was on its way -- and it came in the very unlikely shape of Davey Leonard, a bank-robber who'd escaped from police custody some weeks before. Since his escape he and a colleague had staged a robbery in Hounslow and another in Abingdon -- and a raid on a post-office showing a similar modus operandi had since been reported in Redditch. Clearly the robbers were moving northward towards Leonard's home territory in the Staffordshire Potteries.

"Good news, guv," DC Jim Carver informed DCI Meadows cheerily -- or as cheerily as the lugubrious-faced Carver was able. "Leonard ain't made it as far as Stoke-on-Trent yet. The West Midlands Police say they've just pulled in a bloke after two geezers tried to do over a bank in their neck of the woods. One did a runner, but they caught the other one. They're 'oldin' 'im at some station up in the Black Country an' they wanna know if we can send someone up there to identify 'im."

"Couldn't we just fax off a photograph an' Leonard's details?" Tosh Lines suggested.

"Yeah," Jo Morgan agreed. "'Oo wants to trek all the way up *there* just to identify some toe-rag villain?"

"'E's not exactly 'some toe-rag villain', Jo," Meadows pointed out. "Davey Leonard alone makes the Kray Twins look like Morecambe an' Wise."

"An' that's the trouble, see," Carver said. "We don't know as it *is* Leonard. Obviously chummy's given 'em some false details an' the West Midlands plods want to be sure they've got the right bloke an' that we get 'im off their 'ands ayess-aypee."

"I don't mind going up there if you need someone to go," Sally offered. Everyone turned and looked at her. "I've come across Davey Leonard before and I'd know the little rat-faced bastard if I ever saw him again."

The other CID officers present looked round at each other. "Well *I'm* game," Jo said. "I'd 'ave no trouble identifyin' the scumbag either."

"Yeah," DC Pearce added. "I'm up for some o' that too."

"Gonna try out your big city charm on the good ladies of the Black Country?" enquired Tosh with some amusement.

"Yeah -- why not?"

The office groaned as one. "Maybe you'll find they're not as susceptible to your charms up there," Tosh suggested. "In the Midlands we're 'arder to please than you Southern softies, you know."

"I hope they aren't," Sally said. "Danny'll be impossible if no-one succumbs to him."

"Inconsolable, even," Jo added. "I'm not sure I could put up with 'im cryin' into 'is 'air-gel all the way 'ome."

Even Jim Carver laughed at that one.

"Okay then," said Meadows, "if you're agreeable, Sally, that's what we'll do. You, Jo, Danny -- an' you, Tosh?"

"Yeah, I'll go," Tosh said. "Keep me busy."

"Right, then. We'll get that fixed up," Meadows decided. "An' I'll send some back-up, too."

"Does it *really* need four CID officers and some uniforms to go, guv?" Suzi Croft asked.

"Davey Leonard's a nasty piece," Meadows replied. "I want these provincial plods to be *well* aware of what they're dealin' with. 'E's branched out a bit since 'e was strippin' lead off roofs in the Potteries. I'm surprised 'is reputation 'asn't preceded 'im, to be honest. Anyway, turnin' out in force will soon sort that out -- even if it's only Leonard's sidekick, at least we'll 'ave *one* o' the bastards. Stop the West Mids Police decidin' off their own bat as they've got nothin' to charge 'im with."

"It's a shame the West Midlands Serious Crime Squad's been disbanded, guv," Tosh said dryly. "We could've got a charge made up to stick to 'im *no* trouble."

"Yeah," Carver remarked. "I often wondered if they were really the Seriously *Funny* Crime Squad meself."

The others giggled and chortled. "All right, all right, calm down you lot," Meadows chided them ruefully.

"DCs Greig, Skase and Woods are going to be pretty sick to have missed out on all this excitement," Sally observed with a grin.

"Well it's about time Rod Skase got down to some of 'is paper-work," Danny Pearce replied.

"An' Alistair shouldn't've gone off sick an' Woodsy shouldn't've gone off on leave to Inverauchtermuchtyary or wherever the hell it is in Jockland that 'e comes from," Carver declared, somewhat unsympathetically.

"That's very *cruel*, Jim," Sally said, grinning. "And I thought you were such a *sweetie*..."

"Well 'e does 'ave a *face* like a well-chewed toffee, guv," offered Tosh helpfully.

"Ha bloody ha," snorted Carver, disgruntled.

Within a few hours, everything had been organized and Sally, Jo, Danny and Tosh were preparing to set off for the Midlands with a bunch of uniformed officers and all the relevant documentation. Meadows, as before, expressed concerned for Sally's well-being.

"Are you sure you can handle this, Sally? If not, you only have to say."

"Of *course*, guv," she replied, feeling uncomfortable. "I know what people are saying about me; this could be my chance to show them I've not totally lost it!"

"Is there anything you want to tell me about before you go?"

"*Guv*," said Sally, exasperated, "this isn't the time for an ad hoc counselling session! I mean, thanks for the offer, but I've got a job to do. I'll pull myself together somehow. There are too many people out to get me at Sun Hill. I want to get back to pulling my weight *properly*."

"And that's very commendable. Just remember, you know my door's always open."

"Thanks, guv." He meant well, she thought, but there was *no* way she could tell him what was on her mind.

"Are you sure about this, guv?" Jo asked, as they made their way up the motorway, Danny and Tosh sound asleep in the back of the car.

"Not you as *well*, Jo! Sally sighed. "I've already had this from DCI Meadows -- have I got a *Hug me -- I've had a bad day* card stuck to my back?"

"No -- but you just don't seem to 'ave been yourself lately," Jo shrugged as she over-took a slow-moving Morris Minor. "I never realized that the Ruddick case 'ad affected you so much."

Sally sighed. She'd had her sticky moments with Jo, but she liked and trusted her. "It's not *just* that," she said at last. "Some -- *personal* things have been getting me down too."

"I see. An' I don't suppose you want to talk about 'em?"

Sally smiled wanly and shook her head. "Don't take it the wrong way, Jo. After all, it's unprofessional to bring problems in your home life into work. Anyway, they're just not the sort of thing I *can* talk about. Especially not with our Sleeping Beauties in the back there."

"More like the Ugly Sisters, if you ask me," observed Jo wryly.

Sally giggled. "Nice one. We'll be there in only an hour or so -- I can't think *why* they felt they needed their beauty sleep."

"Well, Danny wants to make sure 'e's lookin' 'is best, of course. An' Tosh 'ad a bad night -- one of 'is kiddies was poorly. At least 'e 'as a *legitimate* excuse!"

The two of them burst into giggles Pearce let out a loud snore.

"Hardly the answer to a maiden's prayer, is he!" Sally chuckled.

"You can say *that* again," agreed Jo. "Which reminds me, guv. You never *did* tell me 'ow you got on on your big night out the other Saturday. Must be a month ago now. 'Ow did it go?"

Sally's stomach knotted. "Well..."

"Meet anyone nice?" Jo continued cheerfully.

"I -- yeah, I met someone nice," Sally replied, keeping her tone as light and non- committal as possible.

"*And*?"

Sally grimaced. "*And* nothing, Jo. It didn't work out."

"Oh, that's a shame, guv."

"It is," Sally sighed. "I met someone I could've been really happy with, but it just didn't work out. Next day I realized I'd made a terrible mistake and -- well, we didn't exactly part on good terms."

"Sorry to 'ear that, guv. You 'ad such 'igh 'opes, too!"

"Maybe they were *too* high," Sally chuckled wryly. "But do you know what the worst of it is, Jo? The worst of it is that I regret it now."

"What -- splittin' up, or gettin' involved in the first place?"

That was a good question. "I'm not sure," Sally admitted thoughtfully. "I wouldn't've missed the experience for the world, but... I regret splitting up, but then it would've been easier not to get involved at all. Then again, what we had was very special; it meant a lot to me."

"Well," Jo sighed, "sometimes that's the way it's meant to be. Maybe it wouldn't've worked out at all if it'd lasted any longer -- an' what you *did* 'ave would get buried under all the debris."

"That's certainly one way of looking at it. One that makes sense, too!"

"Where did you meet?"

"In a bar. I intended going to some flash place up West, but ended up somewhere completely different by mistake. A *lucky* mistake, as it turned out, but -- well, maybe I should just leave it as that: a lucky mistake."

"The path of true love never runs smooth, eh, guv?"

"You can say *that* again..."

Tosh and Danny snored on until the car left the motorway and then began to make its way through the industrial heart of the Midlands; then the two plain-clothes officers yawned and stretched and finally returned to consciousness.

"Stone the crows," Danny said, after waking up and peering out of the window at the passing desolate scene of deserted factories, filthy canals, broken windows, boarded-up shops and general urban decay around them. "This is pretty grim, isn't it?"

"That's the Black Country, that is," Tosh informed him. "Once the country's industrial heartland. But as you can see, the recession's not done it any favours. A lost generation, that is. It's a wasteland, now."

"Give over, Tosh, for *God's* sake," Jo retorted.

"Do you know why they *call* it the *Black Country*?" Tosh pressed on, undaunted. "Do you?"

"Because of the 'igh number of our ethnic brethren livin' 'ere?" offered Pearce, earning himself a stiff reprimand all round in the process.

"*No*, my son. When I first joined the force I was stationed in Chesterfield with a bloke from down this way 'oo was well into local 'istory -- an' whenever 'e mentioned the Black Country *we* always said the same thing. But apparently it's been called that for about 150 years."

"Nyeea," Jo scoffed at Pearce.

"They were a rough lot too, some of 'em," Tosh added. "'Alf the outlaws an' villains of the Wild West 'ad ancestors from round 'ere. I think it was Wyatt Earp 'oo 'ad family in Tipton -- or was it Walsall? No, Darleston, I think. *Somewhere* like that. 'Eart of the Industrial Revolution, this was, you know. Just think -- this used to be full of factories, foundries, chain-makin' shops, you name it. Smoke darkened the skies by day, an' at night the fires of the furnaces could be seen for miles. There's some poem about the Devil sayin' as 'Ell was dull in comparison. Queen Victoria always used to drive through with 'er carriage blinds down."

"I can't say as I blame 'er," Pearce muttered.

"You've no romance in your soul, you. Did you know that this was where they built the anchor and chain for the *Titanic*?"

"Didn't do it much good though, did it," Pearce replied.

"Like I said," continued Tosh doggedly. "That's why it's called what it is. And that's why, since the big industries were knackered by the recession, things aren't too pretty these days."

"But the same could be said for a lot of other industrial areas in Britain, Tosh," Jo pointed out. "Look at Sheffield, for a start."

Tosh nodded. "True," he agreed. "I'm just offerin' you a bit of local colour an' 'istory."

"And then they say policemen are just thick, brain-dead woodentops," giggled Sally.

Jo gave her a wry look. "Well *some* of them are: I 'aven't seen the uniformed lads since we stopped at the last service station..."

* * * * * * * * *

Brierley Hill High Street, with its mixture of smart and shabby shops, a library, and indoor market, was almost deserted. The whole town seemed quiet; a consequence, no doubt, of the sprawling Merry Hill Centre nearby, built on the site of the old Round Oak Steel Works and apparently the largest shopping complex of its kind in Europe. All well and good, Sally supposed; but if such places killed off the trade in the surrounding towns, then these out-of-town shopping monoliths weren't so much an antidote to urban decay as being partly to blame for dead communities and run-down shopping precincts.

The uniformed officers were finally found to be behind the CID car, and Tosh and Pearce had to be verbally restrained from waving and making rude gestures at PCs McGann and Garfield.

"Don't tell me," Sally turned to Jo. "They've got Quinnan in the back there as well, haven't they..."

"Need you ask?" sighed Jo. "*And* Tony Stamp. What an impression this lot are goin' to make, eh?"

"It's frightening," nodded Sally. "That's what it is. *Frightening*."

The police station was a big, formidable square building which stood alone on a piece of ground set well back from the High Street a little patch of formal garden and some bus-stops in front of it. Directly adjoining the station was the Civic Hall, on the facade of which was a large hoarding advertising a forthcoming appearance by local comedian Tommy Mundon and an amateur production of THE SOUND OF MUSIC. The latter immediately inspired an impromptu rendering of "The Lonely Goat-Herd" -- or "Goat-*Turd*", as Tosh insisted, brought to a halt only by the uniformed officers competing with a truly *horrible* version of "Climb Every Mountain", a delicate song desecrated as only an insensitive bunch of London policemen with a strange sense of humour *can* desecrate a song after being cooped up in a car with each other for a couple of hours.

"I wonder, sometimes, if men ever really grow up, you know," Jo mused as she and Sally headed for the police station foyer.

"That thought," sighed Sally, as the male officers trooped along behind them, "has often occurred to me, too..."

"For Pete's sake," Jo hissed, as they pushed open the inner door and a chorus of "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To Work We Go" preceded them in volume and vigour. "I wish we could pretend they weren't with us. Just because this is a provincial station doesn't mean that we can play the 'high-powered cops from the Met' routine an' act like we know it all. Just *listen* to them: they won't let us as far as the *coffee*-machine, let alone the damn cells."

"Good morning!" said the officer on the front desk pleasantly. He was closed in behind a plexiglass window with a movable set of little plexiglass blinds through which he could speak to visitors. "Can I help you, ladies?"

Jo and Sally held out their warrant cards. "Good morning," Sally smiled. "I'm DI Sally Johnson from Sun Hill Police Station in London, and this is my colleague, WDC Jo Morgan. I believe you're expecting us?"

The officer consulted the desk diary. "That's right," he smiled. "Come about this Leonard bloke, right? Yes, we're expecting you. Just one moment..." He left the window and walked out of the front desk office and up the corridor to the security door with its key-punch lock; he undid the door from the other side, then opened it. "Come on in, ladies," he said. "And I believe you have some other officers with you?"

"Oh God," sighed Sally. "You can hear them, can you? I'm really sorry about that, but -- well, they've been cooped up together since we left London and you know what they say, boys will be boys..."

"Say no more, miss," the desk sergeant grinned. "I quite understand!"

PCs McGann, Garfield, Quinnan and Stamp were dispatched to the canteen and Jo, Sally, Tosh and Danny went up to the CID Office at the top of the building, a large, low-ceilinged room with windows set high in the walls and partitioned-off sections for the more senior officers.

"I can't see Cato agreeing to muck in with us like this lot do, guv," Tosh remarked to Sally.

"Would we *want* him, though, Tosh, that's the question!" Sally grinned.

As they entered, the office was surprisingly rowdy. Again Sally was forced to attribute this to the natural bullishness of the male of the species, who needed to display himself and remind the visitors of whose territory they were in -- particularly as the most senior officer present was female. All the same, once honour had been satisfied and the London officers had managed to attune their ears to the sing-song Black Country accent and were able to translate the bizarre accompanying dialect, they found the CID officers very pleasant and not at all resentful towards the influx of officers from the Met. In fact, they treated Sally and Jo with a rough but gentlemanly politeness which was really rather charming; such old-world protectiveness *could've* been considered patronizing, but instead the women found it extremely flattering -- their genuine welcome had no mocking edge to it, which they found very refreshing.

They were given tea and biscuits whilst the officers they needed to see were being located; Danny went off to the canteen to find some WPCs to chat up, Tosh went with him to find something to eat, and Sally and Jo talked over the plans concerning their visit. If the prisoner being held here *was* Davey Leonard, he'd be put into a secure vehicle and sent on his way; if it transpired that it was merely his sidekick, they'd arrange for him to be transferred and everyone could return home happy.

When the subject was exhausted they sat back and watched the entertainment provided by preening male CID officers and considered the journey home.

"I'm not sure I fancy the trek back, do you, Jo?"

"I *don't*," Jo agreed. "Do you think there's any chance that we could stay over in a hotel somewhere an' go back in the mornin'?"

"How will Tosh and Danny get back, though?"

"Well, if it *is* Davey Leonard they've got 'ere, at least one of the uniformed plods could go back in the van with 'im, an' then Tosh an' Danny could take the spare places in their car."

"Mmmmn, sounds good to me," Sally admitted. "We could book into a hotel in Birmingham and head off back down the motorway first thing in the morning. Is that a telephone directory there? We could start taking down numbers now."

Jo grinned. "Good idea, guv."

Meanwhile, the rowdiness continued. With it being a Monday, memories of the weekend were still fresh -- and so the performances of the various local football teams was of paramount importance.

"What about the Albion on Saturday then, Teece?" one officer addressed a colleague four tables away.

"Bloody magic," came the reply. "Premiere division next season for us, maete. An' what about the Villa? Bloody crap, wor they?"

"Ar, they were." Teece's friend adopted a newscaster's patrician tones. "A police spokesman said today that West Bromwich Albion look set for the Premiere Division next season, but that Aston Villa's performance on Saturday was bloody crap."

"Think Wolves will do any better under Graham Taylor?" Teece enquired.

"'Oo -- old turnip yed?"

"'As 'e gone to Wolves, then?" asked someone else.

"Wheer the bloody 'ell 'ave *yow* bin all season?" demanded yet another voice. "Bloody typical. Yed up 'is arse as usual."

"Blimey," remarked Jo. "Makes *our* office at Sun 'Ill seem a bit staid..."

Eventually Sally, Jo Morgan, Danny Pearce and Tosh Lines were collected by the relevant CID officers, a WDC Flint and a DC Fletcher, then taken down to identify the prisoner calling himself Davey Leonard.

Sally took first look -- and came away nodding vigorously. "That's him," she said triumphantly. "No question.

The others followed suit. "Yep, that's the scumbag, guv," Jo agreed.

"No question, guv," Tosh added.

"I'd know that ugly mug anywhere," affirmed Danny. "That's the toe-rag all right."

"Great," replied WDC Flint. "We'll be glad to get 'im off our 'ands!"

"A pleasure," Sally assured her.

"Right, that's it then -- 'e's all yours!"

In no time at all Leonard's transfer had been arranged. Sally and Jo booked themselves into a Birmingham hotel as they'd agreed, and Tosh and Danny managed to squeeze places for themselves with the others returning to Sun Hill. Sally was almost sad that it was all over; now that their mission had been accomplished, she had a great sense of anti-climax. Still, there was always the hotel to look forward to, instead of the prospect of having to make their way through the rush-hour traffic towards the motorway. And the hotel, when she and Jo had driven the eleven or so miles into Birmingham and found it, was *very* nice.

"This must be costing us a bomb," Sally remarked. "It's not going to look too good on our expenses, Jo."

"Maybe not. But I think we deserve it, don't you?"

Sally looked around the room. No luxury item or flounce seemed to have been left out of the decor; some interior designer had obviously thought it best not to omit *any* decorative touch, no matter how minor. "I feel like I hardly dare *breathe* in case I disturb something."

Jo fell back on her bed. "Rubbish. Just relax an' enjoy it, guv; I think we've earned it." She punched one of the scatter cushions on the coverlet into a more comfortable shape. "I think," she continued, "I'm goin' to go down an' 'ave a nose round the 'otel shop, an' then I'm goin' to come back an' 'ave a shower, order somethin' from room service, an' then watch telly. Is that okay with you, guv?"

"Fine by me," Sally replied. "I see they have in-house movies, too. How does THELMA AND LOUISE grab you?"

"*Yeah*, I've still not seen that! What time's it on?"

"There are regular showings all night. One's not long started. Next one's about 9.00pm."

"Oh, that'll suit me," Jo grinned. "I'll be about ready for it then." She got up off the bed and then headed for the door. "I'll see you later," she said. "Is there anythin' I can get you?"

"*Ummmm*," Sally smiled dreamily. "I could just eat a some of that minty Fry's Chocolate Cream. Get me some of that, would you, Jo? Say -- about two bars of each -- and some of the fruit flavour one?"

"Will do, guv," Jo chuckled as she headed for the door.

When Jo's footsteps had faded, Sally settled down on her bed and switched on the television. Switching idly from channel to channel, she found the movie channel and was soon half-watching THELMA AND LOUISE as she snuggled up to her pillow and studied the room service menu. Eventually she tossed the menu back onto the bedside cabinet and then switched her attention to the film proper -- and after about five minutes found a hot flush beginning to sweep up from her belly to the top of her head.

The likeness, she had to admit, wasn't exact. The height wasn't the same, and neither were the features. The hair wasn't the same shade of apricot red. The eyes were brown and not leaf-green. But the more she saw of Geena Davis, the more Sally found herself thinking of Frith -- and suddenly felt immeasurably lost and lonely. She wrapped her arms around her pillow and hugged it to her, wishing it was Frith she held in her arms and not a cloth and kapok substitute.

She looked at the phone beside the bed. Time was getting on, and she didn't know how long Jo would be in the hotel shop -- but now she was seized with the urge to phone Frith again. Maybe this time she wouldn't lose her nerve when Frith answered. Then a devastating thought struck her: what if another woman answered? What if Frith already had a new lover? How would she cope with *that*?

With trembling fingers she pressed the button to get an outside line, dialled the appropriate London code and then punched the buttons for Frith's number. She heard the clicks as the exchange processed the number, then a seemingly endless pause, then the dialling tone. She let the phone ring several times, then dropped the receiver back into its cradle. Cursing herself for her cowardice, she re-dialled and was just about to put the phone down again when the receiver was picked up at the other end. For a moment she couldn't recognize the voice and her heart lurched in anguished disappointment -- and then, as the voice grew increasingly tetchy in its demands to know who was calling, she realized who the voice belonged to.

"Fucking *answer* me, will you!" Dil exclaimed. "*Hello*!"

"Here, give it to me, Dil..."

On hearing Frith's voice, Sally put the phone down. Well, at least that was some reassurance that Frith hadn't yet found someone else. Hearing Dil's voice had made her smile as she remembered how much she'd liked her: hearing Frith's voice had only brought on the sweet agony of longing.

She dialled once more, and this time Frith herself answered. "Hello? Who *is* this?" There was a sigh. "Look, just who *are* you? Why are you doing this to me?"

For a moment Sally hesitated -- then heard Jo turn the key in the lock. Immediately she slammed down the receiver and moved as far away from the phone as she could.

"Got your chocolate, guv," Jo said, shutting the door behind her. "I don't know how you can eat all this stuff an' *still* 'ave a great figure an' no spots." She stopped and stared. "Are you all right, guv? You look awful."

"Do I?" Sally ran a hand through her hair and smiled wanly. "It's been a long day, Jo, and it's just caught up with me! Travelling up this far with Danny and Tosh snoring all the way is bound to make *anyone* look pretty rough."

"I know, look at me; *I've* aged twenty years!" Jo laughed. "I'm surprised you don't look a damn sight worse! Well 'ere's your chocolate, anyway. Two-ten you owe me. Now then." She sank down in a snugly up-holstered arm-chair, then cocked her head in the direction of the television. "This been good?" she asked.

"Ummmn?"

"THELMA AN' LOUISE; 'as it been any good?"

"Sorry, I've not really been watching it. I thought I'd wait until later and watch it through properly."

"Good idea." Jo began to study the room-service menu. "What do you fancy for dinner? I thought I might go for somethin' a bit posh tonight; 'ow about you?"

"Sounds good to me!"

"Fancy anythin' in particular?"

"Oh, I'll have whatever you do. Surprise me!"

"Sure? Right. Well..." Jo rattled off a few suggestions, to which Sally said yea or nay as her appetite led her. At that moment she wasn't 100% interested in food, but didn't want to mar her colleague's enjoyment of the kind of pleasures not usually reserved for mere police-officers. Eventually Jo had established a menu of sorts, which she put to Sally for her approval.

"Sounds good to me," Sally smiled. "How much of this are we going to put down on expenses, and how much do you think ought to come out of our own pockets?"

Jo thought for a while. "Look at it this way. This is Birming'am, not London -- it's expensive, this 'otel, but it's not the *most* expensive 'otel in the city. It's certainly not as expensive as some less grand 'otel would be back 'ome. I don't think they'll quibble *that* much, guv."

"Okay," grinned Sally. "You've convinced me."

"Right. Well, if it's okay with you, I'll 'ave me shower first, an' then we'll give room service a call. I don't want to eat *too* soon, do you? All that tea an' biscuits they gave us at the station 'as filled me up!"

"I know what you mean," nodded Sally, feeling at that moment that if she was to eat even the tiniest morsel the food would stick in her throat.

Jo stood up to go to the bathroom, kicked off her shoes, and then let out a groan. "*Damn*! I've snagged my bloody tights!"

"And I don't have a spare pair I can lend you," sighed Sally ruefully.

"Well, I don't particularly want to set off tomorrow lookin' like the wreck of the 'Esperus, so I'll have to go back down to the shop." She laughed. "Still, it'll give me an excuse to have another nose round." She marched off towards the door again. "Won't be long, guv. Do you want anythin' else while I'm there? Right. I'll see you later, then."

As soon as Jo's footsteps had faded, Sally's eyes were drawn back to the phone. Clenching and unclenching her fists as she struggled with her conscience, she knew that there was only one thing she could -- and should -- do. She picked up the remote control and switched off the tv; then, her heart pounding, she punched the buttons.

The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity, but was eventually answered by a man. Immediately Sally's heart sank: for God's sake -- a wrong number!

"It'll be that fucking crank caller again." No, wait -- that was *Dil's* voice she heard in the background.

"*What* fucken crank caller?" was Fergus' bemused reply. "Why do youse girls never tell me *anythin*'?"

Encouraged, Sally clutched the receiver more tightly. "Shut up!" she hissed down the phone. "Shut *up*!"

"Whoever it is has just told me to shut up!" announced Fergus, sounding endearingly affronted.

"For Christ's sake! Is Frith there?"

"Who wants her?"

"A friend."

"*What* friend?"

She paused, then took a deep breath, wondering if an over-protective Fergus might refuse to let Frith speak to her. "A good friend who -- should've been a *better* one."

"All this an' fucken philosophy, too..."

"Don't piss about," Sally snapped. "Is Frith there or not? I want to speak to her."

"Why?"

If he kept this up, Jo would be back and she'd have lost her chance. "Look, buster, I don't have the time to stand here while you fanny about. Is Frith Gerland there or isn't she? If she isn't, then fine -- but if she is, I'd like to talk to her. Please."

"It's for you," Fergus said from a distance, obviously holding out the phone to Frith.

"Who is it?"

"Says it's a friend." The voices sounded as though their owners could be over a million miles away. "Wouldn't say who."

There was an agonizing pause until Frith said: "Give me the phone, Fergus." There were various scrabbling noises and then Frith's voice was loud and clear. "Hello?"

"Frith?" Sally began. "Don't let the others know, but it's me. Sally." <Christ,> she thought suddenly. <I wonder if she remembers?> "Sally Johnson?" she added helpfully.

"Have you been trying to get me before?" Frith's voice sounded oddly cautious and non-committal.

"I'm -- afraid so."

"Is everything all right, hon?" Dil asked.

Frith spoke into the room again. "It's fine, Dil. Thanks for coming over. I'll see you two tomorrow, okay?"

"You're not coming to the Metro with us?" Dil asked.

"No. There's something I have to sort out first."

"If you're sure," Fergus said.

"I'm sure. Thanks again. G'night, kids." Sally heard their farewells, and then the sound of a door closing. "So, Sally," Frith said, a tired edge in her voice. "To what do I owe *this* unexpected pleasure?"

"I -- wanted to talk," Sally stammered.

"Oh. Okay then."

"How are you?"

"Fine. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

"That's good."

They continued to exchange pleasantries, observations on the weather, discussions of the health of Dil, Fergus and Col and how things were at the Metro these days. The conversation was agonizingly stilted, but that actually seemed to be a good sign; at least Frith hadn't slammed the phone down on her. To Sally's relief, Frith displayed no hostility towards her, which was what she'd expected. Sally longed to tell Frith how much she missed and wanted her; but both of them seemed rather shy, and it didn't seem to be the right time to make any such declaration. All the same, the warmth in Frith's voice encouraged Sally's hopes. <God, I want you so *much*...> Sally thought, as her imagination and memory reminded her of how Frith's voice had sounded when they were making love to each other. <So why can't I just *say* it? Why can't I just say "Frith, I love you and I want you back, and I'm sorry about what happened, but it seemed like the right thing at the time"?> Now it didn't even faze Sally to consider declaring her love for Frith; there were times when the only right thing to do was to listen to what the heart was saying.

Inevitably, the fateful question arose. "Why *did* you walk out on me like that?" Frith asked pleasantly. There was no accusation in her voice, but Sally couldn't help feeling guilty. "Don't you know that you broke my heart when you dumped me? It would be nice to know *why* you felt we didn't have a future together."

"Oh Frith..." sighed Sally. Just talking to her former lover tore her insides to shreds. "It's -- all just so difficult to explain."

"I wish you'd *try*. God knows, I thought I'd finally found what I'd been looking for when I met you; someone who really *did* want me for me and not for a quick, cheap thrill. There I was, showing you off to my friends, showing them how proud I was of you, telling them how happy one night with you had made me, how much you meant to me -- and then there I was, left looking like a fool yet again. Can't you imagine how I felt when you told me you didn't want to see me again? How much of an idiot I felt? How I couldn't see how I was going to be able to face my friends again?"

"I'm sorry," Sally whispered. "Really I am. But it's not just you, Frith; you don't know how *I've* been suffering since we split. My work's gone down the tubes, everyone thinks I'm going crazy, and I could end up either being demoted or losing my job because I miss you so much. But it's also having to get used to the fact that it's a *woman* I want. I suppose it shouldn't be different -- love is love is love -- but I'm having to rethink a lot about myself."

"Don't rethink *too* much," Frith said softly. "I love you the way you are."

"We talk so much about love," Sally sighed. "We keep *using* the word. Can we *really* feel like this about each other so soon?"

"Of *course* we can. The heart knows -- the heart *always* knows. That's what Col says, anyway -- and he's right: who knows the secrets of the human heart?"

Sally shook her head. "This is crazy. I've always been a no-nonsense, straightforward girl. I may bend, but I don't break. I don't make myself a fool for love -- my career comes first and I let nothing get in the way of that. I don't go to pieces over a man -- a *lover*," she corrected herself, "because I'm too strong for that. So why, then, do I feel like this where *you're* concerned?"

"Because maybe you've finally met your match," Frith chuckled. "Or maybe I'm what you need." Suddenly her voice was low, gentle, and almost more tender than Sally could bear. "Or maybe you've just never really been in love before."

"But what happens when the *lust* dies?" Sally protested feebly. "What happens when we have to get to know each *out* of bed? We might find we hate each other."

"I doubt it," laughed Frith. "They always say that you know when you meet the right one. *I* knew the minute you came over to us in the Metro. Love at first sight does happen, Sally, and I know it can last." She chuckled. "It did with my parents, so maybe it runs in my genes."

"But I hardly know you -- and *you* hardly know *me*."

Frith sighed. "It'll be all right. I can *feel* it. Can't *you*?"

<Christ...*yes*...> "You know I can..."

"So why did you walk out on me?"

Sally sighed. "I can't explain it now, Frith. I wanted it to be a calm, civilized parting -- but now I know that would've been impossible."

"Not with me feeling the way I feel about *you*, love."

"And I care for you too, Frith. I care for you so much that it hurts, and I knew it then -- but I got scared. I wouldn't be talking to you now if I didn't care. And you were right -- I *have* tried calling you before. But I always chickened out when you answered. Until now."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't chicken out this time! I still want you to explain why you walked out on me, though. So when can we meet again?"

"When I'm back in London," Sally said, her delight soaring.

"Where are you now?"

"Birmingham. At a conference," she improvised. "I'll phone you when I'm back in London. We'll meet up then."

"Okay."

Sally found herself blushing and becoming light-headed with relief at Frith's warmth and welcome -- and also becoming aroused by just the sound of her lover's voice. "I've missed you *so* much," she said huskily. "I keep reliving our time together."

Frith laughed. "So do I." Now her voice was as throaty as Sally's.

"I keep thinking of how it felt -- how *you* felt."

"And *I* keep thinking of how delicious your cunt tasted when I went down on you."

A spear of fire shot through Sally's loins. "I wish you were here to go down on me now," she replied, suddenly bold; even as the wish was out of her mouth she couldn't believe that she'd actually said the words.

"*I* wish I was there to go down on you!" Frith chuckled, her voice low and smoky. "Mmmn, *yeah*," she purred. "I could just do with that now..."

"Could you?" Sally found her breath coming more quickly as she squirmed on the bed, feeling herself growing wetter and hotter. "So could I..."

Frith's laugh became darker. "And I wish I could feel you rubbing yourself on me -- or your hand between my legs and your fingers stroking my clit...your lips on my nipples...you telling me how much you love me..."

Smiling with pleasure at the very thought, Sally closed her eyes. "Please...*don't*..." she groaned. "That's not *fair*! Not when I'm here without you..." Suddenly she heard the sound of Jo's footsteps coming down the corridor. "My room-mate's coming," she whispered hurriedly down the phone. "I must go, honey."

"Call me as soon as you're back in London," answered Frith. Then she giggled huskily. "I can't *wait* to get you back into my bed, Sally -- my mouth's watering at the very thought..."

"Mine too," Sally admitted, more excited than shocked by Frith's obvious desire for her.

"Call me," Frith repeated, voice tender and warm. "Call me the minute you get back. I miss you. We *all* do, no matter what Col or Fergus or Dil might say to your face. I love you. Come home to me soon."

"I will, I promise. I love you."

She put down the phone just as Jo's key rattled in the lock.

"Sorry I took so long," Jo said as she swept in, "but first I couldn't find a shade I liked, an' then it took ages to find my size."

"That's all right," Sally replied, struggling to regain her composure. "I -- I was busy making some phone-calls."

"Fair enough." Suddenly Jo looked closely at Sally. "Are you okay, guv? You look a bit more cheerful than when I left, but you do look a little flushed."

Sally brushed a guilty hand across her forehead. "I'm really knackered, Jo. I think I'll have a soak in the bath after your shower, have that dinner you promised, and then settle down for the night. It'll be a long day tomorrow."

"Right," Jo agreed, pulling a face. "I'm not lookin' forward to the motorway one bit. Still," she added, brightening, "at least we won't 'ave to put up with Tosh an' Danny all the way back."

Sally giggled. "I'd forgotten that," she admitted. "You see, *every* cloud has its silver lining!"

Jo rolled her eyes. "You're right, guv," she chuckled.

Jo undressed and then went into the bathroom. Sally heard the bolt go across the door and then the sound of Jo singing over the hiss of the shower.

She began to undress for her bath, but the urgent feelings between her thighs wouldn't go away. She tried to ignore them as she took off the last of her clothes and then lay down on the bed to read a magazine Jo had bought at a service station; but this just seemed to make things worse. Lying naked on the duvet reminded her of being on Frith's bed -- and then she remembered her earlier phone conversation. She knew she should've been thinking of her happiness at Frith's obvious forgiveness of that thoughtlessly hasty departure and pleasure at hearing Sally's voice -- but all she could think of were their passionate expressions of sexual desire. And little wonder, she thought, as she threw the magazine aside: Frith lying between her spread thighs, hands cupping her buttocks and her eager tongue lapping greedily at her vulva was *just* what she could do with right now. She could almost feel Frith's fingers parting her wet folds and her tongue --

Listening for a moment to make sure that Jo was definitely settled in the shower, Sally closed her eyes and then slowly ran her hands voluptuously over her naked body, imagining that it was Frith's large, freckled hands that were fondling her breasts and tugging on her erect nipples. And then, her left hand continuing its caresses, she spread her legs wide and drew up her knees, then slid her right-hand fingers deep into the slippery heat that welcomed them, her thumb stroking her hardened clitoris. The fantasies that flooded her mind as she lifted her hips to meet the urgent rhythm of her hand were extraordinarily vivid. She had no difficulty in conjuring Frith up as she masturbated, picturing the two of them as they must have looked that night in London. As her fingers plunged deeper and her lower body thrust upwards to meet them, she could feel Frith's thighs gripping her -- could feel her lips -- tongue -- fingers -- hands -- breasts -- cunt --

-- And then she was biting the inside of her mouth, tasting a slight trickle of iron-salt blood as she climaxed violently and had to clamp her lips firmly shut to stop herself from crying out in ecstatic release. When the delicious spasms were over she lay panting on the bed, then curled herself up into a ball. It wouldn't be long now, she thought. Soon she'd be back in London again. Home. And back home again where she belonged: in Frith's warm, cradling, encircling arms.

* * * * * * * * *

DCI Meadows was ecstatic. "'E's coughed," he announced triumphantly to the CID Office. "That scumbag Leonard 'as put 'is 'ands up to those bank an' post office blaggin's. An' talk about honour amongst thieves, 'e's also told us where we can find 'is accomplice, one Nicholas James 'Utton. 'E's got a flat on the Jasmine Allen estate. 'Oo's up for goin' round there now an' pullin' 'im in?"

"Me, for starters," Sally said at once. "I wouldn't miss this for anything."

"An' me, guv," said Tosh. "'E's a nasty piece, that 'Utton."

"Yeah," nodded Carver. "I'm game. I saw what was left of a security guard 'e did over once. A nice man."

"Anyone else interested?"

"Me, guv," Jo put up her hand. "You can count me in."

As they headed for the squad cars, Sally's blood was up. She loved the thrill of the chase and of finally bringing a villain in to book -- and with Leonard in custody and the prospect of hauling in Hutton, the case seemed to be concluding itself very nicely. She'd still not had chance to ring Frith as she'd promised, since everything had suddenly come together very quickly on this case; but tonight -- *tonight*, she'd told herself happily, she'd contact Frith and arrange to meet. The future was looking spectacularly bright!

On reaching the relevant block of flats on the run-down Jasmine Allen estate, the cars were parked in the courtyard and the officers converged on the landing outside Hutton's flat. Meadows pounded on the door, demanding entrance, while Sgt Boyden and PC Loxton stood to one side, truncheons raised, ready to smash down the door or break the door-glass to gain entrance if necessary. But after barely half a dozen thumps, the door was opened by a slatternly young woman, face averted, wearing a tatty nylon house-coat.

"Morning, Myra," Meadows said pleasantly. This wasn't the first time that the paths of himself and Myra Beckinsale had crossed. "Nick in, is 'e?" Suddenly he stood back and stared at her. "*Christ*, Myra," he said, genuinely shocked. "What the 'ell 'appened to you?" He examined the black eyes, bruises, bloody nose and split lip with horror. "Did that toe-rag 'Utton do this to you, Myra?"

"Whadda *you* fink?" replied Myra wearily. "'E says it's 'is way of showin' 'is affection -- but frankly I'd be 'appier wiv a box of chocs any day."

"You know where 'e is, Myra?"

"I take it that's why you're 'ere?"

"'Is mate Davey Leonard 'as coughed to some blaggin's an' put your Nick in the frame for 'em too. We *would* rather like a word with 'im, yeah. Where can we find 'im, Myra?"

Myra steadied herself against the door-frame, leaned forward, and fixed Meadows with a steely glare. "You gonna get that bastard put away, are ya?"

"With your 'elp, maybe. We could get 'im for ABH at the very least. If you tell us where 'e is, we'll go an' pick 'im up." Meadows turned to Tosh. "Tosh, get on the blower an' get WPC Datta over 'ere ayess-aypee."

"Will do, guv," nodded Tosh, speaking into his radio as Meadows turned back to Hutton's girlfriend.

"Don't worry," he smiled. "We'll just get someone over 'ere to look after you an' then take you down to Sun 'Ill to make a statement. That suit you, Myra?"

Myra stood back and drew the housecoat closer around her thin shoulders. "Just give me time to get dressed," she answered.

"WPC Datta will be 'ere soon -- she'll keep an eye on you. You'd better get that face seen to as well," Meadows added. "When you come down the station we'll get the MO to 'ave a look at you. Now. Where will we find Nick, Myra?"

"At that shop in Farrell Street," Myra replied.

"What shop, Myra?"

Myra pulled a face. "'Beldame', it's called," she replied. "It's some sort of black magic shop. You know what a peculiar sod 'e is."

"You can say *that* again, Myra," Jo whispered under her breath.

Meadows thanked Myra and turned to lead the others back to the courtyard just as another squad car pulled into it and WPC Datta and Sgt Cryer got out and began to make their way up to the landing. As they settled back down in the CID car and headed off the estate, Sally turned to Jo. "What did Myra mean, that Hutton's a peculiar sod? And what's the significance of this shop on Farrell Street?"

Jo gave a rueful grin. "It's before your time, guv, but it's well-known that 'Utton's into black magic -- calls 'imself a Satanist. 'E's one of that bunch as think it's great fun to go around desecratin' churchyards, crucifyin' toads an' frogs, openin' up graves, that kind of thing. 'Is idea of goin' trick or treatin' is to impale dog's 'eads on sticks or railin's outside the 'ouses of people 'e doesn't like -- or sendin' curses written in blood to people 'oo've upset 'im. Honestly, Denis Wheatley would *love* 'im."

Carver made an amused grunt, but Meadows smiled thinly and raised an index finger. "Be warned, though -- 'Utton's a nutter. 'E thinks 'e's Aleister Crowley an' reckons as 'e's in direct contact with Lucifer. 'E's probably the only man I know 'oo sees Peter Sutcliffe as an ideal role model."

Sally grimaced. "Ugh -- *charming*. But where does the shop fit in?"

"'Beldame' is an occult supplies shop," Meadows explained. "It sells books, magical equipment, oils, incenses, tarot cards, jewellery, crystals, posters, tapes, scourges -- in fact, anythin' as any self-respectin' occultist wouldn't be without."

"You sound like you know an awful lot about this place, guv," Sally remarked, with a grin to Jo.

Meadows smiled. "Oh, I've 'ad some dealin's with it," he admitted. "Some years back now the shop was bein' picketed by Christian fundamentalists 'oo wanted the shop closed down because it was -- what was it they said? -- attractin' negative forces to the area. Then these slogans started appearin' on the windows an' all over the shop -- an' then staff started bein' threatened an' the picketers made it impossible for customers to get anywhere *near* the shop, let alone buy anythin'. A few weeks later there was a break-in an' the place was vandalized -- all the breakable stuff was smashed up, paint was thrown everywhere, an' all the occult books were piled up in the middle of the floor, doused with petrol an' set alight. A computer an' its disks were stolen an' literature an' threats were sent to people on Beldame's mail-order list, their suppliers, editors of pagan magazines an' so on."

"Bloody 'ell, guv," commented Carver gruffly.

Meadows gave another anorexic smile. "A list of the 'ome addresses an' phone numbers of all the staff was also nicked an' not long after members of staff were bein' 'arrassed at 'ome -- even their kids were bein' threatened. Some 'ad to move out because they'd 'ave these loonies standin' vigil outside their 'ouses singing 'ymns, chantin' an' prayin' all hours of the day an' night. They'd get obscene phone-calls or answer-phone messages -- or the phone would ring twenty-four hours a day. An' they got loads of Christian anti-occult literature through the post, or they got dog-shit shovelled through their letter-boxes or threatenin' messages about 'ow all servants of Satan were legitimate targets for the fury of God's anger as directed through through this Christian group. Windows got smashed, delivery men were attacked an' threatened, that sort of thing. All in keepin' with the spirit an' message of Jesus Christ, you'll notice," he added acidly. "An' then, just as the shop was back on its feet again, it was fire-bombed an' almost forced to close."

"Good God," exclaimed Sally. "What happened in the end?"

Meadows shrugged. "We got a result. Once the police began to get seriously involved, all the minor trouble tailed off -- but a small 'ard-core of fanatics persisted. In the end the minister of a local evangelical church, some of 'is congregation an' two of 'is sons were caught red-'anded tryin' to break into the shop; I think they got community service orders an' probation, or somethin' -- nothin' anywhere *near* what they deserved, considerin' all the damage an' trouble they'd caused. *I* got to know the shop because I was assigned to the case at the time. They seemed to be a nice, pretty level-'eaded, down-to-earth bunch of people. I liked 'em, to be honest. I remember the owner's wife gave me some oil, incense an' crystals to bring me good luck in love, as it 'appens. An' before you ask, it *did* work, actually."

Not quite sure whether or not this comment was meant to be taken seriously, Sally and Jo looked at each other, while Meadows merely smirked cheerfully to himself in the rear-view mirror. The DCI could be a peculiar sod himself sometimes...

Quite what Sally had expected Beldame to look like, she wasn't sure -- but she felt an odd twinge of disappointment when it turned out to be a fairly ordinary-looking establishment, albeit with a thick chain-link mesh frame up at the windows and on the door, and metal roll-down shutters. In order that trouble-makers couldn't peer in, the glass was blocked by wooden boards as far as head-height, and the rest of the space was filled with t-shirts and pictures.

DCI Meadows gathered his troops around him and quickly gave out his orders and instructions, then marched him into the shop with Sally, Jo, Tosh and Carver, and Sgt Boyden, PC Loxton, Tony Stamp, PC Quinnan and PC Jarvis behind them.

Inside the shop it was quite dark, with spot-lights directed at counters groaning with merchandise, the racks of t-shirts, the shelves of books, and the till. A Trio Bulgarka tape played over the sound system, their plaintive voices sounding even more eerie in the semi-gloom. A pleasant scent of sandalwood met their nostrils, whilst what few customers there were in the crowded shop -- despite the odd multi-coloured alternative type bearing multifarious rings and studs from numerous pierced body parts -- were disappointingly ordinary. As the police entered, they glanced up at them, but merely returned to their perusal of the goods on sale once their curiosity was satisfied.

Meadows strode up to the counter, brandishing his warrant card. The chubby-faced middle-aged man behind the cash-register looked up, recognized him, and then beamed with delight. "'Ow do, mate. What can I do you for?"

"Mornin', Ted. An' 'ow are you?"

"Fine, thanks. What's your problem?"

"I believe you 'ave a regular customer name of Nicholas James Hutton?"

"Yeah."

"I also 'ave reason to believe that 'e's either been 'ere or is still 'ere this mornin' -- am I right?"

"Now Mr Meadows," Ted smiled. "There ain't no law against buyin' from me, you know."

"That's right, Ted. But there *is* a law against robbin' banks an' post offices an' against beatin' up 'is old lady. Now. 'Is 'e still 'ere, Ted? If not, can you tell me where we can find 'im?"

Ted's face changed. "Now that's a different matter, Mr Meadows; I don't 'old with violence of any sort." He jerked his head towards the wooden staircase to the left of him. "'E's up there. Been 'ere a while now. 'E's probably talkin' to Cath, upstairs -- she's into the same sort of thing as 'e is."

"Right. Well we'd better get on up there an' get 'old of 'im. Tosh, Jim, Quinnan an' Loxton -- you come wi' me; the rest of you stay down 'ere an' get ready to grab 'im if 'e makes a run for it an' we miss 'im." He turned back to the shop-owner. "Can we rely on you for a statement about 'Utton's movements this mornin'?"

"You bet."

"Right. Come on then, lads. Let's go."

With Meadows leading the way, the named male officers thundered up the stairs and disappeared out of view. The customers started to take interest. "What did you say you wanted Nick for?" asked a young girl with a dozen rings in each ear and a pierced nose.

"For a series of robberies an' beatin' up 'is girlfriend," Jo replied. "Why? D'you know anythin' that could 'elp us?"

The girl shook her head. "The bloke's a nutter," she confided. "Gives me the *creeps*." She looked at Jo curiously. "Did he hurt anybody when he did those robberies?"

"'E didn't exactly ask them nicely to 'and over the money," she answered wryly.

"Thought as much," the girl shrugged. "As for beating up his girlfriend -- "

"Do you know much about this Hutton bloke?" Sally interrupted.

"Enough."

Jo looked at Sally and grinned. Knowing what was on Jo's mind, Sally nodded and grinned back. "In that case," Jo said, "Would you be prepared to come down to Sun 'Ill an' make a statement about 'is recent movements an' what time 'e came in today?"

"Yeah," the girl nodded. "He's a disgusting scumbag. Money's *one* thing -- but beating up women is something else again."

"Thanks," smiled Jo. "I'll speak to you later."

Suddenly there came the sound of yelling, shouting and fighting from upstairs, a volley of curses and four-letter words, and then an avalanche of bodies -- some in blue serge, some in suits and one in a raincoat -- exploded down the wooden stairs, dragging a large man with a partly shaven head, dark stubble on head and face and a greasy moustache. His bare arms, hands and knuckles covered in obscene tattoos, he was dressed in combat fatigue trousers, combat boots, a torn denim waistcoat and a black t-shirt depicting a toad crucified on an inverted cross, blood pouring from wounds in its front and back flippers, its side, and from the wreath of lethally spiked thorns thrust down low on the creature's head; two thorns impaled its eyes and the cruel barbs caught in the toad's flesh kept the crown of thorns in place. This was the logo of the thrash/death metal band Satanicus Metallicus, and both Sally and Jo recoiled in disgust at the leering blasphemy of the image, appalled by its vile, hateful bravado.

"Stone me," Tony Stamp muttered. "It's true what they say -- *nothin's* sacred any more."

Once at the bottom of the staircase Meadows flashed his warrant card at the ugly apparition in triumph. "Nicholas James Hutton, I am arresting you -- " -- the next words were drowned by a torrent of abuse -- "and I must warn you that anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence. Do you understand me?"

Only too well, Sally observed, shuddering as Hutton howled and swore.

"*Christ*," Jo murmured. "'E *is* mad."

Sally looked at her quickly; the normally unflappable Jo was pale, her dark eyes wide. "Don't let him get to you, Jo," she said reassuringly. "Underneath that foul exterior is a pathetic little worm."

"You wanna bet?" Jo returned wryly.

"Well, I wouldn't like to push it..."

"You'll rot in hell, you fuckin' cuntsucker," Hutton roared at Meadows, who merely smiled smugly and impassively back at him. "You fuckin' dickhead. Do you know who I am? Eh? You're marked for death, you fucker. I know you. I know your name, you motherfucker. Lucifer has you marked down for the slaughter, you fuckin' cunt."

"Take 'im to the car, lads," Meadows said sweetly. "I'm sure that Mr 'Utton will continue this recitation from the works of Shakespeare in the car."

The officers, puffing and sweating, hauled Hutton past Sally and Jo. The prisoner looked Sally straight in the eye. "Fuckin' traitor bitch!" he spat at her. "Doin' the white man's dirty work, eh? Fuckin' choc-ice. Fuckin' black bitch!"

Sally's blood flared. "Get back in your little pile of turds, Mr Hutton," she retorted. "Where you belong."

Hutton spat at her. Startled, Sally stared at him as the spittle drooled down her cheek and the officers struggled harder to bundle him out of the shop. "How do you sleep nights, you black cocksuckin' bitch?"

Wiping the spittle from her cheek with her leather glove, Sally lifted her head, then smeared the spittle on the man's face. "I don't take that kind of bullshit from anyone," she replied coldly. "I don't think that the likes of *you* has any right to dictate the terms of how I should live *my* life." She turned to Meadows. "Get him out of here, guv..."

Hutton spat at her again, but thankfully missed this time. "Black whore!" he bellowed. "Black fuckin' whore! You should be out there workin' on your back, you bitch -- it's all you're fit for!"

Carver "accidentally" kneed Hutton in the groin, and Quinnan seized a handful of what was left of Hutton's oily hair and jerked the man's head back sharply, making him squeal with rage and pain.

"Shut it, 'Utton," snarled Meadows unsympathetically. "Get 'im in the car, lads before I'm tempted to rip 'is 'ead off." The officers finally got him out of the door -- with the young girl who'd spoken to Jo aiming a kick at Hutton's shins with admirable accuracy. Meadows turned to Sally. "You okay?" he asked.

Sally tried to laugh. "I feel like I need to scrub my skin with Dettol, guv," she replied with a shudder -- though whether she was shivering with anger or reaction she wasn't sure. She wrapped her arms around her upper torso and hugged herself for comfort. "Other than that, I'm fine. Just make sure you get him out of my sight and hearing -- and soon."

"What do you want us to do now, guv?" Jo asked. "We seem a little surplus to requirements."

"Take statements," Meadows replied with a wry smile. "It'll take everyone we've got to get that bastard back to Sun 'Ill; though it's not police officers we need with 'Utton," he added. "An exorcist with a whip an' a chair might be more appropriate."

"You sure you're all right, guv?" Jo asked when the whole circus parade had gone and silence reigned once more. "You look quite pale."

"Mmmm?" Sally turned. "Oh -- sorry, Jo," she said, laughing nervously. "He shook me up more than I expected."

"I'm not surprised," Jo said wryly. "'Utton's not exactly Prince Charmin', is 'e!"

"He made quite an impression on you too," Sally observed.

Jo grinned feebly as she took her notebook and pen out of her shoulder-bag. "Are you *surprised*? Christ -- that man's pure evil. But you've seemed a bit -- well -- *preoccupied* for weeks. You look really washed out. What *you* need is a good man -- no -- what we *both* need is a good man. *And* a damn good 'oliday!"

Sally smiled ruefully. "I'll go with the holiday, thanks," she said. "I'm right off men at the moment -- and sex is *far* more trouble than it's worth. Right. Who do you want to start with, Jo?"

Sally had finished interviewing the shop-owner, Jo was still talking to the girl she'd exchanged words with earlier, and a rather subdued Tosh was talking to a male assistant. She was just about to ask a second question of a rather nervous young man who reminded her strongly of Mr Bean (rather less the hunky Sean than Rowan Atkinson's creation) when she heard heavy footsteps pounding rapidly down the staircase. Sally paid no further attention and carried on trying to coax answers out of her interviewee, but it occurred to her that the young man was terrified of someone finding out that he frequented an occult supplies shop. Especially if that "someone" was his mother, she suspected.

Ted the shop-owner, meanwhile, had other concerns. "For pity's *sake*," he sighed. "*Must* you come down those stairs like a baby elephant? You'll go through them one of these fine days."

"But Ted, I've only just heard! I had my head-phones on and my stereo turned up loud, so I missed everything!"

"*One* day you'll knacker your hearing like that," Ted warned. "I'm always telling you that you have that stereo turned up too damn loud. What would you do if ever there was a fire?"

"Never mind that. What's been going on? Cath's up there in *tears*. I've just given a statement to a policewoman; it's dead exciting! It's just like an episode of THE SWEENEY up there! What's this about the police coming and taking Nicky Hutton away? Not that it isn't before time!"

Ted did his best to explain while the fidgety young man asked if it was all right for him to go now, only his mother...

"Yes...yes...you can go," Sally said vaguely. "We'll be in touch with you if we need you..."

The young man scampered off, visibly floating with relief. But Sally could only stand and stare in disbelief, a strong sense of impending disaster spreading like a cold wave through her limbs and organs. The newcomer, mollified by Ted's explanation, turned round -- and immediately caught sight of her, frozen like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"*Sally*!" exclaimed Frith, face and eyes shining with delight. "What the hell are *you* doing here?"

"You two know each other?" Ted enquired in surprise, as Jo and Tosh looked up curiously and then went back to questioning the other people in the shop.

Frith merely grinned mischievously. "All the occult shops in all the cities in all the world and she has to walk into mine. Yeah, Ted," she finished happily, "we know each other."

In panic, Sally looked over at Jo and Tosh; but both of them were deeply immersed in the interviews they were conducting. Frith saw the anxiety in her eyes and quickly came over, taking her by the elbows. "Are you all right, angel?" she asked, gentle green eyes warm with concern. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"M-maybe I have," Sally replied, smiling weakly at Jo as the latter gave her a friendly smile and indicated that she was off upstairs to talk to Hutton's "friend", Cath. "I never expected to see *you* here, Frith."

Frith kissed her cheek. "Well, I told you this was the kind of place where I worked, love," she replied. Then she narrowed her eyes. "You look terrible," she said. "What's wrong?"

<Apart from seeing you, you mean?> But she pushed the thought away and told Frith about her encounter with Nicky Hutton.

Frith was naturally full of sympathy and anger when she'd finished. "Poor Sally," she whispered softly. "You didn't deserve *that*. I'm glad the Old Bill took that shit-head away: *I* would've ripped him apart." She kissed Sally's forehead and tried to smile. "He was lucky, love. If *I'd* heard him say what he said to you, I'd've laid him out flat," she vowed. "*No-one* speaks to my beloved like that." She took Sally's elbows more firmly in her grasp, pulled her closer and then kissed her full on the mouth with a tenderness that reminded Sally of just how much she loved Frith and why.

Inevitably Sally found herself responding to the kiss, closing her eyes and melting away as she felt Frith's tongue parting her lips: it was as though the two of them had never been separated. But then she remembered where she was, why she was here, and who was with her; she pulled her mouth from Frith's and quickly disengaged herself. "This is rather public, Frith," she admonished her lover shakily.

Frith looked round the shop. "There's only a couple of customers, Ted, and a policeman -- and I bet that none of 'em noticed," she replied affably. "Besides, why *shouldn't* I kiss the woman I love?" Then she smiled. "I see you're wearing my clothes still," she observed.

Sally instinctively looked down. Yes, she was. She had on Frith's shirt, jeans, belts, jewellery and waistcoat -- though the boots were her own, since she knew all too well that one look at the thigh-length shiny leather ones that Frith had loaned her would lead to innumerable tiresome remarks from certain libidinous male PCs and DCs about "kinky" boots -- especially those who still harboured fond memories and fantasies of Cathy Gale and Emma Peel from THE AVENGERS. In her t-shirt, paint and solder-burn spattered smock, jeans and ankle boots, Frith looked relatively sober.

"They're comfortable," Sally replied at last.

"Like *we* are together," Frith smiled, drawing Sally's arms around her waist. "I wish you'd got your hair loose, though," she added, nuzzling the black tousled locks fastened securely in a long plait. "You *know* I love your hair, Sal. It feels terrific against my skin -- " she pressed her lips against Sally's ear -- " -- especially when it's spread across my thighs and my belly because your head's between my legs and your beautiful face is buried in my cunt."

"*Don't* -- please don't," Sally moaned against Frith's cheek. "They'll hear you..." Sally shivered as Frith then kissed the side of her neck. She was torn between her desire to go on feeling Frith's caresses and not wanting Tosh and the other people in the shop to see herself and Frith engaged in the obvious behaviour of lovers.

"Where have you *been*, anyway?" Frith asked, responding to Sally's obvious discomfort and letting her pull out of the embrace into which she'd been coerced. "It's a couple of weeks now since you phoned me. I know Birmingham's a long way from London, but it's news to me that you soft Southerners have decided to impose a system of quarantine for people moving between the Capital and anywhere north of Watford! You promised that you'd phone me as soon as you got back, Sally," Frith reminded the other woman quietly. "What happened?"

But Sally never got chance to explain. At that precise moment, just at the *worst* possible time, Bob Cryer and Nulrike Datta came in. "Excuse us, guv," PC Cryer said, "but we've just taken Myra Beckinsale down to the station an' DCI Meadows 'as asked us to come over an' see if you need us to give you a hand." He looked around the shop. "But it looks as though you've got everything well under control..."

Tosh came bustling over. "Jo says she's already spoken to..." He nodded at Frith. "...your friend there, an' we'll need to 'ave a word with that woman upstairs -- what was 'er name?"

"Cath Knowles," Ted offered helpfully.

"Thanks, mate. With 'er."

"It's okay, Tosh," replied Jo, coming quickly down the stairs, followed by a distraught woman with dishevelled hair and red-rimmed eyes. "She's agreed to come down to Sun 'Ill an' make a statement."

"Right," said Tosh, summing everything up. "We've done everythin' 'ere that we can, so we might as well call it a day and mosey on back to the station. That suit you, guv?"

"F-fine," stammered Sally, now all too aware of a sudden feeling of withdrawal that she sensed from Frith. "The sooner we can get moving on this the sooner it'll be over -- and the sooner Leonard and Hutton will be behind bars."

"Right! Let's go, then!" Tosh said, sweeping out into the street again, followed by Datta and Cryer; Jo stood at the door for some moments, hands in pockets, watching Sally thoughtfully -- then went out to join the others.

When at last Sally could bring herself to look into Frith's face again, her heart sank when she saw the look of intense disappointment in Frith's eyes. "Frith," she began, "I meant to tell you before -- to explain -- but I just didn't get the chance -- "

"So..." Frith sighed. "*That's* what you do for a living. You're a plod. A high-up plod, but a plod all the same. Yes. Well. Thanks a lot for telling me, Sally..."

"Like I said, Frith, I meant to tell you before -- but I just couldn't seem to find the right time. It's not wise to make the first thing you tell someone the fact that you're a police officer. But does it really *matter* to you, Frith?"

Frith sighed. "To, tell you the truth, I've never had much time for the filth. It's a job, and I certainly don't bear them any ill-will, but they so often like to pick on easy targets."

"That's not true!"

"Well maybe *some* of them do!" retorted Frith. "Gays get hassled rather too often for my liking." She sighed again. "Oh Sally, it's not that I'm anti-police as such, it's just that I wish you'd told me the truth from the *beginning*. All the deceit -- that mythical 'conference' and that 'pest control firm' -- doesn't sit well with me after I was open with you from the very start! I don't mean to come across as holier-than-thou, but why couldn't you tell me who you were right from the off?"

"Because the Metro didn't seem to be the right place," Sally snapped back, fear and a grim realization of where this conversation was likely to lead fuelling her aggressive response. "And I certainly couldn't tell you when we were in *bed*. I don't know why I should feel *ashamed* of what I do; I'm proud of what I've achieved and how far I've got in the Met as a black woman, and I don't see why I should explain myself or apologize to you."

"I'm not *asking* you to," replied Frith wearily. "You *should* be proud of your achievements. But oh *God*, Sally -- don't you realize what this means?" She sighed. "It means that you and I don't have a future after all."

"Why not?" Suddenly Sally felt as much anger as fear. "Christ, Frith, why should it *matter* what I am?"

"Because I'm not so sure any more that we *can* make it work. Maybe we're just too far apart. Maybe you were right all along when you said it was a mistake. Sally, how can you and I be together and me still live the way I do and you still live the way you do? Maybe we really are too different -- we might end up *hating* each other. If we stayed together, eventually you'd end up mixing with my friends and I'd end up mixing with yours, which is as it should be. I want to know all about you, and I'd want you to meet my friends and go to the places I go to, so that you could understand me better and become friends with the people I love -- just as I'd hope you'd want me to meet *your* friends, go to the places *you* go to, and be friends with the people *you* love. But would that happen? Unless, of course, you're *not* ashamed of us, of me, and of the love you say you have for me?"

"No, I'm not ashamed -- and I want all those things that you say *you* want."

"But will it *work*, Sal? Isn't there just the possibility that you really *are* too straight for me? Will we end up hating each other because all of our friends disapprove? Because your family and work-mates disapprove? I know that Ted and the people who come in here might think it a bit iffy if I'm shacked up with some high-flying police officer, but they'd get used to it. But *you* on the other hand -- I think there's more you'd have to give up for me than you realize. How will your superiors react to the fact that you have a lesbian lover who frequents a transvestite bar? That one of your friends is a former IRA volunteer who served time for a murder committed by his transvestite lover? That you aren't what they thought you were after all? I mean, *Jesus*..."

At that, Sally's temper flared. "*Must* you be so bloody melodramatic, Frith?" she snapped furiously. "My God, how you *love* to over-react!"

Frith stared at her in disbelief. "*I* over-react to things!" she exclaimed.

"I think you're just making excuses," Sally retorted, close to tears. "You certainly seem to be feeling *very* sorry for yourself."

"Maybe I am," Frith agreed coldly. "Maybe there wouldn't be a problem after all. But you'll have to think seriously about what other people's reactions are going to be. A lot of them aren't going to like it if you stay with me."

"Oh, if I can handle being black, female, *and* a police officer, I think I can handle being queer as well," Sally replied sarcastically.

But Frith was already heading back towards the staircase. "I trusted you," she said. "But now I'm not so sure that I can. I know I didn't like the bastard, but how do I know for sure that you didn't *know* I worked here and that somehow you were using me to get to Nicky Hutton?"

"Because I didn't and wasn't. Don't *flatter* yourself, darling. I never *knew*."

"But I don't know that for sure, do I. Just as I don't know if I'd always have to watch my step with you, or be careful about what I say; after all, pagans aren't too popular these days -- not when we've got the Evangelical Alliance or the Reverend Kevin Logan and the like passing on ill-informed bollocks about us to people who know no better. I've no doubt that now the Criminal Justice Bill's been passed you might find it useful to have my brain to pick, just in case I know of any illegal raves or something -- which is unlikely."

"You *bitch*," Sally hissed. "You talk about *me* having problems, but I think yours are worse. You're *paranoid*, Frith!"

"Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean there aren't people out to get me," she replied. "Besides, doesn't this prove beyond all doubt that we shouldn't be together?"

"What -- arguing in public, you mean?" Sally spat back, her fear and embarrassment at what anyone listening might make of what they heard lending an edge to her tongue. "Having a lover's tiff in front of a non-paying audience? Perhaps you like your *sex* to be a spectator sport too -- it's just that you haven't got round to telling me that yet."

"And by your own admission you're a fine one to talk about not getting round to telling people things. That's what this comes down to in the end, isn't it -- trust. And that's the problem, Sally," Frith said, giving her a sad smile. "I trusted you enough to tell you one of my sexual kinks, and you trusted me enough to let me do it with you. But you didn't trust me enough to tell me what you did for a living. All along I've been the vulnerable one, Sally, not you. But if you didn't trust me enough to tell me that you were a police officer -- which, Freya knows, I really *wouldn't've* minded -- then I'm afraid I have to begin to wonder about what *else* you haven't told me."

"You know *everything*," Sally replied. "I *promise*."

Frith only snorted. "Fuck off, Sally," she snarled. "I don't believe you. Now piss off back to your precious police station, eh? I've got work to do."

* * * * * * * * *

Although Tosh chattered away merrily as they followed Bob Cryer and WPC Datta's squad car back to the station, Sally could think of nothing to say and Jo kept casting her thoughtful sidelong glances. Sally relived the argument with Frith and the sight of her disappearing back up the staircase and out of her life all the way back to Sun Hill. Ted had been very nice to her before she'd left, seeing her obvious distress at Frith's reaction. He explained that Frith had been raving to him for weeks about this gorgeous, ravishing creature that she'd met at the Metro and fallen in love with, adding shyly that -- having now seen her, he could well understand why Frith was so besotted with her. Obviously, he said, this whole business had all been something of a shock to Frith -- and to her too, no doubt. He'd been sure that Frith hadn't meant *half* the things she'd said, because how she'd always spoken of Sally had led him and his staff -- and customers -- to believe that Frith was well and truly smitten, and that nothing short of her being of Nicky Hutton's religious persuasion would've lessened the love for this mysterious "Sally" that Frith had merrily sung the praises of to everyone she knew.

This didn't make Sally feel any better, however. It angered her beyond words that Frith insisted on over-reacting as she did, and the fact that -- as befitted her pantomimic style of dress -- she was something of a snorting, hair-tossing, foot-stamping drama-queen who seemed to love turning a crisis into a drama. Yet behind all that Sally also sensed a fear in Frith -- a terror she couldn't bring herself to articulate: a fear of being rejected by someone she loved. Maybe, at root, this push and shove had little to do with anger at Sally's supposed deceit at all; maybe it was Frith's way of trying and testing someone she wanted but of whom she wasn't wholly sure. It also humbled Sally to think of the declarations of love Frith had made, and of how she'd not been afraid to tell everyone she'd met of what she felt, and talk up a woman she'd loved for no more than a little while.

Maybe it had been foolish to declare her love so soon. Sally had thought that about Frith's declarations to Fergus, Dil and Col -- and yet she was also both deeply flattered and moved by the other woman's unashamed proclamations. It seemed to be all over now, of course, but maybe there *was* still a chance...

* * * * * * * * *

The officers were debriefed when they got back to Sun Hill; once the session was over they all went about their business, chatting and generally sounding pleased with themselves. Sally was about to follow them when Jo Morgan put a hand on her shoulder and gave her an understanding smile. "I think I know now what's been on your mind of late, guv."

Sally stared at her, wide-eyed. "You mustn't get the wrong idea, Jo."

Jo shook her head and smiled again. "I'm not makin' any judgements, guv -- it's not for me to do that or say anythin'. But a lot of things you've said to me lately suddenly make a lot of sense."

"I never expected it to happen, you must understand that."

"Oh, I do -- I often think as Kid Cupid 'as a lot of fun at our expense, you know."

"This is all new for me, Jo -- and I know there are people out there who hate me and are just waiting for something they can use to undermine my authority. For *God's* sake don't tell anyone else. Leave that to me. I'll tell people in my own time -- when I'm good and ready to tell them."

Jo merely grinned. "Good for you! Trust me, guv -- I won't tell anyone. 'Oo's damn business is it but yours, anyway?" She clapped Sally on the shoulder and then strode off down the corridor. "See you!" she called back as she pushed open the double doors into the next corridor and then disappeared in the direction of the canteen.

Head reeling, Sally went up to the CID office and exchanged a few words with the others. She made herself a coffee to try and steady her nerves, then took it in to her office and closed the door behind her.

Before long she was scanning the phone directory to find Beldame's phone number, before remembering that it was now ex-directory. However, in her pocket she found a business card that she'd idly picked up off the counter whilst talking to Ted. She stood up and looked out of the window that overlooked the CID office, satisfied herself that no-one was likely to come in and interrupt her, then sat back at her desk and picked up the telephone receiver. Sick with nerves and her fingers shaking, she punched in the shop's phone- number and waited while it rang, drumming her fingers on her desk-top and banging the toes of one foot against the desk-leg.

To Sally's surprise it was Frith who answered the phone. Her heart leapt with relief at the thought that she wouldn't have to go through the rigmarole of having to talk to one of the shop assistants or to Ted first; but the tone of Frith's voice when she knew who was calling wasn't reassuring. In fact, Frith's demeanour was sullen and uncommunicative, and Sally felt as though she was struggling against being enveloped by a heavy, smothering blanket of anger and despair. Frith's obvious lack of interest in her explanations, apologies or assurances of love, willingness to compromise or indeed her willingness to do *anything* to keep them together only served to tear Sally's heart and emotions into even smaller particles -- but angered her, too.

"You're like one of those plants that lures in insects with sweet perfumes and a beautiful flower," Frith told her icily. "I flew too close -- and then got caught in your trap. You used me for as long as it suited you and then you threw me away."

"That's not *fair*," retorted Sally indignantly. "It wasn't like that at all. It was *never* like that!"

Frith sighed. "I'm sorry, Sally, but you're just seeing things as you want to see them."

"Oh, and you're *not*, I suppose?" Sally spat back.

"Look, Sally, this is where it ends, okay? I feel that you betrayed me. I don't feel that I can trust you any more, and I want nothing more to do with you. Understand? Is that simple enough for you?"

"This isn't fair, Frith -- why won't you let me put *my* side of the story?"

"I think you've already done that rather well."

"No, Frith -- *you* have; you're very good at telling me what's on my mind and what I think, but you're not so hot on actually *listening* to what I've got to say."

"Probably because I've already heard it all before," Frith sighed. "Look, I'm sorry if I showed you up in front of your colleagues. I mean that. It wasn't fair of me to put you on the spot and make you feel uncomfortable if it's going to make things difficult for you. But that's as far as it goes when it comes to my sympathy. I'll always remember you fondly, Sally. The night you spent in my bed and the happiness you brought me aren't things I'll forget in a hurry. But what *I* want is a lover; as far as I'm concerned you're nothing more than a clit-teaser, and you're not what I want in my life. So whatever it was we had is over now, and over for good. It was nice while it lasted, even if it didn't last very long. Now I'm sorry, but I've got to go back to work. Bye."

After the line went dead it was a while before Sally was finally able to take the receiver away from her ear, unwrap her nerveless fingers and drop it back into its cradle. She felt numb all over. Even when she was able to get up and walk to the kettle and make herself a strong black coffee, her mind was dead, closing her off from what was going on as though steel shutters had suddenly dropped down around her. She couldn't believe that her brief, glorious affair was finally over, and her mind must have been refusing to accept the fact.

The rest of the day passed in a black haze of depression and inability to focus on anything but her encounter with Frith at Beldame, their acrimonious parting and the telephone call that had finally ended it all. Small wonder, then, that Sally found it difficult to concentrate on her job after that; but she tried hard and everyone complimented her about the success of the raid and the fact that the case was going so well. But Sally's thoughts and her heart were elsewhere. What could she do *now*? It wasn't something that Sally cared very much to contemplate... Frith had been pretty definite about their affair being over, but Sally didn't *want* it to be over. So what did she do *next*?

Suddenly, dealing with Davey Leonard, Nicky Hutton and the innumerable other criminal parasites that infested the underbelly of society no longer seemed important. Fighting crime was all very well, but a respectable clear-up rate and rapid promotion didn't exactly keep you warm at night or give you a kiss and a cuddle when you needed it.

So. What *was* a lovelorn girl to do when her lover no longer wanted her?

* * * * * * * * * * * *

When she got home that night, with the grim prospect of being off-duty until the following Wednesday and having nothing with which to occupy her mind and time until then, Sally poured herself a stiff drink, swallowed her fears and dialled Frith's number for the hundredth time -- but still only got through to an answering machine.

As the night wore on and Sally grew more desperate, she got out her A-Z, mapped out the route, steeled herself, and then drove over the city to Frith's flat. Frith was in when she got there, and Sally was encouraged. But when she pressed the entry-phone button and had to announce herself, Frith wouldn't reply. She tried repeatedly to reason with Frith and to gain entry to the house and her flat, but was greeted only with silence and a blank refusal to communicate. Unwilling to stand out on the front steps drawing attention to herself and making herself look as much of a fool as she already felt by begging Frith to let her in, Sally eventually gave up and went back to her car, her mood black and her eyes full and gritty from the pressure of unshed tears. Torn between telling herself that this was obsessive madness and wanting desperately to see her lover, Sally remained in her car, parked across the street from the house and away from the streetlight.

She watched the house for about half an hour, eventually seeing Frith come out, hail a taxi and then set off up the road in the direction of the Metro. Sally started up her car and followed the taxi, peeling away and down the maze of Spitalfield streets when it pulled up outside the bar. Knowing that she couldn't follow, all Sally could do was drive back towards home once more.

When she got there she poured herself another long, neat drink and contemplated her next move. Frith must've meant more to her than Frith herself would have accepted, Sally reasoned dully: she could never remember going to such lengths for someone since she was in her early teens. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember ever going to these lengths over a *boyfriend*.

Eventually another course of action presented itself to her. There was just a chance that Frith might think twice about blanking her out if she had her friends around her; they might jolly her into mellowing and it might be that Frith would listen to her in such circumstances. Taking a deep breath she phoned the Metro, and greeted Col cheerfully when he answered the phone.

"Hello there!" she said breezily, hoping to whatever gods there might be that he didn't recognize her voice. "You won't know me," she continued, fingers crossed, "but I'm supposed to be meeting someone there tonight and now I can't make it. I don't suppose you'd be a love and pass on a message for me?"

"If I can, miss," Col replied. "Who's calling?"

"Oh, that's not important," Sally said, forcing a smile and putting all its power into her voice. "Perhaps you could ask them to come to the phone?"

"I could try, miss," chuckled Col cheerfully. "Who is it to whom you wish to speak, and who shall I say is calling?"

Sally took a deep breath. "I'd like to speak to Frith Gerland, please," she said. "Tell her it's important. I really must speak to her. It's very urgent."

"Hang on a minute please, miss..." Suddenly Col was back. "Hang on," he said, his tone changing. "I know who this is. It's Sally, isn't it..."

"Please, Col, listen to me -- I want to speak to Frith."

"Hang on..." Sally heard the quality of the sound on the other end of the phone change; in her mind's eye she could see Col putting the phone closer to his ear and mouth and turning away from the bar so that no-one could overhear him. Then he came back on the line again. "Sorry about that, Sal; just trying to get a bit of privacy."

"That's very good of you, Col. Now about Frith..."

Col gave a huge, world-weary sigh. "Now Sally, you know that you're asking a lot there..."

"Col, is she there or not? She *is*, isn't she," Sally continued triumphantly when Col hedged and hummed. "Can I speak to her, Col?"

Col hesitated. "She's not here, Sally."

"Liar. I went to her house. I saw her get a taxi and I followed her. I know she's there, Col. Just ask her, that's all. I know I'm not Frith's favourite person at the moment, but I really want to explain everything."

Col sighed. "Sally, it's not really me you should be asking, you know -- now *is* it." Col was clearly struggling with his conscience. "Look, tell you what, you hang on a minute an' I'll go an' see if she's amenable. Just a minute."

That minute seemed to stretch on for hours. Sally could hear very little, but she heard the sound of an angry female voice which didn't sound very promising. She chewed her thumb-nail and prayed for good luck, but as the time passed so her heart and spirits sank lower.

Eventually Col came back on the line, but he didn't need to say much for Sally to get the message. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding genuinely so. "I've asked Frith if she'll come to the phone an' speak to you, but she says as she won't."

"Why not?"

"Look, Frith says that she reckons you led 'er on an' that you don't really care about 'er."

"But I do, for God's sake! Col, I'm begging you -- let me speak to her."

"But she doesn't *want* to speak to you, Sally love. She says that she won't speak to you at any price."

"Well then, will *you* talk to her? Will you tell her that I never meant to hurt her?"

"I'll -- do what I can, Sally, but I really think that you're makin' a mistake. Once Frith's set her mind on somethin', well -- it's like tryin' to use a cocktail stick to break through concrete." He gave another sigh. "I really did like you, Sally, and I 'ope you don't mind me sayin' this; but if I might suggest somethin', it seems to me that it would be for the best if you two split up. Yes, I know that's harsh, but I'm thinkin' of the others, love. I'm concerned that you might mean trouble for Fergus -- 'case 'e thinks the police are tryin' to set him up or somethin'. Everyone would just feel -- well -- *uncomfortable* 'avin' you about the place. Sorry, but that's the way it is. Thanks for ringin'."

Sally was devastated, and put down the receiver feeling numb and desperate -- yet also angry: how *dare* Frith treat her like this! She couldn't believe that this was really happening to her, and that any minute now she'd suddenly remember that anything and everything to do with Frith and herself were actually nothing more than the plot of a particularly vivid novel she'd been reading and had taken on board rather more than was healthy. But the more she thought over what she'd done -- tailing Frith to her house and to the Metro and all those phone calls -- the more she knew that it was all real, and the more she feared for her sanity.

She poured yet another drink, then went for a long soak in the bath before going to bed and trying to get some rest; but all night sleep eluded her as she found herself wide awake and with everything that had happened circling in her tired head. Just before dawn she finally managed to snatch a few hours, but that was all.

The weekend stretched out endlessly before her; coupled with the knowledge that she didn't have to go back into work until the Wednesday of that week, she found it impossible to contemplate how she'd fill all those empty hours and days. <Shopping,> she thought, as she sipped listlessly at a sugarless black coffee. <That's always the answer to life's problems. I'll go shopping...>

And going shopping *worked* -- up to a point. In every clothes shop she entered Sally found clothes that she knew Frith would either like for herself or like to see Sally in, and eventually had to make her way home again, unable to cope with the curious stares of shop assistants and passersby as she blundered about, made half-blind and uncoordinated by her depression.

Her spirits lower than ever, Sally trudged wearily up to her flat, unlocked the door and went in, then dropped what articles she'd bought in a susurrus of plastic bags. She was just taking off her coat when she saw the little red light blinking on her answering machine to tell her that someone had phoned while she was out and left a message for her. Curious, but not expecting much, she hung up her coat, then went into the kitchen and got herself a relaxing herbal tea. She came back, kicked off her shoes, and then sat down on the sofa, long slim legs curled up beneath her, before pressing the rewind and play button on the answering machine.

Sally heard her own message, then the tone, then several messages; one from her mother, another from a friend cancelling a a squash game for the next week which Sally had forgotten all about and was glad to be missing anyway, a couple of wrong numbers, and one from a double-glazing firm cold-calling for business. There were a few more wrong numbers and sounds of the phone being replaced, and then there was the definite sound of scuffling. Sally leaned across and turned up the volume, listening carefully. Following more scuffling came the sound of a telephone receiver being dropped, rustling and scraping as it was picked up, some disconsolate muttering, and then a broad Northern "'Ello? Er -- 'ello?" <Who the hell's *that*?> Sally mused. <*Please* don't let it be some idiot from the station trying to "cheer me up".> There were several swear-words, a few "um"s, "ah"s and "er"s, and then a familiar voice -- surprising but very welcome -- could be heard: Sally almost leapt off the sofa in excitement and disbelief when she finally recognized the identity of the owner of these dulcet tones.

"Er -- 'ello? 'Ello? Bugger, I 'ate these machines. 'Ello? Sally? This is Col, Sally. I'm sorry to 'ave missed you. Er -- look, I can't speak for very long, but I just wanted to say as I'm sorry about last night, an' that I'll phone you again later tonight at about 8.30, all right? Bye." This was abruptly followed by a second message. "Er -- in case you were wondering, I'm phonin' today. Saturday. Bye for now."

Sally could hardly believe her good fortune. She waited for Col to make the promised return call, almost counting the hours and minutes until he was due to phone again, and wondering exactly what it was he had to say to her. If it was merely to give her further clarification on how she was barred from the Metro, and why Frith no longer wanted to see her and how much she hated Sally, it seemed a little pointless to go to these lengths: besides, Col had soundly intriguingly cagey -- it almost seemed as though he were up to something...

The phone rang at 8.30 on the dot. Sally picked up the receiver at once and said an eager "Hello?", hoping desperately that this wouldn't be a wrong number or someone that she didn't at that moment want to speak to.

"Oh, 'ello," said a familiar voice. "It's Col 'ere."

"Hello, Col," Sally smiled. "It's good to hear your voice again. I -- I got your message. Why did you want to speak to me?"

Again, Col sounded both mysterious and embarrased. "Look," he began, "I'm very sorry about being so abrupt when you called before. I suppose we were all a bit shocked about you being the Old Bill, to tell you the truth. But we decided that *everyone* 'as their little secrets -- in more ways than one -- an' is entitled to 'em; so as long as you keep *our* secrets, we'll keep *yours*. So we've cooled down again, now."

"I'm glad. I suppose Fergus might've been worried about what I might do or say or be up to."

Col chuckled. "No, not really. Dil thought from the off that you were an okay girl, an' Fergus tends to go with her gut reactions. In fact, Fergus for one reckons as seein' as you're a police officer you've got more to lose than anyone."

"*Why*?" She felt and sounded worried, yet her heart was growing lighter by the second.

"Well, this might be the late 20th century, but people are still a bit iffy about the private lives of their authority figures. Look at your Royals, for a start. We expect our betters to *be* our betters -- holier-than-thou goody-goodies. But we all read the articles in the News Of The World about molesting scout-masters, and choir-masters, and Tory politicians with very strange sex lives."

"I'm just a woman who needs love, Col," sighed Sally with amused weariness. "Not some kinky back-bencher. But Fergus and Dil think I'm okay, then?"