Deira Davis

Deira Davis

God, I hate November, it's the 'Monday month' of the year; summer's over and the days are only going to get shorter, darker and colder before you see the sun again.

That morning I'd had yet another row with Darren, my partner, and now, just to make the day perfect Inspector Craddock was sending me out on yet another tedious, pointless task.

After some naff press about the 4% clear-up rate for burglaries the Chief Constable held a press conference and announced a new initiative; in future all crimes against property were to be thoroughly investigated. By which he meant long reports would now be written about every incident, we wouldn't catch any more criminals but the CC could point to a large pile of paperwork thus proving how much harder we were trying.

There had been a break-in at a block of flats on Bolton Road, forensics had already been at the scene downloading footage from the only working CCTV camera, taken lots of photos of a wrecked apartment door and dusted every surface with a fine, black powder looking for non-existent fingerprints. Which pissed off the owners as all they really wanted was a Police Report number so they could claim on their insurance.

And after having made a God-awful mess forensics then handed the whole thing over to the uniform branch for follow-up enquiries which involved going door-to-door asking for witnesses. A time-consuming and pointless procedure that should have been done by the Community Police but they were short staffed. Who wasn't?

So, in cases like this, who can you best spare for a boring, near-hopeless task? Two female police officers of course, that would be me, Sgt Deira Davis and her trainee, WPC Wendy Brookes.

Actually I wasn't too irritated by the assignment, it got us out of the office and I would be able to tick another box on Wendy's training file. There was the added bonus that if we spun things out long enough we could have a pub lunch at 'The Black Prince' before returning to the Station.

The morning was cold, grey and depressing with a heavy overcast that promised rain later and it was gone ten o'clock before we parked in the visitors space at Greenview Court, the scene of the crime. It was an uninspired, low-rise block of concrete and glass built by the Council back in the 'sixties and sold off during the Thatcher years but the building was set in a big, open space with plenty of parking and surrounded by trees and hedges. It was a prime location, not far from the railway station and with good access to the motorway, the area was being 'gentrified' and the twenty-four spacious, two bedroomed apartments already cost more than a Police Sergeant could afford.

I read the forensics report to Wendy: "Boris was in and out in seventeen minutes, they timed it from the camera in the lobby so, Woman Police Constable Brookes, what does that tell us about him?"

"Boris?" enquired Wendy cautiously.

I passed over a grainy picture of the burglar taken from the CCTV footage, "it's the nick-name forensics gave him, he's wearing a Russian hat with fur around the top and ear flaps, so he's 'Boris-the-Burglar'."

Wendy looked at the photo doubtfully, "it's not much to go on is it?" She was right, apart from the hat pulled well down over his face Boris had worn sunglasses and a blue, medicated facemask. These had been mandatory during COVID but the only people still wearing them were the paranoid, the vulnerable and individuals who didn't want to be recognised on CCTV.

I continued, "Boris was wearing a UPS uniform and carrying an Amazon box posing as a delivery driver. He didn't waste time knocking on doors looking for an empty apartment, so, how did he know where to go?"

Wendy looked up at the building, "did he stake the place out? Maybe wait outside until he saw his target leave?"

I shook my head, "this looks opportunistic, Boris may have seen the victim leave but how would he know which flat they'd come from and what if there was someone still home?"

Wendy sighed, "Okay Sherlock, you're just dying to tell me how it was done, go on then."

I grinned, "if I was looking for an empty apartment I'd start with the one on the third floor, second from the left." Wendy looked up to where I was pointing, "the one with the curtains closed?" she thought for a moment then nodded, "Oh I get it, it was still dark when they left home early this morning, the curtains weren't opened when it got light because there's no-one in the apartment, Oh that's good."

"Elementary my dear Watson. Now, it's a long shot but we knock on all the doors, if anyone answers you show them your warrant card and the photo of Boris, ask if they saw him or anyone acting suspiciously yesterday morning. It's unlikely but you never know and it shows we're taking this seriously. Give everyone a copy of the Home Security leaflet, push it under the door if there's no answer when you ring the bell."

Since we were about to be the 'public face' of the Police I gave Wendy a once over: she had a degree in Criminology and was on the 'fast track' graduate entry scheme, in ten years' time I'd probably be calling her 'sir' but she still had to go through basic training like everyone else and I was mentoring her. Aged 23 she radiated energy and enthusiasm, I suppose I must have looked like that once? Honey-blonde hair framed an oval face, wide-set, intelligent grey eyes sat above a snub nose and small mouth, if she wore make-up it was too subtle for me to notice and she probably didn't need it.

Uniforms are issued in two sizes, too small and too large but hers fitted perfectly in all the right places, even under the stab-vest and hi-viz jacket the slim, athletic figure was obvious. She was very, very pretty and was already causing havoc with the young PC's which made me smile as Wendy had confided in me that she lived with her soul-mate, Yasmin and, as she artlessly put it, 'it's a one-bedroomed apartment'.

There's an official policy of 'don't ask, don't tell' about that sort of thing so I didn't enquire further.

Then I did a quick check of myself in the mirror, an attractive (I'd like to think), thirty-something woman with auburn hair and dark circles under her eyes courtesy of too much coffee, stress and late nights. No lines or grey hairs yet but it was only a matter of time. I still looked okay even if I wasn't making the best of myself, I could use a spa-day and should have been at the hair-dresser weeks ago.

The Police Club has its own gym and I go twice a week, mostly to beat the shit out of the punch-bag pretending it's Darren, but I could still fit into the clothes I bought at college. Maybe, if Wendy Brookes was a 'ten' I'd rate an 'eight', perhaps a 'nine' if I had a facial?

After that faintly depressing self-appraisal I gave Wendy a stack of pamphlets and a clipboard with the names of the residents. "You take the bottom three floors and I'll take the top, see you back in the lobby when you're done."

I was down on the fourth floor and almost finished before I got lucky, although when I say 'lucky' it had nothing to do with the burglary. Without much hope I knocked on the door of Flat 4/6 and after a moment it was opened by George Clooney...

No, of course it wasn't really him, this guy was younger, fitter but looked every bit as handsome; clean-shaven, late thirties with thick, well-cut brown hair and he had that smile. The knowing smile that says 'I've read your diary and all those naughty letters you wrote to your boyfriend but never dared post and I thoroughly approve'.

I just stood there staring with my mouth open until he said gently, "can I help you?"

I gave myself a mental shake and held up my warrant card, "Police; sorry to bother you Mr.... " I checked my clipboard... "Trenton, but there was a break-in yesterday...."

He reached out and took my warrant card. "May I?" he asked politely and stepped back into the light to study it, I automatically followed him into the room.

"Woman Police Sergeant Deira Davis" he looked at me critically, "you could probably sue the photographer for defamation but I like your hair the way it was then, and you don't look 42."

"What?!" I snatched my warrant card back, it had been so long since I'd actually looked at the damn thing I'd forgotten what was on it. I checked it now, "this doesn't give my date of birth" I said wrathfully but he just leaned against the doorframe, grinned and said, "Gotcha."

That was when I realised Hugh Trenton had 'it'. You can call it 'charisma' or 'presence', in Hollywood it would be 'star-quality'; you can't buy 'it', you can't learn 'it', you have to be born with the gift but you know people who have 'it' the moment you meet them.

The teacher who never has any trouble getting the worst class in school to behave, the plain girl at a party who has all the men crowding round her. That guy in the restaurant who never has to wait for a table... and the tall, handsome, smiling Hugh Trenton...

I tried to stop staring at him and focus on the job, I held up the photo of 'Boris', "did you see this man yesterday? It would have been late morning." He reached out and took the photo, did I imagine it or did his fingers lightly stroke the back of my hand? real or imagined I felt goose bumps run up my arm.

He studied the photo, "hat pulled down low with flaps covering the ears, no chance of Bertillon biometrics, sunglasses in November? give me a break, wearing gloves and a face mask, why not just carry a sign saying 'I'm a burglar'? The UPS jacket looks authentic but the sleeves are too short, it wasn't made for him, the trousers don't match either. He's carrying an Amazon box, came in light and went out heavy? except UPS don't deliver for Amazon, at least, not around here."

I looked at him with respect, I hadn't clocked the Bertillon angle or that UPS don't work with Amazon. "You seem to know a lot about it?"

He nodded, "I should, I'm a Security Consultant."

I held up the pamphlets, "I guess you won't be needing one of these."

He laughed and pointed to the door, "mortice lock, deadbolts, motion activated security cameras and the mat you're standing on? Underneath is a pressure pad, if the system was active there'd be very loud sirens and flashing lights disturbing the peace."

At that moment there was a 'ping' from the kitchen, he said, "excuse me just a second" and he turned away. I took the opportunity to look around, it was the perfect bachelor pad, only neater and cleaner than any I'd ever seen. Opposite the door was a big window looking out onto playing fields, off to the left the whole wall was a map of the world, a Mercator Projection, and in front of that was an antique desk piled high with books and papers.

A big aquarium was set against the wall on the right and a large, comfortable looking sofa with its back to the door was in the middle of the room facing a wall-mounted TV. The bookcase was packed with biographies, technical manuals and, incongruously, a shelf of cookbooks, that was the only clue a female might be in residence.

The kitchen had once been a small, separate room but the dividing wall had been taken down and it was now an annex to the living area; it was like something out of MasterChef. There was a wall of brushed-chrome appliances; a big fridge/freezer, two ovens, a microwave and lots of LED lights on glass panels, God knows what they were for, I'm not much of a cook. A dining table separated this from the rest of the flat and on it Hugh Trenton was placing a tray of muffins which he'd just extracted from the oven. They smelt wonderful.

Had I got the 'bachelor pad' deduction wrong? "Does your wife bake?" I asked curiously.

He turned the muffins out onto a wire cooling rack, "Oh, I'm not married, this is my hobby. Some people collect stamps or rare books, I bake, at least I get to eat the result of my efforts."

I suddenly had the urge to know more about him, "do you mind if I use your loo? It's this cold weather..." I tried to sound pathetic and left the sentence hanging.

He gestured to the far end of the room, "of course, through that door over there, it's at the end of the corridor." I didn't really need to pee, what I wanted to do was check out the rest of the apartment.

There were two bedrooms, one was pretty much a store room filled with boxes, filing cabinets and more books but the next room was the one I was looking for. A King-sized bed, neatly made with a big mirror on the wall next to it (interesting), just a hairbrush on the dressing table, no photos, no cosmetics, all very tidy and minimalist.

The bathroom was more productive and I had a good rummage through the medicine cabinet above the sink before flushing the toilet for effect and washing my hands.

When I returned Hugh was leaning against the kitchen table and gave me a knowing grin, "well Sergeant, did you find out what you wanted to know?"

I was busted, may as well come clean. "I think so, you live alone, you had a girlfriend, she was much younger than you and she left about three months ago. You know she's not coming back but part of you still hopes that she will. How am I doing?"

He gave a wry smile, "that's really good, one tooth-brush in the bathroom tells you I live alone, but the rest?"

"There are no photos anywhere in the flat, you put them away, but there are still cosmetics in the bathroom cabinet, you kept them just in case she does return. The brand is 'MissChief', popular with teenagers and young women. The face cream is just starting to dry out and there's a box of contraceptive pills dispensed six months ago, three tabs are missing so I'm guessing that's when she moved on."

He held up his hands in mock surrender, "guilty as charged, her name was Celeste, silly thing to say, it still is of course, a Chinese student. She graduated in the summer and went back to Hong Kong, she was very beautiful, God knows what she saw in me."

Looking at the handsome face, broad shoulders, narrow waist and tight buns I thought, 'Oh, I have a pretty good idea' but said nothing.

He picked up a Tupperware box of muffins from the counter, "you get a prize for deduction, I don't think it constitutes a bribe and they'll be too hot to eat for a while." He passed it over to me and this time he really did stroke my hand, his fingertips gently pressing into my palm, Oh God, why was my heart doing that? "Bring the box back whenever you're passing... or just want a coffee."

I took a business card from my pocket and hastily scribbled my personal mobile phone number on the back, "if you think of anything else, anything at all, please call me." Did I just emphasise the word 'anything'? Quite possibly, my brain wasn't the part of my body controlling my vocal chords.

I met Wendy in the lobby and we walked back to the car together. "You were gone a long time, any luck?" she asked as we climbed into the car. I shook my head, "not as far as the case goes, you?"

Wendy grimaced, "seven not at home, three at home but wouldn't answer the door but the rest..." she shrugged, "no-one I spoke to saw or heard anything. But I did find out how Boris got into the building, Mrs Gribble on the second floor let him in."

"How come?"

"Her door-buzzer sounded yesterday morning, when she answered the intercom a man's voice said he had a delivery for her so she opened the front door, simple as that. She still thinks her parcel was delivered to the wrong apartment."

We sat in the car as the windows slowly steamed up, comparing notes and eating hot muffins. "Hey, these are really good" said Wendy trying not to spray crumbs into her lap, "who gave them to you?"

I took another bite of my cake, "a concerned citizen who doesn't think the Police are a bunch of fascist bastards."

Wendy made a few more appreciative noises, "do you think she'd share the recipe?" I was about to give the 'never assume' lecture and explain that it had been a man doing the baking but then changed my mind. I already knew Hugh was susceptible to pretty young women and, gay or not, I had no intention of letting the nubile Wendy Brookes anywhere near 'my' Mr Trenton.

Changing the subject I asked, "what do you know about Bertillon measurements?"

Wendy looked up, surprised at the question, "Biometrics? Something to do with the shape of the face, apparently the structure of the ear is as distinctive as fingerprints and can be used to identify any individual although... " she trailed off, "do you think Boris wore that hat deliberately to hide his ears?" She was quick, I'll give her that.

I nodded, "one of the residents I spoke to works in security, I showed him the photo and he wondered if that was why Boris was wearing the hat. It's probably just a co-incidence, all he got away with was an old laptop, a wallet full of Euros, their holiday money, and some cheap jewellery so he's not a criminal mastermind but it might be worth looking into." Having finished our cake, wiped our fingers on tissues from a pack in the glove compartment we set off for an early lunch at 'The Black Prince.'

A Chief Superintendent is about four grades higher up the food chain than a lowly sergeant and ours, Jim Jarvis, was an easy-going, overweight, old-school cop who only got annoyed by bad spelling and people parking in his space in front of the Station. In general a summons to his office meant a commendation or a bollocking, as I hadn't done anything particularly praiseworthy or spelt 'accommodation' with one 'm' recently I was a bit surprised when he put his head around the door of the duty room and said, "Sergeant Davis, could you spare a minute?"

A polite way of saying 'come with me'.

Janet, our Clerical Assistant, raised a questioning eyebrow as I walked past (only the Police could hire a dyslexic CA) I shrugged my shoulders and raised my hands, palms upwards, the internationally recognised sign language for 'I haven't a clue'.

In his office the Chief gestured to a chair saying, "please, take a seat" and then, settling himself behind his desk, got down to business.

"Deira" (first name terms, so this wasn't a bollocking) "you've been a Sergeant now for what? five years? and a Training Officer for the past eighteen months, you've done an excellent job so isn't it about time you put yourself forward for the Inspectors exam?"

I made the usual noises about not feeling quite ready, needing to gain more experience but I couldn't really claim that I was too young, at 32 I was aware of other Sergeants, junior to me, who had already been promoted.

The Super heard me out before nodding and then said, "Sergeant Worth is retiring next month."

I must have looked blank, he leaned forward and explained.

"Peter Worth is the Schools Liaison Officer, it's a very important post that merits an officer with the rank of Sergeant. The SLO gives talks to all the educational establishments in the County, crime prevention, drug advice, careers in the Police, that sort of thing. I've asked for volunteers but no-one has come forward so it looks as if I'm going to have to appoint someone."

I felt a cold chill, I could see exactly where this was heading, if I didn't sit his bloody exam then I was going to end up giving talks to groups of snotty school kids who wanted to be there even less than I did.

The Chief could see I got the message, he leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers over his ample waist and said with a smug smile, "yes, I know, it's blackmail, but I need Inspectors more than I need Sergeants."

I glared at him, "no, it's not Blackmail, it's Coercion and, under section 77 of the Statute of 2015, is a crime punishable..." I stopped, the Super was still smiling but now it was the satisfied smile of a cat that has just cornered a mouse. "You did that on purpose" I accused him bitterly.

Suddenly serious he sat up, "Deira there aren't many Officers in County who could have made that distinction and none that I know of who could quote the relevant Statute. So please, no more crap about not having enough experience; take a day to think about it but I want to see your name on the list of candidates for the Inspectors Exam or...."

It was gone six o'clock and dark by the time I got home and a light drizzle was making orange halos around the street lamps. By day the streets of the housing estate where we lived were empty but now they were lined with cars and when I reached our house Darren's Toyota was blocking the driveway, which meant I had to cruise around the side streets looking for somewhere to park.

Darren had been working nights for the last six months along with his co-driver, Sharon White. I'd always thought she was a bit butch, short hair, deep voice, that sort of thing but she was married to a dentist and they had two small children. Working nights meant she was able to get home and give them breakfast in the morning before taking them to school and could pick them up in the afternoon.

I knew Darren had volunteered for the graveyard shift because we saw less of each other that way, maybe it was for the best as all we seemed to do these days was fight. We'd moved into separate bedrooms because our sleeping patterns were so different but as we hadn't had sex in months that hardly mattered.

But would it have killed him to move his car out onto the road during the day when it was quiet? I finally found a space but it took me10 minutes to walk home in the rain knowing there would be an equally tedious journey tomorrow morning to retrieve my car. I reached the house and I stood outside on the porch counting to ten, forcing myself to take deep breaths and relax, "tonight" I promised myself, "we will not have another row." I repeated this three times until I felt sufficiently calm to go inside.

Using my key I let myself in and gave a cheerful, "I'm home" and heard Darren call, "through here" from the kitchen so I went in to say hi. He was sitting at the table, already in uniform, filling in his time-sheets. The arrangement was that he'd begin preparing the meal before I got home but tonight there was no sign of any culinary activity. Okay, no big deal, I could soon get things ready.

"What would you like for dinner?" I asked determined to stay pleasant. Without looking up he replied, "fillet steak". I laughed, "get real Darren, you know we can't afford that."

There was a moments silence before he replied, "we can once you've made Inspector" and he made no attempt to hide the bitterness in his voice.

And there it was.

We had got together thirteen years ago when we were both cadets, back then if you had to choose which of us would go furthest, fastest, you wouldn't have hesitated to pick Darren. Smart and self-confident he was the star pupil with a great career ahead of him but Darren had two faults, the first, taken on its own was not that serious, he did not suffer fools gladly. But, taken in connection with the second it was toxic, Darren did not know when to keep his mouth shut.

Right or wrong, if you tell a senior officer to his face that he's a prat there will be consequences. Darren was told to apologise, he refused, suspension and an official reprimand followed. Worse, he gained the reputation for being 'difficult' and as a result when the Promotion Board met his name was never put forward.

Looking back he should have resigned and found another job but he loved what he did and he was good at it. As Darren said, where else could you drive down the M6 at 130 miles an hour chasing drug dealers in a stolen BMW? But after 11 years in the job he was still a constable and I knew our problems had begun when I made Sergeant which is why I'd never put myself forward for another promotion, things were bad enough already why make them worse?

"Word travels fast" I said non-committedly, "anyway, I turned it down."

Darren tidied away his papers, "that's not what I heard" he sounded hostile. There didn't seem to be any point arguing about it so I went to the fridge to start getting dinner ready.

I was surprised to see the shopping list I'd left for him still on the counter. "Didn't you go to Tesco's today?" I asked, beginning to get annoyed.

He shrugged, "never got round to it."

I was angry now, "Oh for God's sake Darren, if you couldn't be bothered why didn't you call me? At least I could have picked something up on the way home."

Darren suddenly got to his feet, "Jesus Dee, can't you do anything but bloody complain? You haven't said one positive thing since you got home, it's like you have permanent PMS". I just stared at him, this wasn't fair, I was searching for words when he said, "forget dinner, I'll get something at the Station" and picking up his jacket and timesheets he headed out.

The front door slammed shut, I waited just in case he changed his mind but then I heard the car drive away and the house became quiet. Silently I emptied my bag onto the table, as usual I'd brought paperwork home but at the bottom of the bag was a Tupperware box containing the last two muffins, I'd saved them for Darren but screw that, I took the lid off the box and ate them both.

And there I sat, in a silent, empty house, feeling miserable and alone, listening to the ticking of the kitchen clock. The past thirteen years together had been pretty good, the usual highs and lows, but it was over, it was just that neither of us knew how to end it.

I was staring at the now empty Tupperware container, 'drop it off next time you're passing', that's what he'd said, well why not tonight? It wasn't as if I was doing anything else. "Oh for God's sake" I told myself in disgust "so you met a guy today you fancied, you spoke to him for all of ten minutes and now you're behaving like a bloody schoolgirl with the hots for the singer in a Boy Band, just get over yourself. Anyway, you're not his type" and with that I took myself off to the shower.

Thinking back to my critical self-assessment outside Greenview Court that morning when I'd rated myself an 'eight' at best, I spent some time shaving my legs, trimmed my bush and washed my hair, not having sex with Darren was no excuse for letting myself go. Later, as I was towelling my hair dry I went around the bedroom reviewing my options: if I finished writing up my notes from today's interviews I could have the report on Inspector Craddock's desk in the morning, that would be worth a few brownie points.

I found myself opening my underwear drawer, beneath the sensible, big knickers were a pair of black, silk briefs, matching quarter-cup bra, suspender belt and fishnet stockings. I'd bought the outfit months ago when I was trying to resurrect our sex life, it hadn't worked but maybe I should try them on now just to see if they still fitted?

Never mind the paperwork, I really needed to do the ironing, Darren was running out of shirts, if I did it all tonight I could take a break over the weekend.

I put the bra on and settled my breasts into it, they still looked good but maybe not quite as perky as they once were? No matter, the bra lifted them up and my nipples, already at attention from the unaccustomed handling, were on display.

And when did I last do any cleaning? It wouldn't take long to run the hoover over the carpet or get out a duster and tidy the place up.

I pulled on the silk briefs, they felt odd but in a nice way, a bit tight maybe? the elastic might leave a red mark on my skin but I was only just trying them on, right?

Or I could take the easy option, put on my dressing gown, open a bottle of wine and watch TV?

I clipped the suspenders to the top of the stockings and admired myself in the mirror... I was looking damn good, it seemed a shame to waste an outfit like that.

I selected a thin, white blouse from the wardrobe and put it on, you could just about see the straps of the bra through the material and my nipples were making little tents in the soft cotton. A tight, black leather mini-skirt, big, gold hoop earrings and 'Crimson Kiss' lipstick completed the outfit and I looked at myself critically in the mirror. "Well, what do you think?" I asked my reflection. It seemed like years since I'd dressed up to please a man and I was feeling naughty and a bit nervous.

'Hmmm, lose the hoops and tone down the lipstick, you're aiming for sexy not slutty' was the verdict. "Good point" I agreed and replaced the hoops with gold studs and substituted 'Pink Mist' for the red war paint.

I took a long raincoat from the closet and carefully fastened all the buttons completely concealing the 'fuck me' outfit beneath. Yes, I would go over to Hugh Trenton's but just to drop off the Tupperware, of course I wouldn't go in, I'd just thank him for the muffins and leave, no harm in being polite.

And with that thought I went out to find my car.

When I got to Flat 4/6 at Greenview Court I almost bottled it, if I'd heard voices from inside I think I'd have gone back to the car and driven away, but it was quiet. There was a light under the door so someone was home, but was he alone? Only one way to find out, I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

I heard a chair being pulled back somewhere inside and a few moments later the door opened and there he was, looking every bit as good as he had that morning, still wearing the pale blue shirt and cream chino's.

He looked pleased to see me, "Sergeant, come in, I'm glad you're here I was just about to call you."

Hugh ushered me into the flat which was warm and in semi-darkness, an angle-poise lamp threw a bright cone of light onto the desk on the far side of the room and the big aquarium, back-lit, gave off a soft radiance with the fish casting slow-moving shadows on the carpet. Somewhere an unseen stereo was playing classical music so quietly as to be barely audible.

I unbuttoned my coat, standing behind me Hugh slipped it off my shoulders and hung it up on the hooks beside the door. "I think I might have found something..."

Still talking he turned back to face me and went very quiet, then he said, "please tell me you're not on your way somewhere else?"

"No, I came to see you, it's a social call." Before leaving home I'd debated leaving the second button of my blouse undone and had decided to risk it but, seeing the look on his face, I reached up and undid a third.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked. I nodded, my mouth so dry I wasn't sure I could articulate the word 'yes'. "Red or White? Sorry I don't have any Rose."

I'd managed to get my voice back, "white please, Sauvignon Blanc if you have it."

Hugh opened the fridge door and reached in, "you're in luck, I've treated myself to a bottle of Cloudy Bay."

We sat on the big couch sipping wine, it was icy cold and delicious, I made no attempt to stop my skirt riding up, I have good legs and was happy to show them off. Hugh sat close to me and complimented me on my outfit, lightly touching my cotton-covered breasts, I really wanted him to caress my nipples but instead his fingers moved up and gently brushed a strand of hair off my forehead.

He began to stroke my cheek, I leaned against his hand and when his fingertips touched my lips I looked directly at him and kissed them. He took my glass of wine and placed it on the table next to his, then he put his arm around me, leant forwards and pressed his lips to mine, it felt wonderful. Softly at first he became bolder, more insistent, when his tongue began probing my lips I parted them and welcomed him into my mouth with a soft moan of surrender.

I felt his hand unbuttoning my blouse and gave an involuntary gasp as his searching fingers reached inside and found my exposed nipples, a shiver ran down my body and settled, tingling, between my thighs as he began to twist and tease them.

I have this rule, a guy doesn't get to feel me up without getting felt up in return, I reached down and placed my hand over his crotch, finding and rubbing the hard bulge in his pants. With practiced fingers I unzipped his chinos and, not without some difficulty, slipped my hand inside and began to stroke his rapidly hardening cock.

He groaned softly, "God, that's nice but Deira don't start something you can't stop."

I gave a soft laugh and kissed him saying, "I'm not stopping anything tonight, can I offer you a ride?"

He laughed, "just say when you want me to mount up." I felt his hand on my knee, slowly beginning to move up my thigh and I tried to open my legs only to discover the tight, black mini-skirt that had looked so sexy was now getting in the way. Hugh had his hand on my thigh but my attempts to give him full access were being frustrated, the skirt was behaving like a leather chastity belt holding my legs together. Time to move things up a gear.

The stereo was playing one of the few pieces of classical music I recognised, I stood up and slowly removed my clothes, one item at a time, stripping to the muted strains of Ravel's 'Bolero' and tossed them onto the sofa beside Hugh.

In the warm glow of the light from the aquarium I stood, dressed only in a suspender belt, pants and stockings, under the admiring eyes of a man I'd only known for a few hours.

I felt like I was eighteen again and about to have sex for the first time, naked on my boyfriends bed, our clothes in a pile on the floor, watching, slightly breathless as he inexpertly rolled a condom onto his erection. We'd got this far a dozen times before but somehow I'd never had the nerve to 'go all the way', but that afternoon we had the house to ourselves and I was ready...

Lying there I'd been excited, nervous, even a little scared, my legs slightly open, gently rubbing myself, my hips making small, involuntary thrusting motions on the bed as I anxiously waited for him to take me, knowing that things were never going to be the same again.

And that was how I felt now under Hugh Trenton's appreciative gaze, with butterflies in my tummy I unclipped the suspender belt and made a performance of taking my pants off, easing them down a little way before pulling them back up as if I'd changed my mind. I grinned at the look of disappointment on his face before relenting, hooked my fingers in the waistband and slowly pushed them all the way down my legs before stepping out of them. I was about to roll the stockings down when he said, "no, leave them on, Christ Deira, you look so sexy."

And I felt it, I hadn't been this turned on in years, reaching down between my legs I touched myself, was I wet? Oh God yes, my inner thighs were already slick to the touch. I dipped two fingers into my pussy, aware that Hugh was watching every move, I coated them with love-juice and began to rub it over my breasts. I repeated the process until my tits were shining with gel and my nipples felt as hard as cherry stones.

Then I reached down again, this time inserting my fingers as far as the second knuckle and, as I slowly eased them free, silver threads briefly hung suspended before breaking and forming small, translucent beads on my skin.

I held my hand out to Hugh, he leaned forward and took the offered fingers in his mouth, gently sucking off every last drop. "Like that?" I asked softly. He could only nod, his tongue busy elsewhere. I smiled at him, "you can have more later, but first..."

I slowly knelt down on the carpet in front of him, reaching up I began to unbutton his shirt, he sat forward slightly so I could ease it off over his shoulders. Then I unfastened Hugh's belt and, making small lifting motions with my hands, said, "up!"

Smiling, he obediently lifted his hips off the cushions and I pulled his pants and shorts over his hips and all the way down to his ankles. Slipping off his shoes and socks I finished undressing him and tossed his clothes onto the sofa beside mine.

Then I paid attention to his body, Darren was ripped but Hugh had nothing to be ashamed of, he breathed in sharply as I lightly raked my nails slowly down his torso to his groin; to my surprise he was shaved. I tilted my head to one side and gave him an enquiring look as my fingers traced circles on his bare skin.

He shivered at the touch, "Celeste liked me this way, it's a Chinese thing apparently, I was going to let it grow back but it itched like crazy, it was easier to keep shaving."

I leaned forward and licked the smooth, warm skin, thinking 'and you were still hoping she might come back' but said, "I like it, makes my job that much easier." Before he could ask what 'job' I had in mind my mouth closed around his

shaft.

I might not be a young, exotic, Chinese student but I have my talents. When I started dating Darren I soon discovered that he loved fellatio, to him it wasn't just foreplay, it was sex, what came next was almost an afterthought - although, to be fair, he was damn good at it.

And Darren liked it risky, I'd given him blowjobs in traffic jams where passing lorry drivers honked their approval, passengers in National Express buses either looked away embarrassed or grinned down at us enviously. I'd gone down on him in empty bedrooms at parties, let him cum in my mouth on half-a-hundred walks in the woods and after all that practice I knew I was a world class fellatrix.

But two young PC's getting caught having sex in the woods might rate a few laughs in the canteen and a fatherly word from the duty-sergeant however, with rank comes responsibility. When I got my sergeants stripes it was made clear that we were expected to set an example; no more fiddling expenses, 'borrowing' office supplies or anything that 'might bring the police into disrepute', in a room full of newly promoted sergeants I swear the Inspector was looking straight at me when he said that... Darren could have as much sex as he liked in our bedroom but from now on that was where it had to stay. I'm pretty sure that was when our relationship began to sour.

Using my educated tongue I could bring a guy off fast or slow but tonight I wasn't going to let Hugh Trenton cum at all, well, not in my mouth. I wasn't going to risk him being a 'one hit wonder', it had been too long since I'd had a man and tonight I needed to feel a hard cock ejaculating inside me, drenching my parched pussy with man-juice. I was eagerly anticipating those hot, thick spurts filling me up and afterwards holding him close as the warm cum dripped from my well-fucked twat.

God! I really did not need to worry about him only having a single-shot pistol, more like a belt-fed mortar...

When I sensed him getting close I raised my head and grinned at the look of disappointment on his face, I'd only just started. I got to my feet and climbed onto the sofa, straddling Hughs hips, he leaned forward and began to lick the now-sticky pre-cum off my boobs as I settled myself astride him, reached down and positioned his shaft between my legs. I slowly sat down, impaling myself on his big, fat, hot cock and we both gave long, satisfied moans as my pussy welcomed him deep inside.

From the couch we moved to that king-sized bed and Hugh had me nine ways to Sunday; my favourite position is 'doggy style' and he was more than happy to oblige but it didn't stop there. I guess we both had some catching up to do and Hugh was an energetic and inventive lover, usually I don't cum more than once in a session but he was setting off fireworks in my body and I gave up counting the number of times I screamed and hugged him close as he hit my release button. And then, finally, laughing and kissing we relaxed, snuggled happily together in a slightly sweaty tangle of arms and legs.

It felt great to be lying there with him but I looked at the clock and sighed, I had a late start tomorrow but I should be getting to bed, my own bed. I reached across and kissed Hugh, "sorry handsome but I have to go." He was already half-asleep and murmured softly, "come on Deira, just another ten minutes, this is so nice" and he reached over to cuddle me. I laughed, "Hugh, in ten minutes you'll be hard again and I won't be going anywhere!" Wriggling out of his embrace I got up and began to hunt for my clothes.

He saw me to the door but suddenly stopped, "sorry, I knew there was something else" and he went across to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a zip-lock bag. "It occurred to me that 'Boris' might have ditched that face-mask almost as soon as he left the building, they're not particularly comfortable, so I walked around the car park after you left and found this in the hedge." He handed me a sealed freezer bag containing a blue, medicated face mask, "it certainly wasn't there yesterday and if it was discarded by the burglar it will have his DNA on it, might be worth a try?"

I gave a mental groan and cursed Vera, Inspector Barnaby and all the TV cops who could send a sample 'off to the lab' and have the results back before the second lot of adverts. The Police don't have a 'lab' anymore, it's all been outsourced, it takes weeks to get the results back and costs a fortune. You need written authorisation from a senior officer to apply for a DNA analysis and there was no way anyone was going to sign off on that kind of expense for a simple break-in.

Still, it had been an intelligent piece of deduction so I took the bag and thanked him warmly.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked between kisses. I didn't have to think about it, "if you like but I'm on the afternoon shift, can't make it until about eight, is that okay?" He smiled, "then poached salmon with wild rice and spring vegetables will be served at nine, how does that sound?" I laughed, "sounds wonderful but what's for dessert?" he didn't reply, just squeezed my hand and gave 'that' smile. I left the flat after a long, passionate, goodnight kiss, if he'd put his hand anywhere below my waist I think I'd have gone straight back to bed with him, stayed the night and to hell with the consequences.

I walked out to my car with a smile on my face, feeling a lot more relaxed than when I'd arrived. I was humming softly to myself as I opened the car door but I'd no sooner made myself comfortable in the driver's seat than I realised I was sitting in a puddle. It had been so long since I'd had sex I'd forgotten the old rule, 'what goes up must come down' and what was coming down was a great deal of Hugh Trenton's genetic material.

I flipped open the glove compartment to get the pack of tissues I kept there only to remember that Wendy and I had used the last one wiping our hands after eating muffins that morning. There was nothing else for it, silk may be sexy but it's not absorbent, I pulled the stupidly tight skirt up around my waist, eased my pants off and used them to mop up as much of the mess as I could before stuffing what was now a wet rag into my handbag and resigned myself to an uncomfortable journey home. God, how many times did Hugh have me tonight? there would be more to come.

But I was still smiling as I pulled out onto Bolton Road, it had been years since I left a guy's apartment with my knickers in my purse and I felt like I was nineteen again. I drove home with my thighs pressed together and changed gear as little as possible.

It was still raining when I got back around 1.00 am but at least I could park in the driveway. Locking the car I laughed and did a twirl on the path out of sheer joy but as I let myself in the front door the good mood faded. The shock of familiar surroundings began to bring home the enormity of what I'd done and I felt a stab of guilt, I'd had sex with another man, I'd cheated on my partner.

But almost immediately a surge of anger overwhelmed the remorse, why the hell shouldn't I? If Darren didn't want me in bed then I had every right to find myself a man who did, and Hugh Trenton most certainly did. I sighed as I thought of his kisses, his hard cock in my hand, in my mouth and in my pussy, I leaned against the wall in the darkened hallway and caught my breath at the memory of Hugh's body on top of mine, my legs wrapped around his torso, that hard shaft thrusting deep between my splayed legs and that warm, wet, wonderful feeling of a man ejaculating deep inside me.

Speaking of which, I opened my purse and removed the soiled pants before they stuck to anything, what was I going to do with them? I really should rinse them out straight away but then I'd need somewhere to dry them, which would usually be over the shower rail in the bathroom...

... where Darren would see them and might start asking questions that I wasn't ready to answer, not yet anyway. In the end I opened the laundry basket and stuffed my pants halfway down, I'd put them in the wash with the rest of the underwear tomorrow.

Then, tired but happy, I went to bed but it took a while to fall asleep, I lay staring at the darkened ceiling, alternating between hugging myself at the memory of the fun I'd had tonight and almost crying with guilt at betraying Darren.

Next day I managed to intercept Wendy on her way to court to observe WPC Carol Pierce giving testimony (item 17 on the training file), it wasn't a particularly exciting case but Carol was young, good-looking and single and I wasn't above a bit of match-making on the side.

We made ourselves comfortable in a vacant interview room and I brought out the zip-lock bag with the face mask and put it on the table between us. "Do you remember that I spoke to a Security Consultant at Greenview Court yesterday?" Wendy nodded. I chose my words carefully, "well he wondered if Boris might have ditched the face mask as soon as he left the building so he went looking in the bushes around the carpark and found this", I held up the zip-lock bag. "He's sure it wasn't there before the break-in so there's a chance he was right."

Wendy looked at it dubiously, "do you think there might be DNA on it? that seems a bit unlikely..." she paused and looked at me thoughtfully, "wait a minute, when did you get this? did you go back to see him last night?" Sometimes WPC Brookes was a bit too sharp for my peace of mind.

I avoided eye contact, "well yes, I did go over, just to see if he had any fresh insights into the case."

She was studying me closely, "you seem happy this morning Deira, very happy indeed, there's a sort of glow about you, tell me, did any of those 'fresh insights' take place in his bedroom?"

I just grinned, I couldn't help myself, the memory of last night was too sweet.

Seeing my expression Wendy leaned forward eagerly, "Sergeant Davis, have you been tampering with a witness?"

Laughing, I protested, "he wasn't a witness to anything!" (except my stripping naked in his living room).

WPC Brookes sat back smiling triumphantly. "Ha! so you did tamper with him!"

"Focus young lady" I said with mock severity. "There may be DNA on it but we'd never get an application approved but maybe we don't need to. After you've been to court I'd like you to go down to Records and speak to Jim Forbes. Ask him to go through the files, they're all computerised now so it shouldn't take too long.

Boris isn't a criminal mastermind, maybe he's a petty thief who needs to keep his ears out of sight? Look for someone with a record of breaking-and-entering but who has a tattoo or a scar, something he'd rather we didn't see, on the side of his face."

Wendy nodded, "Okay, see you later."

The next night with Hugh was even better than the first, despite my good intentions about only closing my eyes for a few minutes I fell deeply asleep. Sexually satiated, warm, cuddled up to my lover I had the best nights rest I can remember only to wake with a start at 7.00 am.

"Shit!" I was about to leap out of bed, throw on my clothes and race back home but then I stopped myself. What was the point? why was I bothering? It was too late, Darren would be home long before I could hope to get there but so what? It was over, this might not be the way I wanted it to end but perhaps it was for the best?

With that thought I lay back down beside Hugh but my sudden movement must have woken him up as he stirred and said sleepily, "you still here Cinderella? I thought you had to be home by midnight?"

I turned to face him and gave him a kiss, putting my hand down between us I could feel him already beginning to get aroused. "Why? Do you want me to leave?" I asked as I began stroking his rapidly hardening erection.

He grinned, "only after you've 'cum'" and, laughing, he rolled on top of me. I spread my legs wide, literally an open invitation, "ready when you are Mr Trenton."

I wasn't on duty until lunchtime so I took my time driving home and got there around nine, Darren's car was in the drive dashing any hopes that he might have been delayed at the Station. The street was already beginning to empty and I found a parking spot right outside the house, walking up the drive I put my hand on the bonnet of the Toyota, stone cold, Darren must have been home for hours. There was a slight chance that he'd gone straight to bed without checking in on me so I let myself in as quietly as I could only to hear him call, "I'm in the kitchen."

I took a deep breath, 'here it comes' I thought to myself as I went through. He was sitting quietly at the table nursing an empty coffee cup.

"Where have you been?" he sounded very calm, worryingly so, how long would that last? I toyed with the idea of making up some story but discarded it, with my hair mussed up and lipstick hastily applied, I looked fresh from someone's bed and I knew it. How could I explain that away? did I even want to? Like tearing off a band-aid it's best to get it over with.

"I spent the night with another man."

There, it was done. Even during the worst of our quarrels Darren had never been violent but I'd never provoked him like this. I kept the kitchen table between us, the open door at my back. In a straight fight I didn't have a chance, my only hope was to get out of the house as fast as possible and scream for help.

But he just sat in the chair, there was no visible reaction at all, then he said, "I know" and, reaching down beside him brought up the stained, black pants I'd worn two nights ago.

I stared open-mouthed at the incriminating evidence, I couldn't believe it, "you searched the bloody laundry basket??"

He shook his head, "no, I was looking for somewhere to hide these" he reached down again and placed a pair of equally soiled, blue boxer shorts next to my underwear. "I was going to stash them halfway down but when I lifted up the top layer of laundry I found your pants."

The implication of those stained boxers hit me and I suddenly felt the need to sit down, pulling out a chair I almost fell onto it. Staring at his underwear on the table I managed to ask "who?"

He didn't reply for a few moments then shook his head, "you first."

I shrugged, why not? "His name's Hugh, I met him doing door-to-door enquiries."

Darren nodded as if he'd expected that answer, "how long?"

I picked up my pants, the black silk now crusted white with dried semen, "two days, this" I said holding them up, "was our first time. And you?"

He was silent for a moment, "Sharon, my co-driver."

Oh God, that was so dangerous; hook-ups between unmarried personnel are tolerated as long as they're discrete, Darren and I were a good example, but extra-marital affairs crossed a line that invariably resulted in disciplinary action. If they were caught Sharon might be facing a Formal Warning and a loss of seniority but with his record Darren would be shown the door.

Appalled, I stared at him, "but she's married Darren, does her husband know?"

He nodded, "that's what started it, he's been having an affair with his hygienist, they're staying together for the sake of the kids but sleeping apart." Yeah, but Sharon still wanted sex, well I knew how that felt, Darren had been an easy target.

It was my turn to ask, "how long?" repeating Darrens question back to him.

He avoided meeting my eyes, "six months." I sat back, that made sense, it had been six months ago that things had gone from 'bad' to 'bloody impossible' between us and I'd moved into the spare room.

We sat in silence for a few minutes before I asked, "want a cuppa?" I have no idea why I said that, your world is falling apart but the first thing that crosses your mind is making a pot of tea, go figure.

He looked at me with an uncertain smile, "sure, thanks, that would be great." I got up and busied myself with the kettle.

So, still trying to adjust to what had happened, we sat at the kitchen table quietly sipping tea. I picked up his boxers, they weren't damp, they were wet. "Jesus Darren, how did they get into this state?"

He ran his hand over his head and groaned, "Sharon came so hard she pissed herself but couldn't reach the tissues so she grabbed the first thing that came to hand to clean up." I couldn't help it, I laughed. Darren looked surprised, "why's that funny?"

I held up both pairs of pants and compared them, "because that's exactly how mine got ruined, I had to mop up the mess and come home Commando."

He grimaced, "me too and it was bloody uncomfortable, my bits felt so cold I had to keep checking to see if my fly was open." We both laughed at that, God, how long had it been since we had laughed at anything together?

The tension was gone, there was no need to pretend any longer, no more lies, no more fighting, maybe this wasn't how either of us had wanted things to end but it was over. Looking across at Darren I realised that it wasn't sadness or regret I felt, it was relief. Now we were just two people who had once shared a life, sitting together, talking.

There was silence for perhaps a minute as we finished our tea. "Where did we go wrong Darren?" I asked softly. It wasn't a rhetorical question, I knew the answer but did he?

Apparently he did, "when I became an arse Dee. I should have been proud of you, happy that you got promoted to Sergeant instead I sulked like a kid in the playground and I'm sorry."

It was a morning of firsts, Darren rarely admitted he was wrong and never, ever apologised for anything. 'Saying sorry is a sign of weakness' was his motto, I think he got that from some TV show but here he was, not only admitting he'd screwed up but expressing remorse.

He put his cup down, "do you want me to move out?"

I stared at him, this was so weird, if he'd made that offer yesterday I'd have packed his bags and given him money for petrol, now it didn't seem so important. "Where would you go?"

He shrugged, "Steve and Mike share a flat over in Newtown, they'd let me kip on the sofa until I find my own place."

That didn't sound like much of a plan; "we could sell the house" I said, "it's gone up in value since we bought it, there wouldn't be much left after we paid off the bank and the legal fees but it would be something."

Darren shook his head, "you love this house Dee, it's your home, you've put so much into it."

All true but... "Darren I can't afford the mortgage on my own let alone the bills; heating, electricity and Council Tax and the like."

I thought about it a bit more, "you know, these past six months we've hardly seen each other, more like house-mates than a couple, we sleep in separate beds and keep different hours, would it be so hard to stay that way?"

As soon as I said it I realised this wasn't a bad idea and I could see he thought so too, he nodded slowly. "It might work, that's if you don't mind?" This new, considerate Darren was going to take some getting used to.

He was quiet for a moment, "can we still be friends Dee?" I looked at him appraisingly; he was a handsome guy with a great body. He'd taken to shaving his head, said it made him look more 'macho' although I was pretty sure it was because his hair line was receding, but it suited him.

I toyed with my empty cup, "could we make that 'friends with benefits'?" Darren looked up in surprise, caught off guard by the question. I explained, "If a good-looking guy gets to be nearly forty and has never been married he's either gay, and Hugh is not gay, or has serious commitment issues. I've just been reminded how much I like sex, when it ends with him I don't want to have to go back to using my vibrator."

I watched Darren absorbing the information, it didn't take long for him to decide that yes, maybe he could handle two women, in fact I could see he was rather taken with the idea. "That would be great Dee, I owe you, just let me know when you want to... well, you know, enjoy the 'benefits'."

I leaned back in my chair and smiled at him, then I began to unbutton my blouse, "no time like the present, unless Sharon has left you shagged out?" I could see Darren watching as I eased my blouse off my shoulders, his eyebrows went up as he saw my nipples poking through the openings in the front of my Peek-a-Boo bra. "Like it?" I asked "the pants match."

He laughed, "this I need to see, and no, I'm not shagged out. Want to go to bed?" I nodded eagerly, he took my hand and we practically ran up the stairs, on the landing he paused, "your place or mine?"

"Yours" I said promptly, there was going to be the mother of all damp patches and I wanted Darren to be the one sleeping on it. Besides, unless he remembered to change the sheets before Sharon climbed into his bed again he'd be facing some awkward questions.

It felt like old times to be undressing in front of Darren, I knew he was watching as I undid my skirt and let it drop to the floor. I made sure he got the full benefit of my sexy pants, undoing the little bow securing the aperture I held the edges open and teased a few soft curls out through the gap. His shirt had already been discarded by the time he unfasten his pants and pulled them off (exposing the fact that he wore nothing underneath, I smiled at the memory of his ruined boxers still lying on the kitchen table).

Suddenly impatient I quickly removed my bra and pants before climbing onto the bed beside him, naked we lay next to each other lightly kissing as our hands explored all the old familiar places.

"Is this make-up sex?" asked Darren as he gently teased my nipples. I thought about it for a moment but there had been too much bitterness and too many ugly quarrels for things to go back to the way they were.

"Shall we just call it sex to celebrate the end of hostilities?" I offered.

He nodded, "so, a truce if not quite peace?"

"Works for me" I said. I kissed him again and began to move down the bed. Steal my boyfriend would she? Well WPC Sharon White, you might be good in bed but I knew exactly what Darren liked best and was going to remind him of what he'd been missing.

Darren put a warning hand on my shoulder, "Uh, Dee, I haven't had time to wash-up yet." I looked up at him and grinned mischievously, "well, it wouldn't be the first time you've made me taste another woman!"

He looked puzzled, "when was that?"

"Ryton woods; don't tell me you've forgotten the old girl!"

He laughed, "Jesus Dee, that was years ago!" He was right, it had been what? ten years since we'd been to Ryton Woods? Back then it had been one of our favourite places; there was a big oak, partially screened by bushes, far enough from the track so we could plausibly claim to be private but close enough so that anyone passing could just about see what we were up to. As I said, Darren liked it risky.

More than once we'd been spotted, the guys tended to whistle and give a thumbs up, women just looked the other way pretending not to have noticed. Occasionally we got angry shouts and be told, 'get a room' but that day was different. Darren had been leaning back against the tree, his jeans and shorts pulled half-down, me on my knees, one hand inside my pants the other cradling his balls, his cock in my mouth as I worked on him.

I'd suddenly become aware we had company, in my peripheral vision I could see a dog-walker coming straight towards us, I tried to pull away but Darren put his hand behind my head and held me there. It was a woman although from my kneeling position, my view obstructed by Darrens arm, I couldn't see anything of her above the waist; sensible walking shoes, long socks and a tweed midi-skirt, the dog was an old, black Labrador with a grey muzzle.

The footsteps got louder as she approached, dry leaves crunching underfoot, I closed my eyes and braced myself for the inevitable torrent of abuse. We'd been called 'perverts' and worse before but this woman said nothing, just came right up to us and stood watching, no more than a couple of feet away.

With a sigh the old Labrador lay down in the leaf litter, resting his chin on his crossed paws he looked up at me with a resigned, 'here we go again' sort of expression. The leash dropped to the ground beside him and I watched, astonished, as the old girl hitched her skirt up around her waist revealing a pair of meaty hams and embroidered, white satin pants. The expensive kind.

She paused for a moment, then hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed them half down her thighs, her crotch was exactly at my eye level and I noted with a mixture of surprise and admiration that the grey hair of her pubic thatch had been neatly trimmed into a heart shape. Her movements restricted by the pants at 'half-mast' around her legs she shuffled a step closer and thrust her hips forward invitingly.

Darren took his hand from behind my head and reached over, he cupped his hand over her mons and slipped first one, then two fingers into the offered snatch. She must have been wet as he hooked them deep into her open pussy without any apparent effort. Then he began to expertly frig her, I watched as his hand twisted and flexed, his fingers pushing deep before pulling out only to thrust even further back in, accompanied by a moist, sucking sound as Darrens thumb relentlessly flicked the big, engorged clitoris.

I always thought 'knee trembler' was just a figure of speech but suddenly the old girl reached down, put her hand over Darren's and forced four of his fingers deep into her twat, she gave something between a grunt and a gasp and her knees really did begin to shake as she enjoyed what must have been a massive orgasm. Then her legs gave way, I felt Darren suddenly brace as he supported her full weight on his arm and she fell against us.

We stayed like that for perhaps half a minute, her coarse, pubic hair grazing my cheek, I felt the warmth of her belly pressed to my face and the strong scent of cum running down her legs.

Then the woman gave a happy sigh and, without saying a word, pushed herself unsteadily away, Darrens fingers slipping out of her pussy with a distinct, wet, 'slup'. The old girl paused for a second to catch her breath before reaching down to pull her pants back up and rearrange her skirt.

Satisfied with her appearance she bent over to pick up the dog leash and I saw her properly for the first time; she must have been in her fifties, there were lines on her face but she was still attractive with nicely styled, pepper-and-salt hair. But what struck me most was her earrings, platinum pendulums set with sapphires and I remember thinking what odd jewellery to be wearing for a dog walk.

She saw me looking at her, Darrens cock still in my mouth, gave a knowing, mischievous smile and winked, then, straightening up she gently tugged on the leash and the old Labrador lumbered arthritically to his feet. Without saying a word the pair walked off, back the way they'd come, into the woods.

I was still watching them when I realised Darren was holding his fingers to my face, the ones he'd been using to pleasure the old girl a minute before and, bemused by what had just happened I released Darrens cock, accepted them into my mouth without thinking and tasted another woman's pussy juice for the first time. She had a musky aroma, not unpleasant, maybe just a little salty and as I sucked Darrens fingers clean I thought of the sea.

It had been a few hours since they'd had sex and maybe Darren had cleaned himself up afterwards? but there was hardly any woman scent on him, I thought I detected a vague, floral fragrance, did Sharon use a vaginal deodorant? But it was too faint to be certain, not that it mattered, I got to work making sure that Darren wouldn't forget this morning.

I didn't let him cum in my mouth, we'd done this enough times for me to know the warning signs and he was still hard, very hard, when I pulled away and moved back up the bed. It was Darrens turn to please me.

I moaned a little as his fingers began frigging my pussy, I was still damp from having sex with Hugh only a couple of hours before but was getting even wetter now. Darren obviously remembered exactly what I liked and soon my hips were bucking and twisting as he drove me ever closer to a massive orgasm but just when I thought it was too late and I was right on the edge he rolled on top of me, I wrapped my legs around his body, held him close but almost as soon as Darren thrust into me I creamed and screamed, it was possibly the most intense orgasm he'd ever given me.

And that triggered his, for the second time that morning I was treated to the wonderful sensation of having a big, hard, hot cock fill me with man-juice. Choosing Darrens bed had been a good move, what felt like a river of warm cum was already running down the inside of my thigh.

For a while we just lay like that, holding each other and gently kissing like we used to and then, with a shaky laugh Darren moved off me and grabbed the box of tissues from the bedside table, grinning like small kids who'd just gotten away with a successful piece of mischief we cleaned each other up.

Darren fell asleep almost immediately and I dozed for a while myself, lost in a pleasant, satisfied haze but before I drifted off I remember thinking it was like London buses, you wait an hour for one to come along and then two arrive at once.

After a long shower and a bite of breakfast I was back at the Station just in time to see Wendy coming out of the Records Office with a stack of print-outs. "How did you get on?" I asked as we fell into step together, she handed over the papers to me, "we got about twenty hits but I've narrowed it down to four who match Boris's physical description, who aren't in jail already or haven't relocated to the Costa Del Crime." We made ourselves comfortable in the canteen and I went through the contenders, I didn't need to look past the second page and kicked myself for not thinking of 'Santa' Smith straight away.

I tapped the sheet, "it's him, 'Santa' George Smith." Wendy took the page and studied it, "'Santa'? do we have nick-names for every crook? And why is this one called 'Santa'?" I smiled, actually I had a soft spot for this particular villain. "George read that in Victorian times small boys were used as chimneysweeps and the flues were big enough to accommodate them. He's a bit undersized himself and had the happy idea of doing the same thing and climbing down the chimney of Barclays Bank in the old town, an 1886, Grade 1 listed building."

Wendy nodded, "so he's 'Santa', I guess that burglary didn't end well?" I smiled, "you could say that, George is a bit of a loser. It was all going according to plan until he was halfway down when he slipped and fell thirty feet to the steel grating at the bottom of the chimney, setting off the alarms in the process. They had to use an oxy-acetylene torch to get him out which pissed off the bank and the owner of the building which happened to be the National Trust. On the way down the silly bugger tore off part of his left ear on the brickwork which is why he's on your list."

I went to see Inspector Craddock, as usual his office door was open and he beckoned me in even before I could politely knock on the frame.

He smiled as I closed the door, "well Sergeant, what can I do for you?" I looked at him in surprise, we'd worked together long enough for me to be 'Deira' in private. He grinned at my expression, "I won't be able to call you 'Sergeant' for much longer so I thought I'd make the most of it!"

I threw up my hands in mock frustration, "is there anyone in the Station who doesn't know?" Then I got down to business, "Sir, (I might be 'Deira' to him but he was still 'Sir' to me) I've got a suspect for the Greenview Court break-in." He looked interested, "who is it?" I passed over Santa's file, "George Smith, I'd like to bring him in for questioning."

Craddock didn't bother opening it, just sat back looking thoughtful, "yes... it's definitely Santa's M. O., what evidence do you have?" This was the awkward part, "only circumstantial I'm afraid, there's no chance of a warrant but I'm hoping he'll come in voluntarily, make a statement and confess."

The Inspector looked at me as if waiting for the punchline to a joke, then, after a moment, "you're serious?!" and he burst out laughing. "Deira, Santa has spent more time in the interview room than either of us, and you're hoping to get a confession?!" he leaned back in his chair and laughed again. Still grinning he shook his head, "it's not going to happen but tell you what, you get Santa to confess and I'll buy doughnuts for the entire Station!"

And on that happy note I collected Wendy and we went off to find Santa Smith.

He was in the third betting shop we tried, there was a bit of a stir as we entered and a sudden silence fell over the clientele, the girl behind the glass screen looked questioningly at me but I gave a small shake of my head and she relaxed.

'Santa' had let his hair grow long enough to cover his damaged ear; he was middle-aged, nondescript and badly-dressed but had a gentle manner that made him easy to like. "Good afternoon Sergeant" he said amicably, "what a pleasant surprise, and who is this lovely young lady?" I introduced her, "WPC Brookes, meet 'Santa' Smith, one of our best customers."

George winced slightly at the nick-name before smiling and saying, "pleased to meet you Ms Brookes, I must say if all WPC's were as pretty as you my visits to the Police Station would be far more enjoyable."

Wendy didn't respond to the compliment, just nodded at the pile of torn up betting slips on the counter, "not having a good day Mr Smith?"

Santa sighed, "Lady Luck is a cruel mistress, but I can't believe you're here just to commiserate with my poor choice of ponies?"

I switched to my 'official police business' voice, "Santa; there was a break-in at Greenview Court last week, we thought you might be able to shed some light on it." Santa frowned and pursed his lips, "now let me see, Greenview Court? Greenview Court? No, I don't think I know that address, is it around here?" I waited patiently until he'd finished before nodding and saying in a neutral tone, "in which case would you mind coming down to the Station and making a formal statement to that effect?"

Santa smiled regretfully, "I'm sorry dear lady but as you can see" he waved his hand over the discarded tickets, "I'm fully engaged here trying to make good my losses."

I was about to try another approach when Wendy, who had been studying a copy of the Racing Guide lying on the counter suddenly said, "what if I give you the winner of the three o'clock at Towcester, will you come down to the Station?"

We both turned to look at her, me bewildered, Santa with sudden interest before asking, "now, would this be you selecting a random horse on the off-chance it wins? what if it loses?" Wendy said confidently, "if that happens I'll cover your bet."

Santa looked at her appraisingly then grinned, "well I never say no to a wager, you have a deal, what's the name of your horse?" Wendy didn't hesitate, "Dainty Dancer."

We all turned to look up at the big TV screen showing the runners and the odds for the 3.00pm race. Santa whistled doubtfully, "she's a long-shot, 20-1, I wouldn't touch her."

But Wendy was insistent, "she'll be 8-1 at the post, better hurry if you want good odds."

Santa, filled in a betting slip and went over to the counter, looking back at us with a cheerful grin he loudly announced, "Dainty Dancer in the three o'clock, fifty quid on the nose."

I turned to Wendy and whispered, "I hope you know what you're doing?" She nodded confidently, "trust me, my Dad's a bookie, if I wasn't in uniform I'd put fifty quid on that horse myself."

I suddenly recalled all the stickers in the window of Wendy's Ford Mondeo; Pony Club, a Newmarket Stable Pass and Priority Entry to the Members Car Park at York and Cheltenham.

Santa came back to join us, looking thoughtful, "the best odds they'd give me were 15-1." I relaxed slightly, Wendy sounded calm, "the big money is moving."

"Okay" said Santa, "I'll bite, why that horse?" Wendy picked up the Racing Guide, "Dainty Dancer is out of the Lurgen Stables in Ireland but they only have one runner at Towcester, now that's a long way to come for just one horse unless she's special. The jockey is an apprentice, name of Jo Halloran, the stable is owned by Mick Halloran, Jo will be his grandson, he'll be given a good ride."

Santa frowned and looked at the form, "she's only had two races, not placed either time." Wendy smiled, "which means she's not carrying any weight today. Those two outings were to introduce her to racing, I'll bet she was fed salty oats for breakfast and given about four gallons of water to drink before the start. That won't show up on any drug test but would slow her down a lot."

One or two of the regulars who'd been quietly listening in to this conversation suddenly became very busy filling in betting slips and headed for the counter.

By the time the race started Dainty Dancer was 6-1 joint favourite.

Jo Halloran rode a good race; for the first mile he tucked in behind the leaders, staying in fourth place ahead of the pack, never taking a chance of being boxed in against the rails. In the final straight he eased her out clear of the leaders and let Dainty Dancer run, effortlessly she flowed past the other horses and Jo crossed the finish line three lengths clear of the next rider.

"Didn't even use his whip" said Santa sounding disgusted, then, hopefully, "I don't suppose you have any more tips?" Wendy just shook her head, Santa went off smiling to collect his winnings before joining us in the car.

I asked Inspector Craddock if he wanted to join us for the interview, he just looked incredulous. "Santa came? he actually came?" he gave a low whistle, "well done Deira, but no, you and WPC Brooks have done all the work, go ahead, it will be good practice for her but I still think you're wasting your time" and with a smile and a shake of his head went back to his office.

We made ourselves comfortable in Interview Room 4, I turned on the recorder, identified those present and the time of the interview. "Mr Smith would you please confirm for the record that you have declined legal representation." Santa just nodded, I sighed, "I'll need your verbal confirmation Mr Smith." Santa grinned, he knew that as well as I did, "yes, that's true."

I outlined the case and asked if he had been at Greenview Court on the day in question? There then followed a long explanation about how he, Santa, and some friends, whose names he couldn't remember, had been at a football match that day and he didn't even know where Greenview Court was so it couldn't have been him.

I listened patiently and then, "I am now showing Mr Smith an evidence bag containing a blue, medicated face mask." Attached to the evidence bag was an official looking form, the Chain of Custody record, apparently signed by all the right people, actually by Wendy using different coloured pens.

"There is a camera in the lobby that recorded the burglar entering and leaving the premises, I am now showing Mr Smith a photograph of the burglar wearing a blue facemask" I paused and passed the grainy image over to Santa, "the facemask was recovered from the grounds..." I was careful not to claim that the camera had seen the burglar discard the mask.

"I am now showing Mr Smith his DNA profile from the Police database" there was a pause as I passed it over, "and asking him to compare it to the DNA print-out attached to the evidence bag."

Santa picked up the two charts and studied them, "they do seem to be the same" he said thoughtfully. They should be, I'd photocopied the original that morning and pinned it to the 'evidence bag'. Santa sat back with a sigh, "bloody facemasks, I hate them, if I wear one for more than twenty minutes I break out in hives." He put the papers down on the desk, "yes, it was me, hardly bloody worth it, got £50 for the computer and the jewellery was rubbish."

Wendy got him a cup of tea as Santa wrote out his statement and signed it with a flourish, the whole thing had taken less than an hour.

"Don't you feel bad tricking him like that?" asked Wendy after we handed Santa over to the Custody Sergeant and were making our way back upstairs. I stopped on the landing, "Wendy, don't you think he rolled over a bit too easily? I mean, Santa's an old offender, allergic or not he knows better than to dump a piece of evidence like that face mask at the scene of the crime. He's seen more charge-sheets than either of us yet he never once looked at the Chain of Custody, just glanced at the DNA profiles and confessed." The more I thought about it the more improbable it sounded.

I shook my head and suddenly began to laugh, "what's so funny?" asked Wendy. I grinned, "Santa lives alone in a grotty bedsit in Newtown, we raided it once, he's got no family and most of his friends are already serving time. With his record he'll get a custodial sentence, six months reduced to three with good behaviour, winter is coming and Santa is going to spend Christmas warm and well-fed, inside a minimum security jail with his mates. Wendy, I think we're the ones who have just been played."

She looked relieved, "well, I feel a lot better about that than if we'd tricked him into confessing." We were both smiling as reached the duty-room, I took the file from her, "now, I'd better go and break the news to Craddock that he's going to be buying a lot of doughnuts come Friday."

Domestic life had become surreal, it was almost as if a time machine had turned the clock back ten years and I'd get home after work to find Darren in the kitchen, cooking dinner and having a one-sided argument with Alexa about a recipe, he was really trying. It took me a little while to adjust but a smiling, cheerful Darren was a vast improvement on what had gone before so I wasn't complaining. Whilst we ate we laughed and talked about work, friends, even my studying for the inspectors exam and Darren was encouraging and supportive; what we didn't talk about was either Hugh or Sharon.

We had sex on the nights when Darren was off-duty and it was great, I think both of us were trying to prove that we were just as good, maybe better, than the competition? Whatever, we were sharing a bed again and rediscovering just how good we could be together.

As the title suggests a 'Victim Impact Statement' gives the victim of a crime the right to address the court and explain how it has affected them; some people welcome the opportunity but most either don't have the time or just want to forget the whole thing ever happened. Wendy and I paid another visit to Greenview Court and gave the residents of Number 3/2 the good news that we'd caught the burglar and explained about the VIS. As I'd expected they thanked us for the invitation but declined the offer.

Since we were at Greenview Court we went up to the fourth floor and let myself into Hughs flat with the key he'd lent me. Wendy watched curiously as I opened the door, "who lives here?" she asked as I punched in the code to deactivate the alarms.

"Just a friend" I said, "he's away at the moment and has asked me to feed his fish." I retrieved container of Prima Aquaria from under the tank as Wendy took a good look around the apartment, just as I'd done. I was carefully measuring out the granules using a ridiculously small spoon when she asked, "is he the Security Consultant you mentioned?" Wendy was examining the books piled on Hughs desk. "Yes" I replied, "and before you ask, he was the one who gave me some 'fresh insights' on the case." Wendy laughed and then went quiet, with hindsight I should have been paying attention to that thoughtful silence but was concentrating on not overfeeding the fish. That done, I took a quick look around, reset the alarms and we left.

I was filling in the application form for the Inspectors Exam when Janet, the CA, came rushing in, practically vibrating with supressed excitement and bursting to tell me the latest gossip. "Deira, have you heard? It's all over the Station, ab-so-lute-ly unbelievable!!" I sighed and put down my pen, I wasn't going to get any work done until she had unburdened herself.

"Janet, calm down, exactly what is 'all over the Station'?" She chortled happily, "that WPC White, what's-her-name, Sharon, she's only been caught shagging in the Stationary Cupboard! bent over the photocopier, skirt up, knickers down and tits swinging like church bells!"

A cold, hollow feeling settled in my gut, 'Oh God' I thought, 'Darren you stupid, stupid bastard, I know you like it risky, but screwing in the Stationary Cupboard? in the middle of the bloody day? are you completely insane?' Trying to keep my voice steady I asked, "who caught them?" Janet was still chuckling to herself, "Sgt Worth, the SLO, he walked in on them, right in the middle of the short strokes!" I shook my head in disbelief, "did he report them?" She made a dismissive noise, "nah, not him, he's a nice old stick, what he did was ten times worse, he went along to IT and told them to delete the last hours footage from the camera."

Christ, I'd forgotten there was a camera in there, so had Darren apparently. I knew what would have happened next, "so they immediately checked the video?" Janet grinned, "you bet! Got it all in glorious technicolour! Stupid thing is, if Sgt Worth had just kept quiet no-one would have been any the wiser, they only check the recording if someone reports a theft of office supplies, in a week that tape would have been overwritten." She gave a happy sigh, "Frank Nugent may be his name but from now on he'll be known as 'Ginger Nuts'!"

I felt like I'd been driving along in third but instead of changing up into fourth had gone into first by mistake, my brain made a graunching noise and did an emergency reset, "Janet, what are you talking about? Who's Frank Nugent?" She looked at me in surprise, "you know Frank, red-haired guy, works in accounts. He's a civvie so they can't do much to him but she might be in trouble, she's married you know." Yes, I did know but I was too swamped by relief that it hadn't been Darren screwing her to pay much attention.

I went home early that afternoon, made some excuse about feeling ill, which was true in a way. Darren was sitting in the kitchen, he looked up as I entered, "I guess you heard?" I dumped my bag on the counter, "I'm afraid so, that bloody video is everywhere." He sat back looking grim, "what will happen to her?" I busied myself with the kettle, making tea after a disaster was getting to be routine in this house.

"Well, that's the funny thing, the Police Federation agreed to a camera in the Stationary Cupboard only if the video was accessed following a theft, and there hasn't been one. Officially that recording doesn't exist." He shook his head, "and unofficially?" I put the cups on the table, "unofficially the word is that Sharon will 'request' a transfer to another Station but there won't be an enquiry, I'm sorry Darren." He took a drink of his tea, "don't be, I broke things off with Sharon last week."

Well that explained what she was doing in the Stationary Cupboard with 'Ginger Nuts' but there was something in the way Darren had said that. I sat down opposite him, "mind telling me why?"

He took a deep breath, "well, I was thinking, maybe we could try again. You know, go back to how things used to be?"

Try again? I just stared at him, I couldn't decide whether to laugh or throw my tea in his face. Furious I stood up, "so, let me get this straight, after months, no bloody years, of sulking, picking fights and neglecting me whilst you were fucking that bitch Sharon I find myself another man and suddenly you want to 'try again'?!"

His sighed, "pretty much; Deira I know how it sounds and I don't deserve a second chance but you never appreciate what you have until you've lost it. When you found this new guy..." he shook his head, "it was a kick up the backside. But I mean it, if you break up with him is there a chance we could get back together?"

I couldn't trust myself to say any more so I did what I always do when I'm too angry to talk, I cleaned the fridge.

At least Darren had the good sense to sit silent as I aggressively emptied the contents out onto the counter, wiped sticky rings off the glass shelves and ruthlessly weeded out the soft carrots and sprouting onions from the vegetable drawer. As I worked it gave me a chance to think, I liked Hugh and enjoyed the sex but I'd always known this was never going to be a long-term relationship. These past weeks had reminded me that Darren and I had been good once, really good, maybe we could be again? and if he was serious about this then I had leverage.

I replaced the milk, plastic tubs of left-overs and packs of butter and made my decision. I closed the fridge door and went back to sit opposite him, "alright, but on three conditions, firstly you are going to apologize to Inspector Craddock for calling him stupid, and not just some half-arsed 'I'm sorry you're so sensitive', a proper apology, you admit that you were wrong and take responsibility for it." Darren winced but nodded, "okay."

"Secondly, you stop working the night shift, transfer to days, you've done six months so you're entitled to a change. This won't work unless we spend time together." He agreed again, "I can do that, what's your third condition?" Actually there wasn't a third condition I had just pulled the number three out of the air, "um... right" I said, "and you have to promise to put the toilet seat down after you've used the loo."

Darren managed not to smile, "yes, I think I can manage that too."

Then came the hard part, breaking up with Hugh. I knew I was going to miss him, not just the sex although that was great, but his company. Being a member of any tight-knit group can be claustrophobic and the police force is no exception, you tend to move in the same circles, both at work and socially, with people who share your views and values. But Hugh wasn't part of that, it had been refreshing to listen to his take on the world and life in general and for a moment I wondered if we might stay friends? then dismissed the idea. If I really was getting back together with Darren then I couldn't risk seeing Hugh again, he was just too bloody charming and I didn't trust myself to resist temptation.

There was no point putting it off so I drove over to Greenview Court that evening and left my Honda in the visitors car park. Getting out of my car I paused, I was standing next to a silver Mondeo with a Pony Club stickers, a Newmarket Stable Pass and a Priority Entry Pass to the Members Car Park at York and Cheltenham in the window. I don't believe in coincidences and thoughtfully climbed the stairs up to the 4th floor, pausing outside Hughs door I heard voices and, silently, used the key he'd loaned me to let myself into the apartment.

They were sitting on the sofa with their backs towards the door watching TV, it was a video that I had no problem recognizing. The lighting hadn't been great but I could clearly make myself out, naked, kneeling on the floor in front of Hugh and using my hands, mouth and tongue to pleasure him.

"Wow!" said Wendy with respect, "she really is good at that!" Hugh gave her a gentle kiss, "Deira is a Jedi Master of oral sex!" Wendy half-turned and punched him lightly on the shoulder, "oh, and I'm not?" Hugh gave an exaggerated 'ouch' at the blow, "well she's had a lot of practice."

Wendy giggled and I watched as her head moved sideways, down and out of my line of sight into Hughes lap, saying, "Oh, if it's practice I need..." Hugh gave an appreciative groan and the silence was broken by the wet, sucking sounds of fellatio.

I quietly approached the sofa and looked down, Hugh was naked, I could see the back of Wendy's blonde head bobbing up and down as she worked on him, I critically observed her technique for a few moments before saying, in a conversational tone, "you have to overcome the gag reflex."

With a shriek of alarm Wendy leapt to her feet, gave me one horrified look then turned and bolted towards the bedroom. She was wearing one of Hugh's shirts and I caught a glimpse of a round, pink bum as she disappeared into the corridor. I looked up at the TV screen where I was now moving astride Hugh on the sofa and settling myself down onto his erection as he eagerly licked the pre-cum off my breasts.

"You're a bastard Hugh" I said calmly, "you may be a sexy bastard but you are still a bastard." He didn't say anything, just sat there frozen, I wasn't sure if he was too shocked to speak or was just at a loss for words, but there wasn't really anything more I wanted to say to him. I was more concerned about Wendy so with a shake of my head I followed her to the bedroom.

I tapped softly on the door, "Wendy it's Deira, may I come in?" From inside came an unhappy, "please go away." So I went in...

Wendy was sitting in the middle of the bed, knees drawn up to her chest, hands covering her face and her shoulders shaking with sobs. I kicked off my shoes, climbed on to the bed and sat next to her, putting a sisterly arm around her shoulders I gave her a hug, "Wendy, it's okay."

Between sobs she managed to say, "Oh Deira, I'm so sorry, I'm a terrible person."

I laughed and gently pulled her hands away from her face, "you're no such thing" I reassured her. "Hugh's kind of hard to resist isn't he? he charmed the pants off me the day we met, how long did you hold out?"

She gave me a weak, watery smile, "I didn't even last that long. You just looked so happy the next day, after we'd done the interviews here, I was curious and wanted to see what he looked like."

I waited patiently for her to continue.

"I came over after work and introduced myself." Wendy had stopped crying apart from the occasional sniff, she dried her eyes on the cuff of Hugh's shirt. "He said he was cooking dinner but had made far too much and would I like to join him? He really is a good cook."

'Not the only thing he's good at' I thought wryly.

"We had a couple of glasses of wine and got talking, I don't know how it happened but suddenly we were kissing" she hugged her knees at the memory. "Honestly, I really didn't mean to stay the night, are you mad at me?"

I laughed, "of course not! I'm not sure anyone could resist that smile." I pointed to the mirror on the wall by the bed, "Hugh got me naked and I had to kneel right here" I patted the mattress, "so that he could watch my boobs swing as he had me."

Wendy giggled, "I know, he showed me the video."

'Is there anywhere in this damn flat that doesn't have a camera?' I thought bitterly. I was going to have to sort that out before I left but right now I had some questions for Ms Brookes.

"Wendy, what about Yasmin?" she looked blank so I elaborated, "you know, Yasmin, your soulmate, don't you share a flat with her?" A look of dawning comprehension came over Wendy's face and she began to giggle, "Oh dear, did you think... that I was... Deira, Yasmin is my Siamese cat!" and giggled again, it was infectious and I began to grin. Wendy hiccupped, "well, she does sleep with me!" and we both dissolved into laughter.

Hugh came cautiously into the room, at least he'd put his pants on, "you two okay?" he asked a little awkwardly. I gave him a look, squeezed Wendy's hand and got up off the bed, "Hugh, we need to talk, let's go next door."

As we walked back through to the living room Hugh began to apologise, "Deira, I'm sorry, it was wrong, I should have told you..." I cut him off, "save it Hugh, it's done, right now we have to deal with the fallout."

He nodded, "I know, the videos, I'll delete them." I turned to look at him, "yes, you will, all of them, but that isn't what I want to talk to you about." I could see Hugh brace as I gave him my very best 'Police Death Stare'. "Wendy", I said, and he flinched, "if you hurt her, break her heart or if I ever see her crying in the toilet then the wrath of God will be a summer breeze compared to the shit-storm that I will rain down on your head."

Hugh stood there in stunned silence, he opened his mouth, closed it and then gave me a look of utter incomprehension, "me break her heart? Deira the moment I opened my door and saw her standing there, smiling at me... I froze, I wanted to say something clever, make a witty remark but I couldn't speak, couldn't think, she was just so... so... perfect. I stood there like an idiot with my mouth open, staring at her."

I almost smiled, Hugh had described exactly how I'd felt the day I first met him doing those door-to-door enquiries. He was still talking, almost to himself, in an awed voice, "Wendy is amazing; she is so beautiful, intelligent, with a great future ahead of her and me? What can I offer her? I'm so much older than she is, how long before she gets tired of me? exactly whose heart do you think is going to get broken?"

I looked at him closely, almost the first thing you learn as a police officer is how to tell when someone is lying, and Hugh wasn't, he was being painfully sincere. I nodded, "okay, we'll leave it there, at least there's one good thing about this mess, I only came round to say that we're through and I'm returning your key" and I laid it on the counter.

I don't think he even heard me, he was looking anxiously back towards the bedroom. "Go on" I said, "she's waiting for you." With a nod and an apologetic smile he hurried back to Wendy. I watched him go and then let myself out, closing the door quietly behind me I returned to the car and a new beginning of my own.