Hi folks. SIAA and I have been writing this new fanfic for months and we’ve decided it’s time to start posting it. It’s setting is based on “Wire In The Blood”, although it’s not a crossover and the storylines are all our own, so Val McDermid can’t sue us.

We will welcome comments, feedback and constructive critisism.


Please enjoy


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Body of Evidence



Disclaimer

Bad Girls and all its characters are the property of Shed Productions. The author implies no ownership of these characters. They are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit.
The story may contain some bad language and some 18-rated stuff between consentient persons of the same sex, so if you are offended by that, then stop reading. Otherwise feel free to enjoy the story.




Episode 1 – The Mask of Sanity



Chapter One



22nd of January 11:00 am


“Damn it! Come on Trish, pick it up!” A fist slammed impatiently into the steering wheel. The phone kept ringing with no one picking it up. Not even the automated answering machine picked up. Flinging the cell phone angrily at the passenger’s seat Nikki started the car with a roar and sped out of the N.C.P car park, almost knocking down the outbound blocking barrier in her haste to get out of there. Tapping the steering wheel with increasing impatience, she ground her teeth unconsciously in anger. Finally, after what seemed like an age, the toll bar ascended upwards, and with screeching wheels Nikki drove hastily out into the heavy London traffic, changing lanes without any regards to the other cars. This caused a lot of car horns to honk and headlights to flash furiously in her direction, all of which she paid no heed.

She had no time for disgruntled fellow commuters today. She was on a mission. A mission that to her was so important that not even the prospect of crashing her beloved car posed as a deterrent to what would be classed as erratic driving. However, the traffic did not seem to be concerned about her urgent business, and she was stuck in a typical London rush hour tailback. And even although it was only a few hundred metres between Euston Road and her destination, it would take her at least 30 minutes to get there; and that was an optimistic prediction. So as she sat watching the red traffic light turn to green, allow one car through and change back again, she took the opportunity, grabbed her mobile again and pushed redial. After ringing an excessive number of times the voicemail finally and rather unexpectedly clicked on.

“This is Trish. I’m sorry I am unable to take your call at the moment, but please leave a message after the beep.”

Beep!

“Trish, it’s me. Pick it up if you’re there. They’re trying to get him out again. I just got grilled by the bastard’s lawyers for two fucking hours.” A slight hint of desperation coloured her voice. “Trish, you need to call me back. They’re going after you next. And God knows, if he gets out he’ll be after both of us.”

A horn honked impatiently behind her. Nikki flung the phone back on the seat and slammed the accelerator down to the floor and sped forward through the lights. For once she had luck on her side and a few moments later the sleek silvery car came to an abrupt halt outside the oppressive stone building that was Charing Cross Police station.

The tall figure emerging from the car had an air of confidence about her, even if she looked a bit dishevelled. Yet her dark suit was immaculate and her boots polished to army standards. There was no mistaking that Nikki Wade took pride in her appearance.

With the proverbial blinkers on, Nikki ignored the cries of “You can’t park there!” and in three large strides she was at the door, running through it like an out of control whirlwind, which earned her some curious glances from members of staff who weren’t used to that kind of behaviour from her. But like everything else she chose to ignore it, which was lucky for them.

Nikki sprinted up the stairs, her never ending legs taking two at a time and rushed through the open plan office paying no attention to the salutations that greeted her. She quickly turned down a corridor with the precision of a formula one driver, flinging open the first door she came to, and bustled inside with an audible crash.


“Why the Hell haven’t you answered the …” her voice trailed off, all anger vanishing as the person in the office turned around in her swivel chair and glared at her with a severe look that would have brought Charles Manson to tears.

“What the hell do you think you are doing, barging in here like a mad woman?” the woman said in a furious voice. She was a short woman, clearly no more than 5.2ft tall, with shiny dark blonde hair and glistering grey-green eyes, which fixed the intruder to the spot.

“And what on Earth gives you the right to be here anyway?” her angry voice with the unmistakable Scottish accent finally penetrated the mind of the tall dark haired woman.

“Well, I could bloody well ask you the same question,” Nikki retorted with a rising anger. “I’m looking for DCI Trish Harris”

“She’s not here, as you might have observed,” came the slightly sarcastic reply followed by a lifted eyebrow. The woman had disposed of the stack of files she had been holding in her arms on to the large desk. She was now standing with her hands on her hips trying to appear larger and more formidable than she actually was.

“Where is she?” Nikki’s dark eyes flashed dangerously as she scanned the room. She was highly annoyed with this obstructive woman. She urgently needed to speak to Trisha and this fiery Scot was taking up valuable time she didn’t have.

“That is, as far as I know, none of your business,” came the sharp reply. The woman seemed to swell a little moving slightly forward in a threatening way.

“Hell, it is. And who are you by the way?” Nikki said not faltering one bit.

“Not that it is of any concern to you, but I am DCI Helen Stewart, DCI Harris’ successor,” the woman said her eyes narrowing. “And who might you be?”

“What?” Nikki had conveniently ignored the rest of DCI Stewarts question.

“DCI Harris is no longer here,” Helen said with an impatient tone to her voice, like if she was trying to explain something complicated to a petulant child.

“Where did she go? Where the Hell is she?” Nikki was ready to throttle the woman in front of her. She was so consumed by her frustration over everything that she had not noticed the man suddenly appearing in the doorway.

“Now, now… Temper, Wade.” The drawling voice came from behind, but Nikki recognized it instantly and spun around.

“Piss off, Fenner!” She snarled like a rabid dog.

The man just leaned casually against the door, hands in pockets and with a sly smirk on his face. He was not an ugly man, but too many cigarettes and perhaps a little too much time spent down the pub had put its mark on him, even if he was only in his mid forties.

“Didn’t you know that Ms Harris had gone?” he said with badly hidden glee in his voice.

“What do you mean?” Nikki frowned, but tried to stay calm, even if she felt like punching the living daylights out of the man; a punch that had been a long time coming.

“I thought it was obvious how much in love she was with DI Turner,” he smirked. ”Such a handsome young man, and talented too. She should never have got involved with you in the first place. You’re dangerous to your surroundings. No wonder she chose to leave before you could get to her.” His false smile had grown even wider at these last word, and he revelled in the way Nikki started to loose her control.

“Where is she?” she yelled advancing on Fenner, who did not move an inch.

“Ah, she hasn’t told you,” he said airily. “I’m not surprised. Who would want to associate with a lunatic?” Nikki had stopped dead in her track. Fenner starred directly into Nikki’s flaring eyes as he continued:

“Why don’t you just stay away from the new DCI? I very much doubt she’s into your type.”

Nikki seemed to slip out her paralyzed stated and went right up to the man and sneered:

“I swear to God, I’ll swing for you one day Fenner.”

“Enough, both of you!” the voice took them both by surprise. Helen Stewart had silently observed the interaction between her two uninvited visitors. But now they had taken it too far.

“Get out of my office, now! I have no time for petty squabbles between my staff and uninvited visitors. Out, both of you!” she yelled at them.

Without another glance at each other both the tall dark woman and Jim Fenner left her office, thoroughly reprimanded and with their tails between their leg; which for both was a first. Helen went over and slammed the door forcefully after them.

‘What a nightmare’, she thought to herself. ‘I wonder if the first day at a new job is always this bad?’

She scrambled around the maze of cardboard boxes on the floor, in an attempt to manoeuvre herself back to her desk to sit down. Flipping through the stack of files on her desk without really knowing what she was looking for she let her thoughts wander. She had been delighted when she was offered the job as DCI in the Metropolitan Police one year ago. Transferring to Hampstead Heath had been a blessing after four years in the City Of London constabulary, policing the rough district of Whitechapel and its surrounding boroughs. Yet it hadn’t been long before she started to feel left out and increasingly restless to be doing some proper detective work. That was primarily why she had applied for the job as head of the Special Unit in Charing Cross. It was exactly the type of challenge she had wished for, despite the dangers associated with it, and when the opportunity had arisen she had taken it. And now here she was in the middle of a mess, both literally and figuratively speaking, wondering if in fact she had made the right career choice after all.

Helen had heard some interesting rumours about this special unit. It had been established almost five years before as an experimental process to take the weight of London’s growing homicide rates off of Scotland Yard, with the newly appointed DCI Harris as head of the operation. It had started off effectively and quickly gained the reputation as a success which police forces nationwide strove to follow. Then about a year ago things took a dramatic 360 degree turn that left the unit teetering on the edge of stability.

The worst serial killer London had seen since the Camden Ripper had almost split the unit apart and caused the chief of police to review it‘s need. It was rumoured that the instability of attached criminal profiler Nikki Wade and her personal involvement with DCI Trish Harris had caused a dangerous and compromising situation, where several people got injured, including the profiler and Harris. For the past Six months the unit had been on the verge of being dissolved. But after much grovelling from Simon Stubberfield, the team was, for the time being, safe, running under the temporary leadership of DCI Jim Fenner. And now it was her task to make it as effective and well-run as it was before all the mess.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of DCI Fenner, who did not wait for Helen to say “Enter” before strolling cockily into the office with a coffee cup in his hand.

‘Speaking of the Devil,’ Helen thought as she tried to put her face into a neutral expression before saying:

“I would appreciate if you could restrain yourself from entering before I have allowed you to do so.”

Jim Fenner had a slightly surprised look on his face, but just shrugged and sat down in the visitors chair without being asked to do so. Helen sighed inwardly. He was going to be a difficult one to handle.

“What can I do for you, Jim?” she asked calmly with a hint of impatience.

“Just wanted to congratulate you on your appointment,” Jim said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. This did not go unnoticed by Helen, who knew she would have to be on her guard. She had been well aware her promotion would mean stepping on a few toes when she had accepted it, but if there was one thing she wasn’t it was a people pleaser.

“Thanks, Jim. I know you’ve been heading this unit for the last couple of months, and I really appreciate the work you’ve done here.”

“My pleasure,” he said with a smirk. “I must say the unit has improved considerably under my command.”

Helen laughed inwardly to herself, wondering if Jim Fenner thought she buttoned up the back. From what she had read so far in the files, since DCI Harris had done a midnight flit, very little work had actually been assigned to the unit. One homicide that turned out to be a suicide and a disgruntled wife bumping off her husband was hardly a vast improvement or grand achievement, but she let Jim blow his own trumpet regardless. For soon she would be giving Fenner a short, sharp shock that would knock the wind out of his smug sails.

“DCI Harris was not really cut out for the job. In my opinion she relied far too much on that psycho babble Wade spouted, instead of carrying out real police work,” he drawled on, totally oblivious to Helen’s intense observing eyes. He would probably have been less smug if he had been able to read DCI Stewarts thoughts. “You’ve already had the doubtful pleasure of meeting the profiler, Nikki Wade.”

Helen took mental note of what was being said without actually listening to what she deemed jealous ranting. So the tall, tempestuous woman from earlier was the infamous Forensic Psychologist Nikki Wade. The notes she had in front of her, before now had seemed a little exaggerated, but now that she had had first hand experience of the women she knew that in fact Dr. Wade would be a handful, though undoubtedly she was a skilled woman. Her files told of numerous cases where her knowledge had been invaluable.

“She and her PhD are not worth much.” Jim carried on despite Helen’s lack of response. ”All the times she had a dead cert on the perp’ only to lead us up the garden path. I can’t understand why anyone would ever listen to someone like that. All her fantastic, fanatical theories, never really hit the spot. No, let us keep to facts and real old fashioned police work. Bring in the bastards and interrogate them. Break them if necessary. It’s the only way to get the job done.”

Helen did not say anything, just giving a slight nod. To an extent she agreed with him, as much as she hated to admit that her opinions mirrored a misogynistic git. But at the end of the day that was what made the bad guys confess.

“You’ve undoubtedly heard about the last fiasco just before I took over?”

Helen nodded, this time in acknowledgement.

“Some things have reached me, aye.”

“Well, to make a long story short, let’s just say DCI Harris got her judgement severely clouded by her personal involvement with Ms. Wade. They thought nobody knew, but everyone in the station knew they were more than just friends; pair of dirty dykes. Then this murderer is on the loose. Of course Harris calls in her little girlfriend, Wade. By luck they come across who they think is on this killing spree, and both got bumped off… well, more or less.” Fenner chuckled gleefully to himself but Helen didn’t join in.

Severely injured police officers were no laughing matter, and if DCI Fenner thought it was then he was in for a rude awakening. Helen was desperate to put him in his place, but she wanted a bit more background information, despite its bias, before she showed him who was boss around here.

a new one im very exited to read more

Great start to a new story. :clap Can't wait for another chapter.

so good to see something new from you both :clap

Can't wait to read more, its really good! :)

First of all a big thank you from SIAA and myself for the feedback... :D

We hope you will like the next chapter as well...

Please enjoy


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Mask of Sanity


Chapter Two


22nd January – 1:00pm




Almost two hours had passed since Nikki had inadvertently been kicked out of what had once been her girlfriend’s office, by a woman who, as far as Nikki could see, was a poor substitute for DCI Harris.

The mere though of Trisha sent Nikki’s anger boiling again. Time was supposed to be a great healer, but two hours was nowhere near enough time to allow her hurt to repair itself. How could she just put it all behind her when the puzzle of Trisha’s sudden departure was missing a hundred pieces. No one would answer her questions, but it was quite clear to see that she had been dumped like a piece of trash. However, the worst thing was not being dumped, but that Trish had not told her face to face, not even bothering to get in touch with her when she had been discharged from the hospital.

Nikki had stormed out of the station in much the same manner as which she had entered it, to the amusement of those colleagues who had seen these Wade tantrums more than once. She was infamous at Charing Cross for these episodes of drama. Hot headed, stubborn, and without a doubt passionate about her work, Nikki Wade had the respect of her co-workers and no amount of hissy fits could make them think any less of her. Her dedication was enviable and unsurpassable and for the last six months she had been sorely missed by the team. It was good to have her back.


A hospital, to Nikki, was a place of work. Always the Doctor, never the patient had been her motto, but recently that had all changed. Never once had she expected to have the tables turned on her. She had been fighting fit, always had been, and up until October she had thought she always would be. But the problem was she always placed herself in no-man’s-land, right in the firing line where danger was within touching distance. She needed to be close, to smell the anguish of others, to taste the torment of psychosis; entering the frenzied mind of a monster to get answer no other person could, and this time it had come at a price. A price that had now cost her dearly in more than one way.


Getting back into her car, Nikki should have done what her own doctor had advised her to do and gone home to bed to get much needed rest. But Nikki Wade was never one to listen to anything any other doctor had to say, especially when their opinions didn’t mirror her own. So instead, she headed straight to see an old friend who could possibly make a dark day seem a little brighter.


She parked up at the front of the building, this time in a space that wasn’t allocated to someone else. She had been here a million times before, but always in an official capacity, never just as a social call. It had been a while since she had last been there, but by the looks of it, nothing much had changed, on the outside at least.

As she entered she was greeted at the entrance by someone she did not immediately recognize, someone who clearly was not a member of the admin’ staff, the scrubs and rubber gloves being a dead giveaway.

“Can I help you?” The young woman with a home counties accent enquired rather haughtily, making Nikki’s hackles rise.

“I’m here to see the chief medical examiner, Yvonne Atkins, if you don’t mind.”

“And do you have an appointment?”

“Do I look like a corpse? Of course I don’t,” Nikki snarled a little more unfriendly than she normally would.

“Well, in that case I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you access. Now, if you’d kindly leave.” Nikki was adamant that she wasn’t going to be booted out of a building twice in one day and stood her ground.

“You what?” Nikki did not know whether to laugh of cry. “Listen you snooty cow, I’ve been coming here since you were in nappies…now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get past.” Nikki made a move to push the medical assistant out of the way, but thankfully she did not have to.

“It’s okay, Charlotte, Nikki here’s an old friend.” Yvonne appeared having heard the commotion and walked over to Nikki, embracing her in a friendly hug, much to Charlottes displeasure. She did not like to be corrected and especially not in front of strangers.

“Good to see you out and about, darlin’…but shouldn’t you be at home resting?” Yvonne asked as she held the door for Nikki to enter into the morgue.

“Oh don’t you bloody start. I came here to get some normality, but if you’re going to wrap me in cotton wool I’ll go somewhere else,” Nikki said a bit harsher than intended, her nerves already on end. Yvonne held up her hands in resignation.

“Ok, Ok…sorry I bleedin’ spoke. At least you’re in the right place if your body decides to pack in. Although your autopsy may have to wait, I’ve got two stiffs in there already.” Yvonne gave her a lopsided grin. “Come on, I’ve got a bottle of Scotch tucked away somewhere and you look like you could do with some.”

Nikki gave the assistant one final glare and followed Yvonne through the heavy steel doors into the refrigerated post-mortem room. The cold chill in the air hit her instantly and she wrapped her arms around herself for much needed heat.

“You get used to it,” Yvonne gestured as if reading Nikki’s mind. “Takes a while mind…but the smell, well that’s something you never get over.” Nikki took in a deep breath through her nose and decided her friend was right. A fresh, untouched corpse lay on the table, so the aroma wasn’t so pungent, but she knew from experience it could be lot worse and she didn’t want to be reminded of it. She shuddered slightly and followed Yvonne into the office next door.

“So, what brings you here? Surely there are much better places to visit than a mortuary after you get out of hospital, well if you’re alive that is.” Nikki grunted in response to Yvonne’s attempt at humour.


“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she said and slumped into a chair with a huge sigh. Yvonne handed her a glass of whiskey which she threw down her neck. “I’ve had the day from hell. I finally talk the consultant into discharging me after weeks of nagging the arse off of him. I get to the front doors and two lawyers are waiting there grill me about the bastard that put me in there in the first place. So there I am, dragged to some soliciters and questioned like it was me that went on a slaying-spree. Then, when I finally get out I go to see Trisha, only to find out she’s done a bunk to Timbuk-fucking-tu with some snotty-nosed kid, who she’s probably been shagging behind my back the entire time we were together. And who takes the pleasure in filling me in? That bastard Fenner is who. You should have seen his face. You’d have thought he’d just come back from a two week holiday to the Playboy mansion. Smug prick.”

“I’m sorry, Nik, that’s hardly the best news to wake up to. What are you going to do now?”

“Well I’ve got two options. One, sit at home and dwell over that two-timing slag, or two, get back to work. Easy choice really.”

“But Nik, it was Trisha who had you working there. With her gone, it will be over Fenner’s dead body that you get back on the team.”

“That can be arranged,” Nikki said darkly with a scowl which made Yvonne laugh out loud. Nikki continued a little less gloomily. “There is no way I am going to let him decide my careers future. I just have to persuade the new DCI that my job on the team is integral to the unit’s success. It’s a no-brainer.”

“You really think it will be that simple?” Yvonne asked with a frown on her face.

Nikki shrugged and lit a cigarette, regardless of the no-smoking sign plastered on the wall.

“So what’s this new DCI like? Heard she was to start today. The big boys got plans to make her the new poster child after the decent of their previous star?”

“She look’s alright. Has the potential to be a bit of a bitch though, that much I’ve sussed.”

“Just turn on the Wade charm and you’ll have her on your side in no time. And if you’re lucky, get a new bed buddy out of it.” Yvonne sent Nikki a wink that made her scowl.

“I don’t bloody think so. I’ve learnt my lesson. There’ll be no more shagging the boss…it’s more heartache than it’s worth.” Nikki suddenly looked forlorn.

“That bang to the head has had more effect than i first thought.” Yvonne said noticing the sudden change, but determined to lighten up her friend’s mood. “Nikki Wade, not trying to get her leg over? That’s a new one.” Nikki forced a smile though it was evidently strained.

“Where’s the girls?” Nikki changed the subject and looked around the room to make sure she wasn’t missing something.

“Denny and Shaz? Oh they’re around somewhere, no doubt up to no good. I sent them for lunch at 12am, and I’ll be lucky if i see them again before the end of the week. I’d sack the pair of them if it wasn’t for the fact they’re so bleeding adorable, and actually good at what they do. They play on my good nature.”

“Who was that up struck bitch I had the doubtful pleasure of running into just now?” Nikki asked casting a glance through the window to the morgue.

“Ah, that’s my new assistant Charlotte Middleton, she’s replacing Colin. She has a stick up her arse, but she is good. She knows her stuff, and when I’ve managed to convince her to take crack a smile, I’m sure she’ll be a valuable member of my staff. Been a bit short on that lately. They’re fucking cutting the expenses, meaning my staff again.” Yvonne said narrowing her eyes menacingly.

“Well, if you’re flying solo then I better leave you to it. I’ve got some business to take care of myself.”

Yvonne raised her eyebrow.

“I hope that means you’ve got stuff to take care of at home.”

“Of course.…but I have to stop off at the station first.” Yvonne went to interject that she didn’t think it was a wise idea, but Nikki didn’t give her the opportunity. “Do me a favour, Von. If anything comes in for the special unit, give me a call.”

“Nik, you know I can’t do that…” Yvonne frowned and looked sternly at Nikki.

“But you will…for me.” Nikki said and hoped she was right.


Yvonne gave it a seconds thought and nodded silently. It wasn’t often she went against her professional ethics, but with Nikki she could never say no. So, if it meant getting her friend her career back by putting her own in jeopardy then so be it. It was a risk she was prepared to take.




~~*~~




Helen had spent the afternoon clearing away her files and belongings as best she could, but with lack of space in the cramped office it was no easy task. The only saving grace was the fact the station had been quiet. No phone calls meant no murders and for that she was grateful, at least for the time being.

The start to her day hadn’t exactly gone swimmingly, starting with the impromptu bursting in of Nikki Wade and the bullshit she had to listen to from Jim Fenner who thought he was doing her a favour by giving her a psychological profile of each member of her team. Not that she needed one. She could make up her own opinion and already knew more about the persons in the team that he could possible ever provide her with of information. In the end she had told him to mind his own business. That she was boss here now, not him, and she would find out how she liked and didn’t of her own accord. To say he was disgruntled would be an understatement, but Helen couldn’t have cared less. She had come up against smugger bastards than Fenner in her years in the force and if he became a problem, she would take him down like the others in his old boys network.

Helen may have seemed confident but really it was fear that was driving her. She knew she was more than capable of handling the job, she wouldn’t have gotten it otherwise, but sometimes she felt like her head was barely above water. However she was yet to sink, and she would be damned if she allowed herself to. She never had before, and now was definitely not the time to either.

She picked up the last box from the floor and sat it on the only piece of free space on her desk. It was full to the brim with books she had accumulated over the years, each one of them relating to her chosen profession. She lifted one from the top and read the title. “An Introduction to Forensic Psychology.” Unlike most of the other hardbacks in her collection, this one she had never attempted to read. She had made the first few pages of the prologue and swiftly put it back on the bookshelf. For, like every other officer who had passed out of Hendon, she liked hard facts, not psychological assumptions. “What ifs” and “Maybes” didn’t catch criminals. Yet she had to admit she often used her own intuition when looking for the facts, and so far it had not let her down.

She threw the book back into the box with a sigh. She looked at her newly hung wall clock and decided it was time to call it quits. Whatever she had left to do could just as easily be done at home, in the comfort of her living room. And the only person there to annoy her would be her trusty cat,

With tired arms she put on her heavy black coat to keep out the cold and turned off the desk lamp. Slowly she walked to the door and opened it, letting in the chaotic noise from the team outside. But it was another noise that made her stop in her tracks and want to bang her head on the glass partition.

Behind her the telephone had began to ring. The first time it had done so all day. She was tempted to walk away and close the door behind her, pretending she hadn’t heard it, but her conscience kicked in.

Taking ten paces backwards she lifted the receiver with trepidation.

“DCI Stewart…” Helen listened quietly as the caller recounted to her exactly what she didn’t want to hear at that precise moment. She perched herself on the edge of the desk and with her free hand scribbled down a few notes that she would need later. Afterwards she hung up and retraced her steps back to the door. But this time she wasn’t going home. She was instead heading out to her first murder enquiry.

great story love it keep it coming. :guns :guns :guns :guns

Great update !! Looking forward to the next one.

I'm enjoying this...Can anyone clarify the "button up the back" allusion? Cheers

Thanks for all the feedback... :hug2

We hope you'll enjoy the next chapter too :)

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Chapter Three



22nd of January 2:30 pm



Feeling sick to the stomach with a sense of foreboding, Helen drove swiftly, but with great skill in and out of the heavy London traffic towards Collier Street at Kings Cross. A murder scene on her first day on the job was not exactly what Helen had wished for, considering she already had enough on her plate, to clear up the mess at the station. But on the other hand, she had, after all, changed job to get in amongst the action; and this was definitely right in the thick of it.

As she entered the street, Helen could see it was already jam-packed full of curious neighbours on the look out for a bit of gossip, police constables scurrying around in haste, trying to cordon off the scene and even the press seemed to have got in on the action too. And If there was one thing Helen did loathe it was the press, even if she begrudgingly had to admit that it could be useful sometimes. But far too often for her liking it wasn’t. The tabloids somehow always managed to get their grubby little mitts on classified police information and nine times out of ten the facts were twisted to suit the journalists angle on the story; the macabre side of it.

In order to get her car and herself through the masses, Helen switched on her blue light in the window, giving the police constables signal to open a small gap for her to drive into and get closer to the scene. Helen drew her large silver grey Peugeot 407 to a halt and stepped out, quickly casting a glance around and getting an overview of the place. Kings Cross was well documented through history as an area renowned for high levels of prostitution, drugs, and various other acts of criminal debauchery. Most of the old Victorian buildings were unkempt and rundown; windows smashed or boarded up with steel meshing, doors off the hinges, gardens in disarray, litter adorning the streets - it was plain to see this was an area of poverty, looking more like an eastern European state than expensive central London.

Helen noticed several of her own team from the station surround the apartment block and decided to corner one of them to get the low-down on what was happening. She ambled briskly across the street and got hold of DS Dominic McAllister, a young, shy looking man in his early twenties, whom she had worked briefly with at Hampstead and knew quite well.

“Hi Dominic, what have we got?” Helen asked bluntly taking him by surprise.

Dominic’s cheeks flushed upon seeing the DCI and he found himself lost for words. The mere presence of Helen Stewart made him nervous and it was nothing to do with her authoritarian stance. He had had a crush on the woman for years and everyone seemed to know, except Helen, who appeared oblivious.

He took out his notepad with unsteady hands and started to read the scribbled words, whilst trying not to stutter like a fool.



“We had a missing person file reported this morning and WPC Plackett and WPC Rossi turned up to do a routine check on the apartment . They got no answer when they arrived, and before they left they noticed it looked like the door has been broken and the lock was smashed. They stepped inside and found the flat covered in huge amounts of blood and clear signs of heavy struggle. But apparently nothing has been stolen. TV, stereo and laptop computer are all still there. And there is no body.”

“What?” Helen had grown a frown on her face.

“No body,” Dominic repeated timidly, like it was his fault that they were missing a body.

Helen bit down on her tongue and walked past Dominic without further questioning, up the stairs to the flat on the 4th floor. She cursed the broken lift and inwardly praised her time spent in the gym; it had finally come in handy for something. She eventually reached the flat where a police constable stood outside, guarding it securely as if it were Fort Knox. She hastily flashed her official badge at him and stepped inside where it indeed looked like a slaughter house.

Blood was splattered all over the walls, floors, doors and even the ceiling had got its fair share. The glass coffee table lay splintered, and the sofa stood out at an odd angle from the wall. Chairs from the dining table lay strewn around and the lamps were all either smashed or hanging in odd positions like somebody had tried, without much success, to pull them out of the wall sockets.

Helen had been to many scenes looking similar to this, but something anomalous did strike her about it, but she could not quite figure out what was missing. Until she considered Dominic’s last sentence: No body. That was it. There was no smell of decay or death, only the unmistakable and overwhelming metallic aroma of iron from the scattered blood.

She promptly marched into the bedroom which was in the same state of frenzied disarray. The polished wooden floor was streaked with the red substance, giving the appearance that someone had been dragged around the room.

Helen found the Chief Medical Examiner Yvonne Atkins crawling around on the floor, methodically swabbing up samples of the blood and decided to try and get some answers.

“What can you tell me?” she said aloud, hoping to startle CME Atkins. Helen had heard she was a tough nut, whom most of the police corps feared or had a strained relationship with, but she had also heard that she was extremely good at what she did with quick and precise responses, never missing a thing. Helen normally respected people who did their job well and knew their stuff, but she was more careful when it came to judging their personalities. And with Ms Atkins being as sharp as a tack, she trod carefully.

“It’s blood,” came the curt reply from CME Atkins, who did not seem alarmed, and neither did she look up from what she was doing. She continued her work with precise measured movements, not missing a beat.

“I can see that, thank you,” Helen said tersely. “Nothing else to report?”

“Well, that’s all I can tell you, darlin’, as there’s no bleeding body lying around here,” Yvonne said standing and closing her kit with a sharp click. She walked past Helen without another word spoken.

Helen stood rooted to the spot totally gob smacked at the nerve of this woman. In anger she turned around and took another quick look at the bedroom before heading back to the living room. She heard whispered voices from the hallway and took a closer look, hidden behind the half closed door. What she saw made her blood boil.

It was Yvonne Atkins talking to someone tall and dark haired. There was no mistaking who that was. Nikki Wade, the annoying woman from earlier, but Helen had absolutely no idea what she was doing here, and she was utterly furious when she caught the last few words before Yvonne Atkins nodded to Nikki and left.

“Come around later, and we’ll have a talk. I‘ll fill you in on all there is to know.”

Helen flung the door open making Nikki trip a bit as she was about to open it herself.

“What the Hell was that about?” Helen said sharply. Her eyes were flaring angrily and her nostrils joined them. She had had just about enough today, and she was ready to yell at someone, Nikki being that very convenient someone.

“What do you mean?” Nikki said innocently, hardly looking at Helen, but taking in the sight that met her in the living room.

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Helen hissed and grabbed Nikki’s arm to turn her around to face her. “And what the fuck are you doing here in the first place? It’s a crime scene, if you haven’t noticed. I could arrest you right now for intent to incriminate evidence!”

“I know that, and I’m not here to tamper with your precious bloody evidence, so you can put the cuffs away.” Nikki said half bemused pulling her arm out of the fierce grip. She was surprised by the strength of it considering the much smaller woman.

“Anyway, I was told I could find you here. I had something I wanted to speak to you about. I was wondering…” Nikki started to ask, but got swiftly cut off by an audacious yell.

“Whatever it is, the answer is NO,” Helen spat furiously. “And don’t go around questioning my staff either!” With that she stormed off almost knocking DS McAllister over whilst hurtling down the stairs in a blaze of fury.

What a bitch, Nikki thought to herself, rubbing her sore arm. Quite a good looking one though, but a bitch none the less. Inwardly she smiled. She liked her women with a fire in their bellies but she wasn’t going there. One DCI is enough for any woman in one lifetime. she tried to convince herself and got back to the reason why she was there.

She stepped over an upturned chair and stood transfixed in the middle of the room taking in every little detail about it; things that no forensic tool would pick up on and only the mind could decipher. She then heard someone behind her and she whirled around in surprise.

“Oh, it’s you Dominic,” she said, as she willed her beating heart to slow down. This panic was new to her, but it was unsurprising that what she had been through recently had left her, not only with physical scars, but emotional ones too.

“I’m sorry, if I startled you Nikki,” Dominic said apologetically. “I just heard some yelling and wanted to see what it was.”

“That was your new DCI having a bitch fit at me,” Nikki said with a small smile. “Watch her Dom, that one will cut off your balls and eat them for breakfast if you put a foot wrong.” The shy DC gave a nervous chuckle. ”So, what can you tell me about this?”

“I really shouldn’t be telling you anything,” Dominic hesitated slightly. He knew Nikki wasn’t on the team, but saw little harm in giving her the basic’s, which would no doubt appear in the following days newspapers anyway. “But I guess it won’t hurt to give you the outlines.”

He once again flipped his notepad open and then continued.

“Right, we had a missing person file come in first thing. Zandra and Gina came here to have a look at the MP’s flat and they noticed that it looked like a break in. They came in and found it looking like this.” He pointed around. “But nothing has been stolen, and there is no body.”

At this Nikki looked sharply at him, puzzled. “No body, eh.” She muttered to herself then turned her eyes to the large flat screen TV. Even if there were clear signs of struggle, the TV was not shattered, nor was it covered in blood. The laptop computer on the dinner table was neatly shut and also lacked any form of residual spattering, despite the wall behind it looking like a work of art deco. Nikki filed these observations in her brain and turned around to look at Dominic, who stood fiddling nervously with his notepad.

“Thanks, Dominic. I owe you one,” she said smiling brightly at him.

“Just don’t tell DCI Stewart what I’ve told you,” he said, returning the smile and Nikki gave him a reassuring nod.

Domenic, satisfied that Nikki could be trusted, left the apartment, and Nikki to her own devices.

She remained motionless where she had rooted herself and for a moment went off into a reverie of contemplation. This looked like any normal crime scene. But something didn’t sit quite right with her. Regardless of the apparent disorder in the room, it all seemed too neat. Like someone had wanted this to look like an altercation had occurred when in fact it hadn’t. But why, Nikki asked herself rhetorically. An insurance claim was her first thought, but with no belongings taken she discounted that immediately. Kidnap? No, it couldn’t be for there was no ransom as far she knew; another idea vetoed. She racked her brains for the answer but nothing came. Whatever was going on here had to be sinister, and she was determined to get the bottom of it; with or without Helen Stewart and her team.

Thanks for the great update. :)

Here's the next installment :D



Chapter Four



Day One - 22nd January - 5:00pm


For the first time in months Nikki’s brain was in overdrive. After being in a long term comatose state with very little brain activity, she didn’t know if this was a good thing or not, but however hard she tried to settle her mind, she couldn’t. Facts, figures and minute details picked up at the scene of crime rattled around unsympathetically in her head, driving her to the point of frustration. Too many facts and too many fragmented pieces of information made her head spin, her thoughts playing through it all again and again like a song on repeat, in a futile search for something recognizable or some kind of hidden pattern that would make sense to her.


When it came to her work as a Forensic Psychologist, or as some liked to call it, Criminal Profiler, she had always been completely methodical and thorough, almost to the point of driving herself insane; and today was no different. Perhaps, except for the fact aggravation beyond what she had ever felt before was kicking in. The purposeful coma the Doctors had kept her in to allow her body to heal was most definitely having an effect on her long term neurology and the way her brain once allowed her to process and think no longer felt the same; much to her chagrin.

She paced around her living room smoking heavily until she could take it no more. She needed fresh air to clear her senses and the stuffiness of her apartment wasn’t having the desired effect. So with little thought she grabbed her scribbled notes, phone and wallet and made for the street, running down the stairs two steps at a time.

Where she was heading, she didn’t know. She just wanted to walk; and keep walking until she had an epiphany, like in the old days when she was on Trisha’s payroll. But two miles in and she was mentally no further forward, but only closer to a severe temper tantrum in pure frustration over her lack of ideas.

For a split second it even occurred to her that perhaps the consultant neurologist had been correct, and total recuperation was in her best interests, but quickly she shook the thought away and put it down to her building anxiety. However, her body was telling her differently, even if the use of physical energy had taken the edge of her restlessness. So, resigned to the fact she needed to take a break, she sat herself down on the edge of the pavement, the muscles in her legs almost breathing a sigh of relief as the weight was taken off of them.

She fumbled in the pocket of her jeans for her cigarette packet and lighter, and with them she dug out her mobile telephone. She looked at the empty screen with one thing in mind. No text’s; no missed calls, no answer phone messages…no reply from Trisha. Inwardly she sneered in anger.

“Two years of something good, down the pan,” She thought to herself mirthlessly. “Even my parents had the decency to tell me to my face that they wanted nothing to do with me, and they were first class bastards.”

After spending minutes doing no more than staring at the screen blankly, lost in her thoughts, out of nowhere something came to her and she scrolled into her phonebook to find a specific number and pressed dial.

It didn’t take long to get an answer.

“Yvonne, it’s Nikki…listen…I need another favour…”

As compliant as ever, Yvonne gave Nikki exactly what she was looking for, and before long she had put her tired legs back to work.

As she made her way along the somewhat deserted streets, her eyes clocked two uniformed police officers standing outside of where she was heading and she realised her former colleagues had beat her to it. She recognised them as WPC’s Gina Rossi and Zandra Plackett, two young, wet behind the ears constables who where almost fresh out of Hendon. But from what Nikki remembered they were nice enough girls, if a little immature and inexperienced.

“Gina, Zandra…” Nikki nodded towards them by way of greeting.

“All right Miss? Didn’t expect to see you here.” The short blonde woman piped up with a cheeky smile that made it hard for you not to warm to her.

“Yeah, well I’m like the proverbial bad smell you can’t get rid of.” Nikki returned the grin.

“Well it’s nice to see you back, Miss. That was messed up what happened to you and DCI Harris. How is she?” Zandra enquired innocently.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her and she’s left the station.” Nikki replied, trying to stay as neutral as she could muster.

“Ah, yeah that’s right,” Zandra said as an afterthought. “I heard Fenner say she had moved to South Africa to get away from it all. Oh well, good for her, but that’s one less decent copper for the Met.”

Nikki had to restrain herself from grabbing Zandra in an iron grip and making her tell her verbatim what exactly that conniving git had been saying. It seemed quite apparent that the whole of the special unit knew more than she did, and it was thanks to Jim “Big Mouth” Fenner.


Nikki’s mood was growing darker by the minute and it was severely effecting her thought process. Her mind was spinning in a cloudy abyss where nothing seemed real, and for a moment she wondered if this was all just a dream. Perhaps she was still in the Coma, and any minute now she would wake up to see Trisha by her bedside like a loyal partner should be…but she knew that was nothing more than wishful thinking. This dream was a nightmare; and it was very much real.


Nikki said her short, but polite goodbyes and with a quick rub to her throbbing temple, she rang the doorbell.


“Hi, Mrs Taylor, sorry to disturb you, but I’m Nikki Wade, profiler for the Metropolitan Police and I was wondering if, it wasn’t too much hassle, could I ask you a few questions.” Nikki made her speech, omitting the fact her syntax, by rights, should have been in the past tense. But she doubted a grieving mother was going to ask questions, so for the time being she would stick with it and deal with the consequences later, should they arise.


The woman wiped her sore, red, swollen eyes, nodded and moved aside to let Nikki enter the hallway.

“Miss Wade, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what more I can tell you, other than what I’ve already told your colleagues. These last few months my son and I have had, well, a tempestuous relationship. Robert was a loner, he kept to himself, and told me very little of what was going on in his life. He was never one for discussing his personal life.”

“I understand that, Mrs Taylor, but the question’s I’ll have to ask will differ from what you’ve been asked by the officers…I work very differently to what they do, and my assessment can very much determine the outcome of this case.” Nikki imagined how half of the DCI’s would have reacted to that statement if they had heard it and knew there would have been a crescendo of mocking laughter.

“Is he dead?” Mrs. Taylor asked determinedly as she fought back yet more tears. She was a woman in her mid-fifties, with greying hair and sharp features. She was slightly bent forward, but it could have been due to the fact that she stood hugging herself as if trying to keep warm or to keep the bad news from reaching her soul.

“That I can’t tell you at this stage,” Nikki said with a grave tone of voice. “But hopefully with your cooperation we can get the answer quickly.”

The woman looked satisfied with Nikki’s response and led her through to the living room.

“Robert was such a quiet boy. He never had many friends, and he certainly never had any enemies. I can’t begin to imagine who would want to hurt him.”

“Well, unfortunately in cases like these, when the police dig a little deeper into the victims background there is always something there that the parents had no clue about.”

“I know, but with my son I can’t see what that could be. He wasn’t like other kids. He stayed out of trouble. It was only with me that he had fiery temper, but that’s normal, isn’t it? Every child unleashes their frustrations on their parents. They do say it’s the closest people to you that you hurt the most.” The woman’s chin quivered. What she would give right now to have her son standing there arguing with her, instead of being alone with the uncertainty of whether he was alive or not.

“Mrs Taylor, could I take a look at your sons bedroom?”

“Of course, but Robert hasn’t lived here in almost a year. He moved out not long after his father left me. So, I doubt looking at his room would have any benefit to you.”

“You’d be surprised.” Nikki exclaimed with a slight smile.

“Top of the stairs, first on the left. It’s been untouched since he left. Somehow I couldn’t bear changing it.” Nikki made her way up the stair case, taking her time to look at the photographs that lined the wall beside her. Happy images of the past, of smiles and celebrations that were now long gone. It was saddening to see, what looked like a solid happy family unit on paper, crumble to pieces but she had long since learnt not to let these things get under her skin and impair her judgments.

The first thing Nikki noted was the faint odour that hung in the air. It was a smell she recognised as the familiar scent that seemed to adorn every teenage boys living space. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was hardly Chanel either.

Surprisingly, everything looked neat and in place. The bed was made and without creases, the shelving still housed various childhood books and videos that had been left behind, and one solitary teddy bear sat in a corner. There were a few dog-eared science magazines and comics neatly stacked on the floor, a shabby computer chair that was well worn and an old Nintendo games consol; but nothing stood out as strange. It was nothing more than a simple bedroom, typical for any average teenage boy.

It seemed that this wasn’t going to be as simple a case as Nikki had first imagined. A lot of brainpower was going to have to go into solving it, and after what she had been through, Nikki didn’t know if she still had it in her.



~~*~~



DCI Helen Stewart felt like she was at her wits end and she hadn’t even spent a full hour working on the case file. Constant interruptions were making her grow more irate by the second and each time she went to return to the paperwork in front her, she had to start from scratch to feebly try and digest what she was reading. Basically she was getting nowhere fast and it was frustrating her. Having to read the same sentence more than four times in a row did not exactly help either. The top brass would be keeping a watchful eye on her, most likely in the form of Jim Fenner, and she knew she would have to pull her socks up and solve this one fast if she wanted to stay in her role as head of the team. The last thing she wanted or needed was to be hauled over hot coals and answer to Simon Stubberfield as to why she was messing things up. But she also knew with all clarity why she had been picked for this job out of the probably many applications. They needed a new poster child after their last golden child had messed the nest, or in case she herself messed up, a scapegoat. Simon Stubberfield was a pompous old fool who lacked any real knowledge of police work, but his lapdog Jim Fenner would be feeding him all sorts of information, most of it Chinese whispers, and then he would sit like a big toad in the middle of it all and take all the credit for other peoples work. The only reason why he had been this long in such a high position was because he was well connected to the people with actual influence.

“Look confident, think confident, be confident,” She thought to herself with a resonated sigh. Her eyes felt heavy and her concentration level was well below zero. She was letting this case get to her and the problem stemmed from her own insecurities. There was only so many times you could be told you were useless before you started to believe it was true…no matter how much she tried to fight it. All her life she had been told she would never amount to much and her stubbornness and determination to prove all the Nay-Sayers wrong had got her to where she was sat today. But every now and then a tentative panic would set in and with it followed self-doubt. And secretly she wished these anxieties had chosen another day to surface.


She gave her eyes a quick rub to ease away the tension and set them back down on the manila envelope to start getting some facts to work with, but within seconds it became obvious to her it was a useless task. So she shut it over, grabbed her coat and headed straight for the woman with whom she had earlier clashed with.



~~*~~


Chief Medical Examiner, Yvonne Atkins was not having the best of days either. Her workload was piling up thick and fast and with only her trainee, Charlotte, to help out, things were not getting done nearly as quick as she would have liked.

The sudden and somewhat unexpected arrival of Helen Stewart didn’t help matters either.

“What can I do for you?” Yvonne watched Helen warily eye a corpse on her table with some amusement.

“What can you tell me from the evidence you gathered earlier?” Helen drew her eyes towards the flame-haired CME and took a large gulp to stop the bile rising to her throat.

“Not much. I’ve ran the serology tests. First analysis of blood from the scene proves to be a conclusive DNA match to phlebotomy records I acquired from Robert Taylor’s GP.”

“Do we have a murder case on our hands though?” Yvonne shrugged.

“Hard to tell, love. Though from the amount of blood at the scene, I would say so. Only problem with that is, not all the blood matches our MP.” Helen scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion.

“So who does the rest belong to?”

“There’s several different types and without anything to compare it to, I have nothing to go on. One, however was easy to match.”

“Well whose was it?” Helen was growing impatient and Yvonne was drawing it out on purpose.

“Not whose…but what’s. It was pigs blood. Taken from the swabs of the splashes on the walls and ceiling. I’d put a call out to the farms in the area, see if any of their bacon’s gone missing.” Yvonne gave a cocky smile. It was fun seeing the new DCI looking so perplexed.

“Ok, anything else?” Helen tried to look professional and calm, but underneath the façade her brain was going ten to the dozen.

“Toxicology came up negative for drugs, prescription and illegal, no signs of any poisons either. The only thing that did show up was elevated level’s of insulin. I’m pretty sure your MP was/is a diabetic.”

“and?”

“And that’s it. What more do you expect with no body to work with? I’m not the bleedin’ oracle.” Helen bit her tongue. She needed Yvonne on her side if she was going to crack this mystery and firing back an insult was not the way to do that.

“Fine. I’d appreciate it if you kept this information to yourself for the time being.”

“I’m a professional…I don’t break my Hippocratic oath for anyone.” Yvonne snapped.

“Yeah, except Nikki Wade,” Helen thought to herself but again kept her mouth firmly shut. There would be plenty of time after this case to catch out Yvonne Atkins and her psycho-babbling sidekick in their cohorting . But for now, she had a possible killer to catch.

And the next one... please enjoy :)


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Chapter Five



Day Two - 28th January - 8:30am



Another day, another dollar, Helen thought sombrely to herself as she entered the station for what would be yet another twelve hours of absolute chaos. She desperately tried to prepare herself for what awaited her inside but her enthusiasm level was already depleted, even before entering the battle grounds. How could she even begin to muster anything other than annoyance, when nearly a week had passed and she and her team were no further forward on the Taylor case. Every waking hour was spent thinking about it; her heart and soul had been poured into it…and yet nothing. Not even as much as a random sighting of the eighteen-year-old, that could lead to his whereabouts, allowing her to discount this case as a murder investigation, had come in. She was starting to lose all faith.

Wearily she threw her handbag strap over her shoulder and began to ascend the staircase. She was half way up when a voice came from nowhere and stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Ah, just the person I was hoping to see." Not exactly what she had hoped to hear, and if she could have gotten away with it she would have continued up the staircase. "Helen, could you join me in my office now please." Helen cringed inwardly, turned and plastered a fake smile on to her face, mirroring her boss'.

"No problem, Simon," she heard herself lie. For it was indeed a problem, a huge bloody big one. Simon Stubberfield didn't invite you into his office to offer you a pay rise or discuss the weather. No, Helen knew a bollocking on a grand scale was about to ensue, and she wasn't far wrong.

"Take a seat, Helen, this won't take long." The overweight, balding gentleman in a grey pinstriped suit poured himself a coffee and didn't bother to offer his subordinate one. "As you know, Helen, I like to run a tight ship here at Charing Cross, and your team, as specialised as it is, is no exception to that rule. I need all hands on deck."

Helen tried hard not to roll her eyes at this. She knew for a fact that the only thing Simon Stubberfield really cared about was his weekly round of golf, keeping his workload to a minimum and bollocking other people for not doing their own work.

"Now, through the grapevine, I've heard that you are struggling with your position as head of the team; and it's only been a week. I wouldn't have expected this from someone of your calibre, reputation and experience. What's the problem here, Helen?"

Helen felt like she had been slapped across the face with a wet fish. She didn't know where to begin. But a sense of betrayal stung at her. Someone from her team had obviously been playing teachers pet, running back to Stubberfield with inaccurate stories - and it didn't take her much brainpower to guess who that was.

"Simon, I can assure you, there is no problem, from me, or anyone else on my team," she said curtly. "Admittedly, the case we are on at the moment is proving a difficult one to crack, but, with time, we'll get there."

"Time is a thing this police force does not have, Inspector. By all means request stationary, request extra manpower, hell, even request money…but never come to me and ask for extra time. I want this case solved, Helen, and I want it solved swiftly, otherwise I may have to revise your position on the team. Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal," Helen couldn't hide the contempt in her voice, though it seemed to evade Simon Stubberfield's ears.

"Wonderful. I'll expect feedback by Friday." Simon clasped his hands together behind his back, a clear sign of dismissal. His threatening tone had now gone back to being cheery as he ushered Helen to the door. "Never let your personal life get in the way of good policing," he offered the advice as he shut the door between them.


"I have no personal life because of you, so you have no worries there. Condescending old git," Helen sneered under her breath and stomped back furiously towards her own unit on the fourth floor.

The team, seated at there desks, looked up as she barged through the swing doors and they gave one another bemused glances. "Uh oh, bitch boss is on the warpath and she ain't going to like what greets her." One of them whispered to a colleague next to him and raised a snigger from her.

Helen didn't hear what was said, but if she had she would have been prepared for the sight that met her as she opened her office door.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here!" The banshee-like screech filled the entire room and sent most of her staff scurrying away to seek shelter from her wrath - all except Nikki Wade, who remained seated in Helen's chair, her feet on the desk, looking rather at home.

"I've been up all night thinking about this Taylor case. Something just doesn't add up, but I can't put my finger on what exactly. Something is missing…" Nikki was cut off before she could elaborate.

"Yes, a damned body!" Helen's voice rose an octave higher than usual and at a level almost unnaturally loud for a human being.

"No, it's more than that," Nikki scratched her head calmly, as if unaware that Helen was about to commit grievous bodily harm. "If I could just get a look at the case file and piece together some background information I think I may be able to piece this puzzle together."

"Oh no, you don't! That is classified information and I'll be damned if I'm just going to pass it over to a civilian. Do I look like I was born yesterday!" Helen said her voice quivering with fury.

A hundred sarcastic comments came to Nikki at once but she decided it best to keep them to herself after one quick look at the furious red face in front of her.

"Look Helen, can you stop being a stubborn bitch for one second and see how you could benefit from my help? You need my knowledge." Nikki swung her legs off of the desk but didn't stand.

"It's DCI Stewart to you, and how dare you come into my office, treat it like your own, and then have the audacity to speak to me in such a manner!" Helen's face went totally scarlet as her blood pressure skyrocketed. "And I would appreciate it if you refrained from telling me how to do my job! Now get the hell out of my office!" Helen was so irate that her Scottish accent had become more pronounced, and to Nikki's English ears, indecipherable. Nikki paused bemused for a second to try and process the thick Glaswegian.

"I said get out!" Helen repeated fiercely and this time there was no mistaking what was said.

"Fine, but don't say I didn't try to help." Nikki stood up and as she did so the telephone began to ring. Without thinking she reached over and picked up the receiver.

"DCI Stewart's office, Nikki Wade speaking…" Was all she managed to get out before Helen's hand came at alarming rate towards her face and snatched it out from under her fingers.

"Helen Stewart, what is it?" She barked.

Pretty soon the reddish hue on her face began to disappear, as her cheeks became deathly pale, and her eyes widened.

"Fuck," Helen clutched her head. "Fine, just give me ten minutes and I'll be there."

"What's happened? Where are we going?" Nikki asked, probing for information.

"I am going to a murder scene. You on the other hand, are getting the hell out of my sight!" Helen barged out of the door with Nikki hot at her heels causing several of the people in the open office to look up as they both stormed through talking loudly.

"Another one?"

"This is the first as you well know. There isn't enough conclusive evidence to suggest the Taylor case is a murder." Helen inwardly berated herself for mentioning details, but her mind was already somewhere else.

"But is there a link?" Nikki queried further.

"Ms Wade, I don't know any more than you do! And, even if I did know, you'd be the last person I'd be prepared to tell. My work here is none of your business, so kindly keep your questions to yourself and stay out of my way!"

"When Trish…DCI Harris was in charge here, my assistance was valued. Cases were cracked in record time and it kept old Stubby upstairs off her back."

Helen halted and spun around, indignant, and yelled.

"DCI Harris has gone, and I'm boss around her now, like it or not. What I say goes and I am telling you now, in no uncertain terms, that I deem your work as fanciful and in no way can I see how you, or your hunches, can be, even in the slightest bit, of a help to me. I have a team of staff who right now are working their arses off to get this job done, the way they were taught how to at Hendon - not the Freud School of policing."

"But the job isn't getting done, is it? If it was, you wouldn't look like you were about to have a stroke," came the sharp reply from Nikki as she got into the car behind Helen. The argument commenced for the rest of the journey, mostly with Helen doing the shouting and Nikki using her psych training to divert the anger back.

Things didn't get much better when they finally arrived at the crime scene.



As Yvonne exited the building she caught sight of Helen marching her way like a Nazi Storm trooper, and she threw her hand up in warning.

"Don't even ask me what I know you're going to, because I know nothing." Yvonne stormed past Helen and Nikki without making eye contact with either.

Nikki tried to contain her laughter. It seemed like Ms. Stewart had met her match in Yvonne Atkins and Nikki couldn't help but feel a little jubilant. She knew the flame-haired Londoner well enough to know when to stay out of her way and she knew without doubt that Helen would learn this too…the hard way.

If Helen was angered by the outburst she didn't show it. Her face remained as stoney as it had been before and made Nikki wonder how long it had been since a smile had graced the delicious lips. She quickly berated herself for thinking of those lips as delicious, but had to admit to herself that they were.

"Right Domenic, what have we got this time?" Helen sighed in annoyance.

"Similar story to Taylor I'm afraid. Twenty-four year old Swedish exchange student, by the name of Ulla Halander, missing since New Year's Eve. Her room mate filled an MP report on the 2nd of January after she failed to return to the flat. No sightings or communication since then. Today she returned home to find the apartment they shared smashed up and covered in blood, but nothing to account for what caused it. She called us immediately - that was about an hour ago."

"So, you're telling me that again we have no body?" Helen sounded vexed.

"'Afraid so, Ma'am" Domenic bent his head, knowing that his boss was about to go off on one.

"Fucking marvellous." Helen's eyes flamed in fury. "Call in the rest of the team, I want an immediate meeting. And bring in this room mate for questioning; I want the full story…and I want it now!"

"Can I watch whilst you question her?" Nikki piped up innocently.

"No, you bloody can't! Christ, don't you take the hint!" Nikki shrugged nonchalantly and reached over to Helen's shoulder.

"A blonde hair. Belong to someone we know?" Nikki smiled as she picked the hair from Helen's jacket and took pleasure from the woman's sudden subservience.

"That's none of your business either." She mumbled, almost flustered. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a job to get back to."



~~*~~


The interrogation room at Charing Cross, better known as London's Colditz, had absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Its décor was basic, it was dark, chilling and most definitely uninviting - all intentional for the purpose of intimidating whoever had the misfortune to be grilled by one of the chief members of staff.

Today it was the turn twenty two year old Lesley Horton, the latest missing persons room mate, and although Helen didn't believe she was in anyway involved, she wasn't taking any victims.

"Miss Horton, I understand Ulla went missing on new years eve…can you tell me where she was that night?" The young woman leaned back in her chair and sighed sadly at the memories she was forced to recall.


"We were both at a mutual friends party, lot's of people from Uni' had been invited."

"And did you both go together?" Helen pushed for more information, something that would lead her to solving these mysterious disappearances.

"We got dressed at the flat and when we were ready we went to the local shop to get some booze and then we took the tube over to Canada water - that's were the party was."

"I'll need the organisers name and an address of the residence where this party was held. We will need to corroborate your version of events." The room mate nodded in agreement.

"When did you realise Ulla was missing?"

"When she didn't come home the next morning. I left early and caught the 97 bus back to the flat - I work part time to pay for my course, so I couldn't afford to miss a shift, new year or not. Ulla was going to come back with me, but as the night went on and she had more to drink, she changed her mind."

"Was she talking to anyone during the party?"

"Of course she was, it was a party, she knew most of the people there."

"And to anyone she didn't know?" Helen questioned.

"I don't know." Lesley shrugged, starting to lose patience.

"Did Ulla work?"

"No, but she used to. She quit because she was having a hard time keeping up with her studies. She started a medical testing program recently to make some money, but she didn't speak much about it, so I don't know anything about it, before you ask." Helen felt like she was hitting a brick wall and couldn't see this interview going any further.

"Fine, you're free to go, but should you remember anything else, here's my card. Call anytime." Helen walked Lesley to the door, and as she watched her walk away, a familiar sight caught her attention.

"I told you not to come here again…are you deaf as well as dumb, Dr Wade?" Helen challenged the woman, who was becoming a nuisance to her.

"I wanted to see what the room mate had to say for herself, and as far as I know, you aren't top brass around here, so you can't dictate to me where I go and when." Nikki retorted.

"So you have permission to be here from Stubberfield then?" Helen fired back in defiance.

"No, but…"

"Well then as far as I'm concerned I AM the top brass, and you have no business here, Wade! Now get out before I have one of my team arrest you for loitering with intent." Helen turned and stormed off in a temper, but Nikki didn't as much as twitch. Something the room mate had said had piqued Nikki's interest and she was going nowhere until she had looked into it. She was too far in on this case to back out now and DCI Helen Stewart would either have to like it or lump it.

Great story, SIAA and TZT. Keep up the good work!

:clap

here is the next chapter, please enjoy... :)

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Chapter Six



21st of February 1:00 pm



The last month had not been a good one for DCI Helen Stewart. Though happy to be challenged, the first four weeks at her new job had been horrific. The unit she had been trusted to be in charge of was a total mess and it would take more than skill and good luck to get it back to being the smoothly run, effective team that it had once been. The team comprised of a lot of good, hard-working staff, most of whom she knew from her old station in Hampstead, and some she knew through the grapevine within the force. But for every bit of good there was, the bad elements shadowed them, such as fellow DCI Jim Fenner, whom she had already managed to have several clashes with and his DI Sylvia Hollamby. They were both of the old school way of policing; bigoted and without much compassion for anything or anyone - unless of course it involved themselves. To say the pair were a serious headache to Helen would be an understatement.

Officially DCI Fenner and she had the same rank but, in reality, it was her responsibility that the two teams were at their peak performance. DCI Fenner was suppose to handle all the minor cases, fraud, drugs, and the like, where she was supposed to concentrate solely on any murder cases that might turn up. However, she had heard Jim Fenner had an uncanny habit of sticking his nose into things that were really none of his business. And she was positive that things would be no different under her charge.

She sighed deeply and started to massage her throbbing temples. No amount of pills, washed down with coffee, had managed to take away her steadily building headache. She had ingested both in excess, but it seemed like nothing other than a cracked case was going to rid her of the intense pressure she felt.

She had been up all night pondering over the bizarre case files that, besides from her staff, had made her life more than problematical. The lack of sleep and one too many drinks the previous night were now catching up on her with a vengeance.

Helen leaned back in her chair, cursing the empty bottle of Stoli that was on her kitchen worktop. She had the files spread across her desk as she tried to make sense of all the information before her. She somehow had a feeling the cases were all interconnected. They were all concerning missing persons, the crime scenes each doused in copious amounts of blood, but no bodies to show for it.

She mentally shook her head to get rid of the cobwebs that had settled on her mind, but her brain just didn’t seem to want to cooperate or work at a speed that complimented her work schedule. She warily closed her eyes. This was not good.

Helen was getting increasingly frustrated with the lack of results in their investigation and the amount of internal battles of interest. She hated Jim Fenner’s constant snide remarks and backhanded compliments on whatever subject matter took his fancy. Helen had quickly discovered that he was not a popular man around the station, and apparently the only reason how he had managed to stay in the job, not to mention reaching the grade of DCI was because of Simon Stubberfield, yet another commander whom Helen loathed with a passion. For she believed it was his kind that ruined the communities trust in the police and it was his kind that made every investigation seem like a thankless chore.

Granted, it was essential that murder cases got solved, and solved quickly; Helen had to admit that and she would be no less prone to ask for hard work and constant dedication from her team. But unlike Simon Stubberfield and his network of misogynists she would be the first to work hard and pressure herself to her limits. She would expect more from herself than from anyone else. However, she had too often seen Commanders like Stubberfield sitting on their bums, in their offices, never even bothering to get their hands dirty or feigning an interest in what their teams where up to, yet constantly demanding they did everything faster, cheaper and more effectively.

The sudden knock on the door sounded like an explosion in her head.

“Come in,” she said in a strained voice. The person who entered made her groan inwardly and wish that she had not bothered to answer the door in the first place.

“Ah, Helen…. I would like a word with you,” Simon Stubberfield had entered Helen’s office and without being asked he seated himself in the visitors chair.

“I understand that you have made no progress at all on the cases,” he said with an ill hidden contemptuous glare at her.

Helen was under no illusion as to who had informed Stubberfield of her unsuccessful progress with the five cases on her desk. She disgustingly had to admit that there was not much of a breakthrough anywhere near, but she refused to let on to the Commander.

“Sir, we do have some leads, and I strongly believe that the cases are tied together….”

“So have you caught a suspect?” he cut her off.

“No, but…” Helen tried to justify herself but her boss, but he was having none of it.

“In that case, I must consider your lack of progress as unsatisfactory,” Simon Stubberfield said and shot her an displeased glower. “You will find the culprit and bring him down.”

“But Sir, there are no bodies, so can we find anything conclusive?” Helen said with a touch of exasperation.

“So you are telling me that you got five crime scenes and no bodies at all?” he said with pretend surprise. “Then it is not even a proper murder enquiry, is it? Perhaps DCI Fenner should take over and make some real progress.”

The snide remark stung, but Helen was not about to give up that easily.

“There have been no bodies at the crime scenes, yes, but this is definitely a murder case,” she said with conviction, and her eyes flared dangerously, contradicting her relatively calm voice.

“Then find a body and make someone pay. I need this unit to be a success, and you DCI Stewart are not helping.” With that remark out of his system he turned on his heel and walked out slamming the door. There was no mistaking that Helen’s head was on the chopping board, and if she didn’t get this solved quickly, it would end up on a platter.

Helen sat dumbstruck at her desk, not really knowing whether she should cry or have a temper tantrum to unleash all her suppressed fuming anger.

She gritted her teeth and counted to twenty before standing from her desk. She swept the files together and stacked them neatly. She had made her decision and it was time to get her people to work. With a determined yet grim look on her face she strolled out of her office.


* * * * * * *

The office housing most of the murder squad and the crime investigation squad was buzzing of voices. Three police constables were busily talking on the phones, and four of the Detective Sergeants were gathered around the middle table where DS McAllister and DI McIntyre had their desks. They were all engaged in animated conversation about the previous days football match between Tottenham and Liverpool, as the doors swung open and a young blonde woman strode in greeted by a cheerful:

“Hey, Cass. Who you been after this weekend?”

“None of your business, Colin, as it wasn’t your sister” came the curt reply.

“Someone is touchy today.”

If anyone had paid attention to the dark haired DS sitting in the corner, apparently deeply emerged in reading files, they would have noticed a faint blush on her cheeks that was a giveaway to Cassie’s real whereabouts during the weekend.

The playful banter went on for a while until suddenly a shout announced Helen was on her way.

“Hey, the boss it coming!” a low warning whisper announced, making everybody scurry around to find their seats and pretend that they were busy. A few of them glanced up as Helen swept in with an air of foreboding and a look on her face that screamed of hostility.

“Shit, she looks like somebody really pissed her off big time.” DI McIntyre noted rhetorically.

“You think Nikki has been around again?” Domenic enquired and Paula shrugged.

A sharp glare from Helen made the two young police officers shut off immediately from their ill-founded presumptions and turn their full attention to their boss.

“Right, folks….” Helen raised her voice so she could be heard by the masses. “We have some serious crimes here that need to be solved, but so far we’ve been going around in circles and have made very little progress.” She hated to have to say it, but it was the truth, even if she was not happy to use the same words as Simon Stubberfield. She paused and considered how to proceed.

“Guess you wouldn’t mind doing circles with her, eh Cass,” whispered Colin, making Dominic and Frank snigger, while Cassie ignored him, though it took her a great effort not to retort with something very un-lady like.

“We have five cases of missing persons and five crime scenes tied to these persons,” Helen continued deliberately ignoring the hushed whispers from her team. Pointing at the whiteboard behind her she continued.

“We have four missing women and one missing man. The women are all in the early 20’s and the male his late teen‘s. There are no apparent connections between them, so far. They all have very different backgrounds.” Again she paused before going on.

“However, the women are all foreign exchange students from Europe, and what really makes me believe that there is a connection between these five missing persons, and that we’re dealing with something much more serious than people going AWOL, is the fact that the crime scenes connected to each of these five have showed the exact same signs: Vast amounts of blood left at the scene, concluded to be mostly from animal origins with only slight amounts attributing human DNA, no signs of a struggle, yet evident discord and apparent break-ins.”

The silence had fallen over the otherwise cheerful officers. They knew it had not been a nice sight at any of the crime scenes. And it was not like it was the first time that there had been blood at a murder scene, but the amounts of it and the way it had been literally scattered all over seemed to indicate that something extremely macabre had taken place. Yet the lack of bodies was puzzling.

“We NEED a body. Otherwise we’re in deep trouble. Top brass want results and they want them now.” Helen had a hard time keeping the desperation out of her voice.

Nobody said anything, but everybody was fiddling nervous with pens, mobile phones, notepads or even just the hem of their jackets. It would have been possible to hear a pin drop. Normally the office was buzzing with noise, but now it was deadly quiet. Only the shrill sound of a phone could be heard ringing from an outer office. .

With the silence still upon them, they all heard the tap of approaching footsteps and turned to face the door. Monica, the station secretary strode in apprehensively to be greeted with the enquiry eyes that penetrated through her.

“Ma’am,, the CME has been trying to get a hold of you on the telephone. There has been a body found at UCL.”

As if it had been the start signal for a 100m race everybody got to their feet, grabbed their jackets and rushed out of the door. Helen sprinted back to her office, grabbed her jacket and ran down to the car park where DS McAllister was waiting for her.



* * * * * * * *

Taking no notice of the traffic on Charing Cross Road the cars sped out with their blue blinkers flashing and the sirens at their loudest. Helen manoeuvred like a pro, in and out, between taxis and busses.


The tyres of the silver Peugeot screeched as the car came to an abrupt halt outside the main entrance of the University College Of London near Kings Cross. Helen and Dominic were first out of the car and up the stairs immediately. But something made Helen stop dead in her tracks and stare in total disbelief at the person standing nonchalantly at the entrance smoking a cigarette. It was the person she least wanted to see, next after Simon Stubberfield and Jim Fenner; Nikki Wade.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Helen spat angrily. “How did you find out?”

Nikki continued smoking without recognition to her virulent adversary. Being at a crime scene always made her edgy, she had just forgotten how much. So after having a first glance at the body, she had had to go back outside to get some fresh air and a cigarette to steady her nerves…and Helen Stewart was not helping matters.

“Hi, Dominic….” She said smiling slightly at Dominic who looked like he would rather be anywhere else than where he was. Then she nodded at Helen “DCI Stewart.”

“I said, how the Hell did you know about this?” Helen repeated with a steadily building anger; its evidence colouring her cheeks.

Though Nikki still felt a little queasy she could not help being amused at Helen’s clear resentment of her finding out about this situation before herself. She smiled and tried to look as innocent as possible.

“I was with Yvonne, when the call came in,” she said with a smirk. “And she gets the calls first. Where there is a body, there is a Chief Medical Examiner. Long before the common troops move in.”

Helen had a hard time not retorting in a tirade of obscenities and she bit down hard, grinding her teeth. She also had difficulties not to scream at Nikki for being with Yvonne in the first place, yet she could not really prevent Nikki from seeing Yvonne completely as they were obviously friends.

“You’re getting on my nerves, Wade.” Helen finally hissed and stormed past Nikki pushing her out of her way, with Dominic hot on her heels. Nikki silently laughed to herself, coolly stubbed her cigarette out under her boot and followed the two police officers inside and down to the University basement.

Helen walked as fast as her little legs would carry her without actually running. Even with longer legs Dominic had a very hard time keeping up with her as she strode speedily down the never-ending corridor, towards the police constable standing at the end. Her steps echoed in the empty hallway and sounded unnaturally loud to her ears.

Flashing her badge at the constable she bent down and crept under the police tape. The sight that greeted her there was far from what she had expected, and was far more disconcerting than she could ever have imagined it would be.

A shiver ran down the length of her spine and she turned her head to see Nikki stop at her side. Their eyes met, the emotions mirroring the horror that each felt.

It was gruesome and Helen knew she had to act fast; not to save her career, but to put a stop to the maniac that had created the chilling scene before her eyes.

Great update, this story is getting very interesting with Helen and Nikki. :wub: Thanks

Oh no ... you can't stop there! Another para. or two at least.

Well, if Nikki keeps pissing Helen off in this way then there's going to be at least one more dead body to add to Helen's collection. :o

Warning: More pent up sexual tension and fighting about to ensue :D


Chapter 7

Day 3 - 21st of February 3:30 pm




Helen’s eyes widened as she took in the crime scene, a gruesome display of a stage setting, seemingly set up and devoid of any apparent logic. Figures clad in white overalls moved silently around the scene like aliens, careful not to touch anything before pictures where taken as evidence and every intricate detail was noted. It was obviously the SOCA team led by Yvonne Atkins, but their presence seemed like an invasion to the room. No sound was heard except from the scratching of a pen on a clipboard and the invasive flashing from the camera. It was as if everything had been muffled and put into slow motion.

Having expected wasted amounts of blood, broken furniture and complete destruction like at the previous crime scenes, the neatness, lack of blood and methodical precision of objects here in the basement made Helen quiver at its eeriness. Everything was placed meticulously, with great care taken to every little detail. What looked like a small, round café table was placed in the middle of the room. Two lit candles in a simple brass holder, a single flower in a glass vase and two semi-full wine glasses where placed on top of it. Everything looked ready for a romantic dinner date, but this was no romantic occasion; this was a date with death.

Next to the table, sitting upright and tied to a chair, was a young, naked woman; full of innocence and devoid of her dignity. Again everything looked perfectly in place, if it had not been for the fact that she was unclothed, bound and very much dead.

Helen stepped closer to have a good look at the woman, trying not to disturb Yvonne Atkins who was measuring the body temperature and continuously taking notes. The woman, from what she could see, was blonde and seemed to be unharmed as no visible bruises could be spotted on her greying skin.

Helen suddenly jerked back as if something had hit her straight between the eyes. The girl looked like she had a large smile on her face, but as Helen took a closer look, she realised with horror that it was slits cut from the mouth and ran halfway up the cheeks. This along with the vacant stare of the lifeless eyes gave Helen the creeps. She had seen a lot of strange and cruel deaths in her time within the police force, but there was something about the fastidiousness of this crime that made Helen very uneasy. This was no accident or spur of the moment homicide; this was very much premeditated with care and precision.

Having finished taking measurements Yvonne stood up and turned around to face Helen, whom she had been aware of standing there. She looked at her with a curious expression in her eyes, but said nothing to the officer who was in a world of her own. Helen seemed to come back from her thoughts and refocused her eyes on Yvonne.

“Ok, give me your conclusion in layman’s terms,” she said briskly, a little angry at herself for letting Yvonne see her small slip in composure. Yvonne just raised an eyebrow and started to recite the facts on her clipboard, simplifying the technicalities as much as she could.

“Female, blonde, around twenty, from her temperature and the lack of rigor mortis, I’d say she’s been dead for about three days, maybe longer, but I can’t be 100% certain on that yet, there was no sign of apparent struggle, deep lacerations to the cheeks, most probably caused by a sharp instrument, it looks like it’s been done in one movement and from the looks of it, by someone who‘s left handed.”

“Do you think she was cut before or after she was dead?” Helen asked, but somehow she already knew the answer.

“The lack of blood residue on her face suggests that she was long gone when that occurred,” Yvonne said and then added with sarcasm. “Unless someone wiped it off afterwards…”

Helen did not say anything for a while. She took another look at the young woman. She would possibly once have been described as pretty, even beautiful. Long, blonde hair, classic features, straight nose and what appeared to be blue eyes. But the gaunt greyish tint of her skin, the slashed incisions on her face and the faint beginnings of decomposition made her look grotesque. Helen sighed and turned back to Yvonne.

“Anything else? Any ID?” Helen’s voice was devoid of enthusiasm.

“No… no clothes, no bag, no nothing… I’ll need to have a forensic odontologist take a look at her dentistry before having a clue as to who she is,” Yvonne said with a nonchalant shrug as she filed away her thermometer and camera.

“Ok. What about the scene? Anything unusual to report?” Helen continued, determined to get as much information out of Yvonne as possible before she took the body back to the morgue for closer examination.

“Darlin’, everything is unusual… How often do you set out for a date with a dead woman?” Yvonne said, the last sentence dripping of derision. It was the only way for her to deal with it. She had seen too much cruelty and meaningless death in her line of work, so in order not to succumb to the horrors of it all she had adapted a rather cold, mordant façade to hide behind.

“Thank you, Yvonne. Just stick to facts, okay?” Helen said tersely not seeing the fleeting shadow of sorrow in Yvonne’s eyes.

Yvonne bowed her head and started to flip the pages of notes on her clipboard.

“Right, no apparent fingerprints on the wine glasses, vase, candle holders or table… Will have to take the things in for a closer examination though… ”

“Of course…” Helen nodded in agreement.

“There is one odd thing I noticed,” Yvonne said as an afterthought.

“See here,” she pointed to one of the victims thighs. “Needle marks.”

“Drugged?” Helen asked, having difficultly seeing the faint marks.

“Possible, but drug and toxin tests will tell if she has been doped. Would explain the obvious lack of a struggle though if she had been.” Yvonne put the clipboard in her bag and turned to leave.

“Ok. Give me a call when you know something more. Will your team be finished soon?” Helen said pointing at the team of fully-kitted out specialists moving silently around.

“Yeah. I reckon they are actually just about there…now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a death certificate to work on.” Yvonne said and headed towards her assistants.

Helen nodded briefly and turned around to walk out, but instead she came face to face with Nikki Wade, who had hastened after her to the basement. Nikki had been walking around the crime scene taking everything in, only listening half heartedly to Helen and Yvonne’s conversation.

Nikki had originally entered the scene with Yvonne, but it wasn’t long before she had to admit it was all a little too much for her and she took herself outside to alleviate the sudden feeling of immense dizziness that had washed over her. It was not the first dead person she had seen in her career, nor was it especially gruesome with regard to blood and mutilation of the body, but having been under a lot of stress and having only recently returned to her normal level of physical strength, she had not felt at all well and needed fresh air to clear her mind.

She had re-entered the crime scene with Helen, whom she noticed, for a brief moment, had had the same reaction to the sight of the woman as she had done minutes earlier. Helen now looked rather green around the gills, and no longer were her eyes filled with anger; only sadness.


Whilst Helen sauntered off to make her own deductions, Nikki took the opportunity to get a better grasp on the setup of the scene; taking in the positions of the various objects and the intricate details of the young and innocent murder victim.

She was sitting rather neatly in an upright position on the chair. Her legs parallel and knees together. Her back straight and her arms close to the torso. If it had not been for the vacant expression on her face, and the fact that she was devoid of clothing, she could have been sitting anywhere.

The latter was evidently a purposeful act to nil this girl of any shred of self-respect she once had. Whoever had carried out this vicious murder had wanted his victim to be found by male police officers, for her to be ogled and degraded. He wanted her eyes open, so that even in death she would see and feel the dehumanisation that long before her murder he had fantasised about. He despised her, yet he longed to have her as his own. He wanted to love her yet inflict barbaric amounts of pain upon her. He wanted to hear her scream for mercy, to gain a power he could only ever dream of.

Nikki shook her head. She knew this mans kind all too well and she knew that one fantasy brought to reality would never be enough for him. He craved the control that only murder would bring him and like a drug addict he would keep searching until he got his next hit.

She was still pondering the murderer’s deviant psyche when Yvonne made a remark that tore her from her reverie. At the mention of track marks on the victims thigh, Nikki had spun around, frozen to the spot. She had a sudden flash back that felt like a bad case of déjà vu. She had a mental picture, yet it was hazy and lacking substance. Syringes. She had seen a box, but she could not remember exactly where it had been. She was concentrating so hard on getting the image back that she didn’t notice as a very angry Scot suddenly came into her line of vision.

“Yvonne has left and so should you have! What are you still doing here?”

“Eh, investigating a crime scene?” Nikki had the good grace to look a bit sheepish, but she quickly regained her cool demeanour, actually beginning to feel quite amused about the absolutely furious DCI standing in front of her. Nikki was under no illusion that Helen Stewart probably could intimidate most people, especially those under her command, but Nikki was not easily frightened, and certainly not by a short, pompous DCI. However, she also had to admit against her better judgement that DCI Helen Stewart was gorgeous, even when red in the face with anger. But Nikki was promptly pulled out of her musings by the feisty woman in front of her.

“That’s where you’re totally wrong!” Helen spat furiously. “You’re not doing anything of the sort. In fact you’re just about to leave before I …”

“Call the police?” Nikki said with a small smile. She did not know what suddenly possessed her, but she found it highly tantalising to tease the woman and wind her up, good and thorough.

“You’re once more treading on very shaky ground, Ms. Wade,” Helen said stepping up under Nikki’s nose and poking her in the chest. “So clear out before I…”

“Put me in handcuffs?” Nikki cut her off with a smirk and continued without pause. “Why, that’s just kinky, DCI Stewart. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Helen stood gaping with her mouth open, totally stuck for anything to come back with. Her face was beetroot and her eyes were tainted with resentment. She had the look of someone about to hit out hard and if Nikki didn’t move she would be a sure target.

“But don’t worry,” Nikki carried on as if she had not seen the look on Helen’s face and holding a hand up to forestall any interjections. “I’ll leave by my own free will.”

She turned around and stepped towards the door. Just before leaving she half turned around and said in a casual voice:

“Besides I’m not really into all that bondage stuff… just look at our victim here to see where it can lead…”

With that she left the room, leaving a gob smacked Helen behind.

:) Great update, thanks.

ooooh great update...thanks SO much...looking forward to more "confrontation" ;)

Thanks for the feed back and sorry for the delay in updates.... :)

But here it finally is.... Please enjoy.... :)


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Chapter Eight



As Nikki left Helen and the University campus behind, her initial plan was to go home to her central London apartment and mull over the little evidence she had accumulated in her head, but en route her plans changed tack as her legs carried her off in a totally different direction - taking her back towards the home of the first victims mother.


The middle-aged woman looked more bedraggled than Nikki had remembered her to be. It was clearly obvious the long wait and the uncertainty of her sons fate had taken its toll in the four weeks since Nikki had last been there. And, as much as she hated to add further burden to the grieving mum, she had a job to do - a job that subsequently could put end to this woman’s misery and pain.

Nikki followed Mrs Taylor into the darkened living room, where both stood awkwardly in silence.

Nikki felt like one large cliché in human form as, for the second time, she rolled off the police-scripted sermon of sincerest apologies for the promises the force had made and which had yet to materialise into anything other than a few scraps of paper in a manila folder, and for the precious time she was taking up by being there.

But excuses and condolences weren’t what this Mother wanted to hear. What she wanted was her son back, safe and sound where he should be, in the hub of the family home.

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to ask you a few more questions about your son. If it’s not a good time, I can come back another time…”

“Take a seat,” Mrs Taylor gestured towards the battered two-seater sofa with a deflated sigh and Nikki graciously did as she was instructed.

“There have been a few developments over the last few days in regards to similar cases, that I feel may be somehow linked into Roberts disappearance.” The woman’s bloodshot eyes shot up in expectation, a look which told Nikki she had perhaps said too much. And she had an unpleasant sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that her next words might crush what little optimism Mrs. Taylor had left of seeing her son again.

“Please don’t get your hopes up too high, it’s early days yet and to be perfectly honest, Mrs Taylor, the outcome may not be a good one.” The woman’s eyes quickly dropped to the floor again and she silently nodded. But Nikki had caught the devastated look in her eyes and felt bad about what she had to do.

“I understand and I thank you for being honest with me, it’s the most I’ve been told since Robert went missing. Your lot aren’t exactly forthcoming with information.” The last statement was said with ill-hidden contempt but Nikki let it go to prevent an argument which would do no good.

“The body of a young woman has been found at the University College of London. Did Robert study?” Mrs Taylor laughed mirthlessly at the question.

“God, no!” she exclaimed. “It was hard enough trying to get Rob to go to school. Every morning he had a different excuse not to go. His father had to practically drag him by his shirt collar down the street.” She smiled as she reminisced. “He was a good lad though, never got himself mixed up in trouble; worked hard.” She quickly added.

“Mrs Taylor, if you don’t mind me saying, that’s twice you’ve told me that without me having to ask; it sounds a little contrived to me.” Nikki held her breath for an expected outburst, but it didn’t come.

“You’re very observant, Dr. Wade. But you’re right. I’ve tried to convince myself for years that Robert was an angel, and in trying to convince everyone else, you begin to believe your own lies.” Nikki sat quietly with attentive eyes and let her carry on. Any little bit of psychological insight could be invaluable to the case.

“He struggled all the way through school and in the end he didn’t bother to sit his GCSE’s. He said they were a waste of time, and he left school at sixteen with no prospects, whatsoever. It didn’t help that his father filled for divorce soon after…that’s when he went off the rails. He blamed me for everything. He got a flat, moved out and refused to speak to me. So, I’m not lying to you when I say I don’t know what he’s been up to… How could I when I haven’t spoken to him in four years.”

“I’m sorry.” Nikki didn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t be. I did the grieving for my son a long time ago. This may sound harsh, but if Robert is dead, at least I can finally have closure.” Nikki nodded in understanding. Over twenty years before she had been in almost the same position as Robert Taylor had been. All except for the fact she hadn’t been given a choice to leave. She had been thrown out on her ear without explanation or remorse. She may well have been dead, for all her parents cared. At least here was a mother that worried about her son.

“Can I take another look at your sons bedroom? There may be something I’ve missed.”

“I doubt it, but sure, feel free. You know the way.” Mary Taylor gave her a faint smile and followed behind like a shadow as Nikki walked up the stairs and into the deserted room.

It hadn’t changed a bit since her last visit. Nothing had been touched or moved, and the piece of evidence she was here to see was still sitting in the same position on the set of drawers.

“That box of needles…what’s it for?” Nikki asked, her brow furrowed.

“That’s for my son’s syringes…” Mrs Taylor said nonchalantly like it was no big deal, until she spotted the look in Nikki’s accusatory eyes.

“Oh no, it’s not what you think, Robert was type II diabetic - had been ever since he was a little boy. We used to joke it was because of all the sweets he would guzzle, but it’s hereditary, my brother‘s had it since childhood too. That box was left behind when Robert moved out.”

“So, he was insulin dependant?” Nikki said more as a statement than as question.

“Yes, poor little mite never got used to being injected. It was even worse when he had to start doing it for himself.” Mrs Taylor was keen to carry on about her son, but Nikki didn’t have the time to listen…she had a lot of thinking to do.


* * * * * * * *


Nikki had left Mrs Taylor’s house in deep thought. There was definitely something that did not add up, but she could not pinpoint exactly what. And that irked her beyond anything else. She racked her brain, the different pieces of information zooming around and around, but she could not grasp them and put them coherently together. The puzzle of these crimes was far too complex, but Nikki was convinced that there was a red thread connecting them all. She was also convinced that the answers to all the questions were right under her nose, but she was failing miserably to see it.

There was some information missing, and even if Yvonne had been very generous providing her with inside knowledge of the cases, Nikki still had the distinct feeling that something integral to her having a eureka moment, was not being divulged to her . But if her theory was right, these cases were all connected, the only problem remaining was to convince the stubborn DCI Stewart of this.

Having made up her mind, Nikki decided to pay the determined DCI a visit. She assumed Helen Stewart would still be at the station, so she made a swift detour to Charing Cross Road.

Even if it was late afternoon the station still buzzed with activity. She nodded hastily to Monica as she strolled past her desk and into the vast open-plan office, which was no less quiet. She spotted DI McIntyre and DS McAllister in a heated discussion and DS Tyler leaning rather seductively on a desk, trying to chat up an unfamiliar dark-haired woman. But Nikki had no time to stop for idle chit chat. She hastened down the corridor to the office of DCI Stewart. Without knocking she opened the door, barged in and planted herself in the visitor chair before Helen had a chance to throw a tantrum and chuck her out.

Helen had been standing with the back to the door archiving some old files, when the sudden disruption made her jump, turn around and stare in disbelief at the perpetrator of the disturbance. It was the last person she expected to come barging in, uninvited, considering their last argument. And she could not help feeling rather resentful at the infringement of her privacy. This dark-haired woman had an instinctive ability to appear at the wrong moments and rub Helen up the wrong way in the process. Nikki Wade made her increasingly agitated whenever she was in close proximity to her. She tried to convince herself that it was purely due to the fact that Ms Wade was always in places where she should not be, sticking her nose into police business when knowing it was not wanted, but something deeper lurked under her skin. Helen knew that Nikki’s unconscious attempt at intimidation was not the only reason why she felt uneasy in her presence.

Helen had known DCI Harris briefly from the police training academy. And from what she had heard through internal channels and from what she had read in the files, Trisha Harris had been a very good detective, sticking to facts and common sense. A lot like Helen herself. But she had also leaned a great deal on Nikki Wade’s apparent ability as a profiler, and for what it seemed, with great success. That was up until the last case they were involved in together, when something had gone disastrously wrong. Helen was not sure whether it had been due to their personal involvement or if it had been nothing more than unlucky circumstances, combined with a mole within the police, who had never been discovered. But the fact remained that Trish Harris had been in a relationship with Nikki Wade.

Helen starred in disbelief at the trespasser for a short moment to gather her composure before she exploded in anger.

“Here we go again! I thought I told you to stay out of my way and to not interfere with the cases?”

“Helen, will you just shut up for second and listen?” Nikki was not in the mood for a screaming match, but felt that it might be necessary to use some forceful words to make this fiery Scot sit up and listen.

“No, you listen Nikki, and listen good… I will not have a civilian running around questioning my officers and meddling with police work,” Helen said in an icy voice, cold fury oozing from her lips.

“DCI Stewart, I can give you the murderer,” Nikki said staring directly into grey, green eyes, not faltering when she was met with an angry glare. “I can help you catch this guy. I know his thoughts and I know how he thinks…with me helping, we can map his next move.”

When Helen did not respond, Nikki felt bolder and continued.

“You have five crime scenes that are carbon copies of one another, you so far have four missing persons, with mostly likely more on the way, and you have one dead woman in the basement of the UCL. Now, has that woman been filed as missing?”

“She has not been identified,” Helen heard herself saying against her will. ”But we are trying to get hold of Ulla Halander’s room mate to come in for identification.

“You will probably find that she is missing, and there’s a good chance it is the student.” Nikki said unperturbed and lit a cigarette ignoring Helen’s look of disgust. “See, there is a connection between all of these crimes. I went to see Mrs. Taylor again this afternoon…”

“You did what?” Helen exploded once more. “Haven’t I made myself perfectly clear, that you were not to talk to anyone?”

“Well, it made perfect sense,” Nikki said unconcerned and continued as if Helen had not spoken. “She told me her son had never been one for education, never mind attending University. From what she said I’ve taken him to be of low intelligence, however I still reckon the main link through all the victims is the college. But what really made me think was the syringes I found in his room.”

Helen was seething, but had kept quiet at Nikki’s explanation. A part of her wanted to hear this information, while the other part of her wanted to kick this God damned obnoxious psychologist where it hurt the most.

“The syringes?” Helen asked for a moment thrown off track.

“Yeah, syringes. I heard Yvonne mention track marks on the victims thighs and I had this sudden flash back. I saw the hypodermic needles at the first victim’s mum’s house when I first visited….”

She was cut off by a very angry DCI.

“You’ve been to see her before? Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? I could lock you up right now for improper interfering in police work.”

“Oh shut up with the empty threats, Helen, I’m telling you, there is a connection between these cases. And the connection is clearly drugs,” she said brightly despite the sombre subject matter.

“Ms. Wade, you’re way out of line here,” Helen said, deliberately using Nikki’s surname.

Nikki was about to speak when the phone rang. Helen snapped it up with the speed of a rattlesnake; half expecting the brazen profiler to make a grab for it first.

“DCI Stewart speaking”

Silence fell over the office as Helen listened intently to the person on the other end. Nikki strained her hearing to get an inkling of what was said, but the only thing she could make out was that it was the voice of a woman. Helen put the telephone down after a curt “Thank you”. Nikki was about to explode with the need to know what it was about, but did not fancy being on the receiving end of another of Helen Stewart’s tirades.

“Right, what I was saying,” Nikki began tentatively. “The connection here is drugs and I can really be of use to you in solving the crimes.”

“You’re about as much help to me as a third tit,” DCI Stewart said coldly. “And as I suspected, you’re way off the mark. There is no connection between the cases. You’re totally on the wrong track. That was Yvonne Atkins calling me. Toxicology has shown no sign of drugs in the bloodstream of our Jane Doe.”

Nikki opened her mouth to speak, but words eluded her.

“So will you now kindly remove yourself from my office and this police station before I personally put you in a cell?” Helen said in an icy tone though with a hint of smugness in her voice. Maybe now she would get peace to solve this case her own way without any outside interference.

Deflated by her own embarrassment, Nikki stood with little resistance and walked out of the pokey room with her head hung low in shame. She had been so sure she was correct in her assumptions; everything had logically pointed to drug abuse, until Yvonne had put a spanner in the works.

Part of Nikki wanted to rush back into the office and make Helen telephone the mortuary to demand retesting. But the logical part of her knew it was no good. Yvonne knew what she was doing. There was no arguing with Forensics, they were never wrong; she on the other hand was.


TBC

Thanks for the great update. :)

We're rushing on with tne next update... :lol:


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Chapter Nine


4th of March 7:00 am



However much Helen hated to admit it, it did seem that Nikki might have had a point. Once again Helen found herself back at the University, at yet another murder scene. She made a grimace as she walked around the chair where the victim had been seated. It was the fourth since the first only about 10 days ago. The Chief Medical Examiner had as usually revealed very little other than the obvious, but by now Helen knew she would get the answers she needed. Yvonne Atkins was a very competent woman, and extremely fast at getting her job done. The Chief Medical Examiners Helen had worked with previously had always been slow and dim-witted and annoyingly self-absorbed. But Yvonne Atkins was very different, and Helen had come to appreciate her brisk appearance and quick answers.

“Helen, over here,” Dominic called out.

Helen walked over to where he was standing.

“What you got?” she asked looking down at where he pointed.

Small pieces of glass lay splintered on the floor, but pushed aside like it had been done in haste. On one of the pieces a small drop of blood could just barely be spotted. Helen bent down and picked it up with a set of surgical tweezers she had taken out of her pocket. She put the glass shard into an evidence bag and handed it back to Dominic.

This time the body had been found in the science lab at the University by the cleaners who came in early in the mornings. Though only one of the victims had been identified as being a student, an obvious unease had spread among the College. Helen did not blame the students for feeling jumpy. Anyone would have been on edge after having four bodies found right under their noses.

Helen sighed deeply. Not only did she now have four bodies matching four missing persons, but she also had absolutely no clue as to who had committed the murder. And to make things worse Simon Stubberfield was still on her back - now more than ever.

The press had somehow gotten hold of the story of the “Student Slasher”, spreading unnecessary anxiety among the students and staff, and Helen had no trouble in guessing who the leak had been. Jim Fenner. He had done nothing but making her life as miserable as possible ever since her first day at work. But with Simon Stubberfield backing him up, it was as good as impossible to prove her suspicions. However, to Helen’s slight relief, it did not seem that she was the only one who loathed the man. Most of the staff around the station thought very little of him, but they also somehow seemed to be scared of him. Helen could see he tried to intimidate the younger officers, and most of the time he succeeded in doing so, though there were a few who did not seem to be easily frightened - herself included.

Helen made a special note on keeping a close eye on her staff to make sure they were doing well, both professional and personally. Her DI was a good hard working woman, and a fellow Scot, though from Edinburgh. Paula McIntyre had a knack for finding all the small things that could easily be overlooked when looking at the bigger picture. Also Dominic, whom Helen had worked with before, was a good young officer. He had the prospect of becoming a good detective given time and training. He was methodical and thorough in his investigation. The three junior DS’s on her team were more difficult to suss. They were all hard working, but Helen had a hard time finding their real individual qualities. DS Cassie Tyler was a big mouth, but had an extremely sharp brain. DS Frank Roswell was a quiet, rather bland young man and it was difficult to imagine that he was best friends with the boisterous DS Colin Fergusson, whom Helen did not quite trust. However, so far he had done nothing other than just being a pain with all his smart arse comments.

The body had long been taken away by Yvonne Atkins and her assistants, so there was not really anything for Helen to do other than agitate herself with facts

Who the Fuck is doing this? she thought to herself.

She sighed deeply in frustration and decided to go back to the station, where she could go through the cases again, hopefully finding some kind of clue that she had been overlooking so far.


* * * * * * * *

Nikki had been connected to the special Charing Cross Murder investigation squad ever since it started 5 years ago. She had enjoyed her work as a profiler and she would be happy to continue as such, even with the new bitchy DCI Stewart as head of department.

Nikki had been around since the early days of the unit, and it had given her the opportunity to get to know the people at the station from the inside and to make friends with several of them, Jim Fenner not being one of them.

They hated each other with a passion, never making any false pretences not to. They had never seen eye to eye. Nikki considered him a bigoted bastard, and he considered her nothing more than a dirty dyke.

When it had gotten out that she and DCI Harris had been an item,