With thanks to Pfyre, as always, for encouragement and help.  To Sue for the beta read.  And to Simon, for being wonderful.

WARNINGS - NC-17 for child abuse, non-consensual sexual activity with minors.
 
 

Green Ginger

There were no lights on in the house from what he could see, but even in the darkness the place looked like something out of a fairytale, or a horror story.  Set deep in the woods, way off the beaten track.  This house had seen a great deal of horror only months before.  Six men they knew about, and doubtless more they didn’t, had been slaughtered in the picture-postcard setting, slashed to death and burnt beyond recognition.  And then this afternoon they’d received an anonymous phone call regarding the now abandoned cottage, someone claiming that someone was squatting in it.  Detective Chief Inspector Jim Taggart had sent his sergeant, Michael Jardine, out to take a look.  To be truthful, the DCI hadn’t taken it very seriously.
 

But the sunlight was fading, Michael had been gone hours and they couldn’t raise him on his mobile.  Sergeant Jackie Reid had finally agreed with their boss that they should drive out to the house to make sure that everything was all right.  Their colleague had been distracted recently, depressed even.  He’d just found out that his latest girlfriend had been sleeping with one of his oldest friends and the discovery had really knocked him for six.

Taggart drove them out to the house, pulling up behind Mike’s purplish Rover.  When he killed the car engine, the silence was almost deafening.  “Something’s definitely not right.”  Picking up the handset he called HQ, asking for immediate backup, stating a ‘bad feeling’ as his reasoning.

He might have called for it, but there was no way he was going to wait for it. “Take the back, but be careful.”  Jackie nodded, getting out of the car and heading around to the back of the house as Jim went to the front.  He knocked on the heavy wooden door.  There was no answer, but he hadn’t really expected there to be.  He knocked again, harder, more insistent.  And then he tried the door handle.

The door swung open with a rusted creak, letting him into the hallway.  The kitchen was to his right, living room to his left.  He could hear a cracking of wood, and the warmth that hit him immediately suggested a log fire.  A blaze that consumed the house had ended their investigation six months ago, and it was no more than a burnt out shell now.  Yet someone had lit a log fire?
“Michael?”  Taggart stepped through the doorway into what used to be the lounge.  The fire provided the only light, but it was enough for him to see by.  The furniture that had once been was nothing but ash.  There was no sign, apart from the amber flames, that anyone was living here.  He turned away, glancing at the stairs.  But something caught his attention, a movement in the far corner of the living room.  Slowly, he moved further into the room, watching the shadows, trying to make out what was lurking there.  His eyes slowly accustomed themselves to the dim light, and he began to make out a figure of a man, sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, rocking slowly back and forth.

“Michael....”  He could barely believe what he was seeing.  “Michael?”  Crouching down, he touched his sergeant’s arm, and Michael flinched away as if electrocuted, but he didn’t look up.  He continued to stare into the distance, into the opposite corner.  Taggart followed that trance-like gaze and his eyes widened.  Slouched against the far wall was what remained of a man.  The naked corpse had no arms, no legs.  The head drooped at a sickening angle, chin dropped against the collarbone.  From what Taggart knew of his pathology, the body had been devoid of life for at least a few weeks.

He heard Jackie’s call as he moved deliberately between his sergeant and the gruesome sight in the corner.  “In here, Jackie.”  He glanced up at her as she stepped into the living room.  “You’d better call an ambulance, and Stephen.”
Jackie came toward them, frowning.  “What the hell...?”
He shook his head.  “I don’t know.”
Her eyes swept over her colleague, and into the far corner.  “Oh my God....”  Taking out her mobile she dialled the station.

Still getting no reaction from his sergeant, Taggart decided the best approach was the most direct one.  Leaning forward, he put his hands on Michael’s shoulders, gripping him tightly.  At least he got what he wanted.  The reaction was immediate and definite.  Michael screamed, coming alive suddenly in Taggart’s grip.  Starting to fight to escape, he pushed against the older man, kicking out.  Jackie was stunned, but Jim refused to let go, moving closer, to Michael’s side out of the way of his feet, using his strength to pull his sergeant against him.  Putting one arm around Michael’s shoulders, he grabbed both his hands and held them.  Michael continued to struggle, yelling to be released, until all the fight left him finally and he collapsed against his boss, crying hysterically.

Taggart held him tight, securing him from whatever horrors he perceived to be out there.  After a time, he released his grip slightly, gentling his embrace to coerce Michael into relaxing, into trusting him.  But Michael held on, twisting his superior’s shirt in his fingers, burying his face into the other man’s shoulder until his tears soaked through the thin material.

“We need to get him out of here,” Jackie observed.  “He must have been sitting there for hours.”
Taggart nodded.  She was right, he just wasn’t sure how they were going to accomplish it.  Rubbing his hand up Michael’s arm, he tried to ease him away slightly.  “Michael, we’re going to take you outside now.  Can you stand for me?”
Michael pulled back, and Taggart got the impression of watching a man sinking back into himself.  He looked up, reddened eyes pleading with his boss and when he spoke it was nothing but a whisper.  “Don’t let him do it again, please.”
“No one’s goin’ to do anything to you.”  His mind was spinning, trying to put together the scant pieces of this frightening puzzle.  But Michael’s safety and sanity had to be his priority now.  “Come on.”  He pulled his sergeant to his feet, keeping his arm around him, watching Michael’s reaction to Jackie as she put her arm around his waist.  Michael glanced at her, but it wasn’t anything like the initial hostility he’d been shown.

Leading their frightened colleague out of his self-made prison, Taggart couldn’t resist wondering who the corpse was.  Once outside, Jackie opened the back door of the car, staying close as their boss talked the traumatised sergeant into getting in.  Motioning to Jackie, he waited until she’d climbed in the other side before gently handing Michael over to her.  They could hear the sirens of police cars and ambulances getting closer.
“Michael, I’m goin’ to have to sort this all out.  Jackie’ll stay with you until we’re finished.”
Jackie glanced up at him.  “Shouldn’t he... go to a hospital, Sir?”
That got a reaction.  Michael sat up suddenly, pulling away from Jackie, absolute terror in his large eyes.  “No... no hospitals, please.”
Taggart gripped his shoulder, easing him back.  “All right, Michael.  No hospitals.  Just stay here with Jackie for now.”  He met Jackie’s gaze for a moment before standing, turning to meet the vehicles that started to fill the wooded driveway in front of the house of horrors.

McVitie was one of the first ones out of the cars, Stephen Andrews close behind him.
“What the hell’s going on here, Jim?”
But Taggart was watching the paramedics approaching.  “Could you give me a minute, Sir?”  He missed McVitie’s frown as he hurried forward to intercept one of the paramedics.  “Er...” he read the name badge on the uniform, “Chris.  When we got here, we found my sergeant inside.  We was... catatonic might be the best word.” Chris nodded.  “Where is he?”
Taggart led him to the car.  “This is DS Jackie Reid, and DS Michael Jardine.”  Michael was once again folded up, feet up on the seat, arms wrapped around him in what seemed a protective gesture.  One of Jackie’s hands covered his, her other petting the back of his neck, trying to soothe.  Michael didn’t seem aware of her, or of anyone any more.  Chris sat himself slowly on the edge of the back seat.
“Hello, Michael.  My name’s Chris, I’m a paramedic.  Is it okay if I look you over, make sure you’re all right?”
Taggart watched the introduction get no response.

“Jim?”  He stood back, almost walking into his superior.  “What’s going on?”
“I have no idea, Sir.”
 

The windows were black with ash, and the electricity had been cut months ago.  It took five minutes to set up some emergency lighting for Stephen to work by.  In the light, the dismembered corpse looked worse.  “Do we know who he is?”  McVitie turned from the body while Stephen got closer.
Jim shook his head.  “I don’t, but I have a feeling Michael does.”
“Well then, let’s talk to him.”
“Not yet, Sir.”  He explained what had happened, what he and Jackie had found.
“You don’t think just seeing the body caused such an extreme reaction in such a sensible man?”
“No.  Someone lit a fire in here.  That wasn’t Michael.  Someone else was here.”
“Is Mike all right?”
Taggart shrugged.  “I’ve got one of the paramedics talking to him, hopefully checking him over.  He really doesn’t want to go to hospital, so if it’s okay with the doctors I’ll take him back with me, he can stay at my place tonight.”

Stephen stood.  “Well, this unfortunate soul has been dead about three weeks.  His limbs were hacked off while he was still alive, although I doubt he was aware after the first amputation.  And that’s not all that’s been removed.  His genitalia is also missing, and I would hazard a guess that they were chopped off first.”
“Why?”
Stephen faltered, stopped in mid-flow.  “Why what?”
“Why would you hazard a guess that his genitals were removed first?”
“Well, in my experience, someone who does that to a man does it for a reason.  His killer would presumably want him to be conscious.”  Taggart nodded, not wanting to think about it too much.  “There’s no ID on the body, I’ll try to give you something more once I’ve got him back to the lab.  As for cause of death, that’s easy - blood loss.”
“So he wasn’t killed here?”  His answer was an empathic ‘no’.  Taggart rubbed his eyes.  “Thanks, Stephen.”  He turned to McVitie.  “I’ll check on Michael.”
 

“I’d like you to be able to talk to me,” Chris spoke gently, rolling up his patient’s sleeve to take his blood pressure.  “Can you tell me what happened?”
Michael turned his head to actually focus on the man speaking to him but he turned away again without a word.
Jackie stroked her thumb across the base of his neck, where his hair was cut short.  “We want to help, Michael.”  But even as she spoke, she heard how lame it sounded.
 

Taggart stepped out of the house, shivering in the cold.  The night was dark now, and it had started to drizzle.  The light in his car illuminated the three people in the back, and as he approached Chris climbed out.
“Chief Inspector Taggart.”
“How is he?”
“He’s covered in bruises!  He’s had a terrible shock of some kind, but he won’t talk about it.  In fact he won’t talk about anything.  I’m not entirely happy, I’d like to take him in.”
“The bruising’s that bad?”
“No.  Well, yes, but I didn’t mean that kind of hospital.”
Taggart frowned, confused for a moment.  And then the penny dropped, and his eyes widened.  “Are you talking about an asylum?!  He’s in shock, he’s not insane!”
“These aren’t the Middle Ages.  I’m not talking about locking him up in a padded room.”
“You’re not going to get a chance to lock him up anywhere!  He’s coming home with me.  He needs familiarity, not some team of doctors prodding and poking him.”  He stepped passed Chris, dropping into the back of the car.  “Hi, Mike.  What say I take you home?  You can stay with me for tonight, maybe we can have a drink and a chat?”  Michael didn’t lift his forehead from his knees.  Jackie sighed softly.  “Sir, have you spoken to Chris?”
“I have.”
Jackie nodded, she wasn’t about to argue.  She could feel her colleague shaking under her hands and she wasn’t happy about the idea of handing him over to a group of strangers either, doctors or not.  “Can I drop you home?”
“Actually, Sir.  I’d like to stay with him.  If I can?”  Jim considered her request, and nodded.  Michael was perhaps more likely to open up to her than to him anyway.

*

“Where’s Jean?”  Jackie pushed open the door of the dark house, taking the keys from the Yale lock.
“Some conference or other in Edinburgh.”  They watched Michael pad slowly into the lounge and stand in the centre of the carpet, staring at the floor.  Jim shook his head, continuing through to the kitchen to fill the kettle.  Jackie tapped his shoulder.  “Can I use your toilet?”
“Second door on the left.”

Deep inside the darkness, a five-year-old boy clawed at the cage that imprisoned him.  The eyes of his torturer glowered down at him, two glowing circles of red fire burning through to the little boy’s soul.  He had believed it all over, and yet he was back here, trapped in the one place he’d spent his life trying to escape.

Taggart stepped into the lounge a few minutes later and was stopped in his tracks by what he saw.  Michael was kneeling on the carpet, long black coat pooled around him hanging from shaking shoulders.  From under the heavy material, his feet poked out on either side.  Just in front of him, his palms flat were on the carpet, supporting his weight as he cried violent sobs of anguish.

Desperate just to hold him but frightened of scaring him, Jim approached slowly, crouching down beside his sergeant.  “Michael?”  Hesitantly, he reached out, touching his friend’s shoulder, keeping in mind what Chris had said about the bruising.  “Michael.”  The other didn’t look up, but he did shake his head.  Moving to kneel beside him, Jim put his arm around the cloaked shoulders, keeping his touch light and easy.  “Come on.”  The tenderness in his actions, in his words would have surprised a great many people.  They surprised Jackie when she stopped in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt.

With loving care, Taggart placed his other hand around the back of Michael’s head and very gently pulled him close.  To his relief, Michael went, falling against him, struggling to catch a breath as the hysteria took hold and the heart-crushing sobs were torn from his soul.  Taggart held him much as he had done on the floor of the burned out living room.  He made the circle of his arms a haven for Michael to hide in, stroked the short blond hair with undisguised affection.  Above all, he let him cry, without talking, without asking any questions or offering any answers.  It seemed that for a while at least, there were none.

Silently, Jackie watched the two of them for a moment before tiptoeing out and closing the kitchen door behind her.

The Grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room declared to the house in general that it was ten o’clock.  Feeling Michael’s body finally start to relax, Taggart shifted them both back a foot to enable him to lean against the edge of the sofa, pulling his feet out from under him while still cradling his sergeant in his arms.  He’d lessened his grip somewhat, all too aware of the reported state of the slim body he held.  He’d kept up the soothing stroking of the hair though, something he’d leant from Jean a long time ago, an action that he’d used many times in the past to calm their daughter.

Under the thick coat Michael shifted, putting his feet out to one side and leaning more into the warm safety that protected him.  His eyes felt so heavy, his head like a hollow shell stuffed with cotton wool.  Despite the thick material wrapped around him he was so cold... and he ached from head to foot.  It seemed perhaps that the only way to escape the increasing pain was to give into the darkness.  But before he could, a gentle, quiet voice drifted into his mind.
“...safe here, now.  We’ll take care of you.  You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, there’s nothing to be frightened of.”  The voice sounded like his father, reaching out to him to pull him back from the edge.  With some difficulty, he opened his eyes.

Jackie put her own and her boss’ mugs down close to them, holding the third mug out to Michael.  “Tea?”
He nodded, whispering, “Tissue?”  She smiled, going to fetch the box of tissues she’d seen on the dining room table.  Michael fell silent again as he wiped his eyes and blew his nose.  He still shook slightly, spilling a little of the tea as he raised the mug to his mouth.  Jim didn’t release his hold, but he slipped his hand from Michael’s hair to the back of his neck, shocked at the chilled skin that met his touch.
“Jackie, there’re a couple of blankets in the airing cupboard in the bathroom, could you fetch them?”

Aware of Michael’s vulnerability as much as he was of his own roughly dredged-up emotions, Taggart dropped a hesitant kiss to the blond hair.  “Michael, can we get your coat off?  You’re freezing.”
He smiled up at Jackie as she unfolded the blankets she’d found.  Michael regarded the both of them with the smallest amount of suspicion before placing his mug on the carpet in front of him and shrugging off his coat slowly and carefully.  The paramedic who’d given him as cursory an examination as he would allow had already removed his tie and undone his collar.  And as he wrestled his coat off, trying without much success to cause himself as little pain as possible, he pulled his shirt across his shoulder for a moment, exposing the vicious purple blotches that covered his arms and chest.  Taggart’s eyes widened.  He glanced at Jackie, opening his mouth to say something but refraining.

Jackie took Michael’s coat from him, wrapping first one and then the other blanket around his shoulders and tucking them around his chilled body.  She lit the gas fire, turning back to see their boss re-establish his protective embrace.  “Do y’want some painkillers, Mike?”
Michael nodded without looking up, and Jackie smiled as their boss reluctantly asked her to fetch them.  Whatever she could do, whatever would bring her colleague back to them.

The only painkillers the Taggarts had in the house were Jean’s, and they were fairly strong.  By the time Michael had finished his tea, his eyes were drooping closed.  Jim cuddled him gently.  “There’s no point in you fallin’ asleep there, Sunshine.”  He opened his eyes a crack, looking up miserably.  “Sofa or bed?”
Without answering, Michael eased himself up onto the sofa behind them, curling himself into one corner.  Jackie tucked the blankets around him again, watching as the lids closed over his reddened eyes.

After a short time, Jim reached up to finger a wayward lock of blond hair.  “What have you seen, Sunshine?” he whispered softly.  “What’s scared you so badly?”
Jackie sat herself up in the armchair opposite.  “Where did the bruising come from?” she asked quietly, almost rhetorically.
Taggart shook his head wearily.  “I don’t know.  But if I ever get my hands on whoever did this….”  He sighed, picking up his mug from the carpet.  “I’ve known him since he was a year old.   I used to bounce him on my knee.”
Jackie smiled openly.  “How did you know his parents?”
“His father and I joined the force together.”  Jim lost himself for a moment in his memories, soon interrupted by the telephone.  Clambering to his feet he went out into the hallway, picking up the receiver.  “Taggart.”
“Jim, Stephen.  I think we’ve found your man.”

*

‘Off again’, Taggart thought to himself as he pushed open the door of the home of Gerald Rogers, retired primary school teacher, RIP.  Another victim whose life they would plunge themselves into until some motive could be found for his death.  And then the lives and privacy of all who knew and loved him would be invaded until the killer was discovered, charged and convicted.

The only difference this time around was the as yet unknown connection between Gerald Rogers and Michael Jardine.  Superintendent McVitie had suggested that perhaps it had just been the sight of the corpse that had upset their sergeant.  Taggart hadn’t needed to speak, Stephen had spoken first, laughing.  “The number of gruesome Post Mortems that he’s watched?  I don’t think so.  He’s not the squeamish type.”
“Someone gave him those bruises,” Jim had reminded them.  “Someone lit that fire.”
“And he hasn’t spoken about it?”
“He barely said three words last night.  I’ll see if I can talk to him later today.”
Michael had still been fast asleep when Jim had left him in Jackie’s capable hands at six am this morning.
 

Gerald Rogers kept a tidy house, and it remained that way for about three minutes before the small group of officers Taggart had brought with him started to clear his papers, letters, magazines, anything that might help them solve the crime into large boxes.  In mid-lift, one of the constables looked up.  “Who’d want to murder a primary school teacher, Sir?”
Taggart shrugged.  “I can remember wishing all my teachers were dead.”  There was a general noise of agreement before work started again.

Wandering around the downstairs of the house, Taggart found himself in the dining room, looking over a sea of school class photographs, some of them going back twenty years.  He picked one up at random, reading the gold inscription etched into the bottom edge of the mount.
‘Glasgow City Primary School, Class 3A, 1968’
Something struck a chord with Taggart and he replaced the photo, scanning the rest of them quickly.  In the thirty or so photographs that were there, not one was taken at the same school as another.  And they weren’t all Scottish schools, there were classes in Yorkshire, Lancashire, Newcastle, even one in Sussex.  It seemed odd, especially as it was definitely the same man sitting in the middle at the front in all of them.  Gerald Rogers.

Again he picked up the first photograph.  1968.  He would have been twenty eight, working side by side with James Jardine.  Michael would have been five, just starting school in the September.  Primary school in fact.  Glasgow City Primary School.  Taggart stepped through to the lounge, tapping two men on the shoulders.  “There’s a load of school photographs in the dining room, I want them all taken with us.”
The two men nodded and started in on the task immediately.  Taggart decided that his job there was done.

*

The first person he saw when he got back to the office was Jackie.  “What are you doin’ in?”
She sighed, she’d known exactly what his reaction was going to be.  “Michael asked me to take him home.  I think he just needed some time by himself.”
“By himself?!  Did he seem himself to you?”
She gave that some thought.  “He was better than he was last night, Sir.”
McVitie had stepped out of his office as the sound of his DCI’s raised voice.  “You’re worried he might do something… stupid?”
Taggart shook his head.  “Nah, not Michael.  He wouldn’t know where to start.”  The truth was that he hated the thought of his sergeant sitting alone in an empty flat.
“Then perhaps we should give him some time.”  He beckoned Taggart into his office and closed the door.  “Did you find anything at the house?”
“I don’t know.”  He explained about the photographs.  “And I think Gerald Rogers was Mike’s teacher.”
“There had to be a connection.”
“I know….  It just wasn’t what I was expecting.”
McVitie shook his head, leaning back in his chair.  “I hated my primary school teacher.”
“Enough to murder him, Sir?”  McVitie gave his DCI a patented frown.  “There’s something bothering me, something I can’t quite put my finger on.”
“If he moved around a lot, perhaps he was one of these ‘fill-in’ teachers.”
“Aye, maybe.  I’m goin’a check on Michael.”
The Superintendent knew better than to argue with that.

*

It was strange, the things he found to grasp at to save him from drowning.  Michael walked through his flat into the bedroom and was hit by the smell of her perfume, still lingering on the bedclothes even after three days.  It reminded him where he was, how old he was, the problems he faced, the job he did.  It all came back in a single, blinding flash of reality.  He dropped to the bed, unable to prevent the tears that came again.

Most of the previous night was nothing but blackness in his memory, a blank that reminded him too sharply of the other gap, the one that had been with him for a long time.  The painkillers Jackie had given him earlier were starting to wear off, and he got up, hunted around in the bathroom cabinet until he found an unopened packet of 32 Anadin tablets.  He wondered absently what would happen if he swallowed them all.  Would the pain go away?  More importantly, would the darkness in his mind leave him alone?  Would it be enough?  He thought probably not.  Taking two of the pills with a glass of water, he put the rest back.

Moving almost on automatic pilot, Michael leaned into the shower cubicle and turned on the water flow, soaking his shirt-sleeve in the process.  Kicking his shoes off across the bedroom floor, dropping his coat to the carpet, he undressed before stepping into the cubicle.  He ignored the pain as the shards of water pelted his abused body.  Turning his face up into the harsh spray, closing his eyes, he let the hot shower wash away everything it could touch.  A little of the dirt always remained.  It burrowed under the skin and stayed there, a constant reminder of the memories he could no longer see in his mind.

He stayed under the water until it ran cold.  The painkillers were starting to kick in, and the pain throughout his body was dulling to an ache at last.  Stopping the water flow, he stepped out onto the cold tiles, reaching for a towel and rubbing himself dry as hard as he could bare.  The first clothes that came to hand were a pair of comfortable grey trousers and a cream jumper his Mum had bought him one Christmas.  She always had good taste, his mother.  He smiled to himself, thinking about her.  Since his father’s death she’d kept herself busy and he hardly saw her.  Christmas and Mothering Sunday the same as most men his age, he presumed.

In bare feet he padded through to the kitchen to find something to eat.
 

The doorbell startled him, so set was he on finding the Strawberry jam tucked somewhere behind the rest of the jars in the cupboard.  He answered the door with the ketchup bottle in his hand and the marmalade tucked between his arm and his body.  The smile on his boss’ face when he saw him was bright enough to bask in.
“Well, you look a lot better.”
Michael smiled, a shy gesture of embarrassment and apology, and stepped back to let Taggart in.  Jim closed the door behind him, following his sergeant through to the kitchen.  Michael put the two items down on the sideboard.  “I was... looking for the jam.”
“Ah.”  Taggart pulled five various jars down from the cupboard before he found the correct one and handed it down.  “That right?”
“Thanks.”  Obviously embarrassed, Michael fished around in the drawer for a knife.  ‘But the toast’s going cold.’  Something in that thought stopped him from opening the jar.  He put his hands flat onto the work surface and bowed his head, feeling his hard-won, newly built resolve start to crack.  Jim touched his arm gently, and that small contact broke him. He screwed his eyes shut unable to stop the tears that ran down his cheeks.

Taggart ran his hand up to his friend’s shoulder.  “Michael....”  A moment passed before he turned to be folded into strong arms.  “Hey....”  Willing to offer whatever comfort he could, Taggart held Michael carefully, hands light against the soft lamb’s wool of the jumper he wore.  “It’s okay to cry, Sunshine,” he reassured over the deep sobs of soul-deep grief.  “And it’s okay to talk.  I’m here for you.”  Michael pressed his face into Jim’s shoulder, trying without success to stop the flow of emotion.  “Let it out, it’s all right.”  Despite what people thought of him, he had a daughter and he’d seen her through traumatic arguments with school kids, later bust-ups with her girlfriends, and rows with boyfriends.  Whatever was wrong here, the process remained the same.

Tenderly, he curled his hand around the back of Michael’s neck, rubbing the skin gently with his thumb.  “Something’s so very wrong, Michael.  I wish you’d tell me, talk to me.”  Under his hand, Taggart felt his sergeant shake his head emphatically.
“I can’t.”  He choked out the words.
“Okay, Mike.  Okay.”  He knew not to push too hard.  Michael was balanced on a fine edge, traumatised by something that they’d never get to if he pushed too soon.  Easing the pressure, he stroked his hand across the wool-covered shoulder, playing gently with the soft material.  The tears subsided slowly and he pulled away, wiping his eyes and cheeks with his fingers.
“I’m... sorry.”
“Don’t be.”  Taggart kept his hand rested on his sergeant’s shoulder.  “I mean it, I’m here.  It’s best to let it out.”
Michael smiled slightly.  “You... you’re not usually so... tolerant.”
“You’re not usually deep in shock.”  He hesitated, allowed Mike the time if there was
anything else he wanted to say.  “Look, go and sit down.  I’ll make you some fresh toast and put the kettle on.”
“Sir....”
“Jim.  It’s Jim.”
 

Five minutes later, Taggart handed his sergeant a plate of hot toast with strawberry jam.  Curled into the corner of the leather sofa, Michael looked to his boss terribly vulnerable, but at least he looked aware.
“Thanks, Sir.”
“Jim.”
“I don’t know if I can get used to that.”  But he seemed happy enough with his toast.
Taggart watched him for a while from the armchair as he sipped his tea.  “How’re you feelin’?”
Michael glanced up.  “I try my best not to.”
It was an odd answer, but one he didn’t attempt to clarify.  “You look better than you did last night.”
“Do I?”
“Do you remember last night?”
A shake of his head.  “Not a lot.  It’s...” he hesitated, his voice quietening somewhat.  “It’s like a dream.  I can remember snippets, little bits of blur images.  Nothing detailed.”
It sounded to Taggart like amnesia, and suddenly he was worried that he should have allowed Chris to take Michael into hospital last night.  “You don’t have a headache or anything?”
“No.  Everything else aches though.”  He looked up then, and his voice became a frightened whisper.  “You don’t know... how the bruises got there, do you?”
Jim shook his head, pitching his own tone at sympathy.  “I don’t, Michael.  I was hoping you could tell me.”  Michael munched the last of his toast and dropped the plate softly to the floor.  “Do you remember a school teacher of yours called Gerald Rogers?”

Michael’s head snapped up, his eyes widening.  And for a moment, Jim thought that whatever he’d hit upon, it was the reason behind everything.  And then the light in his sergeant’s eyes went out again, and he shrugged.  “Should I?”
“I think he taught you at primary school, when you’d just started there.”
Again, Michael shook his head.  “I don’t actually remember that far back.  Why?”
“He was the corpse you found yesterday.”
And this time the confusion seemed genuine from the start.  “Corpse?  What corpse?”

*

He tried to relax as the cylinder surrounding him turned slowly.  Jim had held his hand through the initial stages of the scan, now he was waiting just outside.  Michael clung to that thought like a lifeline.  ‘They won’t find anything,’ a little voice told him from within.  ‘You know they won’t.  There’s nothing to find.  It’s all too deeply buried for anything to dig it out.’  He was becoming so confused.  There was something like a brick wall erected in his own memory that kept him away from parts of what he knew.  Images leaked from there sometimes in dreams and nightmares.  When he thought about the previous night, he could only see blurred visions of horror, visions he didn’t want anyway.  Tears ran over his face, unheeded as he lay there.  The doctor, who’d visited the flat after Jim’s phone call, had insisted on this despite him begging them not to, despite pleading with them just to leave him alone.

Taggart watched as the scanner fell dark and the conveyer slid back out.  The moment he saw the misery on his sergeant’s face he pushed passed the doctors and into the main room, reaching for Michael as he sat himself up, swaying unsteadily.  There were no hysterics and that worried Jim more than if there had been.  He’d never forgive himself if his actions forced his sergeant back into the catatonic state he’d been in when they’d found him.  But the same awareness that he’d been witness to earlier soon returned to the large dark eyes, and Michael accepted his boss’ help standing up.
“I’d like to go home.”
 

“He shouldn’t be left alone,” the still-worried doctor instructed him just before they left.  “The scan’s clear but there’s something wrong.  If nothing physical is causing these lapses, then it’s mental, perhaps emotional.”  Jim refrained from pointing out that he could have told them that.  He drove Michael home.
 

“I’m sorry, I was just worried.”
Whether Mike heard and was ignoring him, or just didn’t hear the heart-felt apology, Jim wasn’t sure.  He put the kettle on again, but by the time he took the drink into the lounge, his ward was lying stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep.

*

“I don’t know, Jackie.  I’m worried.  He’s acting... strangely.”
“I’m not surprised.”  The accusation in her tone was clear despite the mobile signal being far from excellent.  “After everything he went through yesterday you’re dragging him to the hospital for a brain scan?”
Taggart rolled his eyes.  He shouldn’t have expected any kind of non-bias from a woman who’d been in love with the patient from the day she’d met him.  “Thanks, Jackie, you’re a great help.”
“Where is he now?”
“Sleeping.  Have you got anything for me?”
There was a rustle in the background.  “Yeah, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Well?”
“We’ve started going through Gerald Rogers’ papers, and we’ve found a load of school records for pupils in about twenty different schools.”
Taggart frowned, attempting to mentally fit this piece of the puzzle into what they already had.  “I don’t get it.  What was he up to?”
“Sir.  One of the records is Michael’s.”

*

Dropping the last of the school files onto McVitie’s desk, Jim stretched, yawning.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night, Jim?”
“You try sleeping well in an armchair.”  He picked the bottom file out from under the pile and handed it to his superior.  “I want Michael kept out of this.  We know, and that’s enough.  Whatever’s goin’ on here, I’m not goin’a watch his name and career be dragged through the gossip channels of this station.”
McVitie nodded, taking the file and locking it away in his desk.  “And he doesn’t remember anything?”
“I don’t know.  I would swear he knew the name Gerald Rogers, but after that initial reaction... when he said he didn’t he sounded so sincere, so convincing.  I believed him.”
McVitie leaned forward slightly.  “What if he’s repressing the memories?  His mind protecting him against whatever he witnessed?”  Taggart shrugged.  “We could try hypnosis.”
“I don’t want to hurt him any more than he has been.  I’m not going to drag him through hell just to satisfy our curiosity.”  He shook his head.  “There’s something more to all this, Sir, I know there is.  I want to find out what it is before we start subjecting him to anymore.  Okay?”
A nod.  “All right, Jim.  Where’s he staying?”
“At home.  Jackie’s with him, I’ll be going back there later.”
“The photos of the scene will be in by the morning.  Maybe they’d be a gentler way to jog his memory.”
Taggart sighed, but Michael was their only witness and he could understand his superior’s need to speak to him.  He nodded.  “All right, I’ll see how he is in the morning.”
Taggart stood, but his boss stopped him from leaving quite yet.  “Listen, Jim.  You seem very... personally involved in this.”
“He’s my sergeant!  Some bastard’s done this to him, and I am goin’a find out who.”

The Superintendent decided that a suggestion to pass this one over to someone else was not going to be a popular one.  He thought better of it.  “Just be careful, please?  I wouldn’t want to see this one get away.”

*

Jackie was pleasantly surprised by the varied contents of Michael’s kitchen cupboards.  She’d found all the ingredients to make a perfectly acceptable Spaghetti Bolognaise.  It was almost finished when Michael appeared in the kitchen doorway having just woken.  “Smells good.”
Jackie bestowed a brilliant smile upon him.  “Thank you.  Hungry?”
He nodded.  “A little.”  He stood and watched her cook for a short while.  “You don’t have to stay here,” he told her finally.
“I’m under orders.”  But her expression reassured him that she’d have stayed even if she weren’t.
“Thanks.”  He wasn’t sure why having someone around felt safer at the moment.  He’d lived alone since leaving school and it had never bothered him before.  Yet when he’d been alone here this morning the flat had felt claustrophobic.  Perversely, with someone else around it felt normal.  Normal was good.

“Jackie?”  She looked up from the herb selection she’d fished out of the cupboard.  “What is that I’m supposed to have done?”
She stared at him.  “Done?  Nothing.”  Noting the confusion in his expression, she dropped the wooden spoon into the pan and crossed to him.  “You’re a witness, Michael, and a victim.”
“But I don’t remember anythin’.”  His tone was panicked, almost pleading, and to Jackie’s trained ears it sounded all too familiar.  Like he was protecting himself from someone, too scared to talk.
“There’s nothing to be frightened of.”  Yet even as she spoke she could see in his eyes that there was.
“You don’t know.”  It was obvious that he was upsetting himself.  She wished she could understand why.  “I can’t be a witness.”
“No one’s going to make you do anythin’.  I promise you.”  Bridging the physical gap between them, she took hold of his hand.  “I just want to see you smiling again.”
The gentle reassurance seemed to have a positive effect.  Michael sniffed once.  He wrapped his fingers tightly around her hand.  “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”

She waited, simply stood with him until she was sure he was back on stable ground.  “If I don’t take that pan off the heat, it won’t be edible.”
He let go.  “I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”
“Ah, brave words coming from someone who’s never eaten my cooking before.”
“You’ve never given me the chance.”  He turned when the doorbell rang.  Jackie caught the fear that flashed across his boyish features for a moment.  She hadn’t expected the boss back for another few hours, and when Michael made no move toward the door, she felt relieved.
“Why don’t you stir this for me, and I’ll get that?”
 

Jackie opened the first-floor flat’s door to a stranger, a young man in his early twenties, short dark hair and a nervous disposition.
“Can I help you?”
He regarded her suspiciously.  “I’m looking for Michael Jardine.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got a letter for him.”  He held out a small white envelope.
“Who’s it from?”  He shook his head.
“I don’t know.  This guy outside gave me a tenner if I’d deliver it.”
Jackie smiled sweetly, taking the envelope from him.  “Can you describe him?”
Knowing now that this was more than he needed to be involved with, the delivery boy shook his head.  “Are you sure?”  He nodded.  Jackie toyed with the idea of asking him inside.  He could give a description to the police.  If she didn’t try, she knew Taggart would have her guts for garters.  She asked him.  He declined.  So she did the next best thing, she committed his face to memory before he ran off.

“Who was it?”  Michael gazed at her from the stove, seeing the letter in her hand.
“For you.”
Swapping the wooden spoon for the envelope he went through to the lounge to open it.  Jackie switched off the gas and found some clean plates.  For a bachelor he certainly kept the place tidy.  Or maybe he just wasn’t around enough to make a mess.  His figure really didn’t scream junk-food at her.  Draining the spaghetti, she set about scoring some points for presentation, all the while listening for any sound that might indicate what the envelope contained.

Michael unfolded the paper with trembling fingers.  Scribbled in an uncertain hand across the centre of the plain A4 sheet were the words,
 

‘At last we’re free’

He stared at the writing, seeing suddenly so much more than he’d known before.  Five words that spoke to the forgotten memories, adding to the guilt that he kept behind the walls in his mind.  He wasn’t alone.  After all this time, it seemed too much to contemplate, too great a change in his perspective.  Folding the paper up as it was, he slipped it back into the envelope, taking it through to the bedroom and dropping it into the bedside drawer.

Silently, Jackie stepped back into the kitchen.  She hated doing this to him, but something had to give sooner or later, and she preferred it not to be her colleague’s sanity.

“Anything useful?” she asked when she handed him a plate and fork.  He shook his head and when she didn’t ask anything else, he brightened considerably.
“This looks great.”
“Thank you.  But I’d wait until you taste it before passing judgement.”
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, before Michael reached for the TV remote.  He glanced across at Jackie.  “D’you mind?”
“No.”  Her smiled was reflected in his as he flicked on the television set.  The news was in full flow.  It was more background than anything else, just noise to break the silence, to give his mind something to dwell on instead of the blank place that kept drawing his attention.  He couldn’t go there, he wouldn’t fall into the despair that waited for him.

“Michael?”  Her voice brought him back to the here and now.  “Is it all right?”
“It’s wonderful.  Sorry, I’m miles away.”
“It’s okay.  You’re allowed to be.”  She caught the beloved expression on his face, the childlike innocence that he’d managed to hang on to despite the job, despite whatever else had happened to him in his life.  She saw it only rarely now, hadn’t really expected to see it again after yesterday.  But the slight smile, the lowering of the eyes, the gentle expression on that beautiful face, all touched her heart.

She thought about the words that had drifted into her mind.  Saying them was probably a mistake, but to see him smile was worth the world to her.  “Michael, can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“I’m... I know I’m going to regret this for the rest of my life but...” she hesitated, and he looked at her, that cockeyed smile she adored.
“What?”
“Gawd....”  She blushed, but she had to say it now.  “I have had a crush on you from the day I met you.”
The grin that spread over Michael’s face was worth every word.  “You’re kidding?”
“No.  And you’re not to tell the boss.”
But he was still back at the initial confession.  “On me?  When we first met I was...”
“...dating one of the bad girls, I know.”
“I thought you thought I was a pig.”
She looked smugly at him.  “I did.  Didn’t stop me fancying you though.”
Michael shook his head slowly.  “Why’ve you never said anythin’?”
“We work together!  You’re my boss to all intense and purposes.  It wouldn’t be right.  Besides, you’ve never shown any interest.  And it’s not like I’ve spent these years pinning for you.  It’s just... a crush.”  She shrugged, taking a mouthful of food to cover her acute embarrassment.  Michael dipped his fork into the spaghetti and twisted it around before letting it go and putting the plate on the floor.
“Could I... take advantage of it for a few minutes?”
She frowned, bewildered.  “In what way?”
“Can I have a hug?”

She put her own plate on the coffee table and moved across to the sofa.  Sitting down, she reached for him and he settled into her arms, wrapping his around her.  “You don’t want to love me,” he murmured, “people never love me for very long.”
Jackie could have wept for him.  “That’s not true.”  She stroked her hand over his hair.  “I love you.  I’ve loved you for a long time.  You have friends who love you.”
“I thought.”
“You thought right.  Don’t let one miserable bitch make you believe you’re anything but worthy of us.”
Releasing her, he snuggled down into the offered comfort of her embrace.  Reaching out, he took a hold of her plate and handed it to her.  Somehow she managed to balance it on one knee and eat while keeping one arm curled around him.  “You’re not hungry?”
“I’m sorry.  It’s lovely, I’m just....”
“Not in the mood.”  She dropped an affectionate kiss to his head.  “Just don’t starve yourself to death.  It’s not like you can afford to lose any weight.”
He chuckled at that.  “Oh aye, I’m a rake.  If you weren’t here I’d be pigging chocolate.”
A wicked smile crossed her face.  “If you want chocolate, Michael, you shall have it.”
 

“Taggart.”
“Sir, it’s Jackie.  How’re things going?”
“Slowly.  There’s more paperwork here than on my desk!  How’s Mike?”
“He’s... fine, Sir.  He has a chocolate craving, I was wondering if you could pick some up on your way over.”  She held the phone away from her ear, looking at Michael.  His hand over his mouth trying to stop the bubbling laughter.
“Chocolate?!  What the hell am I, his butler?”
“I’d go, Sir, but you said he wasn’t to be left alone.”
“Right.”  By the sound of his voice, Taggart knew he was backed into a corner.  “All right, I’ll bring chocolate.  Anything else?”
“Chips, Sir.”  There was a subtle change in her tone that he didn’t miss.
“He’s not eating?”
“Not a lot.  By the time you get here....”
“Aye, all right.”  He sighed dramatically, but the giggles he could hear in the background were a wonderful sound.  “I’ll be round within the hour.”

Michael shook his head as she ended the call.  “I can’t believe you did that.”
“Why?  He might as well make himself useful.”
He rearranged himself, trying to get comfortable as the hospital-prescribed painkillers began to kick in.  “He’s been incredible, actually.”
“What did you expect?  He cares for you, Michael.  A lot.  I think he sees you as a surrogate son.”
“Thanks!”
“Come on.  You should have seen him yesterday afternoon.  Like he is now, worried sick about you.”
Michael closed his eyes.  “I feel comfortable with him.”
Jackie combed her fingers through his hair, thinking that maybe if that was true he might talk to Taggart, given the right circumstances.  But she didn’t say anything, she didn’t want to push, not at the moment.  She felt him relax, start to doze.  The medication they’d given him at the hospital for his bruising was fairly strong, and she knew he hadn’t slept well the previous night.  She worried that he was burying whatever he’d seen and experienced the day before.  It was still close enough to the surface that the smallest thing could crack the swiftly erected defences.  But the longer it was left, the deeper it would go until no one would be able to reach it without shattering him in the process.

She focused on the television, now showing EastEnders.  She was hardly ever home in time to watch the TV, and after the first few minutes she found herself engrossed.  When she next glanced down, Michael was snoring softly.  He looked about fifteen in the woolly jumper, and she had to fight down her maternal instincts.  Always she’d swung between wanting to mother him one day, wanting nothing more than to jump in to bed with him the next.

EastEnders finished and Watchdog started.  Half an hour later, that finished and some programme started, looking into the difficulty of stopping smoking.  She’d just managed to get a hold of the remote control by use of her feet when the doorbell rang.  Michael stirred, but once she’d dropped him gently back to the sofa, he settled again.
 

“Hi.”
Jim stepped inside and handed her two carrier bags.  “Chips and chocolate.”
She grinned.  “Thanks.  Sorry about that, but...”
“It made him laugh.”  She nodded.  “That’s absolutely fine, Jackie.”
“He’s sleeping, Sir.”  She led the way back down the corridor, turning into the kitchen while he carried on into the lounge.  When she peered into the bags she found he’d bought every type of chocolate he could possibly find in Glasgow – Mars, Twix, Bounty, Caramel, Boost, Crunchie, Galaxy, Fruit and Nut, Cadburys Milk and Plain.  He’d got boxes of Milk Tray, Roses and Quality Street.  She put the chips onto plates and took them out into the living room.  “Couldn’t decide which chocolate to get?”
Taggart looked up from where he was crouched on the floor in front of his sleeping colleague.  “I didn’t know what he liked.”  She handed him a plate, taking the two dirties back out with her.  “Michael?  Chips?”  Their ward blinked a couple of times, looking up at his boss through sleepy eyes.
“Sir.”
“Jim.”  He would keep reminding his sergeant until he got the message.  “I bought you chocolate.”  Jackie wondered in and emptied the bag onto the coffee table.
“Wow!”  Michael’s face lit up like a kid in a sweet shop.  He reached out and snagged the nearest bar of Dairy Milk.
 

Three hours, two painkillers and a mug of hot chocolate later, Michael was stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep.  Once she was sure he was out cold, Jackie unfolded herself from where she’d been sitting against the sofa, getting her boss’ attention.  “Sir, can I show you something?”

She took the letter from the top drawer next to Michael’s bed.  “I don’t like spying on him, but I thought it might be important.”
“What does it say?”
“I don’t know.  Michael read it alone and then brought it in here.”
Taggart nodded, not about to rib her about the spying bit.  He pulled the paper from the envelope carefully, unfolded it and read it.  “’At last we’re free.’  What the hell does that mean?”  Studying the handwriting for a few seconds, he then handed it back.  “And you only saw the paid delivery boy?”
“Aye.  I thought about detaining him….”
Taggart shook his head.  “Even a description wouldn’t get us very far.  Did receiving this upset him?”
She thought back.  “No more than he already is.”

Jim sat down on the edge of his sergeant’s bed.  “I wish I could see the connection.  An ex-school teacher is brutally murdered and his body dumped in a derelict house.  Michael finds the body after some locals report squatters in the house and when we find him he’s deep in shock.  Could the fact that this Rogers taught Michael at school simply be a coincidence?”
“I didn’t think you liked coincidences, Sir?”
“I don’t.  Someone else was in that house when Michael arrived, I’m sure of it.  The body had only just been dumped, yet he’d been dead for three weeks.  What if Mike walked in on the killer as he was dumping the body?”
“Why wouldn’t he just kill Michael to silence him?”
He sighed.  “There’s something missin’, I know there is.  And I think Michael knows what it is.”

*

Jackie gazed at the desktop covered in photographs taken two nights ago.  The house, the room, the corpse from all angles - in its original position and later in the lab.  “What’s all this supposed to tell us?” she asked, partially rhetorically.  Standing behind her, McVitie shrugged.
“Everything?  Nothing?  We’re hoping they’ll jog Michael’s memory.”
She turned to stare at him.  “You’re going to show these to Mike?”
“Yes.  Jim’s bringing him in this morning.  My idea.  He wasn’t too keen, but we need a break on this one.”
Jackie sighed, but kept any remaining comments to herself.  He was right, they did need a break.  She just wasn’t sure that it was the right way to go about getting one.
 

Outside in the main office, two officers were still trawling through the boxes they’d brought from Rogers’ house.  Jackie gave them a small smile of encouragement as she walked passed.  “Anything?”
One of them held out in hands in near-defeat.  “More school reports.  We’re running the names through the system but it’s slow going.  We did find this….”  Rummaging around on the desk, he dug up a crumpled sheet of A4, typed onto which was a list of names and addresses.  “We’re running those names too.”
“Maybe today’s the day.”
The answering expression on his face told her that he didn’t share her optimism.

She’d reached the coffee machine when the door was pushed open and Jim led Michael through into the office.  It was unusual to see him here in jeans and the jumper he seemed so comfortable in.  Knowing the physical state of him, she wasn’t surprised.  “Good morning.”
He smiled at her, slightly nervously.  “Morning.”
She glanced at the boss.  He was hovering, obviously in protective mode.  “The photos are in McVitie’s office, Sir.”
 

Jim closed the door behind them, watching his sergeant closely as the young man stared at the images before him.  Michael stepped up to the desk, resting his fingers on the edge, taking in each photograph in turn.
“Do you recognise anything?” McVitie asked conversationally.  But he got no response.
Taggart walked around the desk, keeping a close watch on Michael’s expression.  He could almost see the delicate façade crumble before his eyes.  “Could you give us some time, Sir?”  Realising he had little choice, McVitie left them to it.

Reaching out, Jim touched Michael’s arm, squeezing gently.  “It’s all right, Michael.” But the dark blue eyes darting over the gruesome pictures told him otherwise.  “Did… did I do this?”
He’d known this was a bad idea, yet still he’d led this lamb to the slaughter.  “No,” he stated with utter conviction and no little horror.  “Of course you didn’t!  This is what you found, in the house in the woods, the one you went to two days ago, where we found you.  Do you remember that?”  No reply.  “His name’s Gerald Rogers.  He was your primary school teacher when you were five.”  The words were barely out before Michael backed away from the desk suddenly, coming up against the blinds that were drawn down over the glass panelling of the office.  Taggart stepped around, reaching out.  But the other man was too fast, and before Jim could touch him he’d bolted from the office.

The main office door slammed shut as Taggart stepped out of the doorway to meet his superior’s questioning gaze.  “Well, you wanted a reaction!”  McVitie glared at him, but said nothing.

“Sir?”
Jim turned, uncertain what to do next.  “Jackie.”
“Sir… we’ve had a result with a couple of the names on a list we found in Rogers’ stuff.”
Her demeanour was enough to get his full attention.  He led her into his own office and closed the door, his mind already working on where Michael might have gone.  “Well?”
She handed him the original list along with the print outs from Records.  “Out of the twelve names on the list, six are known paedophiles.  They’re checking on the rest now.”  He didn’t hear her last sentence.  Sitting down hard, he knew the final connection had been made.  Glancing at her, he realized she too had come to the same conclusion.  What could he say?

“I want all the names in those school reports rechecked.”  He stopped, shaking his head.  “I want to drop this case, Jackie.”  She nodded her understanding.  “If we draw the conclusion that he was assaulting his pupils, we could also draw the conclusion that one of them killed him.”  He fingered the papers she’d handed him.  “I have to tell The Biscuit.  There’s only he, you and I who know about Michael’s report being there, right?  I want it to stay that way.”  Another nod.  “Are you all right?”
“No, Sir.”  She leaned on his desk, blinking the few tears from her eyes.  “What do we tell Michael?”
“Give him some time.  I’ll go and find him after I’ve spoken to the boss.”  For a few seconds their eyes locked.  There was everything to say, and nothing to say.  Pulling herself together, she left him to relay the news upwards.

McVitie studied the list and the reports from Records without Taggart saying a word.  “I’m sorry, Jim.”
“Me too, Sir.  I don’t want this case any longer.”
“You don’t have a choice.”  Taggart sunk down into the chair, knowing his superior was right.  “If you hand over the case you have to hand over everything.  That includes your witness.”
“Witness?!  Sir, he isn’t goin’a talk about it.”
“He has to, Jim.  Chances are that he saw the man we’re looking for.  You have to treat him like you would any other traumatised witness.  We have to bring in a psychologist.”
Taggart’s head snapped up.  “Don’t you think he’s been through enough?”
“We have to know what he saw.  What happened in that house.  Someone battered Michael, someone inflicted those injuries.”
“Aye.”  He got up.  “I’ll go find him, try to talk to him.  I wish I knew what was going through his mind at the moment.  When he saw the photos, he asked if he’d done it.”
“He’s in shock, Jim.”
“It’s deeper than that.  He’s lived with this for what... twenty-four years?  That bastard Rogers....  He deserved what he got.”
“Does anyone deserve that?”

*

When he left the station he carried on running, as if by doing so he could leave the pain behind.  He reached the park before he was panting for breath, and when he came to a clearing, he sank down against a tree, a deep sob escaping him.  Curling in on himself he folded his arms over his head, fighting for breath as he wept uncontrollably.

There’s nothing to hang on to anymore.  It’s all been ripped away.  If I don’t go to the dark place, where is there?  What’s left?  But it’s so cold, so lonely, so dark.  Don’t want to go there, don’t want to be alone there.
 

There was only one place Michael would go.  Taggart could remember finding him there as a child, when he’d run away from home for reasons they hadn’t known then.  Now... now when he thought about what a trusted school teacher could get away with it made him sick.  If James had ever found out what Rogers had done to his son, he’d have probably killed the man himself.  And after James’ death, Jim had taken it upon himself to look out for young Michael.  He wondered how he’d have reacted if Rogers hadn’t been murdered, but had turned up in the course of an investigation, if he’d had to sit and stare at the bastard across an interview table, knowing full well what he’d subjected Michael to as a child.

The only problem was the park being a large place.
 

You know you made him do it.  You know what he said, he had to show what you were doing was bad.  If you hadn’t been bad, he would have chosen someone else.

But he had, hadn’t he?  Wasn’t that what the message meant?  “No....”  Michael blanked the thought from his mind, burying it along with the rest, desperately trying to ignore what a part of him was screaming.  Why wouldn’t it all go away?  Shaking violently he could do nothing but cry, the tears streaming from his eyes.  He didn’t  notice the rain start through the trees that barely sheltered him.
 

The sudden rainstorm soaked Taggart to the skin in a matter of minutes.  He was starting to think he was wrong about this place.  Perhaps Michael had been sensible and simply taken a taxi home.  And then he spotted him.

“Mike....”
 

He felt the warmth of another human being and could do nothing.  He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t hear.  The darkness that trapped him in his mind now imprisoned him with invisible bonds that strangled and blinded him.

Jim knelt at Michael’s side, wrapping his arms around him, hugging him close.  Not knowing what to say, still trying to come to terms with his own raging emotions, he tucked his sergeant’s head under his chin, cuddling him, rocking him gently.  In the pouring rain, his own silent tears ran unheeded from his eyes.  Turning his head he pressed a kiss into the soaking hair plastered to Michael’s head.  “Please don’t torture yourself.  You don’t deserve this.  None of this is your fault.”
An anguished moan was his only answer.

Soon enough, Jim felt shivers drive through the chilled body he held.  “Let’s go home, ay?”  But Michael didn’t budge.  “Mike, you’re freezing out here, we’re both goin’a end up with hypothermia.”  He stood slowly, bringing Michael with him, hauling him as gently as he could to his feet.  As he did, his ward uttered a single cry of protest, just wanting to be left alone.  “I can’t leave you here.  Don’t ask me to.”  Whether his words were heard or understood, he wasn’t sure.  But the sobs became defeated tears of pain, and there was no more fight.

The trek back to the car in the pouring rain was made in silence.  Jim’s arm around his sergeant kept them together but he knew he was hurting Michael with every step.  If the sun had been out he’d have willingly stayed in that woodland all day and all night if that was what was needed.  Now he knew the reasons behind Michael’s pain, it seemed an impossible task to help him heal.

Finally they reached the Rover.  Michael folded himself into the passenger seat, dropping his forehead to his knees.  The silence on the journey back was masked by the blowers being on full in an attempt to de-mist the interior of the car.  As Jim pulled to a stop outside Michael’s home, his passenger sneezed once.  Taggart rolled his eyes.

*

Showered and dried, dressed in another of his Mum’s jumpers and a pair of jogging trousers, covered with a thick blanket and heated by the gas fire, Michael was asleep at last, curled up on the sofa with his head on Jim’s leg.  Taggart leaned into the corner, one arm draped over his ward, fingers playing absently with the freshly-dried blond hair.  Only when he’d finally drifted off to sleep had the tears ceased.

The impenetrable defences Michael had erected over the years he’d had to live with his secret had been shattered by the events of the last few days.  What was left was a young boy who’d been sexually abused by his teacher then terrified into believing it was his own fault.  Somehow they had to rescue Michael before he drowned.  He couldn’t help remembering McVitie’s suggestion of regression hypnosis, he just wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t do more harm than good if they forced everything to the surface.

The phone’s ring sounded incredibly loud in the silent flat.  Jim had sensibly put the cordless receiver close by and he grabbed it before it disturbed his sleeping friend.
“Taggart.”
“Sir?  Have you found him?”  Jackie sounded worried sick.
“I have.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s probably going to come down with a cold, or worse.  Jackie, could you ask The Biscuit about the regression hypnosis he was talking about earlier?”
On the other end, she went quite for a second.  “Sir, you’re not thinking....”
“He hasn’t spoken a word since I found him two hours ago.  We have to do something.”  Michael shifted against him, muttering in his sleep, the first signs that a nightmare was taking hold of his dreams.  “Just ask, Jackie, please?”

Putting down the handset, Jim tightened his arm slightly, reaching over to take Michael’s hand into his own.  But the nightmares didn’t ease.  The horror took hold with force.

He backed away, trying to scream but only a whimper coming from his throat.  The wall came up against his back and there was no where else to go.  Still, the corpse came toward him, moving on the bloody stubs of limbs.  The head flopped from side to side sickeningly.  It came closer, and from its groin a long, hard, bloody erection stabbed at him.

Michael woke with a dull moan that in his nightmare had been a soul-ripping scream.  Sitting up he was caught in his boss’ embrace, wrapping his arms desperately around Jim’s neck, his tears soaking his shoulder.
“Ssh, it was just a nightmare, nothing more.”  Taggart grabbed the blanket that had fallen, folding it back around Michael, holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

This time, to Jim’s relief, the tears subsided quickly, and Michael leant against him heavily, exhausted.  “Tell me,” Jim spoke softly.
Twisting the corner of the blanket through his fingers, reddened eyes staring blankly across the room, Michael started to speak very quietly.  “It’s coming after me.  It’s always been there and now its been released and it’s coming after me.”
“What is?”
“It… the thing in those photos.  The dead thing with no arms, no legs.  Just….”
Jim swept the strands of damp hair back from his sergeant’s forehead.  “Just what?”  There was no answer.  “Michael, it’s not coming after you.  It was a nightmare.  That thing in the photos is a dead man.  He’s gone and he’s never coming back.”  ‘He’ll never hurt you again.’  But he didn’t voice the thought.  “What makes you think he’s coming after you?”
“I don’t know.”  The agitation was back in Michael’s tearful voice, and Jim knew he had to be careful.  “I never told anyone.”  He looked up, eyes focusing on his boss’ face, and the expression Taggart saw there sent chills through him.  Terror – abject and absolute.  “I swear I never told.”

Jim closed his eyes, hugging Michael to him as tightly as he dared.  He never again wanted to be on the receiving end of that look.  He’d never wanted his beloved sergeant to regard him with such fear, the fear with which he’d looked upon Gerald Rogers.  He couldn’t find any suitable words, and so he just sat with Michael in his arms until the soft sound of snoring again reached his ears.  Even then, he had neither the heart nor the will to move.

*

Jean Taggart’s biggest complaint with regards to her husband was that his culinary abilities went no further than chilli-con-carni, although she was always willing to admit that he could make that one dish with extraordinary skill.

The aroma of spicy food drew Michael to rouse himself from the sofa later that evening.  He leaned against the door-frame, watching Taggart select various herbs from his stocked cupboards.
“Found everything you need?”
Jim looked up, pleasantly surprised to see Mike up and communicating.  “Thought I’d cook you somethin’ edible.”
Michael smiled.  “I’ll tell Jackie you said that.”  He stepped into the kitchen and took a glass down from the shelf, filling it from the cold tap.  “I’m all right,” he responded to the quizzical expression on Jim’s face.
“Michael, you’re far from all right.”
He shook his head.  “It’s….”  He couldn’t finish.  Either he didn’t know or couldn’t voice it.
“I know what it is.”  Jim turned down the heat under the pan and leaned against the oven.  “Mike, The Biscuit’s suggested… regression hypnosis.  You’re a witness in this case, as well as a victim.  We need to know who gave you those bruises.”

For a minute or so, Michael just stood, staring into the water in his glass.  And then he turned to look his boss.  “I don’t want to remember.”
“I know.  But somethin’ inside you is trying to remember and it’s hurting you.”
The blue eyes misted over yet again, and Jim felt a stab of guilt.  He put his hand onto Michael’s shoulder, rubbing gently.  Yet the young man kept control, blinking back the tears.  “I’m scared of remembering.”
“There’s nothin’ to be scared of.  You’ve been through the worst.  This can only help you.”
“I don’t know....”
“Look, don’t worry about it for now.  Let me serve this, and you can tell me what a wonderful cook I am.”
 

It was good to see him eat at least.  They sat on the sofa, Mike curled up in one corner, Taggart settled into the other.  Despite the professional tensions between them they’d always been comfortable in one another’s company.
“When’s Jean back?”  Michael asked conversationally.
“She was back today.  I rang her while you were asleep, told her I was babysittin’ you.”  He waited until his sergeant had started to protest before winking at him.  “I’m only kidding.”
“What did you really tell her?”
“That I was looking after you while you recovered from a nasty shock.  Witness protection programme and all that.”
The television chattered on to itself in the corner, again on for some background noise.  Michael had vetoed all Jim’s choices of music, for one reason or other.  “Why are you doin’ this?”
Jim frowned.  “Doin’ what?”
“Staying here, looking after me.  Why haven’t you assigned some lowly constable to this babysitting detail?”
Jim put down his fork.  “When your father died, I swore that I’d take care of you.”
“That’s it?”
“No.  You’ve come to mean a lot to me, Michael.  I wouldn’t leave you like this with some stranger.  I want to be here for you.”
A blush touched the otherwise pale face.  “I...  I appreciate it.  I really do.  And I’m sorry... I just can’t seem to control....”
“You don’t have to explain it.  I understand.  That’s why this regression hypnosis seems like a good idea.  And you know what I’m like doctors.”
“You’re avoiding the words ‘therapy’ and ‘psychologist’.”
“Michael....”
“It’s okay.  I know.”  He nodded.  “When it... when we do it, I want you there.  No one else.”
“The Biscuit’ll have to be there, Mike.”  Another nod.  “It won’t go further than us, I give you my word.”
Gazing unseeing at the television, Michael murmured, “I want the nightmares to stop.”

*

When Jackie let herself in late that night, Michael and Jim were sprawled on the sofa.  Taggart was lying on the edge of the wide cushions.  Michael lay along side, wrapped in the secure arms of his boss.  His head rested against Jim’s shoulder while Jim’s head rested lightly against his hair.  Jackie stood for a while, watching them both as they slept peacefully.  Softly, she dropped a kiss to Michael’s forehead and ventured back out into the night, heading for home.

*

Michael followed Taggart nervously into the surgery.  McVitie introduced them to the doctor who shook their hands.  “Doctor Matthews, Detective Chief Inspector Taggart, and this is Sergeant Michael Jardine.”
“It’s Simon, please.”  He led Michael through to the consulting room and turned.  “If I could have five minutes with Michael?”  McVitie backed off immediately, but Jim wasn’t going to leave so easily.  Simon smiled.  “I just want to talk to him.  I won’t do anything without you being present.”

Simon closed the door behind them, taking note of his new patient’s every move.  He’d walked in close behind his Chief Inspector, and now the other man had been left out he seemed awfully edgy.
“Take a seat, Michael.”  Instead of sitting behind his desk, Simon perched on the edge of the couch.  “You’re nervous.”  Michael was picking at his jumper sleeve and stopped at the gentle accusation.  “I can understand that.  How about I explain what I’m going to do, and if you’re not happy, we forget it.”
“Can we do that?”
“Michael....”  It had been a long while since he had seen anyone so agitated.  “Listen.  You go under willingly or you don’t go under at all.  I can’t hypnotise an unwilling candidate.”  Mike seemed to relax slightly.  “I’m going to take you under as an observer to your own memories.  Whatever you relive, you’ll do so as a witness, not as a participant.”
“It won’t... hurt?”
“You won’t feel anything.  You’ll be impartial, looking at it as if it was happening to someone else.  No pain, no emotion.  You’ll be able to tell us what you’re seeing with total detachment.  If at any time I think you’re becoming distressed, I’ll bring you out of it, and I’m sure DCI Taggart will make sure of that.”
Michael nodded.  “All right.”
“There’s one other thing.  Superintendent McVitie’s asked if we can record the second part of the session, your experiences in the house where you found the corpse.”  Panic flashed across the young features.  “You’re their only witness to this crime and I also understand that you were hurt too in that house.”  Michael nodded.  “It is standard practise, and I’ll only let them tape what’s relevant.  All right?”  Another, less certain nod of the head.
“Good.”  He got up, opening the door to invite the two men in.  “Michael, if you’d like to make yourself comfortable?”  Self-consciously, the patient sat on the couch and slipped his shoes off.  Lying back, he looked across at his boss, watching as Taggart took a chair and sat down at his side.
“You all right?”
“Aye.”  But he still sounded unsure.  Jim squeezed his hand reassuringly.
 
On his other side, Simon sat down.  “Michael, I just want you to listen to my voice.  When you feel sleepy, just close your eyes, let yourself drift....”
 

“....I’m goin’a take you back now, Michael, to when you were five years old, when you were at school in Mr Rogers’ class.”
Instantly the panic came to the surface.  “I can’t.”
“Can’t what, Michael?”
“It’s too dark, I can’t go there.”
“You can, Michael.”  He kept his voice quiet and calm, speaking with authority.  “You’re perfectly safe.  You can go to that dark place, you can pass through it.”
“I can’t.”
“Michael, listen to me.  I’m going to take you deeper, passed that dark wall in your mind.  I won’t let any harm come to you.  Just let yourself drift.  You’re feeling a sensation of falling, of weightlessness.  You’ll drop through that darkness, back to when you were five, at school in Mr Rogers’ class.  You’ll be aware only of a sensation of dreaming, of being detached from the events you’re seeing.  Michael, can you tell me what you’re seeing?”
“A classroom.  It’s empty except for one boy.”
“What’s the boy’s name?”
“Michael.”
“And what’s he doing?”
“Mr Rogers has asked him to help clean out the stationary cupboard during break.”
“I want you to take us through what happens.  Remember, you’re only an impartial witness, you won’t feel any emotion or pain.”
“Mr Rogers has opened the door and switched the light on, the boy’s following him.  It’s a big, walk-in cupboard.  He’s closed the door behind them.  Michael’s standing in front of him, waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“He’s done this before.  He hates it, but if he doesn’t do what Mr Rogers asks, it’ll be his fault and he’ll be punished for being bad.”

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, balling his fists.  Michael’s voice was steady and calm, displaying no hint of the trauma of the last few days, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.
“Go on, Michael.” Simon prompted him gently.
“Mr Rogers is unzipping his trousers, putting Michael’s hand inside.  He’s looking up at the light bulb.  He always looks at the light bulb.  He’s taking the teacher’s penis from his trousers, putting it in his mouth.”  Taggart looked away, anger and sorrow vying for precedence inside him.  At that moment he was glad that Gerald Rogers was dead.  “He’s still looking up at the light bulb, sucking on his teacher’s penis.  Mr Rogers is holding the back of his head, it hurts but he won’t say anything.  If he says anything, Mr Rogers will touch him, and he hates that.  The grip on the back of his head is becoming harder, sharper, and the penis in his mouth is growing, spurting onto his tongue and down his throat.  He swallows it, even though it tastes foul.  The first time he spat it out.  Mr Rogers made him take his trousers down and smacked him.  The teacher’s telling him that it’s their secret, that he’s special and no one else is ever to know.”
Simon waited a beat before continuing.  “Michael, I want you to let this memory fade.  You won’t have to hide in the darkness because you’ve faced this memory, you’ve brought it to the surface and you’re free of it.  Do you understand?”
“Yes.”

Simon turned to the Superintendent, sitting slightly back from the scene.  “If you want to start the recording now.”  McVitie leaned forward and pressed the red button on the small tape-recorder he’d brought with him.

“Now, Michael, I want you to come forward, to three days ago, to the afternoon at the house in the woods, the afternoon you found the corpse.  This time, I’m going to walk with you through the house, Michael.  Nothing can harm you.  You’re looking through the eyes of an observer.  You won’t feel any pain.  Tell me where you are.”
“Standing in the hall.  There’s a noise, coming from the room on the left, I think it used to be the living room.”
“We’re going through into that room, Michael.  What can you see?”
“There’s... a fire burning in the grate.  In front of it, there’s a man, his trousers are down and he’s straddling something.  I can’t see what it is.”
“We’re moving further into the room now, Michael.  Can you see the man?”
“Yes....  He’s sitting astride... a body.  It’s got no arms or legs.  The guy’s sitting on it’s face, with his penis inside it’s mouth.”  The bewilderment and disgust came through in Michael’s tone and was mirrored on Taggart’s face.  “He’s looking up, staring at me, shouting something.  I’m trying to back away but I can’t, something’s keeping me there, I can’t move.”
“Michael, remember, nothing can harm you, you’re just seeing this through the eyes of an observer.”
The panic faded again from his voice.  “He’s getting up, grabbing me, shaking me by the shoulders, shouting something.  He’s strong, bigger and stronger than I am.  He’s kicking my knees, forcing me down to kneel.  His fingers are gripping the back of my head and he’s forcing me forwards, putting his penis inside my mouth.  I can’t fight him, he’s too strong, I can’t get away from him.  He tastes stale, horrible.  I keep trying to escape.”  Michael’s head turned, side to side.  “He’s pushing me away now, back onto the floor.  And he’s... kicking me... shouting something....”
“Michael, can you describe him for me?”
“He’s... big... fat.  He’s got a beard and… short dark hair, greasy.  His accent... is Scottish.  Glasgow, I think.”
“What’s he wearing?”
“A white T-shirt.  It’s dirty.  And jeans, dark blue jeans.”
“And what’s he saying to you, Michael?”
“I don’t know.  He’s kicking me.  Now he’s... grabbing my shoulders, he’s shaking me again, lifting me and banging me against the floor.”
“What’s he saying?”
“I... he’s saying... that he didn’t want to do that to me.  That he... he’s sorry he’d done that to me.”
“Go on.”
“He’s lifting me.  I’m trying to stand but I can’t.  I can’t keep my balance, and he’s kicking now, throwing me into the corner.  I can’t move.  Everything’s... hurting.  He’s gone back to the body and he’s lifting it, moving it into the corner opposite me.  He’s leaving now.  I’m asking him to stop, to wait, but he’s leaving.  I can hear the door close.  The body... I can see it now.  I can... I know who it is... oh, God... it’s him, it’s Mr Rogers....  He’s back, he’s found me....”
His distress was obvious, and one glance at McVitie told Simon that they had everything they needed.  “Michael, listen to me.  I want you to look at the body.  You’re sitting in the corner, and it’s opposite you.  Look at it, Michael.  See it clearly.  It’s dead, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Mr Rogers is dead, isn’t he, Michael?”
“Yes.”  Relief crept in.
“He can’t hurt you any longer, can he?”
“No.  He’s dead.”
“Let the memory fade now.  I want you to come forward, leave that time behind and come forward to the present.  Follow my voice until you can open your eyes.  You’ll feel tired, but calm.  Follow my voice, Michael.  Come back to the present....”  Blue eyes opened, and their patient smiled a little.  “That’s it.  You just rest there for a few minutes, all right?”  He nodded.  “You did very well.”

Simon beckoned McVitie out of the room, switching the recorder off as he went.  They closed the door, giving the two who remained a little privacy.  Jim reached over to take his sergeant’s hand into his own.  “Hey.”
“Was I helpful?”
Taggart beamed, keeping any adverse emotion from his expression.  “You were.  How’re you feeling?”
“I’m not sure.  Tired.”
“Calm?”  Michael nodded, and Jim couldn’t help but smile.  “I’ll take you home soon.”
“Did I give you anything useful?”
“A description of the guy we’re looking for.”
“Good.”  His eyes slowly lost their focus, and he seemed to be remembering something, something long hidden.  He turned his head away as the tears started; tears of sorrow for himself, for a five-year-old boy who’d been terrified into silence for twenty-four years.  Jim just held his hand, letting Michael cry.  The worst of it was over, now at least he could start to heal.

Simon stepped back into the room as Michael sat up.  “Tears are a very natural reaction to regression therapy,” he told his patient, sitting down on the end of the couch.  “You have memories now that you’ve kept buried for years.  They’ll fade quickly, into the past.  The more recent ones, your experiences in the house in the woods, if you think about them, you’ll be able to remember the details.”  He fished first a handkerchief then a card out of his pocket.  “If you’re finding you’re having problems sleeping, if you just need to talk or you want to do this again, contact me.  Strictly confidential.”
Michael took the card, wiping his eyes.  “Thanks.”
“See how it goes.  Now I’ll let DCI Taggart take you home.”

*

Jim opened the door for Jackie.  “Thanks for coming round.”
“How’d it go?”
His expression said it all.  “I’m not sure who it was more difficult for, him or me.”
She could hear the shower running.  “How is he?”
“All right.  As well as can be expected.  The hypnotherapist was great with him.”  He led the way through to the lounge.  “The sketch artist is coming round later.  I’m hoping he’ll be able to give us a composite of the guy we’re looking for.”
“He can remember?”
“I think so.  I’m hoping so.  While he was under, he told us the man we’re looking for had a Glasgow accent.  I want you to go through those school reports they found at Rogers’ place.  Narrow them down to the Glasgow schools.  Once we’ve got a composite from Michael, we’ll get them to take twenty years off and try to match the result to the photos in the reports.”
Jackie was impressed.  “Yes, Sir.”
 

Stepping from the shower, Michael dried himself carefully, turning to look at his reflection in the mirror.  The bruises looked less angry than they had at least.  He continued to stare at himself, dropping the towel he held to his body.  Reaching out, he touched the mirror.  Something had changed, something was different.  It was as if he’d had some sort of release, had been freed from a prison he’d built for himself a very long time ago.  Looking down at himself, he did realise one thing; he hadn’t been less interested in sex in his entire life.

Finally, he threw on some clothes – blue jeans and a warm cream-coloured shirt – and padded through into the living room, his feet bare.  “Jackie... is everything all right?”
She smiled at him warmly.  “I should be asking you that.  We’re going to try to find your attacker, Michael.”
He glanced at Jim.  “We need you to try to give us a composite, Mike.  D’you think you can?”
Michael nodded.  “Aye, I’ll try.  I’m no good at drawing though.”
Taggart smirked.  “Ha, ha.  I’ve got an artist comin’ round.  Cheeky.”  But he was smiling as he headed into the kitchen.  Jean would be impressed at his new-found domesticity.
Sitting down on the sofa, Michael dropped his head back against the cushions, his eyes following Jackie as she sat down beside him.  “How are you, really?”
“I don’t know.  Better... I think.  Listen, thanks for everything you’ve done.”
She touched his hand lightly.  “Anytime.”  It was the easy answer.

*

They sat at the kitchen table, a laptop computer displaying a partially completed composite of their suspect.  Michael sat with his elbows on the table, gazing at the face taking shape before him, blinking the tears as he talked.  Taggart was perched on the table, his hand rubbing lightly across Michael’s shoulder.  He wished they could just put this behind them for his sergeant’s sake, dragging him through this time and time again wasn’t helping the healing process at all.  But they needed this, they had to find the man who’d killed Rogers, just to close the case and let Michael get on with his life.

“His eyebrows were darker.”  Jenny pressed a few keys and the eyebrows changed thickness until Michael nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
“What about the hair?”  Jim prompted.  “You said... it was greasy.”
“Aye... dark, thin.  Parted at the side.”  He had the image held in his mind; a still from his memories.  He was trying desperately to hold back the rest.  He didn’t want to remember anything else in as vivid detail as he was seeing the man who’d attacked him.  If they’d asked, he could have described the guy’s taste in equal detail.  The image on the screen changed and he nodded.  “That’s it.  That’s him.”
Taggart touched his hand.  “Thanks, Mike.”  He watched his sergeant leave the room.  “And thank you.”
Jenny saved the composite and shut down the computer.  “That’s okay, all part of the service.”  She glanced at the doorway.  “Is he all right?”
Jim smiled to himself.  He often wondered if Michael had any idea how popular he was with the women at the station.  “Aye, he’ll be fine.  Had a rough few days, that’s all.”
She nodded, wanting to ask more but keeping quiet.  “I’ll have a print out of this for you as soon as I get back to the station.”
“Thanks.  If you could get a copy to Jackie Reid?”

Jenny peeked into the living room as she left, spotting Michael standing by the window, gazing out.  He had his back to her, and she found herself wishing she was closer to him, close enough to offer support.  But she wasn’t.  She was glad she could do something.

*

Jackie looked up as Taggart strode into the incident room set up at the station.  “We’ve got him, Sir.”
 

Until he saw him through the slot in the cell door, Taggart hadn’t been sure how he’d feel when he finally came face to face with the man who’d put the events of the last few traumatic days into motion.  As he stood looking through the slot, he felt a hand on his shoulder.  “Are you sure about this, Jim?”
He turned, gazing at his superior.  “I’ll keep it professional.”
“But are you ready to hear it from him?”
He shook his head.  “I can’t let anyone else do this.”
“If you can get the murder confession, we could let the other go.”  Jim looked at him.  “No point in dragging young Michael through further hell, is there?”
“No, Sir.  Unless Mike wants to press charges of course.”
McVitie frowned sadly.  “How likely is that?”
 

“Interview of suspect Gary McDonald starts, 12:20 pm.  Present are DCI Taggart and Superintendent McVitie.”  Taggart leaned forward.  “We want to talk about Gerald Rogers.”
McDonald sat at the table, slumped in his chair, picking the dirt from his fingernails.  He gave the initial outward impression of not caring what happened to him, but when he spoke, his tone reminded Taggart of Michael recently.  “He deserved it,” the quiet voice gentled the usually harsh Glasgow accent.
“What did he do to deserve it, Gary?”
“At school... he made me do things.  Not just me either.”  He looked up then.  “Your Sergeant Jardine, the one who was at the house.  He did him too.  I didn’t recognise him at the house.  But I saw his picture later, on the television.  I knew who he was then, I recognised his name.  We were at the same school.  I reckon he thought he was the only one, but I knew I wasn’t even back then.”
Taggart somehow kept his outward appearance calm and unbiased.  “Did you write to Sergeant Jardine?”  Now Michael’s name was on the tape, he thought he may as well clean up all the loose ends.
“I had some lad deliver a letter to his house, just telling him he was free.  If he can ever be free.”  The sympathy and understanding in his voice then touched Taggart.  This man at least understood, perhaps better than any of them who’d been involved with trying to get Michael through this.
McVitie took up the questioning seamlessly.  “Why don’t you tell us what happened with Gerald Rogers?”
“I saw him, one night in my local.  He was sitting there, large as life.  I couldn’t believe it.  He didn’t know who I was.  What had I been to him anyway?  Just another little boy whose life he made a misery.  I bought him a drink, bought him lots of drinks then offered him a lift home.  He got out of the car in front of his house, and I followed him.  I didn’t know what I was going to do.  There was a milk bottle on the doorstep and I hit him on the back of the head with it.  He wasn’t heavy.  I dragged him back to the car and put him in the back seat.  And I drove home.”
“What did you do when you got home?”
“I dumped him in the bath, tied him up with some rope I found in the garage and gagged him with duct tape.  I waited then, until he woke up.  And I told him, everything he’d done, each time he’d taken me into the stationary cupboard and made me suck him off.  I could see in his eyes that he knew I wasn’t going to release him, that I was going to kill him.  I cut his clothes off with scissors, and I realised that I could cut his penis off as well, with the scissors.  I did his balls first.  He struggled, but I had strength I didn’t know I had.  I did his penis after that, used the shower to wash the blood away, off the tiles.  He passed out but I didn’t care.  I found a saw in the garage and spent most of the night taking his legs and arms off.”
“Where did you dump the arms and legs?”  Despite extensive searching, they’d failed to find the limbs.
“They’re in my garage, wrapped in bin bags.”  He looked up at the two detectives.  “Your boys have probably found them by now, I assume they’re taking my house to pieces.”  There was barely any emotion in his voice.  If anything, there was a certain respect for the police who’d caught up with him.
“What about the body?”
“I kept it in the bath for three weeks, something like that.  But it stank.  I decided to get rid of it, but I knew if I threw it into the trash or dumped it in the river someone would find it real quick, people tend to find bodies here in Glasgow, have you noticed?”  It was a conversational question, but the two ignored it.  Taggart wished he could feel more hatred for the murderer before him, but he couldn’t help thinking of Michael, and what both men had suffered.  “I knew about the house in the woods.  One of my neighbours was killed by the woman who lived there.  I knew it was deserted so I wrapped the thing in bin bags and took it in the car out to the house.”  He shook his head.  “How did you lot know I was there?  I was so sure I hadn’t been seen.”

Again they ignored the question and their suspect didn’t seem bothered either way.  “Why didn’t you just leave the body at the house?” Taggart needed to know.  ‘Why did you have to hurt my sergeant?  Why did you have to drag him into your nightmare?’  He kept the thoughts to himself.
“I don’t know.  That’s the truth.  Something... snapped inside me when I saw the body lying there.  I lit a fire, but I couldn’t tell you why.  Suddenly I just wanted to put him through what I’d been through.  I was angry with myself that I hadn’t made him suck me off when he’d been alive.  I just... I did it then.  I wasn’t excited, I just did it to get my revenge.”
“Your revenge?  He was already dead.  What further revenge could you get?”
“Like I said, I don’t know.”  He seemed to both detectives to be as genuine as anyone they’d ever met.  More than anything, he seemed relieved to be talking it through.  “I just did it, and then your bloody sergeant walked in.”  He sounded so sorry that Michael had ever been involved.  “I couldn’t stop myself.  I wanted to hurt someone, I couldn’t think straight.  I just... I guess I saw him as being Rogers.  I’m a lot bigger than your sergeant, he didn’t stand a chance.  Like we didn’t when we were kids.”  He looked up again.  “I am sorry I hurt him, I mean that.  I killed Rogers to stop him from hurting anyone else and instead I hurt someone.”  He shook his head.  “When I realised what I was doing... I was horrified, I was angry with myself and again I took it out on Sergeant Jardine.  I hated him for being like I’d been when I was at school.  I couldn’t think, like I said.  I’d killed Rogers so calmly and I was losing it with some poor innocent copper.”  He shook his head.  “I left him there.  I left Rogers – what was left of him – in the other corner.  I saw Jardine’s reaction when he saw the body, and although it didn’t click with me then, I realised when I got home.  I knew he’d been one of Rogers’ victims and I hated myself for what I’d done to him.  I could only hope you lot would find him quickly.”
He leaned forward.  “I am sorry about Michael Jardine.  Tell him that.  Tell him I didn’t ever mean to hurt him.”

Taggart broke their eye contact.  But he waited until the tape had been switched off, after the interview was suspended for the time being, before he uttered just two words.  “Thank you.”

*

“What’s he like?”  Michael stepped up behind Taggart as he stood waiting for the coffee machine to deliver.  Jim spun.
“What are you doin’ here?”
“I wanted to know.”
It was getting late, the office was clearing out.  It was a possibility that en