It had been a lousy night for most of the girls working the railway underpass. A lucky one or two had driven away with punters to service them in their cars or gone to cheap hotel rooms for the night but otherwise business had been slow.

Tottenham Hotspur were playing at White Hart Lane and a lot of potential customers had made the pilgrimage. Spurs had won the League Cup in 73 and hopes were high that they might do well despite their current form. The girls working under the railway viaduct were hoping to cadge a punter or two when the supporters returned by train.

The girls heard the rattle and hiss of a train stopping at the station and waited expectantly. Three men wearing supporter’s scarves entered the underpass and walked confidently up to where the girls were working. Deirdre Edwards and two others were quickly taken into the recesses by the men and Charlie was disappointed that she had not been selected. Then she spotted another man walking on his own.

He was a very big man, at least six foot six inches with a big belly and he was wearing a Spurs football jumper, scarf and beanie. His clomping footfalls echoed of the curved walls of the underpass. As Charlie was the only girl unoccupied he made a beeline for her.

Charlie was wearing her usual ‘uniform’ of black vinyl miniskirt, blue satin blouse, bolero jacket, black stockings and high heels. Her makeup was heavy and her dyed red hair teased. She almost hoped the man would pass her by as he was obviously intoxicated.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” he breathed beer fumes all over her.

Charlie just nodded meekly.

“How much?” the man asked, a little unsteady on his feet.

Charlie hated drunken punters because they either took forever to come or couldn’t come at all and blamed the girl for their erectile dysfunction. She tried to dissuade him the best way she knew how.

“You know I’m a transvestite right?” she looked up at him meekly.

The man looked up and down the street and saw there were no other girls available.

“That’s ok. I can stand the shit if you can stand the pain,” he leered at her.

It was not the first time Charlie had heard this disparaging comment.

“It’s a pound for a handjob, two for a blowjob and three up against the wall,” Charlie rattled off her menu from rote.

“I’ll pay you after I’ve finished,” the man burped.

The number one rule of street prostitution is to get paid before the deed but this man was too big and too intoxicated to argue with.

Charlie led him into the shadows of the recess she called her own between the brick and mortar abutments that supported the tunnel. The man pressed her against the wall and Charlie obligingly unzipped him and took out his rather large appendage that was semi-tumescent. She began to stroke him while the man pawed at her, she kept dodging his attempt to kiss her, he reeked of pale ale and cigarettes and his breath was fetid.

“Come on sweetheart give us a kiss,” he whined, squeezing her thigh painfully.

The man couldn’t maintain an erection and he was getting frustrated.

“I don’t kiss punters,” Charlie lied.

“Well kiss this then you trollop,” the man pushed down on Charlie’s shoulders so hard that she fell to her knees.

The man’s crotch stunk of stale urine; he’d obviously forgotten to shake before putting away his penis after taking a piss.

The man held Charlie's head still with his giant paw and pressed his cock against her lips. Charlie’s throat stung where the scar was fresh. She decided to suck the man off and get rid of him but despite her best efforts he could not maintain an erection.

He dragged Charlie to her feet and put his hand around her throat, driving her into the brickwork. Memories of being assaulted by the Essex Slasher raced through her consciousness.

“You’re fucking hopeless you tranny tart! Can’t even get me hard,” the man grunted through gritted teeth.

Charlie was struggling to breathe and was scared that she would pass out.

A disembodied hand suddenly appeared out of nowhere and like lightening a cosh crashed into the crown of the big man’s head, toppling his beanie and driving him to his knees. A second blow knocked him to the filthy cobbles. The hand went inside the man’s collar and felt for a pulse then retracted.

“Come on Charlie,” the same hand took hers and pulled her out of the recess and led her under one of the pale yellow carriage lights.

Detective Sargent Robin Sparrow inspected Charlie’s neck, gently easing away the silk scarf she used to cover her scar. The big man’s fingerprints were impressed in her alabaster skin but they hadn’t drawn blood. He examined Charlie carefully for any wounds while her breathing began to return to normal.

“Arsehole!” Robin was about to go back to the recess and kick the man lying prostate on the ground.

“Don’t!” Charlie barked, pulling Robin away from the recess.

“I’ll get the blame for it and if he makes a complaint to the Old Bill they’ll be down here hassling the girls and I’ll be blamed for that too. You know how it works,” Charlie said heatedly.

“Come on,” Robin took Charlie's hand and tried to lead her away.

“Come where?” Charlie tried to shake his hand free.

“I’ll take you home,” Robin said, still holding her hand.

“I don’t want to go home!” Charlie said petulantly.

“Surely you’re not staying here?” Robin was exasperated.

“This is where I work,” Charlie replied angrily.

“After what happened to you here? How can you? How can you do what you do?” Robin let go of her hand.

“How else am I going to survive? Seen many tranny bus conductors, tea ladies, shop assistants?” Charlie said acidly.

“All right then. I’ll pay for your company and at least you won’t work tonight,” Robin said resignedly.

“Fine. It’s a pound for a handjob, two for blowjob and three up against the wall…” Charlie didn’t get to finish; Robin’s hand stopped short of her face.

He had stopped himself from slapping her.

“Don’t talk like that,” he whispered and his hand caressed her cheek.

“A girl’s gotta make a living,” Charlie challenged.

“Ok. From what I remember from my days working Clubs and Vice it’s five quid for all night. All-nighters - all-righters, we used to call it,” Robin reached inside his coat for his wallet.

Charlie couldn’t help but smirk at Robin’s quip. She dropped the fiver he gave her into her shoulder bag.

“Are you offering to take me home Sargent? That’s an offence under the solicitation act of 1893,” Charlie’s smirk widened into a grin.

“And that’s a load of bollocks; there is no such act, you just made that up,” Robin couldn’t help but return her smile.

“Anyway, if I pay for your company it doesn’t mean I have to take you home,” Robin said petulantly.

“You got a caravan down the road then?” Charlie grinned.

“Shut up. Let’s go before we both get nicked,” he took Charlie's hand and this time she intertwined her fingers in his.

Charlie leaned into him and Robin opened his coat and put his arm around her shoulders so that it covered them both.

“Where are we going?” Charlie looked like a little mouse peeking out from under the trench coat.

“That’ll do,” he nodded at The Plough, a pub down the street aways.

Just before they got to the door of the Plough Charlie came out from under Robin’s coat and he let go of her hand. He opened the door and let Charlie enter first with him close behind her. The din of conversation quietened a little as they entered and people looked their way and then picked up their discourse, displaying the usual inquisitiveness when new patrons arrived, except for a dishevelled man who eyed Charlie perceptively.

“Over there,” Robin pointed to a booth near the fireplace.

“What are you having? My round,” Robin said studying the offerings on the beer taps.

“Gin and tonic please,” Charlie said and made her way over to the booth.

Now that she was in the light she could see that her knees were dirty and her clothes dishevelled. She brushed off her knees and straitened her skirt and tucked in her blouse so she looked presentable.

Robin came over with a pint of bitter for himself and a gin on ice and small bottle of Brit Vic tonic water for Charlie.

“Don’t drown it!” Charlie said as Robin poured her mixer.

Robin gave her wary look and stopped pouring.

“There. Perfect,” he handed her the drink which she studied carefully.

“Not bad. I’m going to fix myself up a little bit in the ladies. I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards,” Charlie grabbed her shoulder bag and made her way to the ladies lav.

When Charlie entered the ladies lavatory the dishevelled man made his way over to four young men sitting next to the ladies convenience and engaged them in conversation briefly.

Charlie came out a few minutes later looking refreshed. She’d changed her laddered stockings for sheer tights and touched up her makeup. She started to walk back to the booth when a likely lad dressed in brown baggies, paisley wide-collared shirt and platform shoes sitting at the table near the conveniences grabbed her wrist.

“Didn’t you just go into the wrong bogs mate,” he grinned evilly at her.

“The men's are over there,” he pointed with his chin.

His three mates, dressed similarly and sporting long mullet hairstyles laughed.

“Let me go,” Charlie pulled her arm but the youth refused to release her.

“If you give us all a blowjob out back we’ll let you go, you poofter,” the youth sneered.

Robin seemed to appear out of nowhere and the gang of youths looked like they might lose their nerve when they realised he was not to be messed with.

“Let the lady go,” Robin said quietly but with determination.

“This thing here,” the youth had drunk just enough to show some courage.

Robin stepped forward and crushed his heel on the top of the lad’s platform shoe and ground down. The boy yelped and let go of Charlie’s wrist.

“Now apologise,” Robin growled.

“Fuck that,” the youth said, full of bravado.

Robin stomped down harder on the youth’s foot, grabbed his wide tie and slammed his head down onto the table then picked up the lad’s pint and poured it over his head. The others made to move and Robin produced his Warrant Card from his jacket and showed it to them, still holding the youth’s face down on the table.

“If you want I’ll put my Warrant Card away and take you outside and give you all a spanking,” Robin looked at each of the youths in turn.

They all shied away.

The landlord arrived on scene.

“Any problems here Sargent Sparrow?” he asked.

The landlord was holding a wooden beer tap handle menacingly in one hand.

“These lads have lost their manners is all Ernie. They’re about to leave I think,” Robin glared at the youths.

Three of them scrambled out from behind their table and stumbled quickly to the doors leaving their mate to his fate.

Robin yanked on the other boy’s tie and lifted his beer-soaked head off the table.

“Well?” Robin shook the boy’s head with his tie.

“I’m sorry Miss. Very sorry,” he mumbled.

Robin yanked him out of seat and kicked him in the buttocks on the way out.

The landlord went back to the bar and lifted the dishevelled man off his stool and dragged him to the door and threw him outside.

“We don’t need shit-stirrers in here you fucking twat; fuck off home,” the landlord called after him.

Robin escorted Charlie back to her seat. The conversation in the pub quickly picked up where it had left off.

“My hero,” Charlie batted her eyelashes at him comically and blew him a kiss.

“Piss off Charlie and give me a fag,” Robin blushed.

Charlie rummaged in her bag for her cigarettes and lighter and slid them across the table.

She scooted around the bench so that she was sitting beside him and leaned in and kissed his cheek, squeezing his knee at the same time.

“Seriously…thanks,” she smiled sweetly at him and then scooted back to where she had been sitting.

“I can’t figure you out. You’re educated, eloquent and kind under that façade,” Robin lit them both a cigarette and passed one to Charlie.

“I can’t figure you out either. Not long ago you detested me and now you’re behaving like my big brother,” Charlie countered.

“I admit I was bigoted and ignorant; a product of my upbringing and years of police prejudice. I once again sincerely apologise. I can’t imagine what it must be like to live with that prejudice every day and to have to do what you do just to survive,” Robin replied.

“Is that all?” Charlie sipped her drink and looked at him over the rim of her glass.

“I’ll be candid. Not that long ago all I saw was a man pretending to be a woman. Now I see a woman, admittedly a different kind of woman, a special woman if you will. You’ve educated me and changed my point of view,” Robin sighed.

“Aren’t you curious?” Charlie took a drag on her cigarette.

“Curious about what?” Robin looked puzzled.

“About this,” Charlie smiled and gestured to her face and body.

Robin blushed.

“I see a beautiful young woman who I know is different. She looks like a woman, talks like a woman, walks like a woman, smells like a woman and feels like a woman. Am I curious about what makes her different? Of course I am, but I’m too much of a gentleman to ask,” Robin countered.

“What exactly do you want to know?” Charlie smiled at him cheekily.

“Nothing I need to know right now Charlie. I think I know enough about you to enable our professional relationship and friendship to continue unchanged,” Robin took a long pull on his pint.

“So we’re friends are we?” Charlie was amused.

“I’d like to think we are,” Robin was equally amused.

“So friend… you just happened to be passing the railway underpass this evening did you?” Charlie’s gave him her best resting bitch face.

Robin sighed again.

“A little bird told me that you were out tomming again. I knew that if I was to bring up the subject you would baulk so I’ve just been keeping an eye out for you, that’s all,” Robin admitted.

Charlie felt her anger building and Robin was astute enough to see it in her eyes.

“I’m not spying on you Charlie. I’m just offering you a little protection is all,” Robin reached across the table and tried to take her hand in his.

“I’m a transvestite prostitute and you’re a Detective Sargent. That makes any friendship we might like to have incompatible with who we are, we are total opposite ends of the spectrum,” Charlie began to pack her things into her shoulder bag and put on her jacket.

“Thanks for the drink,” Charlie stood up and swung her bag over shoulder and walked to the door.

*****

The investigation into the fire at the Middleton household concluded that Mary Middleton had accidently started the fire in her bedroom, likely from a burning cigarette whilst smoking in bed whilst under the influence of alcohol. When interviewed, Walter Middleton had confirmed that his mother was a heavy drinker and that he had heard her arguing with someone on the phone that evening and had flew into a rage and smashed several bottles of spirits. Walter had hidden in his room afraid of his mother and had eventually fallen asleep.

He had awoken to find the house ablaze and despite his best efforts had been unable to save his mother.

There was no reason for anyone to disbelieve the poor young man who was heartbroken at the loss of his mother. He went to live with an uncle and aunt briefly until his mother’s estate was settled and his inheritance was awarded to him. Walter became a full time border at his university and went on to graduate with degrees in accounting and finance.

During his time at school he kept his mother’s panties and wedding ring hidden away and bought them out whenever he felt the need to relieve himself. He would masturbate sniffing the panties, recalling the times he had spent in bed with his mother. He collected soft porn magazines, his favourite being Mayfair and took out the centrefolds and full-page pictures of any models with red hair and put them into a special folder he kept hidden with his mother’s knickers.

The migraine headaches ceased the day the house burned down but his infatuation with red headed women who had his mother’s blue-green eyes continued and they were the kind of girls he pursued.

Walter entered the banking industry and joined Barclays Bank rising steadily through the ranks, eventually taking on the role as the manager of the Chelmsford branch. He had kept the title to the family estate and rebuilt the house over the ruins of the dwelling he had burned down.

Walter chased quite a few women during this time but they all sensed there was something not quite right about him, especially those he managed to bed. His fascination with snuggling up to them in bed whilst they remained dressed in their lingerie and stockings was more than a little unnerving, he behaved like a timid boy in bed rather than a man.

The exception was Alice Farmer who was a buxom redhead with bright blue eyes. She quite liked retro clothing styles and Walter’s requests to cuddle her while she was dressed in her vintage underwear quite appealed to her as was his penchant for spunking on her nylons or frillies. This might mean that she had to rinse her unmentionables after almost every visit, but it also meant she could keep her virginity for marriage as she’d promised her mother she would.

It helped that Walter was quite wealthy with his well-paid job, his inheritance and a nice big house that he owned outright. Alice came from a good family herself and she was intent on living a life of leisure. She had visions of being a ‘lady who lunches’ and doing the rounds on the social calendar.

Walter took Alice home to her new home on their wedding night and was quite prescriptive as to how she was to present herself for the marriage bed. Heavy makeup, perfume, red lipstick, stockings and suspenders, slinky nylon full-cut knickers under a satin half-slip were to be worn and Alice gladly obliged. She was eager to lose her virginity. Her mother described sex as a chore but her friends had told her that it could be quite wonderful.

Alice lay in bed dressed as dictated by her new husband, waiting for him, her sex moist in anticipation. Walter joined her and snuggled up to her under the covers just like he did before they married. He kissed her and stroked her breasts and her legs, his fingers luxuriating in the sensual nylon and satin, his cock pressed against her leg and he began to rub it on her thighs and body.

Alice was disappointed when he ejaculated against her nylon-sheathed thigh.

“Don’t worry darling, that was just an appetiser,” he whispered in Alice’s ear and kissed her passionately.

Walter mounted his wife and lifted her slip out of the way so he could press his cock against her panty-clad mound and pressed hard. Alice shuddered as the girth of his considerable weapon pressed against her sex. She became wetter and wrapped her arms around her new husband and rose to meet his thrusts.

He slipped his penis inside the leg-hole of Alice’s knickers and prodded at her mound until his glans parted her labia and found the hot, moist entrance to her vagina. Alice grunted as he slowly entered her, deflowering her with a minimum of pain. Alice wrapped her legs around his body and Walter moaned at the feel of the cool, silky nylons on his sensitive flesh.

He fucked Alice with long slow strokes, pressing his pelvis into her so that the base of his penis pressed on her clitoris. Waves of incredible pleasure wracked Alice’s body and she realised that she had just experienced her first orgasm, then she felt Walter’s cock convulse deep inside her and fill her with his scalding issue.

Walter lay on top of his wife panting and she held him close, whispering how much she loved him in his ear. When he had recovered he began to kiss her and she kissed him back.

“Can we do that again?” she smiled at him meekly.

“Oh yes darling. We are going to do it again,” Walter kissed the tip of her nose.

And they did… all night. By the time they were ready to leave for their honeymoon in France the next day Alice’s lingerie was reduced to tattered, semen-soaked rags. She walked with a little pain; her cunt hurt, but it was a nice hurt.

Walter was thirty three years old and had been married for ten years when the migraines returned. Alice’s buxom figure had become a little more rounded but they still had a healthy sex life. They made a conscious decision not to have children and Walter had a vasectomy right after their honeymoon. Snuggling up to Alice and having sex with her bought little relief from the pain in his head.

Then one day he went out for lunch, his head pounding and his stomach aching, and he stopped at a newsagent to buy a packet of Rennies. The shopgirl who served him was a pretty little thing with pretty red ringlets and blue eyes. She was wearing a black short-skirted dress with white piping, black tights and shiny black flats as were the other two girls working in the shop.

But she flamed. Her red hair appeared to glow and her clear blue eyes glittered. She looked at him quizzically as she worked the till. He was staring at her. She was a little flattered, the man was older than the boys she went out with but he was handsome and by looks of his suit and his styled dark hair he was wealthy. She flirted with him a little but he hardly spoke, he just stared at her.

Walter’s head began to pound and he could hardly breathe, the little shopgirl’s hair appeared to be a halo of fire and her eyes blazing blue coals.

Walter extinguished the fire that night in the grounds of Chelmsford cathedral. Her body was found with her tights lowered and her knickers missing under a tree near the Church Street wall. Her throat had been cut and an attempt made to cut her belly. She was missing a silver bracelet that her boyfriend had given her. Police questioned the boyfriend for several hours before they decided he wasn’t the murderer.

Walter was shaking with both fear and exhilaration as he drove away from the scene that night. His migraine had disappeared the moment he came inside the shopgirl's tight little quim while she squirmed beneath him and he reached for the knife he had purchased that very afternoon.

His suit was covered in her blood as were his hands. He was lucky he hadn't been caught in the act or making his escape. He had to control himself more, to plan better, to be better prepared and to make sure that any blood evidence that transferred to his clothing could be disposed of. Walter knew there would be more Flaming Girls.

Lucky for Walter, Alice was attending the opera with her friends that night so he was able clean up during her absence and take his new trophies to the little workshop attached to the big garage. He put the bracelet and the shopgirl's cute little white nylons panties with pink polka-dots on the workbench and immediately became tumescent at the sight of them. He raced into the house and took a pair of Alice’s nylon stockings from her lingerie drawer and bought them back to workshop and slid one of the stockings over his cock and bought the panties to his nose. He ejaculated without even touching himself.

Over the next few days he purchased coveralls, boots, gloves and duffle coats, resealable plastic bags, a big red tool box and several packages of good quality stockings. He put a heavy padlock on the door to the workshop.

Alice was quite pleased with Walter’s increased libido over the ensuing days and weeks; it was almost like they were on honeymoon again.

But eventually the headaches returned and became worse and developed into full-blown migraines. Walter knew there was only one way to ease the pain.

The second Flaming Girl he found working on the streets in one of the seedier areas of Essex after driving around the streets night after night for a week. He had everything he needed in the boot of his car and he changed into his coveralls and boots before he picked her up and took her somewhere quiet where he could take his time with her. The prostitute thought it a little strange that a man wearing working class clothing was driving a Bentley but the offer of five pounds was too good to refuse.

Her body was found in a backstreet, sans knickers and cheap necklace.

Walter was getting better at his craft.

*****

Robin sat at the table fuming, staring at the remains of his pint.

“Fucking ungrateful bitch!” he was seething, his emotions in turmoil.

“Fuck it!” he downed his pint and stormed out of The Plough determined to walk home.

Except he didn’t. He turned in the opposite direction and started walking towards Charlie’s flat. He caught up with her as she rounded the corner to her street. Charlie heard the footfalls and turned to see who it was. As soon as she saw it was Robin she increased her stride but walking in high heels she was no match for Robin who caught up with her easily before she got to the entrance to her building.

She turned and backed against the wall defensively.

“Come for your five pounds worth have you?” she sneered at him.

Robin stepped in close to her, winded from chasing her.

“What if I have? What if I don’t want to be your big brother and protector, what if want to be something else?” he wheezed.

Charlie fumbled in her bag and produced the five pound note. She threw it on the ground.

“There! A full refund for services not received,” she hissed into his face.

Charlie turned sideways against the wall intending to walk away but Robin turned her head to face him.

“What? What do you want?” she murmured.

Robin leaned in attempting to kiss her but Charlie turned away. He followed her and his lips fell on the side of her mouth. Charlie tried to push him away and turned to face him to tell him to leave her alone but his lips covered her mouth. Charlie remained closed-mouth, her body rigid and unresponsive.

Robin realised what he was doing to her and stopped. He took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed and turned to leave.

Charlie reached out and pulled him back. She pressed herself against him and raised her lips to his. Robin enfolded her in his arms. She felt soft and delicate; almost fragile and he kissed her tenderly. Charlie clung to him and stood on tippytoes and put her arms around him, returning his kiss.

The kiss seemed to last an eternity, neither of them wanting it to stop. Robin inhaled her scent, felt her body pressed against his, her lips on his, he sensed her ragged breathing, her heart pounding, as was his. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, they broke the kiss. They stood locked in their embrace, foreheads touching, searching for breath.

“Do you want to come up?” Charlie whispered.

“More than anything in the world,” Robin said softly.

“But I’m not going to. I’m going to kiss you again and then I’m going to say goodnight and watch you go through the door to your building and I’m going to regret not following you inside. I’m going to go home longing to be with you, hating myself for not spending the night with you, but ultimately commending myself for not following my base instincts.”

“Because I don’t want one night of passion to replace what could be a long term relationship. That is I do want a night of passion, I want you more than anything right now, but I want us both to consider what might be, what sort of relationship we might cultivate together if we give ourselves a chance.”

“Fuck! You’re a romantic,” Charlie smiled up at him timidly.

She raised herself up and kissed him again and if it was at all possible it lasted longer than their first.

“Good night,” Robin whispered, not wanting to let her go.

“Good night,” Charlie clung to Robin for a while longer and finally they let go of each other.

Charlie unlocked and opened the door to her building and disappeared inside. Robin watched her and then turned away and began the long walk home.

The five pound note that Charlie had dropped blew away on a gust of wind, bouncing along the footpath.

*****

The Special Crime Investigation team came together at Glenda Savage’s flat; Robin arrived early and got busy reviewing copies of the case files, Ruffe Ingersoll drifted in around ten o’clock having gone first to his desk at The Daily Sun to check messages and sit in on the morning newsroom meeting. Charlie arrived around ten thirty looking well rested and wearing a skirt, blouse, nylons and heels; her hair silken and shining like a flame and her makeup perfect.

Robin looked up when she walked in and immediately looked away back to his files when she met his gaze. Ever astute, Glenda noticed the brief exchange.

“Now that we are all here, are you happy to update us please Sargent Sparrow?” Glenda said after clearing her throat.

“The Slasher has not been active since he sent his letter to Ruffe and looking at the periodicity of his crimes, he’s likely going to strike again within the next week or two,” Robin began.

“The pattern of the crimes indicates he hunts in and around Chelmsford, even though he has a vehicle. I hypothesise that once he sees his so called Flaming Girl, he becomes infatuated with her and has no choice but take her. This indicates to me that he lives or works in Chelmsford, possibly both.”

“I think we can safely narrow our search to the greater Chelmsford area,” Robin concluded.

“Ruffe?” he turned to Ruffe to chime in.

“I have extensively reviewed the newspapers looking for similar crimes across England during the last ten years and there are none that fit the Slasher’s MO or victim profile other than the six we know about. There were a series of attacks on prostitutes in Manchester last year but they involved strangulation, the perpetrator killed two of the seven women he attacked and anyway he was caught and put away,” Ruffe announced.

“Glenda?” Robin turned to Glenda who was wearing her uniform today.

“I’m off to brief the Chief Constable and I’ll drop into CID and see if they have anything new. He’s going to ask what our next course of action will be,” Glenda answered.

“I propose we visit the scenes of the crimes. It’s a long shot but I think we should take Charlie along and see if she sees anything there that might trigger a memory or something specific that links the crimes besides the victim’s appearance,” Robin said.

“Are you ok with that Charlie? We’d be in an unmarked car and you would have protection,” Robin looked directly at Charlie for the first time since he had glanced at her when she arrived.

“I’d like to do something. I feel like a spare dick at wedding at the moment,” Charlie grinned.

She thought it funny that Robin was obviously uncomfortable in her presence after last night.

“Ok. I’ll brief the Chief Constable accordingly. I’ll be back around five o’clock and I’d like to invite you all to dinner to celebrate the first few days of our SCI team if that’s ok,” Glenda looked around the room.

“I’ll post a story this afternoon. Charlie, The Daily Sun would like a follow-up piece on life after the Slasher if that’s ok?” Ruffe looked at Charlie who nodded her consent.

“I can make it. It’ll be better than take away or soup in the can,” Robin looked guiltily at Charlie.

“It’s not like I have anything else to do. Thank you Glenda is there some way I can help?” Charlie asked.

“Do your interview with Ruffe here and then if you don’t mind, go down to the co-op and fill this shopping list,” Glenda handed Charlie a shopping list and a one pound note.

“Looks like we’ve all got things to do, I’ll see you at six o’clock for dinner,” Glenda said, threading her arm into the sleeve of her uniform jacket.

“Can I bring a friend?” Ruffe asked.

“A girlfriend? Of course Ruffe. What about you Robin?” Glenda turned to the detective.

“I’ll be stag,” Robin blushed.

“Ok, I have to run. See you all later,” Glenda picked up her handbag and keys.

*****

“You’re wearing your uniform,” Edward Bard said when Glenda entered the cheap hotel room and closed the door.

“I told my team that I was coming to see you, which is true, so they think I’m down at the station so of course I’d be wearing my uniform,” Glenda explained, hurriedly unbuttoning her jacket.

“My lot think I’ve gone to a meeting at Scotland Yard but obviously they think the meeting is in mufti. I couldn’t very well check into a no-tell hotel for the afternoon wearing a Chief Constable’s uniform could I?” Edward took off his underpants and was now naked.

He lay on the bed, his penis getting harder as he watched Glenda undress.

“I came up the back stairs. No one saw me,” Glenda hung her skirt and blouse in the closet.

When she had stripped down to her underwear Edward reached out and pulled her down on the bed.

“I’d like to come up your back stairs,” he traced the backseam of her black nylon stocking all the way up to her thigh and then squeezed her buttocks through her black satin panties.

“You can come wherever you like after you’ve given me a good shagging. Seems like ages,” Glenda snuggled up to him and threw one leg over his so that his cock rubbed on her nylon-sheathed thigh.

“It has been ages but we have the room all day,” Edward rolled Glenda onto her back and lay on top of her.

He kissed her and rubbed his cock on her panty-clad quim. Glenda writhed beneath him, returning his kiss and lifting her groin up to his cock pressing on her mound through the slinky fabric of her knickers.

Edward could feel that she was wet, the crotch of her knickers was soaked with her juices and he could smell them. He pulled the gusset of her panties aside and slid his big black cock inside her juicy sheath.

Glenda moaned and lifted her legs and locked them around him.

“Is that good?” she smiled up at him.

Edward nodded and lowered his face to hers and began to grind against her, burying his cock deep inside her, pressing down on her clitoris to stimulate her.

Glenda arched her back and rose to meet his Edward’s rhythmic thrusts, his slick, black weapon driving deep into her quim and the almost withdrawing, then plunging back inside her. She could feel it swelling to full tumescence which she knew meant that Edward was about to orgasm. Glenda grated her raw sex against the base Edward’s penis, bringing on her own climax. Edward pulled Glenda hard against him, almost crushing her as he voided his semen deep inside her. Glenda shuddered and groaned, locked in his embrace as she climaxed.

Later they lay on the bed awash with post coital bliss when Edward spoke.

“How is you little SCI going along? Solved the case yet?” he lazily circled her areolae with a long dark finger.

Lying on her back like she was, her breasts where like soft white fat pillows with her nipples like cherries gracing the top of cupcake.

Glenda hated it when Edward took his condescending tone with her. Humouring her.

“We might have some ideas that CID haven’t thought of,” Glenda quipped.

Edward rolled onto his side, and popped his head up on his fist.

“You’re giving everything to CID right? You’re not really trying to solve this case are you?” Edward said, the seriousness evident in his voice.

“You never take me seriously Edward. I sometimes think you selected me to work with you just so you could get into my knickers,” Glenda removed his hand from her breast.

“Which were a few sizes smaller when you first started working for me if I recall correctly,” Glenda had rolled onto her side and Edward spanked her plump derriere playfully.

He didn’t see the anger in Glenda’s face because she was turned away from him, nor the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Glenda sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled off her sodden knickers and replaced them with a pair from her handbag and then stood up to inspect her stockings. Happy there were no ladders she pulled up the welts and straightened the seams.

“Are you going? I have the room for the whole afternoon Glenda. I thought we might get up to bit of slap and tickle as been as we haven’t been able to be alone for so long,” Edward sounded petulant which Glenda hated.

“You’ve had your slap and tickle. I have work to do,” Glenda hitched up her skirt and tucked in her blouse.

She rummaged around in her handbag and found the knickers she had been wearing when they fucked.

“Here! Enjoy yourself. I’ll see you next time I’m summoned to perform the duties your wife refuses to do,” she tossed her sodden black satin panties at him.

“Glenda! Glenda get back here!” he called after her as she slammed the door behind her.

*****

Dinner that night was a cosy affair with five of them huddled around Glenda’s little dining table. Glenda deliberately sat Robin and Charlie beside each other having seen the exchange between them this morning and sensing that there was possibly a spark between them. Ruffe had brought his sometime girlfriend Maggie Reardon who was dressed very bohemian and had long curly blonde locks and spoke with a broad Irish brogue. She was very intelligent and lifted the conversation, taking it away from talking constantly about the Essex Slasher.

Maggie had worked for Petticoat magazine which responded to the emergence of more liberal teenagers and young women of the late sixties and early seventies but was now defunct. She now worked freelance producing articles for the more successful avant-garde women's magazines and had a niche for obtaining interviews with celebrities who were notoriously hard to pin down.

Over poached fish with asparagus, baby carrots and buttered potatoes she regaled the audience with stories of her encounters with the famous and infamous.

Ruffe and Maggie had brought wine as had Robin, and Glenda had also stopped to get two bottles from the off licence on her way home from CID. The alcohol loosened inhibitions and tongues.

“So Charlie, you’re almost a celebrity now,” Maggie turned to her, eyes glittering.

“I suppose so, but for all the wrong reasons,” Charlie replied.

“Sales of pink rayon baby-doll nightdresses have gone through the roof,” Maggie teased.

Charlie blushed. She knew that Maggie was referring to the photograph that Ruffe had taken and The Daily Sun had printed of her posing seductively in her hospital room.

“Do you know there is a look out there now? The Charlie,” Maggie took a generous gulp of Riesling.

Charlie’s anonymity had been sold off for ten pounds by Deirdre Edwards when a reporter from a rival newspaper interviewed her about the Slasher attack. Charlie could no longer work the underpass; it had become a place where people came in hopes in stealing a glance of the only surviving Slasher victim or of snapping a picture of her to sell to the tabloids.

“What do you mean a look?” Charlie was amused.

“Small-framed, flat-chested girls with teased dyed-red hair, heavy makeup and long legs are now de rigueur. Young women all over the UK are flattening their chests, cutting their hair and dying it red,” Maggie said excitedly searching for her cigarettes.

“Are you serious?” Glenda asked.

“I thought that when we released the profile of the Slasher’s victims all having red hair and blue or green eyes that red-headed women all over the south of England would be dying their hair some other colour.”

“Well a lot of them are. But celebrity is a funny thing; all it takes is one photograph to start a trend. Just like Twiggy had the waif look, some girls are going ‘Charlie’. It’s a fad. It won’t last long but you have to admit it’s an interesting response to a rather morbid story,” Maggie lit up and offered her cigarettes around the table.

More wine was drunk and stories told as the evening wore on. Charlie went upstairs to use the toilet and was confronted by Maggie waiting for her on the landing.

“I’d like to interview you Charlie. I know Ruffe has done a couple of follow-up stories for the Sun but I’d like to do an in-depth piece. You would have complete control over the story and final say on what is printed,” Maggie gushed.

Charlie shook her head and tried to get past her.

“Charlie. You know there are many more like you out there. Boys who know that they are born with the wrong bodies. Some of them, like you, are able to live as women but they mostly live in the shadows. Ruffe and I know of many. There is a sexual revolution coming Charlie and it’s not just the emancipation of women. Some experts in the field are now using the word transgender,” Maggie said excitedly.

“Let me think about it,” Charlie eventually replied.

“Ok babe; you can contact me through Ruffe if you change your mind,” Maggie patted Charlie’s arm and went into the loo.

Ruffe and Maggie got a minicab and Robin offered to walk Charlie home when the dinner party finally broke up. Charlie walked with her head on Robin’s shoulder and he with his arm around her waist. They walked in silence just content to be in each other’s company each hoping the walk would last forever.

When they came to the door to Charlie’s building she turned expectantly and Robin held her tight and kissed her. He was again amazed at how fragile and delicate she felt in his embrace. Her lips were warm and soft and her breath was sweet despite the wine and cigarettes she had indulged in during the evening. Robin finally broke the kiss and held her at arm’s length.

“Safe home again,” he smiled at her.

“I’ve been thinking,” Charlie smiled up at him.

“You said we might have something, a relationship you called it. Well we can’t start a relationship until we start a relationship.”

Robin furrowed his brow and looked at her quizzically.

“We can’t get to know each other better unless we spend time together,” Charlie explained.

“Come up. Just have a cup of tea and a chat if you like,” she reached out and stroked his cheek.

Robin nodded.

Charlie unlocked the door and led him inside, pressing the button to turn on the timer on the staircase lighting. Robin followed her up the narrow staircase for three flights trying his hardest not stare at her long, nylon-sheathed legs and pert bottom displayed to him at eyelevel as she preceded ahead of him. She unlocked the door to her bedsit and stood aside to allow Robin inside.

The place was neat and cosy and smelled of Charlie’s perfume. A drying rack standing next the radiator was draped with stockings, tights, knickers and other undergarments and Robin blushed when Charlie saw him staring at it.

“Excuse me a minute Robin. Be a dear and put the kettle on will you?” Charlie went over and took the lingerie off the rack and put it away in a little chest of drawers next to a clothes rack on which hung a myriad of skirts, blouses, dresses and coats.

Underneath it, neatly arranged, was a multitude of high heels and other footwear. Charlie ducked into the miniscule toilet-cum-bathroom and Robin was glad when he finally heard the flush and sound of water running in a hand basin. By then he had boiled water and made them both coffee.

Robin sat on the two-seater couch and Charlie extinguished the overhead light, leaving a single muted lamp in the corner to provide shallow mood lighting. Charlie sat next to him and tucked her feet under her; she was still wearing heels and hose.

“So what would you like to know about…” Charlie was about to ask a question when Robin leaned in and kissed her.

Charlie sighed and relaxed, letting Robin kiss her softly at first, caressing her cheek and then the kiss became more demanding, pressing his lips hard against her and driving his tongue into her mouth. Charlie fell back against the assault, letting Robin push her into the couch as he pressed his body against her. His hand moved from her cheek to her shoulder, and then from her shoulder to her waist and then from her waist to her knee.

And then he stopped.

“I’m sorry Charlie. I expect every man you have ever met behaved like this. You said yourself that everybody assumes you are promiscuous,” Robin sat back and put his face in his hands.

Charlie stroked his shoulder affectionately.

“Did you hear me complain?” she lifted his head out of his hands and smiled sweetly.

“Can I tell you something Robin?” she leaned in and kissed his cheek and then withdrew.

The softness of her lips and scent of her perfume were intoxicating.

“I’ve had one boyfriend in my life and he turned out to be a shit. Every other man I’ve met wants one thing from me. When you took me to The Plough it was the first time that a man had taken out in public for a drink. I do go there by myself sometimes but I constantly have to rebuke potential punters.”

“Yes but look at me; I’m no better than the rest,” Robin sighed.

“If I asked you to leave now Robin would you go?” she engaged his eyes with hers.

“Of course,” he said determinedly.

“If I asked you could we just sit and talk and not do anything else, would you do that?” she searched his eyes.

Robin nodded.

“And you wouldn’t be resentful? You wouldn’t feel I’d led you on?” she touched his hand which was resting on his knee.

Robin smiled wistfully.

“I’d feel frustrated of course; I’ll be honest. But like I said last night I feel something for you I can’t explain. I hate myself for how I treated you when we first met. I was deplorable. And now I find myself thinking about you all the time; I miss you when I’m not with you. And you’re so gracious. I really don’t deserve your friendship,” Charlie could see the beginnings of tears in Robin’s eyes.

“In that case I would like you to stay,” Charlie squeezed his fingers and was rewarded with a smile.

“The coffee’s cold. Should I make more?” Robin asked, sitting up straight and composing himself.

“You could. Or you could kiss me a little more and then make love to me,” Charlie eased herself down on the little couch and pulled Robin down with her.

He kissed her softly and stroked her hair.

“I would love to Charlie but I’m not sure I know how,” he kissed her again.

“You just treat me like you would any other woman and when it gets to the tricky bits I’ll help you,” she smiled up at him but the sweetness in her gaze had been replaced by desire.

To be continued