THE WITNESS

By

hugh cox

 

The following story has two interlinked elements; man/boy erotic love story and crime fiction. As far as the former is concerned there are several scenes depicting consensual sexual activity between an adult male and a twelve-year-old boy. If this subject is not to your taste, then I suggest you leave the Nifty website and return to your knitting. There is also one brief scene involving sexual violence and murder. This scene is part of the crime fiction element of the story and is not intended to be erotic.

All the characters and events depicted in this story are imaginary. Many of the locations are real but others are necessarily fictional. I had some fun inventing Welsh place names, if you put them into Google Translate you'll see what I mean.

 

PROLOGUE

 

The boy moaned into the ball-gag that filled his mouth as the man's thick, seven-and-a-half inch cock slammed into his no longer tight anus. There was a constant, throbbing pain but it was more than compensated for by the exquisite pleasure he felt as his prostate was pounded with every in and out thrust of the man's member. He was spread-eagled on a wooden St Andrew's cross, his wrists and ankles bound to the four diagonals by leather straps. The cross was tilted about 30 degrees from the vertical, allowing the man to stand behind the boy and fuck him, with one hand on his left shoulder and the other on his right hip. The boy's five inch cock was as hard as it had ever been and he could feel a tightening in his balls as he approached his climax, something he had never achieved hands free before. He had his eyes screwed tightly closed but, even had they been open, he would not have seen anything through the blindfold that covered them.

The pair had started in a typical man/boy relationship but over the past six weeks the man had become ever more dominant and the boy had been forced into a totally submissive role. To start with he had rather enjoyed being the man's sex toy but recently he had started to have reservations. A bit of bondage and spanking was fun but this was in a different league from anything he had previously considered trying and it made him extremely uncomfortable. At the same time the pleasure was undeniable and this led to considerable confusion in his young mind.

The man wasn't finished however; he had one final outrage to inflict on his victim. He reached across and picked up a length of cord, looped it around the lad's neck and began to pull it tight. The boy gasped as the noose bit into his throat and cut off his air supply. His erection wilted as he struggled for breath, his body writhing in desperation. The man pulled the rope tighter, the boy's contortions increasing his own pleasure as he thrust quicker and quicker while the lad slumped into unconsciousness. He continued to throttle his victim until he finally came with a yell, six or seven thick ropes of semen spurting into the lifeless body. When it was over he pulled out, turned to the tripod mounted video camera, which had been recording events and switched it off.

Right up until the last second the man had been unsure if he would actually go through with it. He had been building up to this moment for some time, taking part in ever more extreme forms of sexual torture until ordinary sex could no longer fulfil him. Eventually only the greatest taboo remained to be broken; the taking of a life during the sex act. He liked to think of himself as a pederast, a boy lover but in reality he was a sadist and a psychopath. A psychiatrist would no doubt attribute his behaviour to the physical and sexual abuse he had suffered as a teenager at the hands of his violent stepfather. However, no psychiatrist had ever examined him and to his friends and colleagues in everyday life, he appeared perfectly rational. Now he had crossed the Rubicon, committed the ultimate crime and he knew that he could never go back. He would find another boy and subject him to the same horror and then there would be others in the future. He would never stop.

 

SUNDAY

 

Peter Williams woke with a thumping headache, a dry mouth and a vague feeling of nausea; the classic symptoms of a major hangover. He always drank too much after he'd been with a boy, trying to assuage the guilt and escape the self-loathing he felt. He'd paid one of his occasional visits to Bute Park the previous evening, walking amongst the trees and bushes, rejecting the come-ons from the older guys, before picking up a boy who couldn't have been more than fourteen. They found a secluded spot and he fucked the lad against a tree; enjoying the thrill of the illicit and the adrenaline rush that comes with the fear of being caught. He really didn't fancy the idea of jail; there are two groups who suffer most in Her Majesty's prisons, child molesters and police officers. As a detective inspector in South Wales Police his life wouldn't be worth living if he got sent down for screwing an underage boy.

Afterwards he always swore that it would be the last time but deep down he knew that he'd have to scratch the itch again sometime. He often asked himself why he'd been cursed to be a boy lover, why couldn't he be straight and have a wife and kids, or even be gay and have an adult male partner. Unfortunately he was attracted to young boys between the ages of about ten and fifteen and in Britain today that means having illegal sex or being celibate. Nothing would have made him happier than to find a willing lad to love and care for but, unlike the stories on sites like Nifty, such boys are few and far between; at least he'd never come across one. So he was left with brief encounters in places like Bute Park and feeling like shit in the morning.

Pete, as he is known to his friends, was originally from a mining village a few miles to the north of Cardiff. He left school at sixteen and, after trying two or three different jobs, joined the South Wales Police. After a few years in uniform he managed to transfer to CID where he progressed from detective constable to detective sergeant and finally to his present position, based at the new Cardiff Bay station in James Street.

He became aware of the full bladder that had woken him, struggled out of bed and trudged into the bathroom where he relieved the pressure. He moved over to the washbasin and looked into the mirror, appraising the figure that stared back at him. He was thirty eight years old, 5'10", 175 pounds, give or take a few; with short, light brown hair and green eyes. His smooth, shaven face made him look younger than his years and he'd been told more than once that he was extremely good looking. His vital statistics are 6" (hard), slim and un-cut; just right for a boy lover. A huge `porn star' cock might be great for an experienced gay man but it would only do damage to an inexperienced young boy. He owned a top floor flat in the Atlantic Wharf area near the Holiday Inn, which was handy for work, the city centre and the bars and restaurants of the bay area, which has been extensively renovated over the last twenty five years or so.

Following a shave and shower, he brushed his teeth and started to feel human again. He drank a couple of glasses of orange juice while he made a light breakfast of coffee and toast; there was no way he could manage his usual Sunday fry up. While he ate, he turned on the TV to see what take Sky News had on world events. The lead domestic story was the discovery of the body of a young man in Bristol on Saturday morning; it now seemed that police were linking it to two earlier murders that the tabloid press were attributing to `The Rent Boy Ripper'. There are certain rules in `tabloid land'; political scandals have to have a `gate' suffix and serial killers have to be given a nickname, reducing the serious business of homicide to mere entertainment.

The first victim had been a fifteen year old male prostitute, whose body had been found in a park in Birmingham in early September, three months before. He was half naked and had died from strangulation. As a police officer, Pete knew that a screwdriver had been inserted in the lad's anus and that the pathologist believed that death had occurred during copulation. Neither of these pieces of information had been released to the media.

The second body had been discovered in similar circumstances four weeks later, in an abandoned warehouse in Manchester which was a regular haunt of prostitutes and their clients. He was a fourteen year old this time and also a rent boy, hence the killer's nickname.

The latest victim was a little different it seemed; a nineteen year old art student, although from the photographs that were being shown on the news he could have passed for sixteen or seventeen. This one had been found on waste ground near the M32 motorway and had been completely naked, with his clothes packed into a plastic bag dumped next to the corpse. Further details hadn't filtered through to Cardiff yet but if Avon and Somerset Police were linking this one to the other two, then he must have been killed in the same manner.

Pete watched the weather forecast while he drank his second cup of coffee and contemplated what to do with his Sunday; it was supposed to be cool and wet for the next few days but low pressure was apparently on its way which was expected to bring much colder weather and possibly snow by the middle of the week. Sometime soon he knew he would have to sort out his parents' house but he was on call today, so he couldn't stray too far. His mum and dad had been killed in a car crash a few weeks earlier and he'd been putting off clearing out their small Porthcawl cottage and arranging to sell it. He had just decided that staying in and watching the football was probably the best plan when the phone rang and the decision was taken out of his hands.

* * *

He parked his car on double yellow lines next to a bus stop on Penarth Road and walked towards the footpath which ran alongside the River Ely. `Police Incident' tape had been placed across the path and a young uniformed constable was ensuring that none of the small group of curious onlookers breached the cordon. "DI Williams," Pete said, as he pulled out his ID card but the PC had recognised him and was already raising the tape to allow access.

A couple of hundred yards down the path, the railway line from Penarth crossed the river and then continued towards Grangetown and the city centre between industrial and retail premises. Thick bushes flanked the railway and the SOCOs (Scene of Crime Officers, British CSIs) were scouring the area on the near side of the track, dressed in their usual attire of white paper suits, gloves and overshoes. About fifty yards from the path a blue plastic tent had been erected among the bushes, where a corpse had been found wrapped in an old carpet. He left them to their task, they and the pathologist would work out the what and the how; his job was to discover the who and the why.

Another PC was keeping out of the persistent drizzle by standing under the railway bridge alongside a man who was obviously a civilian; this was the person who had discovered the body, or to be more precise his dog had. The animal was some kind of terrier cross and it was sitting by its owner looking as miserable as the humans.

"I usually bring him down this way and he normally stays close to the path," the man explained. "A rat or something caught his attention this morning and he chased it into the bushes. When he wouldn't come out and started barking I went in after him and found . . ." his voice trailed off.

"OK, if you've given PC Thomas a full statement you can go," Pete told him and he departed with a relieved look on his face. As he left, Pete looked across the river and wondered why the killer hadn't dumped the body on the other side; then it would have been the Vale of Glamorgan division's problem instead of his!

The lead SOCO approached, "It looks like the body of a teenage boy," he said. "Going by the level of decomposition I'd say it's been there for several months but the post mortem should firm that up a bit. There's something in his anus and his clothes are in a plastic bag next to the body, so it looks like another victim of the Rent . . ."

"Don't say it!" Pete interrupted. "Let's leave the sensationalism to the tabloids."

"OK," the SOCO replied with a grin. "We're about done here, do you want to see anything else or can we send the body to the mortuary and go home?"

"No, I don't need to see any more, let's get out of here."

"For what it's worth, I think he was killed elsewhere and the body was moved afterwards. It's a fair distance to carry a body from either direction."

Pete looked around and spotted a rusting supermarket trolley lying partly submerged in the river. "Perhaps he had some wheels," he said, pointing to the trolley. "I suggest you take that with you, I doubt if it will yield any significant evidence but you never know."

Normally in a murder case the police would flood the area with officers, carry out door-to-door enquiries and try to obtain as much evidence as possible while the trail was hot. On a Sunday morning, with a corpse that was several months old and a locus that was nowhere near any residential area, there was no point in following that routine. Tomorrow would be time enough to get the inquiry properly under way.

Pete stopped off at James Street on his way home, typed up his report and left it on the desk of his boss, Detective Chief Inspector James Parsons. He was three years younger than Pete but, as a graduate, he was being fast tracked to bigger and better things. Pete didn't have a high opinion of the man's abilities as a police officer, or as a detective for that matter but as long as he kept on top of the paperwork the boss stayed out of his hair.

It was nearly 2pm when he finally returned home, so he decided to head for the pub for a late Sunday lunch. He left his car outside the flat and walked the short distance to The Wharf; on call or not, he'd already decided to have a couple of pints with his meal.

During lunch he contemplated the inquiry ahead. He didn't yet consider it to be his case, the idea of the inspector and his trusty sergeant solving the murder by themselves is strictly for fiction. The Specialist Crime Unit would set up a murder team with numerous detectives from various different stations called in to help. Pete expected that, as the first detective on the scene, he would have a role in the case but it wouldn't necessarily be a leading one. If this killing did indeed prove to be linked to the others then West Midlands Police would have a big say in matters; they were leading the inquiry as the first murder had taken place in Birmingham.

There were some interesting points about this case that intrigued him, however. This kid might turn out to be another rent boy but significant effort had gone into hiding the body so that it wouldn't be discovered for some time. The first three had been left in the open and all had been discovered within hours of death occurring. If the corpse was as old as the SOCO had suggested then this one might even pre-date the Birmingham case and that could alter things significantly. Maybe this boy was the first victim or perhaps there were others, hidden even more carefully and yet to be discovered; the possibilities seemed to be endless.

After lunch Pete returned home just as the second game in the Super Sunday double header was kicking off. He settled down to watch when the phone rang; it was DCI Parsons wanting an update. No doubt someone further up the food chain had been bending his ear as well. There was nothing that anyone could do until the next day but the bosses had to take control; or at least they had to give that impression. He gave a run down on the situation and told the DCI that a report was on his desk. When the call was over he returned to the match, only to find that he'd missed what turned out to be the only goal of the game.

 

MONDAY

 

Pete made sure that he arrived at James Street early the next morning. The discovery of the body had made the local news, although the details had been kept under wraps so the media had not yet made the connection with the other cases. When DCI Parsons arrived he called Pete into his office, where he repeated everything that was already in his report. Their meeting was interrupted however, when Chief Superintendent Nicola Roberts arrived from force headquarters in Bridgend with two men that Pete didn't recognise. They turned out to be senior detectives from the West Midlands force and it was obvious that they were going to be calling the shots on the case. Pete soon found himself outside the office and whatever decisions were being taken, he wasn't going to have any say in proceedings.

About forty five minutes later the West Midlands men departed and Pete was called back into the DCI's office. The two senior officers were clearly unhappy and Pete soon found out why. This case was now officially part of the ongoing inquiry and West Midlands were in charge. They had decided that the Bristol case, being fresh, was the priority; whereas the Cardiff body was months old and therefore that inquiry was to be placed on the back burner.

"That's crazy!" Pete exclaimed. "This killing is on our patch, we've got to investigate it even if the guys over the bridge don't think it's important."

"We are going to investigate this murder," Roberts replied, "or, to be precise, you are going to investigate it. The West Midlands team want to know who the victim was and as much about his background as you can discover. This case is important because of its similarities to Bristol; there was some concern that there might be a copycat due to the differences from the first two but with this one probably pre-dating the others that now looks unlikely. The priority, however, is Bristol and that's where all the manpower and resource is going."

"How many detectives are you allocating to this then?" Pete asked.

He saw the look that passed between his superiors and knew what the answer was before DCI Parsons replied, "You know how tight budgets are at the moment, with all the government cutbacks. We can't afford to run a second, full scale inquiry, so you'll be pretty much on your own. If you need one or two others for a particular reason I'm sure something can be worked out but no-one else is going to be assigned to the case permanently."

Pete opened his mouth to protest but shut it again as he realised that nothing he had to say would change matters. Instead he took his leave, returned to his desk and slumped down in his seat. `So much for the Specialist Crime Unit and the numerous detectives' he thought. It was the single inspector after all and not even a trusty sergeant to help.

He had to start somewhere and the obvious place was missing persons. A teenage boy had been killed several months before and it stood to reason that he would have been reported missing at some stage. The problem was how far to go back and how far away to look; he might have been killed in Cardiff within the past few months but he could have gone missing from Newcastle or Scotland two years ago or more. Working on the principle that if the other three victims had been killed in their home cities then this one was probably local as well, Pete limited his initial search to South Wales and the last year; he could always extend the search if nothing came up.

Computerisation has certainly improved this part of police work. No longer does a detective have to go to records, dig out a pile of dusty files and spend days trawling through them. Now he could set his search parameters and download the relevant files to his computer in a few minutes. By twelve thirty he had whittled his list down to the three most likely cases and decided that he deserved a break for lunch.

After lunch Pete drove to the University Hospital of Wales mortuary, where the post mortem was to be held. He remained outside while the procedure took place, not because he had a weak stomach but simply because there was nothing he could do to help and felt it was best left to the professionals.

"We'll have to wait for the lab results before we can give a full report," the pathologist said when he emerged after completing the PM. "I can give you my initial findings, however. The body is that of a young male of fourteen to sixteen years of age. He was approximately 5'7" in height and of medium build. He died of strangulation four to six months ago and there is evidence that he had anal sex on numerous occasions prior to death. There is no obvious sign of semen in his body, although the lab might pick up something. The perpetrator probably used a condom but he might have left a hair or two that could give us a DNA profile."

"Could he have been killed while having sex?" Pete asked.

"Sorry, the body is too decomposed to make that sort of judgement," the pathologist replied. "Is this case linked to the one in Bristol and the others?"

"It's too early to say," Pete replied blandly.

"I only ask because I heard through the grapevine that the Bristol body had bruising to the wrists and ankles that suggested that he'd been restrained. Despite the state of the body it looks like ours has similar markings."

"Let's just say that we're not ruling out a link," Pete replied, "but keep that to yourself until it's announced officially."

Pete returned to James Street and looked again at the three most likely from the missing persons reports. One was fourteen years old but was slim and only 5'5" tall, so he could probably be eliminated. The second was fifteen years old, 5'7" tall and was the right build, a definite possibility. The third was slightly older, seventeen and was described as 5'8" with a stocky build. He had been reported missing back in February, however, so could easily have lost weight if he'd been living on the streets. That meant he would have to be investigated.

The more likely of the two remaining candidates, the fifteen-year-old, came from a village some twenty miles north of Cardiff. Pete decided to leave that trip until the following day and instead went to see the family of the other boy, who lived locally.

* * *

In many British cities the more pleasant suburbs are to be found to the west of the city centre. The prevailing winds are from the southwest and, in the early industrial age when the cities started to grow, the factory smoke tended to blow over the eastern parts, leaving the west end relatively clean. That is not the case in Cardiff, the west of the city is dominated by Ely, a large area of local authority housing which has a reputation for crime and drug use.

Pete drove up what some fool had decided to call Grand Avenue and turned off into the road where the mother of Evan Hughes lived. Melanie Hughes was a thirty-something, single mother who had no idea who Evan's father was. She couldn't be certain who the fathers of her other three children were either; only that they were all different men. That particular family situation was by no means unique in Ely.

It took Pete several minutes to persuade Ms Hughes that he wasn't there to arrest her for prostitution or drugs offences and finally she opened her front door and allowed him to enter her home. It didn't take him long to realise that he was wasting his time; young Evan, it seemed, had taken the eminently sensible decision to get the hell out of the dump where he'd been brought up and had moved to the bright lights of London. He had been in touch with his mother more than once over the past few months but she had not thought to let the police know that he was no longer a missing person. Pete thanked her for her `help' and returned to his car just in time to prevent his wheel trims from being `liberated' by a couple of pre-teen boys who should have been in school.

When he was back at his desk twenty minutes later, Pete pulled up the file of the last of his three hopefuls. If this boy wasn't the one then he'd have to widen the search and who knew how many kids that would throw up.

Aled Griffiths had been reported missing by his mother in June and a schoolmate had apparently seen him getting into a car with an unknown man on the day that he disappeared. Interestingly, the boy had been openly gay and that was unusual in the macho world of the South Wales valleys. Deciding that he'd done as much as he could, Pete called it a day and went home.

After dinner he switched on the TV to watch the Monday Night Football game, only to discover that the match had been postponed due to a water logged pitch. With nothing else worth watching on TV, he unlocked the drawer where he kept the highly illegal boy-porn DVDs that he'd obtained in Amsterdam. He put one into the machine, lay on the couch and jerked off slowly as he watched a succession of young Asian boys being fucked in every imaginable position by much older Caucasian men, whose faces never appeared on screen. Half way through the DVD he realised that his mind had wandered away from the scene and that he'd lost his erection. All that he could think about was a dead boy that no-one except him seemed to think was important.

He switched off the DVD, leaving the disk in the machine and went to bed. He lay on his back with his hands clasped behind his head and thought about what lay ahead. Tomorrow he'd visit the family of Aled Griffiths, tomorrow he'd face the ghosts of his past.

 

TUESDAY

 

The following morning as Pete was leaving for work, the door to the flat opposite opened and his neighbour Dave emerged with his four year old son. The boy was a cute little blond, who seemed to have a cheeky grin permanently attached to his freckled face. Not for the first time, Pete wondered whether the lad would still be as cute in six or seven years when he reached his `age of attraction'. If he was, Pete knew he'd have to fight the temptation; he didn't think fucking the neighbour's kid would be the smartest thing to do.

"Morning Pete," Dave greeted him, "another wet one by the looks of things."

"Hi Dave," Pete responded, "and hi to you too James," he added, looking down at the boy.

"Hello Mr Williams," the boy piped in reply, smiling up at his neighbour. "I'm going to be a big brother."

"I've been hoping to see you," Dave said, in reply to Pete's questioning look. "Alison's pregnant, she's due at the end of May. The flat won't be big enough for us, so we've decided to sell it and buy a house with a garden."

"Congratulations," Pete replied, "but I'll be sorry to see you go. Make sure you sell to the right person though, I'll never forgive you if I get the neighbour from hell."

"Don't worry," Dave laughed, "I'll make sure she's young and pretty." Pete smiled politely; not revealing that a young woman wasn't exactly his first choice of neighbour, no matter how pretty she might be. Unless she happened to have a young son of course!

Pete made a brief stop at the office to check for any messages. He also picked up a photograph of the victim's distinctive T-shirt and collected a copy of his dental chart which the pathologist had provided. Then he got into his car, headed up the A470 and entered another world.

* * *

The South Wales valleys to the north of Cardiff are usually referred to simply as `The Valleys' or sometimes in Cardiff as `North of the M4'; a reference to the motorway that separates them from the city. In the mid nineteenth century coal from The Valleys helped to power the Industrial Revolution in Britain and reputedly made a Scottish nobleman, the third Marquis of Bute, the richest man in the world for a time. After the Second World War the demand for coal dropped, the British coal industry was nationalised and The Valleys went into a long, slow decline.

When Margaret Thatcher became Prime Minister in 1979, one of the main policies of her government was the privatisation of the nationalised industries. In order to turn the loss making National Coal Board into a going concern, a program of mine closures was proposed in order to leave a smaller, profitable industry which could be offered for sale. Arthur Scargill, the leader of the National Union of Mineworkers, refused to accept the plan and led the miners out on strike. The year-long strike was probably the most bitter industrial dispute in British history. Not all miners agreed that striking was the best course of action and the breakaway Union of Democratic Mineworkers was formed in Nottinghamshire. There were violent scenes across the country when men crossed picket lines to go to work and the police were called in to protect them. Rather than being seen as a buffer between warring factions, the police were viewed as an arm of the government and therefore as the enemy; a view that is still held in many former mining communities. The violence reached its nadir when a taxi driver carrying a miner to work was killed by a concrete block dropped onto his car from a bridge. Ultimately the strike failed and the miners had to return to work. The NCB was privatised but the decline continued and today there are no deep mines left in The Valleys, the last remaining pit closing in 2008.

Pete came from a family of miners and, although he was too young to remember much about the strike, he had been fully aware of the bitter feelings that remained afterwards. His father had been one of the diehards and had remained on strike right until the end. His dad's pit had struggled on for another decade, when it finally closed he had been old enough to retire early. When Pete had left home a couple of years later, his parents had used the redundancy money to buy the cottage in Porthcawl. With the mines gone, other dependant jobs went with them and young men like Pete had to find alternate sources of employment, often some distance away from their home town. When he announced that he was joining the police his dad had been horrified and the two had barely spoken afterwards. Now that his father was dead, Pete regretted that they had never settled their differences.

Between Pontypridd and Abercynon was the town of Rhimyn, Pete left the A470 here and turned into the Bachgen Valley which climbed for around seven miles into the hills. Technically this valley was Bachgen Fawr, about two thirds of the way up was the village of Bachgen Caru where a smaller valley, Bachgen Fach joined from the right. Rundown, former industrial towns are a depressing sight at the best of times but on a wet December morning Pete thought that Bachgen Caru was his vision of hell. The steep hillsides limited the amount of light that could penetrate the valley and the low, dark rainclouds only served to deepen the gloom. The so-called High Street had a dreary looking pub and several shuttered, obviously closed shops. Of those that remained open, Pete spotted a convenience store, a couple of takeaways, `Debbie's Unisex Hair Salon' and an off-licence that gloried under the name of `Bargain Booze'; not forgetting the ubiquitous charity shop of course. All of these were contained in the grey stone terraces that were typical of the architecture to be found in The Valleys. Side roads climbed steeply away from the High Street where more rows of terraces housed the residents of the village. Pete drove through without stopping and continued up the main valley road until, when it seemed that he had come to the end of the world; he arrived at Ceiliog, a small collection of houses which surrounded the site of a former coal mine.

Thankfully the rain had eased off a bit when Pete got out of the car; he checked the address and rang the bell on the front door of a typical small, mid-terrace house. The man who answered looked to be in his mid-forties; he was about the same height as Pete but was significantly heavier. His jowly face was dark with several days' growth of beard and he had what Americans call a `wife-beater', stretched across his ample gut.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

Obviously there would be no `welcome in the hillside' here, Pete thought but he kept that to himself. "DI Williams, South Wales Police", he said, showing the man his ID card. "I'm here about Aled Griffiths, are you his father?"

"No, he's her son," the man responded, using his thumb to sign into the house. "What's the little poof done?" he sneered. "Got caught selling his arse has he?"

Pete paused and took a breath, he'd taken an immediate dislike to the obnoxious man but he had a job to do and knew that he must maintain his composure. "I'd like to speak to your partner, may I come in?"

"I suppose so," the man replied, standing aside to allow Pete to enter.

When he went into the dingy living room he saw a small, mousy woman, who looked to be a few years younger than her partner, sitting on a couch looking at him anxiously. She'd obviously heard the exchange at the front door and was afraid that she was about to hear bad news.

"Are you Helen Griffiths, the mother of Aled Griffiths?" Pete asked. The formalities had to be followed after all.

"Yes," the reply was barely more than a whisper.

"I'm afraid I have to tell you that we've found a body that matches the description of your son. We'd like your help to confirm the identification." Pete pulled out the photograph and the woman gasped when she saw it. "Does that look like Aled's T-shirt?" he asked.

"Yes," this time it came out as a sob. "W . . . will I have to identify him?

"I'm sorry but don't think that will be possible, he's been dead for some time. If you can give me the address of Aled's dentist we'll compare his dental records. If that gives a positive match we'll ask you to provide a sample for a DNA check."

When she had furnished him with the dentist's address, Pete enquired if they could think of any information that could help the investigation that hadn't been mentioned at the time of his disappearance. "Did he have any friends in Cardiff?" he asked.

"He didn't have any friends at all," the man responded. "Who'd want to be friends with a queer like him?"

Pete was tempted to hit the guy but instead he bit his lip and continued with his questions. "Did he know anyone in Cardiff?"

"Not really," the mother replied again. "He did a week of work experience down there though."

"Work experience!" the man exclaimed. "Some arty-farty shit it was. He should've been looking for a proper job."

Pete thought that was a bit rich, coming from someone who probably hadn't worked in years, if ever. "Can you give me the address, please?" he asked.

Ms Griffiths rummaged around in a pile of paperwork next to the phone but came away empty handed. "It was some sort of interior design place in one of those Cardiff arcades," she said. "The school should have the address, they arranged everything."

When he got back into his car, Pete breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken all his willpower to ignore the bigoted idiot and remain calm and professional. It was no wonder that Aled had left home, the man must have made his life miserable. He also suspected that his mother's life wasn't exactly a bed of roses either; the man's choice of clothing was probably very apt.

As he drove back into Bachgen Caru, Pete decided to take a detour; there was someone else he wanted to talk to. Another boy had reported Aled getting into a car the day he disappeared but the details were extremely vague and Pete wanted to speak to the lad. He took the road that led up the Bachgen Fach valley and, just before he left the village, he turned off and climbed up to yet another row of terraced houses. He was out of luck, no-one answered when he rang the bell this time. He hadn't expected to find the boy at home, it was a school day after all; but, as a minor, he needed to have one of the lad's parents present if he was to question him.

Back in the town of Rhimyn at the foot of the valley, Pete went straight to the dental surgery where Aled had been a patient. The receptionist asked him to take a seat; the dentist would see him as soon as she'd finished with her current patient. It only took a few minutes for the dentist to confirm that the murder victim was indeed Aled Griffiths. All he needed to do now was to arrange for a DNA check to be carried out, then the identification would be complete and he would have concluded the first part of his assignment.

Ysgol Rhimyn was Pete's next port of call. This time it was the headmaster's secretary who asked him to wait. The head concurred with the stepfather's view that Aled had been a loner with few friends. "He wasn't bullied though," he said. "Aled was a tough kid who could look after himself and bullies generally pick on the weak. I wish I could say the same for Josh Morgan," he added sadly.

"Actually, Josh Morgan is someone I'd like to talk to," Pete replied. "He was a witness to Aled's disappearance; I need to get in touch with his parents to arrange an interview. There was no-one at home when I called this morning and I wondered if you had a contact number."

"Josh's mother is a single parent; she works at the supermarket here in the town. I'm sure that's where she'll be this morning."

"Thanks. Why does Josh get bullied?"

"Josh is gay just as Aled was. He's only twelve and nowhere near as tough as Aled, so the bullies pick on him. We can limit what happens here in the school but once they're outside the gates there very little we can do. Aled took Josh under his wing during his first year and protected him but this term he's had a pretty rough time of it I'm afraid."

"I'm told that Aled had a work experience placement in Cardiff, do you have the address?" Pete asked. "He might have gone off with someone he met that week."

"It was `Devine Designs' in the Royal Arcade," the headmaster replied, when he'd reviewed the file. "That's Devine with an `e'; the owner's name is Simon Devine. Aled was there for a week at the beginning of June, he was excellent at art and hoped to study art and design at college. He got a first rate report from the company and they suggested he apply for a job with them after he graduated. It might be a cliché but I think gay boys really are more artistically inclined."

Pete's final stop was the supermarket, where Kate Morgan was operating one of the tills. The supervisor relieved her for a few minutes and Pete arranged to meet her and her son at the school at 9.30 the following morning. He already had the headmaster's permission to use an empty room for the interview.

A rumbling stomach reminded Pete that it was after 12.30 and he decided to have a sandwich and a pint in the Prince of Wales, a pub in the centre of Rhimyn. During lunch he made two calls; one to arrange for someone to take a DNA swab from Helen Griffiths and the other to lady herself. He broke the news that the dental identification was positive and informed her about the DNA swab, which was arranged for that afternoon. The beer must have lubricated his brain because a new idea occurred to him, "Did Aled travel into Cardiff and back each day, or did he stay in the city for the week?" he asked.

"No, he didn't travel," she replied, "he stayed with a woman in Penarth. I don't have the address but the company organised it, I'm sure they'll have the details."

Pete now had another line of enquiry and another address to visit. The investigation needed more manpower and he cursed his superiors and the West Midlands Police for their stupidity.

* * *

Back in Cardiff, Pete managed to get parked in the St David's Centre and entered the Royal Arcade from The Hayes end. Devine Designs had a shop on the ground floor which displayed their wares for potential customers. They also had offices on the floor above where the actual designing was done and this was where Simon Devine introduced himself. He was mid-forties, just under 6' tall, medium build but broad across the shoulders; he looked like he worked out. He was clean shaven with short brown hair, neatly trimmed and piercing blue eyes; the word handsome could've been invented for him.

When they'd settled in Devine's office with a coffee, Pete explained why he was there. The man looked shocked and he had to wipe away a tear, "That's dreadful," he said, "Aled was a great kid and genuinely talented. The business side of things is taking up more and more of my time. We'll need another designer soon and I'd hoped it would be him. I'd even considered employing him on a part time basis while he studied at college."

"How many people work here?"

"Five. Me, two other designers, Sarah in the shop and Megan does the admin."

Pete interviewed all five and got nowhere. They were all shocked by the boy's death and agreed that Aled was talented and likeable but none of them had really got to know him personally. He'd been open about his sexuality but that hadn't been an issue, in the interior design business being gay is a bit `Tom Jones' – it's not unusual. He hadn't mentioned knowing someone in Cardiff and none of them knew of anyone he might have gone off with.

Back in Devine's office Pete asked if he had a name and address for the woman Aled had stayed with in Penarth. "Megan will have it," the designer replied and went out of the office. A few moments later he returned and handed the detective a piece of paper with the relevant details.

"How did Aled travel here each day?" Pete asked.

"I drove him, I live down the Bay so it wasn't any trouble to nip over and collect him on my way to work." It seemed that he and Pete only lived a few hundred yards from one another.

Pete found that the woman, a Mrs Davies, lived in a large, detached house, partly hidden behind an overgrown hedge, on a residential street south of Penarth town centre. Just as with the Morgan residence that morning, however, there was no reply when he rang the bell. He tried the neighbour on one side and got the same result but had more luck on the other side. The bad news was that Mrs Davies was now living in a nursing home, suffering from dementia; the worse news was that the neighbour didn't know which care home she was in. The woman's son came round occasionally and a gardener visited once a week but there were no details for either, she didn't even know the son's first name.

There wasn't anything else that he could do that day, so he returned to the station and wrote his report. He printed a copy for DCI Parsons and emailed one to the inquiry HQ in Birmingham; at least he'd identified the victim, even if he'd made no progress in tracing the boy's movements after he got into a car in Rhimyn. Perhaps his interview with Josh Morgan would shed some light on things in the morning.

Pete returned home, made dinner and slumped in front of the TV to watch the football. It was the final round of games in the Champions' League group stage and the match on BT Sport 2 promised to be a cracker. The long day caught up with him, though and he soon fell asleep; waking up two hours later to find that he'd missed a 4-3 thriller.

 

WEDNESDAY

 

At 9.30 the next morning Pete found himself sitting in an empty classroom, drinking coffee with Kate Morgan and her son, Josh. Kate was pretty, if you like women and best described as petite. She was also much younger than Pete would have expected for the mother of a twelve year old boy; he didn't think she looked much more than twenty five.

The resemblance between mother and son was striking but if anything Josh was the prettier of the two and, like her, he was on the small side. Pete estimated that he was a little under five feet tall and weighed approximately seventy five pounds. He had an emo look with longish, dark hair that covered his ears, deep brown eyes, long eyelashes and flawless, pale skin. He was wearing a polo shirt and, from what Pete could see of the top of his chest, the rest of his body probably matched his face. He could understand why a boy like this would be a target for bullies. Although he had an almost feminine appearance, Josh didn't speak or act in an effeminate manner, in that regard he was all male. If Pete had written a description of his perfect boy, it wouldn't have differed much from the vision that sat before him now. His cock was rock hard and he was relieved that there was a desk between himself and the other two to hide his discomfort.

Josh repeated what he'd told the police at the time of Aled's disappearance. He'd seen the older boy getting into a silver estate car (station wagon) but he didn't know the make as he wasn't really into cars. The driver had been standing by the driver's door and Josh described him as, quite tall with light brown hair in a ponytail and a goatee beard. He was also wearing glasses with circular lenses which might have been tinted.

"Was he good looking?" Pete asked, trying to jog the boy's memory and get a fuller description.

Josh shrugged, "I suppose so," he replied. Then he smiled shyly and said, "But I prefer clean shaven men, like you."

Pete, who'd been taking a drink at that moment, nearly choked. It wasn't every day that a pretty, twelve year old boy flirted with him.

"Josh, behave yourself!" Kate exclaimed. "You're embarrassing the nice policeman." There was a twinkle in her eye when she said it, however.

"You always tell me that I should tell the truth," the boy protested, with a pout.

"You can't argue with logic like that," Pete said when he'd recovered his composure. He and Kate laughed and the smile returned to the boy's face.

"Do you think you'd recognise the man if you saw him again?" Pete asked and the lad nodded. Then he turned to Kate and asked if he could take Josh to Cardiff Bay police station to look at pictures of known offenders. "If that doesn't produce a result I'd like him to do an identikit."

"I've got to go to work," she said, "is it OK if he goes without me?"

"Yes, the formal interview is over. As long as you're happy, I can take him myself.

"Cool," Josh added, pleased to have some time off school, not to mention being able to spend it with the handsome detective.

It was cold outside, the forecast had been right for once and the wind had swung round to the east, bringing freezing weather from northern Europe. Pete showed Josh to his car and the boy waved to his mother as they drove off. The journey was completed in an uncomfortable silence. Pete tried to keep his eyes on the road but couldn't help sneaking an occasional look at the little cutie next to him. Whenever he did, the boy turned his head away with a smile and Pete reddened as he realised that the lad knew he was being checked out.

At the station Pete sat Josh in front of a PC with a coke from the vending machine, pulled up the `rogues' gallery' and showed the boy how to scroll through the images. Then he went off to phone care homes to find out where Mrs Davies was now resident.

He struck lucky with the third place he called, a nursing home in Penarth only half a mile from her own house. The staff member who answered his call confirmed that she was resident there but wouldn't give any details over the phone; he would have to visit personally when he got the opportunity.

By midday Josh had been through all the faces but had drawn a blank. Pete took the boy to a café for lunch and then, when they returned to the station, introduced him to PC Julie Hopkins who was the best person he knew at drawing up identikit pictures.

In the past a police artist would draw a picture from the witness' description but now it's all done on a computer. The operator can add and remove features easily and, if they're good at the job, a very accurate image can often be the result. The basic view of the ponytailed man with the goatee appeared quickly; it took much longer to refine the image. Julie adjusted the size and shape of the man's ears, mouth and nose – the eyes remained hidden behind the glasses – and Josh told her whether or not the face was more or less like the man he'd seen until they were happy that the picture was as close as possible to the real thing.

They printed several A4 copies and Pete picked one up and studied it. The man looked vaguely familiar but he couldn't think where he might have seen him before. He wrote up his report and emailed it to inquiry HQ, along with a copy of the identikit picture. "Well, I better get you back home," he said to Josh, when he'd finished.

When they went outside, however, it was snowing heavily and several inches were already lying on the ground. If there was as much snow as this here, then there was probably close to a foot up in The Valleys and that would be a problem. Southern Britain rarely gets much snow therefore the local authorities don't waste money on expensive equipment that would lie idle most of the time. The result is that relatively little precipitation is enough to make the roads dangerous and the steep valley roads impassable. With snow still falling the situation wasn't going to improve any time soon.

Pete phoned Kate Morgan and was surprised by how calmly she seemed to deal with the situation. "Do you have any friends or relatives in Cardiff he can stay with?" he asked her.

"Sorry, I don't," she replied.

"What about in Rhimyn?" he tried again. "I should be able to get that far up without too much trouble."

"No, my close friends live up here and all my living relatives have moved away from the area. Could he stay with you? As long as your wife doesn't mind of course."

"I live alone Mrs Morgan, are you sure it's OK for him to stay with me?"

"I don't see why not. He likes you and if he's not safe with a policeman who would he be safe with?"

`That's what people used to say about priests,' Pete thought but refrained from saying it aloud. "OK, I'll look after Josh and I'll bring him home as soon as it's safe to do so."

Josh was delighted when he heard that he was to spend the night at Pete's place. Aled had explained to him what `gaydar' was and his had pinged the moment he met the man that morning. He thought he'd seen a lump in Pete's groin when he'd sat down at the school and he was certain that the good looking policeman had been eyeing him up in the car. Now they were going to have a whole evening and night together and Josh fully intended that they would do much more than just watch TV and then go to sleep.

* * *

A detective doesn't work strict hours and Pete usually put in a fair amount of unpaid overtime, so there was no problem with him leaving at 3.30 that afternoon. When they arrived at the flat, Pete showed Josh where to hang his coat and directed him to the living room. He pointed out his DVD collection and suggested that the boy have a look to see if there was anything he liked, then he retired to the bathroom to take a shower.

Pete looked at himself in the mirror and spoke sternly, "OK, he's gay, he's beautiful and he obviously likes you but he's only twelve. This isn't some anonymous fuck in Bute Park, he knows who you are and you're responsible for his welfare, so keep your hands off."

After his shower, Pete returned to the living room wearing a bathrobe. As he approached he could hear noises from the TV, so he knew that Josh had found something he liked and put it on. When he entered the living room and saw what was playing he pulled up short, "Oh shit, where did you find that?" On the TV a small Asian boy, about the same age as Josh, was lying back on a bed, with his knees up by his shoulders and a man's cock pounding his anus.

Josh had removed his shoes and was sitting on the couch with a huge grin on his face. He held up the box for a Harry Potter DVD and said, "I was going to put this on but that is so much cooler than anything that happens at Hogwarts."

"Where did you find it?" Pete repeated. He was sure that all his boy films were safely locked away.

"It was already in the DVD player," the boy replied, "so I started it to see what it was."

Pete recalled that he'd been watching this film on Monday night and that he'd left it in the machine when he'd gone to bed. Josh was speaking again so he pulled himself back to the present. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if we could do that?" the boy repeated, pointing at the screen.

"We can't, you're only twelve."

"Pleeease," the boy implored, his big brown eyes gazing upwards beseechingly.

"No, Josh. It's illegal, I'd go to prison."

"That DVD is illegal," Josh retorted, "but you've still got it and you're not in jail."

"That's different," Pete answered lamely.

"No it isn't. You're not in jail because no-one knows you've got it. If no-one knows about us, you won't go to jail then either." Once again the lad's logic was impeccable and Pete felt his resolve ebbing away rapidly.

"Are you sure you want to do it with me? I'm really far too old for you, you'd be much better off with a boy nearer your own age."

"Of course I'm sure," Josh answered quietly; he felt that he was close to winning and didn't want to scare the man off. "I prefer real men anyway; twinks and boys don't interest me."

"Do you promise that you'll never tell anyone else about it?" Pete's willpower had finally vanished and his libido had taken control.

"I promise," Josh replied with a smile, he'd won and he knew it. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Pete said resignedly, as he sat down on the couch next to the boy. He took the Harry Potter DVD from him, laid it on a small table next to the couch and put his left arm around his shoulders, "What do you like to do?" he asked.

"I. . . I don't really know," Josh stuttered in reply. "I've never done anything before," his voice had dropped to a whisper. When he'd seen the porn film he knew that he'd been right about the detective liking boys and had felt confident about propositioning him. Now that he'd succeeded and his wish was about to be granted, he was nervous all of a sudden.

"Didn't you and Aled do things together?" Pete asked. He'd assumed that the boy would have some sexual experience at least.

"No, we both liked older guys and I only ever saw him at school or on the bus."

"We better start at the beginning then," Pete replied. "Why don't you sit here?" he said, patting his lap.

Josh didn't need a second invitation; he scooted over, climbed onto Pete's lap so they were face-to-face and put his arms around the man's neck. Pete's arms slipped naturally around the boy's waist. "Can I kiss you?" he asked.

"Of course you can. Why did you ask?"

"Well, firstly, most of the boys I've been with haven't been into kissing. They only wanted quick, emotionless sex. Secondly, I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, so I'll ask if you're OK with it before I do anything."

"You don't have to do that," Josh replied. "Just do whatever you want and I'll tell you if I don't like it."

Pete leaned forward and their lips met, the man's slightly parted but the boy's pressed together. Pete pushed his tongue against Josh's lips and they opened to allow it in, where it rubbed gently on the boy's tongue. Then he withdrew and Josh pushed his tongue into the man's mouth; tentatively at first but then more forcefully as he gained confidence. After a few moments the boy pulled his tongue out and Pete broke the kiss, sucking on Josh's bottom lip as he did so.

The lad was grinning like the Cheshire cat, "That was so cool!" he exclaimed. "The boys who don't want to kiss must be nuts."

They kissed again, for longer this time, a full scale tongue wrestle and, as they did so, Pete worked the lad's polo shirt up his torso. When they came up for air he lifted it over the boy's head and got his first view of Josh's chest. As he'd suspected the boy's body was like his face, pale and flawless. Two small, brown nipples stood out on the sea of white and Pete moved his head down and licked the left one causing the boy to gasp. Then he sucked it into his mouth and worked it with his lips and tongue, this time the lad moaned.

Pete moved across to give the right nipple the same treatment and simultaneously tweaked the other with his fingers, eliciting an even louder moan from the boy. He then ran his tongue up the lad's chest and neck before kissing him on the chin and then the lips again briefly. Josh beamed at him, his eyes shining and Pete smiled back, pleased that the boy was enjoying what was being done to him. Then he scooped Josh up, placed him onto his back and moved over him, supporting his weight on one arm. He used his other hand to pin the boy's arms above his head and started to work on his armpits. This time Josh giggled, he enjoyed the attention but found that it tickled as well. Pete moved down, planting small kisses as he went, stopping to tongue the boy's cute, innie navel.

Now he unbuckled the lad's belt, undid the button and pulled down his zip. He rested his hand on the small bulge and looked up, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. Josh nodded his head eagerly, giving Pete permission to continue. He drew down the boy's jeans, Josh lifting his hips to make it easier for him, before pulling them off completely. He ran his hands up and down the lad's slender legs before leaning in to kiss the insides of his smooth, creamy thighs. Without his jeans on, the bulge in the boy's underpants was more pronounced and Pete rubbed it gently through the thin cotton material, causing the loudest moan yet.

Pete couldn't contain himself any longer, he lifted the front of the boy's briefs and pulled them down and off with a single swipe. Now it was the man's turn to gasp as he feasted his eyes on the lad's jewels. Although he was twelve, his physical development was that of a younger boy and he was clearly still some way off starting puberty. There was no sign of any hair around the hard boy cock which was about the same size as Pete's ring finger, around three inches and was lying against his belly. He was uncut but his foreskin didn't fully cover the glans when he was erect, the tip poking out from the protective tube of skin. His small, marble sized balls were still tight against his body and these were Pete's first target.

He sucked one, then the other and finally both into his mouth causing Josh to writhe on the couch and this time his moan came out as a squeal. He then turned his attention to the boy's cocklet, taking it between the thumb and forefinger and retracting his foreskin to fully expose the purple glans. He licked the tip and then covered it with his lips, applying suction and swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin while Josh went crazy, wriggling and gabbling incoherently. Pete took the whole of the boy's cock into his mouth easily and alternated an up and down motion with sucking and licking the glans and Josh responded by humping into the man's mouth. After a couple of minutes of this, the boy could take no more and squeaked, "Oh my God, I'm going to cum!" Pete didn't stop, however and a few moments later Josh gave one final thrust and shouted "Oh yeah" several times, as he had a dry orgasm that was far more intense than any that he'd experienced from masturbation.

When the boy came down from his orgasmic high, he opened his eyes to see Pete smiling down at him, while gently stroking his chest. "Wow," he gasped, "that was amazing."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," the man replied before giving his young lover another kiss. "There wouldn't be much point in doing it if you didn't"

"That was the best feeling ever, is it always that good?"

"Well, I can't guarantee that but I'll try my best," Pete responded with a grin.

"Do you want me to suck you now?" Josh asked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I do want to," the boy replied, "but I'm not sure what to do, I've never done it before."

"Just do what I did and I'll give you some tips as you go along," Pete answered. "Remember, if you don't like it, stop. I won't be upset if you decide to stop but I will be upset if you do something you don't enjoy, just because you think you have to. OK?"

"OK."

Pete removed his bathrobe and lay back at the opposite end of the couch from the boy, with his left leg bent up and his right foot on the floor. He put his hands behind his head and said, "I'm all yours Josh, do whatever you want."

The boy moved over cautiously and straddled Pete's stomach. He leaned forward and they kissed briefly before Josh worked his way down the man's body, copying what had been done to him earlier, although he didn't bother with the armpits. Pete wasn't exactly hirsute but he had a light covering of hair on his chest which seemed to intrigue the boy and he spent a few moments running his hands through it. By the time Josh had reached Pete's cock, it had reached its full six inches and the boy gasped, "It's huge!" he exclaimed. As the only son of a single mother he had no first-hand experience of a man's cock.

Pete laughed, "Not really. It's only about average for an adult male."

Josh grasped Pete's cock near the top and pulled back his foreskin, exposing his glans. "Is that cum?" the boy asked, as a clear liquid oozed from the slit.

"No, that's pre-cum," Pete replied, "nature's lubricant. You can taste it if you want." Josh looked doubtful, so Pete took some on his finger and transferred it to his own mouth. "Mmm, nice," he said, taking some more and offering it to the boy.

Josh licked the proffered finger tentatively and then his eyes lit up and he smiled, "It is quite nice," he said.

"Try it direct from the source," Pete suggested and the boy leaned in and licked the man's cockhead. "Oh, God," he groaned and the boy jerked away with a startled look, worried that he'd done something wrong. "It's fine," Pete reassured him, "you're doing great," and the lad licked him again, eliciting another groan.

Josh remembered how good it had felt when Pete had sucked his balls so he decided to return the favour. Pete kept his sac shaved and the rest of his pubic hair neatly trimmed so there was nothing to put a boy off. He started by licking the man's scrotum and then sucked each testicle in turn; there was no way that he'd be able to get both in his mouth at the same time, so he didn't bother trying.

The moment of truth finally came; Josh took a deep breath, opened wide and, with a warning from Pete to watch his teeth, took the man's cock into his mouth. He'd discussed cock sucking with Aled, who'd explained how to deep-throat by relaxing the throat. The reality proved somewhat trickier though and, as soon as Pete's cock hit the back of his throat, the boy gagged and pulled away, coughing and spluttering.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, with tears welling up in his eyes.

Pete pulled Josh into an embrace and caressed him gently, "That's alright; you don't have to take it all your first time. Have you had enough, do you want to stop?"

"No, I'm OK now," the boy replied, with a relieved smile. "I thought you'd be angry because I messed up."

"Of course I'm not angry, nobody's perfect the first time. Remember what I said, you only have to do what you want, nothing more."

"OK, can I try again?"

"Sure but just work on the top couple of inches, the rest will come with practice."

Pete had lost his erection during this exchange but it only took the boy a few seconds to coax him back to `full mast'. Following the man's advice, Josh concentrated on the glans and the first inch of the shaft, bobbing up and down, applying suction and using his tongue, just as Pete had done to him earlier. It wasn't the best blow job Pete had ever received but it was one of the most enjoyable, being given by such a sexy little twelve-year-old boy.

As his climax approached, Pete warned Josh that he was about to cum, expecting the boy to pull away; after all he'd been reluctant to taste pre-cum. Josh had other ideas, however; he might've made a mess of deep-throating but he was determined to make up for it by swallowing whatever the man produced. Pete came with a shout and spurted several ropes of creamy cum into the lad's mouth. Josh did his best, gulping manfully until it was finished but, when he raised his head, he had a rivulet of spunk dribbling from his mouth and down his chin. It was one of the most erotic sights Pete had ever witnessed; he pulled the boy towards him, licked his face clean and then they shared their longest and most passionate kiss yet.

"Was it OK?" Josh asked anxiously, when they finally parted.

"You were fantastic," Pete assured him. "I don't think anyone's ever done better their first time." It might have been a bit of an exaggeration but there was no harm in boosting the boy's self-esteem.

He lay back again, pulling Josh down on top of him and they hugged and kissed each other for a while until the boy's stomach suddenly rumbled. He giggled, sat up and said, "I'm hungry, what time's dinner?"

Pete looked at the clock and was surprised to see that it was nearly 6.30. "It'll have to be takeaway I think, what do you fancy?"

"Can we have pizza?"

"Sure, I'll dig out a menu and you can choose two. We'll share them."

"Really? Mum and I usually share one." That comment gave Pete an insight into Josh's life, as the child of a single mother in Bachgen Caru.

There was a Dominos a few minutes away at Mermaid Quay and, just after 8.00, they were snuggled up again on the couch having finished their meal. "Are you ready for Harry Potter now?" Pete asked.

Josh looked at him as if he was mad. "Uh-uh," he responded, shaking his head. "You agreed that we could do what the man and boy were doing on that film and they weren't just sucking. I want you to put it in me."

"I'm not sure if you're ready for that yet," Pete replied. "You're still small and I don't want to hurt you."

"Aled said that, if the guy's careful, it only hurts at first. Anyway you said that yours is only average, how bad can it be?" he smiled shyly as he said that, knowing full well that he was challenging Pete's manhood.

Pete laughed, "You're pretty smart for a kid, I bet you get your own way all the time."

"Sometimes I do but Mum's pretty smart too; she usually susses me out."

"C'mon then, let's take this little party to the bedroom. I'm obviously not smart enough to get the better of you."

Pete settled the boy on his back, in the centre of the bed and started his foreplay routine. He moved a little quicker this time and only worked on the lad's genitals briefly, before flipping him over onto his front. He positioned him on his knees, with his legs spread and his head and arms supported by a pillow. Josh's buttocks were as wonderful as the rest of him and Pete took the time to kiss each in turn. Taking a round, milky globe in each hand, he separated them and gazed in awe at the perfect, pink pucker that was revealed in all its glory.

Even with the lad in this position his small, hard boy-cock was still pressed to his lower belly, with his little testes pulled against his body. Pete suckled a on these for a few moments before licking Josh's perineum, up his arse crack and across his anus. The boy groaned with pleasure at first, then mewed like a kitten when the tongue touched his hole. The man went to work on the lad's most private zone; sucking, licking and prodding with his tongue until Josh thought that he was going to explode. Gradually the boy relaxed and Pete worked his tongue into the tight opening, pushing it further in with each aching thrust until he could keep it up no longer and had to withdraw reluctantly. Josh sighed in disappointment as the tongue fuck ended but, fortunately for him, there was more to come.

Pete had a tube of lube ready on the bedside table and, taking a bead on his forefinger, started to rub it gently into the boy's anus. When he felt the touch of the cold lube, Josh flinched instinctively and clenched his bottom. "Relax, baby," Pete said soothingly and the boy giggled; no-one had ever called him that before. When the instruction was obeyed, the man pushed firmly and his finger slipped in to the first knuckle before the lad's sphincter clamped down in a vain attempt to keep the invader out. After a few moments Josh relaxed again and Pete was able to fully insert his finger, before twisting it slowly and moving it gradually in and out as he loosened the boy up.

Deciding to find out how sensitive Josh's prostate was, Pete curled his finger downwards to touch the lining of the boy's rectum and rubbed it until he found the immature, peanut sized gland. As soon as his prostate was rubbed Josh clenched involuntarily and emitted an almost girlish squeal. "Oh wow!" he exclaimed, "What did you do there?"

Pete laughed and replied, "That's your prostate and it seems to be pretty sensitive. That's good; it means you'll probably get a lot of pleasure out of being a bottom."

The man withdrew his finger, lubricated his middle digit as well and inserted both before the boy's hole could close again. He went through the same sequence as previously, before repeating the procedure with a third finger. When he was satisfied that he'd done as much as he could to prepare the lad, Pete lubricated his cock, rubbed up and down the boy's arse crack a few times and then pressed it against his pucker. Josh tensed up immediately and Pete eased off. "It might seem like an odd combination but I need you to relax as much as possible and push out like you're taking a crap," he told him.

"Push out?" Josh queried.

"Yes, your sphincter only opens when you go to the toilet. If you can push out and relax it will make it easier and less painful."

Pete lined himself up again and pressed against his target. Josh did as he'd been instructed to the best of his ability and, when Pete judged that the moment was right, he pushed his cockhead into the boy's arse. Josh yelped as he felt a brief, stinging pain and his anus clamped down but not before the man's glans had completed its penetration. Pete rubbed the lad's back and asked if he was alright. "Y . . . yes," the boy stammered in reply. "It hurt quite a bit for a second but it's OK now."

They remained in the same position for a couple of minutes, the man caressing the boy and whispering encouragement until he felt him relax again. Then he pressed forward, gaining another inch or two before the boy tensed up again. This went on for about ten minutes until Pete bottomed out with about four of his six inches inside Josh's rectum. He had no intention of forcing any more in this time, so he reached around and took hold of the boy's cocklet, which had become flaccid during the penetration and fondled it back to its erect state. He took the pillow from under Josh's head, put it under his body lengthways and lowered them both down until the boy was supported on the pillow.

By this stage Josh was as relaxed as he was going to get; Pete pulled out slowly, until just his cockhead remained inside the boy and then pushed back in equally slowly. Josh groaned with a little pain and a lot of pleasure and Pete repeated his action several more times; each one causing more pleasure and less pain.

Pete could feel a tightening in his balls and knew that he wouldn't be able to last much longer. He wanted to see the boy's face as he came, however; so he pulled out, turned Josh onto his back, with the pillow turned laterally under his lower back and raised his legs until his knees were near his head. He got the boy to hold them in place while he re-entered. Then, gripping the lad's legs at the back of his thighs, he began to fuck, maintaining the long slow strokes he'd used before and not forcing any more than the four inches that he had managed to get in. In this position the man's cock was grazing Josh's prostate with every in and out motion and he could see the boy's eyes glazing over as the unaccustomed sensations overwhelmed him. Pete could feel his climax approaching again but, just before he came, he felt the lad spasm and saw his boy-cock jumping around as if it had a life of its own, as his dry orgasm rocked his little body. That was enough to push Pete over the edge and he came for the second time that day, three or four ropes of spunk filling Josh's rectum. Exhausted, the man leaned over the boy, supporting his weight on his forearms and kissed his young lover deeply; although Josh was too far gone to appreciate what was happening.

The boy gradually came back to full consciousness, opened his eyes and looked up at the man who had just taken his virginity. He grinned, hooked his arms about the man's neck and pulled him in for another kiss. "Thanks, that was even better than the blow job," he purred.

"Good," Pete responded, "I think you're going to be a perfect little bum boy."

Josh giggled and said, "I want to be your little bum boy."

The boy's words shook Pete a bit; he knew that this would be their one and only opportunity to make love but he didn't want to shatter the lad's illusions. Fortunately, Josh's arse chose that moment to eject the man's softening cock with an audible pop and his attention was diverted from his earlier thoughts. "Can we do it again?" the boy asked.

"Oh, the impetuosity of youth," Pete replied with a laugh. "I doubt if I could manage again so soon and I don't think it would be a good idea for you to do it again until your arse has recovered a bit. Come on, turn over and let me have a look at the damage."

Josh obeyed reluctantly and Pete inspected the boy's hole. It wasn't a perfect pucker anymore but it had closed up quite well and, although there was a puffy redness, there was no sign of any blood, for which Pete was extremely thankful. He planted a soft kiss on the swollen flesh, lay down on his left side and pulled the boy's back into his chest, wrapping him in his arms and discarding the pillow as he did so. It was only 9.45 but both were tired from their exertions and they drifted off into a deep, contented sleep.

 

THURSDAY

 

Pete was having a wonderful dream, in which his cock was being sucked by a beautiful young boy and he was very close to cumming. As he approached orgasm he began to waken, only to find that it was no dream. He was lying on his back and Josh was crouched between his thighs, bobbing up and down on the man's morning wood as if he'd been doing this for years. There was no time for Pete to issue any warning, he erupted into the boy's mouth and this time the lad was able to take it all without spilling a drop.

Josh scooted up until he was lying on Pete's chest and they shared a cummy kiss. "Well, that sure beats an alarm clock as a way to wake up," the man said, when their lips finally parted. "What's the time, anyway?" He groaned when he looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was only 6.15.

The boy rose up and straddled Pete's chest, presenting his own hard, three inches to the man. "The early bird gets the worm," he said, dissolving into a fit of the giggles.

"It's a pretty scrawny worm," Pete replied, getting revenge for the `average' jibe of the previous evening. "There's not much of a meal in that."

"Oh yeah? Well, just eat it anyway; you can always fill up with something else after."

Pete wrapped his arms around Josh and flipped them both over so that his face was above the lad's cocklet. He laved the little rod and balls with his tongue before taking the boy-cock into his mouth and sucking fast and hard; bringing the boy to a speedy climax.

Afterwards, as they lay entwined together, Pete appreciated how much better this was, than the hasty, anonymous and emotionless sex that he'd `enjoyed' during his brief trysts in Bute Park. This was just what he'd always yearned for, lying in his own bed, spooning a beautiful boy following a night of lovemaking – not just sex. Of course it would only be a one-off event, the chances of them ever repeating the experience lay somewhere between zero and zilch.

The harsh, electric tones of the alarm clock interrupted his reverie, announcing that it was 7.30 and time to `rise and shine'. They showered, separately to Josh's disappointment, dressed and Pete made them breakfast. He had bacon and eggs, no hangover today, while the boy made do with corn flakes as Pete didn't have the sugar covered cereal that he liked.

When they'd eaten Josh insisted on washing up, it was his job at home and he didn't want Pete to think that he was totally useless. While the boy was completing his task, Pete looked outside to check on the weather conditions. It was just getting light and there was still plenty of snow lying around his building, although the traffic seemed to be moving freely on the Central Link road on the far side of Bute Dock. He then called Kate Morgan to ask about conditions in the Bachgen valley. She had already been down to the village shop and was able to inform him that vehicles were able to get up to Bachgen Caru from Rhimyn but that Josh would have to walk from the high street as the side roads were still blocked.

Pete avoided the city centre, taking the A4232 round to the M4 and then on to the A470. Only the inside lane was in use and the traffic was slow moving, although it was better than the solid line of commuter vehicles going in the opposite direction and trying to get into Cardiff. After Rhimyn he was down to 20mph in third gear, for the slow haul up to Bachgen Caru. He took one look at the Bachgen Fach road and decided that Kate had been right, Josh would have to get out here and walk the rest of the way.

"Well, this is where we say goodbye," he said, turning to the boy in the passenger seat. "I had a great time and I hope you did too. Don't forget, you can't ever tell anyone else about it."

"Don't worry, I won't," Josh replied. "It was the best night of my life, thanks Pete." Suddenly he leaned in and kissed the man on the cheek, "I love you," he said, before scrambling out of the car and walking quickly away. Pete watched the lad go with a heavy heart, he'd finally found a little gay boy to love and now he had to sit and watch him walk out of his life again.

* * *

Kate heard the front door open and close and then Josh appeared in the front room, looking happier than she'd seen him since he'd been outed at school the previous year. During the summer holidays he'd naively confided in a friend that he was gay and a couple of weeks later the boy had let the secret out at school. Josh's life had been miserable since that day. Now he was the old Josh again, eyes shining and babbling away, twenty to the dozen. For the next ten minutes Kate had to listen to her son singing the praises of Pete Williams before she managed to say, "It sounds like someone has a bit of a crush."

"It's not just a crush," the boy insisted. "It's love. I'm in love with him."

"Oh Josh!" she exclaimed, "Try and be practical, there's no point in falling in love with someone that you can't have a relationship with. Anyway, you're unlikely to see him again." The look of horror on her son's face told Kate that her son's emotions were genuine but he'd been so caught up in the moment that he hadn't considered the future.

"Why can't I see him again?" the boy whined.

"He's an adult, Josh. He's got his own life in Cardiff and I'm sure he's got a girlfriend"

"What if he's gay?" the boy insisted.

"If he is then he'll have an adult boyfriend. He's a policeman, he can't have an illegal relationship with an underage boy."

"But he . . ." Josh started to protest but then realised that he couldn't tell his mother the truth about Pete.

"I have to go to work now," she told him, "I called to let them know I'd be late in, so I'd be here when you got home. We can talk about it later, OK?"

"I suppose," Josh replied but all the sparkle had gone and he looked miserable again.

Kate gave the situation a lot of thought as she sat on the bus on the way down the valley. She'd been delighted to see Josh so happy when he'd arrived home but now she started to wonder what had caused that happiness. Clearly her son was smitten with the man but was that enough to make him so excited? She replayed the conversation in her head and realised that Josh had been about to say something and had then stopped, obviously something had happened that he couldn't tell her about.

She had always been very open with Josh about sexual matters, she had given him the `where babies come from' talk at a young age and, when he'd asked her about homosexuality when he was about eight, she'd told him what that meant and that there was nothing wrong with being gay, no matter what others might say. It hadn't been a surprise when he'd `come out', although she hadn't expected it to happen when he was only ten years old. Now it seemed that there was something that Josh wouldn't or couldn't tell her about.

Kate weighed up the facts; what could a man do that would make a little gay boy very happy but that the boy couldn't talk about. She could only think of one thing.

* * *

Pete took the reverse route back to Cardiff but turned off into Penarth and drove to the Golden Years Nursing Home. He showed his ID to the receptionist who took him to the office of the Nursing Director, a severe looking woman in her fifties. She pulled up a file on the screen of her PC and gave the briefest of details. Mrs Mary Davies had arrived at the home in July and was suffering from dementia. Her condition had deteriorated rapidly and now she couldn't even recognise her own son. Pete wanted to know more about the son but the home didn't seem to have many details. He was down as next of kin, simply as Mr S. Davies at the same address as his mother. There were two contact numbers, the landline at the house and a mobile number.

"Don't you have a first name or another address?" he asked. "I'm sure he doesn't live at his mother's home."

"I'm sorry; we had a temp in last summer when our receptionist was on holiday. Her writing was atrocious; when we transferred the information to the computer we couldn't decipher the name and address. We got the first initial and could work out what the surname must be but we just put down the same address as Mrs Davies."

"Didn't you ask him to update the information when he visited?"

"He works away from home and is abroad a lot, so he only visits occasionally," the woman explained. "However, since Mrs Davies doesn't know who he is and can't remember his visits, it doesn't really matter. He has asked us to send a text to the mobile number if we ever need to contact him, so it hasn't been a problem for us."

Pete showed her the identikit picture but the woman said that it wasn't Mrs Davies' son. He took both phone numbers and called the mobile, it rang out and an automated voice asked him to leave a message. He didn't bother but instead sent a text message asking the man to call South Wales Police urgently and giving him the number for Cardiff Bay police station.

When he returned to that building he had a message waiting for him but it was from Detective Sergeant Holden in Bristol, a man that he knew fairly well from a previous case. When he was settled at his desk with a mug of coffee, Pete called Bristol and asked for DS Holden.

"Hi, Brian," he said, when the man came on the line, "It's Pete, from Cardiff."

"Hi, Pete," the man replied, "I've got some information for you and a favour to ask. West Midlands have gone public on the link between your boy and the other cases and your identikit has been released to the media. They've been told to talk to Bridgend for more information, so hopefully you shouldn't get too much hassle.

"It's a madhouse over here, our boy got around a bit; he knew a load of people at college; had a part time job at Brunel Gallery, telling potential buyers about the exhibits and he seems to have spent most of his spare time hooking up with guys on Craigslist. The West Midlands crowd are excited about the Craigslist angle and they're concentrating on that. I've been lumped with the art gallery and I've got a lead that links with your side of the bridge. One of the regular visitors to the gallery is a Tarquin Watkins, an art dealer from Cowbridge. He buys at auction over here and sells for a profit in his shop."

"Did you say Tarquin?" Pete interrupted, incredulously. "Are there really people called that?"

"Yeah, that's his name," Holden chuckled. "The thing is, according to the gallery staff, he usually turns up with a teenage boy in tow. He's brought different boys along but the last couple of times it's been a blond lad that witnesses say looks about fourteen. That makes him `a person of interest' in this case and we'd like to talk to him. With the weather being so shit, we thought it would be easier for you to have a preliminary chat with him and see if a full interview is needed."

"Doing your donkey work, you mean?" Pete asked in jest.

"Well, you boyos don't have anything else to do apart from protecting sheep from the locals," Holden replied.

"Is this how you normally ask for a favour, or have you been on the cider again?" Pete retorted.

"Hey, you know how it is. If I was polite you'd think something was wrong. So, will you do it, then?"

"Yeah, no problem. I'll pop over there this afternoon."

* * *

After lunch, Pete made the short journey along the A48 to the small market town of Cowbridge. If Ely is typical of a post-war, city housing estate and Bachgen Caru a perfect example of post-industrial decay, then Cowbridge is the epitome of rural wealth. Set in the farmland of the Vale of Glamorgan, it has numerous Georgian buildings and is home to many of the rich and famous of South Wales.

Tarquin Watkins lived in a large house on the outskirts of the town that would be best described as a villa. Pete parked in the drive outside the two-car garage and rang the bell. When the door opened he found himself looking at one of the most stunning boys he had ever laid his eyes on. The lad looked to be about fourteen; he was white-blond, short at the sides and long on top, with cobalt blue eyes and his high cheekbones made Pete immediately think that he was East European. He was about five feet, five inches tall, with a slim build and was wearing a tight white T-shirt and pale blue shorts. The clothes enhanced his golden tan, especially the shorts, which were significantly shorter than was fashionable and from which protruded a wonderful pair of smooth, coltish legs. When the boy spoke, his accent confirmed Pete's initial thought, "Can I help you?" he asked, with a smile that made the detective's heart pound in his chest.

"DI Williams, South Wales Police," Pete informed him, holding up his ID card. "I'd like to speak to Tarquin Watkins."

"He isn't here, he's at the shop," the boy replied, in his seductive Slavic accent.

"Can you give me the address?"

"Sure, wait here a minute." As the lad walked away Pete couldn't help but stare at his small, round buttocks, undulating in his tight shorts.

The boy returned a few moments later and handed Pete a business card which declared that Tarquin Watkins was an art dealer and gave the address of his shop, in a side road just off the High Street. Pete would have loved to have spent more time with the lad but he had a job to do, so he reluctantly tore himself away and headed for the town centre.

Watkins obviously specialised in contemporary art and his shop was light and spacious. When he had identified himself and stated the purpose of his visit, Pete was invited into the rear of the premises where the owner had his office.

"How can I help you inspector?" the man asked. He was somewhere between fifty and sixty, Pete found it difficult to tell exactly, about five foot eight, stockily built with greying hair. He wasn't particularly good looking and the policeman surmised that it wasn't the man's looks that had the stunning blond living in his house. To paraphrase the late Caroline Aherne, `What first attracted you to the short, fat millionaire?'

"I'm here on behalf of Avon and Somerset Police," Pete replied. "They're investigating the murder of Sam Walters, who worked part time at the Brunel Gallery in Bristol. You have been a regular visitor to that establishment and the investigating officers have asked me to look into your relationship with Mr Walters

"I only ever met him twice at the gallery and spoke with him briefly on each occasion. I never had any contact with him other than that; I didn't even know his name until I saw the TV report on his murder."

"This crime has a sexual angle and is linked to three others where the victim was under the age of consent; obviously the perpetrator has a sexual interest in teenage boys. I realise that this is rather personal but I was at your home before coming here and met your houseguest; the young man doesn't look a day over fourteen. I'm sure that you appreciate that I have to ask you about your relationship with him."

"No, I don't appreciate it," Watkins responded angrily. "Are you suggesting I'm some sort of pervert and murderer just because I like young men and have Pavel living with me?"

"Not at all sir but it would be remiss of me not to check out every lead. I just want to eliminate you from our enquiries."

"For your information, Pavel has a birth certificate and a passport which show him to be sixteen. That means he is over the age of consent in this country and my relationship with him is none of your business. He has a modelling contract and sends the money he earns back to his parents in Slovakia and I can assure you that they are perfectly happy with our domestic arrangements."

Watkins went on to give a cast iron alibi for the previous Friday night, when Sam Walters had been killed. He had attended a party that evening, arriving at about 9.15 and leaving around 2.30 the following morning. He had numerous witnesses to that fact and therefore could not possibly have been the young man's killer. Pete took note of some of the names in order to confirm the man's alibi and assured him, that if everything checked out, he would not be considered a suspect.

As he drove back to Cardiff that afternoon, Pete replayed the interview in his head and started to laugh as he realised how clever Watkins had been. The man had never said that young Pavel was actually sixteen; just that he had the documents to prove the fact. Pete understood how it was done. A British man with money picks up a fourteen year old, East European boy from a poor family; no doubt the first contact would be made on the internet. The man explains to the parents that he can get the lad lucrative modelling work in Britain but only if he is at least sixteen. The boy just happens to have a sixteen-year-old brother, so the man pays the family to apply for a passport in the name of the elder son, using his birth certificate but the younger brother's photograph. With the passport and a copy of the birth certificate, the man returns to Britain with his fourteen year old boyfriend and documents which prove that the lad is sixteen and therefore legal. `Why didn't I think of that?' Pete wondered. Then again, he probably didn't have the money to finance such a deal.

Back at his desk in James Street, Pete called Brian Holden in Bristol only to find that the man was out of the office. He typed out his report and dispatched it by email to inquiry HQ and sent a copy to Holden.

He found the crime lab report was waiting for him and glanced through it. There was a lot of technical jargon but one item stood out; the date of death was now believed to be early August, which put it at the recent end of the original estimate. There was no DNA evidence but one thing did bring a smile to his face; the supermarket trolley had contained fibres that matched the carpet in which the body had been wrapped. It didn't help identify the killer in any way but it did give Pete a little satisfaction.

He was about to call it a day and go home when his phone rang. To his surprise, it was Kate Morgan on the other end. "Hello there Inspector Williams," she said, "I'm worried about Josh and I'd really like to talk to you about him. I start work at ten tomorrow, do you think you could come up for a chat before then?"

"What's the problem, Mrs Morgan?" Pete responded, anxiously.

"I'd rather discuss it face to face," she replied. "Can you come up in the morning?"

"Of course I can," he said, "is 9 o'clock at your place OK?"

"That's fine, inspector. I'll see you then."

That evening's South Wales Echo carried the identikit picture, along with an article linking the case with the other three. It mentioned that Aled had last been seen by his school friend Josh Morgan and included photographs of the two boys. Pete stared at Josh's picture for a few moments and wished that they could spend another night together.

After dinner, he flicked through the sports channels trying to pick something to watch. Thursday was Europa League night, very much second best to the Champions' League and he had no real interest in any of the games. There were only two matches that he felt like watching, so he did a mental `eeny-meeny-miny-moe' and selected one. His mind wasn't on the game, however, all he could think about was Josh and what the boy's mother wanted to talk about. He didn't miss much though, the game ended 0-0; when he turned over to Sky Sports News when it finished, he found that the other match had ended 3-2 and the reporter was calling it one of the best games of the season so far. He switched the TV off in disgust and went to bed; his second early night in a row.

 

FRIDAY

 

The following morning Pete called the station to let them know that he had some follow-up work to do in Bachgen Caru and would be in later. Just before 9.00 he pulled up outside Kate Morgan's home, the roads were passable with care, although there was still a fair amount of snow on the ground.

"Please sit down inspector," Kate said, indicating an armchair. "Would you like tea or coffee?"

"Coffee would be great, thanks," he replied.

"I think it would be best if I tell you about my background first," she said, when they were settled with a drink each. "I was only fifteen when my son was born, just fourteen at conception. I started having sex with men when I wasn't much older than Josh is now. He is very like me in many ways and one of those is that he likes older men. As his mother, I would've loved to see Josh remain an innocent little boy until he reached adulthood but I've known for a long time that it wasn't going to happen. My biggest worry has always been that he'd start hanging around parks and public toilets, being used and abused by men who didn't care about him at all. What happened to poor Aled Griffiths has just made me more determined to ensure that Josh doesn't suffer the same fate.

"When he arrived home yesterday he was happier than I've seen him for ages. Later, when he thought that he might not see you again, his mood changed and he returned to being the sad little boy that he's been for the past year or so. I don't know exactly what happened between the two of you and I don't want to know but it made my son very happy and I don't want him to lose that."

Pete opened his mouth to speak; he intended to deny that anything untoward had happened between him and the boy but Kate held up a hand to silence him and continued.

"I'd like Josh to spend more time with you, inspector; in fact I'm hoping that you'll agree to let him stay with you at weekends, once a month perhaps."

Pete sat in stunned silence; for several seconds the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Finally he gathered his thoughts and asked, "Are you asking me to have a sexual relationship with your son?"

"Actually, I only asked you to let him visit and repeat whatever the pair of you did on Wednesday night," Kate replied with a smile. "It's you who has equated that with sex."

Pete grimaced, he'd walked slap bang into that trap. Josh hadn't been kidding when he said that his mother was pretty smart.

Kate was speaking again, "I'm resigned to the fact that Josh is going to have sex with older men and I'd be a hypocrite if I tried to deny my son the pleasure that I experienced. I know others would be horrified by the idea but I just want to make sure that he's safe, with someone who cares for him. I don't want him to risk his health or, God forbid, his life for a few cheap thrills. Yesterday he told me that he loved you, inspector; I can't think of anyone better to provide him with want he wants and needs."

"When do you want this . . . this relationship to start?"

"The sooner the better, I think. Josh was pretty miserable this morning when he left for school; I don't want that to continue any longer than necessary. Unless you've got other arrangements, I was hoping that you could take him this weekend – tonight preferably."

"I suppose that'll be OK," Pete replied, "I'm not on call this weekend and there's no overtime allocated to this case; or not to my part of it anyway." He had been stunned by the unexpected turn of events and just answered automatically. He couldn't believe that he'd just agreed to have Josh stay with him for the entire weekend and who knew how many more times in the future. Then a potential problem occurred to him, "How will I explain a young boy suddenly appearing in my flat?" he asked, "The neighbours know that I'm single and have no kids of my own."

"Can't you just say that he's your nephew?"

"Not really, when my parents died recently I discussed my family situation with the couple next door; they know I'm an only child."

"Then just tell them that I'm your cousin and I've asked you to be a father figure to my son. He's at an age where he needs a male role model, inspector; that much is true at least."

"In that case you'd better start calling me Pete; my cousin wouldn't refer to me by my rank."

* * *

The journey back to Cardiff passed in a blur as a thousand thoughts flashed around Pete's head. Part of his brain was elated at the idea of a relationship with Josh, while another part warned that it would end in disaster. Ultimately, like most men, Pete was ruled by his cock and it heartily approved of the plan, so all negative thoughts were pushed firmly into the background.

There was a surprise awaiting Pete when he entered the station. "We were just about to call you sir," the officer on the front desk told him. "There is a Mr Devine here, asking to speak to you and he's brought his lawyer with him."

Pete took Devine and the lawyer to one of the interview rooms and they sat down, Pete on one side of the table and the others across from him. The tape recorder wasn't in use, the man was making a witness statement; he wasn't under caution.

"Good morning Mr Devine, what brings you down here?" Pete asked. He was curious as to why the man felt the need to bring his lawyer along.

"There's something about young Aled that I failed to mention when we spoke on Tuesday. When I saw yesterday evening's Echo I realised that it could be important." He took a deep breath, glanced at his lawyer, who nodded encouragement and continued, "The Echo contained a picture of a man you believe was involved in Aled's disappearance. I'm afraid that man was me, I looked like that at the time and only changed my appearance a month or so later."

"You mean that you abducted Aled?" Pete asked in amazement.

"Oh no inspector, you misunderstand. When Aled was with us last spring we discussed the theatre, I'm a regular theatregoer and Aled had never been. About a week after his work experience placement, I took him to the New Theatre to see a show. I picked him up after school on a Friday; we went to the show and had dinner afterwards. He stayed at my place overnight and I dropped him off back in Rhimyn the following morning. I think your witness must have seen me collecting Aled."

"Why didn't you mention this before?"

"I'm afraid I was rather embarrassed; it was sort of a date you see."

"You went on a date, with a fifteen year old boy?" Pete asked incredulously

"Yes," the answer was almost a whisper.

"Did you have sex with him?"

Devine looked over to his lawyer. "My client will help your investigation in any way he can," the man said, "but he is not prepared to admit to any criminal act."

Pete turned back to Devine, "Embarrassed or not you should still have mentioned it. The information is pertinent to a murder investigation."

"I'm very sorry but I had no idea that it was important until I saw the item in the Echo. I didn't realise that he'd been missing for six weeks before he was killed."

The interview continued for a little longer but failed to throw up any further information, although Devine was able to produce credit card receipts for both the theatre and restaurant for the night in question. It was lunchtime when the man and his lawyer departed, so Pete walked along to The Eli Jenkins; he was going to have a couple of pints with his lunch to lubricate his brain while he tried to sort out the facts of the case.

Assuming that Devine's story was true, Aled had been back in Rhimyn on the Saturday morning but he'd never made it home. His mother hadn't known about the theatre trip but, given his relationship with his stepfather, Pete could understand the boy's reluctance to tell them about it in advance. There was now a whole new set of questions: when had Aled actually vanished and with whom had he gone? The only person linked to the case that he knew of and hadn't been able to talk to was Mrs Davies' mysterious son. If he had met Aled during the week that the boy had spent at his mother's house, then he was definitely a suspect and finding the man was now Pete's number one priority.

At least one question had been answered, Pete had been sure that he'd seen the man in the identikit before but hadn't been able to place him. Devine lived near Pete so he'd probably seen him around the neighbourhood, he'd been quite distinctive before he'd cut his hair and shaved off the goatee.

Back at his desk, Pete found that the beer had worked again; he picked up the phone and called Devine Designs. The company had arranged Aled's accommodation; perhaps they had contact details for the son. He spoke to the admin girl, Megan but she was unable to help. "I'm sorry, inspector; Mr Devine made all the arrangements himself."

"Can you put me through to him, please?"

"You've just missed him I'm afraid, we're looking to branch out into boat interiors and he's gone to an exhibition in Southampton this weekend. If you want to contact him he'll be at the Prime Inn, he always uses them on his trips."

He hung up and the phone rang almost immediately. There was a lot of noise on the line and Pete had difficulty hearing the caller. It almost sounded like there was a party going on at the other end. "Hi Pete, it's Brian in Bristol," he finally made out. "Thanks for the Cowbridge trip, sorry it was a wasted journey. I showed your picture to the manager at Brunel Gallery and she thinks he might've been over there five or six months ago but our boy didn't start there until September, so they wouldn't have met."

"But . . ." Pete tried to interrupt but Brian hadn't stopped.

"It doesn't matter anyway, we've got him!"

"You've what?"

"We've got him, the killer I mean. The Craigslist thing came up trumps. Some delivery driver from Stoke-on-Trent, who travels up and down the M5/M6 corridor all the time. He's got convictions for assault and sexual assault and was cautioned in Birmingham for kerb crawling for rent boys. A bit embarrassing for the West Midlands bozos; they had him on file all the time," Brian laughed at that; there was plenty of professional rivalry between the different forces.

"Are you sure he's our man?" Pete asked, doubtfully.

"Well, he hasn't coughed yet but it's only a matter of time; he's being interviewed up in Birmingham as we speak."

When the call ended, Pete sat back and sighed. He'd spent the week chasing all over South Wales and, apart from identifying the body, had achieved the square root of bugger all. Now he would have to start over and try to find a link between Aled and this guy from Stoke. Then he thought of Josh and smiled; maybe the week hadn't been a complete failure after all.

At 4.00 that afternoon, Pete found himself in DCI Parsons' office, giving his boss a rundown on the past five days and a plan of attack for the following week. "If this guy from Stoke is the killer then it's unlikely that he had hold of Aled from the time he disappeared until he killed him," he said to the senior officer. "We still need to find out what happened to the boy during that period. Secondly we need establish how they met; the guy uses Craigslist, so that's one line of enquiry but he also picks up rent boys. We can't rule out the idea that Aled was on the game. I hope not, I'd hate that arsehole of a stepfather to be right but we better interview the local boys."

"Do you think they'll talk to us?"

"They probably will in a situation like this, it's in their best interests that we put this guy away for life."

"I think we should give West Midlands the weekend to interview the suspect and see what that throws up," Parsons opined, "If he admits everything then it's job done. If not, then we might have a better idea of how to proceed."

"That sounds reasonable," Pete responded. At least it would keep his weekend free for Josh.

"Any plans for the weekend?" It was as if the man could read his mind.

"Yes, my cousin's kid is coming down to stay. She's a single mum and wants me to be a bit of a father figure and male role model for him." The lie rolled easily off his tongue.

Parsons laughed, "You mean you're stuck with parental responsibility after all and he's not even your sprog."

"It's the best of both worlds really," Pete answered, "I get to do all the fun weekend bits and then hand him back to his mother for the boring day to day stuff."

"Well, best of luck," Parsons looked at his watch, "It's nearly five, you might as well call it a day and prepare for the little monster."

Pete went home to shower and change, he wanted to be in casual clothes when he met Josh. He called Kate to let her know that he was on his way and set off for Bachgen Caru.

* * *

After hanging up the phone, Kate went into her son's bedroom and started to prepare an overnight bag for him. She packed washing gear and spare clothes and initially included pyjamas but then changed her mind; somehow she doubted that he'd need them. Josh was in the living room watching TV; she hadn't told him about the weekend, partly to avoid disappointment if Pete had to cancel and partly because she wanted to watch his reaction when he found out. She still had a nagging doubt that she was doing the right thing and his reaction to the news would be very instructive; she could still call it off if necessary.

When the bell rang Kate answered and showed Pete into the living room. From the doorway she could see her son's face when he caught sight of the man and it instantly lit up with pleasure. "Pete!" he exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

Pete turned with a puzzled look, "Haven't you told him?"

"No I thought it would make a nice surprise."

"What's going on?" the boy asked.

"You're going to spend the weekend with me. Assuming you want to, of course."

Josh bounded out of his seat and almost flew across the room. Pete found a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and a small head pressed firmly against his chest. He smiled and his hands went to the boy automatically; the left rubbing his back while the right stroked the top of his head. Any misgivings Kate had were instantly dispelled; her son's joy was self-evident but the tender manner in which man caressed him was indicative of deeper emotions than mere lust.

Josh broke free and turned to hug his mother. "Thanks mum, you're the best."

The first time Pete had driven Josh to Cardiff had been an awkward, uncomfortable experience. This time they were relaxed in each other's company and the boy chattered away non-stop. He wanted to know how this miracle had happened and the man explained to the best of his ability. "Your mum is a very special woman. She's breaking the law and contravening some of society's biggest taboos because your happiness is the most important thing in the world to her. I hope you appreciate that, if people find out about us I won't be the only person in trouble, she will be too. I know you won't tell anyone deliberately but you'll have to be very careful not to let anything slip by mistake."

"Don't worry, I'll be super-careful. I'd never do anything to hurt the two people I love."

By now it was nearly 7.00 and neither had eaten, so Pete pulled-in to the Cardiff Bay McDonalds. They were both keen to get back to the flat as soon as possible, so he went to the drive thru' and they were on their way again fairly quickly. A few minutes later they were sitting in Pete's living room, devouring their meal in eager anticipation of what lay ahead.

The big advantage of fast food is that there's no washing up and within sixty seconds of finishing his final mouthful, Pete was sitting on the couch with one happy little boy perched on his lap. They were back where they'd started two nights previously; Josh with his arms around the man's neck and Pete with his circling the boy's waist. Their lips met and tongues touched, each taking its turn to push forward before withdrawing to allow the other to take charge. There was no rush; they had all weekend after all, so the kiss seemed to go on for ever, while Pete's hands moved up inside the boy's T-shirt to caress the smooth skin of his back.

Finally they broke apart and, as they did so, Pete slipped off the lad's top. Josh took his lead and did the same for the man, allowing them to take turns on one another's nipples. Jeans and underwear soon followed and Pete lay back along the couch, positioning Josh above him in a classic 69. The boy got to work straight away, concentrating on the first couple of inches, as he'd been advised to do. The difference in their sizes made things rather awkward for Pete but he was able to manoeuvre into a position where he was able lick Josh's perineum and suck on his little balls. By pulling the boy's cocklet back between his spread thighs, he was able to suckle on it as well.

Neither was interested in extending their climax too long but Josh had the better angle, so it was the man who came first, pumping several ropes of thick, creamy spunk down the lad's throat. Once he had finished, Pete shifted position and gave the boy's three inch rod a complete working over, until he shuddered to a dry orgasm. Josh spun around and they kissed again, sharing the taste of Pete's cum while he kneaded the boy's arse cheeks and ran his middle finger up and down the lad's crevice and around his pucker.

Suddenly Josh disentangled himself and sat up. He climbed down from the couch and, warning Pete not to go away, scampered out of the living room. A few moments later he trotted back in, holding a tube of lube, "Look what I found in the bedroom!" he said, sporting a huge grin and another hard-on.

`Fuck!' Pete thought to himself, `the little cock hound is going to wear me out.'

Pete, being a mere adult, wasn't yet ready for round two, so Josh had to use his new-found oral skills to entice the man's cock back to life. Once he'd achieved his aim, the boy anointed it with lube before turning to present his arse to Pete, "Get me ready, please." Pete pulled Josh close, spread his cheeks and rimmed him, while the boy squirmed and squeaked in ecstasy. After a few minutes of this he stopped, took a bead of lube on his finger and rubbed around the lad's anus before inserting one, two and then three lubed digits into his tight hole. When he was satisfied that he'd done all he could, he withdrew his fingers and said, "OK you're ready, what do you want to do now?" The boy was obviously taking charge of the situation and Pete was happy to let him.

Josh turned around and crouched with his arse above Pete's cock. He held it in place and lowered himself down but found that it wasn't as straightforward as he'd expected to get the man's penis into his hole. Pete helped him out, holding his throbbing member and aiming it at the target while Josh lowered himself again. This time he succeeded and the man's cockhead slipped past the boy's defences and entered paradise. He stopped for a few moments as he accustomed himself to the invader and then continued until, as before, it met resistance with a couple of inches still outside. This time Josh was determined to take the whole thing. He relaxed as much as possible and allowed gravity to do its job; the final inch disappearing inside him as Pete's glans buried itself in the boy's bowels.

There was a fair bit pain again, as much as during the very first penetration, so the boy stopped for a second time until the worst of it had gone. During this period Pete caressed his flanks and rubbed his nipples, whispering encouragement as he did so. When he was ready, Josh took a deep breath and began to raise and lower his body, fucking himself slowly on the man's rigid cock. The boy's own cocklet had shrivelled away just as it had the first time, so Pete took it between his thumb and forefinger and started to wank it. Once the lad was hard again, Pete let go; Josh leaned back, with his hands on the man's thighs and speeded up, his arse cheeks slapping against Pete's body each time he dropped down. At this angle his little prostate was taking a pounding, his breaths becoming shorter and louder, turning into gasps which indicated that his climax was close. When his orgasm hit, Josh groaned loudly, arched his back and froze; his sphincter clamping onto the man's cock as he did so. Pete gasped as well from the pressure that was applied to his penis but it turned into a chuckle as he watched the lad's rock hard three inches twitching and jumping; the only part of the boy's body that seemed to move.

Pete sat up and wrapped Josh in his arms, just in time to support the boy's weight as he slumped backwards. He flipped them over, withdrew his cock from the lad's arse, straddled him and began jerking off, cumming just as the boy recovered and opened his eyes. This second load was more watery than his first, the juice squirting onto the lad's cheeks, chin and chest. Pete leaned forward, licked some of it up and kissed Josh deeply. Then he went back for more, repeating the process until he'd cleaned all his cum from the boy's face and body. He gathered his young lover in his arms and they settled into their, by now customary, post-coital spoon position.

They lay like that for a while, until Pete had to take a leak and he was surprised to see that it was after 10.00. Time certainly does fly when you're enjoying yourself. When he returned to the living room Josh was sitting up expectantly with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Can we watch one of your boy films, please?" he asked. "I'd like to see one with a boy who looks like me."

Pete unlocked his special drawer and selected a DVD, which included a half hour scene with a ten year old emo boy, who resembled Josh to a certain extent. The lad wasn't as pretty as his own boy but, as Josh was small for his age, they were of similar size and build.

Josh sat in Pete's lap, back to chest, with his legs dangling on the outside of the man's thighs. Throughout the film Pete massaged the boy's chest with one hand, while fondling his genitals with the other. He kept the lad on edge, stopping a couple of times when he thought he might be about to climax, while Josh gasped and wriggled and tutted in frustration each time he was denied an orgasm. When the scene was over the boy rose to his feet, turned around and thrust his erection towards Pete's face. "Do me now, please," he implored.

Pete was happy to comply. Taking the stiff boy-cock into his mouth, he reached between the boy's legs and inserted a lubed digit into his's rectum, curling it until he had placed the fingertip onto his prostate. Josh began to hump into the man's mouth which caused him to simultaneously fuck himself on the finger. Half an hour of being edged while watching man/boy porn, followed by genital and anal stimulation, was all too much for the horny twelve year old. His climax hit like an express train making him feel as if his lower body was being turned inside out. He gave one final thrust and squealed in ecstasy before slumping against the man, who lowered the boy back down onto his lap and held him against his chest until he had recovered.

Josh opened his eyes, looked up and smiled, "I love you," he said.

"I love you too," Pete replied and they kissed for several minutes. Then he scooped the lad up, switched off the living room lights and carried an already sleeping Josh through to the bed, where man soon joined boy in dreamland.

 

SATURDAY

 

This time it was Pete who woke first and he headed into the bathroom to carry out his morning ablutions. When he returned Josh still hadn't woken so he was able to spend several, thoroughly enjoyable minutes, sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing down at his beautiful, naked boy as he slept. At last the lad woke and stretched, before opening his eyes to see the man looking down at him.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," said Pete, as he planted a chaste peck on the boy's forehead. A small pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck and drew their lips together for a proper kiss.

"That's more like it," Josh told him as they broke apart. "I'm your boyfriend, not your son."

Pete laughed and said, "Whatever you are, you smell of sex, so get your skinny arse into the shower."

Josh climbed down, stood at the side of the bed and peered over his shoulder, trying to get a view of his backside. "My bum is not skinny!" he protested, "It's . . . it's pert."

Pete laughed again, "Well, get your pert arse into the shower then," he said, giving the subject of discussion a friendly slap.

They both had corn flakes followed by toast for breakfast; Pete made a mental note to buy the cereal that Josh had at home if this was going to become regular occurrence. He tried to remember what the stuff was called; `chocolate frosted sugar bombs' or was that what Calvin in the cartoon strip liked?

When the breakfast things had been cleared away (Josh volunteered to wash up again), Pete asked the boy if there was anything he wanted to do. "I mean outside," he explained, when he saw the wicked grin on his face. "There will be plenty of time for that later."

Josh didn't have any preference, so Pete suggested a visit to Techniquest, as the boy hadn't been before. Techniquest is a sort of science museum, with hands-on, interactive exhibits and Josh thoroughly enjoyed himself. Pete was a little self-conscious to start with, as he wasn't used to being out in public in the company of a young boy. A lot of fathers only get to see their kids at weekends, however and once he realised that there were several other single men with children, Pete relaxed and found that he was having just as much fun as Josh. They spent the late morning and early afternoon there, having lunch in the café, before taking a leisurely walk around Mermaid Quay.

December isn't the best month for wandering round Cardiff Bay, so they headed over to the Red Dragon Centre and went bowling. It was Josh's first time and Pete wasn't exactly an expert, so they had a lot of fun laughing at each other's efforts. The boy was a quick learner, however, so by their third and final game they were so closely matched that Pete was able to let him win without making it obvious.

They checked out what was on at the Odeon and Josh picked a film that he wanted to see, which was due to start at 7.00. That gave them enough time to `pig-out' at the Oriental Garden buffet; which was probably a mistake, as Pete slept through most of a movie that didn't interest him.

"That was so embarrassing," the boy complained, as they walked the short distance back to Pete's flat. "You snored all the way through, I thought I'd die."

"That's what you get for going out with an old man," Pete retorted. "Maybe you should stick to boys your own age."

"No chance!" Josh exclaimed, "But you're going to have to make up for it."

When they arrived at Pete's place, he made a big deal of yawning and stretching, "It's 9.30 and it's been a long day," he said, "We should probably have an early night."

If looks could kill, Pete would've been a smoking heap on the carpet. "I don't think so," the boy replied, in mock indignation. "You had plenty of sleep in the cinema."

"OK, you win," the man replied with a grin. "What do you want to do?"

"Teach me how to deep throat, please."

"Well I can give you some tips but it's really just a matter of practice," Pete told him.

A few moments later they were stripped and settled on the couch, the man sitting at one end with the boy kneeling alongside him. For the next half an hour or so Josh worked on Pete's cock, backing off every time he gagged but gradually taking more and more into his throat. Meanwhile the man gave him pointers and encouragement, while rubbing his back and buttocks and reaching down to fondle his genitals. At last the boy pulled off and admitted that his throat couldn't take any more this time.

"Hey, you've done very well," Pete praised him. "I reckon you had four or five inches there, I'm sure you'll get it all next time."

"Do you really think so?" Josh asked, a slight hoarseness failing to disguise the pride in his voice.

"Definitely," he assured the boy.

By this time Josh had climbed onto Pete's lap and they kissed for several minutes, before he asked, "Can we do what they did in the film last night?"

"Which bit do you mean?" Pete asked in turn.

"They fucked while the man was standing up with the boy in his arms, I'd love to try that."

"You'll be the death of me, Josh Morgan," Pete groaned. "Come on then, let's do it in the bedroom. At least I'll be able to collapse on the bed when I'm exhausted."

Josh lay on his back with his arse at the edge of the bed. Pete knelt in front of the boy, pushed his legs back to expose his hole and began to rim him. When the lad was loose enough for the man's tongue to penetrate his anus, he switched to lubed fingers, stretching the hole in preparation for the main event. Once this was done he sat on the bed and applied a liberal coating of lubricant to his raging hard-on. Josh moved over, straddled the man and lowered himself, while Pete directed his cock at the boy's anus. The lad gasped as the cockhead entered and then smiled as the pleasure took over from the brief moment of pain. When he was fully impaled he clasped his arms around the man's neck, while Pete put one arm around the boy's back and the other under his buttocks.

Pete got to his feet and adjusted the boy's position, to make himself more comfortable. As he did so, Josh slipped down and the final inch disappeared into his rectum bringing a groan from the lad. "Are you OK baby?" he asked anxiously and was reassured by the boy's smile and nod. Josh wrapped his legs around the man's waist and they began to move, the boy sliding up and down while Pete moved in opposition, thrusting in when Josh dropped and pulling out as he rose. It wasn't particularly comfortable for either of them but the sensations were exquisite and Pete knew that he wouldn't last very long; he hadn't cum since the night before, after all.

Discomfort won out over pleasure, however and Pete was forced to lay Josh down before they climaxed. There was a chest of drawers opposite the bed which Pete cleared with a sweep of his hand; there wasn't anything breakable on it. He laid the boy on it lengthways and bent his legs back so that his feet were pressed against his own pecs, gripped his thighs and started to fuck him vigorously. The height of the furniture meant that he was fucking with a slight upwards angle and he was hitting the boy's gland with every stroke. Pete grunted with each thrust, while Josh gasped and writhed in ecstasy and they continued like this until they had their first simultaneous orgasm. The man's final, climactic push coincided with the boy's sphincter clamping down onto his cock and they both yelled out in pure pleasure as the larger cock pumped out its creamy load while the smaller one tried but failed to do the same.

Pete withdrew and carried Josh over to the bed, where they snuggled up in their usual position. He nuzzled the boy's neck and gently caressed his body as they whispered endearments to one another. Eventually Pete found that Josh wasn't replying, so he stopped speaking as well and soon joined his boy in sleep.

 

SUNDAY

 

For the second time in three days, Pete woke to find his cock being sucked by a beautiful young boy. He couldn't think of a better way to wake up but, if such a thing existed, then he would love to try it because it would have to be out of this world. Josh was to the side of Pete, half kneeling and half lying across his lower body. He was resting on his left arm and holding the man's cock in his right hand while his mouth was lavishing attention on it. As he had learned the previous evening, this position gave him a far better angle and made it easier to get a cock into his throat than a frontal approach did.

For the umpteenth time Josh took a deep breath, relaxed his throat muscles and lowered his head. Pete watched as his six inches slowly disappeared, shaking his head in disbelief. It was inconceivable that such a small boy would be able to take it all, even if it wasn't exactly of porn star proportions. Finally Josh felt his lips touch Pete's body and the man's trimmed pubes brush against his cheek. He pulled off, spluttering a little but with a look of triumph on his face. "Well done baby, I told you that you'd do it," Pete congratulated him.

Now that he'd succeeded, the boy wasn't about to stop and he proceeded to lick, suck and deep throat the man with gusto; bringing him to orgasm within a few, earth-shattering minutes. The first load went straight down the lad's gullet but he pulled back in time to take the remainder into his mouth, swallowing some of it but keeping enough to share with the man once he was spent.

They kissed for a short time before Pete rolled over on top of the boy and began to kiss and lick his way down his flawless, pale body. He stopped briefly to give some attention to Josh's nipples and again when he reached his navel but he was on a mission and, before long, was giving the boy's cock and balls plenty of loving action. Josh squirmed and squealed as Pete worked him over and it wasn't long before he too had enjoyed a morning climax.

They showered together this time, which meant there was as much fondling and arse grabbing as there was washing and the whole thing took longer than two separate showers would have. Of course, this way was much more fun and it was Sunday after all, so there was no rush to get ready.

Pete made his normal Sunday fry-up; bacon, sausage, egg, tomato, baked beans and fried bread all found their way onto his plate. Josh, with his customary bowl of corn flakes in front of him, turned up his nose and said, "Yuck, how can you eat that at this time of the day?"

"I put it into my mouth, chew and swallow. Simples," Pete replied, before demonstrating exactly how it was done.

"Oh, ha-ha, very funny," the boy responded.

(`Simples' is a catchphrase from a series of British TV commercials).

After breakfast Pete asked Josh if he'd like to take a trip to Porthcawl. He explained to the boy about his parents' deaths and how he needed to clear out their cottage. He suggested that they could do that first and then have a day at the seaside. Josh offered his commiserations and agreed to Pete's idea; as long as they were together, anything was fine by him.

* * *

Porthcawl is about twenty five miles west of Cardiff and it took them forty minutes from Pete's place to his parent's cottage. Porthcawl was originally a coal port but, when larger ports took most of its business away, the town became a holiday resort. In its heyday it was very popular, especially during the miners' fortnight but, like most British resorts, cheap flights to warmer climates had led to a decline. As a boy, Pete had spent most of his summer holidays in Porthcawl and his parents had retired to the town after the local mine closed.

Clearing out his parents' effects was a sad chore but one that had to be done. He set aside the things that he wanted to keep and then bagged up their clothes and a few sellable items to give to the local charity shop. What remained would have to be thrown out and Pete made a mental note to arrange for it to be collected. When he was finished, he gave the cottage a quick clean and then looked it over. "They lived here for nearly twenty years," he told Josh, sadly. "I'll be sorry to see the place go."

They drove down to the centre of town and found a café where they enjoyed a light lunch. Afterwards they took a walk along the esplanade, Josh wanted to go to the end of the pier, so they went out to the little lighthouse and watched the waves as they crashed into the stone structure. By 2.30 they'd had enough and returned to the car for the short journey back to Cardiff.

Josh was keen to go bowling again, so they parked the car at Pete's flat and walked over to the Red Dragon Centre. They played three games again and this time Pete didn't have to let the boy win, he won two out of three through his own efforts. After the bowling Josh announced that he was hungry, so they went over to Mermaid Quay and had dinner at Nando's.

As they walked back to the flat, Pete and Josh were engrossed in conversation when a voice interrupted, "Good evening, Inspector Williams."

Pete looked over and was surprised to see Simon Devine smiling at him. "Oh, hi there Mr Devine, how are you? I thought you were away this weekend."

"I'm very well, thank you. I've just got back and I'm going to get a bite to eat. I see on TV that you've managed to catch the killer."

"Nothing to do with me, I'm afraid. There's a man being questioned but it's too early to say that he's definitely the killer."

Devine turned his attention to the boy, "Who's your companion?"

"This is Josh, he's my nephew . . . eh cousin . . . that is to say, his mother's my cousin." Pete stumbled over his cover story; obviously he would have to work on it a bit harder.

"Well, whoever he is, he's just adorable," Devine replied. He looked straight at Pete, smiled and continued, "You're very fortunate." Before Pete could respond he had taken his leave and continued on his way.

Pete shivered, he felt sure that Devine had seen right through him. The man seemed to know exactly what sort of relationship he had with Josh.

"Who was that?" the boy asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"He's one of my neighbours," Pete replied. It was an honest answer, even if it wasn't the whole truth. Pete didn't see any reason to complicate matters, by trying to explain that the man they had just spoken to was the same man Josh had seen with Aled back in June.

"He seemed nice."

"You think any man is nice just because he pays you a compliment," Pete retorted. "I can see that I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you."

Josh laughed, "Don't worry. You're the only man for me. Until I find something better of course," he added, moving smartly away, to avoid the hand that had been aimed at his backside.

When they returned to the flat Josh packed his bag and they climbed into Pete's car for the journey back up to Bachgen Caru. This trip was a quiet one, the boy deep in thought and not in the mood for talking as he had been on the way down. When they arrived at the Morgan home there was no need to knock, Josh let them in. Kate greeted them as they walked into the living room and hugged her son. "Did you have a good time?" she asked.

"It was alright I suppose," the boy responded, looking glum. "I might do it again sometime, if I have to." Then, seeing the look on his mother's face, he burst out laughing, "I had a brilliant time really."

Kate laughed along with him and asked, "What did you get up to then?"

"We went bowling, we saw a movie and we went to the seaside," Josh replied. "I don't think you want to know what else we did," he added with a leer.

"No, I think you better keep those details to yourselves." Kate turned to Pete and thanked him for everything he'd done for Josh.

"It was my pleasure," he replied. He felt somewhat embarrassed that the woman should thank him for spending the weekend fucking her twelve-year-old son, "If Josh is up for it and you're still happy with things, I'm sure we can arrange for him to visit again."

Kate kissed him on the cheek and bid him goodnight. Josh hugged him and then their lips met and they kissed in front of someone else for the first time.

When Pete left Josh turned to his mother and said wistfully, "I wish the three of us could live together."

"That wouldn't be very practical," Kate replied.

"You could marry him," the boy suggested.

"You want me to marry your lover!" Kate exclaimed, with a laugh. "Can you really see me lying in the spare room, listening to my husband and son going at it all night?"

"No, I suppose not," Josh responded with a giggle. "It was just a silly idea."

For someone who had lived alone all his adult life, loneliness was an alien concept to Pete but he suddenly found a huge, Josh shaped hole in his life. He felt it in the quiet car on the journey back to Cardiff, he felt it in the silent emptiness of his flat and he felt it most of all in bed, where there was no warm, smooth boy to hold and caress as he fell asleep. He tossed and turned for several hours before getting up and going to the laundry basket, where he found the towel that Josh had used that weekend sitting on top of the pile. He picked it up and held it to his face, recognising the faint smell of the boy that lingered on it. He returned to bed and snuggled into the towel, like a small child with a blanket. Finally, with Josh's scent to soothe him, he drifted off to sleep.

 

 

MONDAY

 

It was a tired DI Williams who slumped heavily into his chair at work the following morning. "Someone had a good weekend," Julie Hopkins called over from her own desk. "I hope she was worth it."

Pete laughed off the comment, `if only she knew,' he thought. He turned his attention to the case; somehow he had to link this delivery driver from Stoke with Cardiff. He was just weighing up his options when DCI Parsons stuck his head around his office door and called Pete in for a meeting.

"He's been released," Parsons said bluntly, as soon as Pete had closed the office door. "So it's back to square one I'm afraid."

"Why, what went wrong?"

"They got him because he'd arranged to meet Sam Walters through Craigslist on the night he was killed. He insisted that Sam didn't turn up, so he went to a gay bar and picked up another guy instead. His alibi checked out, the other guy swears they were together at the time Sam was killed."

"West Midlands haven't had the best of luck with this guy, have they? He isn't Irish by any chance?" Pete asked with a grin.

"Ouch! That was a bit below the belt," Parson retorted but he smiled as well, at the reference to West Midlands Police's most infamous cock-up. "Any ideas as to how you intend to proceed?"

"Well, so far we've been concentrating on Aled Griffiths because that's what we were asked to do. Maybe we should look at the case as a whole and see how our boy fits in. The first victim, or the first we know about, was possibly bound, strangled and the naked body hidden fairly well with a screwdriver in his arse. The second, a month later, was a rent boy who was found where he was killed, partially clothed but also with a screwdriver in him. The third, another month on, was almost identical to the second; that was when the press started the `Rent Boy Ripper' thing. Then we have a two month gap to the fourth victim, very similar to the first, except the body isn't hidden."

"We've ruled out different killers, so why two distinct methods?" Parsons asked.

"Let's look at it from the killer's perspective; sex offences are about power and control, not sex. The first and fourth bodies weren't found where they were killed, they look like BDSM games taken to the ultimate extreme. Normally in that type of relationship there are carefully defined limits and safe words to prevent things going too far. Our guy ignores all the rules, he ties up his victim and exercises total control over them, except for him that's not enough, he's got to kill them to get his rocks off. He needs somewhere private to carry out his activities, probably close to either here or Bristol. Where the first victim was hidden suggests local knowledge, which makes a South Wales killer most likely."

"That still doesn't explain the other two."

"Perhaps they were just a smokescreen," Pete suggested.

"A smokescreen? What do you mean by that?" Parsons asked, puzzled.

"There's possibly a link between the killer and his first victim, so he hides the body and carries out another two random murders in a similar manner. That starts a frenzy in the tabloids, by the time he carries out the fourth killing and we find the first body, it's all about the `Rent Boy Ripper'. He isn't interested in rent boys particularly and he's probably laughing his socks off every time he hears the name. West Midlands Police have fallen into the same trap; because of the two rent boys they're looking for casual pick-ups and go chasing the Craigslist angle. I reckon our guy selects his real victims through social acquaintance.

"It's all a bit thin," Parsons said, "There's a lot of guesswork involved."

"It's only a theory but it fits the facts."

"Sam Walters was last seen the day before he died but Aled Griffiths was missing for a considerable time before he was killed, why the difference?"

"Well, it can't be easy for one person to tie up another against their will, the victims probably allowed themselves to be bound as part of a sex game. Walters was older, he was an experienced and promiscuous guy. The killer probably persuaded him to take part fairly quickly. Aled was a younger, less experienced boy and possibly it took six weeks before . . ." Pete stopped in mid-sentence.

"What's wrong?" Parsons asked.

Pete held up a hand to silence his superior and closed his eyes. He felt that he was close to something important; it was like a shadow in the mist, just out of reach and not fully discernible. There was something about `six weeks' that was important, someone else had mentioned that time frame fairly recently but who and when? Gradually the mist cleared and the shadow firmed-up into something more substantial. Pete opened his eyes, looked at Parsons and smiled, "Gotcha!" he exclaimed.

"Got who?"

"Mr Simon `too-clever-by-half' Devine, that's who."

"Why him?"

"Think about it, he only told us about his `date' with Aled because he had to. If he hadn't come forward and someone else had identified him, he'd have been interviewed under caution with tape recorders and all the works. We'd have been highly sceptical about his story and looked into it more closely. By volunteering the information he manages to look like an innocent man who was too embarrassed to come forward earlier."

"Do you mean he made it all up?"

"No, I'm sure he took the boy to the theatre and restaurant just as he said. I'm also sure that Aled stayed overnight at his place and they started a sexual relationship but he didn't take him back to Rhimyn the next day. Aled stayed with Devine right up until the day he killed the boy."

"What makes you so sure?"

"When I first spoke to Devine, I only had the preliminary date of death, four to six months. That meant any time between mid-June and mid-August and I assumed that it would be closer to June because that was when the boy disappeared. I didn't get the firm date until Thursday and I was surprised to find out that Aled had died in early August. When Devine made his statement on Friday he said that he didn't realise that his meeting with the boy was important because it had taken place six weeks before his death. How did he know that, unless he killed him?"

"OK, that's enough to make him a suspect," Parsons said thoughtfully, "But we'll need a hell of a lot more if we're going to bring him in for questioning. Some hard evidence or a link to the other victims would be a good start."

Pete returned to his desk and gave some thought to the problem his boss had set him. Another vague memory from Friday came back to him. During his conversation with Brian Holden, the Bristol man mentioned that Devine had been recognised by the manager of Brunel Gallery, although he hadn't been there for six months and couldn't have met Sam Walters. Devine's appearance had changed since then, however but when Pete had tried to point this out he had been overwhelmed by the news that the killer had been caught. Of course, now they knew that the suspect hadn't been the killer at all, so Pete needed to establish whether or not Devine had been back to Bristol since he'd changed his appearance.

He pulled up the Devine Designs website and found a page called, `About Us'. Right at the top was a good, head and shoulders photograph of Devine in his current guise. Pete right clicked and saved the image to his computer and then attached it to an email, which he sent to Holden. He then called Holden to let him know that the email was on its way and asked him to show the picture to the manager of Brunel Gallery.

He was on a roll now and a third snippet of information from Friday found its way to the forefront of his mind. Devine had spent the weekend at an exhibition in Southampton but hadn't driven back to Cardiff each day, he'd stayed at a hotel. The admin girl, Megan, had said that he always used Prime Inns, so that suggested that he regularly travelled and stayed in hotels. He opened Google Maps, went to Birmingham and searched for Prime Inn. "Well, well, who'd have believed it?" he spoke aloud to himself. The Prime Inn, Birmingham practically overlooked the park where the first rent boy had been killed.

He did the same for Manchester and wasn't in the least surprised to find that the Prime Inn in that city was only quarter of a mile from the warehouse where the second rent boy had been found. Two phone calls confirmed that a Mr Simon Devine had indeed been resident at the said hotels, on the dates in question.

He was typing a brief summary of events when Brian Holden called, the manager of Brunel Gallery had recognised the picture and the man had visited within the past two months, although she couldn't be certain that he'd met Sam Walters.

Pete completed his written summary and went to see Parsons to explain what he'd discovered. "We've got a link to all four victims," he said, "We've got enough to bring him in for questioning and to get a search warrant. Hopefully that'll give us the hard evidence we need to charge him." He left Parsons to pass the information up the chain of command and went for lunch.

When he returned he found that everything had been arranged. Search warrants had been issued for both Devine's home and his workplace, all that remained was to arrest the man. There was one piece of bad news for Pete, however; two senior officers from the inquiry HQ were coming over to conduct the interview. "I'm sure they'll let you sit-in," Parsons said, trying to placate his disgruntled DI.

Pete decided against playing second fiddle and opted to join the search team instead. They accompanied the arresting officers and went to Devine Designs first. After the owner had been taken into custody, the shocked staff were questioned and sent home. The premises were then systematically searched but nothing incriminating was found. They moved on to the man's home and Pete found himself in a top floor flat somewhat larger than his own modest place a short distance away. It was tastefully furnished in a modern style and Pete reckoned that if it was typical of Devine's professional work then his company deserved to be successful.

The second search proved to be as fruitless as the first; they didn't find a single shred of evidence to support the idea that Devine was any sort of criminal, let alone a perverted sex killer. The man had cycled to work that day and kept his car in a garage on the ground floor of the building. It was a red Mercedes SLK but neither it nor the garage yielded any more than the flat or the design company had. "I can't see anyone transporting bodies around the country in that thing," one of the officers remarked.

"No, neither can I," Pete responded, disconsolately. "I can't see anyone torturing and killing young men in that flat either." The search had been a bust and he phoned DCI Parsons to pass on the bad news. Unless Devine had cracked under questioning they had no hard evidence to charge the man.

When the rest of the search team had gone, he went into the cupboard in the hall to reset the alarm. Next to the alarm box there was a row of four hooks on which Devine kept keys. There were neat labels under three of the hooks but the fourth was unlabelled and a set of what appeared to be house keys was hanging from it. Pete picked them up, looked at them and then dropped them into his pocket. He didn't know what they were for but he was curious, so he decided that he'd better ask Devine about them.

It was just after 8.30 when a depressed DI Williams trudged into Cardiff Bay Police Station. He was surprised to find the CID office in darkness and headed down to the interview rooms to find them all empty. He went to the front desk and was amazed to be informed that Devine had been released on police bail and the West Midlands officers had returned home.

He called Parsons on his mobile, "They only questioned him for five hours," he complained. "They could have kept him in overnight at least."

"It's their case and they made the call," he said. "We'll discuss it in the morning." The DCI obviously wasn't prepared to give explanations over the phone.

He went home and microwaved some frozen, leftover chilli but found that he had no appetite and half of it went into the bin. There was an email from Josh in his in-box and the boy had attached a naked picture of himself. He replied, telling him how sexy he looked but warned him not to repeat the stunt, it was dangerous and an unnecessary risk.

Pete spent a second night tossing and turning but this time it wasn't thoughts of Josh that were the cause of his insomnia. He had been convinced that Devine was the killer but he didn't have a single hard fact to back up his suspicions and now he began to doubt himself. He still wanted to question the man about the keys but there was another nagging thought at the back of his mind; some other detail that he'd missed.

 

TUESDAY

 

The following morning found Pete sitting in DCI Parsons' office at 8.30. "OK, we haven't got any hard evidence but we could've held him for a while and put some pressure on. He admits picking Aled up in Rhimyn but he didn't use his own car, so where's the vehicle he drove that day? Plus I wanted to ask about these," he held up the keys he'd found in Devine's flat.

"I hope you've recorded the fact that you took those," Parsons warned.

"Yeah, we didn't take much but they're on the list. Why was he released so quickly?"

"The interviewing officers weren't as convinced about your theory as I was. When the word came through that the search hadn't turned up anything they decided to release him."

"How did he explain knowing about the six week gap between Aled's disappearance and his death?" Pete asked.

"He insisted that you must've mentioned it during the interview. It was a witness statement and wasn't recorded, so it's your word against his." Parsons explained.

"That's bullshit!" Pete exploded. "What about the links to the four killings?"

"He stuck solidly to his original story that he dropped Aled off in Rhimyn. He admitted that he'd been to Brunel Gallery but was adamant that he didn't know Sam Walters. When he was shown a photo of the boy he said that he might've seen him but had never spoken to him. Unless we can find a witness to the contrary there isn't much there."

"And the rent boys?"

"There were trade shows in both cities on the weekends in question, lots of people stayed in hotels near where the boys were killed on both occasions. Devine named five or six off the top of his head. I'm sorry Pete, it's all circumstantial and without physical evidence we've got nothing to charge him with."

"It wouldn't have hurt to hold him overnight." Pete insisted.

"I agree and we were going to but his lawyer kicked up a stink. He started talking about harassment and insisted that his client had to visit his mother. Apparently she's in a nursing home."

"What did you say? Oh my God, I've been an idiot!" Suddenly everything became clear, "Devine is Mrs Davies' son, that's the link."

"Are you sure? Lots of people have mothers in care homes, you know," Parsons said doubtfully.

"I'll need to check it out but I'm fairly sure. When I went to Devine Designs last week I asked for Mrs Davies' address; Devine said the admin girl had all the details and went to get it for me. On Friday when I was trying to get information about the son, I phoned the company and the girl didn't have any details at all, she said Devine had arranged everything. He was hiding his link to the woman all along."

Pete drove the short distance to Penarth, where he showed the staff at the Golden Years Nursing Home his photograph of Devine, which they confirmed was a perfect match for Mrs Davies' son. He called Parsons, "We'll have to bring Devine back in and we'll need a search warrant for his mother's house." The DCI agreed and Pete said he'd meet the search team at the house.

* * *

The bus journey from Bachgen Caru to Rhimyn hadn't been the worst that Josh had experienced. There were one or two abusive comments but that was par for the course; the trip home would be worse, it always was. As he made his way from the bus stop to the school gates he heard his name being called and looked round in surprise. A small, red, two-seat car was parked by the side of the road with the passenger window down. The driver leaned across the empty seat and beckoned the boy to approach, "Hi Josh," the man said with a friendly smile, "Remember me?"

Josh looked unsure at first but then recognised the face, "Oh, yes," he replied, "You're Pete's neighbour, I saw you on Sunday."

"That's right, I've got a message for you from Pete, get in."

Josh hesitated, he'd always been told not to get into cars with strangers but wasn't sure if this man counted as a stranger or not. "It's a special message," the man continued, "It's about you two; you know, your secret."

That made up the boy's mind for him, if Pete trusted the man enough that he knew about their relationship, then Josh could trust him too.

As the boy stepped into the car the window slid closed and, as he shut the door he became aware of an odd, chemical smell. Before he had a chance to comment on it, the man passed him an envelope with `Josh' printed on the front. He eagerly ripped it open; oblivious to what the man was doing next to him. The smell became much stronger and, as he looked up, the man placed a rag over his face. The smell was now overpowering and the boy struggled briefly before slumping into unconsciousness.

The man held the rag in place for a few seconds after the boy stopped struggling and then removed it. He looked around but no-one was paying any attention to the car, none of the passing pedestrians had seen a thing. He attached Josh's seat belt, started the engine and drove off, looking for a quiet spot where he could inject the boy with a tranquiliser which would keep out for longer than the solvent would.

Simon Devine had been an angry man when he'd been released the previous evening. His fool of a lawyer had told the police about his mother being in the nursing home, ruining all his efforts to keep that fact hidden. He'd visited the home; the lawyer had dropped him off there, so he had to make it look good, where he'd been told that the police had been looking for him. It hadn't come as a surprise because Megan had told him at work that DI Williams had called, asking for details of Mrs Davies' son. When he'd arrived home and found the keys to his mother's house missing, he'd known that it was only a matter of time before the cops put two and two together.

He was determined to go out with a bang, however and he knew exactly how he would do it. When he'd seen Williams with the pretty boy he'd known immediately that the pair were lovers, despite the man's feeble attempt to pass the lad off as a relative. The boy had looked familiar and, after giving the subject some thought, he'd worked out where he'd seen him before. He recovered his copy of Thursday's Echo from the recycling bin and scanned the lad's picture into his computer; the special one that he never connected to the internet and which held all of his private pictures and videos, as well as his journal. He had never bothered to password protect the computer, when they finally caught him he wanted the whole world to know what he'd done. Notoriety equals immortality.

He found the spot he required, pulled over and picked up the syringe from the door pocket, where it was lying, filled and ready to go. He reached over to the boy, pulled up his sleeve, found a vein and injected the tranquiliser. It wasn't the first time he'd used the stuff and he knew it would keep the lad unconscious until he got him to his play room. Then the fun would begin.

He drove down the A470 and onto the M4 but the traffic soon ground to a halt. He switched on the radio, to find that an accident near junction 34 had closed the motorway and he was now at the rear of the resultant tailback. It was a slow, stop-start journey to junction 33 where he left the M4 to head for Penarth. The journey was still slow as everyone else had been diverted onto the A4232 to avoid the accident. Fortunately most of the traffic came off at Culverhouse Cross, heading for the A48 and he made better time, leaving at the Ferry Road Interchange and heading into Penarth.

* * *

Pete pulled into the drive of Mrs Davies' house, switched off his engine and climbed out. It was a detached property with a porch concealing the door in the middle of the front wall. Two large bay windows flanked the porch, with further windows above those and a smaller one above the main entrance.

A garage stood to one side of the house, the old fashioned type with two wooden doors fastened with a hasp and padlock. Pete pulled out the bunch of keys which he'd found in Devine's flat, found one that was obviously for a padlock and opened the garage doors. Parked inside was a silver VW Passat estate car, just like the type of vehicle Josh had seen Aled getting into when Devine had collected him from school six months before. Pete left the car alone, the Mercedes might not have been the type of vehicle for transporting bodies around the country but this certainly was and he didn't want to destroy any evidence that the SOCO team might uncover.

The SOCOs turned up a few minutes later and the team leader directed two of them towards the garage while the rest, all suited up, joined Pete in entering the house. They gave the whole place a quick once over but didn't find anything obviously worthy of closer attention until they came to a door under the stairs. "That's an external door," the team leader noted, "You don't normally see those inside a house."

One of the keys on the bunch opened the door, which turned out to be the entrance to the cellar. A switch just inside lit a set of steep wooden steps, which Pete and the team leader descended. At the bottom there was another switch, Pete pressed it and the whole cellar was illuminated by dazzling, white lights. "Jesus!" the SOCO exclaimed, "It's a fucking torture chamber."

It was an apt description; there were numerous pieces of equipment including wall mounted restraints, a St Andrew's cross and a sling hanging from the ceiling beams. There were also various whips, paddles and other devices attached to the walls. What they were looking at was actually a well-equipped BDSM `play room'. In the wrong hands, however, a room such as this could easily become a place of torture or indeed death.

In one corner there was a selection of photographic and video gear and next to them was a desk with a computer on it. Pete switched on the PC, it fired up and automatically logged-on with no password required. There were a number of folders on the desktop and right at the top was one marked `ALED', he opened it and found numerous photo and video files. They were dated rather than named and the last one was from early August; with a feeling of dread, Pete clicked to start the video.

He had watched a few BDSM porn films before, so what he saw didn't bother him too much. When the man dressed in leather slipped a noose round neck of the figure strapped to the cross, however, he suddenly felt queasy as he realised that he was watching a boy's murder. He was aware of the existence of `snuff films' of course but had never actually seen one before. When it was over the man turned to switch off the camera and he looked at the exultant face of Simon Devine.

"The fucking sick bastard!" Pete turned to find the SOCO team leader looking over his shoulder. "They need to bring back the death penalty for animals like that," he continued.

"Put your emotions to one side," Pete warned him, "We need to make sure we do everything properly. Dot every `I' and cross every `T'; we don't want this `sick bastard', as you so rightly called him, getting off on a technicality."

While the SOCOs went about their work, Pete scanned the rest of the desktop folders. One name jumped out at him, `JOSH'. There was only one image in this folder, it had been scanned from the previous Thursday's South Wales Echo, the photo they'd published of Josh to go with the story about Aled's death. Instead of a date it had a title, `THE COP'S BOY".

"His punctuation isn't very good," the team leader was looking over his shoulder again.

"What do you mean?" Pete asked.

"He's saying that's our witness," the man replied, "The apostrophe should be after the `S' in cops."

Pete knew that the man was wrong; Devine hadn't been referring to Josh's status as the cops' witness. He had seen Josh with Pete and had recognised their relationship for what it really was. With a horrible, sinking feeling he realised that his boy was in terrible danger.

He pulled out his phone but he had no signal in the cellar. He ran up the stairs, out into the front garden and called Parsons, "Have you got him?" he asked.

"He didn't turn up to work this morning and he's not at home. We've circulated his description and car registration, all patrol vehicles are on the look-out for him."

"Devine is definitely our guy, we've got all the evidence we'll ever need. There's more, though, I think Josh Morgan could be in danger. Get onto the boys at Pontypridd and tell them to get someone up to Rhimyn School pronto, I could be wrong but let's not take any chances."

As he spoke, Pete walked across the lawn until he stopped at the front gate. Suddenly he heard an engine revving and a small red sports car accelerated past him. "Shit, he's here," he yelled into the phone, "Get some mobile units down here immediately." He ended the call, turned and ran for his own car. He knew he was far too late but he was going to give chase anyway. He'd recognised Devine driving but there was another, smaller, figure slumped in the passenger seat and Pete knew who that had to be.

Pete backed out of the drive and set off after Devine. When he reached Lavernock Road he had a choice, left or right. He chose right and headed towards Llandough and Cardiff. He continued towards the city, something in his subconscious drew him in that direction and he was halfway across the bridge over the River Taff, when a voice on his police radio announced that the fugitive had been spotted near Wenvoe; he was going the wrong way.

As soon as he was over the bridge he took the Stuart Street exit, round the roundabout and back the way he had come. By the time he was passing Ferry Road Interchange, Devine had joined the A4232 at Culverhouse Cross; they were on the same road, going in the same direction but Pete was five miles behind.

* * *

Devine was hammering down the A4232 towards the M4 at over a hundred miles per hour, the blue lights of the chasing patrol car about half a mile behind. When he reached the motorway he took the dedicated slip road to the left and headed west towards Bridgend. A mile or so on and he realised his mistake, although the earlier accident had been removed, the traffic was still heavy and slow moving. He weaved his way in and out but his pursuers, with the advantage of lights and siren to clear a path, were gaining rapidly. As he neared junction 34 the cops were only a hundred yards behind, he moved into the middle lane and then, spotting a gap between two trucks, darted into the inside one, then he moved across onto the hard shoulder and hit the gas, the junction only half a mile ahead.

Josh had started to come around as they joined the M4. He was woozy and disorientated, trying to work out where he was and what was happening. Gradually he became aware of his situation and full realisation hit him just as Devine made his crazy move across all three lanes and onto the hard shoulder. The man was looking in his mirror to see if the cops had managed to follow him but the boy was looking out the front and he screamed. A truck was parked on the hard shoulder, its hazard lights flashing. It had been involved in the earlier accident and was awaiting a tow truck to remove it from where it had been left, in order to get the traffic flowing again.

Devine looked round, saw the truck and slammed on the brakes. The car left two, long black lines of rubber as it slowed rapidly but it was far too late. It smashed into the rear of the truck with a sound of crumpling metal and breaking glass.

"Fugitive has crashed repeat, fugitive has crashed." The cold, dispassionate voice of the patrol officer came over the radio and cut into Pete's heart like a knife. He flew down the slip road, onto the M4 but had to reduce speed almost immediately, as the brake lights came on ahead of him and the traffic slowed for the accident up the road. Like Devine before him, Pete opted for the hard shoulder; but proceeded at a much slower speed, with his hazard lights flashing. He drew several angry horns from motorists who assumed that he was trying to avoid the queue but he didn't hear them; muttering, "Please let him be OK, Please let him be OK," over and over.

Pete pulled up behind two patrol cars which were behind the scene of the crash. As he got out and walked forwards, an officer approached to stop him but Pete showed the man his ID and asked, "How are they?"

"The driver's dead, the passenger is trapped and unconscious. We don't know the extent of his injuries yet but it doesn't look good, sir."

"Are you sure the man's dead?"

"He was decapitated, sir. I don't think too many people recover from that." The officer was displaying the black humour that members of the emergency services use to help them cope with the trauma that they witness in the course of their duties.

Pete had to watch helplessly, feigning professional indifference, while the fire crew cut his boy from the wreckage. The paramedics gave him immediate treatment before rushing him off to hospital. He checked his watch; it was only 11.30, so much had happened in so short a time.

He phoned the station and arranged for someone to collect Kate and take her to the University Hospital of Wales, where the boy was being treated. There was nothing else he could do so he returned to Penarth to continue with his work.

 

FRIDAY

 

It was nearly 7.30 in the evening when Pete arrived at the hospital. This was the fourth night since Josh had been admitted and the boy was still in a coma. Pete recalled his rather strained meeting with Kate on Tuesday. She'd been asleep in a chair by the side of the bed but had woken up when he closed the door.

"Hi, how is he?" he'd asked quietly.

"He's lucky to be alive but you know that, you were there," Kate had replied. "He's got a fractured skull, a broken collarbone and several cracked ribs; plus he's got severe whiplash injuries. They've done a scan and there's no sign of bleeding on the brain, thank God; but he's been unconscious since the crash. It's lucky he's small for his age, if he'd been any taller he would've finished up like that awful man"

"Have they said how long he'll be out for?"

"They don't know. It could be an hour, a day, a week or . . ." she'd ended with a sob.

Pete moved over and gave her a hug but it was scant consolation to a distraught mother. "It's all my fault," he'd said, "If he hadn't been with me Devine would never have gone after him. I'll understand if you decide not to let me see him again."

"I don't think now is the time to make decisions like that. Anyway, I think Josh might have something to say on the matter," Kate had responded.

* * *

It had been an extremely busy few days for Pete. For once the bosses in Bridgend had made the right call, they'd told West Midlands Police that they'd had their chance with Devine and had blown it. They had a murder committed in Penarth with the body discovered in Cardiff. Both the victim and perpetrator were resident in South Wales; therefore the South Wales force was going to take charge. Any evidence found that related to crimes committed outside their jurisdiction would be passed to the relevant force. Although a Detective Superintendent arrived from HQ to lead the investigation, Pete found himself at the forefront of things as the first man on the scene and as the detective who'd identified the murderer.

Devine's computer was removed to James Street where Pete was allocated the task of trawling through it and collating the evidence. The `ALED' folder produced a number of videos showing a sexual relationship become a dom/sub one, before it gradually descended into sadism and death. The `SAM' folder only had two films, clearly the Bristol boy had been only too willing to be bound and gagged; discovering too late that he'd picked the wrong partner. There were only post death photos of the two rent boys, together with a large number of pictures and videos of other young men and boys, who'd been fortunate enough to meet Devine before he turned to murder.

There was, however, one additional folder, annotated `TOM' with several films in it. They were all dated November and indicated that there was a fifth and as yet unidentified murder victim.

The man's journal was also found on the computer and it was this that Pete concentrated on, giving as it did an incredible insight into the background and thoughts of a serial killer. Devine seemed to have been a happy boy until his mother re-married, when he was eight years old. From then, until he left to go to college, his stepfather had subjected the boy to regular physical and sexual abuse. Despite this, Devine had managed to do well at both school and college, becoming a successful interior designer before starting his own company. The stepfather died when Devine was in his early twenties and, for several years, he appeared to live as a perfectly normal, well-adjusted person. Underneath this carefully cultivated persona, however, he was a damaged man and, like many others before, the abused became the abuser. He found normal sexual relations to be unfulfilling and moved on to BDSM, building his play room in the cellar of his mother's home. Even that failed to satisfy him and he continued to hunt for greater sexual thrills.

When Aled came into his life he knew he had the opportunity to live out his ultimate fantasy, who would miss a runaway boy? He moved the lad into his mother's house and, sure that he'd been seen picking the boy up, dramatically altered his appearance. His mother was another issue that had to be dealt with. Although she was suffering from dementia and was never allowed into the locked cellar, there was always the chance that she would mention the boy that was living in her home to one of the carers who regularly came to see her. The Golden Years Nursing Home solved that problem and left Devine free to complete Aled's corruption and murder.

After he had disposed of the body he began looking for his next victim. Pete had been half right; the Birmingham rent boy had been an experiment to see if killing without all his BDSM equipment could satisfy him but it had proven to be disappointing. The boy had fought desperately for his life and had made so much noise that Devine had been sure that he'd be caught. Somehow no-one had noticed and he'd managed to make his way back to the hotel without mishap. The media reaction, however, had given him the idea of misleading the police and the Manchester boy had been killed purely for that purpose. This time he'd taken the precaution of taking the boy to a more secluded spot and had avoided the trauma of his Birmingham experience. When the tabloids had dubbed him the `Rent Boy Ripper' he'd relaxed and returned to what really satisfied him, the slow sexual torture and murder of boys and young men.

Tom Stevens was a fourteen-year-old from Bodmin in Cornwall. He was gay and Devine had met him through an internet chat room, pretending to be another gay teenager. The man persuaded the lad to run away and meet him in Plymouth, where Devine had picked him up on Union Street and taken him back to Penarth. They'd had sex and the boy had been shown the play room but had demurred, BDSM didn't interest him. Devine wasn't the type to take no for an answer, however and had drugged the boy before subjecting him to three days of hell and then killing him. The body had been dumped somewhere on Dartmoor and Devon and Cornwall police had been informed and were arranging a search.

He met Sam Walters, the final victim, at Brunel Gallery and invited the young man back to the house. After one sex session, which he filmed, he introduced Sam to the play room and asked if he was willing to visit again and give it a go. The young man, who liked to experiment, said yes and the rest, as they say, is history.

Pete was sickened by what he read; although an experienced detective he had never come across anyone quite as sadistic as the psychopathic Devine. As a boy lover he was particularly disgusted, as he knew that most people would equate this sick pervert with any man who was attracted to boys. The difference between a pederast and a paedophile might be a subtle one and legally non-existent but to Pete it was an abyss. A paedophile used children for their own sexual gratification, bringing misery and, in an extreme case like Devine, pain and death. A pederast on the other hand thought first about the welfare of his boy. In his own case he had brought pleasure and happiness to a previously bullied and miserable little gay boy. The relationship had been instigated by Josh and only continued because the boy wanted it to and his mother allowed it to happen. In addition Pete let the boy take the lead in their sexual activities and never coerced him into trying anything that he didn't want to do. However, if Josh ever decided that he wanted to end the relationship, Pete would walk away.

He also knew that he'd never visit Bute Park for sex again; no brief liaison could ever hope to satisfy him now that he'd experienced a genuine, loving relationship.

* * *

Pete entered the hospital room and greeted the ever present Kate with a kiss on the cheek. After the rather frosty meeting on Tuesday, relations had thawed somewhat and the pair had reverted to the friendly relationship they'd enjoyed before Josh had been hurt. The boy still lay on the bed, bandages on his head and body, an intravenous tube in his arm, a feeding tube into his stomach via his nose and a whole bunch of sensors connected to fancy equipment next to the bed.

"Any change?" Pete enquired.

"No, he's still the same," Kate responded sadly. "The longer he's like this, the less likely I think he is to recover."

"Don't say that!" Pete exclaimed. "He's a lot tougher than people think. When they see a cute little gay boy who's small for his age they automatically think he must be weak. He isn't; he put up with some horrendous bullying for a year and a half and he's come through it relatively unscathed. Trust me; if anyone can survive this, it's Josh."

Kate looked at him and smiled, "Thanks Pete, I'm more certain than ever that I made the right decision about you. Josh needs a man like you in his life."

For the next hour the pair chatted while some of Josh's favourite music played quietly in the background. Then Kate went out for a coffee and Pete switched the music off and read some Harry Potter to the boy. When she returned Pete finished the chapter he was reading, closed the book and stood up,

"Well, I'll have to be going; I'll come back again tomorrow." He walked over to the bed, leaned over and kissed Josh on the lips just as he had when he'd left on each of the previous three evenings. It wasn't a sexual kiss but it lasted longer than would be considered usual when a man kisses a child.

As he broke away, an audible sigh escaped from the boy's mouth. "Did you hear that?" he asked, looking round at Kate.

"Yes," she replied, leaning forward in her seat, "Kiss him again."

Pete complied, a longer more sensual kiss this time, pushing his tongue against the boy's lips which opened to allow it in. The boy moaned into the man's mouth and then a hand came up and rested on his shoulder. Pete broke the kiss, leaned back and looked down in time to see the boy's eyes flicker and open. Josh smiled and said, "Hi Pete." Then, noticing his surroundings, he frowned and added, "Where am I, what's going on?"

Pete moved aside and the boy saw that Kate was there too. He smiled again, "Hi mum, why are you crying?"

 

EPILOGUE

 

The woman made a few, final adjustments and then stepped back to view her handiwork. She smiled, satisfied that things were how she wanted them. She had been in her new home for a week and it was only now, on this Friday evening in April, that she had finally arranged everything to her liking. She poured herself a second glass of wine, walked over to the glass door that led to the balcony and gazed out across the rippling waters of the lake that had once been Bute Dock.

She shook her head in disbelief, still not sure how it was that she came to be here. The couple who had lived here before her had sold up because they needed a bigger place for their growing family. She could never have afforded to buy a Cardiff Bay flat like this one and was, in fact, only renting it. The new owner was the man who lived across the hall, he had sold another property and bought this one with the proceeds, "It means I can choose my neighbours and keep an eye on my investment," he had told the departing sellers.

As a low income, single mother, she was entitled to claim housing benefit and, by an amazing coincidence, her new landlord had set the rent at exactly the same level as her benefit. The man could easily have earned more by charging the market rate and she could never have afforded to pay such an amount but "there are more important things in life than money" as the man insisted.

In this case the `more important thing' was a boy and it was for the benefit of her twelve-year-old son that she had moved here. He had been involved in a serious car crash four months previously but had made a full recovery from his injuries and had no memory of the incident. He had just completed his first week in his new school, where no-one knew that he was gay and, so far, there had been no repeat of the bullying that had blighted his time at his previous school. Her own change of job had been equally problem-free, simply transferring from the Rhimyn branch of the supermarket to the Cardiff Bay branch, which was within walking distance of her new home. She missed her friends in the village where she had grown up, of course but the pluses of the move easily outweighed the minuses.

A nice little routine had been arranged for the boy to follow. During the week, on school nights, he could visit the man across the landing but had to be back home and in bed on time, no exceptions, no excuses. As far as the neighbours were concerned she and the man were cousins and he was acting as a surrogate dad to the boy. On Fridays when the man had the weekend free, however, the routine changed. When he arrived home from school the boy had to complete all of his homework for the weekend; that afternoon had seen a level of quiet industry of which she would never have believed him capable.

Then, when the man arrived home from work, the son had kissed his mother goodbye and departed to spend the weekend with his `dad'. From then, until Sunday afternoon, she left them to whatever it was they did together, `ask no questions and get told no lies' seemed to be the best motto in the circumstances. On Sunday the three of them would have a late lunch together, one week she would cook it, the next the man would take them all out. Afterwards, since he had school the next day, the boy would spend the evening at home with his mother.

She placed her wine glass next to the couch, put on the TV and settled down to watch her favourite crime drama. She knew full well that the detective inspector who lived next door would've been criticising every detail had he been watching. However, she suspected that he'd be too busy with other matters tonight, to bother with the inaccuracies of TV shows.

In that regard she was absolutely correct. The man in question was in bed at that very moment, lying between the smooth, slender thighs of the woman's twelve-year-old son, sucking his hard, three-and-a-bit-inch boy cock. The boy was writhing on his back with his hands entwined in the man's hair, humping into the mouth that was the cause of his intense pleasure.

The man removed the boy's hands from his hair, pinned them above his head with one of his own and switched his oral attack to the lad's nipples and armpits, while the other hand fondled his genitals. This change didn't appear to lessen the boy's enjoyment in any way, certainly the writhing didn't seem to diminish and a loud moaning sound had begun.

Again the position changed, the man sat back and pushed the boy's legs up until his knees were next to his head. Then he continued to raise the lad until all his weight was on his shoulders and his thighs were pointing downwards. This pointed his exposed arse straight up at the man, who wrapped his arms around the boy to pin him in position and then proceeded to perform analingus on his helpless victim. Had anyone been watching, the boy's reaction to this latest assault on his dignity would have left them in no doubt as to his enjoyment of the act. He squirmed in the man's arms, gasping as the tongue stimulated the sensitive nerves around his anus and emitting a squeak as it penetrated into his hole.

There was one final change of position, the man lowered the boy until he was flat on his back but left his legs bent up. He reached over and picked up a tube of lubricant while the boy very helpfully held his legs in position. The man used a finger to apply the lube to the boy's anus, inserting a second and then a third to loosen him up. He then applied a thin layer to his own hard, pre-cum dripping cock and lined it up with the lad's hole.

The man placed his glans against the boy's pucker and pressed home, there was a momentary resistance and then the man's cockhead popped through the lad's defences, eliciting a slight gasp. The man paused then, seeing the boy nod his encouragement, pushed forward, sliding his cock into the lad's rectum until all six inches had disappeared from sight. There was a second pause while they both made themselves comfortable, then the fucking began.

Man and boy had been together for over four months now and they were very much in tune with each other's likes and needs. The man fucked long and slow, then short and fast, sometimes he pulled out completely and then reinserted, he rotated his hips and he positioned the boy to ensure that his cockhead was giving the lad's prostate a good working over. The boy used the muscles of his rectum to grip and release the man's cock; he pushed back and then relaxed, watching the man's reactions to ensure that he was giving his lover as much pleasure as he was receiving.

The man felt his orgasm approaching, he gripped the boy's thighs behind the knees and started to thrust fast and deep. The boy too could feel that his climax was near and began jerking his little boy cock. The boy had the advantage of two points of stimulation and so it was he who came first, his cocklet twitching in his hand as it tried to ejaculate the sperm that his immature balls were not yet capable of producing. At the same time his sphincter went into spasm, clamping down on the man's invading penis and pushing him over the edge as well. He came with a yell and several ropes of thick, spunk filled the boy's arse. When he was spent, he leaned forward, taking his weight on his arms and they kissed, a long, deep sexual kiss that lasted several minutes.

The kiss ended at about the same moment that the man's, by now soft, penis was ejected by the boy's arse. The man lifted himself clear and lay on his back next to the boy, who immediately climbed on top, presenting his backside to the man's face. The boy began licking the glistening cock, removing the remnants of spunk and rectal juices. At the same time the man put his mouth to the lad's hole and sucked out the cum that was already starting to dribble from it. When they had finished the boy turned round and lay on the man's chest, wrapped in his arms and they kissed again, sharing the fruits of their labour.

When they finally broke apart the man looked up at the boy and asked, "Well, did you enjoy that?"

"Not bad for an old man, I suppose," the boy replied, with a cheeky grin.

"What do you mean `old man'?" he protested. "I can match anything that a lad half my age can manage."

The boy rose up and sat astride the man's torso with his hands leaning on his lover's shoulders. "Good," he said, in a bright, enthusiastic voice, "that means you'll be ready for round two."

 

THE END

 

© Hugh Cox 2017

 

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I have previously written six stories which have been posted on the Nifty Archive. If you haven't read them they are listed below with links. Please don't try to contact me via the email address in the earlier stories as it no longer exists.