Date: Wed, 05 Aug 1998 16:31:59 BST
From: Michael Gouda <stachys@eurobell.co.uk>
Subject: Little Boy Lost

                   LITTLE BOY LOST
                   ===============


When Phil moved into Detective Sergeant Keith Hatch's house on the
Finsbury Park side of Islington, London, England, he brought with him
a vast array of what Keith, had he not been so much in love with him,
would have called 'junk'.

     As it was the plaster dogs of unlikely breeds which looked as if
they had been won from a fairground stall - and probably had, the
silhouettes of Regency ladies in their gilt frames, the ruched table
lamps in matching shades of mauve and purple, he thought of as
'charming'.

     While Phil himself of course was - alluring, enchanting,
fascinating, ravishing, seductive, tempting - in fact - irresistible.

     The tender way he looked at him, the way he tossed back the lock
of unruly blond hair out of his wide, seemingly so innocent eyes, his
slim waist and hips, his long legs that went all the way to his arse -
that arse, two perfect gloves with a cleft that led to Paradise. The
scent of him. a sweetness that owed more to youth and good health than
to anything out of a bottle. His passionate kisses, the gasps he made
when he came. 

     Overall his intense devotion.

     But for Keith the most liberating thing was the relief from
loneliness. He had not realised, ever since he had broken up with Alan
back in Feltenham, how much he had missed the company of someone in
the evenings either out perhaps at the Clubs or staying in in front of
the telly, at night in the big double bed they had bought together,
silent and sleepy over the breakfast coffee and cornflakes. Someone to
moan to about his work with the Police Gay Community Liaison Force at
the end of a long, tiring day, sitting comfortably close together on
the sofa, and listening to the trivial but entertaining gossip which
Phil brought back from his job at Tescoes.

     Keith was, he realised, an uxorious creature and in these new
circumstances was very happy. He hoped Phil was as well.

     Even his governor, Inspector Sheridan, at Islington Police
Station noticed the difference.

     "You've mellowed, Keith," he said. "You've lost that strained,
searching look you always had."

     And Detective Constable Peter Lippett dared his Sergeant's wrath
by saying, "Married life suits you, Sarge!" He did get a playful clip
round the ear for his pains though.

     Life had settled into a routine, a pleasantly satisfying one and
Keith was therefore more than a little disturbed when he was called
into Inspector Sheridan's office on Monday June 24th to find his
governor looking at a piece of paper.

     "Ah Keith," he said, "your friend, Inspector Newman, it seems
requires your services down at Feltenham."

     "Newman, sir!" said Keith. "But he hates gays. It was he who told
me I'd have to leave Feltenham because there was no future for me
there."

     "Be that as it may, it seems that he requires your special
abilities. There's been a kidnapping, a young boy apparently, and he
thinks it's some paedophile who's done it. Newman wants someone who
has a special knowledge of the Feltenham gay scene to make enquiries
down there. Seems he's drawn a blank with his investigation. He asks
if you can be seconded down there for a week."

     "Must be really desperate," observed Keith wryly. "I haven't been
to Feltenham for nearly eighteen months now. I'd be really out of
touch."

     "But you do know someone down there who could bring you up to
date," suggested Sheridan.

     "Alan Forrest!" 

     He hadn't seen Alan since last year's Gay Pride March when he had
come up to London and helped him to catch a pair of gay-bashers, since
in fact the week in which he had first met Phil. He and Alan though
had kept in touch with occasional phone calls. Keith had told him
about Phil and the information had been received with a slight
chilliness - or perhaps Keith had imagined this, after all Alan had
had his chance to come up to London with Keith, had been asked twice
in fact but each time had refused, perhaps had not had the courage to
make the break with his home town.

     "I've got quite a big work load on at the moment, sir," Keith
said. He didn't really want to go.

     "Yes," said Sheridan. "I checked, but nothing Lippett and the
rest can't take over. He's a bright lad is young Peter. You should
delegate a bit more. I don't think we can refuse D.I. Newman's
request."

     Keith bowed to the inevitable. "I'll go down at the weekend,
sir."

     "Tomorrow, Sergeant," said Inspector Sheridan. "Wednesday at the
latest."

     Keith wondered how he was going to break the news to Phil. Would
he be disappointed, angry, or worse, sulky?

     Phil was in the kitchen, whistling a currently popular song. "Hi,
lover," he called out as Keith came in. Onions were frying gently in a
pan together with  courgettes, tomato slices, red and green peppers.
Appetizing smells filled the air. "Spanish omelette," he announced.

     "Ole," said Keith, kissing him on the nape of his neck where the
hair grew in a soft M shape.

     "Which do you want, supper or sex?" asked Phil.

     In a brief but clear flash of memory Keith remembered the last
time he had had sex with Alan. It had been here, in the kitchen, over
this very work-surface, this time last year.

     "Both," he said, "but not at the same time. I'll open a bottle of
wine."

     Phil cracked open four eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a
fork. He seasoned with sea salt and ground black pepper. Then he
tipped the mixture into the frying pan where it sizzled and started to
firm around the vegetables. Keith opened a bottle, the cork coming out
with a gentle plop. He put the wine down to breathe and then went
behind Phil again, holding him round the waist, the boy's back against
his chest and loins.

     "I'm sorry but I've got to go down to Feltenham," Keith said. He
waited anxiously for Phil's reaction. It wasn't any of those he
expected. Phil twisted round to face him. Instead of a frown or a
sulky grimace, a smile spread across his face. Now they were front to
front and Keith could feel Phil's erection against his own.

     "Great," he said. "I'll come with you. Always wanted to see this
Feltenham you keep talking about. Dorset is it?" 

     "Gloucestershire. Cotswold country. But your job?"

     Phil shrugged. "I've been meaning to give it up for a long time.
No future. I'll get something better when we get back." He pushed him
away, gently. "Hang on," he said. "We'll have to eat first, The food
will spoil else."

     Keith kissed him on the mouth.

     "Spoilsport," he said. "Go on then, chef. The other can wait, I
guess."

     After the wine was finished, Phil lay back in the chair and
sighed contentedly. Keith glanced down at the bulge in Phil's white
chinos. It seemed to invite closer inspection. One of his trouser legs
was rucked up to mid calf and Keith knelt on the floor in front of
him, placing his hand on the bare flesh just below Phil's knee. Then
slowly he ran his hand up the leg, under the hem up to the soft warm
skin of his thigh. Phil shivered with anticipation and opened his legs
wider to allow greater access. At the top in the crotch Keith's finger
tips encountered the softness of underwear and within it the smooth
circumference of Phil's testicles. 

     With his other hand he felt the erect cock inside the trousers, a
hard shaft against his palm and he squeezed it softly before reaching
up to the waistband and undoing the fastener. The top of the trousers
opened and Keith took hold of the zip between forefinger and thumb and
started to draw it slowly down, aroused as the swelling in the boy's
white underwear was revealed, ample evidence of even more pleasures
yet to come.

     He edged Phil's trousers over his slim hips, down his muscled
legs and the erect cock under the briefs was close to his face. He
drew the stimulating scent of the boy's cock deep into his nostrils.
Keith extended his tongue until it touched the briefs where they
covered though hardly hid the silhouette of Phil's rigid cock. He
tasted thr erotic mix of soft underwear, warm from a day's wear, boy
sex and a hint of sweat and Keith opened his mouth wide and took hold
of as much as he could of the boy's erection.

     With his right hand he grasped the boy's balls, softly wrapped as
they were in the clinging cotton and he fondled them gently as he
licked the material until it was transparent.

     Then slowly and deliberately he started to draw the briefs down
over Phil's hips, easing the waist band over the head of the erect
cock. Once free the shaft sprang upwards, the glans shiny with his own
spittle, a small drop of clear liquid forming at the top.

     Gently with the tip of his tongue he tasted the globule and then
traced the vein which ran down the underside of the shaft. Phil
shivered at the intense feeling. Keith's hand cupped his ballsack and
then crept its way underneath, his fingers inching along the perineum,
that sensitive area of skin between the underside of the balls and the
cleft of his arse. His middle finger found, and pierced, the hole that
led to delight.

     Phil's cock twitched and Keith took the tip of the head inside
his mouth. It felt warm and smooth, and he opened his mouth further
letting his lips slide down the full length towards where the soft
hair sprouted at the base, his tongue massaging the head, winding
itself round the erect rod. Phil moaned with pleasure, and began to
move his body up and down, transfixed as it was on the finger up the
centre of his being, sliding his cock in and out of Keith's mouth then
thrusting it in a steady but increasing rhythm.  He  panted and gasped
as Keith was able to fit even more of him inside, his cock going
further and further back into the throat with each thrust. 

     Phil without warning grabbed the back of Keith's head with both
hands and pulled it into his crotch. His balls were against Keith's
chin, and the hair around the base of his cock was pressing against
his nose.

     Phil threw his head back, his mouth open. "I'm going to cum," he
cried, and once again began thrusting in and out. Keith suddenly felt
the cock jerk and begin to pulse. He sucked even more fiercely and
Phil let out a groan, holding Keith's head where it was so that the
pulsing cream shot into his mouth and throat.

     After a while Phil said, "Now it's your turn."

     Later that evening Keith gave Alan a ring.

     As always - even now immediately after glorious sex with Phil -
he still felt a jolt when he heard Alan's voice. And there was still
the gladness in Alan's tone when he recognised Keith's voice.

     "Hi, stranger," he said. "How's life?"

     "Oh you know. Up and down."

     There would have been a time when Alan would have followed this
with a flirty, suggestive comment full of innuendo and double entendre
but since Phil that had ceased. Keith respected his consideration but
obscurely rather regretted the absence.

     "I'm coming down to Feltenham," he said. "Apparently Newman wants
some help with a case and he thinks I'm the gay needed. Probably the
only one he knows."

     "He's got Police Constable Colin Carey," said Alan, "but he's
still closet. It'll be great to see you. You want to stay here?"

     "Phil will be coming down with me," said Keith.

     There was a pause, not long enough to read too much into it but
long enough to notice. Then Alan's voice again. "That'll be OK," he
said. "I can sleep in the spare bed. You two can have my double."

     Keith felt uncomfortable. "Are you sure?" he said. "I don't want
to turn you out."

     "Course," said Alan. "No problem at all. You're not staying for
more than six months are you? It'd be stupid to have to put up at the
Imperial Hotel. You proles wouldn't appreciate the luxury anyway."

     "If you're sure," said Keith. "It'll certainly help as I'll need
your expert knowledge of the scene." He tried to cover his
embarrassment with a joke. "You are still in touch with the gay scene
I trust?"

     "As often as possible, darling."

     When Keith and Phil arrived the following morning, 8.25 from
Paddington, reaching Feltenham 10.14, Alan picked them up from the
station in his rather decrepit blue Ford Cortina of which he seemed
inordinately proud. He had passed the driving test - another success
he had achieved alone, or at least without the help of Keith - two
months before. Phil and Alan eyed each other with the wary suspicion
of two tom cats in an unexpected roof-top, night-time encounter,
presumably wondering what on earth Keith had seen in the other.

     Keith introduced them and on the short journey to the flat could
not help but notice Alan giving Phil, sprawled on the back seat,
appraising glances through the driving mirror.

     For a moment Keith thought the two might have been brothers but
then he realised that it was only their youth and high spirits that
were similar. Physically there were many differences. Alan's hair was
darker, his eyebrows were thicker, his nose straighter without the
little tilt at the end which gave Phil such a cheeky, appealing look.
Alan's chin was a little firmer, his smile broader. He suddenly
noticed how strong and capable the hands on the driving wheel looked.

     They climbed up the three flights of stairs to Keith's old flat
in Cadogan Square, which Alan had taken over and which seemed to have
altered little since Keith had left. The furniture was a little
different but the decoration was unchanged and the bedroom, in which
he and Alan had spent so many sex-filled nights, looked exactly the
same. Not for the first time Keith wondered whether he had done the
right thing in accepting Alan's offer of accommodation.

     Alan still worked at Geraldo's CDs, the music shop on the High
Street, but as he worked all day Saturday he was entitled to a weekday
off. So he was free on Tuesday to look after his guests. Conversation
was a bit strained until Keith raised the subject of Feltenham's gay
life.

     Phil seemed to become suddenly enthusiastic and Alan was
obviously pleased to chatter about who was going out with whom, where
the latest pick-up places were, the gossip from the Olympia - which
largely concerned the doings of the barman, Nick and whether or not
the lead singer of 'Triple Bypass', the group appearing at the local
(straight) night club was or was not gay. Alan thought he was, Phil
thought not. Keith who had never even heard of the group pretended to
be uncommitted.

     He had to go into the Police Station to see Inspector Newman, so
he left the two 'children' as he privately thought of them, bickering
amicably about the comparative virtues of the latest designer outfits
with Alan volunteering to show Phil round the shops that afternoon
while Keith did his duty.

     "Glad you could make it, Hatch," said Detective Inspector Newman,
a large fat man imprisoned in what always appeared to be a slightly
too small uniform. He had a habit of making statements like that even
though the recipient had not had any choice in the matter. He peered
at Keith from behind his desk with what could be disapproval, if not
active dislike, and was overcoming the feeling only with difficulty.

     "If I can help in any way," said Keith vaguely.

     "The boy," said Newman, "Jason Phillips, seven years old - "

     "Phelps," suggested Keith.

     "What? Oh yes, Jason Phelps - " He referred to a file open on the
desk in front of him. " - was last seen in the kids' playground last
Wednesday afternoon. The mother - divorced woman, single parent - " he
made that sound like a crime in itself " - knew he was there but
didn't in fact go to fetch him until just after 5 o'clock. When she
did arrive, the boy was no longer there."

     It sounded a familiar story. Keith wasn't sure why he had been
summoned though.

     "Two witnesses saw a man watching the boys playing. Had a
peculiar look in his eyes."

     Keith felt a sudden spurt of anger. So a man watching some kids
playing had to be a gay man, a paedophile who would no doubt lust
after the boy, subject him to disgusting sexual practices then kill
him! He nearly expressed his objection but prudence won. It might
after all be the case. Had happened before - too often unfortunately.

     "We don't seem to be able to get much further. Mother seems to be
holding something back. Witnesses - well I can't be sure - but I think
they know more than they say. Wondered whether a - " he paused,
obviously not sure of the right term to use - "someone special like
you," he compromised, "could - er - help us along a bit."

     "I'll see what I can do of course, sir," said Keith, "but . . ."

     "Good man," said Inspector Newman, obviously not wishing to hear
any objections. "Now who can we get on the team? Sergeant Wilkes,
you'll know her of course, is already on the case. A PC to do the
plodding work. It was Harrison but he's off sick, I understand." He
paused as if to think of someone else suitable.

     "Could I have P.C. Carey, in plain clothes of course?" asked
Keith. We gays should stick together.

     "Carey?" said Newman as if he had never heard of the name. He
obviously was shuffling it around in the pigeon-holes of his mind.
Eventually it found a suitable resting place. "Ah yes, Carey! Good
choice! I'll organise that."

     "Thank you, sir," said Keith and prepared to get up and leave.

     "You'll report anything of importance directly to me of course,"
said Newman and waved his hand in dismissal.

      After his interview with Inspector Newman, Keith sat in Sergeant
Petra Wilkes' office and sipped tea, after refusing 'something
stronger'. He thought he would need all his wits about him to cope
with 'the children' later that evening.

     "What's Mrs Phelps like?" he asked.

     Petra Wilkes, brisk, efficient, short-curly brown hair and
intelligent eyes, thought for a moment, then spoke. "Worried,
harassed, too many responsibilities, too little money. She said she
thought someone else, a neighbour, was looking after the kid in the
Park." 

     "Newman said he thought she might have been hiding something."

     "How would he know?" said Petra Wilkes disloyally. "He's never
even seen her. There are parts of her life she clams up on certainly.
Like her marriage. It ended a couple of years ago. She says
'incompatibility' but could possibly be 'abuse'."

     "Have you seen the father?"

     "Can't find him. He left the area after the divorce, according to
Mrs Phelps and wasn't at the last address he gave. He seems to send
some money fairly regularly but generally no forwarding address. He
obviously doesn't seem to bear a grudge but doesn't want to be
located. The mother got custody."

     The poor woman, thought Keith, worried out of her mind. Not
knowing what to do next, fearing the worst, praying for the best,
probably blaming herself for not looking after the boy.

     "If you think she's hiding something, perhaps you'd better have
another go at her," he suggested. "I don't think my 'special talents'
run in that direction."

     Petra Wilkes smiled.

     There was a knock on the door. Constable Colin Carey, tall,
blond, softly-spoken, deliberate in all his movements, came in. Keith
noticed that, since the last time he had seen him, he had shaved off
his moustache. It made him look younger and more attractive.

     "Keith," he said, and sounded genuinely pleased to see him.
"Sorry, I mean Detective Sergeant Hatch! How's London life treating
you?"

     "Keith'll do. I'm only down here for the week and I don't think
discipline will suffer too much," said Keith. "Anyway we'll get all
muddled up with Sergeant Wilkes. How are you, Colin?"

     "The guvnor says you asked for me to work with you. It's going to
be good doing a real job for a change - rather than traffic duty or
Police Constable Plod showing the flag on the street corner."

     Keith had felt slightly guilty that he had suspected Colin of
outing him to Inspector Newman and now felt pleased that his request
had met with such obvious gratitude.

     "What about these two witnesses?" asked Keith. "The ones who saw
some man watching the kids?"

     Petra Wilkes said, "One's a mother whose own child was in the
Park. She noticed this man watching the kids from outside the
railings. Couldn't describe him except to say he had dark hair and was
wearing jeans and some sort of dark bomber jacket."

     "The other one was a man, David Kingsley - " sitting opposite to
Carey, Keith saw him give an obvious start at the mention of the name
though he tried to cover it up by scratching his ear as if struck by a
sudden irritation  " - who was taking his dog for a walk when it got
involved in a little fracas with some other dog. Apparently he noticed
this other man because he didn't take his eyes off the kids even
though the two dogs were going at it hammer and tongs."

     "I think I'd like a little chat with Mr Kingsley," said Keith.

     "I don't think there's much more to be got out of him," said
Petra Wilkes,

     "I have a hunch," said Keith. "I'll take Colin and see what we
can find."

     Wilkes nodded. "I'll see Mrs Phelps but I've got some paperwork
to catch up on first." She grimaced. "You know how keen the guvnor is
on reports etc."

     "How far away does this Kingsley guy live?" asked Keith as he and
Colin went downstairs.

     "Other side of town," said Colin. "I'll organise a car."

     "You know him, don't you?"

     "Might have come across the name," said Colin vaguely.

     "Come on, Colin. You don't have to hide it from me. Alan's told
me about you."

     "So you know about Alan and me?"

     It took only a second for the import of that to sink in. "Well, I
didn't know that - not until now," said Keith, "but I know you're gay.
Don't worry I won't let it out. I can well understand your wanting to
keep quiet about it - especially with a guvnor like Newman."

     While Colin went to fetch the car, Keith thought about the news
he had just heard. So Alan had had sex with Colin. Not that there was
any reason why he should object. He and Alan had broken up by the time
that had happened. He had no influence over Alan's behaviour. Just
because he (Keith) had abstained from sex for months following the
breakup did not mean that Alan should have done the same.

     All the same he felt confusingly a little hurt. He tried to
dismiss the feeling after all he did have Phil now - and they were
very much in love. He went out through the swing doors into the
courtyard outside where Colin was waiting in the car.

     The air was warm and smelled much cleaner than the polluted
London atmosphere which Keith had now grown used to. The plane trees
along the side of the road were in full leaf. Summer was just around
the corner if not already turning it.

     "So Alan told you about us," said Colin.

     "Well he didn't give a blow by blow account," said Keith shortly.
He hoped Colin wasn't going to pursue the subject ad nauseam. "Now
come clean about this Kingsley character. You do know him don't you?"

     "Yes," admitted Colin. "I recognised the name immediately. He is
gay. We've had sex so I know that for sure."

     "OK, that's fine," said Keith. "Now he's obviously going to
recognise you when we talk to him. Do you have a problem with that?"

     "Are you going to tell him you're gay?"

     "Sure! That's the reason I'm down here."

     They drove through town, the pavements busy with shoppers. An
occasional beggar sat propped against a wall, some receptacle or other
hopefully opened in front of him. A boy on roller blades zigzagged
dangerously through the crowd.

     "It won't be a problem," said Colin after a pause. Then "Talk of
the devil. There's Alan! Wow. Look who he's with. What a dish!"

     The two boys were just coming out of an expensive looking clothes
Boutique, Phil clutching a plastic bag. They looked happy and were in
animated conversation, smiling, looking very youthful and unworldly.
Keith suddenly felt rather old.

     "That," he said, "is my latest, and you can keep your grubby
little paws - and any other part of your anatomy off him!"

     "Yes, Sarge," said Colin. Keith thought he heard the words 'You
lucky bastard' whispered under his breath.

     David Kingsley lived in a small house in a terraced row on the
other side of Town to the Police Station. Originally brick Victorian
workers' cottages, they had been smartened up with a facade of stucco
and painted various pastel colours which gave them a vaguely
Mediterranean appearance. Most had tiny neat gardens with scarlet
geraniums in front though Kingsley's looked a bit overgrown as if he
was only a half-hearted gardener but the windows were clean and the
net curtains white.

     Colin rang the bell. This was immediately followed by a furious
outbreak of barking, several ineffective shouts of 'Quiet, Doris' and
eventually the door opened.

     A youngish, middle-aged man holding a large black Labrador which,
once the door was opened, looked more embarrassed - probably by her
name - than dangerous.

     The man smiled when he saw Colin but looked less pleased when he
saw the figure of Keith standing behind him. Keith stepped forward and
showed him his warrant card. "Sergeant Hatch," he said, "and you know
Police Constable Carey."

     David Kingsley looked worried.

     "Can we come in, Mr Kingsley? We'd like to ask just a few
questions about the man you saw in the Park, the day the boy
disappeared."

     Kingsley stepped back, still holding the dog's collar. He
indicated a door to the right of the tiny hall and all three went into
the front room. A settee, two arm chairs, a brown carpet and two green
rugs to match the dark green curtains at the windows. There were some
pictures on the walls, group photographs mostly, covering quite a long
period of time. Some very serious five year olds looked out from one
faded group, a smiling squad of army cadets in another, a group of
what looked like teachers, very sports jacket and patched elbows.

     The dog gave a breathy sigh and slumped down on one of the rugs.
Kingsley indicated the chairs and perched himself uneasily on the edge
of the sofa.

     "We think you know a little more about this man than you've told
us so far," said Keith.

     Kingsley's eyes shifted. He seemed unwilling - or unable - to
meet Keith's.

     "I've told you all I know," he said. "I saw the man. Some horrid
little Jack Russell terrier attacked Doris. The man didn't even stop
looking at the boys. That's all I can tell you."

     "How did you know he didn't look at the dogs? Surely you weren't
watching him all the time."

     Kingsley didn't seem to know how to answer that. "No - well -
obviously I didn't - er - I had to separate the dogs of course . . . "

     "Now come on, Mr Kingsley, it's truth time," said Keith. "I'm
actually with the Police Gay Liaison Force in London and I've been
sent down here to help with the case - if there is a 'gay' dimension.
I am gay. You know Colin Carey is as well. Is there anything else you
can tell us about this man you saw in the Park."

     David Kingsley looked almost relieved.

     "Well to tell the truth, yes there is," he said. "I knew the man.
He certainly was gay. I - "he looked a little uncomfortable here but
carried on nevertheless " - picked him up in the cottage, you know the
one by Imperial Street and we had sex. I never knew his name though. I
think he said 'Call me John' but that was all - and I never talked to
him or even met him again. Not until I saw him in the Park."

     "When was this, Mr Kingsley? When you picked him up?"

     "Some time ago. Last autumn it must have been. September? October
probably."

     "Now we're wondering," said Keith, "if this man could possibly
have kidnapped the boy. It's a bit embarrassing for you but could you
tell us if there was anything odd about the sex you had with him."

     "Oh no," said Kingsley, seemingly not embarrassed at all, now
that the whole story was coming out. "He sucked me off and then he
fucked me, safely of course. He seemed to enjoy it. I certainly did.
I'd never have thought he'd be turned on by little boys."

     "Yet he was watching the kids playing in the Park, watching then
so closely that even when your dog, Doris, got into this fight with
another dog, he didn't even look." Doris looked up at her name and
then lay down again.

     "That's right," said Kingsley. "Of course I didn't watch him all
the time but I swear he never took his eyes off that boy. I was trying
to catch his attention you see. Hoped we might have a re-run."

     "OK," said Keith. "Now is there anything you can tell us about
the man. What did he look like? Have you ever seen him in any of the
Clubs, the Olympia for instance. Have you ever seen him with anyone
else you know?"

     "He's tall," said Kingsley, indicating with his hand a height
about six inches above his own head. "Dark hair, eyebrows very thick.
They meet in the middle. Makes him look severe except when he smiles.
About thirty I suppose. Good build, nice cock - all of -  well six or
seven inches."

     Colin laughed.

     "I don't think we can put details like that on our wanted
poster," said Keith smiling.

     "I had seen him once or twice before at the Olympia. Not with
anyone in particular but he was chatting with the barman. You know,
Nick."

     "Oh yes," said Keith, "I know Nick. Right. Thank you, Mr
Kingsley. If you should remember anything more about this 'John' - or
hear anyone else talk about him, please get in touch." He patted the
dog who who acknowledged by wagging its tail. He went out into the
hall.

     He heard Colin say a few words but couldn't hear what they were,
before the other two joined him.

     When they got back to the Station, Inspector Newman had gone -
home said the Duty Sergeant, even though it was scarcely 3 o'clock.
Perks of the job, thought Keith. Sergeant Wilkes was out, presumably
interviewing Mrs Phelps. Colin Carey had some paper work to do and
Keith sat around twiddling his thumbs for twenty minutes before
deciding that he might as well go back to Alan's flat himself. He
would, after all, be working that evening at the Olympia Club and was
wasting his time just sitting in the Station.

     Back at the flat, Alan opened the door.

     "You're early," he said, looking surprised though pleased. "I
thought it was Phil even though I'd lent him the spare key."

     "Where is he?" asked Keith.

     "He met someone he knew while we were in Town," said Alan.
"Someone he'd met in London apparently. They were gossiping about Town
matters, so I left them to it. He said he'd be back by six, which was
when we were expecting you."

     Keith felt a trifle disappointed. He had been looking forward to
seeing Phil, perhaps going out with him, showing him some places that
later they would be able to share together.

     It was hot in the top floor flat right under the roof and the
air, even though the windows were open, was close and stifling. Alan
had stripped to a T-shirt and shorts. Keith noticed that his legs were
tanned. 

     "How's the case?" asked Alan.

     Keith though of a young boy, terrified, possibly in pain. A
slight figure innocent and abused. He tried to put the picture from
his mind. "Not good," he said. "A couple of leads but . . . "

     "Let's go out," said Alan, realising that Keith didn't want to
talk about it.. "We can take the car up to the Common. It'll be cooler
up there."

     "What about Phil?"

     "He wasn't expecting you to get off work till six. Probably won't
be back himself until then. Anyway, as I said, he's got a key. We can
leave him a note if you want. Tell him to wash the lettuce for
supper." Alan's tone had an almost triumphant note in it, as if he was
pleased to be taking Keith away from the possibility of seeing Phil.

     "OK," said Keith.

     They climbed into the car, gasping at the heat inside and Alan
'ouching' as the plastic seat burned the back of his bare legs. He
turned the air conditioning full on, opened all the windows as well as
the sun roof and they set off, the old car grumbling slightly as it
reached the steep hill outside town which led up to the top of Cudlip
Hill and the Common.

     He parked by the Golf Clubhouse and they got out and started down
the track which led to the Common. There were a few golfers, serious
looking individuals lugging their heavy golf bags and all looking as
if they were doing the opposite of enjoying themselves.

     Soon Keith and Alan reached a five-barred gate and were on the
Common proper, its short tufted grass dotted with pink pyramid
orchids, yellow rock rose and purple wild thyme. There was a breeze up
here which cooled their sweat and blew Alan's slightly long hair
around making it look dishevelled and attractive.

     "This is where I found the body," he said suddenly after a short
though companionable silence. "Two years ago. I've never come up here
since."

     For a moment Keith did not know what he was talking about but
then the details came back to him, Alan's discovery of the body of a
young boy, the other deaths, Alan's own escape from the killer. "I've
never been up here at all," he said. "It was Colin Carey who first saw
you, wasn't it?"

     Alan took off his T-shirt. Keith noticed how his body had filled
out. He had no longer the angular grace of the adolescent he had
known. Now he was a young man with broad shoulders and a developed
chest. Nevertheless he could still remember every inch of that body,
could still trace in his mind the contours.

     They walked across the grass till they came to a shallow
depression, a saucer which caught the sunshine in a trap and sheltered
them from the breeze. Alan sat down and then lay on his back. He shut
his eyes against the glare of the sun. Keith sat by his side and
looked at him, the thatch of blond hair, his closed eyes, the side of
his nose, thrown into shadow by the sun, the Adam's apple bulge in his
throat, the curve of his jawline, the curlicues of his ears, his
chest, smooth and brown, the two dark pink nipples, the space between
the broad chest muscles, then down to where a soft line of darker hair
led from his umbilicus to disappear beneath the waist band of his
light blue shorts.

     Keith knew exactly what lay hidden beneath the material, knew the
shape, the size, the colour, the smell, the taste, the potency, how it
would spring to attention from the bush of springy hair that
surrounded it. He felt his own cock stir.

     "You saved my life," said Alan, without opening his eyes, "when
that man was trying to force me into his car."

     I could just kiss him, thought Keith. Here, out of sight of any
casual passer by. But what would that lead to? "Only doing my duty,
sir," he said forcing a jocular tone into his remark. "It's what we're
supposed to do."

     Alan sat up.

     "Are you happy with Phil?" he asked looking at him. This was a
new Alan, adult, responsible, caring, no longer the 'boy' whom Keith
had lived with for such a comparatively short time but with whom he
had been prepared to share his life.

     "Yes, Alan," he said. "I am."

     "We'd better be getting back, then," said Alan, jumping up.
"Don't want the kid thinking he's been deserted." He turned to go.

     "Alan," said Keith putting one hand on the ground to help himself
up while the other reached out to take hold of Alan. "Ouch!" He had
pushed his palm onto a dwarf thistle plant and the thorns had gone
into his skin. "Shit! That hurt!"

     "You want to be careful of stray pricks," said Alan.

     Phil was indeed home when they got back. He was watching the TV
and looked up a little askance at Alan's naked chest and tight shorts.
Alan went into the bedroom to change.

     "We've been up to the Common," said Keith. "It was so hot in the
flat, we felt we needed some fresh air. Alan used to take his dog for
walks up there."

     "You've caught the sun," said Phil and kissed the bridge of
Keith's nose where the sun had turned it slightly pink.

     Keith felt a sudden surge of love for the boy. He knew how it
would feel to lose him, to know he was in danger and there was nothing
he could do to help. To sit worrying, like Mrs Phelps must be doing at
this very moment.

     "And where have you been all afternoon?" asked Keith.

     "I met someone from London. Never realised he lived in Feltenham.
We chatted, had a coffee, you know."

     Keith who had heard this from Alan, waited for more but Phil did
not elaborate.

     "What do you say we go to the Olympia this evening?" said Keith.
"I've got to anyway to ask some questions but you might find it
amusing. Not up to the 'Jam Factory' or 'Clicks' standard, I'm
afraid."

     They had a meal which Phil called supper, Alan, tea and Keith
thought of as dinner. Whatever it was called, it consisted of pasta
and Alan's special 'sort of' bolognese sauce which brought all sorts
of memories back to Keith - and a sad/pleasant feeling almost of
home-sickness.

     After the meal the 'boys' insisted that Keith change in the
living room while they took over the bedroom. He could hear them
giggling together. It didn't take him long though to pull on a pair of
jeans and a green blouson shirt. He made a phone call to the nick but
neither Colin Carey nor Sergeant Wilkes were there. He watched a bit
of television.

     At last they appeared. Keith gasped. They were both wearing
striped tank tops and Versace culottes, bought during the morning's
shopping spree. They posed at the doorway waiting for approval.
"Sisters," they sang, "Sisters. There were never such devoted
sisters."

     My God, thought Keith. I am getting old.

     Whether they had hoped to make a tremendous impression on the
Club was unsure but they were to be a little disappointed. There were
just three people propping up the bar, all according to Phil the wrong
side of ninety. Music to dance round your handbag to was playing
softly through loudspeakers.

     "Very trendy," said Phil.

     "It is only Tuesday," said Alan in extenuation. "It'll warm up
later."

     "At least there's Nick," said Phil. He stood behind the bar,
dark-haired, mid thirties, an air of confidence, of always getting
what he wanted, which had its own attraction.

     "How do you know Nick?" asked Keith sharply.

     "He's the friend I met this afternoon. I told you. He often comes
up to London. We had a coffee."

     "You didn't tell me his name," said Keith.

     "Hi, darlings," called Nick from the bar as the three came over.
"First drinks on the house."

     Without asking them what they wanted, he took the tops off three
bottles of beer and handed them over.

     "Nice to see you, Alan, Phil and - er - I know the face." Was it
possible, thought Keith, that he really didn't remember the person he
had outed at the Police Station, caused so much grief, broken up a
relationship.

     "Sergeant Keith Hatch," said Keith formally, "of the Metropolitan
Gay Liaison Special Force."

     "Ah yes." For a moment he looked disconcerted, the confidence
drained out of him, then it was back. "Ah yes, of course, Keith. What
can I do for you?"

     "I've a couple of questions I'd like to ask."

     Nick nodded. "Shoot," he said.

     "I think you know or knew someone we're looking for. His name is
John."

     Nick laughed. "So many," he said. "They're all Johns."

     "About 30, dark hair, eyebrows meet in the centre. A tall man
about 6' 2 or thereabouts."

     "Oh. You mean Jonathon," said Nick. "Haven't seen him for months
though. Suddenly stopped coming to the Club. Pity! Had my eyes on that
one. Think he got himself into some sort of relationship. Never very
good for trade, that." He smiled.

     "Do you know his full name?"

     "Oh yes. As a member of the Club we would have name and address
but not of course necessarily true. Jonathon Price, he called himself.
I know, same as the actor but could be kosher. Wait a minute, I'll
tell you his address." He looked into a blue bound book on a shelf
under the bar counter. "117 Wellington Street," he said.

     The Club was filling up and Nick went off down the bar to serve.

     Someone came up and stood behind Keith. It was Colin. "Hello,
Alan," he said and looked at Phil.

     "Didn't expect to see you here," said Keith, not introducing him.
He turned away from the bar, drawing Colin with him.

     "I've been round various gay spots this afternoon," said Colin.
"Got several reports of our man but none recent. Seems to have stopped
cottaging about six months ago."

     "I've got a name and an address," said Keith. "Don't know how
accurate it is though. Jonathon Price, 117 Wellington Street."

     Colin frowned. "Well the address is dodgy for a start. Wellington
Street is just round the corner from where I live. It's only short. I
doubt whether there's more than eight or ten houses in the whole
road."

     "Shit!" said Keith. "I'm worried about the missing boy. It's been
over a week now."

     "If anything nasty's going to happen to him it'll be all over by
now," said Colin. His eyes flickered to the bar and back. "You'd best
to be worrying about your own 'boy' instead."

     Phil was sitting on a stool at the bar, his arm lying along the
surface. Nick had returned and as Keith watched, he saw the barman put
his hand over Phil's. They seemed to be in animated conversation.

     Keith felt a sudden spurt of jealousy rage shoot through him.
Damn it. Was it always going to be like this? "He's a person in his
own right," he said. "He's got to make his own decisions."

     "Doesn't mean you should just stand by and let it happen," said
Colin.

     A burst of disco music though the speakers replaced the bland
stuff of earlier.

     Keith went over to Phil and put his hand on his shoulder. Phil
turned and gave him a look of such sweetness, such affection that
Keith's jealousy disappeared. "What are you doing?" he said lightly,
"allowing another man to hold your hand?"

     "Nick's a 'touchy/feely' person," said Phil. "He doesn't mean
anything by it. Apart from friendship."

     Keith doubted that but did not pursue the matter. "Whereas I am
too anal-retentive?" He lowered his head so Phil's ear. "I'd like to
touch you now," he whispered. "All over."

     "Let's dance," said Phil, getting up and dragging Keith onto the
small square of dance floor where a few couples were already gyrating
enthusiastically. The lights dimmed and were replaced by flashing
bursts of colour. They joined the madding crowd.

     When Keith and Phil got back to the flat at about one o'clock in
the morning, they were alone. Alan had gone home with Colin.

     Phil flopped down on the sofa.

     "Do you want anything?" asked Keith.

     "What do you think?" answered Phil, leaning back in the chair.
Keith could see the outline of his cock through the cotton material of
his culottes. It was obvious he was not wearing underwear.

     Keith lifted the tank top and ran his hand over Phil's back and
down around his waist. His touch was gentle and caressing. Then he
took his own shirt and pulled it over his head, returned to Phil,
feeling his strong chest, his fingers touched a nipple and he stroked
and continued to kiss. He removed the top and while Phil lay slightly
back, ran his tongue over his torso and belly. Keith put his hand on
Phil's culottes and explored.
  
     He stood up, unzipped and pulled his own jeans down, and the Phil
stared at the bulge in the underpants. "I want that in me," he said.
He reached forward and pulled them down. His penis was hard, and the
boy looked at it intently.

     "Yes," he said, as if he had made up his mind. "I certainly want
that." He put his hand to it, felt the shaft, felt the balls beneath,
stroking and rubbing. Keith stood close, brushing his hand through the
boy's fair hair, bending to kiss his mouth, tasting the saliva,
smelling his scent.

     "Now," said Phil. "Now."

     "Wait a minute."

     Keith went to the dresser drawer and brought back a tube of KY.
He squeezed out some jelly into the palm of his hand and rubbed it the
full length of his cock.

     Phil lay on his back and raised his legs in the air resting them
on Keith's shoulders. Keith bent over him and kissed him on the lips,
his tongue probing, twisting with Phil's own, two snakes wrestling
together.

     With his slippery fingers he felt along Phil's arse crack until
he located the hot hole, inserting his middle finger, pushing against
the initial resistance and then once the opening gave, pressing in. He
worked his finger in and out and then removed it.

     Phil gave a great sigh, his mouth covered by Keith's lips, his
arse ready and waiting.

     Keith guided his cock in, pushed forward and slid right into the
hot, moist hole. He pushed all the way inside in one smooth go and
then paused for a moment for fear he would come right then.

     Then he withdrew a little and plunged in again and every time he
pushed, Phil raised his hips so that the cock went in as far as it
could. While his balls rubbed against the smooth flesh of Phil's
cheeks, he was thrusting the head of his cock against the insides of
the boy's body.

     In and out, his movements became wilder and he could feel the
heat of the arsehole all around his prick. His kiss turned into a
gasping pant and Phil's hands reaching behind him grabbed his cheeks
and pulled him, the fingers curled, the nails scratching.

     Phil was making strange, almost animal like sounds and Keith
could hear other sounds which he knew must be those he himself was
making.

     Then he knew he could not stop, the pressure built up,
unstoppable, irreversible. An explosion in his loins and he came again
and again, the semen pulsing into his lover's body.

     He gave a great cry and collapsed on top of him, gasping almost
incomprehensible words of love.

     Inspector Newman sat in his chair, relaxing with a cup of tea on
the desk in front of him, and surveyed his work force. Sergeants
Wilkes and Hatch sat in the uncomfortable upright chairs which were
all that the office provided and looked as if they were sitting to
attention. Constable Carey stood behind Sergeant Hatch. They had all
presented Newman with written reports but he liked to hear what they
had to say. It saved him the necessity of reading the damn things.

     "I went to see Mrs Phelps yesterday afternoon," said Sergeant
Wilkes. "D.S. Hatch thought it would be better if I went. We had a
good heart to heart. Very upset she still is, of course."

     "Get to the point, Sergeant," said Newman, glowering over the
edge of his tea-cup. "We don't need this sentimental stuff."

     "No, sir," said Sergeant Wilkes equably. She obviously understood
her boss's moods. "Well she eventually told me about the cause of the
breakdown of the marriage. Apparently her husband was gay."

     Inspector Newman made an odd sound. It presumably expressed his
disgust, his outrage at the general decadence of modern life, the lack
of fibre and moral backbone of the general public. There was a pause
while everyone waited for his comment. "Well, go on, Sergeant," he
said eventually.

     "It seems he is now living with another man and Mrs Phelps feels
in some way that it is her fault. She thinks she has been unable to
'hold' him and is embarrassed to admit that he has left her for
another man. So that's what she had been hiding!"

     Newman waited for more but she said nothing. He turned to Keith.
"Well, Hatch, anything you can add?"

     "We got a name and address for the man seen looking at the boy,"
said Keith. "Unfortunately the address was false. There is no such
house in Wellington Street. It is possible that the name is also false
of course."

     "Damn it," said Newman. "This case is full of gays. Never trusted
them. Never know what they get up to. Gays, paedophiles, they're all
the same. God knows what they've done to the boy."

     "We don't know that this Jonathon Price has taken the boy of
course, sir," said Keith ignoring Newman's outburst though inwardly he
was seething at the Inspector's prejudiced condemnation of all gays.

     "Wait a minute," said Wilkes. "What did you say his name was?"

     "We don't know for sure but the name he gave at the Olympia Club
was Price, Jonathon Price."

     "But that's the husband's first name," said Wilkes. "Jonathon
Phelps. Have you got a description?"

     "Dark, mid thirties, bit over 6 foot, eyebrows meet in the
centre."

     Sergeant Wilkes pulled out a photograph from her pocket. She
showed it to them. A thin-faced, handsome man with dark hair and thick
eyebrows smiled out from it. "That's the husband," she said. "Mrs
Phelps gave it to me."

     "You think the husband has kidnapped and murdered his own boy?"
said Newman. He sounded confused.

     "Not necessarily, sir," said Keith. "If this is the man , and
it'll be easy enough to identify - we have two witnesses at least, he
probably did take his son but not for any abominable motives. He must
have known that being gay, living with another man, he would never get
custody of his son. So he took him. Probably looking after him just as
well as the mother could."

     "He'll go to prison when we catch him," said Wilkes.

     "If you catch him," said Keith. "For all we know they may have
left the country. Could be anywhere. He's got a week's start on us."

     Newman still looked confused.

     "I'll write out a report for you when we get the positive
identification, sir," said Sergeant Wilkes.

     Later the following day, Keith and Phil waited on the platform at
Feltenham station for the London train. Alan and Colin had come to see
them off. 

     "Any news?" asked Keith.

     "Hang on a minute," said Colin. He got onto the Police Station on
his mobile and chatted for a while with Sergeant Wilkes. Eventually he
finished.

     "Well Keith," he said, "You were right. They got him. It'll end
up in a court battle of course. Little boy wants to stay with his
father and 'Uncle' tbough how much influence that'll have on the judge
I don't know."

     "You shouldn't have told him," said Alan mischievously. He'll
probably think he's bloody Sherlock Holmes now."

     "Or Miss Marple," said Phil with a wink. Keith punched him
playfully. 

     Phil and Alan shared a last confidence giggling together quietly
as the train pulled into the station. Keith looked at them fondly
before climbing into the carriage. "All aboard!" he said. Phil joined
him and they lent out of the window together to say goodbye. He could
feel Phil's body pressed against his all down one side. It felt very
comforting.

     "Cheerio, Colin. Bye, Alan."

     "Hope all goes well with you two," said Keith.

     "Don't make marriage plans yet," said Alan.

     Colin winked which could have meant anything - or nothing, but he
stood very close to Alan and Keith felt contented.

     The train jerked, then pulled away from the station.

     Alan and Colin waved until it was out of sight.

     "Do you have to go straight back to work?" asked Colin. "We could
call in at my place on the way."

     Alan smiled and their arms brushed together as they walked back
to the car.

     "Ooh you are awful," he said.

     As they were getting in, another car pulled up behind them. Nick
leant out of the driver's window.

     "Have I missed them," he asked.

     "Fraid so," said Alan.

     "Shit," said Nick.

     "Leave them alone," said Colin. "They're good together!"

     Nick grinned. "I always get what I want," he said. "Don't I,
Alan?"

     Alan didn't answer.

      

Completed: 5th August 1998 4:07:31 pm  
Word count: 9,099 words

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