While the other three were still standing under the lamp post, John had charged off down the nearest alley, Don not far behind. Both men had their own agendas driving them on at with a manic energy.
John cursed over and over again, his self-scorn forming a fierce aggressive mantra in his churning thoughts. God, was he so incapable that he couldn't keep track of the one thing more valuable to him than life itself? And in the sarcastic scouse tones of his mind he suddenly realised that there was no maybe about it. He was head over heals in love with Claire and no CIB job was going to change that.
Don, not far behind his mate was keeping up despite the constrictions of his designer suit. He hadn't even started dwelling on his own feelings for Claire, more concerned with the very real possibility none of them would see her alive again. Finchly was a creep of the worst kind. The very idea of what he could be doing to Claire drove him on, the hairs rising on the back of his neck.
Just as they came to the end of the first street, Don saw them, Claire and Finchly were walking arm in arm down the next alley. Silently, Don grabbed the back of John's shirt, smothering his mouth as he did so.
John however, too well trained for his own good sunk his teeth into his assailant's fingers and was only saved from his own bravado as Don, in a last attempt to maintain control spun him around to face Claire and Finchly's retreating backs.
John, light-headed with relief turned, silently laughing and apologising to a mournful Don.
"And they told me you didn't bite." Don gave him a rueful smile, "I'll have scares from this you know."
Together the pair slid into the shadows offered by the walls on one side of the lane and started where they had left off: an obbo to catch Brian Finchly.
From their awkward position, crouched in the darkness, both sergeants had a clear view of Finchly's hands, but no amount of silent cursing could remove his finger tips from Claire's skin.
John couldn't help noticing how childlike she appeared. In the moonlight her pale skin shone white and her long blond hair rippled over her slender shoulders, cascading down her back. She was so fragile, and he had let her walk out there. Docile, she allowed herself to be guided on, but John could see, even in the darkness, how straight and purposeful her step was – she was terrified.
Just as Don was starting to feel the aches of old age in his joints, Claire stopped, turning to Finchly as she did so.
"Where are we going?"
Dam, did she always have to be so brave and impatient? The two silent witnesses held a collective breath, in expectation of Finchly's reply, but they had underestimated Claire, Finchly simply smiled,
"I told you, there's no reason to be afraid." Claire, obviously still focussed on the obbo and ignorant of the danger she had been in, just minutes before, went on, carefully drawing out the details of Finchly's previous attacks. All the while, Finchly's anger and panic increased, until, completely over come, he forced her against the nearest wall.
John started forward, all set to give Finchly what was coming to him, get him arrested and get the Claire the hell out of there, but Don caught him just in time. In the instant the two sergeants had been caught in yet another silent battle, Finchly had pulled a knife from his back pocket, it's point now slightly piercing the soft skin of Claire's neck.
Powerless, John stood still, caught between the primal instinct of protection and the overwhelming fear of death. He swallowed the urge to vomit as he saw Finchly' finger's pressing up between Claire's legs. Surely death was better than what was to come?
Claire felt the panic reach a surreal level. It was as though her body had forced the last supply of adrenaline through her veins and now was on the verge of total shut down, but she had to remain conscious. That was the only way out.
Carefully, she reached her hand forward. Carefully, she placed her fingertips, white with cold, on the belt of Finchly's jeans. Sliding them upwards, she let the frozen skin of her hands connect with his stomach, tracing ticklish lines across the hairy flab she encountered.
The reaction was more than she could have hoped for, Finchly dropped the knife, leaning forward to take her into his arms. Claire felt his weight on top of her and the groin of his jeans stiff against her leg. He was unarmed, but she was nowhere near safe.
In a single movement, the whole CID team lunged forward, like a wave of some mad furry they descended on the couple. Duncan and Don needed their combined force to hold the struggling Finchly on the ground while Mickey fitted the cuffs.
Meanwhile, Kerry had turned her attention to Claire, slumped against the brick work.
"Thank God you're Ok," she leant forward to embrace the other woman, and then she saw the hand with which Claire was holding her left side. A dark stain was spreading out from under her fingers and even in the dark, Kerry knew it was blood.