Thank you for the many messages about the last chapter. Whilst the file was formatted correctly, FF scrambles everything on submission for me, so I have to remember to replace the submitted content to untangle it. Pain In The Arse. Every Time! Due to leaving for a sad event, this last bit was missed. Anyway thanks for the busy inbox and I hope, now busier reviews!

Side street, three miles from Dempsey's house

Late evening

Dave groaned and rubbed his side as he flopped into the passenger seat. "Fuck, that man can run."

Fry looked at his partner with amusement. "He's got a few feet of leg length on you and me."

Dave glared, always sensitive about how he had been pitched from his self proclaimed big man status since Dempsey's arrival. Fry had seen little evidence of Dave's prowess but kept his thoughts to himself. "So what?"

Fry grinned as he turned the car to the next street. "We've lost him."

"He's five miles away in a strip club, having a beer and laughing his head off." Dave groused and smacked the dashboard. Both men paused for a moment to think of what next.

"Do you think we're here for his protection or because he did it?" Dave burst out the thought that had been on his mind since the discovery of Lloyd's body.

It was Fry's turn to glare. "He saved my life once or twice. He could've left me to die at the wheel of a pool car I never checked out."

"Maybe you're not the psycho's type. Too nice." Dave looked up as if he'd grasped something new. "That's what Dempsey said, whoever it was, is helpful and nice. You got a vendetta?"

Fry shook his head with the air of a man who'd been sat in the car too long and wanted to get out. "I could have run you over when you were walking up the street looking for Dempsey. Maybe this heap of junk might have taken your dick off."

"You even sound like Dempsey." Dave observed and grinned. "I'm too big for an internal mail envelope. Bet that's why Harry knows it's not Dempsey…"

Fry rolled his eyes. "You know it's not me and I know it's not you because we were both at the Dog and Pheasant playing darts when Sturgeon and Lloyd were killed. And it's not Dempsey, he's a decent bloke, we've worked with him long enough."

Dave sighed, "Spikings is going to kick our arses."

"Your arse, my shift starts in an hour." Fry reminded his colleague as he started the engine. "Fiver says we'll find him near Makepeace's gaff."

Embankment, London

Late evening

The pavement provided a solid comfort beneath his feet and the wind in his face made him feel alive. Dempsey ran like a gazelle; long legs eating up the miles on the relative peace of the quieter parts of the Thames. His arms pumped at his sizes and his breath was steadied, matching his pace. This freedom was never easily dismissed. For too long he'd hidden away only to find so many passions suppressed by powers higher than him. Edwards, Simmons and Coltrane.

He wasn't the right class, or social group for some parts of his life, growing up or now. Gangs that stood around blocks, claimed with clenched fists that academic study wasn't for the likes of them. Team sports only mattered if it involved knives. He imagined what they'd make of him, a graduate of Yale, as he tracked past Tower Bridge, remembering saving Harry. What they'd make of Makepeace? They'd probably be awe-struck and then flirt, much as he'd done.

Fortunately a long weekend New York wasn't enough to test the theory of what Harry would make of them.

He picked up his pace, imagined he could run to the ends of the Earth such was his power when set free. He'd been here long enough that he could sleep-run it. He had some awareness of the spaces, but he could let his mind wander and each time it did, one face came to mind. A heart-shaped one with a stubborn chin framed by a wing of blonde hair.

Harry.

She had claimed he was too close, and he knew she was right. A bittersweet success, he thought. His ability to think like a criminal was the reason he could remain one step ahead in most cases. With it, came the decency to understand that there were victims. He may not have cared that much for his colleagues who had been murdered but they were decent men with families. Their anguish he shared.

He couldn't save his father from the drink or Simone, but he could try to help someone else. Thanks to Harry, he'd started to come to terms with Joey's death.

He focused on another movement forward, each tread of his feet on the earth, reminding he had a place here. The cold air burnt his lungs with each push until he came to a stop, bending down to catch his body; his face tilted down to his feet.

He felt his eyes weep a little and and then rose up, wiping his face on his forearm feeling the muscles under the skin. Where was he? The park near Harry's. He made that five miles.

Taking a deep breath he wondered where Dave had got to. Neither he or Fry who'd been assigned were there. The distinct red Ford they'd used wasn't anywhere around. Dempsey chuckled and broke into a gentle jog. He'd lost Spikings' babysitters.

As he turned the corner, it hit him. A sudden flash of comprehension so instant, he thought it would play out before him. Jeez. He picked up speed debating a cab to SI-10 or run to Harry and hope she was home. All he knew was that he had to get to his boss.

SI-10

Late evening

Gordon Spikings put down the case file and glanced at the clock which hung above the photo of the Queen. Quarter past seven. He sighed and stretched at his desk and questioned the wisdom of getting a lift to the office this morning so he could walk home. His doctor had told him it was good for his heart but the thought, as tiredness and stress invaded his body, felt improbable.

He picked up his coat, checked for keys and left his office, locking up the doors. He wondered how Dempsey felt about Dave and Fry. Making the assignment hadn't been easy, weighing up how it could look, as if the Yank was a suspect against Makepeace's fear that Dempsey was in danger. In the end the value of Dempsey's life had won out. With any luck they'd catch this psycho soon.

Striding down the hall, the Chief Inspector felt a pitch of sickness in his stomach which had nothing to do with the walk, his heart but the awareness that this was far from over. And just how had one supposed, temporary blow-in come to meant so much to him and to his partner. Spikings shook his head in disbelief as he checked out of the building unaware of the shadow that followed his.