Right, here we are at Chapter 8 of this one. Hope you're all enjoying it so far. I will get a shift on and ud more often. Things have been hectic, so this one might be a bit shorter too, but I'll keep 'em coming. So please keep reading and reviewing, cos you guys keep this going. If you have any comments or thoughts on how the story should go – or what you'd like to see in it – let me know. I wanna keep my readers happy. Tah x

Chapter 8 – Reflections

Mark got home from work about 10pm that night. It had been a particularly tiring shift, not made any easier by having to work with Harry. At the best of times, Mark tried to be objective and not judge anyone, but Harry was something else entirely. It wasn't so much that he was always late – although that in itself wound Mark up beyond belief – but the incessant chatter! Always talking, sometimes about nothing in particular, and having an opinion on everything. Everything! It was almost as if he just did it because he loved the sound of his own voice. Whatever his reasons were, Mark could often envisage himself throttling the bugger! Sometimes he would start talking in the midst of a shout, on one hand trying to treat a patient and get them loaded into the ambulance and on the other hand recounting some story that was funny at the time but you clearly had to be there. It drove Mark insane, but he knew that in the long run it didn't matter, just so long as he did the best job he could. Not to mention Harriet: the gorgeous 25 year old brunette that he had the pleasure of coming home to every night. His mates had often taken the opportunity to wind him up, questioning her sanity for dating an average joe like Mark. It seemed weird, but he sometimes found himself asking the same question. She was tall with long, curly brown hair and caramel coloured skin. He was albeit tall, but with short spiky ginger hair and pale freckly skin, and nothing near to a six-pack. She walked around smelling of the most expensive perfumes, fruity and sweet. He, on the other hand, often came home smelling of a combination of sweat and sick (a problem with the paramedic's night shift: drunks.) She wore a combination of the latest fashions – but not tacky – and had a curvaceous figure to pull them off. He wore whatever he felt comfortable in, and had a strange penchant for blue jumpers. However, despite all of that, he had somehow managed to meet Harriet, and she had fallen for him almost as much as he had fallen for her. They were the perfect mis-matched pair, and the envy in men's eyes as they walked past together created the biggest smile on Mark's face. So after a difficult day-shift in the ambulance (stab victim, stroke, 2 hoax calls and a bloodied-up loser of a fight), Mark couldn't wait to just slip into bed with his girl. So when he got home he assumed he'd find her either on the couch watching some soap opera on the telly or in the bath. That's why the panic instantly took over him when he found no trace of her in their modern deco flat and no sign of a note offering him an explanation. Harriet didn't work, and she would always let him know if she was heading out somewhere so that he knew what was happening. Besides, where would she need to be at 10pm on a Wednesday night? Having not received any messages for her since the cheeky one at lunch, he decided to try calling her mobile. He picked up the house phone and dialled, slamming it down as it rung out. Where could she be? Had she gone to visit her friend Erin and just maybe lost track of time? He dialled Erin's home number and waited.

"Hi Harriet." The familiarity to Erin's soft Scottish tone calmed him down, but only for a second. She had asked for Harriet. She clearly wasn't at Erin's house, so where was she?

"No, it's Mark. How did you know it was our number anyway?"

"I screen my calls Mark. What's up?"

He bit his lip. This really worried him.

"Oh it's, well I was just wondering if Harriet was there. Clearly she isn't so…"

Instantly, Erin's voice grew more concerned.

"No she isn't. Don't you know where she is?" As soon as she answered, she then said, "stupid question. You wouldn't be calling me if you did. Have you tried her phone?"

"Yeah. She isn't answering. This isn't like her Erin; something's happened."

"Well get out in your car and go look for her then. I'll get dressed and you can pick me up, right?"

"Ok. See you in 10."

He hung up the phone, the sick feeling of dread building in his stomach.

Tony's phone rang at about 7.30am that morning.

He wasn't actually due in the station until 9, but he'd gotten himself up especially early to have time to make a fry up. It was a cold, rainy morning and the last thing he wanted was another breakfast of packet sandwiches and a takeaway coffee, so he resolved to have enough time to sit down to a warm, lip-smacking breakfast. Just out the shower, he dried and dressed himself in jeans, a polo shirt and his shoes, sitting his jacket upon a smooth light-coloured wooden kitchen chair as he began preparing said fry-up. He lifted an egg and two slices of bacon out of the fridge, sitting them on the worktop whilst he got out a pan and oil. Once the initial prep. was done, he cracked the egg delicately into the pan and watched as it spread out and sizzled perfectly, them smell filling his nostrils. He then sat the two rashers in the pan and tidied up the mess. Just as it was on cooking – the smell heartened him – he switched on the little telly he had perched upon his kitchen counter. It wasn't anything fancy – just a small 13'' flat screen with the five terrestrial channels, and he found that he'd grown accustomed to watching a new early morning talk show on Channel 5. It was funny, but every time he tuned in, he couldn't help but laugh at seeing the male host who bore a striking resemblance to an ex-colleague: Craig Gilmore. Sergeant Gilmore had been at Sun Hill for a few years before leaving – not under the best circumstances as Tony remembered – and although he and Gilmore weren't the best of friends, they got on. On a professional level mainly, but he wouldn't say no to a drink with the guy. It just made him laugh, seeing this Gilmore-alike fronting a show that was the male equivalent of Loose Women! He could imagine Gilmore on the show having a right old bitch and rant about something or other. Just as he had another chuckle at this idea, his thought process was broken by a sudden noise.

The phone ringing.

"Hello?" He had picked it up begrudgingly, knowing that it couldn't be good.

"Tony, it's Smithy."

Inspector Smith, one of Tony's oldest friends. The two had met when Smithy first arrived at Sun Hill in 1999, a young fresh faced PC with a troubled past. They had been sort of friends at first, but as the days turned into months, and the months turned into years, they had worked together so many times that they very soon became good, close friends. They had always been loyal to each other, and helped one another out, with Smithy looking out for Tony once he became a Sergeant, and even in his transition through to Inspector. Nothing would ever come between them, and Tony knew that Smithy would always be the guy who kept him laughing and smiling on the job – unbeknownst to him that that was exactly what he did for Smithy. However, today his Inspector sounded harassed, and very tired.

"Sir. What can I do you for?"

He could hear a sigh, and then a quick cough before the answer came.

"I'm sorry to do this to you so early in the morning, especially as your not due in for another hour and a half, but I need you to get down here to Canley Common, just off Infirmary Road. Another body's been found."

Tony's heart sank. He knew it was inevitable, but he had just hoped that there might be some respite. He could already imagine the frustration and anger that Smithy felt: a rage akin to that of Tony's, but it would hit the Inspector harder. After all, he was the investigating officer here, along with Mickey and Bansky from CID, so anything and everything that happened in this case was a reflection on Smithy. It wasn't fair – he wasn't to be the scapegoat – but that, sadly, was how it was.

"Not a problem Sir. I'll be there in about 10 minutes."

He knew the route to Canley Common wasn't far from his house, and so he could estimate he'd be there in less than five. Just better to give himself those extra few minutes to go and get changed at the station.

"Thanks Tony. See you then."

He hung up. Tony replaced his phone into its sleek black holder and headed across to the table. Grabbing his jacket, he flung it on and then suddenly it hit him: his breakfast! He rushed to the cooker to see the remains of what had once been a tasty fry-up now crumbling in the pan, burnt beyond recognition. He took one lat look at it and mourned for the loss of the breakfast that could have been, before turning the cooker off and heading out the back door. Looked likely to be another sandwich/coffee morning for him.

'Ah well' he thought as he locked the door and headed round the front to his car, 'can't beat that over-filled-with-mayonnaise sandwich taste in the morning anyway!'

End of Chapter 8