Thanks to any subscribers. Don't mean o be pushy, Id like to ask you again to reveiw because its the only way i know anyone's actually still reading this seeing as my e-mail has gone all wonky on me.

Eric fumbled with the scotch glass, rolling it between his thumb and two fingers. It was over. It all was. When you got to the root of it Norsfire was the basis of his entire life, the death of his wife and daughter from the disease… he winched when it came down to it, it was all their doing. Him being promoted came out of concentrating, a concentration that came from loneliness. For all he knew they had been behind the whole thing just to get him to where he was today. If he was today? Or tomorrow?

Employees were dropping in the Nose like slowly poisoned animals. People he had worked with for years, thinking he knew them like brothers and sisters… all found to be murderers… minions of the old finger, embezzlers, essential pieces and parts of cover ups and death pacts.

Just before parliament went up, on somebody's desk in the artefacts department came box after box of "missing" or "to be destroyed" files from the past 20 years. Records of politicians who had done nasty things with young girls, or shredded a few things, or had the power to make other poorer people disappear…and did. Files on people in his department who came into his office every morning and had for the past six years with fresh coffee or updates. Files on people he trusted.

For all he knew there as nothing he had done in the his time at the Nose that could possibly compare to that of his co-workers. Yet it had bothered him all day just the same. He had withheld money from peope who had plenty of it, now and then, just to get by. But what if he had taken it from its rightful owner? What if some poor family out of town could have been fed for a month but weren't because of him. What if someone had died because of him..?

Come to think of it, if he had stood up and claimed a case or two off Creedy a lot of people would still be alive. The alarm ticked over at his bedside and the radio flicked on.

"…ay you always walk in sunshine. Slumber warm when night winds blow. May you always live with laughter for a smile becomes you so. May goo…"

A harmonious chorus filled the room, so cheerful it was completely alien amongst the shadows and piles of papers, worn furniture and abandoned take-away boxes. Women singing like birds. Their voices so high and warm Finch could very nearly smell their perfume. Music, he was listening to real music. He was shocked to find his skin prickling all over. Was it his imagination or did this tune sound familiar?

"Sir?" He jumped.

"Jesus bloody Christ!"

Dominic reached forward just in time to miss his commanders falling glass of scotch by a centimetre or so and watch it spill onto the carpet.

"It's one in the morning Dom, what the hell are you doing here?" Said Finch catching his breath. Dominic fished the glass out of the small fuming puddle and ran it under his nose.

"Inspector what have you been drinking? Smells like engine lubricant." He pulled a face and set it down on the table. Finch sat up and went to the kitchen to get a sponge.

"Why didn't you just call me?"

"All the public lies are down inspector, were thinking some NF supporters are behind it." he sighed, "Trying to stop people talking about what's going on."

"…And what is going on?"

"Urm…?"

"Wait, why didn't you just call me at the office?" At this the other fumbled with his fingers and stared at his shoes.

"…oh."

"yeah."

"M'sorry" Neither looked at one another. A siren blared in the street below and the silence was filled with the calls and laughter of a cloud of passing drunks. Finally: "So why are you here?"

"Oh! Umm…" his partner suddenly remembered himself and pulled a folded up wad of paper from his coat pocket. "The victims from the fire in Victoria Station, the ones you found, we got dental on them." he handed over the paper, "forensics is in chaos at the moment…"

"…the whole system is in chaos…"

"Anyway, I've had no one to hand these over to because the guy on the case got fired this morning and his deputy's been missing since Monday. So I thought you'd be the bloke..?"

The two's eyes still remained stiffly in the floor where the scotch pool drizzled into the shag. One sighed. The other eyed the door.

"Well," he coughed, "..?" Finch extended his arm. The other shook his hand. "It's been nice working with you inspector" They both mustered a brief smile. Finch stuffed the papers into his pocket.

Silence.

Dominic shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around his old boss, gave him a squeeze, a firm kiss on the cheek and then, without any eye contact, left the kitchen and rounded the front entrance into the hallway. He was in the lobby before he remembered to breathe.

"Listen I wish I could be more help but…" Shannon lowered her voice a little, "I just started here, After Delia left there have been no good researchers in the lab. I was the hands, she was the diagnosis." Eric slouched a little and rubbed his neck.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Well," the apprentice tilted back the head of the blackened corpse and ran her finger across its brow, "The rotting scorch marks found on the contracting skin here indicate the fire was surged onto the skin only for long enough to cause extreme damage to the dermis while keeping the flesh and everything else intact. This would mean that either he was blasted with a flamethrower, or, more likely, was caught in a gas explosion. The rotting would indicate that he bled in an attempt to heal which would mean…"

"…he was still alive after the explosion."

"But not for long. The fire left his insides ok but, before the fire, he got shot at least eight times. All of the bullets came from his gun", she pulled off her gloves, " or one like it."

'He was a fingerman. there were a bunch of them." Finch mumbled. At this the young forensic gave him a frustrated stare:

"You know that would have come in handy yesterday, knowing that." She sighed, "if it hadn't all got to pot 'round here I'd have known that"

"What about the yellow?"

"The what?"

"The," Finch pointed to the body but got no closer, "crust around the eyes."

"Oh! That's the gas residue. Mustard." Finched winced at the idea. This was why he hadn't stayed in forensics. "Thanks for that," Shannon mumbled, washing her hands and taking off her lab coat, "Him being a fingerman I mean." She gave a half smile that was a sort of roll of the lips and turned. "Least we know why they got him." Finch turned to step out. As he reached for the door, she piped up: "Oh? And how's the girl doing?"

The Inspector's forehead puckered. "What girl?"