Flesh House

'Ladies, if we can just--' 'Should be ashamed of yourself!' 'Just because you've got cobwebs growing down there doesn't mean the rest of us can't have sex!' 'Don't you talk to me like that!' PC Guthrie had retreated back to the patrol car, out of the rain - lazy bastard - leaving McInnis to play United Nations. 'Ladies, why don't we go inside and--' 'There's a wee thing called Viagra. You should get some for your William, maybe perk the poor old sod up a bit. God knows he could use it.' 'How dare you!' 'If we could all just--' Guthrie stuck his head out of the car window and shouted:'McInnis!' 'I'm busy.' He turned back to his battling pensioners. 'I need you both to--' 'Someone's spotted the Flesher in Kingswells: three streets from here!' 'Holy shit!' He sprinted back to the car and jumped in behind the wheel, ignoring the outraged cry of,'What about my bloody hedge?' McInnis put his foot down, leaving two smoking trails of rubber behind.

The whole car shuddered as he slammed on the brakes. Lights and siren blaring. First on the scene. They leapt out of the car and swept the undergrowth on either side of the road with torchlight. Raindrops glittered in the beams like shards of falling glass as the drizzle gave way to proper pelting-it-down rain. It was a stretch of wasteland between two housing developments, tarted up with a tarmac path and a couple of streetlights. PC Guthrie took a couple of steps into the darkness and bellowed,'MRS YOUNG?' 'How's she supposed to hear you? Turn off the siren!' And the night was suddenly quiet - just the drumming of rain on the car roof, the soft hiss of it falling on trees and bushes, and the gurgle of the stream at the bottom of the ravine. McInnis had a go. 'MRS YOUNG? VICKY? IT'S THE POLICE!' 'There's got to be miles of scrub and bushes out here.' 'MRS YOUNG?' A new sound joined the shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh of rain - distant sirens as patrol cars hammered along the